DRAWING
THE LINES
By
Mason-Dixon
Authors’ disclaimer: The Sentinel and all related characters are the property of Paramount Pictures and Pet Fly Productions. No copyright infringement intended.
WARNING: This story contains
non-sexual, disciplinary spanking; it is slash and adult in nature.
The Northerly portion of Mason-Dixon would like to dedicate
this one to the South. We, of little
patience, rough demeanor and oftentimes-truculent attitude, owe much to the
charm and grace, finesse and calm of the other side. Without the perceptive eye and intellect of our better half, we
would only rage in the wind. They have made us laugh, kept us from the dark
side, and brought us out into the light.
Note to Allison: We liked your idea for a title better. Thanks.
E-mails: The e-mails referred to in this story can be read in BETWEEN THE LINES 2: SUMMER CORRESPONDENCE.
Sometimes outside
the lines, the world doesn’t look so tight, as it unwraps itself to us beyond
the strictures of county lines, centerlines, and skylines. We think there are no spatial properties to
some things. Yet, even geese have angled in the skies and hawks circle out
their needs. Lines can bend, break, and meet each other at odd angles, plans can
be modified and there are even round rooms. Yet, even two people sitting in
front of a fireplace in time will put their arms around each other, encircling
the pairing with lines of their own. Sometimes the lines are invisible, but the
concept remains the same. In time and in all things, there is always the
drawing of lines. Even love is linear.
(From the Lines of Demarcation)
WENESDAY
The door to the loft quickly opened and a large, determined-looking man walked through, followed by an equally determined younger man.
"Fuck
you, Jim! I am not going to go stand in
the corner! I am not going to let you
spank me over nothing! It was no big
deal!" With that pronouncement,
Blair Sandburg threw himself on the sofa, picked up the TV remote and flipped
it on, instantly feigning an intense interest in interior design.
Jim stood
in the center of the loft looking at his lover. Trying to remain calm, he took a deep breath and said,
"Blair, turn the TV off and go stand in the corner. We will deal with your actions this
afternoon whether you like it or not.
The choice is not yours."
Walking
over to the prone figure, he said more gently,
"Come on, Blair, let's get this over with." Reaching a hand
out, he waited for the remote.
Blair clutched the item possessively.
"No!" came his simple reply, as he casually flipped the
channel. "I didn't do
anything."
Jim
sighed and glanced at the ceiling as if looking for help from whatever deity
interceded between Sentinels and rebellious Guides. He looked at his partner who was trying to appear casual, but the
increased heartbeat and shallow breathing indicated otherwise. Walking into the kitchen, he grabbed a Coke
and took a piece of paper off the refrigerator door. Carrying both back into the living room, he dropped the sheet of
paper on the table in front of Blair.
"I
expect you to be standing facing the corner of the office in five minutes,” he
said matter of factly. With that, Jim
walked out onto the balcony. Leaning
against the railing, he took a long sip of the cold drink and stared out at the
city.
The sun
quietly rested on the horizon, bidding the city farewell, easing the
inhabitants into a restful repose.
Remembering the loneliness of returning to an empty apartment at the end
of a long and stressful day, he sent a half smile towards the skyline, shaking
his head. Now I have the pleasure of
dealing with a sullen and bratty partner.
Scanning
the room behind him with his hearing, he heard the faint mutterings. The kid
was talking to himself; he almost chuckled at the ludicrously comic scene. He
knew he was wrong. The issues and rules for communal living had been set forth
and he knew the penalty for non-compliance. It was in Blair's nature, as well
as all humans, to negotiate and back pedal out of punitive situations. He
didn't blame the kid for that and he would have been worried if he hadn't
received the usual petulant resistance.
But he also knew the strong need in the anthropologist to be kept within
the boundaries of expectations and demands...especially where his own health
and sanity were concerned.
Blair
glared at Jim's back for a full minute before reaching down and picking up the
piece of paper on the table. It was a
list of rules that they had written up when they had come back from the cabin
almost a month ago.
Sitting
there, reading the list of rules and knowing the consequences for breaking
them, Blair felt anger rising up in him.
How dare Jim tell him what to do!
He was an adult--- perfectly capable of managing his own time and
resources.
The list
read like a riot act and right now the way he was feeling it all seemed unfair:
1.
In all
police matters, Jim is the final authority. What he says, goes.
2.
No lying
or keeping secrets.
3.
No
risking of life or limb…period.
4.
No
leaving personal items lying around loft.
5.
No
breaking the law, except (on rare occasions) while working on a case.
6.
Equal
share of domestic chores.
7.
Home by
seven p.m. or you call with an explanation.
8.
No police
work during finals…no coming to the station, except for emergencies.
9.
Respecting
privacy.
10.
Always
leaving a name or number when out with friends for long periods of time.
He was tempted to crumble the paper into a ball and throw it at the infuriating cop as he stood on the patio.
Then his
eyes fell on the large stack of bluebooks and papers sitting neatly by his computer,
waiting for him to grade. He knew if he
could see his backpack from his seat, it, too, was filled with papers, his own
work and recently added additional bluebooks.
He couldn't help but glance down at the list he was still holding in his
hand. They had sat down and talked and
come up with these together, not Jim by himself, Blair admitted. I
agreed to this, he thought to himself.
"Jim," he said softly, "please come inside so we
can talk."
Turning
around immediately, the older man opened the balcony doors and came inside,
confirming Blair's suspicion that his Blessed Protector was monitoring him all
the while.
"I've been looking at the rules that we wrote up and I agree
with most of them."
Jim raised an eyebrow at that statement but said nothing.
"But,"
Blair continued, "I think the one that says I can't come to the station
during finals except during an emergency is not fair. I think we should take that out.
Therefore, I'm not in trouble, because---as I said earlier---I didn't do
anything." With that statement,
he leaned back on the couch and crossed his arms stubbornly, seemingly pleased
with his reasoning.
"Okay,"
Jim said, taking a deep breath, "let's look at this and talk about
it. First off, you agreed to these
rules and these rules were in effect
this afternoon when you came marching into the station. This was even after I reminded you this
morning and we talked about it two days ago that you weren't supposed to be
there. I told you that we weren't busy,
and that Simon and I discussed it and it was all taken care of. So, you did do something, you disobeyed an
order from me." Jim leaned over and pointed to Rule Number One: In police matters, Jim is the final authority. What he
says goes.
Blair
looked up and gave him a scathing look, obviously wishing he could knock Number
One off the list right now, too.
Ignoring
his own rising irritation with Blair's cavalier attitude towards the
rules---rules they had spent one solid weekend discussing, outlining,
clarifying and finally agreeing to---Jim continued, "Secondly, do you remember why we put this rule in?"
Jim asked, pointing to the officious Rule Number Eight...the rule that Blair
now chose to delete.
Blair
looked at him angrily, seeing his argument going down the drain. He started to open his mouth with some
smart-ass comment, then, realizing discretion sometimes was valor in itself,
stopped short.
"Well,
I do. I remember clearly the last two
terms – hell, virtually every final since you started working with me. You killing yourself by helping me, grading
papers, getting your own stuff turned in, meeting with students, writing finals
at 4 o'clock in the morning and it's not worth it. Being at the station for those two weeks is not more important
then your health and happiness. I miss
having you around, I miss working with you, but I love knowing that you are
getting enough sleep and taking care of yourself."
"But,
Jim, I CAN do all that and still help you at the station! I can handle it all, I can deal with it
all! You have to give me a chance to
prove it!" His voice rising in
volume with his own frustration level, he gestured wildly.... in full excited
guide mode.
Leaning
over Jim caught the expressive hands and held them tightly in his own. "I
know, love, I know you are very capable and you can do whatever you want to do
and you do it wonderfully. There is
nothing to prove. But, no matter how
brilliant you are, no matter how capable you are, finals take a toll on
you. There is nothing to be ashamed
of,” he said softly.
"But,
I can do it! I can get it all done. I
can come to the station with you, I can get my finals graded, I can handle
it!" the younger man's voice almost cried out, "I can…”. He closed his eyes frustrated by how
childishly pathetic his arguments were when time and time again he ran himself
ragged, developed bad colds and generally failed at the demands he put upon
himself during finals. Knowing this man
who sat next to him cared about him, loved him, and made certain he was safe,
seemed to deflate all balloons of logic.
"Love,
I know you can do anything you set your mind to, but I am not allowing you the
option. Rules were set down to keep you inside the boundaries and I intend to
enforce them as we agreed upon. You have to realize that when we agree to rules
they are strictly enforced."
"But…"
"Blair, hush. The
choice is not yours, the decision is not yours."
"But...."
"Blair..." the voice rose warningly.
“Fine,
I'm sorry I came to the station today.
It won't happen again and finals will be over soon and then I'll have a
month of happily following you around.
I got it. I’m not happy about it, but I got it."
"Good,
I'm glad you understand," Jim said, kissing the still captured hands,
"now, wait for me in the office, I'll be in there in a few minutes."
"No, Jim, it's not fair. Even traffic cops give warnings. I'm
duly warned."
"Nope, you were warned a month ago when we set the rules
down."
"Why
don't you call your friend, Vincent. I'd bet anything he gives Day
warnings," Blair insisted, knowing full well through his correspondence
with Damien St. Claire that Vincent Cade had very low-level tolerance when it
came to his own partner's behavior. The man was a larger, more formidable force
than Jim and the thought of Vincent Cade telling someone anything twice was not
a viable image in Blair's mind.
"Blair,
I don't think Vincent Cade would be having this discussion with you. I think
the first sign of a temper tantrum on your part and you would not be looking at
him right now. The floorboards would be your only view for quite some time,
then the corner, and then the floorboards again. Vin is not a man who discusses
rules over and over again. Once they are set down and agreed upon, they are in
effect."
"Sheesh,
what a jerk he must be," Blair said, moodily, crossing his arms over his
chest in a further stance of revolt.
"I'm fast losing patience myself, Chief," Jim said,
crossing his own arms in resistance.
Blair glared angrily.
"Okay,
Chief, if that's the way you want it. The whole deal is called off. You don't
want this relationship, then I can't force you. Nothing's changed between us, but you can do whatever you
want. Please try not to run yourself
into the ground because you are still the most important thing in my life. I
told you that before, you can stop it any time you want."
Jim unfolded his arms and walked back into the kitchen.
Blair's
face dropped. This was not the way this conversation was supposed to go. He
still wanted the rules, the restrictions, and the guidelines to keep him on
track, just not right now. Why does it
have to be all the way or no way? he thought angrily.
Jim
monitored the heartbeat, the aggravated little surges that confirmed his
friend’s displeasure with the turn of events.
Smiling to himself, he opened the refrigerator.
“What’s it going to be for dinner, Chief? How about an omelet?”
“That’s it, Jim?”
“Well,
I’m tired and I don’t feel like cooking up a big meal, unless you want to do
take out?” Jim said.
“No, man, I mean you don’t care. You’re not going to make a big
deal out of this?”
“What's
there to make a big deal of. I told you
in the beginning it was your choice and you could cancel it at anytime.”
“I
thought we made up those rules because we agreed I needed them.” Then, after a long pause, “That’s all,”
Blair added quietly, seemingly confused by his own take on things.
Stopping
his meal preparations, Jim wiped his hands on a towel. Placing both hands flat
on the counter, he leaned forward, creasing his face into lines that spoke a
man at his wit’s end.
Then
evenly, with controlled and steady breath, he said, “Corner. Now!” gesturing
towards the office door.
Blair quickly rose without a further word.
Tossing
the towel down on the counter, he considered strangling the frustratingly,
lovable younger man. Shaking his head, he began to put the food back in the
refrigerator. He could hear his friend
talking to himself, carrying on a monologue, grumbling and mumbling.
Jim
finished opening the mail and writing a few bills, when he glanced at the clock
in the kitchen. Ten minutes, that's long enough, he thought. Walking towards the office, he paused at the
door, listening to Blair.
The
younger man was unaware that his lover was standing there, listening to him
argue with himself. "Why did you
go to the station? You know you aren't
suppose to be there right now? Don’t
you have enough to keep you busy at school right now? How many finals did you get back today alone - 120? You know he's right, you were right a month
ago when you agreed to the rule. God,
you're so stupid!"
Jim
stepped in at that point, talking to himself was one thing, but he was not
going to allow his guide to start beating up on himself, convincing himself
that he was stupid. Walking quietly up
behind the younger man, he said, "Blair, stop it."
The other man turned around.
"Sorry Jim, I know I'm supposed to be quiet...."
"No",
he said with a smile, "I'm not angry about that, but I am angry about you
calling yourself stupid. You're not, at
all. You are one of the smartest people
I know."
"Then
why did I go to the station today when I knew I wasn't supposed to? Huh?
Why? I knew I would get in
trouble, but I did it anyway. Am I some
sort of masochist who gets off on pain? Why couldn't I just stay at the office
or come home and get some work done?"
Jim
embraced him, holding him tightly, and rubbing his back, "I don't know
Blair. I don't think you are a
masochist. I think the other answers
you are going to have to find yourself.
I can't tell you why."
Several
minutes later, not wanting to prolong his wait any longer, he lead Blair over
to the chair in the room, sat down, undid his jeans and let them fall, and drew
him over his lap. Giving him a few
moments to adjust himself comfortably, Jim reached down and pulled the other
man's boxers down to his knees.
Blair tensed up and gave a small whimper.
With
little warning, Jim raised a hand and brought it down sharply on the upturned
butt, producing a red mark. "We
have agreed to rules about behavior and when you break those rules, there are
consequences," Jim lectured, punctuating the words with a series of quick,
sharp swats, aimed at his guide's bottom.
"You agreed to them.” Three
more swats, this time on the upper thighs, "and if you wish to change
them, we need to sit down and discuss the changes." The swats continued,
as did the lecture, Blair's small gasps turned into tears and pleas.
"I know..... I
know....... I'm sorry....... It won't happen again, I promise."
"You are also being punished for that little tantrum you threw when we got home. If you want to discuss something, we will." Jim said, continuing with the lecture and spanking.
"But," Jim said, delivering two especially hard whacks to the center of Blair's bottom, "you will not simply decree what rules are dropped and when. Is that understood?" he asked, delivering a stinging smack with each word.
"Yes, I understand.
We talk about it," Blair
cried out, his voice heavy with tears.
After
delivering 5 more hard swats, Jim's hand came to rest, slowly rubbing Blair's
back while the other man slowly quieted down.
After a
few moments, Blair's tears trickled off to an occasional sniffle. Sliding off Jim's lap, he looked uncertainly
at his lover, wanting something, but still unsure.
Standing
up, Jim guided the younger man over to the recliner. Sitting down, he pulled the confused young man down with him.
"I'm
sorry," Blair said, as soon as he was safely settled in his lover's arms,
held in a circle of safety, loved and forgiven.
"I know, I'm sure you are."
"I
don't know why I can't just follow the rules and be good. I'm sorry," came a small voice after
several moments of silence.
"Blair,
love, it's not about being 'good' or following the rules. I think you are acting like you've always
acted, trying to prove something to someone, maybe yourself, how good you
really are. How perfect you are and how
much you can handle, regardless of how it effects your health and
happiness."
"But
I can handle it!" Blair said, resuming his argument from earlier and
pulling away from Jim. "I can get
my papers graded, and my test written and still help you at the station! I have a commitment to you, Jim," his
voice almost cracking from the emotion, the need to convince his partner that
he had a handle on everything.
Jim
pulled him into a tight embrace, not letting the younger man pull away either
emotionally or physically. "Chief,
discipline relationships are established for a reason. I know you can handle
everything. Actually, it is this very
determination that makes our relationship necessary right now."
“I’ve
seen people drift apart, each lost in the commitment to perform----do it
all. Men and women, both, so caught up
in some contest to prove their worth to someone or even sadder, each other.”
He pushed
away slightly and looked down into Blair’s upturned face.
“But at
what price to their personal lives? I’ve seen marriages ruined, children lost
to gangs, crime and drugs, and all because they had do it all.”
He looked
into the red-rimmed eyes and sought understanding. “One of the reasons we got into this relationship is because you
are the type of person who always wants to do it all…. handle everything. You can let go of some of this
responsibility. Now you have no choice.
You are not weak or lazy; you have just lost that choice in this relationship.
You have nothing to prove to me and the rest of the world and whatever they
think doesn’t matter. Do you
understand?”
"But Jim ……"
“Do you
understand?” Jim asked glaring down into the blue eyes.
“But…”
"Blair,
if I hear one more word about this, your butt and my hand are going to be
having another discussion."
Blair sighed heavily, but moments later, relaxed back onto the
chest of his lover.
Sitting
there quietly, each man lost in his own thoughts, Jim absently-mindedly rubbed
Blair's back, until the silence was broken by a small, quiet voice saying,
"But I still feel guilty, Jim.”
“Do you
think we should add a rule about that?” Jim asked, teasingly.
“No way,
I think my butt would have some serious problems if we did.”
At that,
both men laughed, and the Sentinel and Guide were falling back within the
lines.
The bullpen hummed
with easy camaraderie. The dry spell of major crimes in Cascade lapsed the
usually boisterous but serious-minded detectives into leisurely smiles and
horseplay. As Ellison moved between the
glass-framed entrance to his division, he smiled. Rafe bent Brown over his desk, while holding the sturdy upper
torso in an unrelenting headlock.
"Jim," Rafe
called out, still pinning his prize, rubbing the thick skull with his knuckles,
and building friction with his speed and persistence. The detective tried to raise liquid black eyes at Jim, not so
much beseechingly, but in humorous acceptance. The concept of partners played
into their lives much the same way as Jim and Blair's relationship.
"Do
you believe this guy?" he asked the rhetorical question with the slight
accent tilting his speech.
"What
did he do now?" Jim asked, with obvious forbearance at the horseplay.
"He
ate my Snickers bar. Just up and took
it off my desk."
"Jim,"
Brown croaked, "he left it sitting there since yesterday. My wife has me
on a diet. He was doing it to torture me."
Taking umbrage over
the reversal of guilt, Rafe knuckled the thick skull harder. "Not so hard!" Brown yelled out,
"you'll destroy what hair I have left."
Jim
laughed as he sat down at his desk.
"I THINK WE HAVE
WORK TO DO, CHILDREN!" came the sharp command as Simon Banks walked into
the bullpen. Rafe released Brown, who
still smiled wickedly, licking his lips over the remembered candy bar. Rafe took a mock punch at the grinning face,
but kept one eye on their usually surly Captain as he made his way towards his
office.
"Good morning,
Detective Ellison," Simon beamed in unusual good cheer. Rafe took it as a sign and made another
lunge at Brown. The large detective ran
out of Major Crimes with the younger man following close behind.
"What's got you
in such good humor today, sir?" Ellison asked as his friend and boss stood
near his desk. Ellison picked up a folder and opened it, ready to read the
current crimes report and begin the day.
"Fishing, Jim,
fishing. That new titanium rod I ordered came in the mail last
night." Simon stood back with an
imaginary rod in his hands; cast back reeling in, then cast it out into an
imaginary lake or river that showed dreamily in his eyes.
"Weekend has
fishing written all over it? What do you say? Things are quiet here? You, me,
the kid---Darryl can't make it. Joan says he has some major school project
due---the three of us just" and with this he made another cast out into
the far reaches of the future "and enjoying the great outdoors."
"Sounds like a
good deal, Simon, but Blair can't make it. He's got papers to grade and he puts
himself under too much pressure. Count
me in, though."
Simon smiled.
"Great. Saturday, early. Davis
told me about this great spot that he found last summer. I've been meaning to
check it out."
With
that, Simon forged happily on towards the demands of the day.
The late afternoon
sun hid behind the low-hanging clouds, diminishing the day with a tired
ease. Sandburg sighed heavily under the
burden of a particularly long day of posting grades, arguing his case with
every incensed student at the injustice of it all, and sealing his heart off
from the guilt he often felt for failing his students somehow.
Opening the car door,
he threw his laptop and backpack into the backseat and placed a large stack of
blue books and papers on the seat next to him.
With a quick pull he loosened the tie that had bound his curly locks
behind his head. Shaking his head
wildly, he grinned at the symbolism of the act. Putting away the restraints of academia and letting it all hang loose.
If only Jim could do that sometimes, he
thought.
Since they had become
lovers a year ago, Jim had put away most of his military uptightness, at least
around the loft. The stark dwelling had
morphed in subtle moves from a functional dwelling to a cozy home. There was tenderness in Jim's observations
that probably very few people outside his private and personal realm realized.
One of the reasons the young anthropologist loved him so much was the
oftentimes-uncomfortable way he met and dealt with his own humanity. Jim felt
responsible for the world, both as an ex-Covert Ops soldier and as a cop. However, once he discovered he was a
sentinel genetically primed to protect and defend the city of Cascade,
reasonable approaches to accepting his limits were hard to get across to him.
Smiling wryly at that
thought, Blair started the engine. Yeah,
who reins you in, Jim, when you go off and take on more than you can handle?
Don't think you’re the only one concerned about their lover's health around
here.
With the taste of
freedom setting the stage for his defiance, Blair sped off out of the parking
lot. Instead of turning left and heading home by the direct route, he turned
the car south and decided to take the longer way past the lake.
As a young student
overwhelmed with demands and deadlines, Blair had found Cricket Lake a silent
and comfortable refuge for his troubled soul.
He hadn't visited the lake in over three years. But his own thoughts
about this new stage of his relationship with Jim and the questions it brought
up were warranted occasion to seek the remembered landscape and hopefully the
answers. His actions yesterday had
raised many questions. Sitting with Jim
last night after he had been punished, he felt a need to come to his thinking spot and try to figure out his
often-erratic behavior.
Now, as he turned
down the small dirt road that led to the banks of the lake, he heaved a sigh of
relief as though returning from battle to some safe haven. Blair knew the need, in his
often-peripatetic life, for a quiet refuge to call your own.
As he exited the car,
the sun escaped the cloud confinement long enough to gild the lake with a
golden crust, glazing the surface with brightly mirrored sky. Life
is good, he thought, it would be a
hell of a lot better if I never went to the station yesterday. I couldn't help
it and I need to figure out why.
Blair Sandburg needed
very little in his young years. Naomi Sandburg had taught her son wisely the
ways of the world, the independence of true survivors, and the love of letting
go and moving on. Though not the
conventional upbringing of a family-rooted childhood, Blair felt no regrets,
save one and only one: the missing father image. Not a subject often admitted in his daily dealings, he chose to
speak proudly of the male relationships that Naomi had brought within his
realm.
Tickets to major
sporting events, rock stars and their followers, political anarchists with
their intellectual debates into the wee hours of the morning, were, as he often
pointed out, fair exchange for the unconventional lifestyle. He was not a boy, anymore than he was a man,
who needed role models. The
intellectual world supplied him with a vast array of heroes and leaders to
shape and mold his soul.
Besides, he was Blair
Sandburg, a child of Naomi Sandburg’s noncomformist paradigm of freedom. If there were holes in his soul, they were
only wind tunnels, sculpted by his life experience, filled with sound.
He never saw himself
as a child in comparison to Jim. The
hard man at times could be far more immature, throwing tantrums and sulking
moodily as he pushed through the days as a law enforcement agent. Even Simon Banks critically censured his
best detective for his lack of finesse and tact.
Strange how things in life come along when you need them the
most, he thought, as he
picked up a twig and tossed it into the glimmering pool. Jim---wonderful, strong, always rock-solid Jim. I just wish I could be there for him the way
he is there for me. I want him to need me and be at a loss without me, just
like I feel when I don't spend time with him for days or when my class load is
so heavy I can't make it to the station. Maybe I just needed to be with him,
yesterday, sort of assure myself that he needs me as much as I need him.
Blair never felt
needed before. He knew there were times he was tolerated, barely accepted, but
allowed within the fold due to his status as grad student and professor. There were places he entered where his
knowledge saw him through with the ceremonies and habits of indigenous
peoples. However, in his own world of
academia, his own land of modern day mania, Blair was an anarchist to rule and
order. Not only did Naomi instill the anti-establishment attitude within her
son, but his own free thinking; highly intelligent reasoning showed him the
other side to things. Freedom was a
sacred thing with---indeed---very little left to lose, as an old song said.
Now he feared losing
something more than he ever feared anything in his life. He feared
disappointing Jim, not making it work, failing in the one endeavor he could not
bear to see go under. He had always
been afraid of disappointing people.
His intelligence, his wit, led to the much-needed acceptance in many
circles, but without constantly performing and producing, at least in his mind,
he would quickly be turned out and rejected. But to fail in this relationship
with Jim was soul shattering to even think about. So, in order not to fail, he had tried to be the perfect partner,
first at the station and then at home. I was trying to make myself irreplaceable,
he muttered to himself as self-knowledge dawned on him.
Sitting down on a
tree stump on the bank of the lake, Blair crossed his legs Indian style,
resting his arms on his knees, he stared out on the water. His mind traversed
the weeks and he was back in the cabin, along the waterfall, in the raging
river----the feelings of inadequacy pulling him in. But, he thought to himself, it's
not my fault if I don’t do it all. Jim’s right, I don’t have that control
anymore.
Hating the discipline
when it was actually being administered; he felt safe within the confines of
the actual relationship itself. Knowing that Jim was as determined as ever to
keep him on the right path, he knew he could veer off course, because now
someone cared enough to pull him back in line.
The dichotomy of his reasoning, the love of freedom, yet the fear of
losing Jim’s firm and restrictive guidance, caused most of the turmoil, he
realized.
Remembering the twig
that had in so small a way helped him make his mind up over a month ago about
Jim's suggestion that they start a disciplinary relationship, he now realized
that there would always be doubts and the need for reaffirmation in this type
of arrangement. They would grow as all
good relationships do and the rules and regulations would in time need to be
re-evaluated. Now, it was not so much a
problem of growing pains, but of facing the difficult first steps.
Sighing deeply, he
raised his eyes to the sky and smiled. It was really very simple. Follow the
rules they had agreed upon, or be brought back in line with Jim's firm hand
applied to his anatomy.
Squirming now under
the remembered spanking, he laughed. Jim’s
right about one thing, a sore bottom does make you realize and remember the
error of your ways.
Then he remembered something Damien St. Claire had written to him about his early days with Vincent, “I set out to make his life hell. I had been used to fighting causes and pretty much frustrating the hell out of people with my brashness and smart mouth. Then Vincent came along and when I pushed it was a strange and curious feeling to find out someone was pushing back. So I pushed all the harder, like a stubborn, willful brat. I never realized what a wonderful feeling it was to keep being pushed back in place.”
Okay, time I realize I have to meet you half way, Jim, he thought to himself as he turned back towards the Volvo. Time for me to march to a different drummer
for once.
Opening the door of
the small car, he looked back at Cricket Lake. There would always be this place
now to return to and find the answers in the silence of the surroundings.
Returning down the
country highway, he ran quick fingers through his hair. The open windows
allowed enough of a breeze to toss the locks excitedly around his face,
occasionally covering his eyes and needing a quick hand to clear his
vision. Feeling invigorated and
lighthearted, he realized that perhaps this was what he needed all along, a
short respite from Jim and rules and regulations and demands. Just a short
drive, a little over the speed limit, but the road was basically deserted and
country roads were made for speeding.
Thrilling at the
response of the wheel and the classic car’s surge in power, he let out a war
hoop of instinctual and primitive glee. "WHOOOOOEEEEE!"
It wasn't until he
took the curve, squealing tires as he held the car steady on its course, that
he saw the motorcycle cop coming up behind him at a sure and steady pace,
cutting the distance with a determination that made Blair mumble, "Oh
shit."
Easing his foot from
the gas he tried to look nonchalant in his decrease of speed, not someone
admitting by their quick change in speed that they had spotted the law. Taking
his eyes from the rearview mirror for just a second, he saw the small squirrel
rush in front. Slamming the brakes hard he skidded off the road popping pebbles
and stones along the side. The large stack of blue books scattered to the floor
in front of him, some down on the gas pedal and brake. he came to a dusty stop on the side of the
road.
Curls falling forward,
hiding his face, he busied himself pulling up papers and returning some
semblance of order to his car. Momentarily forgetting about the cop, Blair
glanced up in time to see the squirrel happily return to the undergrowth.
"Thanks
a lot," he mumbled.
The soft tick tick tick didn't bring him up from
the lower levels of his car floor as he collected the disarray of papers and
bluebooks, but the soft phrase startled him, "Going way too fast,
ma’am. Got a date you're late
for?"
Blair raised his head
quickly banging it on the rearview mirror.
The thin lips that bent low into the open car window changed from a
lascivious smile to a grim line of anger.
There was no doubt in Blair's mind that the cop, whose eyes were hidden
by the mirrored sunglasses, had mistaken him for a woman.
"Sorry,"
Blair said, feeling momentarily awkward himself. "These papers..." he
trailed off as the cop straightened.
Tapping the tip of his ballpoint against the door, the cop ticked off
every word with a vehemence that Blair realized was caused by his mistaking him
for a woman.
"Speed
limit is strictly enforced here, boy."
"Hey,"
Blair finally sprang to the defense of his treasured vehicle, "this is a
classic car. I'd appreciate you keeping that pen away from it."
The lips only
tightened further into a deep frown.
The pink pad of tickets now took the brunt of his dissatisfaction as the
pen now tapped forcefully against the top sheet.
"I'm
going to have to write you up for this. Hefty fine for thirty over."
"Thirty
over? No way, man. I wasn't going that fast…maybe ten over, I admit, but not
thirty."
“License
and proof of insurance.”
Sighing,
Blair reached into his wallet and glove compartment and handed him the items.
“You’ll have your day
in court to argue otherwise. Wait right here," the cop said. Taking the license and insurance card, he
returned to his bike. Blair ran a tired
hand back from his forehead pulling the curly strands back against his head,
clearing his youthful face of all obstruction.
Just what I need, another rule to
break. The infamous Number 5: No
breaking laws, unless working on a case with Jim.
Blair straightened as
the cop came up alongside his door again. "Sign here." Blair took the documents that were handed to
him and with a forced smile he signed where indicated. Taking the pale green slip, he looked
down. The fine for his flight for
freedom was one hundred dollars.
"Oh,
man," he groaned.
The cop smiled,
indifferently, "Have a nice day."
Turning on his heels he replaced his helmet and straddled the bike.
Starting the engine,
Blair carefully pulled back out onto the highway and headed towards the loft.
The treasured quest for freedom somehow lost all appeal as the reality of his
punishment dawned upon him. Jim is not going to buy this one. Maybe if I
don't tell him. That's right, I just won't tell him. Blair decided on the
course of action, pulling down Rule Number 2 in a matter of seconds, No lying or keeping secrets.
As Ellison entered
the loft, the missing sounds of activity disrupted his thoughts, Blair was not
home yet. Closing the door, he headed
towards the refrigerator. Pulling out a beer, he popped the tab and took a long
pull on the cool beverage while studying the contents of the cold chamber.
Pulling out a carton
of eggs he ran the recipe through his mind, potato pancakes sounded like just
the thing. Opening the small bin under
the sink, he grabbed several large spuds.
As he stood before the sink, peeling the skins in a quick, sharp rhythm
he shoved the boring routine of the day far off into the corners of his
mind. Thursday down and one more day to
cover before a relaxing weekend fishing and camping in the mountains.
A twinge of guilt
pinched him, looking up into the office across from the counter, he saw the
stack of blue books and essays that his lover had yet to make a dent in. No doubt with two more days of testing, the
stack would only grow higher and proliferate matching sets across the floor of
the small space.
It's for your own good, kid. You just need to focus on your teaching responsibilities right
now. Station work and fishing trips will have to wait for a few more days. Then wishing with
all his heart that Blair could join him and Simon this weekend, he cut the
potatoes into small cubes with more fervor than was necessary. Placing all the ingredients into the
blender, he pushed the puree button and leaned back against the counter,
savoring the beer and staring off towards the skyline of the city.
Blair Sandburg did
not come quietly into his life. He pushed in like a determined salesman
offering pitch and song and dance and a routine that left Jim trying hard to
catch up. True, his senses had completely thrown him for whatever loops spun
people out of control, made them feel at their wit’s end. However, Sandburg
pulled and pushed and prodded until Jim could do nothing but accept the fact
that he was a Sentinel…that he had five heightened senses due to genetic
heredity.
Then the Guide had
instilled himself into the deeper caverns of his heart. What had started out as
a coupling of necessity had quietly edged itself into a bonding of soul. Need now was predicated on the heart as well
as the senses and Jim could not imagine life without the high-strung,
free-flying, grad student.
"SHIT!
This day can't get any worse."
Jim
realized he had gotten lost in the preparation of dinner and had missed his
partner's arrival home. He heard the
irritated grumbling as his lover made a slow and cumbersome move down the hall.
A loud thud, papers scattering, more curses to top off the confusion of
sounds. Putting down the onion he was
chopping, he walked towards the door. Entering the hallway he saw Blair,
backpack high on his shoulders, bluebooks scattered every which way along the
floor, laptop lying next to another pile of stacked essays, looking lost and
forlorn amid the confusion.
"Hey, Chief, let
me give you a hand," he said, hunkering down and easily snatching the
wayward sheets into captured stacks.
"Oh, man, Jim,
you would not believe the day I've had. If I survive this grading nightmare, I
can survive anything. Martin Cryvert
had the gall to come to my office this afternoon and tried to cut a ‘deal,’
Jim, ‘deal.’ Man, I do so not believe
these students sometimes. Get this, he had no interest in my class all semester,
now he wants to make up thirteen weeks of work. If I let him submit this huge
paper he's proposing, it will take me most of the weekend to grade. I told him
flat out ‘no way’ it's my class, my syllabus, my way or the highway." With that he chuckled as he met Jim's
twinkling eyes. "What?"
"Nothing chief,
you're just cute when you’re all frustrated and annoyed---especially when it's
not at me."
"Well,"
he said, laughing, "a truly considerate lover would have kept their super
hearing out for me to drive up and then raced downstairs and helped me from the
car."
"Hey, I never
claimed to be considerate, just great in bed,” Jim replied with a laugh.
Together they
finished gathering up the fallen papers and blue books.
Jim rose with one
large pile of papers neatly pressed into semblance. Blair pulled his own stack and placed it upon his laptop case and
rose with a weary grace and deep sigh that made Jim look more closely at his
drawn, tired face.
Picking up a large
portion of Blair’s stack, he said, "Chief, I've got dinner started. Why don't we eat in about an hour? That should give you enough time to shower
and relax some. You can hit the books after dinner and I want you in bed by
eleven tonight."
"Jim, does this
look like I can sit back on my laurels?" Blair asked indicating the stacks
both men held.
"Not
negotiable, Chief. You do what you can and bed at eleven."
"No
way!" He hissed proceeding Jim into the loft and stomping off towards his
office, the peace he had found earlier at the lake, quickly forgotten.
Jim closed the door
and followed bringing along the secondary stack. Placing them on the floor next to Blair's pile, he stood up tall
and straight and placed both hands on his hips. Blair removed his backpack and met the blue eyes that held no
anger, no censure, just implacable resolve.
"Are we going to
have another discussion of the rules, Sandburg, because quite frankly I don't
plan to have this discussion over and over again. I’m sure you don’t."
Jim's voice was soft and threatening.
Blair opened his
mouth as heat flamed his face, but as Jim tilted his head slightly, almost in a
questioning surprise that his partner was really going to pursue this further,
Blair caught the road signs of someplace he didn't want to go right now. The ticket burning a small warning in his
back pocket made him reconsider any rebuttal.
His face lost the
fire and cooled, remembering the lake and his desire to try things Jim's way
for a change. Nodding his head slowly, he said wearily, "No, I am tired
today. I guess the early night will do me good."
Jim softened, placing
a warm arm around his shoulders he pulled him close. "Chief, I'll see that
you relax and have a good night's sleep. You've got all weekend to finish the
grading. Simon and I are going away for a short fishing trip. I think the quiet
around here will allow you to get your work done with no distractions."
After a satisfying
dinner, Blair camped out on the dining room table, determined to get through as
many tests and papers and as was possible before his 11 o'clock deadline. He had intended to work on some before
dinner. He had taken a shower and
changed into comfortable sweat pants and a T-shirt. Sitting on the couch was a mistake, he realized, after waking up
45 minutes later to Jim softly kissing him awake. Jim had been kind enough not to say anything about his nap and
how tired he obviously was.
Jim had taken up
position in the yellow chair, feet on the coffee table, reading a book. Glancing at the clock on the VCR, he said
quietly, "Blair, it's 10:30 already."
"Okay, thanks,
man," the other man replied distractedly, really not paying attention.
Fifteen minutes
later, Jim stood up, stretched and yawned.
"Blair, about ready to wrap it up?"
Blair glanced up,
surprised that it had gotten so late and his pile of papers did not look much
smaller. "Jim, I can't go to
bed. I've got tons to do and I don't
feel that I've made even a dent in these things. I'm fine, really. I had
that nap this evening; doesn't that count for anything?"
From the kitchen
where he was setting the coffeemaker for the morning, Jim looked at his
lover. "Blair, we had a deal, 11
o'clock. Your so-called nap just shows
how tired and worn out you already are.
You sat down and were asleep---despite the noise of me cooking and the
TV---in about a minute."
"I'm not tired
now though and I've got a lot to do."
Coming in from the
kitchen, stopping to make sure the door was securely locked, he sat down next
to his lover. “Blair, what's going
on? You're tired, you've made good
progress tonight," indicating a large stack of finished blue books,
"why can't you admit that, allow yourself to come to bed?"
Blair looked at him
in confusion, "Jim, I've barely touched this grading, I've done nothing
tonight. I haven't accomplished
anything!" His voice rising in
frustration and self-disgust. "I
took a nap this evening when I should have been grading; dinner took forever to
eat. Nothing got done!"
Jim could hear the
heartbeat getting faster, the flushed cheeks, dilated pupils behind tired, red
tinged eyes. Knowing that reasoning
with his guide when he was like this was not productive, he also did not want
to discipline the younger man. It was obvious that his behavior and crankiness
were symptomatic of fatigue and an internal struggle between his expectations
of himself and the limitations imposed upon him by the new rules.
"Okay, Chief,
I'll make a deal with you. You come
upstairs now with me and lie down. I'll
go take a shower and get ready for bed.
And then, when I'm done, you can go back downstairs and grade for
another hour. Okay? But, I want you upstairs, lying down the
whole time. If I catch you up, you'll
be going to bed immediately with a sore and red bottom." Jim paused for a moment, letting his words
sink in. "Deal?"
Blair looked at him,
his tired brain thinking about it, trying to see if there were some hidden
traps in Jim’s plan. “Okay, deal, I
guess."
"Great,"
Jim said with a smile. Holding out his
hand, he pulled Blair up and sent him in the direction of the stairs.
Blair paused there,
looking up, the weary chore of the actual climb plain on his face. Taking a deep breath, he moved up the
stairs, one at a time. Jim followed
close behind, placing a supportive and restrictive hand against the small of
his lover’s back. Once they reached the
bedroom, Blair paused, looking at the bed as if he had never seen it before.
Walking past his
partner, Jim reached over and turned down the covers. Gently reaching over and guiding Blair over to the bed, he pushed
him into a sitting position. "Come
on, Blair, lie down for a few minutes until I get back," he said, a bit
frustrated with the resistance.
"Jim,"
Blair mumbled, easing himself down, his eyes heavy, "I'm not tired. I've got too much to do."
"That's
fine. You don't have to sleep. Just lay down until I get through with my
shower."
"All right, I
guess."
Once Jim was
satisfied that Blair was down for the count, he went back downstairs. The whole time he was in the shower, his
hearing was extended to the sleeping form upstairs.
Twenty minutes later,
he slipped into bed and curled himself around the sleeping form, and smiled as
he joined his soulmate in slumber.
Friday swept them
into their lives with a persistent cause.
Jim woke early to a bomb threat at a downtown office complex. Blair
awoke with a start, annoyed that it was 5:30 and the whole night was a
waste. Some terrorist group ranting
about the small export/import company’s ties to Yugoslavia had made the
call. Jim couldn't help but compare it
to the rants of his partner. A quick
kiss to his equally frantic and frustrated lover's cheek and Ellison was out
the door. Sandburg jumped eagerly into
his persona, that of teacher.
Packing the stack of
blue books he had hoped to finish last night onto his laptop, he quickly sipped
his coffee as he finished off the last of the scrambled eggs Jim had insisted
he eat.
"No buts, Chief,
I have to leave, but I want you to clean your plate. You'll be on your own this
weekend, but I'm seriously thinking of having Rafe and Brown check up on you,
make sure you don't bury your nose in those tests and forget to come up for
air."
"Yeah,
yeah," Blair said around a stuffed mouth, "I will, man, cut the
mother-hen routine, Jim. If you were so
worried about me, you would have woken me up last night." He grumbled
good-naturedly.
Stopping momentarily
to gauge his partner's mood, Jim put his hands on his hips and
"clucked," flapping his arms, seasoning the mocking gesture with an
Ellison fifty watt grin. "And, if
I had woken you up last night, what would I have used for a bed pillow? Hmm?"
Blair couldn't help
but laugh and stick out his tongue. As
the person he loved more than life itself left through the door, he called
after, "Love ya, Jim!"
A
hand appeared as it waved an acknowledgment just before the door closed.
By late afternoon,
Ellison, Brown and Rafe had traced the call. The amateur terrorist was a
disgruntled employee who had been fired several weeks ago. The hoax was nothing
more than an aggravation, but Ellison was in a pissy mood none-the-less.
The fifty-year-old
employee had a wife and three children. It irritated him to learn that the man
had been fired because he refused to work the demands of a sixty-hour week due
to poor health and family commitments. The company had literally sucked the man
dry, then when he had served his usefulness had discarded him with a cold
indifference.
"Jim!"
Simon called from his office.
Easing
himself up slowly from his chair, Jim entered his captain's office.
The tall man poured
two cups of coffee and set one down on his desk within easy reach of
Ellison. Jim sat down and nodded his
thanks for the proffered drink. Taking a soothing sip he felt the tension and
frustration slowly seep away.
"Good work on
that bomb scare, Jim, I hear you I.D.'d the caller from an employee Christmas
party tape and the 911 call."
"It
was easy and the poor guy was just venting," Jim grimaced. Sometimes he hated his job.
"Don't worry,
the president of the company called. He doesn't want bad press. He said he was
willing to work out a deal if Garland gets counseling. I don't think they're
too eager to press charges on this, Jim."
Simon watched his best detective as he digested the news. Then the smile
that charmed the pants off many a hostile witness broke the taut lines,
crinkling his face with laugh lines.
"I
hope that titanium rod is ready, Simon, because I don't intend to let many of
the fish get by me."
"No...no way,
Jim, this thing is guaranteed or money back," Simon bragged, lighting the
room with his own pleasured assurances.
"How'd
Sandburg take the news? I know the kid loves to fish."
"Not bad, he's
responsible and I don't think he would have enjoyed himself anyway. Knowing
him, he would have sat on the banks, pole in one hand and a stack of exams on
his lap grading with the other. I'll
make it up to him once finals are done."
"How
are Brown and Rafe doing on the rape case?" Jim asked, simply filling the
conversation.
"Nothing. The
women all said he wore a ski mask and latex gloves, you know, the kind you can
get at any store. The lab people said
he picked the lock on all the doors like an expert. Before any of them knew he was even in the house, he was waking
them up with a knife at their throats."
"Do
they need any help? I'm just finishing up my report on the bomb threat."
"No, they've got
it under control for now. You just concentrate on finishing up your
reports," Simon cautioned him, knowing full well Jim's frustrations with
the paperwork end of police investigations.
Rising, Ellison,
sighed, "Well, I'd better get at it. Oh, Simon, I'll pick you up at five
tomorrow," Jim said as he left his friend's office.
"Make
it four---for fishing, Jim, you just can't be too early," Simon grinned
with eager anticipation.
_________________________________________________________________________________
The morning test went
smoothly. Blair stacked the blue books
neatly on his desk and waited for the last student to finish up. Glancing at
the clock, his thoughts drifted towards the fishing trip Jim and Simon had
planned. Feeling no resentment towards Jim for the missed trip, he was glad Jim
was going away. A weekend of his Blessed Protector monitoring his every waking
and sleeping activity was not something he was yet accustomed to. He couldn't help but smile at last
night. He knew he was tired, he wanted
to go to bed and sleep, but some other person inside of him demanded that he
stay up and grade---accomplish something.
Jim had seen right through Blair's smoke screen, through all his
protests and quickly but gently took the control out of his hand and silenced
the other voice.
True, Jim had been a
watchful protector most times in their relationship, but since the added
disciplinary parameters around their coupling, he was a constant meter gauging
Blair's health and attitude. The quiet
weekend was a pleasure to look forward to. With a little added determination,
Blair felt perfectly confident that he could complete most of the papers by
late Sunday. Of course, it might require an all-nighter, but he had pulled many
of those as an under-grad and as a grad student before he moved in with Jim.
Glancing at the
clock, Blair cleared his throat, warning the last test taker that his time was
almost up. The young man looked up
nervously, hurriedly scratched something down on the paper booklet and raced up
with his completed test. Plopping the
blue book down on top of the others, he smiled wanly at Blair. "Sorry,"
he said by way of apology.
"No problem,
Steve, you were entitled to the full two hours like everyone else." Blair
smiled his reassurance and added, "have a nice break."
As Blair lifted the
stack of blue books, a tall young woman poked her head in the room, "Hi,
Blair. Need any help with those. I'm
heading back to Hargrove myself."
"Jackie,
hi," Blair returned the greeting.
The young professor was a favorite of Blair's. Ever since she took a
position as an assistant professor last fall, she had gone out of her way to be
helpful and friendly to all the residents who shared the building offices.
Blair piled a small
stack of the blue books in her outstretched arms. Picking up his own pile he
threw his backpack over his shoulder and together they walked out.
"Blair, I know
this is somewhat inconvenient for you, but I did have an ulterior motive for
stopping by," she smiled as they walked across the sunny sidewalks towards
Hargrove.
"So it wasn’t my
charming personality you just couldn’t get enough of?” he teased her. “What can
I do for you?"
"I know this is
a bit out of your way, but my car wouldn't start this morning. I would have
called in as a no show, but I had one final to give and I needed some of my
students’ tests to take home over the weekend.
Would it be too much of an imposition for you to drop me off at my
house? No one else seems to be even remotely near the South Lake
district."
"Great, as a
matter of fact, I was thinking of going by Cricket Lake on my home anyway. Just let me pile these in a box and collect
the others I have in my office."
Hair whipping in the
wind, Blair and Jackie rode along the country highway with the ease of
conversation guaranteed by similar backgrounds. Although Jackie had completed
her doctorate two years ago, this was the first full time teaching position she
had been able to secure. Political Science was a passion that had her
constantly ready and eager to debate the latest White House crisis with an open
mind and charming wit. Blair liked her. They had also noted a similar
peripatetic childhood---hers totally attributed to the life of an army brat.
"Easy, Blair,
watch your speed limit," Jackie cautioned as Blair took the ominous curve
that had squealed tires the last time he took this road.
"Yeah, thanks. I
already got a ticket here a few days ago. One hundred dollars is something I
cannot afford right now." Blair quickly checked his mirrors for any sign
of traffic cops.
"One hundred
dollars?" Jackie laughed. Seeing the painful expression on Blair's face,
she added, "Oh, I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh, I just thought you could
charm your way out of anything."
"Not with this
cop. And I was not going thirty over the speed limit…I don't care what he
says," Blair insisted with a mock sternness. Then his face melted into a
warm smile and he added, "I bet you always talk your way out of
them."
"As a matter of
fact, I do and I just did. Last week,
right up ahead I got pulled over for speeding. Batted my big blues at him and I
got a firm warning. You men just don't know how to bat," she said laughing
as she moved her eyelashes fast and furiously.
"Well, if I had
been lucky enough to be pulled over by a female cop, perhaps," Blair said.
"The Lone Ranger was like so not into forgiveness. I think, too, he was
rather disappointed to find out long hair does not always mean 'woman.'"
Blair raised his voice an octave for emphasis.
Nodding their heads
in concurrence at the unfairness of it all, Jackie pointed out the road that
led to her lakeside cottage.
Saturday morning
impinged upon Blair’s subconscious with a tugging guilt. Ellison reached over,
fully clothed in a warm sweater, one hand resting on Blair’s shoulder.
“Chief, I’m off. You
have a nice weekend, okay?” Jim bent down and kissed the large forehead peeking
out from under the covers.
A hand ventured out
and brushed absently at the spot as though a fly or mosquito had alit, not the
lips of his lover. Jim smiled at the
total refusal to give up the night.
“Okay, Chief, I know
you need your sleep, but I love you too much not to say good bye. Get those
papers graded. I want you back at my side.
It’s not the same without you.”
With that, he straightened and crept quietly out of the loft.
When Blair came to
several hours later, the sun warmed the loft with a cheery vengeance, playfully
batting dust mites about in her bright rays, like a kitten demanding
attention. The stack of papers awaiting
his viewing, pushed him deeper under the covers, groaning at the remembered
task, but also realizing that Jim was long gone and he would spend the majority
of the weekend alone.
“This was so not like
I imagined our life together, Jim,” Blair groused as he buried his face deep in
his lover’s pillow seeking the scent that reassured him. Remembering his promise to Jim to get the
work done as soon as possible, he groggily crawled out of bed and headed for
the shower. Half an hour later, he sat
down to a large breakfast of a cheese/onion omelet and toast. Savoring the
coffee he lingered as long as he dared over the morning routine.
Glancing at the stack
of papers that waited patiently on the office floor, he sighed heavily.
Clearing the table, he poured another cup of coffee and brought one huge stack
to the table. Taking a red pen, he
mentally braced himself and began the long, tedious grading process.
Perhaps the day would
have held to the course set forth if it were not for the little things in life
that wedge themselves beneath the doors of determination, prod the latch with
persistent curiosity and burst the balloons of good intentions.
First of all there was
the e-mail he read while taking a mid-morning break. He had to answer the
latest Damien St. Claire commentary on life, love and discipline in the United
Kingdom. His friend was bemoaning
getting into trouble the night before for staying out late. His gripes about the paddling Vincent had
delivered made Blair respond immediately, adding his own experience a few days
before in sympathy. Then the unbearable
craving for tongue sent him off to the deli for lunch. The trip home was delayed when Mrs. Hood asked
him to help her with her groceries.
From past experience, Blair knew the widow was lonely and he could not
in good conscience refuse her offer of tea and muffins.
Total time of
distraction amounted to a good three hours, pushing him well into the afternoon
with not hardly a dent in the stacks and a rising guilt that was fast pushing
him into panic mode.
By six he needed a
break, not so much from the papers, but from the headache that marched across
his forehead, tightly drawn with bands of steel. By eight he made a strong pot of coffee and set the pattern for
an all-nighter. When pizza was
delivered at eleven, he had worked the pile down and was bringing in the next
huge tower of tests.
Simon Banks prodded
the fire with his stick, one eye on the distracted man across from him. The stoic detective, who had played devil’s
advocate all day with light bantering comments and challenges linked to the new
rod Simon boasted, now seemed lost in some conundrum.
“Do
you want to tell me what’s bothering you? Or is it personal?”
Jim looked up, a
shocked look on his face, then the flaming red of being caught in an
inappropriate thought. The
embarrassment came from the fact that he was lost in thought, going over his
actions and Blair's, that had lead to the younger man's most recent spanking.
“It’s
personal, Simon, very personal,” Jim said by simple way of explanation.
“Um hum,” Simon said
as he nursed the coffee cup and leaned back against the rock and stared into
the warm fire. The night sky was clear and brilliant with stars decorating a
lonely realm. Camaraderie and the
safety of darkness linked men on lonely nights. It was by firelight that
secrets were shared and confidences revealed.
There was a bonding to the night that time eternal set forth, as though
in the void men joined their thoughts.
Though Jim continued
to stare off into the glowing flames, Simon saw the jaw bone. The familiar
twitch of irritation that telegraphed Ellison code with clear notes of
warning. The man was uptight and strung
finer than a guitar string.
“Sir, I was just
wondering,” Jim started, saluting the speech with the respectful term only
reinforced Simon’s thoughts that it was confidential and business in
nature. He was keeping it impersonal
and detached, which meant-----knowing Ellison so well----that it was indeed
highly personal and sensitive.
“When you lead men,
sometimes you have to give orders that seem somewhat superfluous and
unimportant, but it’s a by the book kind of thing. Did you ever question such
discipline? I mean, sir, even in the
Army did it ever make you stop and think…this is wrong?” he looked up, saw
Simon’s watchful eyes and quickly reached for the coffeepot refilling his cup.
Simon extended his
own, but still kept a clear eye on Ellison’s face, reading well the marks of
concern. Pulling the full cup back,
Simon rewound his large hands around the warm vessel. Inhaling the strong aroma
of coffee, he relaxed back into position against the rock.
“Jim, you’ve led men.
You know discipline has nothing to do with the commands given. It’s a matter of
trust, pure and simple. Don’t tell me now, after your successful military
career, you have doubts over the benefits of discipline training?”
“No, sir, not as far
as I’m concerned, but sometimes we have to remember that not everyone thrives
in the military. Discipline can be hard
for some folks. Changing how they act,
how they see themselves is a hard and sometimes painful road.”
Simon nodded knowing
full well whom this conversation was about. Sandburg had stormed into and under
his command with as much of an undisciplined, untrained attitude as he had ever
had the pleasure of seeing. A simple
knock on the door before entering had to be ingrained with hard, steely looks
and even that was a touch and go situation most days.
No doubt Jim was
feeling guilty about some disagreement. Perhaps the Tupperware wars were
flaming again, or the anal retentive detective was feeling cramped and
displaced by tribal masks and book bags.
Oftentimes detectives working with their partners needed periods of
adjustment. Car seats left at
uncomfortable positions, mirrors angled haphazardly, candy wrappers sloppily
found on the floorboards had all brought mutinous rounds for contention.
Ellison and Sandburg
not only worked together, but they lived together and Simon was fully aware
that their relationship went beyond mere roommates. He had no opposition to
their relationship, and was in fact quite pleased that they had moved it to
another level, discretely and cautiously.
The last month or so, he had the feeling that something had again
changed in their relationship. He
wasn't sure what it was but it seemed positive. The fact that Blair was not dragging himself in half-dead, half
asleep during finals was a good example.
When Jim had come to him two weeks ago and explained that Blair would
not be at the station during finals, Simon had been shocked, but also
happy. It was good to see the younger
man learning to prioritize better. But
then, several days ago when Blair had shown up at the station, he got the
feeling that Blair's absence was not totally voluntary. The two had left shortly afterwards.
“Jim, everyone
answers to someone. Any time we share space with others, we are put in some
hierarchic order. It’s called civilization. I think we need to re-examine the current
philosophy on it, if you ask me. Parents need to instill more discipline in
their children, take them to task for their actions and attitudes and curb
their rebellion early on. It’s a necessity in life, taking orders and following
through, having to answer to someone and being held responsible for your
actions and how they effect others.”
“I know, Simon,” Jim
said falling back into the familiarity and ease of their friendship. “I just
sometimes wonder if I’m not being unreasonable.”
“Hey, Jim, doubt goes
with the stripes. Command means
responsibility, but it doesn’t make us infallible. Doubt is good if you ask
me. It makes us think things through
thoroughly. You’ve always been a good
leader, Jim. Just remember that. Command has a lot to do with trust.”
“I
just hope I deserve the trust,” Jim added quietly.
“If you stay
consistent and true to form, there’s no way you can miss. Men want and need to
know their limits and just where they stand.” Simon rose slowly, pressing a
firm hand on his back.
“Man, I am not
getting any younger, that’s for sure.” He headed off into the bushes to relieve
himself. Pausing, he turned and Jim
could see the bright white teeth and clear eyes in the distant ring of
firelight.
“The
kid knows, Jim, he knows exactly where he stands. All you have to do is keep
him there.”
“Thanks, Simon,” Jim
said, not surprised in the least that his Captain and best friend knew the
topic of the conversation all along.
Blair woke slowly,
aching all over. Opening his eyes, he
stared at a box of cold pizza. Raising
himself slowly he groaned at the stiffness in his neck. The last thing he remembered was checking
the clock at three a.m., laying his head on his arms to give his eyes a short
rest he must have drifted off. Looking
at the clock he saw that the short respite had taken him well into the Sunday
morning.
“Oh, I feel like
shit,” he said aloud, offering himself comfort with the words. “I guess I can
toss out several rules with this one. Jim asks about my hours, I’m going to
have to lie straight out about this one.
No beating around the bush.”
Rising from his chair he headed for the bathroom.
After a long, hot
shower, he felt more like himself, actually more the self he felt like after a
night out with friends. Even after
brushing his teeth, his mouth still felt dry and foul and his neck was stiff
and sore. All nighters proved harder
and harder as the years passed and even at his age, he realized the body still
demanded sleep.
Taking a carton of
eggs out of the refrigerator, he started breakfast. A glass of orange juice, two fluffy eggs scrambled to perfection,
and a lightly buttered bagel soon had him ready to face another day of blue book
explorations. The wonders of his
student’s minds and the convoluted theories that Blair simply put down to an
age-old philosophy of baffling the prof with bullshit lost their appeal after
the first dozen exams two days ago.
Now, it was annoying, frustrating and the grades he was putting on the
exams showed his displeasure.
By two in the
afternoon, he promised himself a short respite and threw his exhausted body on
the couch for a short nap. However, the
ringing of the phone at five startled him into the realization that the
majority of Sunday had slipped by with still a hundred exams needing his
attention.
Another all-nighter
loomed over the horizon and Jim was surely due back by midnight. The grades were due for posting by Tuesday
noon and he still had over twenty-four hours to accomplish the task. He still
felt sure and confident that Monday would deliver him home, sliding into the
base with the usual Sandburg save.
Picking
up the phone on the fourth ring, he mumbled a barely intelligent, “Hello.”
“Hair
boy, you’ll never guess what Rafe and I have?”
“Henry,
I’m really not in the mood for guessing games,” Blair said in a tired voice.
Blair heard Rafe in
the background, some mumbling, a tussle for the phone and Rafe came on the
line.
“Sandburg, we have in
our possession three tickets, front row seats to the Sonics game tonight. Since
we’ve missed your sorry ass around the station all week and we know Jim and
Simon are off in the wilds, we thought you might like to go to the game with
us.”
“Ohhhhhh,” Blair
grumbled, running a tired hand down his face.
A quick look back at the stack of tests awaiting his attention, he
warred with his conscience for several seconds. Then a small bitter pill came
up on him and the resentment of restrictions and deadlines and curfews played
like the devil’s voice, urging him to slip away for some fun. After all, he
deserved it.
“Okay,
sounds good. But I have to be back at the loft by midnight.”
“Or what? You turn into a pumpkin?" Rafe asked
with a laugh, then sensing that Blair was not kidding and guessing the reason,
he added, "No problem. Brown and I get off at six, we’ll pick you up and
have you tucked safely into bed long before the fishermen return,” Rafe assured
him.
The game
was exciting and Blair had no regrets for escaping his duties. The short break,
the noise of the crowd, the easy, playful banter between the three co-workers
took his mind off of his commitments and his guilt.
The game
finished just before eleven and as he eased himself into the backseat of Rafe's
car, he planned the finishing moves. In bed by midnight, giving his Blessed
Protector little to find fault with. Tomorrow, an early start at his office and
a few hours again in the evening and he should have the remaining stack of
exams completed with plenty of time to spare for the Noon deadline on Tuesday.
"Oh,
man, that shot was something else," Brown said excitedly as Rafe pulled
out onto the highway.
"Yeah,"
Blair chipped in, pushing high into the air at the remembered scoring
shot. "Such grace and aim---that
high salary was well earned tonight.”
Brown’s
cell phone rang. “Brown here,” he said
into the small unit.
Blair
watched his face reflected in the dark glass of the front seat passenger
door. Slowly he turned to Rafe,
canceling the connection.
“Suspicious
accident victim on Highway 9.”
“We’re
off duty,” Rafe complained.
“It looks
like our rapist was busy tonight.”
Hearing that, Rafe put the bubble on the roof and sped off towards the
nearest on ramp to the expressway.
"Hey, could you drop me off, first," Blair asked, eager
to be home and in bed before Jim returned.
"Sorry,
man," Brown took the response, "way out of our way. If we hit the expressway, we can make it
there in half the time."
Blair
slumped back not wanting to explain to them his rules and regulations and the
consequences of this one night out with the boys. He only hoped Jim would be
understanding. He can't expect me to sit
home the whole weekend. It's not like I didn't get the majority of my work
done, he reasoned. Jim was a reasonable man and he couldn’t fault him for
going to the game.
As they
pulled up to the scene, Blair noticed the paramedics bent over the stretcher
working on a young woman. Long black
hair covered with blood, bruises on her face. Blair saw one of the men starting
an IV on her left arm, the long painted nails cut and ragged. He grimaced at the split along her lip and
the dark bruise forming around her right eye.
Several
black and whites were surrounding the area.
Opening his door, Blair followed Brown to the paramedics. Rafe went to talk to the cop writing on a
pad by the black and white.
"Detective Brown," Brown flashed his badge.
"She's got a concussion and is unconscious. We're taking her
to Cascade General. Her clothes were
ripped and she has injuries that are rather questionable," the paramedic
said as he helped lift the stretcher into the back of the ambulance.
One black
and white was parked at the edge or the small incline with two spotlights on
the side of the car aimed at the wreck below, brightly lighting the scene quite
nicely.
Brown
proceeded down the incline and Blair followed.
A tall man in a denim jacket was checking the car out. He wore a
baseball cap low on his forehead. Blair
looked around and saw the front end of the car was totally embedded in a tree.
If the woman was alive, it was by a stroke of luck. The steering column had
been forced sideways and she was lucky it had not been pushed into her. The car
had no doubt skidded, angled, and twisted as it hit the tree. The door was wide
open and she had luckily not been wearing her seatbelt. Otherwise, she most
surely would have been dead.
"Sir," Brown started, "were you the first to arrive
at the scene?"
"Officer
Morton, Devon Morton," the man extended his hand, "off duty. I was just coming around the curve, when I
saw her in the ditch, she must have lost control and she's lucky she got
thrown, if you ask me."
Though
Blair could not recognize the features under the baseball cap, the voice
brought back the remembered speeding ticket he had earned two days ago. It had
to be the same officer.
The man
had totally ignored Blair until he came to stand next to Henry Brown. Then his
eyes took in the long hair and he looked Blair up and down with a wry smile on
his face.
"Mr. Sandburg, isn't it?"
Blair gave
a quick look at Brown, nervously shifted his stance from one leg to another,
and extended his own hand. "Yes, it is.
How are you?"
"Well,
too bad I didn't get a chance to stop this woman. Speeding on these curves is not such a great idea as you can see
for yourself."
Brown smiled, "Sandburg? You two know each other?"
"Let's just say Mr. Sandburg and I have met."
Blair blushed. He was
thankful that Rafe and the other uniform joined the small group near the car.
"No
ID on the woman, no purse. Phoned her
plates in, though. Katherine Barkley. She lives on Ridge Road about a mile from
here,” the uniformed officer said.
Blair
knew where Ridge Road was. It was the first street south of the accident scene.
He looked back at the angle the car had entered the incline.
"Was she going north or south?" Blair asked.
Morton gave him a strange look, "Probably headed home at this
hour."
Blair
walked over to the driver's door that was opened wide and partially bent as the
car crumbled forward into the huge tree.
The white car was completely totaled.
Morton was deep in conversation with Rafe and Brown. Blair looked up
towards the road and gauged the situation. He knew this curve well. She must
have been totally out of control, judging by the length of her skid. He
remembered his own slide as he braked to save the squirrel.
Rafe came
around with a flashlight and aimed it in the interior of the car. The woman was neat. The car was well
maintained, a newer model convertible. The car was not littered with the usual
casual debris some people filled their interiors with. The woman no doubt
prided herself on keeping her car impeccably neat.
Blair
moved to the front of the vehicle and checked the front tires. There was no
blow out, both tires were twisted on their axles, but no punctures. Rafe and the other officer rejoined Brown.
He looked
up to see Officer Morton giving him a strange look. Although he couldn't hear
the conversation, he saw the tilt of his head Blair's way. Brown looked
quickly, then said a few words to Morton. The muscles in his jaw seemed to
tighten and Morton grinned, said something apparently funny and Rafe and Brown
both looked at Blair and laughed.
Choosing to ignore the perceived humor at his expense, he continued to
study the door, busying himself intently looking at the lock trying to hide his
discomfiture.
Shit, you'd think I'd be used to the funny
comments and humor by now,
he thought to himself. Everyone get a
good laugh at the hippie consultant. The
rational part of his mind quickly reasoning with him, You have no idea what they are saying and if they are even talking
about you. Don't be paranoid.
Checking
his own attitude, he shrugged. It was no big deal, he worked with Jim and Jim
was the one who needed him. Then his hand fell on the open door as he lost his
footing. Looking down he saw small pricks on the top of the door where the
power window disappeared, scratches of some sort. The large door of the white convertible was spotless except for
the small marks and the fresh kinks caused by the collision.
"Okay, Sandburg," Rafe called, "Let's go, buddy,
our work is done here."
Blair joined his friends and watched as Morton turned to climb the
slope ahead of them.
"You live around her, Officer Morton," Blair asked.
The tall
man stopped and turned. "No, as a matter of fact I was coming from a
little league game in Seattle. My
ex-wife and son live there."
"It
was lucky for this woman you were passing by this way."
Morton started up the slope again. "Just doing my duty, Mr.
Sandburg, like any good citizen."
Blair was
eager to get home. He was tired and another run in with the formidable Lone
Ranger didn’t help his mood any.
However, Brown and Rafe both decided a quick tour of Ridge Road was in
order.
As they
turned up Katherine Barkley’s drive, the scene immediately clarified why this
woman was out driving recklessly…no, driving desperately. The front door stood
wide open, a shoe was laying on its side by the front walk. Brown and Rafe did a quick search, as Blair
followed behind. Observing the well-kept house, Blair felt sorry for Katherine
Barkley. Here she was a victim of an apparent break in and an attempted or
successful rape. Now her privacy was being invaded as surely as if she were the
suspect. He didn’t think it fair, but he knew they had no recourse while the
woman lay unconscious.
Brown
phoned the lab, “I want the boys out here all night if need be. I think this
was our guy. It’s the same m.o. He picked the lock on the back door and must
have been waiting for her when she got home.”
After
another hour of waiting for the forensic team and taping off the area, they
left the scene.
When
Blair entered the loft, he knew he was in trouble. He had spotted Jim's truck out in front when Brown and Rafe had
dropped him off. Each man showed chagrinned looks and offered their apologies,
when Blair explained the stack of exams that still awaited his attention. Now closing the door, the loft dark except
for the soft glow from the end light of the sofa, he saw his Sentinel awaiting
the return of his errant Guide.
"Hi,
Jim," he said wearily as he closed the door. "Please let's not start
on it tonight. I've had a really bad night."
"Blair,
I have no issue with you going out. I
wish you had left a note, and I was a little worried but I figured you went out
with friends. As long as you are happy
with your progress and not under any more pressure. So, are you done?" Jim
asked, but by his tone, Blair knew that Jim had seen the large stack still
sitting on the table.
"Well,
not exactly, but, man, I just had to see the Sonics game. Rafe and Brown had
front row seats. I would have been back earlier if we hadn't of gotten the call
to check out an accident on Highway 9."
He came around and sat on the couch next to Jim, keeping about two feet
between them.
"Was
it a bad one?" Jim asked watching his lover's face in the dim light for
the usual distress when Blair saw someone injured or killed.
"A
woman drove off the road. She has a concussion and was unconscious when they
took her to Cascade General. I hope she makes it, Jim. Rafe and Brown got the call, she was
apparently assaulted in her home and swerved off the road trying to get
away."
Ellison’s
jaw flared in its usual reaction to the frustrations of police work. Ellison
sighed heavily. "I hope so, too, Chief." Extending his arm along the back of the sofa, he said softly
"Come here. I’ve missed you".
Blair
quickly crossed the distance and snuggled his face into Jim's shoulder.
"Man, I've missed you, too. I thought I'd enjoy the time by myself,
without you here to tell me to do this and do that," he laughed as Jim,
swatted the back of his head with his free arm, the one he now brought up
behind Blair to pull him in closely.
"It's too quiet around here sometimes without you."
"Do
you think you'll have these graded by tomorrow night?"
"Hey,
man, no problem," Blair said, pushing away. "I've only got about 75
more to go. How about you show me how much you missed me." Then with a
lascivious grin, he jumped off the sofa and raced up the stairs two at a
time. Ellison was right behind him.
Monday
came and went with little incident for Sandburg. The day seemed to tailor
itself to his demands. Most of the
exams were finished grading by four. Picking up the phone he called Jim at the
station.
“Jim,
I’ll be here late tonight. I’ve got ninety five-percent of the exams graded and
there’s really no sense in lugging the rest of this stuff home. I can finish up
here by nine and I should be home after that.”
“Fine,
Chief, but no later than nine. I’ll probably be tied up late tonight myself,”
Jim told him.
“How’s
Katherine Barkley?” Blair asked, feeling sick to his stomach, remembering the
young woman on the stretcher.
“Chief,
she’s still in a coma. The lab boys
didn’t pick up much. He apparently is the same rapist that’s been attacking
women in the vicinity. He wears
surgical gloves, so he didn’t leave any prints.”
“I just
hope you catch him, Jim.”
“Me,
too. With you by my side, I’m sure we
will, Chief.”
“Yeah,
Jim, we will.”
Ellison
heard the pleased sound and smiled to himself. “Talk to you later, and
remember,” he paused for effect, “no later than nine.”
“Gotcha,” Sandburg said and hung up the phone.
“Ellison! Brown! Rafe!” Simon bellowed for an audience.
As soon
as Ellison closed the door and took his seat at the conference table, Simon
threw a report in front of each of them.
“Seems
our rapist has struck again, or more to the fact, tried to strike again.
Katherine Barkley was assaulted before her accident. Bruises along her neck,
abdomen and face show she was physically assaulted. She must have broken away and just ran to her car. In a blind panic trying to get away from her
attacker, she lost control of the car and went down the incline.”
“Rafe,
set up a map and plot the rapes in grids, Brown talk to her friends; find out
who she met with, knew, what stores she shopped, I want to know everyone she
had lunch with, I want to find out her activities for the past two months. If
she walked her dog or talked to the mailman, I want to know about it. It seems
Ms. Barkley is the sister-in-law of Commissioner Vondberg. We’re going to start feeling the heat on
this one, people, let’s get to work.”
Ellison
remained seated while Rafe and Brown eagerly exited. Simon followed them to the door and waited until they had
returned to their respective desks. Then he shut the door and turned to
Ellison.
“Jim, the
car is in the garage. I want you to look over it. Forensics came up with squat,
but seeing as how you’re a one man crime lab, I want you to give it a shot.”
“Sure,
Simon,” Jim said, but remained seated. He heard the increased heartbeat of his
friend and Captain. “You seem pretty
upset about this. Did you know her?”
The tall
man returned to his desk. He poured himself a cup of coffee then sat down in
his chair. Leaning back, he sighed. “I
met Katherine last Christmas at the Commissioner’s house. It was a small party
and she was my dinner companion. It just grates, Jim, when it’s someone you
know. Rape is a vicious crime, but when it’s someone you know, then it hits
home."
“Sir, we’ll catch this guy. I promise you.”
Jim rose
and opened the door. “Oh, sir, Sandburg should be available starting tomorrow
afternoon. We’ll get him involved.”
Simon
smiled as Ellison made his way back to his desk. I wonder if he realizes how much he really does depend on the kid.
Blair
entered the bullpen Tuesday afternoon feeling good. It had all worked out in the end. Grades were posted, three weeks of non-academia awaited him, and
he could work with Jim in the ease and friendship that he treasured.
Jim was
nowhere in sight. He sat down at
Ellison’s desk and started shuffling through the reports.
Brown
perched over his desk across from him, his rump raised high in the air, body forward
over his task. Looking back he saw the
young anthropologist.
“Hey, Hairboy!”
“Hey, Brown, how’s it going?” Sandburg threw back.
“She was
badly beaten,” was all Brown said.
“Yeah,
Jim filled me in.” Blair rose now to
see what Brown was studying so intently that his whole body was shifted
downward into a mountain of intense concentration.
"Whatcha got there?” Blair asked coming up behind him.
“We’re
working out a composite of the rapist.
We’re also plotting out the victim’s locations of residence, dry
cleaners, grocery stores, bookstores, anything and everything they do in their
daily lives. We’re looking for the
cross point where their lives intersect with the rapist.”
Blair
studied the area. Three of the rapes had taken place in the southeast section
of Cascade two were east of the city.
All three victims lived in homes alone.
All were young women in their late twenties and early thirties. All had long, dark hair and were
attractive. They were all attacked on
the weekend after returning to their homes.”
Brown
pointed a sturdy digit at the map, “See, the first two lived here,” Brown
indicated the two red dots, one several miles east of Highway 9, the other
several miles west. “Katherine Barkley,
our accident victim Saturday night, she lived here,” Brown pointed to a small
dot on the map, just south of Cricket Lake off of Route 9.
“Were the other women beaten?” Blair watched as Brown’s face
tightened.
“Yeah, he
roughed them up some. Took real pleasure in watching them beg. Cynthia Collins,
the second victim, said he laughed at her.
Said he took pleasure in watching her face as he forced himself upon
her. When she closed her eyes, he pulled her hair back and made her look him in
the eyes. She remembers how cold and black his eyes were. Then she pretty much
closed off her mind. Doesn’t really remember much after that, just dragging
herself to the phone and calling 911.”
Blair opened his mouth to ask about the other victims, but Jim
interrupted.
“Chief,
am I to assume you’re mine for three weeks, lock, stock and barrel?” Jim stood over his partner and studied the
map laid out on Brown’s desk.
“It’s
over, Jim. The grades are posted and I’m as free as they come.” Then grinning
widely at Brown, he added, “well, not free, but a high priced lunch should
cinch the deal.”
“What’s
the matter, Sandburg, can’t afford lunch after that speeding ticket?” Rafe
asked in good cheer as he joined the group. No doubt he was listening in as he
came down the hall. Sandburg paled
behind Jim’s back and started gesturing with his hands wildly expressing “don’t
go there.”
Ellison
straightened and turned. The dark look on his face telegraphing a series of
unanswered questions: When did this happen? Why wasn’t I told? What was the
ticket for?
Rafe had
the good grace to look embarrassed. Brown tried to save the day. “Hey, I’m sure
it was nothing. Probably not even deserved. Morton looked like a man who filled
his book every month.”
Then
realizing the damage was done, Rafe offered his apologies, “Sorry, Blair, Morton
mentioned it to us. Said it was why he knew you.”
“No problem,” Blair waved an indifferent hand in the air, his eyes
never leaving Jim’s face.
“I HOPE
BUSINESS IS THE TOPIC OF THIS SOCIAL HOUR?” Simon raised his voice as he came
out of his office. “I’d better have something by this afternoon on my desk.”
Rafe and
Brown both busied themselves over the map again. Jim and Blair walked over to
his desk. Jim took his usual seat and
Blair sat on the side chair.
“Hey, man, it was unfair. I plan on fighting it.”
“When
were you going to tell me, Chief?” Jim said shuffling the papers as though he
could speed-read.
“I was
going to tell you, Jim. Really. You were busy with the fishing trip and I had
the exams. I was going to tell you this evening.”
Jim studied
the earnest face, the beseeching eyes, and the eager lips that pouted with
frustration. A crevice that had formed
inside his heart when the young man had moved in as a friend was now wider and
deeper than any fissure his heart had ever known. His moods and feelings shifted like fault lines with the
emotions that swept across that other’s face.
He weakened, his resolve diminished by the reasoning of his love.
“Okay, we’ll talk about it later.
"Jim,
I really don’t think there's much to talk about. I got a speeding ticket---plain and simple. It's not like your driving record is
spotless," Blair hissed at him,
annoyed at how quickly his lover was jumping on this, not even giving him time
to explain himself.
The
detective sighed, rubbing his eyes, "You're right, Chief, you're right. I just don't like you speeding and maybe getting hurt."
Blair
flashed him a warm, loving smile.
"I really wasn't speeding much, Jim. I know how you feel, though, I'll try to be more careful. Okay?"
"Okay. But," his voice going stern again,
"you should have told me right away."
"Next
time, promise."
Side by
side they worked away the hours. Jim read the reports on the rape victims. With ease they accommodated one another at
the desk. Jim rose, stretched and headed
towards the men’s room. Blair
unconsciously moved into the empty desk chair in front of the computer. Searching the database he typed in Devon
Morton. The data given was minimal, but
Blair realized that Devon had recently been divorced. The home address and age were listed, but personal information
was restricted. Blair got up and
checked the map. Crestview in Whitefalls was in Northern Cascade. Sandburg checked the lines on the map,
tracing his finger along Highway 9. Kind of went of your way to take your son to
that game in Seattle, he thought to himself.
“What’s
up, Chief?” Jim asked as he reseated himself at his desk. Glancing up at his
monitor, he saw the search results on Devon Morton. With a creased brow and critical eye, he glared at Blair. “Chief, what’s this all about?”
“Nothing,
Jim, at least I don’t think it’s anything, but it just seems to me it was
awfully coincidental for Morton to be on Highway 9 the exact same time
Katherine Barkley was running to escape a rapist.”
“Sandburg,”
Jim ground out, fully aware of Blair’s theories of thin blue lines and the
brotherhood of the badge, he also knew Naomi’s free-spirited lifestyle had
oftentimes opposed law enforcement agents.
Thus Blair, though respectful, was somewhat skeptical to the infallibility
of the long arm of the law.
“No, man,
don’t start here. Look, Jim, I just have a feeling about this guy. I’m not saying I’m right. Hell, I think it’s
silly myself, but I just feel I have to ask you to do something.” Blair rose from the maps and came to stand
next to Jim’s desk.
“Have you
checked the car?”
“Chief,
the lab went over it with a fine tooth comb,” Jim said, wearily. “It was clean.”
“No man,
have you checked it?” Blair asked eagerly.
“As a
matter of fact, Sandburg, I have. Simon,
asked me. Nothing unusual.”
Sandburg’s
face fell, he picked up a paperweight and toyed with the object distractedly.
“Jim,
maybe you could do it again.” His voice
sounded hopeful.
“Blair, I
have a feeling this is all because Morton gave you a speeding ticket. You can’t
stand there and tell me you don’t feel some animosity towards this guy. I mean, I quite frankly can’t imagine you
going thirty over the speed limit. I’ve seen you drive, Chief, and sometimes…mind
you not always, but sometimes little old ladies from Pasadena pass you up. That
Volvo is a classic, but she does have her good and bad days.”
“That’s
just it, Jim, don’t you see. If he’s capable of such vindictive extensions of
the law, then what’s to say he’s not capable of other misuses of his
badge. I really think that ticket was
more for the fact that he mistook me for a woman.” Blair put the paperweight back on the desk.
“Please,
Jim, just do another check. I’ll be there. Maybe you missed something.”
Jim
looked up into the beseeching eyes. Blair was not vengeful. Perhaps his reasoning was slightly skewed by
some resentment towards Morton, but no doubt his premises for suspicion sprung
from his sharp and intelligent mind.
“Okay,
the cars downstairs in the lot. Let me grab the lab report and we’ll take
another look.”
The smile
that lit the bullpen warmed Ellison’s heart. Bones of contention were never
easy to deal with and Sandburg tended to gnaw one like a pit bull. Too many times they had bucked heads on
issues that Jim later had to acknowledge as being right on the mark. Sandburg
was a sharp and astute observer.
The wreck
was just outside the garage doors in the back lot. Jim stood by reading the report and checking out certain
details. Sandburg stood by and only
when Jim proceeded to feel the metal and touch the seats or examine closely a
thread of carpeting, did his Guide step forward and indeed “guide.”
“That’s
it, Jim, easy. Focus on the feel of the
metal and let it come naturally. Don’t
fight the sensation. Close your eyes, man, go with the feel.”
Jim
covered every viable portion of the car that could possibly hold a thread or
snag, hair fragments or grain of sand, there was nothing that the lab did not
account for already.
“Okay,
Jim, one thing more. The door, here,”
Blair said as he went to the driver’s side.
It was still badly bent backwards, almost at a ninety-degree angle to
the body of the car.
Jim
looked at him suspiciously, “What am I looking for Sandburg?”
“Jim,
please, just examine it okay? Stepping
back he let the now irritated detective slowly cover every inch of the door,
inside and out.”
“Chief,
there’s something here.” Jim paused
running his fingers carefully over the top of the door where the window
disappeared into the frame.
“What?
What, man?” Blair asked excitedly, knowing full well what Jim would find.
“Pricks
of some kind, small indentations. Can’t
make out what they are, they’re barely noticeable except for the paint that’s
chipped here, but that could have been caused by tree branches at the time of
impact.”
“No, Jim,
those are made by a ballpoint pen. I know, because Morton made those same marks
on my car when he stopped me.”
Jim’s
face reddened. He had been tricked. “Damn it, Sandburg,” he said angrily, “what
the hell kind of trick is this. Is this supposed to be evidence that Morton is
a rapist?” Jim asked loudly. Then seeing some uniformed officers looking up at
him in the back lot, he lowered his voice, grabbed his partner’s upper arm and
hauled him towards the elevator.
“Did it ever
occur to you, Jim, that you are using reverse discrimination. On the same
grounds of excluding my suspicions you are biased against them because I am
your partner who happened to get a speeding ticket.”
Ellison
cut off any further discussion on the subject with a stone, cold look that
Sandburg had learnt long ago as subject closed. Well for the time being,
Jim, for the time being only.
The rest
of the week, Sandburg worked side-by-side with Ellison, keeping his own
counsel. Simon, Brown and Rafe were
tracking leads trying desperately to find a common denominator that linked the
victims to the perpetrator. By Thursday
evening, no further along on finding a suspect, Blair sat at Jim’s computer
reading the FBI profile that had been sent.
The key words on the report might as well have been bolded and capped
for the clarity with which they demanded attention: anger, hates females, feels
used and abused by women.
“Okay,
people,” Simon called out as he left his office. It was six o’clock and after
working overtime all week on the case, the weary inhabitants of the bullpen
watched their Captain shut his office for the evening with envy.
Pausing
for effect, Simon smiled, “Let’s all call it an early night tonight. Maybe we
can come up with some fresh leads after a little R&R.”
Captain
Banks smiled cheerily as he walked out of the bullpen amid the cheers and good
humor of his subordinates.
Jim came
out of the break room munching on a candy bar, picking up their jackets from
the hook, he threw Blair’s jacket at him over the desk. Catching it, Sandburg looked up
questioningly, “Hey, don’t you think we should be alert now more than ever. I
mean this guy usually strikes on weekends.”
“Sandburg,
I hate to say it, but unless he strikes again and we have more clues, I’m
afraid we’re at a dead-end.”
Blair
nodded his head, almost, but not quite coming to the conclusion that his own
suspicions against Morton were unwarranted.
“Let’s
stop for some carry out, I’m beat, Chief, and there’s a game on tonight I want
to watch. If we hurry, we can catch the first quarter.”
“See you
guys tomorrow,” Brown said as he followed Rafe out.
Blair
raced forward and grabbed Rafe by the arm, turning back slightly he said, “Just
a minute, Jim, I’ll be right with you.”
Then
lowering his voice he asked the young detective, “Did you ask them?”
“Cynthia
Collins says she was pulled over and given a warning. But, and you have to pay
attention here, Sandburg,” Rafe whispered in an even thicker accent, “she got
it on Virginia Avenue, nowhere near Highway 9. She doesn’t remember the cop who
gave her the warning, only that he was on a motorcycle. So it proves nothing.
The first victim never received any traffic violations or warnings. Katherine Barkley has a perfect driving
record and there is no way we can determine if she was pulled over until she
regains consciousness.”
Blair
nodded his head, digesting the information. He gave a cursory look up at
Ellison who seemed lost in some light bantering with Brown over the
probabilities of who might win the game tonight. Rafe cuffed him playfully on the side of the head and lowered his
voice even more, having heard through the grapevine of Jim’s low tolerance for
Blair’s suspicions.
“You want
some advice, Sandburg, either pay the fine or fight it in court. This is not
the way to do it.” Rafe joined Brown
and they waved their farewells once again. Blair stood there with his mouth
open, feeling hurt and betrayed. Do they
really think I have a personal grudge against this guy?
Sandburg
raced ahead of Jim as they entered the loft.
A sack of Wonder burgers with fries in one arm, he put the meal on the
table and headed into the office.
Booting up his laptop on the small desk, he came back out while removing
his jacket. Ellison had set about
pulling the foil-wrapped burgers from the bag. Sandburg passed the refrigerator
and with a routine down to seconds in timing, grabbed two beers and set them
down as he seated himself.
Ellison’s
mouth was already filled with his favorite meal. Sandburg shook his head slowly as he pulled the tab on his beer,
“Jim, what is it with you and Wonder burgers?”
“This is
a cop’s happy meal, Chief. I remember
stakeouts with Pendergast. After hours
of watching a mark, nothing saves the day like one of these babies.” Jim
tenderly looked at the half-finished burger clutched in his huge paw.
“Now I
know why so many cops die of heart attacks. I used to think it was the stress
of the job, now I know it’s a “happy meal,” Sandburg mused.
Peeling
back the wrapper on his own sandwich, he took a bite. He nodded his head towards Jim with a smile, “I admit, they are
good.”
Ellison
merely nodded and was reaching for his second burger.
“Jim, I
forgot to mention, but I won’t be home tomorrow night or Saturday. I have
plans. There’s a foreign film fest at the Americana and I’m going with a
friend.”
“Oh,
anyone I know, Sandburg, anyone I should be jealous of?” Jim asked teasingly,
popping several fries into his mouth, obviously not concerned in the least.
“Jackie
Dawes, a professor at Rainier. I won’t
be home until late, probably after midnight.”
“You’re
on vacation, you might as well have fun. I’ll probably be working. Simon’s
pretty sure our rapist is about to strike again and he might call for a full
force. I’m glad you’ll be doing
something fun.”
Feeling
the guilt rise, his burger suddenly lost its appeal. He finished off a few fries and told Jim he wasn’t hungry. Ellison quickly headed for the sofa, picked
up the remote and was soon lost in the cheer of the crowd and scoreboard.
Blair
cleaned the table and headed for his computer.
Several messages awaited him.
The first was the answer to the question he had asked Officer Carmichael
in Traffic. All tickets used by the
Cascade Traffic Control were light green in color. The pink pads had been used several years ago and were no longer
valid.
Remembering
Morton's initial pink pad when he had stopped Blair, the question tugged at him
like a loose shoelace, tripping his thought processes up. Finally e-mailing Carmichael he had
anxiously awaited an explanation for the two pads for traffic violations. The second e-mail was from the control desk
that took the 911 call. Morton had called the accident in, but he was not the first. A passing motorist had slowed, seeing Morton
rushing down the slope, and waved to him that he would call. Morton's call for an ambulance followed by
two minutes.
The third
correspondence was a somewhat pointblank warning from Damien St. Claire. Bristling at the sanctimonious approach to
lecturing that Damien had, he hoped he wouldn’t regret telling his friend---as
yet unmet---in England about his suspicions, Jim’s aversion to all reasoning,
and his singular plan to trap the rapist.
Damien
was clearly cautious and pointed out that taking matters into his own hand
could prove not only dangerous, but highly punitive should they be found
out. “In a discipline relationship, my
friend, you do not jump foolishly into situations to prove your disciplinarian
wrong. Please respond and tell me you
are thinking twice about such action.”
Blair
jotted off a quick response assuring his friend that all was well, and nothing
dangerous or foolhardy would be attempted.
Give him the old Sandburg
brush-off; he’ll be no wiser. Unfortunately, he didn’t realize he was
trying to fool a master, one who had in his own time tried his hand at all the
games; until, Vincent Cade started calling the shots and Damien played along
the straight and narrow or at least sometimes tried to.
Several
nights ago, Jackie had written Blair an e-mail. She had thanked him for
dropping her off last week and that her car was back from repair, running
nicely. In passing she had mentioned that she thought there was a prowler
around her house. Remembering the
warning she had gotten from Morton, Blair cautioned her without causing her to
panic. Then he had come up with a
plan. Jackie was at a convention until
tomorrow. However, when she returned on
Friday evening, she would pick Blair up at the loft on her way from the
airport. Having Blair spending a goodly
portion of the night there would help ease her fears.
No need to give Jim all the details. The rapes had all taken place on weekends,
Friday through Sunday. If Morton's the
man and Jackie is a potential victim, I’ll be here every weekend until this
guy’s caught, with or without Jim’s approval.
He typed
back a quick confirmation, which Jackie could pick up in Los Angeles. Closing the laptop, he felt a small wave of
guilt. It’s not betrayal, he
insisted, I tried to help, but Jim won’t
believe me. Won’t even consider it. I
need to prove my theory, but I can’t.
All I can do is hope to catch this guy in action.
Jackie
could be a possible victim, but then so could several other women. Morton might
not even be the rapist, but until someone was caught with reasonable proof,
Morton fit the bill. Blair had queried
many of the traffic cops and it was common knowledge that Morton’s divorce had
been brutal and unpleasant. His wife had vengefully stripped him of dignity and
the man could not speak of her without vehemence.
The
divorce had been final one week before the first attack. Even if he was wrong, he would get a chance
to help Jackie out, which alone would be worth it.
Arriving
on the couch as Jim watched the final play, he snuggled close. Pulling the larger man’s arm around his
shoulder he cuddled against his chest.
He hated being away from Jim this weekend, but it just couldn’t be
helped.
Jim sat
at his computer checking all rapes reported within the last year. The database
had supplied them with every reported incident within a twenty-five mile radius
around Cascade. Blair had sat patiently
checking details against a checklist Rafe had prepared, looking for
similarities, small details that reflected some of the pattern they had
established for their rapist.
By three,
he had begged off, and Jim wished him a pleasant evening. “Remember, Chief, not
too late.”
“I know,
but like I said, it’s going to be after midnight. There are several films, Jim,
it’s a film fest. Don’t wait up and
don’t worry. We might go out for
breakfast if it’s really late.”
Knowing
that Blair needed time out with friends of his own, Jim bit back the short
censure that sprang to his lips. The rules did not apply when plans were made
in advance and discussed and he had given Blair room to move around in their
relationship. Blair’s passion for old
films and foreign artistic theater were best left to his enjoyment with others.
Jim could not see himself sitting through a complete showing of all three
Godfather movies.
Jackie
picked him up at the loft at five and they had driven to Cricket Lake. After stopping on their way to pick up a
pizza, they had enjoyed a leisurely meal in the kitchen with the drapes and
blinds closed tightly. Blair took up
his position on the floor of Jackie’s bedroom, well out of view from the
windows and the doorway. Jackie sat in
bed watching the television across the room. All the lights were off and they
kept up a low conversation.
“Did you
ever wonder,” Jackie asked in a quiet voice as she looked towards the
television screen, trying to look for all the world like a woman home alone,
“what your life could have been like if you had made other choices?”
“Sure,
everybody does, though,” Blair responded.
“I guess
I’m basically happy. I’m certainly overjoyed at snagging this position at
Rainier, but I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if I had
chosen another field or maybe gotten married already.”
Blair
chuckled softly, “I’ve wondered myself,” he mused, what my life would have been like without one pigheaded lover who just
happened to have heightened senses. I
know I never would have loved anyone as much.
Two
bright eyes stared intently at the sleeping face in front of him, the bottom
lip lightly chewed in nervousness, knowing what needed to be done, but also not
wanting to do it.
"Brat,"
a strong voice breaking through the darkness, "if you don't either spit
out what's bothering you or lie back down and go to sleep, you will not be very
happy sitting at the auction later this morning. Hell, it's barely five
a.m."
"Vin,”
then ‘the pause’ as Vincent Cade had come to call Day’s cautious admissions of
his crimes. “I have to tell you something, something important."
Vincent
immediately sat up in bed, reached over and flipped on the bedside light. "What is it, Day?" his voice low,
but patient, recognizing the need, ready to aid his young lover any way he
could.
Damien
was sitting up in bed, nervously twisting the bedclothes in his hand, no longer
looking at the bigger man. Taking a
deep breath, steeling himself, he said in a rush of words, "Blair---Jim's
Blair---“ he took a deep breath.
“Yes,
Yes, I know who Blair is,” Vince said growing impatient. “DAAAAYYY….” He pushed his irritation to the
forefront.
The hazel
eyes widened, taking the hint, “He’s going to try to catch some rapist that
Jim's trying to catch---alone by making himself a target for the
guy." He glanced up to try to
gauge the reaction of his lover on this announcement.
"And
how do you know about this?"
"Well......
Blair sort of told me that he had this theory on who the rapist was and Jim
wasn't listening to him about it and so he figured that if he could catch the
guy or at least get proof about what he was doing then Jim would have to
believe him," he told the story in a quick rush.
"Blair
told you this? When exactly? And when
exactly was he going to pull this stupid stunt?"
Damien
ducked his head again, hoping to avoid the first question altogether, deciding
that maybe if he didn't answer it, Vin would, miraculously, forget about it.
"Tonight, I think; this weekend.
The guy always strikes on the weekends."
Vin shook
his head at the irresponsibility of brats no matter where they lived. "When did you find out about this,
young man?"
Day
mumbled something, not looking up.
Not put
off and getting annoyed, Vincent snapped again, "I asked you a question,
little boy."
"On
Thursday."
"THURSDAY? And you just now see fit to tell me, to tell
Jim, what trouble his partner is getting involved in?"
"I
guess so...I kept hoping that I would hear from Blair saying he decided not to
go through with it."
"Damien
Michael you know better than that. You
know I should have heard about this when you did. At the very least, you should have told Jim. You owe it to Blair, as his friend. Not to mention the fact that you are serving
as his mentor in helping him adjust to a disciplinary relationship. From what I understand from Jim---and from
what I've told you---this is exactly the type of behavior that our friend is
trying to get Blair past."
"I
know, I'm sorry."
Vincent
shook his head again, "While I am calling Jim, I want you in the corner
thinking about your actions and thinking about the paddling you have just
earned and are going to get in a few minutes."
"Vin..."
Day began, but was cut off with a sharp wave of a huge hand.
"Damien!
I don't want to hear it. You know you
were wrong, the fact that you told me is the only reason I am not going to take
a strap to your backside. Another word
about it and I'll reconsider that, young man.
Now," he said, pausing, giving his lover a hard look, "I
highly suggest you get yourself planted in that corner."
Ellison
sat looking over the maps. Friday
evening put the added stress on Major Crimes knowing that the rapist was due to
strike within the window of the weekend.
Brown and Rafe were checking the calls coming through 911 looking for
anything that might have the shading of an attempted rape. All breaking and
enterings, reports of prowlers, and suspicious behavior were immediately
directed to them.
Entering
the bullpen, Simon watched his men working.
Ellison looked disgusted and his jaw twitched in an even rhythm. Looking up at his Captain, he was about to
ask if he could check out some calls----anything to avoid the long wait---when
his phone rang.
"Ellison,"
he snapped into the phone on the first ring.
“James,
I’ll have you know that it is five o'clock in the morning here, and I am not
happy that I have to be awake right now.”
Ellison
immediately recognized the strong, deep voice of Vincent Cade.
“Vin,
it’s good to hear from you, but what’s up?” Jim was caught off guard. The two had remained close friends since
Jim's return from Peru and subsequent time spent in England under the guidance
and firm hand of the older man, even if they rarely saw each other. Vincent had been the one to hear about Jim's
growing attraction for the young man and the concern and frustration on how to
keep the same young man from self-destructing.
It had been Vin who had originally brought up the subject of using
discipline as a way to curb some of Blair's freethinking ways and actions. Now, that they were starting a full-time
disciplinary relationship to try and help Blair cope with his added
responsibilities as a shaman, student, teacher and police observer, Jim had
found it necessary to discuss his own failings and responsibilities with his
old mentor.
“I tried
to reach you at home, but the answering machine picked up. I am not even going to discuss with you
right now your hours. You and I have
more important things on our plate.
Damien is standing in the corner with his nose pressed firmly to the
wall about to be paddled, and I am willing to bet that Blair will find himself
in a similar situation soon. It would
seem my love’s conscience got the best of him in the middle of the night and
now he has seen fit to share some rather disturbing information. Which brings
me to the one pointed question: I know where my brat is…do you know where yours
is? Damien tells me he is setting up a
sting to trap a rapist and he is offering himself up as the bait.”
“WHAT?” Jim shouted into the phone
bringing Simon closer to his desk, his eyes wide with his own questions. “That’s impossible, he’s at a film festival
with a friend. He knows better than
that,” Jim said, doubt tingeing the final down note in his statement.
“You
don’t sound very sure, James,” Vince’s tone was one of amusement, “either way,
I think you need to seek some home truths as quickly as possible."
"I
will. Rest assured, I will."
"Good
man. Give me a ring later and let me
know how it goes. You need to go and
track down your brat and I have my own very, sorry young man to deal with right
now. Take care.”
"Thanks
for letting me know, Vin. I'll call
you."
Hanging
up the phone, Ellison grunted, clearly angered. Simon stood by his desk, “What
was that all about?”
“An old
friend in England I’ve stayed in touch with. It seems Blair has been telling his
partner, who he is friends with, about setting a trap to catch our rapist.”
“Wonderful,
some Brit knows more about what goes on with my men than I do,” Simon bellowed.
"Captain,
" Jim began, but was interrupted by a shout from Brown.
Henry
yelled from his desk, “He’s hit. Crescent View Heights. Let’s go,” cutting off
any further tirade.
Simon,
Jim, Brown and Rafe immediately sprung into action with the practiced ease of
men trained well in the execution of their duties.
At ten
o’clock, Blair laid his head against a pillow that Jackie had thrown to him. He
was quite comfortable against the corner wall. Jackie had piled pillows and
blankets there for him and he admitted he was enjoying himself with her. She
was not only bright and witty, but understanding and considerate. The evening
had threaded a fine coverlet of conversations, entwining academic as well as
pithy badinage.
As Jackie
scuffed off to the bathroom in her pink, fuzzy slippers, Blair fluffed the
pillows getting ready for the possibility that the evening would hold nothing
more than television viewing and idle chitchat.
“Blair!
Blair!” Jackie whispered coming quickly back into the room. “I hear someone at the back door.”
Blair
picked up the pipe he had set aside for protection. Handing Jackie his cell phone, he pointed towards the bathroom
and whispered, “You’re on, just like we talked about. You go in there, lock the
door, keep the lights off and call 911. Then call speed dial 1. Jim Ellison, the friend I told you about,
will pick up. Tell him to get over here ASAP.”
Nodding
her head vigorously, Blair could see the terror in her face. “Remember, don’t
come out of there, no matter what you hear.”
Jim took
the corner squealing the tires, almost tipping the truck.
“Damn it,
Ellison, slow down. Don’t take your frustrations out on the poor citizens of
Cascade.”
“Sorry,
sir.” Ellison slowed. “It wasn’t our
guy, but this punk should still learn to take no for an answer.” The case had been nothing more than a
first-date drop-off that had demanded more than a good night kiss.
“What the
hell is this about Sandburg setting up a sting?” Simon asked in a rather loud
voice.
“Sir, I
don’t know, but I intend to get to the bottom of this. Sandburg got a speeding ticket, then while
working on the rape case, he started having suspicions…” just then Ellison’s
cell phone rang.
“Ellison, here,” he said, casting Simon an apologetic look.
“Detective,
this is Jackie Dawes, Blair’s friend.
Please come to 1752 Lakeshore. There is an intruder and Blair is here,”
she said it in a whisper, remembering what Blair said to her about Jim’s phone
being especially equipped with a volume control. A war injury, Blair said with a slight smile, and aging caused
Jim to need the added help in hearing.
“I am locked in the bathroom, but Blair is out there.”
“Jackie,
stay put. We’re on our way.” Jim filled Simon in and setting off the lights and
siren, he took off towards the South Lake District.
Blair
carefully made his way out of the bedroom. Not wanting to lead the intruder to
Jackie, he moved out into the living room.
He unlocked the front door. His
plan was to lead the guy out of the house and away from Jackie, giving her plenty
of time to call Jim. The small lead
pipe, which looked so formidable this afternoon when he considered some sort of
weapon, now looked childishly inadequate.
As he
crouched against the wall leading out from the hallway, he saw a dark figure
moving into the living room area. Blair
saw the knife as it glinted off the lambent glow of moonlight breaking through
the blinds. Raising the pipe, he moved
forward, but his calculations failed. Instead of bringing the pipe down hard on
the hand holding the knife out in front, he barely had time to realize the
shadow and hand were two distinct objects. A sharp pain ripped his left arm
high near the shoulder, he brought the pipe down, but the shock of pain
diminished the force. He heard a soft
grunt from the impact on bone, but a raging cry soon followed the sounds of
surprise.
Blair
raced towards the front door. Please,
please, please, let Jim come. Jackie
please….. I hope you called him.
Blair tried to count the minutes when Jackie had entered the bathroom,
but his mind could not do the calculations. Pain fought for his total
concentration and the need to run. He
grabbed his left shoulder with his right hand and the warm, sticky substance
confirmed his suspicions that the cut was deep.
Once
outside, he turned towards the back of the house, only vaguely aware that the
intruder was behind him. The lake stood
grand and glorious in the moonlight ahead of him. The crickets chirped in early summer’s peace. Blair rushed towards the water, assuming the
muddy landscape might buy him some time.
He headed
for the bank, with the low-hanging branches of willows and vines, he could
stall for those precious minutes that would bring a black and white or, Ellison
hurling down the road. The heavy vines
and drooping limbs attacked his shoulder and he more than once caught himself
gasping from surprise assaults.
Finally,
a wave of dizziness convinced him he might black out if he didn’t give up the
chase.
He turned
and banked for the grassy yard that paralleled the lake. Ready to take a
stand…after all, the object of this exercise was stopping this man, not doing
night maneuvers. Okay, Sandburg, this is it. No Jim, you’re on your own. This is what
you wanted, proof of your convictions and ending this guy’s reign of terror.
Approaching
steadily now, the pursuer was tall and slender. Blair noted the dark ski mask
covering his hair and face. It was all
blackness to Blair in the moonlight.
Pushing his hair back off his face, he straightened himself trying to
look formidable. Dropping his hand from the sticky mess his shoulder had
become, he prepared himself for battle. Whatever
fight I have left in me, he thought, I’m
going to make sure Morton is carrying my mark.
He played
his trump card, surprise, “All right, I’m a man, not a helpless female. I’m
Blair Sandburg and I know you…you’re Devon Morton.”
Blair saw
the head jerk up, then the man let out a guttural sound of rage and he charged,
knife raised high, deadly intent it’s only purpose.
Blair
Sandburg had always had good instincts. Many times he had dodged bullets,
evaded killers, and used vending machines to take out terrorists, and found
survival in his blood. However, this
time, he froze. Later, he would chalk it off to an uncontrollable curiosity
about his attacker…a need to prove it was Morton even if it was the final
conviction before the end of everything, as he knew it. He stood stock-still and waited for the
knife.
His eyes
could only focus on the face, the dark shadow coming towards him, seeking some
clue as to the validity of his suspicions.
The man was walking towards him one moment, then he was flying through
the air and Blair almost laughed at the absurdity of the man’s abilities.
Perhaps he was dealing with a vampire.
Then Simon was beside him, “Blair, are you all right?” and realization
hit him full force. Turning he saw
Ellison, flipping the figure over and cuffing his hands behind his back.
Smiling
wearily in the moonlight, he reassured Simon that he was indeed all right. The
response brought ice to his veins, “I’m glad, because you won’t be for long,
depending on who gets you first, but either way, Jim or me, you’re ass is
getting kicked.”
Blair
blanched, but raised a quick hand to brush Simon’s anger off. Walking forward
he looked first at the rage in Jim’s eyes, then down at the masked intruder. “I
have to know.”
Jim
reached down and pulled the knitted cap off of Devon Morton's head.
“I couldn’t betray
Blair’s trust. You know that,” Day said, softly to the wall, becoming intimate
with the familiar setting as he pressed his forehead against the cool
surface. Think…Vin’s fair if nothing else.
This is extenuating circumstances…yeah, that’s it…
“This was an
extenuating circumstance. I had to give him the benefit of doubt and try to
caution him myself…..which, in fact,” he said more forcefully, only showing a
hint of petulance in his tone, “I most certainly did.”
Vin listened to the
defense attorney’s closing statement. Not really all that impressed with the
usual Damien St. Claire excuses, he chose not to interrupt. Day had a wonderful
ability to dig himself deeper if left to his own devices. But, Vin had learned early on in their
relationship, it was in the psychological tactics of avoiding punishment that
Damien learned the most about his failings and the lessons for future behavior.
“Little boy, did it
ever occur to you, the Master of Bullshit, that perhaps someone else might
employ similar techniques on you?”
Vincent remained seated at the small desk in their bedroom, casually
looking at his lover.
“No!” Day almost
shouted, but refrained. Vincent did not like a great display of attitude,
especially at five a.m., and most certainly not when he was pissed off to begin
with.
“So, your experience
with young men like yourself---bright, intelligent, independent---has always
been a quick cessation of dangerous activities upon a mild suggestion from a
friend?” Vin watched the slumped
shoulders sag a little further into the corner.
“Come on, Day, is
that what you’re saying?” Vin said, trying hard not to laugh.
A low mumble came out
of the corner that sounded very much like, “Fuck.”
“Am I now getting bad
language? Do I need to wash your mouth
out before you're paddled?” Vin asked as he rose from the desk.
“NO!” A definite
shout. “I mean, No, sir, but I was
trying to be a good friend. I don’t know Blair; I can’t judge him. He may very
well have listened to me.” Damien turned from the wall looking at his lover,
“You don’t know he wouldn’t! You don’t know him, either!” The last statements
came out more as an accusation, Day's attitude in full force.
Vince glared at him
until he quickly turned back, facing the corner. “But I do know Jim Ellison, don’t I?” Vincent now began to pace the tastefully appointed room.
“Yes, I guess so.”
“No, you know so,
young man, because you've heard me talk about him, about our history. You know so because he lived here with us
for six months. Do not give me an ‘I
guess so,’ little boy.”
“Okay, you know Jim
Ellison. But Jim is not Blair.” Day felt he was on a roll now. The logical ball was thrown and he was proud
of the pitch. “You could no more have
made a proper call on this one than I could of.”
“I remember telling
you at the beginning of your correspondence with Blair that he was new to this
type of relationship. You would have to monitor his emotions and attitude
carefully. Did I not say that to you?”
“Yes, sir, you did,
but I was doing that. He was just
having a problem getting through to Ellison. Seems to me the problem was with
Ellison, and, pardon me for the comment, but Jim was your responsibility.”
Vin stopped dead in
his tracks and glared angrily at the back of his lover’s head. Oh, young man, you are so in need of some
clarification on things to say when you are facing a paddling.
“I will give you that
point, Damien, and Ellison will be handled.
However, since in your book I have failed a part of my responsibility in
setting Ellison on track, I don’t intend to be guilty of failing you. Thus, you have earned a little more
attention than I was at first determined to give you.”
“Uh…..oh….” a
miserable sound came from the corner as the balloon of logic hit
turbulence.
Opening the bottom
drawer of the desk, Vin looked inside, pondering its contents. Inside were two different size paddles and a
hairbrush, each implement nestled in its own spot. In addition to the paddles, a leather strap hung in the
closet. Withdrawing the smaller of the
two paddles from the drawer, he sat down at the desk chair.
“Damien,” he called
sweetly, “come here, please.”
Turning from the
corner, the younger man couldn’t help making a face when he saw the paddle.
“Vin …” he started to
whine, but was cut short.
“I did not ask for a
commentary, young man. I asked you to
come here.”
Shuffling forward,
Day, too quickly for his liking, found himself lying over his partner’s lap,
pajama bottoms pooled around his ankles, his bottom bare and vulnerable.
"Young man, I
want to make sure you understand that you’re not being punished for what you
told Blair or what you didn't tell him.
You are being punished for not informing either Jim or me about Blair's
plan. If you had told me about it, and
told me that Blair was listening to you and you felt confident that he was not
going through with this stupid stunt, you would not be in the trouble you are
in now. Is that understood?"
“Yes,” came the
mumbled reply.
“Careful. Careful, Blair,” Jim said, as he tried to
gently support his uncooperative partner.
Sandburg tried unsuccessfully to break free from the ‘helpful’ hands and
make it on his own power to the couch.
“Jim, I love you, but
if you don’t get off me now, I swear, man, I’m going to kill you,” Blair
muttered, silently thinking to himself that if his partner thought he could get
away with it, Blair would not even be walking right now.
Choosing to ignore
the comment and the slight struggling to get free, he asked, “Couch or upstairs
to bed?”
Pausing for a moment,
thinking about his options, Blair decided that if he was upstairs Jim might not
hover as much as if he were in plain view on the couch. “Bed,” he said simply.
Twenty minutes later,
Blair was comfortably situated in bed.
Looking expectantly at Jim, he seemed to be waiting for him to say
something.
The detective, on the
other hand, was roaming around the bedroom, fussily straightening objects on
the dresser, picking up and refolding clothes sitting on a chair.
“Okay, Jim, yell at
me. I’ve been home for half an hour so
far and you haven’t even hinted that you’re mad about last night. Come on, it’s not fair to make me wait like
this!”
Throwing
a notebook that was in his hand down hard against the dresser top, Jim turned
around, anger briefly crossing his face, playing a tune along his jawbone. It was quickly replaced with the blank, cold
look that frustrated Blair so much---the patented, ‘I’m in total control of the
situation, nothing is affecting me’ look.
“We are
not going to talk about last night, right now, Sandburg. It's been a long night.” With that pronouncement, he resumed his
cleaning.
“What do
you mean, we aren’t going to talk? Yes,
we are. We need to talk right now, so
get your butt over here and sit down with me and let’s talk.”
Turning
around, a small smile graced his face at his partner’s voice and tone. It was good to see the Sandburg spunk alive
and well. Diminishing that flame was
one of his concerns about a discipline relationship, he never wanted Blair to
be afraid of standing up to him out of fear of punishment.
Shaking his head, he
said, “Blair, you’re hurt. The Doctor
said you should rest for the next couple of days; I shouldn’t even be up here,
I’m probably disturbing you. I’ll just
go downstairs. Let me know if you need
anything.”
Blair
gave him an angry look, “Jim Ellison, I swear to you, you go downstairs, and I
will get out of this bed and follow you.
Now, “ he said, giving Jim his own patented look, “you don’t want me to
do that, do you? I might fall or
something, rip out these stitches.”
After a brief “stare
war” skirmish, Jim muttered, “Brat,” before walking over to the bed and gently
sitting down next to his injured partner.
“You’re mad about
last night,” Blair stated simply.
“Blair, love, I am so
far beyond mad…,” Jim said, his voice trailing off. Shaking his head he continued,
“But anger doesn’t even begin to cover it. I was so terrified when Vincent called me. I am so angry at you
for pulling a stunt like this, I’m angry at myself for obviously not taking you
seriously and for forcing you---at least in your mind---to take such a stupid,
dangerous risk. Not that that absolves
you of responsibility for it, you are still in deep trouble.”
“I had to do
something! You weren’t listening and
you wouldn’t believe me, I had to get proof and I had no other recourse left to
me!”
Jim winced at Blair’s
words, knowing that he had, in a way, driven his guide, his partner, his lover,
into a dangerous situation, one in which he had gotten hurt. Pushing aside his
guilt, knowing that Vin would help him deal with it later---especially if the
tone of voice last night was any indication---he said, “Blair, regardless of
what I did or didn’t do, you are still responsible for your actions. Actions that you know I wouldn’t approve of
and ones that were dangerous and stupid.
Actions that could also have harmed Jackie Dawes.”
“No,” Blair barked
out, annoyed, “you know what’s stupid and dangerous? NOT listening to your
partner! I am your partner---at work
and in life. You lecture me about
trusting you, trusting our relationship, and then you don’t even listen to
me. You put no value on my ideas! You just assume that I’m blowing something
out of proportion or trying to get back at some cop, because he gave me a
ticket!”
Pausing, he let his
hurt pierce each word, “What kind of person do you think I am?”
He was on a full tear
now, the combination of little sleep, drugs, conflicting emotions and the
stress of the last couple weeks were bottled up and were now spewing forth with
a vengeance. “I did the only thing I
could do! You didn’t believe me and I
had to make you believe me. I had to
make you see that I was right. Jackie
was a marked victim. I saw this. I was
there as protection.”
Jim closed his eyes,
his face tight with pain. “Blair, I am
so sorry. You’re right. I screwed this up; I screwed this whole
thing up. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I would think you would try
to put suspicion on this guy. I just
got it in my head that you were allowing your emotions to run away with
you. I don’t know what got into me.”
Jim tilted his head
back and took a deep breath. Reaching
out, he grabbed Blair’s hands, clasping them together in his. “Blair, I don’t know what I would have done
if something had happened to you because of my stubbornness, my
pig-headedness. I was disrespectful to
you, to our relationship, and I am very sorry.
I can promise you, I will try my best not to let it happen again. You are smart, observant, and you have a
natural talent for reading people.
There is no reason for me not to trust you. And I do trust you---I trust you with my life. I’m sorry, Chief, I really missed the ball
on this one.”
Blair reached out,
pulling the larger man down so that his head was resting on the bed nestled
against his hip. “I know, Jim, I know
you’re sorry."
A shuddering sigh
escaped from his Sentinel, as he eased into the warmth, seeking comfort and forgiveness. Draping one arm across Blair's lap, he
snuggled closer, welcoming the first step to making it all right again.
Blair reached down
and softly stroked his hair, like Jim had done so many times for him when he
needed reassurance that he was loved and protected. A change in breathing patterns alerted him to the soft tears of
retribution. Choosing to allow Jim the
privacy of tears, he continued the comforting strokes.
"I love you,
Jim,” he whispered some time later, in the aftermath of the tears.
"I love you,
too, Blair,” and the bond was secured.
SUNDAY MORNING
"So James, what do you have to say for
yourself?" asked a strong voice with a hint of an English accent.
"Vin, I really
don't have anything to say. I screwed
up---plain and simple," Jim said.
He had called Vin the next morning, filling him in on what had happened
and his subsequent apology to Blair when they got home from the hospital. He had thought the focus of the conversation
was how or if he was going to punish Blair for his actions while he was
hurt. Even though the cut was not
serious, it did require 10 stitches.
Now, instead of Blair's actions, Vin was focusing in on his.
"Young man,” Jim
had heard that tone and that address before, usually when he was in trouble,
“when you are dealing with the delicate balance in a relationship, especially
in a disciplinary relationship, things are rarely plain and simple. I think when you and your young man are here
visiting in a couple of months, you and I should sit down privately and discuss
this."
Jim gave an impatient
sigh, "I really don't think that's necessary, Vin . I said I was sorry, let's drop it," he
added impatiently.
"Do NOT take that tone of voice with
me. Would you like to talk to another
young man who did and ask him what the outcome was?" Vincent Cade was not a man to parry with
verbally or otherwise. Next to Vincent Cade, Simon Banks was a man of finesse
and gentle persuasion.
Jim sighed heavily
into the connection, allowing his acquiescence to cross the miles.
Across the pond, that
particular sampling of young man was lying on his side. Curled up on the couch reading, he glanced
up at his lover’s tone and smiled. I guess Vin really is upset with Jimbo,
he thought to himself. Shifting, trying
to find a position that did not place too much weight on his still sore bottom,
he went back to his book, blocking out the rest of the conversation, soon bored
with the familiar routine….glad his moment under fire was over.
Ten minutes later the
sound of a phone being set into its cradle alerted him to the termination of
the call. Vincent entered the
study. Shifting into a semi-erect
sitting position, he put the book down and looked up at his lover, recognizing
the lines of concern on the older man’s face.
"Still
sore?"
"A little, not
too bad though. Just enough to
remind,” Day grinned sheepishly.
"Demon,” Vin
said, motioning him to make room on the couch.
Day smiled and sat up
at the pet name Vin had given him at their first meeting. A routine of petulant
non-cooperation had made him mumble his name to the formidable and threatening
army officer after he had thrown himself in front of his car.
Damien had come out
as Demon, at least to the ears of the impatient and irate officer. Now Demon
was a name that usually meant all was forgiven or mildly tolerated.
The larger man
wrapped his arms around the smaller one now nestled on his lap, patting his
bottom gently. “But for how long little boy?”
TUESDAY
Two days later, Blair
was in the office, straightening his notes and materials from the just finished
term. Summer term was due to start in a
couple of weeks and he had new materials to work into a syllabus and form a
solid structure for his course. His
shoulder felt better and he was going to be returning to the station
tomorrow. Jim had gone in to work today
and Blair had been left to his own devices.
He and Jackie had lunch and had rehashed the events of Friday night. She was grateful for Blair's involvement but
had also felt guilty over his injury.
He was quick to reassure her that it was not major and he was fine. The doctor's did not even think physical
therapy was going to be necessary.
The ringing telephone
interrupted his concentration.
"Hello," he
said cheerfully, thinking it was probably Jim calling to make sure he was OK.
"Blair Sandburg,
please," an unfamiliar voice said.
Deciding it was a
student who had just gotten bad news in the mail with his report card, Blair
replied, "This is Mr. Sandburg, how can I help you?" The voice on the other end did not say
anything for a moment, Yep, a
dissatisfied student, Blair thought to himself.
"Umm…Blair, it's
Day….. Damien St. Claire, in England.
Did I catch you at a bad time? I
can call back if I have?"
Giving a surprised
laugh, Blair said, "Oh my God.
Day! Wow, this is a
surprise! No, this is a great
time. Grades were mailed out yesterday
and I just figured you were a student calling to let me know how unhappy you
were with my grading! Wow, this is great.
How are you?"
Day's smile came
through the phone lines in a light and airy tone, "I'm fine. How are you? That's really why I called."
"Oh, the
shoulder…yeah, it's fine. I got a few
stitches, but I’ll live at least if Jim lets me. And,” he paused for effect, “it really does only hurt if I
laugh.”
"Then I promise
to be my usual morose self,” Damien said, barely containing his mirth, “I'm
glad to hear that Blair."
"So, how are
things with you and Vincent?"
Blair asked. Jim had told him
that Damien had gotten into trouble for not telling anyone about his
investigative plans. "Day, I need
to apologize for getting you into trouble.
I'm sorry that I caused you problems."
"Blair!” he
started, feigning what Blair could guess was a Vincent Cade reprimand. “My dear boy, that's part of the reason I
was calling."
Good going, Sandburg
Blair thought, alienate the one person
you can talk to about this relationship with Jim, not to mention someone who
was starting to be a good friend.
Again, only warmth,
humor, and friendship came through in the pleasantly mellow voice, "I
wanted to make sure you didn't feel guilty over anything. What you did---trying to catch that
rapist---which by the way, man, was very cool, but I’d be sorely remiss…and I
do mean sorely,” he laughed at his own pun, “if I didn’t also add very stupid---is totally between you and
Jim. Vincent paddled me for not telling
someone about it. I should have, as a
friend and someone who is supposed to be helping you and looking out for
you. I was calling to apologize for letting
you down and allowing you to get hurt."
"Day…."
Blair's voice trailed off. "I don't know what to say. I still feel guilty for getting you in
trouble. I wasn't really telling you
what I was doing so that you would tell Vin or Jim and have them stop me."
"I don't know,
Blair. You might have been. I know I've done that in the past. Done something or told someone something
that I was planning. At the time, I was
pissed when Vin found out, but then afterwards, I don't know…afterwards it was
like that's what I wanted all along. I
don't know, that might not be the case here." But Blair could tell that Day really thought it was the case
indeed.
Blair thought for a
moment, thinking back to the conversation that he and Jim had lying in bed
together after he got home from the hospital.
"Maybe … maybe I wanted him to take me seriously and I knew that he
would do something if I made sure I was personally involved. I don’t know, either," he finished with
a laugh.
Day joined in with
good humor of his own, "Don't worry, you may never figure it out and you
just need to go with the flow and just accept this type of relationship, it
will all work out. Speaking of working
out, have you and your's talked yet about that stunt yet?"
From the emphasis
that he placed on 'talk,’ Blair knew talking was not the activity Day had in
mind. "We talked,” Blair laughed,
“talk talked, a little the morning I got back.
But I don't think he's going to do anything. He admits he screwed up on this one, too. I think we are just going to call it
even."
A loud laugh filled
the phone lines. "Blair, if you really believe that, then I have seriously
failed you, Grasshopper. There is no
way Jim is going to let this action of yours go by without major attention paid
to your butt."
"But he screwed
up, too, that's not fair."
"Oh don't worry,
my friend, Vin is pissed at him and Jim knows that he's going to get taken care
of when you guys are over here. Rest
assured that Jim is in trouble, too."
"What?" Blair asked surprised, "What do you
mean? Jim's going to be spanked by
Vin? When?"
There was dead
silence on the other end, and then a quiet, unsure voice asked, "Jim never
told you that? He never told you that
he and Vin had a discipline relationship years ago when he lived with us for
several months?"
"No, he
didn't," Blair was thunderstruck with this revelation. The thought of Jim, strong, competent,
man-in-charge bending over someone's knees, being spanked for some misdeed.
"Wow, I had no idea…”
"Shit! Blair, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you.
Jim will tell you I'm sure. I
guess I thought you knew."
"Well, I didn’t,
but now that you mention it, he does speak of Vincent Cade with a certain
reservation. Wow, this is still sort of
a shock to me."
"Well, it
happens to all of them. Vin had someone
when he was younger, it's really not that big of a deal."
"Yeah, I guess
not. I don't know. Just seems strange somehow. I can't see myself ever spanking him."
"No, most of us
can't, which is why it's nice when yours already has a handler and someone you
can turn to when the one who deals with you, needs to be dealt with." Day let out a soft chuckle. “Can’t let Vin hear me talking like that, or
I’ll be getting another crash course myself.”
Blair did not say
anything for several moments. What a strange new world I’ve come upon.
It’s going to take some time getting used to that’s for sure.
"Blair? Are you okay with this?" Day asked, concern obvious in his
voice.
"Yeah, I'm fine
with it. I am sort of glad he has someone
who can out alpha him," he laughed.
"Okay, look I
need to run, if you are okay?"
"I am, thanks
for calling, Day, and I can't wait to see you in a couple of months."
"Me, too, say
‘hi’ to Jimbo for me. Take care."
"You, too,
bye."
Damien hung up the
phone, glad he had called and apologized.
Now, how to deal with accidentally telling Blair about Jim and Vin. Well,
I already know how delay can be painful.
"VIN!!!!!" he yelled at the top of
his lungs.
A few seconds later,
the intercom activated, "Little boy, we have this lovely system which
should eliminate your need to yell in the house when you are looking for
me. Should we have another lesson in
using it?"
"Ummm…Vin…
there's something I need to tell you.” The confessional was once again occupied.
FRIDAY
"Jim… I'm sorry.
I know it was stupid…" as the punishing hairbrush descended again
on his upturned butt, Blair cried out with added remorse, "beyond stupid!"
Lying over Jim’s lap
on the couch, his head and shoulders supported by cushions to ensure his
comfort---at least in certain areas---they were deep in a discussion about good
judgment and foolish heroics. The
emphasis on certain words had left his butt a bright red, fueling Jim’s
passionate determination to drive his point home, or at least in the back door.
Jim looked down at
the flaming posterior, feeling the heat emanating from the flesh as he
repeatedly brought the wooden brush down with a fervor born of fear for his
young friend’s safety.
“Never, <swat>
Ever, <swat> Do <swat> Anything <swat> So <swat>
Foolhardy <swat> Again.” A final sharp smack resounding through the loft,
followed by a loud cry, “OUCH! OK – I PROMISE!”
Jim stopped long
enough to toss the brush on the coffee table.
“Now, Chief, we need
to discuss the rules. Those ten little items you have chosen to flaunt with
total abandon.”
Blair groaned
forgetting all about the rules and his total disregard of them these past two
weeks.
Jim raised his hand
high in the air and counting down every rule with a loud, sharp spank to the
already painful bottom, he emphasized a repeat performance. Every number
followed with a sharp smack. The rule was clearly recited and then Jim paused
allowing his penitent to repeat the rule. Another sharp whack was delivered to
drive the rule home once and for all.
The ten rules totaled
twenty additional spanks, plus the two earned strikes applied when Blair
petulantly added his own commentary on “No lying and keeping secrets.”
“It wasn’t a secret
if I told Day.” <Whack>
“The rules are for
us. They apply to our relationship, not yours and Day’s.” <Whack>
Finally realizing
he’d best repeat by rote and with all the sincerity he could muster, he
hiccuped his answers like a dutiful student.
Finishing with three
punishing swats in the dead center of his partner's bottom, for good and final
measure, the punishment ceased. It had been a hard and long paddling and an
equally passionate spanking. Blair
putting himself in danger was a high crime.
Hopefully, this punishment would stay with the younger man and be
remembered the next time.
He allowed Blair to
rest on his lap, spent and deflated, until his crying eased into short
sobs. When he seemed to have settled
down, Jim gently helped him stand up, pulling his boxers carefully over his
abused rump. Seeing the exhaustion
clearly evident on his tear-stained face, Jim scooped him up in his arms and
carried up to bed.
"Come on, love,
it's late. It's been a rough night,
let's get you to bed."
Gently easing the
overwrought young man down onto the bed, Jim was thankful that Blair had been
made to strip to his boxers and t-shirt for his punishment. It made a quick and
easy job of settling him in bed on his stomach. Tears still came in a steady stream, misery apparent with every
movement. Jim propped extra pillows
under his shoulder, easing the weight off the injured area.
Moments later, Blair
awoke from the first soft slide into sleep. "Huh?" he asked, confused
as he felt the sheet being pulled back, his boxers gently pulled down, exposing
his bare bottom; the cool air feeling good.
“What are you doing, Jim?" he mumbled, half rising up.
"Shhhh, lie back
down. It's okay," Jim said softly.
Blair relaxed and
snuggled down, hugging the pillow beneath him.
Jim began to rub the
aloe gently on each cheek.
Blair hissed as the
cool lotion made contact, squirming slightly as the large hands began to slowly
rub it in, leaving a trail of soothing coolness in its wake.
"Oh," Blair
said a few minutes later, his voice heavy with sleep, "that feels good."
"Just a little
something to help take some of the sting away.
Now, go to sleep."
“Seems such a wasted
effort,” Blair mumbled slowly into the soft folds, “could ‘ave voided…all…by
not spanking me.”
Smiling down at the
logical-minded anthropologist, Jim nodded his head, “It was worth every sore
spot, Chief, if it keeps you from ever doing anything so foolish again.”
Then, rubbing some on
his own stinging palm, Detective James Ellison snuggled under the covers. Turning in towards the one who mattered most
to him, thankful for the second chances that the dawn would bring, he knew his
own retribution awaited him.
The lines were drawn
and if crossed, there was always a gentle, but firm hand to bring you back. He
wouldn’t mind, in the least, it was just the way these relationships
worked.
In time Blair, too,
would see.
There were lines of
descent in these relationships. As Vin brought Jim back in line, straightened
his thinking out and set him upright again, so, too, he would help the often
foolhardy anthropologist. It was all
about Guidelines, one guiding the other, then another, until everyone was right
on track. And with that final
acceptance and secure knowledge of knowing someone always cared, he evened-out
his breathing and softly gave himself up to the night.
THE END
Thank you for
reading. We hope you have been
entertained.