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.
<end of part 1>