"Jim?"

  Ellison was snapped back to attention as he realized Blair had been speaking to him. "What?" he asked. "I'm sorry..."

  "I asked if you're sure you're all right."

  Yes, he decided, I'm all right. Nodding, he said, "I'm sure. Especially now that I know you and Simon are going to be fine." Smiling broadly, he pointed at Blair and said, "And speaking of recoveries, you'd better make yours a quick one, Chief. I don't intend to go chasing after all of Cascade's bad guys without my partner around to watch my back." He dropped his hand to the mattress and nudged his arm up more securely against Blair's.

  Blair chuckled. "Not to worry, man. You'll be barking, 'Keep your head down and call for backup, Chief,' before you know it."

  Jim laughed at Blair's exaggerated imitation of the order he used most often when the two of them were in the field. "I'm counting on it."

  Blair exhaled another small laugh, then his eyes drifted lazily closed. He tried to fight them open again, but it was obvious that he wouldn't be able to stay awake much longer.

  "Go to sleep, Chief," Jim commanded softly. "You need your rest."

  Blair nodded, his eyes still closed, but within a few seconds he opened them again. "Jim?" he asked.

  "What is it?"

  "Can I tell you something?"

  "Of course."

  "When Quinn took me... what he did... I gave up, Jim. I was in so much pain... I just wanted to die." He shook his head, swallowing hard against the admission. "I let you down," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

  Jim bit at his lip and reaching out, brushed a stray piece of hair from Blair's forehead. "You did not let me down," he said, staring unwaveringly into Blair's eyes. "You may have wanted to give up, but you didn't. You kept fighting."

  "Only because you were there... to make me promise. If you hadn't been there..."

  "That's how it works with partners," Jim explained gently. "We watch out for each other." He leaned closer. "There have been a few times when I've wanted to give up, too. But fortunately for me, my stubborn, hard-headed partner has never allowed me to." Jim smiled. "So when I wouldn't let you give up, I was simply following your lead, Chief. Just like I always do."

  Jim saw the glimmer of moisture in Blair's eyes, but his partner stubbornly blinked it away. "Oh, man," Blair whispered self-consciously. "I'm sorry." He closed his eyes and reached up and rubbed at them. "You must think I'm a real wuss, huh?" he asked quietly, dropping his hand back to the bed.

  "No, Blair, I don't think that," Jim answered without hesitation. The detective waited until Blair had opened his eyes and looked back over at him. "Would you like to know what I do think?"

  Blair's eyes widened, a spark of apprehension flitting across their depths, but after a few seconds he nodded for Jim to continue.

  Jim traced his hand across Blair's hair, then said softly, "I think you're the bravest man I have ever known."

  Again, tears formed in Blair's eyes, and again he blinked them away. "Thank you, Jim."

  "Found... my sentinel... but that wasn't the most important part... that was never the most important part."

  Blair's words from the mine came back to Jim, filling him with a deep feeling of satisfaction. That feeling of home that he associated only with Sandburg. But as he watched his partner struggle to maintain control, he frowned.

  "Blair, I have something to tell you. Something I wanted to say in the mine but didn't."

  "I'm okay," Blair said, his voice tight with emotion. "You don't have to say anything, Jim."

  "I want to. It's important to me."

  Blair looked at him, his wide blue eyes expectant.

  "I just wanted you to know that I looked for you too," Jim said softly. "Forever."

  Blair smiled warmly, then reaching up, he touched his fingertips briefly to Jim's cheek. "I know," he whispered after a few seconds. "I've always known."

  Epilogue

  Jim stood in the darkness of the loft, keeping watch, maintaining a silent vigil. A full moon ornamented Cascade's night sky, its luminescence washing the apartment's interior and furnishings with an eerie, silver polish. And although he didn't need it to aid him, the moon's light allowed the sentinel to scrutinize even the minutest details of his subject with only a minimal amount of strain on his enhanced eyesight.

  Jim resisted the temptation to reach down and smooth away the tight lines of pain that--even in sleep--traced themselves across Blair's features. He forced himself instead to be satisfied with simply watching over his partner, standing guard over the young man who served as the center of his existence, the anchor of his sanity and well being.

  Blair was stretched out comfortably on the long blue couch--a flagrant and uncaring violation of one of Jim's more famous house rules. An indulgent grin breached its way across Ellison's face--he flaunts the breaking of my house rules with willful disregard, and I've yet to be truly angered by it.

  The smile on Jim's face widened of its own volition. A soft chuckle escaped his throat and drifted outward across the night air. The kid is a sight. Stockinged feet protruded from beneath the Navajo print throw that Blair had pulled over his body, and dark curls spilled casually out across the pillows beneath his head. One arm was thrown haphazardly above his head, the other tucked into the tight space between his body and the back of the couch. His lips were parted slightly and little hisses of air passed in and out, in and out, as he breathed the shallow breaths of relaxed, dreamless sleep.

  Jim lowered his body to the surface of the coffee table and leaned forward, resting his arms comfortably on his legs. The bruises and cuts on Blair's pale skin were distinctly obvious, even in the moonlight, and Jim lifted his left hand and reached out to touch lightly at Blair's face. The sleeping man didn't stir, so Jim allowed his fingers to slide softly up and around the bruises, into the warm tangle of curls at the top of Sandburg's head.

  Blair stirred then, and Jim withdrew his hand. He shifted forward until he was leaning directly over his partner. Sleepy blue eyes blinked open, and Jim sat quietly, smiling, as Blair's eyes focused upward and met his gaze.

  "Jim?" Blair inquired softly, moving slowly to pull his arm from above his head and rest it more comfortably against his chest and ribs. "Is something wrong?"

  Jim shook his head and laughed lightly. "No, Chief, nothing's wrong."

  "Oh," Blair responded simply. "Okay." Sandburg reached up to stifle a yawn. "What time is it?" he asked around the loose fist that covered his mouth.

  "Time for you to get up and get to bed where you'll rest more comfortably, don't you think?" Jim teased.

  Blair smiled sleepily but made no attempt to move from his comfortable position. "Yeah, I suppose. I didn't mean to fall asleep out here." He laughed then, a soft chuckle that ended in a sigh. Reaching up to Jim, he said, "Help an old man up, will you?"

  A small huff of amusement escaped Jim's lips. "Yep," he said, standing. "C'mon, Gramps." Ellison reached down and helped Blair sit up and move his body around until he was in a seated position, facing the coffee table. The sentinel didn't miss the almost silent gasps of pain that Blair tried to suppress as Jim helped him move; he refrained from mentioning them, however, and settled himself again on the coffee table in front of his partner.

  Blair sat quietly, winded, arms draped protectively across his stomach; the small effort of moving had exhausted him. Lifting his eyes, he noted Jim's concerned look, but he waved a hand at him and smiled. "I'm all right, Jim." He lifted his index finger and panted out, "Just need a minute here."

  Jim patted his knee and waited, silently monitoring Blair. The kid had been out of the hospital for three days, but progress had been minimal. Jim knew it was going to take a long time for Blair to heal from Quinn's abuse. And it hurt--hurt to see his partner in such misery, hurt to see Sandburg trying to be strong when his body didn't appear to be cooperating, hurt to see him struggle each day to try and put the entire incident behind him.

  Another small chuckle from Sandburg brought his attention back to his partner. "Do me a favor, man," Blair said, still breathing hard. "If this is what it's going to feel like to be eighty, just shoot me on my sixty-fifth birthday, will you?"

  Jim laughed at that. "Sandburg," he reasoned, "On your sixty-fifth birthday I'll be an old man of seventy-six. What makes you think I'll be able to aim a gun and hit a target at that age?"

  "Not to worry." Blair reached up and tapped his own temple. "Sentinel eyesight, man. You should still have eyes like a hawk even when you're old and gray." He thought for a second about what he had just said, then shot an appraising look at Jim's hairline. Smiling, he gestured toward the top of his partner's head. "Well, when you're old, anyway."

  Jim smacked him good-naturedly on the knee, but remained silent. As he watched, Sandburg's grin began to fade, and the young man leaned forward and curled himself around his arms where they lay against his stomach. "Oh, man," he breathed out. "Will it ever stop hurting?"

  "Chief," Jim said, squeezing Blair's knee. "Shhhhh. You're going to be all right. Don't give up on me, Buddy."

  Blair's eyes were squeezed closed, but a fierce determination shone from his face. Slowly, he shook his head and said through gritted teeth, "I won't. I promise."

  "And you always keep your promises, remember?"

  Blair nodded. "I remember."

  Jim felt warm fingers slide across his hand where it rested on Blair's knee and then tuck themselves into his palm. Gently, he returned Blair's grasp, waiting for his friend's pain to subside, wishing he could take it from him.

  His thoughts turned backward and he was in the cold, damp mine again, Sandburg nestled against his chest, wheezing with every pain-filled breath. There had been a point, in that mine, when he had thought he had lost Blair. He had even tried to prepare himself for the inevitable, but had found that it was an impossible task. For how could one prepare for something so devastating? How could one even begin to accept a loss of such magnitude? It was impossible. Jim knew--as he always had--that Blair's death would end his own life as well. He would live physically, perhaps, but everything that he was would be gone, stripped away, leaving behind only a barren temple, an empty shell.

  Fear had threatened to overwhelm him during that time in the mine. But Blair had needed him. So he had tried not to show his panic, had tried instead to be strong, knowing it wouldn't help Blair to see how ruined, how lost, he would be if Blair slipped away. But all that time in the mine his mind and heart had asked the same question: How could he go on without his friend, his guide? And the answer was always the same: It simply couldn't be done.

  Jim knew the truth. He was fully aware of his vulnerability when it came to Blair, of his consuming need for his friend. He was aware of the awesome and wonderful power over him that Blair held within his hands, yet never abused. For there was no one else in Jim's life that he could trust with who he was, no one else who would so lovingly guard such trust, would hold it as a precious gift rather than something with which to wield power.

  "Jim?" Blair's voice reached him. He returned his attention to Blair and found him looking at him intently, concerned. "Hey," he whispered. "You didn't zone on me there, did you?"

  Jim smiled. "No. Just got lost in my thoughts there for a moment."

  "Whoa!" Blair teased, squeezing his hand. "Scary place to be lost, wouldn't you say?"

  But Jim didn't laugh. The remembrances of the time spent in the mine were too fresh, too raw. And there was no hiding what he was going through from Blair. Even though Blair's vision wasn't as good as his, any details unseen by Sandburg's eyes were readily provided by his heart, for he knew Jim even better than he knew himself, loved him better than he loved himself.

  "Jim..."

  Jim shook his head. "I'm okay." He looked across at Blair, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I can never lose you, Chief," he whispered. "You know that, don't you?"

  Blair was silent for a brief moment, but when he spoke his tone was quietly confident, warmly reassuring: "I know. But you're not going to lose me, Jim."

  "I almost did, in that mine."

  "Almost doesn't count," he reminded him. "I'm still here, aren't I? I'm right here."

  "And you're not going anywhere," Jim said, squeezing his partner's hand.

  "That's right." Blair locked his gaze with Jim's, his expression serious. "You okay, then?"

  Jim smiled broadly and nodded his head. "Yes. Definitely okay."

  Blair's expression softened. "Good." Removing his hand from Jim's, he extended his arm toward him. "Now help me up. I need my rest, man."

  Jim stood and bending over, pushed his hands beneath Blair's arms, then waited until Blair grasped his shoulders. Slowly he pulled Blair to his feet, lending him his physical strength. The young man swayed a bit, and Jim took Blair's arm, steadying him.

  As the detective stood beside his friend, a feeling of gratitude spread through him. They were home. Safe. Quinn's quest for revenge had left them both a bit worse for wear, but they were alive and they would heal.

  Blair took a step toward his room but Jim's hand, still on his arm, tightened, stopping him. Blair looked up at him, wondering. Jim smiled warmly, then reached around and gently drew his partner to him. A small sound of acceptance escaped Blair's lips as the young man turned and leaned into the offered embrace.

  Outside, a cloud swept across the sky, temporarily stealing the moon's light from the loft. The cloud lingered for a moment, then slipped away, and once again the loft was bathed by the moon's burnishing light, revealing two still figures standing together, holding onto the most important thing in their lives.

  The End

 

 

  Beth Manz, Sentinel - Progressions Series 01 With Deadly Intent

 

 

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