A Fair Distance: Comes a Time. Chapter Ten
Title: A Fair Distance: Comes a Time. Chapter Ten.
Fandom The Sentinel
Author: Laurie
Type: Slash
Rating: PG-17 (for the series)
Word count: 6152 words
Warnings: Link to warnings for the entire series
Written for Sentinel Thursday Challenge 232: Regrets
Beta’ed by t_verano So much appreciation!
Summary for A Fair Distance: A year after Blair left Jim, and Cascade, they meet again in a small Tennessee town. Blair's been arrested and is being held for questioning at the request of the Cascade PD.
This is the third and final arc to the story, and the two earlier arcs, A Fair Distance:Running on Empty and A Fair Distance: Ball and Chain, as well as several time stamps, can be located at my LJ here or at Artifact Storage Room 3 here or at AO3 here. I believe that AO3 has a nifty feature that allows you to download onto E-readers.
“How are you doing, Jim?” Simon beckoned me into his office and pointed to a seat after handing me a cup of coffee. I'd left a message with Rhonda earlier that I needed to see Simon after he returned from a task force meeting with the DEA.
I'd grown to dislike that question, though I knew that everybody who'd asked me that since Dad's death a month ago was only being kind. I usually responded to their inquiries with a simple answer designed to stop any follow-up questions. However, Simon knew me better than most people and he'd always been talented at not accepting any smoke I'd ever tried to blow up his ass.
“Well, sir, I think my notoriety is starting to die down a little around here. McHenry punching out Chavez while they both were assigned to security for the Mayor's last shindig has taken the spotlight away from me. Having a news crew film the whole fight and the loud accusations about Chavez sleeping with McHenry's wife is more interesting to the gossipers these days than rehashing how my father tried to kill my lover, and then committed suicide.”
The week following my father's death had been the worst. Hearing your family's name on the six o'clock news was such a breach of privacy, but I'd expected it. The news stories hinted strongly that my father had tried to kill Blair due to resentment about Blair lying about me in his dissertation, although later newscasts speculated that the attack was because Dad couldn't stand my big gay love for Blair.
Bergman's fall from grace was also covered and Blair's name mentioned as his alleged victim. Some newscasters decided that two attempts in two days by two different people to kill Blair was funny in a way and spun their report that way. “Well, John, one man who only recently returned to Cascade has eluded the Grim Reaper twice in two days.” Blah, blah, blah...
Simon frowned. “Is anybody here hassling you, Jim? Because I'll put a boot up their ass if they are.”
“Nobody's been stupid enough to talk to me directly. I hear things, though.”
I had heard plenty. Blair coming in to make his official statement about Dad's attack had raised the gossip level to new heights. I wouldn't let him come in by himself, despite him telling me he could handle it. I wasn't taking any chances on his being accosted by the media or the cops.
To be fair, some of the talk at the P.D. wasn't against Blair and me, just discussing the situation, but a lot of it was hateful and homophobic. I'd expected some of that attitude when I'd outed myself, but being part of a media circus as a gay police officer seemed to have turned up the loathing from some of my brothers in blue. There was a lot of speculation about Blair's powers of seduction, and plenty of people remembered when he'd flitted from one pretty girl who worked at the station to the next. “Slut” and “A talented whore” were some of the comments I heard bandied about by malicious people. I would have loved to confront them, but Blair had asked me to let any negative comments I overheard go. I was trying, so I just shoved my anger at each negative comment into the denial closet to deal with later. Sucker was getting pretty full by now.
The uniforms who had responded to the scene at my dad's house had been the source for some of the gossip. They'd talked about how I'd behaved about Blair -- it had been obvious that he was someone special to me - and how I'd acted like a crazy man, shouting at the ceiling and trying to grab at something that wasn't there. I couldn't very well explain that I'd been trying to communicate with Blair's astral body.
The gossip about Blair being my lover, the news stories about Dad's suicide and attempt to murder Blair, and Bergman's arrest for Edwards' murder and his attempt to poison Blair; all of it had formed a perfect storm to swamp us.
A month later, we were still sifting through the wreckage.
Simon's phone rang and I sipped my coffee, thinking about the past few weeks while he discussed administrative business with Chief Larson.
When the story about Bergman broke, and then the one about Dad, Blair's name and mine had pinged for some of the news reporters. The dissertation mess had gotten rehashed in the papers and in the newscasts. Adding to that, the media finding out that we were in a relationship just made the story juicier. Especially the way the story broke.
The day Blair was discharged, he was still pretty weak. After the ventilator had been removed he'd kept asking over and over,“Are we really okay, Jim?” and then when I'd tell him yes, and pat his hand or drop a quick kiss on his forehead, he'd continue with, “Can we please go home now?”
His doctor had wanted to keep him an extra day, but he'd convinced him that he'd be better off resting at home, and shamelessly peddled my medic certification as the cherry on top of his list of reasons why he should be released from the hospital immediately. Privately, I'd told the doc that since Blair was conceding his care into my hands, I would make sure he rested, even if he didn't want to. He might not like it, but he'd set himself up for it.
So newly discharged, waiting in a wheelchair with the orderly who'd offered to take him to the curb and wait with him while I fetched the truck from the hospital parking lot, Blair had been ambushed by an enterprising reporter and camera crew. He'd used his hands to keep the microphone out of his face, and kept repeating, “No comment,” to the insistent questions. The orderly with him wasn't doing anything to stop the harassment, and I saw one of the crew surreptitiously hand him a fifty, which he quickly tucked into his scrubs pocket. The fucker'd been paid off to hand Blair to the wolves.
I hustled out of the truck in record time and over to his side, maneuvering so that the pretty news reporter had to step back so I could help lever Blair out of the chair.
The news crew's focus switched from Blair to me as I was recognized. “Detective Ellison, can you confirm that you are in a relationship with Blair Sandburg, the man who publicly admitted to lying about you possessing enhanced senses?” I recognized the Channel Three reporter from previous police press conferences, although I usually handed off talking to the press to another officer. I didn't enjoy seeing myself on the evening news. No hope of avoiding that now.
She must have been nosing around the station and heard that I'd outed myself. I could have said, “No comment,” too. I didn't. Instead I shrugged and said, “I don't know why you think my love life rates a news story, but yes, I'm in a committed relationship with Blair.” I had my arm around him, in case he felt dizzy, and his mouth dropped open. When I saw the newscast later that night I could see the surprise and then the happiness in his expression. I thought it had been worth saying that to the people of Cascade just to see that look on his face.
Ignoring her and her camera crew after my statement, I opened the passenger door and boosted him up into the truck and fastened his seat belt myself when his fumbling took too long. Shutting his door, I walked around to the driver's side, still ignoring the rest of the questions the reporter was shouting. I slowly drove my old Tennessee truck through their midst, Blair muttering at me to not run over anybody, and they scattered. It was good to finally be going home together. I'd been back to the loft to sleep after Blair's first twenty-four hours in ICU, letting Megan and Henri take over keeping Blair safe, but I'd taken no pleasure in returning without him.
Now, the loft felt like a haven, a Blair and Jim retreat, and after talking to Steven and later Dan Wolfe about Dad's autopsy, I took the phone off the hook.
Blair'd gotten restless after initially collapsing on the couch and had been walking around the living room and kitchen, hands idly touching books or the back of the chairs.
I kept suggesting he take a nap, but he said he was tired of sleeping.
“Between the mono and the overdose, I've been sleeping for most of the last two weeks. I want to move around while I still can, before I get too tired again. I'll lie down later, okay? And Jim, we really need to talk. The publicity, your dad... the case... I fucked up and yeah, you said we're okay but I need to... God, apologize doesn't even begin to start to make right what I did.”
Yeah, I'd been putting those conversations off; I wasn't looking forward to any of it. By the look in his eyes, he wasn't either. I agreed we'd talk, but I reserved the right to call a halt and pick it up later.
When Blair started apologizing again for going to Dad's place, I held up my hand. “Let's work our way up to that one, Chief. What do you want to do about admitting or denying I'm a sentinel, since the news hounds are chewing on that bone again?”
At first, Blair threatened to shave me bald while I slept if I answered any questions about being a sentinel with anything other than “no comment.”
“Jim, you can't draw attention to yourself, and I love you for claiming me in front of Channel Three's viewers, but you shouldn't have done it.”
I didn't agree, and we ended up talking about me coming clean about being a sentinel. I told him that I still regretted not setting the record right about him lying for me at his press conference.
He threw his hands up in the air, and shook his head.
“Jim, I thought we'd gotten this straight a long time ago. It was my responsibility to have safeguarded my research, and I had a professional and personal obligation to protect you from the fall-out from my fuck-up. I didn't regret that press conference at the time, and I don't regret it now. And I know that it makes you uncomfortable to think about being protected, instead of being the one to do the protecting, but I made you a promise when you agreed I could write about you. It was, and is, on me to keep my word. You have rights as a human research subject, and my shoddy security put you at risk. I should have kept your name out of the diss, even in my first draft, and should have put better safeguards on my computer to keep my mother and anybody else who was curious from poking around in my research. You had every right to be pissed at me about it. I did the right thing, Jim, but truthfully, I did it for me. I screwed up and I needed to make things right, or I would have become somebody that I don't want to be.”
He did his pleading eyes thing and added that he was worried about repercussions to me if I came clean now.
I snorted, and was amused at Blair's under-his-breath mutter about getting my septum checked out, since I snorted so often. My septum was just fine, I told him. Then I looked seriously at him, not wanting him to be so anxious for my safety and well-being.
“Blair, the government knows about my abilities by now, thanks to Brackett. Hell, they've probably known since I left the jungle. Nobody's approached me to work for them or to let them study me. It might make a great plot for a novel, to be scooped up by some special agency, but if the government wanted me, they'd have talked to me years ago. Criminals might devise ways to act against me, but that supposes they know it's going to be me coming after them. They'll do what, blow a dog whistle? Set off something I'm sensitive to, that might overwhelm me? I've had to deal with crap like that before; I'll deal with it if it comes up again.”
“What about at the station? Simon wouldn't want you to rock the boat now.” Blair had crossed his arms over his chest, and was looking mulish. I decided it wasn't the right time to nag him into lying down on the couch.
I shrugged. “I think Simon and I would be all right. Maybe my cases with convictions would be reviewed, but we've made sure to back up anything I've gotten from my senses with standard evidence. The brass might love to hang me out to dry for the inconvenience, but no criminals should walk. Besides, I think most of Major Crimes already knows.”
He'd shot back, “What about your privacy being invaded? If you admit to having enhanced senses, to being the sentinel that I'd written about, the media will run with it. Jim, you'd hate that.”
We'd been standing by the balcony doors at home; I'd pulled him close to me and kissed him. The scent of the hospital still clung to him, and I longed to strip him and wash both of us clean. I knew the reek of disinfectant also hung on me, along with numerous other hospital odors. Ending the kiss, I held onto his arms, and Blair looked up at me.
“Blair, what about what's fair to you? You want to finish your dissertation, and I want to see you shown the respect that you deserve. I can set the record straight, get your name back for you.”
He'd shaken his tangled mop of curls. “I think I'm already tarnished, no matter what we do. People will believe I lied before, or they'll believe I'm lying now, unless you do some kind of public dog and pony show. Either way, without the public proof, I'll be seen as a liar, not somebody you can trust one hundred percent.”
“So, I'll do the dog and pony show. Read something far away. Repeat a conversation that nobody could have heard from that distance. Hell, if anybody really digs into my cases then they can find proof. Testifying that Juno shot Danny from two hundred feet away and in the dark ring a bell?”
Blair sighed, pulled out of my reach, and sat down on the couch, letting his head drop back against the cushion. I was glad he'd migrated to the couch. We'd been home from the hospital about an hour, and you didn't have to be a sentinel to see he was still not feeling a hundred percent. Shoot, he probably hadn't hit the fifty percent line yet.
“Jim, what number was compromising?”
“On the relationship rules? Eight.”
“Okay. You want me to have respect and my Ph.D. I'm getting my Ph.D, but I'm not doing it on sentinels. So you announcing that you're a sentinel will not help me get my Ph.D. Instead, I'm proposing this thesis: training police officers to utilize their senses more effectively at crime scenes increases their conviction rates. I'm going to have matched groups from the Seattle P.D. and Cascade P.D. Cascade will just be a control group, so I'll only be looking at their conviction rates and years of experience, that sort of thing. I'm pretty well convinced that if I tried to hold classes here as well, the data would be skewed. Too many officers here don't like or trust me. I wouldn't end up with reliable results.”
He stared at the ceiling for a minute and then said, “Jack has contacts within the Seattle P.D. and can arrange for me to teach detectives about using their senses to observe and then interpret what they learn at crime scenes. Since Jack's helping me out, he'll lend me some respectability.”
He looked over at me. “You've always wanted to be just an ordinary guy. You aren't. You're incredible, man. But that's your cover, and how you hope the world sees you. I want that for you. I really do.” He patted the couch and I sat down next to him. He grabbed my hand and held it tightly.
“Jim, if it's really necessary for me to gain somebody's respect and the diss mess is blocking it, that person can sign a non-disclosure agreement and then you can wow them with all the cool stuff you can do. But I don't want you to throw yourself to the wolves, okay? If we don't feed the press, they'll lose interest and find some other hot story. We can compromise on this, can't we?”
We could. We did.
There was a lot more for us to hash out, especially the guilt he was carrying about going to Dad's house, and the anger I'd buried about the end run he'd done around Henri, but it was shelved in favor of a hot shower, hot tea, and grilled cheese sandwiches. Blair fell asleep on the couch, and I did laundry and cleaned the place, since it'd gotten dusty while I'd been on the road with Blair. Then I called Steven. It had been two and a half days since Dad killed himself and I had wrapped up all my feelings about that and stuffed them too in the denial closet. It wasn't time to deal with them, and Steven and I had next of kin stuff to do. We divided up the tasks, and he agreed to come over later that evening. He said he wanted to talk to Blair, commiserate with him on his bad taste in men.
Steven made me smile, and for that I was grateful.
Blair was still sleeping when Steven arrived, bringing with him bags of Chinese. Steven and I ate, then I stuck the rest in the fridge for Blair. I wasn't waking him up; he needed to rest - his body had been through the wringer.
Steven and I sat at the kitchen table discussing the service arrangements and the autopsy report. We were both disappointed that Dad hadn't had a brain tumor; it would have made his actions explainable. Dan hadn't found any other medical conditions that would have contributed to his making the decisions that he had.
“I can't get my head around it, Jim. Dad wasn't a violent man. I told you I never heard him speak out against Blair, except for that one time.” Steven and I were drinking whiskey. Somehow, beer wasn't cutting it for this conversation.
“When Blair's dissertation was released to the press by his mother, you mean.”
Mentioning Naomi made me wonder if the messages I'd left on her cell phone and with her friends had caught up with her yet.
I'd just said to get in touch right away, that Blair was okay, but he'd been in the hospital. I hadn't felt like explaining to the ten people I'd called trying to locate her that my father had almost killed her son, and oh, by the way, her son is sleeping with me.
Blair really wanted to talk to her; he didn't want her to hear about this mess on the news or through some acquaintance. I really wished that Naomi had a better way of keeping in touch. Apparently she traveled to places where her cell phone didn't work so well. I decided to look into it, see if we could get her something that would perform better.
“Yes, after the media said you were a sentinel,” Steven answered me. “Dad was pretty upset with Blair for a while, but after Blair's press conference he said he could tell Blair wasn't out to take advantage of you, Jim. I'd had some hard thoughts about Blair, too, till then. I hope he knows I think he's okay.” I nodded my head, encouraging him to keep talking.
Steven emptied his glass and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “If Dad was in his right mind, then I guess I never really even knew him. The man I thought I knew was tough, competitive, and willing to make hard choices to do what he thought was right, but he wasn't a hateful man. I never heard him put down different ethnic groups, and he didn't raise us to do it either. And Blair didn't have any power to harm you, not after he committed hara-kiri on TV. Why did Dad keep track of him and get so obsessed? Did you notice anything weird when the two of them were together?” Steven poured himself more whiskey and tossed it back.
“Nope, nothing too strange. When they met Blair said Dad looked at him like he couldn't believe what he was seeing, but then a lot of people have that initial reaction to Blair. Sometimes he's like a hippie force of nature, and you can't help staring.”
Steven laughed. I said, “You know, they met when Blair helped Dad when Aaron Foster grabbed him. Afterwards, Dad and I returned to the house by ourselves, and I think Simon gave Blair a ride home. Blair and I weren't together then, so it wasn't like he caught us groping each other.”
Steven snickered, then started laughing hard. What I had said wasn't that funny, and I waited for his reaction to turn the way I thought it would.
He cried for a little while, sobs taking the place of the belly laughs and I let him ride it out, and then hauled him up and hugged him. He wiped his face and pointed wordlessly to the bathroom.
When the door had locked, Blair asked from the couch, “Is he going to be okay?”
I left the table and walked over to him, helped him up and wrapped my arms around him. “I don't know, Chief. I don't think we'll ever really understand why Dad did the things he did. I'm not letting Stevie be in this by himself, though.”
Blair hugged me back. “I'd like to help, if Steven can stand to deal with me.”
I sighed. A fair amount of talking was in store for the three of us. “He doesn't blame you, Blair. How could anybody blame you? Dad's actions are on Dad, and Stevie knows that. He knows you're family to me, and he'll treat you as such. I'll warn you now, though, he can give noogies as good as I do. I trained him well.”
“Oh, joy,” Blair said, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice.
My brother actually demonstrated his noogie-giving technique after Blair unwisely mentioned that I'd bragged on his abilities. The initial awkwardness between them had passed and the rest of the evening had evolved into an impromptu wake for my father. We'd all helped empty the whiskey bottle, although Blair only had one drink, and, well lubricated, my brother and I had shifted to telling stories about Dad that didn't touch upon his death. Blair and Stevie had bonded over embarrassing stories about me, but I didn't mind. We'd needed a break before the next few days of dealing with Dad's funeral and the fallout over his suicide.
Before I shoved my brother into Blair's old room to sleep it off, Steven had lurched over to Blair and announced that he'd always wanted a little brother and that he was adopting Blair. The adoption ceremony shifted from a sloppy hug to a gentle noogie, and Blair let him, playing along by yelping about his hair.
I think that if I wasn't already in love with Blair, I would have fallen for him like a ton of bricks because of the kindness to Steven that he showed that night. Maybe it was the whiskey singing in my bloodstream, but I felt that I could see Blair's soul shining, bright and warm, and I wanted to kick myself for ever having turned away that kind of love and comfort. I muttered something about that to Blair when we climbed into our own bed. I gave him a kiss that half missed his mouth, and collapsed next to him, on the outside edge of the bed. I always liked to know that I was between him and any threat that might come up the stairs. Blair grumbled sometimes about having to climb over me to get to the bathroom but never asked for us to rearrange the bed.
I'm a lot taller than Blair, I'm more muscular and bigger through the chest than he is. Usually, when we slept together, he was the little spoon; he fit so nicely against me.
On that night though, Blair had resisted me spooning him. He tugged and pulled at me until he'd arranged my body the way he wanted it. I slept that night within the cocoon of his arms, felt him pressed up against my back, sheltering me. I drifted off as he mumbled something about it being his turn now to look after me.
My thoughts returned to the present when Simon finally hung up the phone and gave me a thoughtful look. I raised my eyebrows and he took the bait.
“Sullivan gave his notice. Larson hinted that I should apply for the position.”
I was quiet for a moment. Simon was such a fixture at Major Crimes, it was a little mind-boggling to think of him not being here in his office.
“Is that what you want to do, sir? I'm sure you'd do as excellent a job as an assistant chief as you've done for Major Crimes.”
Simon waggled his hand, indicating ambivalence. “I'm going to seriously consider it. I never thought Sullivan would retire, though. He's always said he'd die with his boots on, doing the job. The chief didn't elaborate but I gather something happened that shook Sullivan up pretty badly.”
“He was a good friend of my dad's. They went to the same private academy and were roommates at Rainier. They played golf together, attended the same social events and ate dinner together once a week at the country club. I talked to him at the funeral and he was extremely upset. He keeps calling and inviting me out for dinner, to talk, he says, but I haven't been in the right kind of mood to take him up on the offer. He told me he was turning in his notice. Maybe Dad's death made him decide to stop and smell the roses while he could.”
“I didn't know he was that close to your family, Jim. And has it occurred to you-- “
“That he was the leak in the department, that he might have let slip to Dad that I'd gone to Sweetwater to question Blair? Yes. After all, as one of the assistant chief he had access to the information. I'm fairly sure he wants to tell me about it. But he's retiring, and I can't see what good it would do to make a stink. Blair thinks we should let it go, too.”
Simon frowned. “Maybe you're right, but Sullivan should be held accountable if he did tell your dad that the two of you had returned to Cascade. That information was confidential. On the day your dad died, I had a morning meeting with Sullivan and Chief Larson. I updated them about the Bergman case and Blair being in protective custody and staying with you. The timing is right, if he contacted your father.”
I said evenly, “If he's guilty, then he has to live with the knowledge that his actions helped my father target Blair and contributed to Dad's killing himself. Dad was his friend; that's plenty of punishment. I don't need any vengeance. It's bad Karma.”
Simon rolled his eyes at my quoting Blair. “Sullivan was the one who pushed to have Blair's offer to join the force rescinded. He and the mayor - did your dad know him? - convinced Chief Larson that the department would be making a huge mistake by allowing Sandburg any sort of place within the P.D.”
“Dad might have asked him to do that, and approached the mayor, but as for why? We may never know.”
“Unless you talk with Sullivan, hear what he's got to say.”
“Yeah, I suppose I should. I guess I'm dragging my feet because I don't want to hear confirmation of more ways that Dad hurt my partner.”
“Speaking of your partner, is he ready to start on his new project?”
“In two weeks. He's got everything lined up and ready to go for the Seattle P.D. The detectives who take the classes on analyzing crime scenes by using a sensory approach get CEUs and in-service credits, so that's an incentive to sign up. Then it's a matter of tracking the data for a year. He's been revising some of his earlier writings, just general stuff about enhanced senses, for his new dissertation.”
Blair, with Jack as his representative, and me as his backup, had met with the grievance committee before the university closed down for Christmas break. When the list of Edwards' and Bergman's actions to harm Blair was shoved in their faces, they quickly agreed that Blair's grievance was founded. As compensation, they reinstated him as a Ph.D candidate, with no additional tuition.
Jack had argued for the university being held accountable for all of Blair's current loans and to reimburse him for any student loans he'd already paid off, but Blair wouldn't agree to that. I thought he was nuts for not making them pay. Blair felt that the university would just pass the cost along to the students. Jack told us later that Blair had gathered a lot of good will from the committee for not holding Rainier's feet to the fire and that several members indicated they would be willing to write personal letters of reference for him when he decided to go job hunting.
Blair didn't want to work at Rainier, though. He thought that, like working again at the P.D., he would be looked at with suspicion by most of the staff.
He was fond of quoting Nelson Mandela when the discussion would come up about working back at either place. He felt Mandela had a pretty good point, from his perspective of returning to freedom after imprisonment.
“There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.” Blair had memorized that saying and by now I knew it by heart, too.
He would say he'd had a lot of good times at school and the station, but he was done now. It didn't mean he couldn't help me, just not on the P.D.'s time. He'd say something about always being my guide, but he didn't always need to be within arm's reach anymore. He thought my senses were pretty stable.
I didn't like it and I didn't feel as stable as he thought. I could manage without him, with the touches at night to renew and relax me, but if he could be there, I knew that I would be so much better. I wasn't letting him know that, if I could help it. He was my partner, not my shadow.
I'd begun to consider that maybe my time as a police officer in Cascade was at an end. I hadn't told Blair, and the last month had been so hectic and wrenching that he hadn't picked up on what I was thinking. He needed time to regain his health and strength so I'd made him promise not to do any shaman work for three months, and that included reading my aura. He couldn't see the colors that told him so much about my feelings.
Simon got up and poured himself another cup of coffee and raised the pot, asking wordlessly if I wanted a refill. I nodded and passed him my mug. He handed it back and I took a deep sip, letting the smell and taste refresh me.
“I heard Bergman's plea agreement went as planned yesterday with no last-minute decision to change his plea to not guilty,” Simon remarked.
“I went. I wanted to hear him admit his guilt to the judge. Blair didn't go; he just feels sorry for the son-of-a-bitch, but I'm not as forgiving as he is. Bergman's sentencing date is in March, but I probably won't attend it. This was enough. I didn't see his wife there either. I've got a feeling that she's going to divorce him.”
Bergman had looked as if he'd aged ten years since he and I had gone around and around in the interrogation room. Seeing him like that had brought home to me that my own father might have had to spend time in prison, if he'd lived to have attempted murder charges brought against him. God, what a cluster fuck this whole business had been.
I put those thoughts behind me, as I'd been doing for the last few weeks. I'd actually stopped in to see Simon for another reason.
“Blair says that he thinks he can stay awake for the whole evening now, and he reminded me that we owe you a steak dinner. Are you free this Saturday? If Daryl is around he's welcome to join us. ”
Simon smiled and agreed to meet us at Robert's Steak House at seven, and said that he thought Daryl would jump at the chance to visit with Blair again. We discussed that if Blair wasn't sleepy afterwards we might all go see a movie or go shoot some pool. It would be nice to do something with friends. We'd been pretty wrapped up with Dad's funeral, and settling his estate, not to mention Blair's grievance and getting his new research project off the ground.
I finished my coffee and without a lot of enthusiasm left Simon's office for my own desk, and began to work on my latest case, a series of home invasions that appeared to be motivated by revenge and greed.
Tonight Steven and I were meeting at Dad's house to discuss what to do about his belongings. It had to be done, but so far I'd avoided returning. Maybe enough time had gone by that I wouldn't see the image of him dead on the floor, or scent death in the air as I walked in the door. I'd had nightmares and so had Blair. Maybe once the house was emptied and sold - Sally refused to return to it - we'd get past waking up panting and covered in sweat, horrified at what our minds had replayed in the middle of the night.
In court yesterday Bergman had said he regretted the actions he took that resulted in a death and an attempted murder.
I wondered if my dad had regretted his behavior, the impulse to poison Blair, the harassment he'd engineered.
Tomorrow I would call up Sullivan and recieve his confession. Maybe he could explain to me why Dad had done what he did.
Blair had told me how Dad hadn't wanted him to suffer. My father thought he'd given Blair a peaceful death, and had kissed him on the forehead in a gesture of sorrow or forgiveness after he'd tried to smother him with a pillow. I shivered, as I almost always did, when I thought about what a close call Blair had experienced. Considering that he'd stopped breathing several times in the hospital, we suspected he'd had an episode of apnea, the drug suppressing his breathing, and Dad had thought the pillow had finished him off. He evidently had spontaneously begun breathing again after the blanket had been pulled up over his face. Blair thought his out-of-body journey had been kick-started the first time he experienced the apnea, lying unconscious and helpless on the couch, and he'd fled to me.
I shuddered again, remembering the fear I'd felt seeing his astral body floating in front of me. I knew how to dispel that feeling, though, and I dialed Blair. I heard his warm, lively voice and smiled at the sound of it.
“Hey, Chief, how would you like to meet me for lunch?”
~oo~oo~oo~oo~
A Fair Distance: Comes a Time. Chapter Eleven.
Fandom The Sentinel
Author: Laurie
Type: Slash
Rating: PG-17 (for the series)
Word count: 6152 words
Warnings: Link to warnings for the entire series
Written for Sentinel Thursday Challenge 232: Regrets
Beta’ed by t_verano So much appreciation!
Summary for A Fair Distance: A year after Blair left Jim, and Cascade, they meet again in a small Tennessee town. Blair's been arrested and is being held for questioning at the request of the Cascade PD.
This is the third and final arc to the story, and the two earlier arcs, A Fair Distance:Running on Empty and A Fair Distance: Ball and Chain, as well as several time stamps, can be located at my LJ here or at Artifact Storage Room 3 here or at AO3 here. I believe that AO3 has a nifty feature that allows you to download onto E-readers.
“How are you doing, Jim?” Simon beckoned me into his office and pointed to a seat after handing me a cup of coffee. I'd left a message with Rhonda earlier that I needed to see Simon after he returned from a task force meeting with the DEA.
I'd grown to dislike that question, though I knew that everybody who'd asked me that since Dad's death a month ago was only being kind. I usually responded to their inquiries with a simple answer designed to stop any follow-up questions. However, Simon knew me better than most people and he'd always been talented at not accepting any smoke I'd ever tried to blow up his ass.
“Well, sir, I think my notoriety is starting to die down a little around here. McHenry punching out Chavez while they both were assigned to security for the Mayor's last shindig has taken the spotlight away from me. Having a news crew film the whole fight and the loud accusations about Chavez sleeping with McHenry's wife is more interesting to the gossipers these days than rehashing how my father tried to kill my lover, and then committed suicide.”
The week following my father's death had been the worst. Hearing your family's name on the six o'clock news was such a breach of privacy, but I'd expected it. The news stories hinted strongly that my father had tried to kill Blair due to resentment about Blair lying about me in his dissertation, although later newscasts speculated that the attack was because Dad couldn't stand my big gay love for Blair.
Bergman's fall from grace was also covered and Blair's name mentioned as his alleged victim. Some newscasters decided that two attempts in two days by two different people to kill Blair was funny in a way and spun their report that way. “Well, John, one man who only recently returned to Cascade has eluded the Grim Reaper twice in two days.” Blah, blah, blah...
Simon frowned. “Is anybody here hassling you, Jim? Because I'll put a boot up their ass if they are.”
“Nobody's been stupid enough to talk to me directly. I hear things, though.”
I had heard plenty. Blair coming in to make his official statement about Dad's attack had raised the gossip level to new heights. I wouldn't let him come in by himself, despite him telling me he could handle it. I wasn't taking any chances on his being accosted by the media or the cops.
To be fair, some of the talk at the P.D. wasn't against Blair and me, just discussing the situation, but a lot of it was hateful and homophobic. I'd expected some of that attitude when I'd outed myself, but being part of a media circus as a gay police officer seemed to have turned up the loathing from some of my brothers in blue. There was a lot of speculation about Blair's powers of seduction, and plenty of people remembered when he'd flitted from one pretty girl who worked at the station to the next. “Slut” and “A talented whore” were some of the comments I heard bandied about by malicious people. I would have loved to confront them, but Blair had asked me to let any negative comments I overheard go. I was trying, so I just shoved my anger at each negative comment into the denial closet to deal with later. Sucker was getting pretty full by now.
The uniforms who had responded to the scene at my dad's house had been the source for some of the gossip. They'd talked about how I'd behaved about Blair -- it had been obvious that he was someone special to me - and how I'd acted like a crazy man, shouting at the ceiling and trying to grab at something that wasn't there. I couldn't very well explain that I'd been trying to communicate with Blair's astral body.
The gossip about Blair being my lover, the news stories about Dad's suicide and attempt to murder Blair, and Bergman's arrest for Edwards' murder and his attempt to poison Blair; all of it had formed a perfect storm to swamp us.
A month later, we were still sifting through the wreckage.
Simon's phone rang and I sipped my coffee, thinking about the past few weeks while he discussed administrative business with Chief Larson.
When the story about Bergman broke, and then the one about Dad, Blair's name and mine had pinged for some of the news reporters. The dissertation mess had gotten rehashed in the papers and in the newscasts. Adding to that, the media finding out that we were in a relationship just made the story juicier. Especially the way the story broke.
The day Blair was discharged, he was still pretty weak. After the ventilator had been removed he'd kept asking over and over,“Are we really okay, Jim?” and then when I'd tell him yes, and pat his hand or drop a quick kiss on his forehead, he'd continue with, “Can we please go home now?”
His doctor had wanted to keep him an extra day, but he'd convinced him that he'd be better off resting at home, and shamelessly peddled my medic certification as the cherry on top of his list of reasons why he should be released from the hospital immediately. Privately, I'd told the doc that since Blair was conceding his care into my hands, I would make sure he rested, even if he didn't want to. He might not like it, but he'd set himself up for it.
So newly discharged, waiting in a wheelchair with the orderly who'd offered to take him to the curb and wait with him while I fetched the truck from the hospital parking lot, Blair had been ambushed by an enterprising reporter and camera crew. He'd used his hands to keep the microphone out of his face, and kept repeating, “No comment,” to the insistent questions. The orderly with him wasn't doing anything to stop the harassment, and I saw one of the crew surreptitiously hand him a fifty, which he quickly tucked into his scrubs pocket. The fucker'd been paid off to hand Blair to the wolves.
I hustled out of the truck in record time and over to his side, maneuvering so that the pretty news reporter had to step back so I could help lever Blair out of the chair.
The news crew's focus switched from Blair to me as I was recognized. “Detective Ellison, can you confirm that you are in a relationship with Blair Sandburg, the man who publicly admitted to lying about you possessing enhanced senses?” I recognized the Channel Three reporter from previous police press conferences, although I usually handed off talking to the press to another officer. I didn't enjoy seeing myself on the evening news. No hope of avoiding that now.
She must have been nosing around the station and heard that I'd outed myself. I could have said, “No comment,” too. I didn't. Instead I shrugged and said, “I don't know why you think my love life rates a news story, but yes, I'm in a committed relationship with Blair.” I had my arm around him, in case he felt dizzy, and his mouth dropped open. When I saw the newscast later that night I could see the surprise and then the happiness in his expression. I thought it had been worth saying that to the people of Cascade just to see that look on his face.
Ignoring her and her camera crew after my statement, I opened the passenger door and boosted him up into the truck and fastened his seat belt myself when his fumbling took too long. Shutting his door, I walked around to the driver's side, still ignoring the rest of the questions the reporter was shouting. I slowly drove my old Tennessee truck through their midst, Blair muttering at me to not run over anybody, and they scattered. It was good to finally be going home together. I'd been back to the loft to sleep after Blair's first twenty-four hours in ICU, letting Megan and Henri take over keeping Blair safe, but I'd taken no pleasure in returning without him.
Now, the loft felt like a haven, a Blair and Jim retreat, and after talking to Steven and later Dan Wolfe about Dad's autopsy, I took the phone off the hook.
Blair'd gotten restless after initially collapsing on the couch and had been walking around the living room and kitchen, hands idly touching books or the back of the chairs.
I kept suggesting he take a nap, but he said he was tired of sleeping.
“Between the mono and the overdose, I've been sleeping for most of the last two weeks. I want to move around while I still can, before I get too tired again. I'll lie down later, okay? And Jim, we really need to talk. The publicity, your dad... the case... I fucked up and yeah, you said we're okay but I need to... God, apologize doesn't even begin to start to make right what I did.”
Yeah, I'd been putting those conversations off; I wasn't looking forward to any of it. By the look in his eyes, he wasn't either. I agreed we'd talk, but I reserved the right to call a halt and pick it up later.
When Blair started apologizing again for going to Dad's place, I held up my hand. “Let's work our way up to that one, Chief. What do you want to do about admitting or denying I'm a sentinel, since the news hounds are chewing on that bone again?”
At first, Blair threatened to shave me bald while I slept if I answered any questions about being a sentinel with anything other than “no comment.”
“Jim, you can't draw attention to yourself, and I love you for claiming me in front of Channel Three's viewers, but you shouldn't have done it.”
I didn't agree, and we ended up talking about me coming clean about being a sentinel. I told him that I still regretted not setting the record right about him lying for me at his press conference.
He threw his hands up in the air, and shook his head.
“Jim, I thought we'd gotten this straight a long time ago. It was my responsibility to have safeguarded my research, and I had a professional and personal obligation to protect you from the fall-out from my fuck-up. I didn't regret that press conference at the time, and I don't regret it now. And I know that it makes you uncomfortable to think about being protected, instead of being the one to do the protecting, but I made you a promise when you agreed I could write about you. It was, and is, on me to keep my word. You have rights as a human research subject, and my shoddy security put you at risk. I should have kept your name out of the diss, even in my first draft, and should have put better safeguards on my computer to keep my mother and anybody else who was curious from poking around in my research. You had every right to be pissed at me about it. I did the right thing, Jim, but truthfully, I did it for me. I screwed up and I needed to make things right, or I would have become somebody that I don't want to be.”
He did his pleading eyes thing and added that he was worried about repercussions to me if I came clean now.
I snorted, and was amused at Blair's under-his-breath mutter about getting my septum checked out, since I snorted so often. My septum was just fine, I told him. Then I looked seriously at him, not wanting him to be so anxious for my safety and well-being.
“Blair, the government knows about my abilities by now, thanks to Brackett. Hell, they've probably known since I left the jungle. Nobody's approached me to work for them or to let them study me. It might make a great plot for a novel, to be scooped up by some special agency, but if the government wanted me, they'd have talked to me years ago. Criminals might devise ways to act against me, but that supposes they know it's going to be me coming after them. They'll do what, blow a dog whistle? Set off something I'm sensitive to, that might overwhelm me? I've had to deal with crap like that before; I'll deal with it if it comes up again.”
“What about at the station? Simon wouldn't want you to rock the boat now.” Blair had crossed his arms over his chest, and was looking mulish. I decided it wasn't the right time to nag him into lying down on the couch.
I shrugged. “I think Simon and I would be all right. Maybe my cases with convictions would be reviewed, but we've made sure to back up anything I've gotten from my senses with standard evidence. The brass might love to hang me out to dry for the inconvenience, but no criminals should walk. Besides, I think most of Major Crimes already knows.”
He'd shot back, “What about your privacy being invaded? If you admit to having enhanced senses, to being the sentinel that I'd written about, the media will run with it. Jim, you'd hate that.”
We'd been standing by the balcony doors at home; I'd pulled him close to me and kissed him. The scent of the hospital still clung to him, and I longed to strip him and wash both of us clean. I knew the reek of disinfectant also hung on me, along with numerous other hospital odors. Ending the kiss, I held onto his arms, and Blair looked up at me.
“Blair, what about what's fair to you? You want to finish your dissertation, and I want to see you shown the respect that you deserve. I can set the record straight, get your name back for you.”
He'd shaken his tangled mop of curls. “I think I'm already tarnished, no matter what we do. People will believe I lied before, or they'll believe I'm lying now, unless you do some kind of public dog and pony show. Either way, without the public proof, I'll be seen as a liar, not somebody you can trust one hundred percent.”
“So, I'll do the dog and pony show. Read something far away. Repeat a conversation that nobody could have heard from that distance. Hell, if anybody really digs into my cases then they can find proof. Testifying that Juno shot Danny from two hundred feet away and in the dark ring a bell?”
Blair sighed, pulled out of my reach, and sat down on the couch, letting his head drop back against the cushion. I was glad he'd migrated to the couch. We'd been home from the hospital about an hour, and you didn't have to be a sentinel to see he was still not feeling a hundred percent. Shoot, he probably hadn't hit the fifty percent line yet.
“Jim, what number was compromising?”
“On the relationship rules? Eight.”
“Okay. You want me to have respect and my Ph.D. I'm getting my Ph.D, but I'm not doing it on sentinels. So you announcing that you're a sentinel will not help me get my Ph.D. Instead, I'm proposing this thesis: training police officers to utilize their senses more effectively at crime scenes increases their conviction rates. I'm going to have matched groups from the Seattle P.D. and Cascade P.D. Cascade will just be a control group, so I'll only be looking at their conviction rates and years of experience, that sort of thing. I'm pretty well convinced that if I tried to hold classes here as well, the data would be skewed. Too many officers here don't like or trust me. I wouldn't end up with reliable results.”
He stared at the ceiling for a minute and then said, “Jack has contacts within the Seattle P.D. and can arrange for me to teach detectives about using their senses to observe and then interpret what they learn at crime scenes. Since Jack's helping me out, he'll lend me some respectability.”
He looked over at me. “You've always wanted to be just an ordinary guy. You aren't. You're incredible, man. But that's your cover, and how you hope the world sees you. I want that for you. I really do.” He patted the couch and I sat down next to him. He grabbed my hand and held it tightly.
“Jim, if it's really necessary for me to gain somebody's respect and the diss mess is blocking it, that person can sign a non-disclosure agreement and then you can wow them with all the cool stuff you can do. But I don't want you to throw yourself to the wolves, okay? If we don't feed the press, they'll lose interest and find some other hot story. We can compromise on this, can't we?”
We could. We did.
There was a lot more for us to hash out, especially the guilt he was carrying about going to Dad's house, and the anger I'd buried about the end run he'd done around Henri, but it was shelved in favor of a hot shower, hot tea, and grilled cheese sandwiches. Blair fell asleep on the couch, and I did laundry and cleaned the place, since it'd gotten dusty while I'd been on the road with Blair. Then I called Steven. It had been two and a half days since Dad killed himself and I had wrapped up all my feelings about that and stuffed them too in the denial closet. It wasn't time to deal with them, and Steven and I had next of kin stuff to do. We divided up the tasks, and he agreed to come over later that evening. He said he wanted to talk to Blair, commiserate with him on his bad taste in men.
Steven made me smile, and for that I was grateful.
Blair was still sleeping when Steven arrived, bringing with him bags of Chinese. Steven and I ate, then I stuck the rest in the fridge for Blair. I wasn't waking him up; he needed to rest - his body had been through the wringer.
Steven and I sat at the kitchen table discussing the service arrangements and the autopsy report. We were both disappointed that Dad hadn't had a brain tumor; it would have made his actions explainable. Dan hadn't found any other medical conditions that would have contributed to his making the decisions that he had.
“I can't get my head around it, Jim. Dad wasn't a violent man. I told you I never heard him speak out against Blair, except for that one time.” Steven and I were drinking whiskey. Somehow, beer wasn't cutting it for this conversation.
“When Blair's dissertation was released to the press by his mother, you mean.”
Mentioning Naomi made me wonder if the messages I'd left on her cell phone and with her friends had caught up with her yet.
I'd just said to get in touch right away, that Blair was okay, but he'd been in the hospital. I hadn't felt like explaining to the ten people I'd called trying to locate her that my father had almost killed her son, and oh, by the way, her son is sleeping with me.
Blair really wanted to talk to her; he didn't want her to hear about this mess on the news or through some acquaintance. I really wished that Naomi had a better way of keeping in touch. Apparently she traveled to places where her cell phone didn't work so well. I decided to look into it, see if we could get her something that would perform better.
“Yes, after the media said you were a sentinel,” Steven answered me. “Dad was pretty upset with Blair for a while, but after Blair's press conference he said he could tell Blair wasn't out to take advantage of you, Jim. I'd had some hard thoughts about Blair, too, till then. I hope he knows I think he's okay.” I nodded my head, encouraging him to keep talking.
Steven emptied his glass and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “If Dad was in his right mind, then I guess I never really even knew him. The man I thought I knew was tough, competitive, and willing to make hard choices to do what he thought was right, but he wasn't a hateful man. I never heard him put down different ethnic groups, and he didn't raise us to do it either. And Blair didn't have any power to harm you, not after he committed hara-kiri on TV. Why did Dad keep track of him and get so obsessed? Did you notice anything weird when the two of them were together?” Steven poured himself more whiskey and tossed it back.
“Nope, nothing too strange. When they met Blair said Dad looked at him like he couldn't believe what he was seeing, but then a lot of people have that initial reaction to Blair. Sometimes he's like a hippie force of nature, and you can't help staring.”
Steven laughed. I said, “You know, they met when Blair helped Dad when Aaron Foster grabbed him. Afterwards, Dad and I returned to the house by ourselves, and I think Simon gave Blair a ride home. Blair and I weren't together then, so it wasn't like he caught us groping each other.”
Steven snickered, then started laughing hard. What I had said wasn't that funny, and I waited for his reaction to turn the way I thought it would.
He cried for a little while, sobs taking the place of the belly laughs and I let him ride it out, and then hauled him up and hugged him. He wiped his face and pointed wordlessly to the bathroom.
When the door had locked, Blair asked from the couch, “Is he going to be okay?”
I left the table and walked over to him, helped him up and wrapped my arms around him. “I don't know, Chief. I don't think we'll ever really understand why Dad did the things he did. I'm not letting Stevie be in this by himself, though.”
Blair hugged me back. “I'd like to help, if Steven can stand to deal with me.”
I sighed. A fair amount of talking was in store for the three of us. “He doesn't blame you, Blair. How could anybody blame you? Dad's actions are on Dad, and Stevie knows that. He knows you're family to me, and he'll treat you as such. I'll warn you now, though, he can give noogies as good as I do. I trained him well.”
“Oh, joy,” Blair said, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice.
My brother actually demonstrated his noogie-giving technique after Blair unwisely mentioned that I'd bragged on his abilities. The initial awkwardness between them had passed and the rest of the evening had evolved into an impromptu wake for my father. We'd all helped empty the whiskey bottle, although Blair only had one drink, and, well lubricated, my brother and I had shifted to telling stories about Dad that didn't touch upon his death. Blair and Stevie had bonded over embarrassing stories about me, but I didn't mind. We'd needed a break before the next few days of dealing with Dad's funeral and the fallout over his suicide.
Before I shoved my brother into Blair's old room to sleep it off, Steven had lurched over to Blair and announced that he'd always wanted a little brother and that he was adopting Blair. The adoption ceremony shifted from a sloppy hug to a gentle noogie, and Blair let him, playing along by yelping about his hair.
I think that if I wasn't already in love with Blair, I would have fallen for him like a ton of bricks because of the kindness to Steven that he showed that night. Maybe it was the whiskey singing in my bloodstream, but I felt that I could see Blair's soul shining, bright and warm, and I wanted to kick myself for ever having turned away that kind of love and comfort. I muttered something about that to Blair when we climbed into our own bed. I gave him a kiss that half missed his mouth, and collapsed next to him, on the outside edge of the bed. I always liked to know that I was between him and any threat that might come up the stairs. Blair grumbled sometimes about having to climb over me to get to the bathroom but never asked for us to rearrange the bed.
I'm a lot taller than Blair, I'm more muscular and bigger through the chest than he is. Usually, when we slept together, he was the little spoon; he fit so nicely against me.
On that night though, Blair had resisted me spooning him. He tugged and pulled at me until he'd arranged my body the way he wanted it. I slept that night within the cocoon of his arms, felt him pressed up against my back, sheltering me. I drifted off as he mumbled something about it being his turn now to look after me.
My thoughts returned to the present when Simon finally hung up the phone and gave me a thoughtful look. I raised my eyebrows and he took the bait.
“Sullivan gave his notice. Larson hinted that I should apply for the position.”
I was quiet for a moment. Simon was such a fixture at Major Crimes, it was a little mind-boggling to think of him not being here in his office.
“Is that what you want to do, sir? I'm sure you'd do as excellent a job as an assistant chief as you've done for Major Crimes.”
Simon waggled his hand, indicating ambivalence. “I'm going to seriously consider it. I never thought Sullivan would retire, though. He's always said he'd die with his boots on, doing the job. The chief didn't elaborate but I gather something happened that shook Sullivan up pretty badly.”
“He was a good friend of my dad's. They went to the same private academy and were roommates at Rainier. They played golf together, attended the same social events and ate dinner together once a week at the country club. I talked to him at the funeral and he was extremely upset. He keeps calling and inviting me out for dinner, to talk, he says, but I haven't been in the right kind of mood to take him up on the offer. He told me he was turning in his notice. Maybe Dad's death made him decide to stop and smell the roses while he could.”
“I didn't know he was that close to your family, Jim. And has it occurred to you-- “
“That he was the leak in the department, that he might have let slip to Dad that I'd gone to Sweetwater to question Blair? Yes. After all, as one of the assistant chief he had access to the information. I'm fairly sure he wants to tell me about it. But he's retiring, and I can't see what good it would do to make a stink. Blair thinks we should let it go, too.”
Simon frowned. “Maybe you're right, but Sullivan should be held accountable if he did tell your dad that the two of you had returned to Cascade. That information was confidential. On the day your dad died, I had a morning meeting with Sullivan and Chief Larson. I updated them about the Bergman case and Blair being in protective custody and staying with you. The timing is right, if he contacted your father.”
I said evenly, “If he's guilty, then he has to live with the knowledge that his actions helped my father target Blair and contributed to Dad's killing himself. Dad was his friend; that's plenty of punishment. I don't need any vengeance. It's bad Karma.”
Simon rolled his eyes at my quoting Blair. “Sullivan was the one who pushed to have Blair's offer to join the force rescinded. He and the mayor - did your dad know him? - convinced Chief Larson that the department would be making a huge mistake by allowing Sandburg any sort of place within the P.D.”
“Dad might have asked him to do that, and approached the mayor, but as for why? We may never know.”
“Unless you talk with Sullivan, hear what he's got to say.”
“Yeah, I suppose I should. I guess I'm dragging my feet because I don't want to hear confirmation of more ways that Dad hurt my partner.”
“Speaking of your partner, is he ready to start on his new project?”
“In two weeks. He's got everything lined up and ready to go for the Seattle P.D. The detectives who take the classes on analyzing crime scenes by using a sensory approach get CEUs and in-service credits, so that's an incentive to sign up. Then it's a matter of tracking the data for a year. He's been revising some of his earlier writings, just general stuff about enhanced senses, for his new dissertation.”
Blair, with Jack as his representative, and me as his backup, had met with the grievance committee before the university closed down for Christmas break. When the list of Edwards' and Bergman's actions to harm Blair was shoved in their faces, they quickly agreed that Blair's grievance was founded. As compensation, they reinstated him as a Ph.D candidate, with no additional tuition.
Jack had argued for the university being held accountable for all of Blair's current loans and to reimburse him for any student loans he'd already paid off, but Blair wouldn't agree to that. I thought he was nuts for not making them pay. Blair felt that the university would just pass the cost along to the students. Jack told us later that Blair had gathered a lot of good will from the committee for not holding Rainier's feet to the fire and that several members indicated they would be willing to write personal letters of reference for him when he decided to go job hunting.
Blair didn't want to work at Rainier, though. He thought that, like working again at the P.D., he would be looked at with suspicion by most of the staff.
He was fond of quoting Nelson Mandela when the discussion would come up about working back at either place. He felt Mandela had a pretty good point, from his perspective of returning to freedom after imprisonment.
“There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.” Blair had memorized that saying and by now I knew it by heart, too.
He would say he'd had a lot of good times at school and the station, but he was done now. It didn't mean he couldn't help me, just not on the P.D.'s time. He'd say something about always being my guide, but he didn't always need to be within arm's reach anymore. He thought my senses were pretty stable.
I didn't like it and I didn't feel as stable as he thought. I could manage without him, with the touches at night to renew and relax me, but if he could be there, I knew that I would be so much better. I wasn't letting him know that, if I could help it. He was my partner, not my shadow.
I'd begun to consider that maybe my time as a police officer in Cascade was at an end. I hadn't told Blair, and the last month had been so hectic and wrenching that he hadn't picked up on what I was thinking. He needed time to regain his health and strength so I'd made him promise not to do any shaman work for three months, and that included reading my aura. He couldn't see the colors that told him so much about my feelings.
Simon got up and poured himself another cup of coffee and raised the pot, asking wordlessly if I wanted a refill. I nodded and passed him my mug. He handed it back and I took a deep sip, letting the smell and taste refresh me.
“I heard Bergman's plea agreement went as planned yesterday with no last-minute decision to change his plea to not guilty,” Simon remarked.
“I went. I wanted to hear him admit his guilt to the judge. Blair didn't go; he just feels sorry for the son-of-a-bitch, but I'm not as forgiving as he is. Bergman's sentencing date is in March, but I probably won't attend it. This was enough. I didn't see his wife there either. I've got a feeling that she's going to divorce him.”
Bergman had looked as if he'd aged ten years since he and I had gone around and around in the interrogation room. Seeing him like that had brought home to me that my own father might have had to spend time in prison, if he'd lived to have attempted murder charges brought against him. God, what a cluster fuck this whole business had been.
I put those thoughts behind me, as I'd been doing for the last few weeks. I'd actually stopped in to see Simon for another reason.
“Blair says that he thinks he can stay awake for the whole evening now, and he reminded me that we owe you a steak dinner. Are you free this Saturday? If Daryl is around he's welcome to join us. ”
Simon smiled and agreed to meet us at Robert's Steak House at seven, and said that he thought Daryl would jump at the chance to visit with Blair again. We discussed that if Blair wasn't sleepy afterwards we might all go see a movie or go shoot some pool. It would be nice to do something with friends. We'd been pretty wrapped up with Dad's funeral, and settling his estate, not to mention Blair's grievance and getting his new research project off the ground.
I finished my coffee and without a lot of enthusiasm left Simon's office for my own desk, and began to work on my latest case, a series of home invasions that appeared to be motivated by revenge and greed.
Tonight Steven and I were meeting at Dad's house to discuss what to do about his belongings. It had to be done, but so far I'd avoided returning. Maybe enough time had gone by that I wouldn't see the image of him dead on the floor, or scent death in the air as I walked in the door. I'd had nightmares and so had Blair. Maybe once the house was emptied and sold - Sally refused to return to it - we'd get past waking up panting and covered in sweat, horrified at what our minds had replayed in the middle of the night.
In court yesterday Bergman had said he regretted the actions he took that resulted in a death and an attempted murder.
I wondered if my dad had regretted his behavior, the impulse to poison Blair, the harassment he'd engineered.
Tomorrow I would call up Sullivan and recieve his confession. Maybe he could explain to me why Dad had done what he did.
Blair had told me how Dad hadn't wanted him to suffer. My father thought he'd given Blair a peaceful death, and had kissed him on the forehead in a gesture of sorrow or forgiveness after he'd tried to smother him with a pillow. I shivered, as I almost always did, when I thought about what a close call Blair had experienced. Considering that he'd stopped breathing several times in the hospital, we suspected he'd had an episode of apnea, the drug suppressing his breathing, and Dad had thought the pillow had finished him off. He evidently had spontaneously begun breathing again after the blanket had been pulled up over his face. Blair thought his out-of-body journey had been kick-started the first time he experienced the apnea, lying unconscious and helpless on the couch, and he'd fled to me.
I shuddered again, remembering the fear I'd felt seeing his astral body floating in front of me. I knew how to dispel that feeling, though, and I dialed Blair. I heard his warm, lively voice and smiled at the sound of it.
“Hey, Chief, how would you like to meet me for lunch?”
~oo~oo~oo~oo~
A Fair Distance: Comes a Time. Chapter Eleven.