Fic: Debt of Honor, Sentinel
Title: Debt of Honor
Authors: CapatinOGondor and Piratelf (formerly Maverick and Michka)
Warning: We intended to write much more, but this was written circa 2002. I don't think we'll be getting back to it. Though it does end on a pretty good note, so I'm not gonna classify it as unfinished.
DISCLAIMER: James Ellison and Blair Sandburg embody the concept of the perfect male. Cyclops Oil is, of course, an evil entity. SenQuil, the freaking, wigging, going ballistic, really screw you up so that you fall off a damn train medicine. All owned, body and soul, kit and caboodle, lock stock and barrel, by Paramount and Pet Fly.
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Jim closed the door, dropped his keys onto the shelf, and grabbed a beer from the fridge before heading to the sofa to go through the day's mail. He noticed there seemed to be much more of it than usual.
"Kid's been sending out chain letters," he muttered, "Or else those paternity suits are finally coming in." He continued shuffling through the envelopes. "Electric, Gas, truck insurance, Rainier, Rainier, - No return address, postmark from… Shiprock, New Mexico? Who do I know in New Mexico? Oh, it's Sandburg's. Probably an ex girlfriend or something." He sniffed the envelope, and sneezed twice. "Ah, should've known. Naomi." He put that one to the side, to make sure Blair saw it when he got home. "What else do we have here….What? Another from Rainier? What the hell do they want with the kid now?"
Jim harbored a grudge against the university and made no effort whatsoever to hide the fact. In his opinion, the entire fiasco that led to Blair declaring that he was a fraud, and thus ruining his life's work, was almost entirely the university's fault, it and that idiot ex-boyfriend of Naomi's who didn't understand the word "no."
His own role in that decision did not escape him, either; it was a debt he owed his partner that he doubted he'd ever feel was repaid.
But, the bulk of the guilt lay with the university. It wasn't enough that they'd forced his hand in that, now they had to keep after him for God knew what.
"Probably want him to join the alumni society or something."
He was about to pitch the whole lot into the trash, when he heard Blair's heartbeat in the hallway.
It was a little faster than it should be, which only meant that he hadn't cooled down properly after self-defense class. Jim had told him what to do and how to do it, but Blair was too impatient to slow down gradually and walk for fifteen minutes after running around like Jackie Chan for an hour. He said it was too much adrenaline; Jim sometimes worried that it was actually that Blair just couldn't wait to get away from the Academy.
"Hey Jim!" Blair called as entered the loft. He immediately went into his room and stored his gun in his lock box, the one that once held his dissertation. "Anything good in the mail?"
"You got something from Naomi," Jim said, pointing to the table where he'd put the letter.
"Great! What's all this?" Blair took the letters from Rainier out of Jim's hand. They were easily recognizable as they sported the school crest as well as the team logo and "Go Wolves!" on every envelope.
"Stir-fry okay for dinner, Chief?" Jim asked as he passed him on the way to the kitchen.
"Yeah, good." Blair answered distractedly. He sat down at the brushed metal table and opened the University correspondence.
"Chicken or beef?"
No answer.
"Sandburg?" Jim zeroed in and heard Blair's heartbeat accelerate. He walked over to the table. "Blair?"
"Huh? Oh, Jim, sorry. Guess I zoned there for a minute," Blair laughed at his own joke. He refolded the letters and began stuffing them back into their envelopes. "What did you ask me?"
"What do they want?"
"Who?" Blair asked, knowing exactly who.
"The school," Jim reached for the letters.
Blair folded the letters and put them in his pocket, pretending not to see Jim's hand. "Nothing big, just the regular bullshit paperwork you have to do when you leave a graduate program." Blair picked up the letter from Shiprock.
Jim took the letter out of his hand and put it rather forcefully down on the table, out of Blair's reach. "You're lying, Chief. Let's see 'em." Jim held his hand out for the letters.
Since the press conference, anything to do with Rainier could set Jim off on a ranting rampage, and THIS might just make him bust a few blood vessels. Besides that delightful prospect, there was also the fact that Blair didn't know yet himself just what he was going to do about the situation. He knew when he'd made the decision to trash his dissertation that it would be the end of his graduate degree and therefore it would be time to pay the piper, literally, but he didn't let that stop him. He couldn't. He had to protect Jim, and he would do the same thing again. Now, though, the consequences were staring him in the face, with more digits than a 1-900 number, and he was just slightly starting to panic. Having Jim go berserk wasn't going to help either. "Look Jim, how 'bout we save this until after dinner, huh? Please? I'm really beat and if I don't get some food soon, I'm gonna pass out, okay?"
Jim hesitated. He knew Blair was stalling, but he did look beat, and was certainly hungry. "After dinner," he said and turned his back. He returned to the kitchen and began chopping vegetables, a little more vigorously than was necessary.
Blair sat back, relieved. Now at least he had some time to come up with a way to present this to Jim that would make it look less disastrous - if any way to do that existed, which he doubted. He stretched across the table and snagged the letter from Naomi.
Dear Blair,
The spirituality here is amazing! I attended a Blessing Way ceremony and it completely blew my mind. I met a man here, his name is Jim, he's a Navajo Tribal Policeman (what a coincidence!) and he is a hataali, a singer/healer. He performed the ceremony. He is introducing me to traditional Navajo religion and ritual. I feel renewed! I think I'll be here for a few more months, at least. You'd love it here, Blair, if there is any possible way, you MUST come and visit! You can reach me at (505) 555-9569.
I think about you night and day, sweetie. I trust that the Academy is what you hoped it would be. I worry about you there. Please, please be careful, especially with the guns. Let me know how everything is working out.
I love you,
Mom
"Chief? Dinner's ready." Jim was setting the table.
"Okay, Jim." Blair took the rice pot from the kitchen and ladled generous helpings onto each plate, Jim followed with the stir-fry. Blair grabbed the bottle of teriyaki. Jim put the soy sauce next to it. Blair got the glasses. Jim poured the beer. Then they sat down to eat. It was smooth and easy, like choreography. A dance learned unconsciously over four years of sharing meals.
"So, what did Naomi have to say?" Jim asked.
"She met a cop named Jim," Blair said.
Jim raised his eyebrows in surprise, then nodded. "Sounds like a good man."
"She says she's going to be there for a while. She sent a phone number."
"That's good, Sandburg. You should call her."
"Yeah, I guess I should."
Naomi had been there when Simon offered Blair the permanent place as Jim's partner. She seemed happy. That night, she voiced a few concerns, but backed off when Blair seemed determined to follow through with it. The next day she left for Big Sur. She had written Blair twice, and Blair had sent her his hair when he had it cut short for the Academy. All the communication had been friendly, but there was definite unresolved tension between them. When Naomi had addressed her second letter, "To My Son, The PIG" it was a joke . . .right? And when Blair had sent her his hair with the note "The Last Vestige Of An Anthropologist" he was just kidding . . . right? They hadn't spoken, so Naomi was certainly making an overture by sending her phone number. But Blair wasn't sure if he wanted to hear what she might have to say. Especially not tonight, not with the impending confrontation with Jim. God, his life was getting more complicated by the minute.
"You finished?" Jim asked. He had long since cleaned his plate, and was getting pretty tired of watching Blair make weird tribal patterns with his vegetables.
"Huh?" Blair snapped out of his reverie.
"I assume if you intended to eat that, you would have done it by now."
"Oh. Oh, yeah, I'm done."
Jim took the plates to the sink.
"I'll wash, man, you dry," Blair said, following Jim.
"Uh-uh," Jim replied. He took Blair's shoulder and guided him to the couch. "You'll talk and I'll listen. We'll get to the rest later. Give me the letters."
"Jim, really, it's nothing -"
"The letters. Now."
Blair sighed, defeated. He pulled the letters out of his pocket and handed them to Jim. "I can handle it," he said.
"Uh huh." Jim looked the letters over carefully, his expression growing grimmer as he read. Finished, he folded them and replaced them into their envelopes, then dropped them onto the couch. He rose, and walked to the windows, staring outside for several minutes.
Blair debated joining his partner at the window, but wasn't sure if it was advisable. He recognized that body language all too well; the set of the shoulders, the clenched jaw, the arms folded too tightly, as if trying to stuff his emotions back down inside himself and lock them away. Of course, this was Jim Ellison, and so Blair knew that was exactly what he was doing. Not a good time to get all touchy-feely. Wait it out, Jim would open up, in his own time.
Blair just hoped that it would happen before he was due back at the Academy the next morning. After an agonizing ten minutes, he couldn't take it any longer. "Uh, Jim?" he ventured, quietly and as calmly as he could manage. "Jim, would you just say something for God's sake?"
Jim turned around, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "Chief, why the hell didn't you tell me about this?"
"I didn't want to worry you, for one thing," Blair replied. "It's no big deal, really. I just have to make some arrangements."
"Arrangements?" Jim went to the kitchen, got them both beers, and returned to drop down on the couch. "Chief, you make arrangements to have your car towed, or have somebody watch your apartment when you go on vacation. That's making arrangements. That I can understand. What I don't understand is how you make arrangements to pay off fifty grand plus in school loans on a cop's salary."
"Jim, it's not that bad," Blair took the proffered beer and tried to look casual. "I'll get them consolidated, take out a loan, get them off my back. Easy." That's it, he told himself. Keep the heartbeat calm, think cool thoughts, keep the temperature down, control the biofeedback, maybe Jim won't know you're lying. "I thought about all this when I made the decision. I've got it under control." He took a quick slug of beer, and smiled. "It's cool."
Jim obviously didn't buy it. "Chief, cut the crap. In the first place, I do know a thing or two about finances. In the second place, it isn't working."
"Uh, what isn't working?"
"You trying to lower your temp and slow your heartbeat."
"Worth a try, though, right?"
"Not a chance."
"Damn." Blair took another long drink of beer, and considered that if he couldn't talk Jim out of this, at least he was calm about it. Hell, he was practically making jokes. Maybe the situation wasn't so bad after all. "Okay. It looks bad, but I think I can handle it. Seriously."
"How do you propose to do that? Some of these letters are what, the third notice? This is way beyond bad, Chief. This is damn near catastrophic." He pointed his beer bottle at the stack of letters. "We can't let it go on like this. We have to do something fast or you could be looking at some serious trouble. Maybe even legal problems."
"Thanks, Jim, you're really easing my mind here."
"Sorry, but I'm just trying to get the facts straight, okay? Let's review our options here."
"Our options?" Blair looked at his partner incredulously. "No way, man. This is my problem, not yours. I got myself into it, I'll get myself out of it."
"You got yourself into it because of me."
"Jim, we've been through this -" Blair warned.
"Okay, fine, drop that. I'm still your Blessed Protector. The way I look at it, this is part of protecting you -"
"Jim, don't do this -"
" - besides which, it's part of my job, preventing you from breaking the law -"
"What law? Being in debt is not -"
"Well known statistic that money problems are a major motive in a slew of crimes. Burglary, mugging, bank robbing -"
"Oh, yeah, right!"
"Prostitution, murder, espionage -"
"JIM!" Blair smacked Jim in the chest.
"Okay, Junior," Jim grinned, and ruffled Blair's cropped hair. "Point is, we're in this together. Partners means partners. Now, let's get to work, see what we can do about this."
"Look, there's not much we CAN do about it, beyond what I already said, get them consolidated, take out ANOTHER loan, and pay the damn things off."
"No, Chief, listen. First we add up our assets -"
"That won't take long." Blair said dejectedly. "My only assets are the Volvo and 650 pounds of books."
"Sandburg, I said OUR assets. That includes the truck, my guns, the loft-"
"Jim, no!" Blair was instantly up and pacing. "You can't do that, man! You bought this place as an investment. It's your home! And the truck? Jim, how are you gonna work without a vehicle?"
Jim grabbed his partner by his forearms and stilled him. "Chief, Chief, settle down. There's no reason to get excited here. Sit down."
Blair continued to stare at Jim.
"Sit," Jim gave him a little push, "Down."
Blair sat with his arms folded and glared at Jim.
"Okay, now, let me finish. We have other assets too. I have a trust fund I've never touched, I don't even know how much is in it. I have three bonds my father bought me for my 5th, 10th and 15th birthdays. I have stocks. Once that all adds up, we can at least make some sort of dent in it." Jim sat next to Blair and drank his beer.
Blair was stunned. "You have stocks and bonds AND a trust fund?"
"Yep. I still own a horse stable too, I think, unless Pops put it in Steven's name after I went into the service. I'm really not sure." Jim grinned at the thought.
"Well, you can't blow that all on my screw-up, man. What if you need it? I mean, that's your safety net, man. If you get hurt on the job, or if something goes wiggy with your senses. That's your retirement fund. That's all you've got."
"Blair, first of all, it's not your screw-up. Second, I don't plan on needing a safety net, and if I do I still have the union pension. Third, what do YOU have? Huh? If you can survive without a back-up I think I can too."
"Jim, I really, really appreciate the thought, but let's liquidate me before we start on you, okay? Now I do have one asset, my baseball card collection. It's only worth about $2000, but at least that's a start." Blair stood and started to walk around the room, thinking out loud. "And the bat and other odds and ends could be close to $1000 . . .well, maybe $700. Naomi will probably kill me, but I bet I could get a couple thousand at least for the Hendrix guitar. Now the market value for my artifacts is pretty subjective, but I'm sure I can get something for them. I need to get my menorah appraised. Mom said it belonged to her great-great grandfather, and I'm pretty sure it's gold. Uh, let me think, OH, my laptop! I totally forgot about that. I can get $800 for it, even on a bad day. Um . .what else . . .uh . . ." Blair wandered into his bedroom and began opening drawers. "Jeez, Blair, think! What else? What else? Come on, come on, there has GOT to be something WORTH something in here . . .Oh my GOD!" Blair came out of his room with a triumphant smile on his face, holding something in his hand. "Jim, look, I forgot! Orvelle's card! He signed it and everything! This thing's gotta be worth something!"
Jim was shaking his head. "Blair, no way. You've had that since you were just a kid. And your baseball cards, you told me you bought your first one when you were five years old, you've been collecting practically all of your life. And Naomi's great-great grandfather's menorah? You can't sell something like that, that's a family heirloom, Blair. The Hendrix guitar your mom gave you for your birthday? Your artifacts? Your laptop? This is your whole life, Sandburg. You can't just sell it all."
Blair held his arms out and gave a little laugh. "Jim. Give me a break, man, it's all I got here."
"No, it isn't, Blair. That's what I'm telling you. Look, I have all this - the trust, the stocks, the bonds - which means nothing to me. Nothing. And I won't let you sell everything that has meaning for you in order to settle a debt that you wouldn't have if it weren't for me. I won't do that Blair, because you mean more to me than anything. I love you, man, you know that. I could never allow you to lose everything you have. You know that, don't you Chief?"
Blair smiled, a little shyly, sat down next to Jim and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Yeah, Jim, I know. I love you too. Don't think I don't or that you mean any less to me. It's just that . . . Jim, I . . . I don't know what to say here. I mean, I appreciate it. God, it's the second nicest thing you've ever done for me. I . . . but, you know, it would be wrong, for me to do that to you. It would just be . . . wrong"
"Wrong? What do you mean wrong?"
Blair sighed and stood again. He walked back and forth as he spoke, thinking fast, gesturing for emphasis. "I mean, Jim, this stuff is your security. You need that, even if you think you don't right now, you do. You know how you are, always have a plan, everything organized and color-coded. You'll feel it if you lose this stuff. Things will be different when it's not there. You think it means nothing to you Jim, but that's not true. It gives you confidence, assurance, security, even if it is on an unconscious level. When it's gone, you'll lose that, and the loss will bleed over into your conscious thought." Blair paused momentarily. "Now, me, I'm used to stuff like this. I mean, my apartment BLEW UP, for crying out loud, with all my worldly possessions in it. It's not like I lost a lot, but my point is, this kind of thing happens to me all the time." Blair stopped pacing and looked at Jim. "For instance, your dad, right? He has all your childhood stuff packed away at the house; pictures, football trophies, old toys. Your Bruce Lee poster is still up on the wall, man!" Blair turned and started pacing again. "Naomi doesn't have stuff like that. We moved a lot. We didn't drag a ton of stuff with us, you know? I mean we were always selling stuff, or giving it away, getting rid of the material, making room for the spiritual. Like that photo album she showed you, that is IT man, that's all the pictures we have, and it's not even full! I mean, she left my baby book at an ashram in Marrakech. One time, when I was eight, we flew to Guadalajara, and we lost our luggage, I mean EVERYTHING. Our passports, our return tickets, our money, our clothes, we didn't even have underwear! I mean security is a totally foreign concept, man. When I sell everything, it's not gonna be that big of a deal, see?"
Jim said nothing for a moment, then smiled. "Good try, Chief. I mean, I didn't buy a word of it," Jim grabbed the empty beer bottle out of Blair's hand. "But the effort was admirable." He tapped Blair's chest with the lip of the bottle, grinned a little and walked into the kitchen.
Blair collapsed on the couch. "Damn."
Jim disposed of the empty bottles, and Blair expected him to sit back down and continue the discussion, but instead he headed up to his bedroom and started pulling things out of his dresser. He came back downstairs with a sheaf of papers.
"Okay, so tomorrow I'll go to the bank and see what I have to do to access my trust fund -"
Blair groaned, Jim ignored him.
"- and cash in my bonds. Then I'll call a broker and see what kind of market value my stocks have, then we can see where we stand."
Blair idly lifted a paper and read it, "Cyclops Oil?! Jim! You own stock in Cyclops Oil?!"
"Huh? Let me see that?" Jim looked at the paper. "Where?"
"Right here!"
"Son of a bitch." He stared at the paper for a long moment, thinking of just how much that corporation had cost him. "Well, Chief, you won't object to my selling that, will you?"
"Uh-Uh." Blair shook his head emphatically.
"Jesus, let's see what else the old man has me into here . . .SenCorp Laboratories. They make that cold medicine, don't they?"
"Yeah, SenQuil."
"Ax that . . .Oh look, Wilkinson Industries, wish I'd known I was a stock holder when you were in that elevator."
"I second that."
"Oh look, Chief, Questscape AND Complexium."
"No way!"
"Yeah, looks like I'm a major stockholder, too. Wonder what kind of a panic I can start if I drop 30% of Complexium's shares and 35% of Questscapes on the market at one time, huh?" Jim raised his eyebrows at Blair.
Blair's eyes lit up as he smiled, "Oh Jim, you're evil."
"Ooooooh Yeah." Jim chuckled. Try and get HIS partner fired huh? They'd pay now.
Authors: CapatinOGondor and Piratelf (formerly Maverick and Michka)
Warning: We intended to write much more, but this was written circa 2002. I don't think we'll be getting back to it. Though it does end on a pretty good note, so I'm not gonna classify it as unfinished.
DISCLAIMER: James Ellison and Blair Sandburg embody the concept of the perfect male. Cyclops Oil is, of course, an evil entity. SenQuil, the freaking, wigging, going ballistic, really screw you up so that you fall off a damn train medicine. All owned, body and soul, kit and caboodle, lock stock and barrel, by Paramount and Pet Fly.
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Jim closed the door, dropped his keys onto the shelf, and grabbed a beer from the fridge before heading to the sofa to go through the day's mail. He noticed there seemed to be much more of it than usual.
"Kid's been sending out chain letters," he muttered, "Or else those paternity suits are finally coming in." He continued shuffling through the envelopes. "Electric, Gas, truck insurance, Rainier, Rainier, - No return address, postmark from… Shiprock, New Mexico? Who do I know in New Mexico? Oh, it's Sandburg's. Probably an ex girlfriend or something." He sniffed the envelope, and sneezed twice. "Ah, should've known. Naomi." He put that one to the side, to make sure Blair saw it when he got home. "What else do we have here….What? Another from Rainier? What the hell do they want with the kid now?"
Jim harbored a grudge against the university and made no effort whatsoever to hide the fact. In his opinion, the entire fiasco that led to Blair declaring that he was a fraud, and thus ruining his life's work, was almost entirely the university's fault, it and that idiot ex-boyfriend of Naomi's who didn't understand the word "no."
His own role in that decision did not escape him, either; it was a debt he owed his partner that he doubted he'd ever feel was repaid.
But, the bulk of the guilt lay with the university. It wasn't enough that they'd forced his hand in that, now they had to keep after him for God knew what.
"Probably want him to join the alumni society or something."
He was about to pitch the whole lot into the trash, when he heard Blair's heartbeat in the hallway.
It was a little faster than it should be, which only meant that he hadn't cooled down properly after self-defense class. Jim had told him what to do and how to do it, but Blair was too impatient to slow down gradually and walk for fifteen minutes after running around like Jackie Chan for an hour. He said it was too much adrenaline; Jim sometimes worried that it was actually that Blair just couldn't wait to get away from the Academy.
"Hey Jim!" Blair called as entered the loft. He immediately went into his room and stored his gun in his lock box, the one that once held his dissertation. "Anything good in the mail?"
"You got something from Naomi," Jim said, pointing to the table where he'd put the letter.
"Great! What's all this?" Blair took the letters from Rainier out of Jim's hand. They were easily recognizable as they sported the school crest as well as the team logo and "Go Wolves!" on every envelope.
"Stir-fry okay for dinner, Chief?" Jim asked as he passed him on the way to the kitchen.
"Yeah, good." Blair answered distractedly. He sat down at the brushed metal table and opened the University correspondence.
"Chicken or beef?"
No answer.
"Sandburg?" Jim zeroed in and heard Blair's heartbeat accelerate. He walked over to the table. "Blair?"
"Huh? Oh, Jim, sorry. Guess I zoned there for a minute," Blair laughed at his own joke. He refolded the letters and began stuffing them back into their envelopes. "What did you ask me?"
"What do they want?"
"Who?" Blair asked, knowing exactly who.
"The school," Jim reached for the letters.
Blair folded the letters and put them in his pocket, pretending not to see Jim's hand. "Nothing big, just the regular bullshit paperwork you have to do when you leave a graduate program." Blair picked up the letter from Shiprock.
Jim took the letter out of his hand and put it rather forcefully down on the table, out of Blair's reach. "You're lying, Chief. Let's see 'em." Jim held his hand out for the letters.
Since the press conference, anything to do with Rainier could set Jim off on a ranting rampage, and THIS might just make him bust a few blood vessels. Besides that delightful prospect, there was also the fact that Blair didn't know yet himself just what he was going to do about the situation. He knew when he'd made the decision to trash his dissertation that it would be the end of his graduate degree and therefore it would be time to pay the piper, literally, but he didn't let that stop him. He couldn't. He had to protect Jim, and he would do the same thing again. Now, though, the consequences were staring him in the face, with more digits than a 1-900 number, and he was just slightly starting to panic. Having Jim go berserk wasn't going to help either. "Look Jim, how 'bout we save this until after dinner, huh? Please? I'm really beat and if I don't get some food soon, I'm gonna pass out, okay?"
Jim hesitated. He knew Blair was stalling, but he did look beat, and was certainly hungry. "After dinner," he said and turned his back. He returned to the kitchen and began chopping vegetables, a little more vigorously than was necessary.
Blair sat back, relieved. Now at least he had some time to come up with a way to present this to Jim that would make it look less disastrous - if any way to do that existed, which he doubted. He stretched across the table and snagged the letter from Naomi.
Dear Blair,
The spirituality here is amazing! I attended a Blessing Way ceremony and it completely blew my mind. I met a man here, his name is Jim, he's a Navajo Tribal Policeman (what a coincidence!) and he is a hataali, a singer/healer. He performed the ceremony. He is introducing me to traditional Navajo religion and ritual. I feel renewed! I think I'll be here for a few more months, at least. You'd love it here, Blair, if there is any possible way, you MUST come and visit! You can reach me at (505) 555-9569.
I think about you night and day, sweetie. I trust that the Academy is what you hoped it would be. I worry about you there. Please, please be careful, especially with the guns. Let me know how everything is working out.
I love you,
Mom
"Chief? Dinner's ready." Jim was setting the table.
"Okay, Jim." Blair took the rice pot from the kitchen and ladled generous helpings onto each plate, Jim followed with the stir-fry. Blair grabbed the bottle of teriyaki. Jim put the soy sauce next to it. Blair got the glasses. Jim poured the beer. Then they sat down to eat. It was smooth and easy, like choreography. A dance learned unconsciously over four years of sharing meals.
"So, what did Naomi have to say?" Jim asked.
"She met a cop named Jim," Blair said.
Jim raised his eyebrows in surprise, then nodded. "Sounds like a good man."
"She says she's going to be there for a while. She sent a phone number."
"That's good, Sandburg. You should call her."
"Yeah, I guess I should."
Naomi had been there when Simon offered Blair the permanent place as Jim's partner. She seemed happy. That night, she voiced a few concerns, but backed off when Blair seemed determined to follow through with it. The next day she left for Big Sur. She had written Blair twice, and Blair had sent her his hair when he had it cut short for the Academy. All the communication had been friendly, but there was definite unresolved tension between them. When Naomi had addressed her second letter, "To My Son, The PIG" it was a joke . . .right? And when Blair had sent her his hair with the note "The Last Vestige Of An Anthropologist" he was just kidding . . . right? They hadn't spoken, so Naomi was certainly making an overture by sending her phone number. But Blair wasn't sure if he wanted to hear what she might have to say. Especially not tonight, not with the impending confrontation with Jim. God, his life was getting more complicated by the minute.
"You finished?" Jim asked. He had long since cleaned his plate, and was getting pretty tired of watching Blair make weird tribal patterns with his vegetables.
"Huh?" Blair snapped out of his reverie.
"I assume if you intended to eat that, you would have done it by now."
"Oh. Oh, yeah, I'm done."
Jim took the plates to the sink.
"I'll wash, man, you dry," Blair said, following Jim.
"Uh-uh," Jim replied. He took Blair's shoulder and guided him to the couch. "You'll talk and I'll listen. We'll get to the rest later. Give me the letters."
"Jim, really, it's nothing -"
"The letters. Now."
Blair sighed, defeated. He pulled the letters out of his pocket and handed them to Jim. "I can handle it," he said.
"Uh huh." Jim looked the letters over carefully, his expression growing grimmer as he read. Finished, he folded them and replaced them into their envelopes, then dropped them onto the couch. He rose, and walked to the windows, staring outside for several minutes.
Blair debated joining his partner at the window, but wasn't sure if it was advisable. He recognized that body language all too well; the set of the shoulders, the clenched jaw, the arms folded too tightly, as if trying to stuff his emotions back down inside himself and lock them away. Of course, this was Jim Ellison, and so Blair knew that was exactly what he was doing. Not a good time to get all touchy-feely. Wait it out, Jim would open up, in his own time.
Blair just hoped that it would happen before he was due back at the Academy the next morning. After an agonizing ten minutes, he couldn't take it any longer. "Uh, Jim?" he ventured, quietly and as calmly as he could manage. "Jim, would you just say something for God's sake?"
Jim turned around, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "Chief, why the hell didn't you tell me about this?"
"I didn't want to worry you, for one thing," Blair replied. "It's no big deal, really. I just have to make some arrangements."
"Arrangements?" Jim went to the kitchen, got them both beers, and returned to drop down on the couch. "Chief, you make arrangements to have your car towed, or have somebody watch your apartment when you go on vacation. That's making arrangements. That I can understand. What I don't understand is how you make arrangements to pay off fifty grand plus in school loans on a cop's salary."
"Jim, it's not that bad," Blair took the proffered beer and tried to look casual. "I'll get them consolidated, take out a loan, get them off my back. Easy." That's it, he told himself. Keep the heartbeat calm, think cool thoughts, keep the temperature down, control the biofeedback, maybe Jim won't know you're lying. "I thought about all this when I made the decision. I've got it under control." He took a quick slug of beer, and smiled. "It's cool."
Jim obviously didn't buy it. "Chief, cut the crap. In the first place, I do know a thing or two about finances. In the second place, it isn't working."
"Uh, what isn't working?"
"You trying to lower your temp and slow your heartbeat."
"Worth a try, though, right?"
"Not a chance."
"Damn." Blair took another long drink of beer, and considered that if he couldn't talk Jim out of this, at least he was calm about it. Hell, he was practically making jokes. Maybe the situation wasn't so bad after all. "Okay. It looks bad, but I think I can handle it. Seriously."
"How do you propose to do that? Some of these letters are what, the third notice? This is way beyond bad, Chief. This is damn near catastrophic." He pointed his beer bottle at the stack of letters. "We can't let it go on like this. We have to do something fast or you could be looking at some serious trouble. Maybe even legal problems."
"Thanks, Jim, you're really easing my mind here."
"Sorry, but I'm just trying to get the facts straight, okay? Let's review our options here."
"Our options?" Blair looked at his partner incredulously. "No way, man. This is my problem, not yours. I got myself into it, I'll get myself out of it."
"You got yourself into it because of me."
"Jim, we've been through this -" Blair warned.
"Okay, fine, drop that. I'm still your Blessed Protector. The way I look at it, this is part of protecting you -"
"Jim, don't do this -"
" - besides which, it's part of my job, preventing you from breaking the law -"
"What law? Being in debt is not -"
"Well known statistic that money problems are a major motive in a slew of crimes. Burglary, mugging, bank robbing -"
"Oh, yeah, right!"
"Prostitution, murder, espionage -"
"JIM!" Blair smacked Jim in the chest.
"Okay, Junior," Jim grinned, and ruffled Blair's cropped hair. "Point is, we're in this together. Partners means partners. Now, let's get to work, see what we can do about this."
"Look, there's not much we CAN do about it, beyond what I already said, get them consolidated, take out ANOTHER loan, and pay the damn things off."
"No, Chief, listen. First we add up our assets -"
"That won't take long." Blair said dejectedly. "My only assets are the Volvo and 650 pounds of books."
"Sandburg, I said OUR assets. That includes the truck, my guns, the loft-"
"Jim, no!" Blair was instantly up and pacing. "You can't do that, man! You bought this place as an investment. It's your home! And the truck? Jim, how are you gonna work without a vehicle?"
Jim grabbed his partner by his forearms and stilled him. "Chief, Chief, settle down. There's no reason to get excited here. Sit down."
Blair continued to stare at Jim.
"Sit," Jim gave him a little push, "Down."
Blair sat with his arms folded and glared at Jim.
"Okay, now, let me finish. We have other assets too. I have a trust fund I've never touched, I don't even know how much is in it. I have three bonds my father bought me for my 5th, 10th and 15th birthdays. I have stocks. Once that all adds up, we can at least make some sort of dent in it." Jim sat next to Blair and drank his beer.
Blair was stunned. "You have stocks and bonds AND a trust fund?"
"Yep. I still own a horse stable too, I think, unless Pops put it in Steven's name after I went into the service. I'm really not sure." Jim grinned at the thought.
"Well, you can't blow that all on my screw-up, man. What if you need it? I mean, that's your safety net, man. If you get hurt on the job, or if something goes wiggy with your senses. That's your retirement fund. That's all you've got."
"Blair, first of all, it's not your screw-up. Second, I don't plan on needing a safety net, and if I do I still have the union pension. Third, what do YOU have? Huh? If you can survive without a back-up I think I can too."
"Jim, I really, really appreciate the thought, but let's liquidate me before we start on you, okay? Now I do have one asset, my baseball card collection. It's only worth about $2000, but at least that's a start." Blair stood and started to walk around the room, thinking out loud. "And the bat and other odds and ends could be close to $1000 . . .well, maybe $700. Naomi will probably kill me, but I bet I could get a couple thousand at least for the Hendrix guitar. Now the market value for my artifacts is pretty subjective, but I'm sure I can get something for them. I need to get my menorah appraised. Mom said it belonged to her great-great grandfather, and I'm pretty sure it's gold. Uh, let me think, OH, my laptop! I totally forgot about that. I can get $800 for it, even on a bad day. Um . .what else . . .uh . . ." Blair wandered into his bedroom and began opening drawers. "Jeez, Blair, think! What else? What else? Come on, come on, there has GOT to be something WORTH something in here . . .Oh my GOD!" Blair came out of his room with a triumphant smile on his face, holding something in his hand. "Jim, look, I forgot! Orvelle's card! He signed it and everything! This thing's gotta be worth something!"
Jim was shaking his head. "Blair, no way. You've had that since you were just a kid. And your baseball cards, you told me you bought your first one when you were five years old, you've been collecting practically all of your life. And Naomi's great-great grandfather's menorah? You can't sell something like that, that's a family heirloom, Blair. The Hendrix guitar your mom gave you for your birthday? Your artifacts? Your laptop? This is your whole life, Sandburg. You can't just sell it all."
Blair held his arms out and gave a little laugh. "Jim. Give me a break, man, it's all I got here."
"No, it isn't, Blair. That's what I'm telling you. Look, I have all this - the trust, the stocks, the bonds - which means nothing to me. Nothing. And I won't let you sell everything that has meaning for you in order to settle a debt that you wouldn't have if it weren't for me. I won't do that Blair, because you mean more to me than anything. I love you, man, you know that. I could never allow you to lose everything you have. You know that, don't you Chief?"
Blair smiled, a little shyly, sat down next to Jim and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Yeah, Jim, I know. I love you too. Don't think I don't or that you mean any less to me. It's just that . . . Jim, I . . . I don't know what to say here. I mean, I appreciate it. God, it's the second nicest thing you've ever done for me. I . . . but, you know, it would be wrong, for me to do that to you. It would just be . . . wrong"
"Wrong? What do you mean wrong?"
Blair sighed and stood again. He walked back and forth as he spoke, thinking fast, gesturing for emphasis. "I mean, Jim, this stuff is your security. You need that, even if you think you don't right now, you do. You know how you are, always have a plan, everything organized and color-coded. You'll feel it if you lose this stuff. Things will be different when it's not there. You think it means nothing to you Jim, but that's not true. It gives you confidence, assurance, security, even if it is on an unconscious level. When it's gone, you'll lose that, and the loss will bleed over into your conscious thought." Blair paused momentarily. "Now, me, I'm used to stuff like this. I mean, my apartment BLEW UP, for crying out loud, with all my worldly possessions in it. It's not like I lost a lot, but my point is, this kind of thing happens to me all the time." Blair stopped pacing and looked at Jim. "For instance, your dad, right? He has all your childhood stuff packed away at the house; pictures, football trophies, old toys. Your Bruce Lee poster is still up on the wall, man!" Blair turned and started pacing again. "Naomi doesn't have stuff like that. We moved a lot. We didn't drag a ton of stuff with us, you know? I mean we were always selling stuff, or giving it away, getting rid of the material, making room for the spiritual. Like that photo album she showed you, that is IT man, that's all the pictures we have, and it's not even full! I mean, she left my baby book at an ashram in Marrakech. One time, when I was eight, we flew to Guadalajara, and we lost our luggage, I mean EVERYTHING. Our passports, our return tickets, our money, our clothes, we didn't even have underwear! I mean security is a totally foreign concept, man. When I sell everything, it's not gonna be that big of a deal, see?"
Jim said nothing for a moment, then smiled. "Good try, Chief. I mean, I didn't buy a word of it," Jim grabbed the empty beer bottle out of Blair's hand. "But the effort was admirable." He tapped Blair's chest with the lip of the bottle, grinned a little and walked into the kitchen.
Blair collapsed on the couch. "Damn."
Jim disposed of the empty bottles, and Blair expected him to sit back down and continue the discussion, but instead he headed up to his bedroom and started pulling things out of his dresser. He came back downstairs with a sheaf of papers.
"Okay, so tomorrow I'll go to the bank and see what I have to do to access my trust fund -"
Blair groaned, Jim ignored him.
"- and cash in my bonds. Then I'll call a broker and see what kind of market value my stocks have, then we can see where we stand."
Blair idly lifted a paper and read it, "Cyclops Oil?! Jim! You own stock in Cyclops Oil?!"
"Huh? Let me see that?" Jim looked at the paper. "Where?"
"Right here!"
"Son of a bitch." He stared at the paper for a long moment, thinking of just how much that corporation had cost him. "Well, Chief, you won't object to my selling that, will you?"
"Uh-Uh." Blair shook his head emphatically.
"Jesus, let's see what else the old man has me into here . . .SenCorp Laboratories. They make that cold medicine, don't they?"
"Yeah, SenQuil."
"Ax that . . .Oh look, Wilkinson Industries, wish I'd known I was a stock holder when you were in that elevator."
"I second that."
"Oh look, Chief, Questscape AND Complexium."
"No way!"
"Yeah, looks like I'm a major stockholder, too. Wonder what kind of a panic I can start if I drop 30% of Complexium's shares and 35% of Questscapes on the market at one time, huh?" Jim raised his eyebrows at Blair.
Blair's eyes lit up as he smiled, "Oh Jim, you're evil."
"Ooooooh Yeah." Jim chuckled. Try and get HIS partner fired huh? They'd pay now.