Premonition

Premonition
by Kikkimax

Tic

Lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub

Tic

Lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub

Time stretched endlessly. Nothing existed except for the exaggerated slowness of his ticking watch and the rapid heartbeat of his partner. He couldn't see anything, but it didn’t matter. There wasn’t anything specific he could point to and say “this is how I know Sandburg’s heartbeat”, he just knew. The same way he knew the coppery smell that so inundated his olfactory sense he could almost taste it, was blood. Blair’s blood.

The bullpen took shape around him, albeit distant and blurred, replacing the grayed out void. Something was terribly wrong and he needed to find his Guide. “Sandburg…” he called out, sounding to his own ears like an old record played on a much too slow speed. A wet, slicing noise and a gasp of pain drew his attention to the middle of the room.

Drip

A shadow formed behind his partner. A hand covered the handle of the knife buried to the hilt in the light blue shirt where dark red, almost black blood soaked through over what was certainly a fatal wound. Blue eyes widened slightly in shock as Blair’s mouth went slack. Behind him, the face of a stranger began to take shape.

The drip turned into a splatter, almost deafening in volume as everything sped up to real time…

“Shit! Oh hey, it’s okay, man. I got it.”

“Sandburg!” Jim finally managed to shout as he jumped back from the coffee running down the side of his desk.

“I got it, I got it,” Blair insisted as he pulled off his outermost shirt which was already wet and began to dab at the mess on the desk.

Drip

Ellison grabbed his head to fight off the sudden onslaught of sensations; the buzz of the bullpen, the brightness of the light, the overwhelming mix of aftershave, deodorant, and hairspray of the people gathering around.

“Turn em down, Jim,” Blair added much quieter noting the big man’s distress. He dropped the shirt and placed a hand on the Sentinel’s back.

Shaking off the haziness that threatened to once again overtake him, Jim grabbed Sandburg by the arm and pulled him away from the desk and the prying eyes of the people surrounding it. “Are you okay?” he questioned furtively.

“Yeah, fine. It wasn’t even hot,” Blair promised as he tried to break free from the iron grip on his upper arm. He glanced around nervously at the concerned faces crowding around Jim’s desk. “I’m fine, we’re fine. Spilled some coffee,” he explained with forced cheerfulness.

“There’s no blood,” Jim whispered urgently as he patted Sandburg down one side and then the other. Finding only coffee stains on the white t-shirt, he dropped back into his chair in obvious relief.

“Everything’s fine,” Blair insisted, shooing away the last few onlookers with his hand. His smile faded as he turned away from them. “Blood?” he queried softly as he retrieved the shirt and knelt down to mop up the small puddle of coffee that made it to the floor, surreptitiously checking out his friend.

Jim rubbed his eyes and sighed deeply. “What happened?” he asked wearily.

“Uh, well, you knocked your coffee off the desk, jumped up and shouted my name. Loud. No wonder everybody came running,” he added in jest as he folded up the damp shirt and stuck it in the top of his backpack.

“Sorry,” Jim breathed huskily.

“No sweat, man. I’ll dry out eventually,” Blair assured with a weak grin. “But I’d really like to know what you think just happened?”

“Doesn’t matter. It wasn’t real,” Jim hedged, still looking a little pale.

Sandburg’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You had a vision or something,” he hissed with certainty. “Jim, I need to know. Remember what happened the last time you ignored your visions.”

Jim shook his head guiltily. “Not now, Chief,” he warned as he rose quickly from his chair. “I need a minute,” he muttered as he made for the men’s room.

Blair nodded reluctantly and watched him go with a strange sense of foreboding. He fought back a shiver and headed to the break room to find a wet cloth to finish cleaning up the spill.

Ellison studied his reflection dispassionately as the water dripped from his face, certain he was loosing his mind. It hadn’t been real, but it had felt real, sounded real, and smelled real. No one had stabbed Blair to death while he stood helplessly nearby and watched. Sandburg was fine, alive and well, if a little damp. And probably as worried about what had happened as Jim was.

Footsteps approached so he dropped his eyes down to the sink as someone entered the restroom. Thankfully, and he could tell without looking, it wasn’t Sandburg. For some reason it was too hard to bear Blair’s unique brand of concern at the moment. But at the same time he found himself searching for his usual beacon through the slowly closing door, just to make sure it was still there.

“Hey, are you all right? I saw what happened in there,” an unknown voice asked over his shoulder.

“Fine,” Jim grunted without raising his head, consciously lowering his hearing to near normal.

“Sure. Okay,” the man backed off and headed into one of the stalls.

Jim caught a glimpse of light brown hair in the mirror as he straightened up and reached for a paper towel to dry his face. He noticed the slightly citrus smell of the man’s aftershave and unconsciously stored the information as he pushed open the door and made his way back to his desk.

Stopping just inside the Major Crime doorway Jim glanced around and put on his best ‘don’t mess with me’ expression. Across the room Brown poked his partner and they both looked up with worried glances. He shook his head and ignored their unasked questions opting instead to rescue Sandburg from the third degree Simon was giving him.

“I don’t know,” Blair insisted with an edge of exasperation in his hushed voice, looking up as Jim got closer.

“Let’s take a walk, Chief,” Ellison replied stiffly as he grabbed both jackets off the rack.

“Everything okay, Detective?” Simon queried, turning his appraising gaze to the object of the strained conversation.

“Fine, sir,” Jim lied and motioned for Sandburg to precede him through the door. “We’re gonna get some air.”

“Sounds like you need some,” Simon agreed with a disturbed sigh. “Come see me when you get back. Both of you.”

Jim paused long enough to shoot a longsuffering glower at the captain before ushering his partner out into the hall. “Let’s go somewhere,” he told Blair quietly and looked around briefly, his eyes settling on the door to the stairs.

“Up or down,” Blair asked, opening the heavy metal door.

“Up,” Jim decided without hesitation.

Sandburg shrugged and headed up without another word. Jim braced himself and followed.

When they reached the top Blair slipped through the door and waited next to it for Jim to pick a direction. Jim didn’t disappoint him as he took charge and moved away from the noise of the air conditioning units toward the street side of the roof.

With a sweeping gaze Jim took in his city while Blair leaned his back against the concrete barrier and watched in uncharacteristic silence. The wind ruffled his hair but the sun chased away the chill.

“It wasn’t a vision,” Jim began without preamble.

“No?”

“No.”

“Okay. What was it?”

“Well, there weren’t any spirit animals or any of the usual blue shit. So it couldn’t be a vision, right?” Jim asked, turning to fully face his partner for the first time since they’d left the bullpen.

“Jim, I don’t have enough information to form an opinion yet. You’re gonna have to give up a little more than ‘it wasn’t a vision’,” Blair urged gently.

Ellison nodded uncomfortably and turned to stare down at the shorter buildings all around them. “I know your heartbeat,” he said at last. “Did I ever tell you that?”

“No, you didn’t,” Blair answered absently as he thought it over, his mind going in a million different directions. “Just mine?”

“Well, yours is the only one I can positively identify,” Jim admitted awkwardly. “I’ve tried a few tests in the last couple of months.”

Sandburg smiled at that. “Tests? Really? You hate tests.”

Jim grunted. “Never thought you’d hear that I’d do any voluntarily, huh?”

Blair snorted back a laugh and shrugged his eyebrows. “So what makes mine different?”

“I don’t know,” Jim answered honestly. “It’s nothing that I can hear. I just… recognize it.”

“That makes sense, I guess,” Blair hypothesized, still a scientist at heart, already thinking of ways to measure the phenomenon. “I mean, we live together and work together, so that increases the exposure two or three times that of anybody else. It might even be a white noise for you. You probably listen to it in your sleep.”

“Yeah,” Jim agreed, sounding unconvinced. “Anyway, that’s what I heard.”

“My heartbeat.”

“And my watch.”

“Odd combination,” Blair mused. “Not much of a vision.”

“And then I smelled your blood.”

Blair frowned. “Yeah, I sorta wondered where the blood part came in. Wait a minute, you can identify my blood too?”

“Chief, I’ll bet I can identify you with any one of my senses,” Jim confessed. “I think I even have an extra ‘Blair sense’ that I never told you about,” he added uneasily.

“Ooookay,” Blair drawled. “This I gotta hear.”

Jim grimaced. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

“I can’t believe you haven’t told me this before,” Blair swore in amused exasperation. “Good thing I’m not trying to write a dissertation on you anymore.”

Jim had the grace to look contrite before taking a deep breath and continuing. “It’s kind of like radar. Ever since you… drowned,” he paused and swallowed the lump in his throat that particular memory always invoked. “It’s no big deal. I just know when you’re around.”

Blair nodded and turned around to lean over the edge and watch the traffic far below in spite of his frequent declarations of his disdain for heights. “Me, too,” he offered quietly.

“Yeah?” Jim asked in surprise. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I thought it was my imagination,” Blair explained ruefully. “Hell, I thought it was just wishful thinking. I had no idea you could do the same thing.”

Jim clinched his jaw and closed his eyes for half a second. “I can’t believe I’m gonna ask this but… how do you feel about it?”

Blair’s eyes twinkled in the afternoon light, but he managed to keep the smile off his lips. “I think it’s kind of cool,” he answered at last. “You?”

“I suppose it could prove useful,” Jim admitted reluctantly. “I’d hate to accidentally shoot you because I didn’t know you were sneaking up behind me. Or worse have you shoot me. After all, you do carry a gun now,” he teased.

“Maybe we’re connected on a deeper level than we thought,” Blair reasoned, ignoring the jibe.

Jim shrugged nonchalantly, his face an emotionless mask. “Maybe it’s a Sentinel/Guide thing.”

“Maybe.”

“Or maybe it really was a vision,” Jim said with a shudder, lowering his tough-guy facade for a moment.

“Tell me,” Blair urged, capturing the taller man’s gaze with his own.

“Like I said, it was just sounds at first,” Jim began timidly, keeping his eyes on his friend. “My watch, your heartbeat. Then I smelled your blood and something else, but I’m not sure what. It was a… a lemony or orangey scent. Then I was in the bullpen, but it seemed hazy and unreal. Everything was in slow motion. Suddenly I saw you and there was a knife. I heard blood drip as it hit the floor. There was a man’s face behind you and I was sure he’d just killed you,” Jim’s voice faltered as Blair turned away. “Chief?”

“Okay, I vote for not a vision,” Blair stated uneasily.

“It’s unanimous then,” Jim agreed quietly, clamping a hand to the back of his Guide’s shoulder. “Not a vision. But what the hell was it?”

“Everything’s all right?” Simon asked as his best team cautiously entered his office like school boys called before the principle.

“Yeah, sure,” Sandburg offered with a ghost of a smile. “Uh, sir,” he added, remembering to appease his new boss for a change. He closed the door and leaned against it while Jim moved further into the room.

“I take it that little scene was related to Jim’s, uh, you know…” Simon queried, making small circles in the air with a cigar for emphasis.

“It’s been four years and you still can’t say it?” Jim questioned bleakly as he took a seat in front of Simon’s desk.

“I thought we’d agree to downplay it until all the hoo-hah died down,” Simon explained apologetically.

“Simon, it’s been six months. I think you can say ‘sentinel’ in your own office,” Blair chided gently, crossing the room to settle in the chair next to his partner.

“Yeah, even the media only mentions the fiasco sporadically now,” Jim agreed.

“Thank God for that,” Simon huffed. “I know how relived I am that whole mess is over. I can’t imagine how you two must feel. But I thought you were doing okay.”

Blair glanced at Jim before turning back to Simon. “You can’t expect all the sentinel stuff to just go away. There are always gonna be a few little surprises.”

Banks groaned and nodded in reluctant agreement. “Yeah, I know. But what happened today? You got the whole bullpen stirred up.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I had some sort of… vision for lack of a better word.”

“Black cat again?”

“No, sir,” Jim assured quickly. “Nothing like that. I just saw something, um, disturbing.”

“Like a premonition?” Simon tried to clarify.

Jim paled slightly. “God… I hope not.”

“So what did you see?”

“My death,” Sandburg explained quietly.

“Oh. Oh, shit. Sorry, Jim. I can honestly say that once was enough for me,” Simon blurted out.

“It’s okay, Simon. This doesn’t have to mean anything. It could be a stress reaction for all we know. Or bad chili at lunch, right? It doesn’t mean I’m gonna get stabbed to death in the bullpen.”

Jim pulled a face at the image his partner’s words conjured up, but something else caught his attention. He lifted his head to sniff the vague, but somehow familiar citrus smell as someone tapped lightly on the Captain’s door.

“Come,” Simon responded, holding up a hand to stall the conversation.

As a man’s face appeared around the edge of the door, Jim climbed to his feet in stunned silence.

“Jim, Blair,” Simon replied informally, “I’d like you to meet Detective Peterson. He’s visiting from Seattle. Wanted to see how we do things in the big city. Mike, this is Detective Ellison and the baby of our little Major Crime family, Detective Sandburg.”

“Baby!” Sandburg exclaimed indignantly.

Although he was aware of the bantering passing back and forth between his friends, Jim’s hearing blinked in and out. The room seemed to spin as he focused on the face of the man who had killed Blair in his vision. His breath caught in his chest and he became aware once more of his partner’s heartbeat.

“Yes, I’ve heard a lot about you two,” Peterson said amicably, his voice coming in crystal clear. “In fact, you’re the real reason I’m here. The dynamic duo?”

Blair shot Jim an anxious glance and when Peterson stuck out a hand in Blair’s direction, Jim’s perception of time switched to low gear. As Blair reached out to shake the offered hand, his words and actions seemed to drag. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” he said, his voice too deep and much too slow.

The edges of the Sentinel’s world began to unravel as the interloper made contact with his Guide. Jim did the only thing he could when his muscles finally obeyed the orders shouted by his brain. He pulled his gun and pointed it at the murderer, shouting for Sandburg to get down.

Tic, tic, tic… Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub

Jim moaned softly as he became aware of the comforting presence next to him. “Chief,” he murmured without opening his eyes. There was the minor burn of something embedded under his skin and the drag of tubing as he moved his arm. He realized quickly that he was in a bed in a hospital room complete with IV and monitor.

“Right here, big guy,” Sandburg soothed, placing a warm hand on Jim’s arm.

Risking a sensory spike Ellison cracked open one eye, but the room was dim and quiet, no doubt because of the efforts of his personal mother hen. “Did I get him?” he asked, opening both eyes to look around.

“No,” Blair provided, wrinkling his brow worriedly. “But not for lack of trying.”

“Did I fire my weapon?”

“Well, no. I grabbed your arm in time. It turns out Peterson has pretty good reflexes, too. He dove for cover as soon as you brought up your gun. Then you conveniently passed out. Simon’s still shitting bricks I imagine.”

“He killed you. Peterson’s the one.”

“No, Jim. Mike’s a cop. Why would he try to kill me in a police station with a room full of witnesses? I think this is just something your mind came up with to deal with… other things that maybe you haven’t really come to terms with yet.”

“Things?” Jim asked incredulously. “What other things?”

Blair shrugged and chewed on his lower lip. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept in a while.

“Chief?” Ellison persisted.

“Oh come on, even you know what a huge propensity for guilt you have,” Blair snapped.

“You think this is because I’m feeling guilty about something?” Jim snarled back.

“Look, I know you hate that I had to give the press conference. I know you hate letting the world think I’m a fraud. But I swear, Jim, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

“Stop with the psycho babble. Things are going really good. I mean the worst is over, right? I know the academy was tough, but you did great. And now the press has backed off enough to let us do our damn jobs… Why would I start to flip out now?”

“Someone dosed you,” Blair said quietly. “I think that’s what set you off.”

“What? How?”

“The way you acted with the coffee made me think about that time on the train when you took the cold medicine. When you had the flashback in Simon’s office, I knew. The trash had already been taken out, so the cup was gone, but I took my shirt down to forensics after coming to the hospital with you and had Serena go over it...”

“How long?” Jim cut in.

“You’ve been out two days…”

“Two days!”

“Yeah, but I think it was a good thing. You had to get that crap out of your system. Anyway, Serena found minute traces of a drug on the shirt, even though it didn’t show up in your blood work. But we know how sensitive you are to drugs.”

“What was it? Not golden, I don’t have that glowy thing going on. PCP?”

“PPA.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard of that,” Jim muttered, searching his memory.

“Uh, probably not. It’s phenylpropanelamine,” Blair explained.

“Not a street drug?”

Blair coughed and cleared his throat. “No, um, it’s an over-the-counter weight loss med. But it’s currently being pulled because of certain side effects.”

“Hallucinations?”

“No, just heart related stuff. But don’t worry,” he hastened to add. “I sure you didn’t get enough to hurt you. In fact, I think you only took a sip or so. The cup was pretty much full when you dumped it on me. And I lied before. It was still hot.”

“Slow down, Einstein. You think a tiny dose of a diet pill knocked me out for two days? And made me see a man’s face that I’d never laid eyes on before? Blair, I smelled his cologne for Pete’s sake. How could I have known Peterson in such detail?”

“You didn’t say anything about his cologne before,” Blair pointed out. “But you did say there was another smell.”

“Yeah, it was like oranges. I smelled it again later in the men’s room. Now I know what it was.”

“Okay, maybe, but just listen for a minute. Peterson was in the bullpen when you had your little episode. So you could have seen his face and smelled his aftershave. Add my heartbeat and then superimposed all these things together and there’s your… vision.”

“What about the blood?” Jim asked defensively.

“I don’t know, sense memory? Unfortunately, you’ve been exposed to it enough. Maybe the knife represented my academic death.”

Jim winced at the words, but shook his head in denial. “I don’t think so,” he argued listlessly.

A knock sounded at the door and Simon poked his head around the corner as he pushed it open. “He awake?”

“Yeah. Come on in,” Blair offered, placing a hand on his unaccountably bristling sentinel. “Jim?”

“Peterson,” Jim whispered just as the door opened wider to reveal the man in question standing beside Banks.

“How are you, Jim?” Simon asked quietly.

“What’s he doing here?” Jim growled, snatching Sandburg by the wrist and protectively pulling him closer to the bed.

“It’s confession time,” Simon said cryptically, giving the man a not so gentle nudge into the room before following and closing the door. “I’ve been doing a little detective work.”

“He’s not really a cop,” Jim deduced, pointing his free hand accusingly.

“You’re right, he’s not,” Simon supplied. “We finally got smart and ran a check on Mike Peterson from the Seattle police department. Seems he retired last year.”

“Yeah, that would be Uncle Mike. I’m Gary Peterson.”

“Jim, he’s a reporter for a regional magazine. He’s also the one who spiked your coffee,” Simon spat out with obvious contempt for the man.

“Why would you do that?” Blair asked in stunned outrage, squeezing Jim’s hand where he still held on to him.

“Why didn’t you just book him?” Jim added in confusion.

Simon cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I think you need to hear what he has to say.”

Blair sat on the edge of the bed and Jim relaxed infinitesimally. “Go on,” Jim grunted, tensing again when Peterson turned his attention to Sandburg.

“Not everyone believed your phony press conference and I got a couple of calls asking me to look into it,” Peterson began softly. “What I couldn’t understand was why you didn’t fight Rainier. After all, you didn’t turn in your dissertation so how could they hold it against you? So I did a little research. I read everything I could find on sentinels. Almost all of which was written by you before you ever meet Detective Ellison by the way. Then I began to dig into both of your backgrounds and study some of your cases. I’ve found enough evidence to independently back up your dissertation and prove this man is a Sentinel.”

“None of that explains why you tried to poison Jim,” Blair cut in angrily.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. When I read about how the cold medicine affected his senses I decided to go undercover and do a little experiment. Honest to God, I had no idea it would affect him that way.”

“How could he know about the cold medicine?” Jim asked urgently, turning to Sandburg. “That wasn’t in anything that Grahm leaked to the press.”

“I don’t know,” Blair answered defensively. “I certainly didn’t tell anyone.”

“Sorry,” Jim quickly apologized. “That wasn’t an accusation.”

“I managed to get my hands on a complete copy of the dissertation,” Peterson butted in before things could escalate.

“That’s it,” Blair snapped. “Sid is so going down. He had a court order…”

“I didn’t get it from Sid,” Peterson interjected. “I got it from Naomi. She e-mailed herself a copy the same time she sent it to Sid.”

“No!” Blair shouted in disbelief as he lunged for the man’s throat. Jim caught him from behind as Simon pulled the other man out of harm’s way.

“I nosed around and found out that she was the one who leaked the diss in the first place,” Peterson rapidly explained. “So I went looking for her. She was happy to talk to me. She thought her son got a bum deal and wanted to set things straight.”

“Liar!” Blair yelled as he increased his efforts to reach the man.

“Blair,” Jim shouted as he struggled to hold on, not doubting for a minute the damage Sandburg would inflict on the reporter if he let go.

“Detective!” Simon boomed above the din. “Calm down. We’ll work this out.”

“Come on, Chief,” Jim whispered intently into the mass of curls under his chin as he squeezed even tighter. “Easy.” Blair stilled in his arms as the fight seemed to drain out of him.

“She wouldn’t,” Sandburg breathed wretchedly. “How could she?”

“I’m sorry,” Peterson replied with apparent sincerity. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think she meant to hurt you. I’m sure she just wanted to help.”

“What are you going to do with all this information?” Jim asked with an uncanny calmness now that his partner was still.

“I’m going to run with it,” Peterson confirmed. “You can’t stop me. This is award winning stuff, and I do mean Pulitzer.”

“Now wait just a damn minute,” Simon sputtered. “You’ll be running it from a jail cell.”

“How do you figure?” Peterson smirked.

Simon grinned ferally. “Well, let’s see, you impersonated an officer of the law to gain access to Major Crime. You placed a known harmful substance in a police detective’s coffee. What else? I’m sure I can think of half a dozen more things on the way back to the station. By the way, you have the right to remain silent…”

“I don’t care. The world has the right to know.”

“If you give up this right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

“Simon, wait,” Jim said, easing his grip on his unmoving partner. “Just let him go.”

“What?”

“No, he’s right. Let him run his damn story. This lie has gone on for long enough.”

“Jim, no…” Blair groaned miserably.

“It’s all right, partner,” Jim soothed. “No matter what happens, we’re in this together. In the meantime, we’ll just keep doing what we do.”

Jim absently played with his coffee as he thought about how subdued Blair had been over the past two weeks. The atmosphere at home had been strained, although Jim had tried his best to assure his roommate things between them were good, no matter what happened. Still, once bitten, twice shy best described Sandburg’s apprehensive demeanor. Jim was peripherally aware of Blair’s covert attempts to locate his mother only to learn that she was hiding out in a Hindu monastery in India. He even overheard the message his normally forgiving Guide had left: "don’t call me. I’ll call you".

After four days at home, Jim had returned to desk duty for a day before fully rejoining his partner on the street. Peterson had disappeared as soon as Simon finished reading him the riot act, presumably to write his expose. Although they had quickly adopted a pretense of business as usual, a strange sense of anxiety settled over the station, Major Crime in particular. Word had gotten around about Peterson and everyone seemed to be collectively holding their breath waiting for the other shoe to drop. Although nothing was said out in the open, everyone pulled together to support them, their brothers in blue.

But the stress was beginning to take its toll, Jim thought wearily as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He smiled to himself as a hand almost instantly came to rest on his back.

“Headache?” Sandburg asked softly.

“Not bad,” Jim lied. “Just eye strain, I think. Everything seems a little… off.”

A disturbance across the bullpen forced Jim to open his eyes and assess for danger. Two rough looking men started pushing each other and raising their voices. Immediately they were surrounded by cops and separated, although some residual shouting continued.

“Tune it out, man,” Blair advised. “Find something peaceful to focus on for a few minutes.”

Jim nodded and once again closed his eyes, narrowing his hearing and blocking out the noise of the altercation. He knew Blair had his back, even as he patted him once and returned to his own desk.

Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. Ellison sighed and relaxed into the heartbeat, his tension slowly easing away.

“Dammit,” Blair grumbled under his breath and Jim had to peek to see what the problem was. He stifled a laugh as his partner stuffed his finger into his mouth to sooth the paper cut. “Close em,” Sandburg ordered gruffly around his finger without looking up.

Jim smiled, but did as he was told, pressing his palms over his eyes once more and searching for the calming rhythm. His nose picked up the subtle hint of blood, but he knew the source and let it pass.

Tic, tic, tic.

He disregarding the sound of his watch and let it slip to the background.

Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.

Jim frowned. Blair’s heart was beating faster than it had been only a minute before and he was walking away. The smell of his blood, suddenly amplified by Jim’s own anxiety, mixed with the citrus of Peterson’s aftershave.

On his feet and moving even as he opened his eyes, Jim shouted his partner’s name. Already halfway across the room, Blair turned just as the stiletto knife that someone must have missed on one of the rowdy perps whipped through the air. Peterson, who Blair had obviously been walking over to meet appeared just over Sandburg’s shoulder. Blue eyes widened in shock and Blair’s mouth fell open as a gasp of pain sounded behind him.

Drip, drip…

A startled Peterson wrapped his hand around the handle of the knife as his pale blue shirt darkened to black around it. Numbly he looked into Blair’s face before collapsing to his knees, Sandburg catching him as he fell.

The owner of the knife was wrestled to the floor in Jim’s path, slowing him down. By the time he reached his partner, Peterson was on his back, cradled in Blair’s lap.

“Somebody call an ambulance,” Sandburg yelled. “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered urgently, turning back to Peterson. “You’re going to be fine.”

A trickle of blood ran out the corner of the reporter’s mouth as he tried to speak.

“Shh,” Jim cautioned as he knelt down next to him. “Save your energy.”

With jerky movements the man forced a large envelope into Jim’s hand. It was addressed to a Seattle publication.

“It’s your story?” Blair asked.

“Wanted… your opinion,” Peterson managed, gagging on the stream of blood he coughed up. “… follow up… interview?”

“Sure, man,” Blair agreed softly. “As soon as you’re better,” he promised, meeting Jim’s eyes over the dying man’s head.

“…really amazing…” Peterson whispered with his last waking breath, clutching at Jim’s hand before passing out.

Waiting alone outside of the emergency room Jim remembered the envelope and retrieved it from his jacket pocket. He had folded it three times and it was still a tight fit. He straightened it out, noting that only the zip code was smeared by the blood, and even that was still legible. The flap hadn’t been sealed, and Peterson had pushed it in to his hand, so being the object of the article, he didn’t feel too bad about reading it. Half an hour passed before he sensed his Guide entering the waiting room from the ER.

When Jim looked up Sandburg shook his head. “Looks like his Pulitzer is gonna have to be posthumous,” he said sadly. “Is that it?”

Jim nodded as he slipped the papers back into the envelope and handed the whole thing over. “Yeah.”

“How bad is it?”

“Not bad. Well written, in fact,” Jim said as he climbed to his feet. “Come on, you can read it in the truck.”

“No, I mean… does it out you? Of course it does, don’t be stupid, Sandburg,” Blair chided himself, popping the side of his head with a hand. “What does it say exactly?” he tried again, trotting to catch up with his longer legged partner.

Jim stopped and turned to face him. “It says the truth. And it says it very well. There’s even an interview with Naomi that you really should read for yourself.”

“Okay, I will,” Blair agreed as Jim turned and once again headed for the parking lot. “Wait up. How do we find out if this is the only copy?”

“It is,” Jim said, slowing down but not stopping. “He wanted to clear it with us before he let the cat out of the bag, and I think that was damn decent of him after what he’s put you… us through.”

“Okay, that’s good. That’s really good. I mean, I’m sorry the poor guy got… you know, but at least damage control is already taken care of, if you really think that’s the only copy,” Blair babbled as they exited through the electric doors.

“I think we ought to mail it to the publisher,” Jim mentioned casually as he stepped off the curb and kept walking. He was almost in the parking lot before he realized he was alone. When he turned to look back, Sandburg was standing on the sidewalk with his mouth hanging open.

“You what?” Blair whispered in disbelief after a several second stare down. “Have you lost your mind?”

“You haven’t even read it yet,” Jim pointed out, yelling over the top of a sports car as it passed between them.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sandburg shouted back, even though he knew he didn’t have to raise his voice to be heard.

Jim rolled his eyes and looked both ways before crossing back to his partner and latching on to his coat sleeve. “Can we talk about this at home? Maybe after you’ve read it you’ll come around.”

Sandburg allowed himself to be towed along, but he frowned every step of the way. “We can’t mail this thing, Jim,” he argued.

“I know. It’s got blood on it, but I’ve got some big envelopes at home.”

Blair jerked his arm free and stopped walking, forcing Jim to stop as well. “Jim,” he pleaded.

“Look, Chief, this isn’t a fear based response this time,” Jim explained as he turned back around, putting his hands on his hips. “I know what I’m doing and I can handle the fallout.”

“Oh, man. You’re serious.”

“I’m sorry about everything you’ve had to go through. I can’t stand the thought of the people who stood in line to call you a liar. You put up with more shit in the last six months than anybody should have to in a lifetime. I admire you and I respect you for it, but it’s time to come clean. I need to do this. Not just for you.”

“What about… what about this?” Blair asked, flipping out his badge.

Jim smiled softly. “You’re still the best cop I know. I’m proud to have you as my partner. Nothing’s gonna change that.”

A minivan honked its horn, breaking the standoff by forcing Blair out of the traffic lane and into the parking lot. “You know how the media will react,” he lectured.

“It’s wasn’t so bad last time. I can handle it, I swear.” Jim moved toward the truck, knowing Sandburg would tag along.

Blair huffed loudly and rolled his eyes. “How soon they forget,” he mumbled as he followed.

“I was just really pissed off at the time,” Jim replied guiltily. “I’m tired of lying, Blair. I’ve lied about this thing one way or the other my whole life. I say we go for it. Let the chips fall where they may.”

“Great. I don’t think that kind of cliché is gonna help me much when I’m homeless and looking for a job because things got out of hand,” Blair grumbled as they reached the truck. He stared at the ground as he waited for Jim to get in and unlock the door. After several minutes of not being let into the truck he looked up to find Jim leaning against the fender with his eyes closed.

“Jim? What’s wrong? Dial everything down…” he began but stopped when Jim brought his head up and gazed at him with a look of pure anguish. “What’s wrong?” Blair asked again, breathlessly this time.

“I’m sorry,” Jim said simply.

“For what?” Blair asked ingenuously as he moved forward to place a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Jim swallowed and looked away, setting his jaw. “I know my track record,” he started. “I haven’t given you a whole lot of reason to trust me…”

“I do! I do trust you!”

“Let me finish, Chief. Please. We need to clear the air once and for all.”

Blair blinked and cleared his throat nervously, dropping his hand away from Jim’s shoulder. “Yeah, sure. Go ahead.”

“We’ve both screwed up along the way, right? That was rhetorical,” Jim held up a finger to ward off the answer forming on Sandburg’s lips. “But I have finally learned from my mistakes. I trust you with my life. I can’t imagine my life without you in it, with or without the Sentinel deal. Do you understand that?”

Blair nodded, but wisely kept his mouth. He crossed his arms over his chest, the envelope still clutched in one hand and leaned against the truck next to Jim.

“You gave up everything for me and I never even said thank you.”

“Maybe not in words…”

“Uh, uh, uh,” Jim cautioned holding up the finger again. “I’m talking now, you’re just listening.”

Blair mimed zipping his lip, which earned him a small smile.

“Good boy,” Ellison teased. “Sit. Stay. Now where was I? Oh, yeah… Let’s bottom line it, shall we? You don’t trust me, because you know me too well. You know how I’m gonna react in almost any given situation, and you almost always come out with the short end of the stick. And I’m sorry, but I’m going to do better from now on.”

“Can I say something?”

“Not yet. I’ve had two weeks to get used to the idea that the world was about to find out my little secret. And you know what I came up with?” Jim asked and waited patiently for a reply that didn’t come. “You can answer, just keep it short. I’m on a roll.”

“No, Jim, what did you come up with?” Blair answered acerbically.

“So what.”

“What?”

“That’s what I came up with: so what. Let em. It doesn’t really change anything.”

“What about our cases?”

“I haven’t done anything wrong, Chief. Any one of our cases can stand on its own. I defy them to find something illegal. But we could always play it down a little if we had to. Not let them know the extent of my abilities.”

“Okay, fine, but what about all the publicity?” Blair argued heatedly, forgetting about the zipping. “You hate that. You hate being recognized on the street. It interferes with your job.”

Jim laughed, satisfied that he’d managed to keep Sandburg quiet for as long as he had. “Well, that damage has already been done. It’ll flair up again, but eventually we’ll be yesterday’s news again. Everything’s going to work out, I promise.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Call it a premonition. I just know.”

“But what about…”

“No! No more what-abouts. Chief… Blair, I’m asking you to trust me. I’ll take all the heat. Things are never gonna be right between us until I know that you trust me. I realize that’s asking a lot. So read it. Then we can talk about it some more.”

Blair looked down at the envelope in his hand and put his trust in Jim. He brought it up to his mouth and licked the flap before pressing it firmly into place. “Let’s find a mailbox,” he said firmly.

“Whoa, are you sure?” Jim grasped him by the shoulders and stared intently into his eyes.

“I trust you, man,” Sandburg assured solemnly.

“But you really do need to read…”

“Uh, uh, uh,” Blair cautioned, holding up a finger in a fair Ellison imitation. “I plan to buy out the corner news stand when it comes out. In the meantime, we need to start preparing everybody at work.”

“Good idea,” Jim agreed with a grin as he released him and unlocked the passenger side door. “We still need to change the envelope.”

“Why?”

“It’s got blood on it.”

“No it doesn’t,” Blair argued as he closely examined first the front and then back.

“Shut up and get in the truck,” Jim ordered. “Yes it does. Trust me, I’m a Sentinel.”

“Detective Ellison! How far can you see?”

“Detective Sandburg, how does it feel to be exonerated?”

“Do you plan on returning to Rainier to complete your doctorate now that your dissertation has been made public?”

“How has your life changed since…”

“Smile and nod,” Jim advised as he guided his partner through the sea of flashbulbs and reporters.

“You doin’ okay? Keep your dials down, man. No telling what kind of stunt these people might pull. Find something to concentrate on.”

“I already have, Chief. I already have.”

Lub-dub, lub-dud, lub-dub…

The End