A SINGLE FLIGHT OF STAIRS

PART 1

by Dreamweaver

Rating:  PG

Characters:  Jim Ellison, Blair Sandburg, usual Major Crimes personnel, a couple of OCs

Feedback:  Feedback for Dreamweaver can be sent here  [click on the link]:  Sentineldreamweaver@yahoo.com

****

BANG!

Jim Ellison flinched away from the concussive thunder of a door being slammed full-force.  He half-expected to see the glass panes shatter under the impact, but the French door remained intact.  He could hear Blair fling himself onto his bed, muttering curses in several different languages.  The furious tirade subsided as Sandburg succumbed to exhaustion, however, and eventually there was no sound coming from his room save that of deep breathing.

Feeling numb, Ellison sat on the couch and rested his head in his hands, trying to figure out how and where and when things between himself and his partner had deteriorated so quickly.

It was one of those months – cases coming so thick and fast they could barely keep up with them with the whole division running flat out.  To make matters worse, Henri Brown was on leave, recuperating from an on-the-job injury…and then their captain, Simon Banks himself had the temerity to come down with a bronchial infection.  Joel Taggart was a capable stand-in, but with him doing Banks’ work, the rest of the division was left even more short-handed.  All the detectives were working long hours; Ellison and Sandburg, blessed with an extraordinary solve rate and cursed with an inability to say ‘no’ to additional cases, ended up with more and more work piled on their capable – but tiring – shoulders.

Sandburg had tried his best to keep things upbeat, at least when they were on duty, and to find ways to relieve stress when off, but it became more and more difficult the longer the situation continued.  Eventually it affected both their work situation and their home life.

Ellison, as was his long-standing habit, dealt with things by retreating into his ‘military’ mode: lock down all the inessentials and cope with the essentials in the most grim, stoic and super-efficient manner he could effect.  Partnering with Sandburg had softened his edges, but in times of crisis he tended to regress.  Unfortunately, he didn’t leave the attitude at work; it went home with him and found a convenient target in his roommate’s transgressions. 

At best, Jim’s attitude was snarky; at worst his cold sarcasm and faultfinding were a bitter, continuous running monologue.  It had been literally years since they’d bothered using color-coded Tupperware, but now Ellison insisted on renewing the practice, demanding that Blair use what had been deemed ‘his’ containers for his leftovers.  When Blair protested, Jim curtly cut him short, declaring the subject closed.  The next issues to be raised were predictable: hair in the shower drain, the bathroom sink dotted with shaving cream and beard stubble, books and magazines and miscellaneous clutter scattered about the living room rather than being neatly put away according to the Law of Ellison.  The final straw had been this evening when they arrived home from work to discover that neither of them had remembered – or more likely, had time – to buy any groceries, and the fridge was pretty well bare; not even leftovers to be had.  Jim had exploded, accusing Blair of carelessly neglecting his responsibilities; Blair had countered with the sharp retort that it wasn’t his sole responsibility, and Jim was equally to blame.  The argument had escalated until Blair had cussed him out roundly, stormed into his room and slammed the door behind him.

Jim sighed and knuckled his eyes wearily.  If he’d only stopped after the Tupperware demands, days ago, things might not have gone this far.  If only he hadn’t started ridiculing and taunting his partner in the bullpen, where not only Blair’s feelings were hurt, but also his professional pride.  If only he’d managed more than four hours of sleep over the past few nights.  If only their cases would break open… He was in the wrong tonight and he knew it.  It was equally his fault that there was nothing for dinner, and if the truth were known, it wasn’t all that big a deal – it wouldn’t have been that much a problem to either go out for dinner or to call for pizza or Chinese or some other form of take-out; they’d done it often enough.  They were tired, true, but they could have managed.  But instead, they had both lashed out.

I’m sorry, Chief…I had no right to go off at you like that…

He was too deep in remorseful reminiscence to notice that Sandburg’s breathing had changed or to hear the soft sounds of clothing and blankets rustling as a wakeful Blair moved restlessly on his bed.  And – not being psychic, merely sense-intensive – Jim had no idea that his unhappy thoughts were being paralleled by his roommate’s.

Blair turned onto his back and tried to settle himself more comfortably, staring up at the barely-visible ceiling of his darkened room.  He hadn’t turned on any lights when he entered, and was in no mood to do it now.  He was still angry and upset, but his current overwhelming emotion was sadness.  Things were so bad between himself and Jim right now, and instead of blowing over and getting better as time went on, they seemed to be becoming worse.  I’ve tried…I really have…

He’d yielded about the Tupperware, albeit reluctantly, hoping that this would pacify his contentious Sentinel.  He’d made a conscientious attempt to be tidier in the bathroom, after Jim had complained and snarked and bitched.  He’d made an effort to fix things Jim liked, on the rare occasions they had dinner at home, and after another barrage of complaints he’d endeavored to find the time to corral some of his scattered belongings.  After all, he’d told himself, the job stress was no doubt playing havoc with Jim’s heightened senses; as his Guide, Blair needed to be more understanding.  But the constant sniping was wearing him down.  After all, he was under the same stresses as Jim.  They shared their job, they shared their home, they shared their off-times.  Blair found himself guiltily wishing, in his innermost, secret heart-of-hearts, for a tiny vacation…a vacation away from the precinct and its denizens – and even away from Jim!

It wasn’t that he didn’t like being a cop, or didn’t want to partner Jim anymore, or didn’t want to be his roommate, or was tired of being Guide to a Sentinel.  He loved Jim dearly; they were best friends, and he knew the affection was returned 100 percent; he enjoyed his job – dead bodies notwithstanding – and felt that he was doing something really important with his life.  As for the Sentinel aspect, he was still, after over five years, awed and enthralled with what Jim could do using his heightened senses, and his own ability to help; he knew he’d never tire of that.  And if he was totally, unequivocally honest, he had to admit that all the blame for this latest blowup shouldn’t rest on Jim.  He was at fault as well.  After all this time together, he knew all of Jim’s buttons, and how to push each one if he felt like being annoying.  And perversely, he had felt like being annoying – as annoying as he could.  Jim had hurt his feelings by his actions and words at work, even more than his behavior at home, and Blair had taken the opportunity to get a little of his own back tonight.  Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it, Jim..?  He wasn’t being either kind or fair – but then, neither was Jim.

We’re together 24/7 – week in and week out.  It’s just too much!  Married couples aren’t together this much!  And why am I the one who has to make all the concessions, anyway? 

Blair sighed again, drearily.  He didn’t know the answer to the question, and he didn’t know the solution to the problem.  He just knew that right now he was furious with Jim, and he suspected the feeling was mutual! 

He raised his head from the pillow and listened intently, but could hear nothing from the living room.  Jim hadn’t turned on the television – a favorite form of escape from an uncomfortable situation – and Blair hadn’t heard the front door open or close, so he didn’t think that Jim had gone out.  He briefly considered getting up to check, just in case Jim had zoned…and then shook his head, laid back down and closed his eyes.  It was highly unlikely that the Sentinel had zoned; his control was excellent now, at least most of the time.  Best to leave things alone tonight; tempers were still too high for conversation.  Not that there was any guarantee that things would be better in the morning… 

Blair fell asleep considering unlikely options for a vacation alone.

Jim had brooded a long time, but finally roused himself enough to listen for Blair’s breathing and heartbeat – which indicated that the younger man was sound asleep; then he checked the locks, turned out the lights and went upstairs.  Sleep, however, was a long time coming.  Instead of dropping off, he lay in bed and stared at the skylight, still trying to figure out some way to smooth things over with Blair – and looking for a long-term solution as well.

They were too much in each others’ hair right now, that was certain.  When Blair had been at Rainier, his schedule there versus Jim’s police work schedule made for frequent breaks.  Back then, the problem had been managing enough time together, not too much.  Now that they were partnered detectives, there was ordinarily enough ‘give’ in the work schedule that it wasn’t a problem; they had plenty of leisure time to do things on their own, as well as doing things together, and occasionally their work had them acting separately…but lately that hadn’t been feasible.

Maybe, once work permitted, he should take off for a few days, give Blair some space, give himself some space and time alone…?  Uh, no.  No, no, no.  The last time he’d tried ‘taking off’ for some alone time, a suspicious, fish-envious Simon and a worried, hurt Blair had followed him.  The resultant disastrous events in Clayton Falls had taught them all some hard lessons.  He could still remember his absolute terror when he thought that Blair was dying of a mutant strain of ebola virus, along with the knowledge that it was all his fault for causing his Guide to be in Clayton Falls in the first place. 

So…that idea was out, but was there a way Sandburg could get away for a little while?  After the last week or so and their borderline-vicious brouhaha tonight, it had to be on his mind.  In fact, Jim wouldn’t be surprised to see his roommate reading the ‘Apartment for Rent’ ads in tomorrow morning’s Cascade Times.  Devastated, but not surprised.

He fell asleep at last, but without coming to any satisfactory conclusions.

Blair woke the next morning to the sound of the shower running, and the fragrance of freshly-brewing coffee.  He sat up and surveyed himself with distaste; nothing like having slept in your clothes, without washing or brushing your teeth, to feel utterly grungy.  He rubbed his face tiredly.  It felt sticky and crusted in spots…as if he’d cried in his sleep and left tear-tracks.  Well, maybe he had.  He’d certainly come close to it while awake.

The shower shut off and after a few minutes he heard Jim walk down the hallway and ascend the stairs.  Knowing the Sentinel would be busy getting dressed for a bit, Blair quietly opened his door and slipped into the bathroom to take a quick shower.

Mindful of keeping the relative peace, Sandburg was meticulous about tidying up the bathroom, being careful to use the spray bottle of Shower Fresh, and wiping out the sink after he’d shaved and brushed his teeth, depositing the hand towel in the laundry hamper and hanging up a clean one.  At last he concluded that he was purposely dawdling to avoid Jim.  He squared his shoulders, opened the door and went to his bedroom to dress.

When he finally emerged, he was immediately struck by the empty feel of the apartment.  There was no sign of Jim downstairs, and he heard nothing from the loft bedroom.  Ellison’s jacket and holster were gone from their usual places.  All evidence pointed to Jim having departed without him.

“Why, that dirty rat!  How dare he just go off and leave?”  For a moment, Blair was enraged – and then he noticed the note propped up against the coffee maker.  Still incensed, he snatched it up and began to read.

Sorry, Chief –  Meant to have breakfast with you, but duty – or rather, Joel – called while you were in the shower.  We’ve got another DB – sounds like a gangland execution, from what he said. 

Here’s the address:  1085 Puget Sound Lp. 

Maybe we can go out to breakfast after – my treat.  Promise we’ll work on…things.

J.

Blair read the brief missive through once, then again.  Long versed in Jim-speak, he could read between the lines and get a wealth of information from what the Sentinel had written and where the message had been placed.

Sorry, Chief .  Meant to have breakfast with you, but duty – or rather, Joel – called while you were in the shower. 

Translation:  Addressing him as ‘Chief’ said We’re still friends, right?  The rest?  I know we need to connect.  I didn’t want to spoil your morning by interrupting your shower.

We’ve got another DB – sounds like a gangland execution, from what Joel said.  Here’s the address:  1085 Puget Sound Lp. 

Translation:  I want you to come; this sounds nasty and I need you.  ASAP, please.

Maybe we can go out to breakfast after – my treat.  Promise we’ll work on…things.

Translation:  I’m sorry for running out on you – let me make up for it. I’m sorry about last night – hope we can straighten things out.

Although the idea of having a nice hearty breakfast after working a murder scene made Sandburg’s stomach do lazy flips, he appreciated the thought and the gesture all the same. 

The location of the note indicated that he should grab a cup of coffee before he left.  Blair noticed that the pot was untouched; Jim hadn’t taken any with him.  It probably hadn’t finished brewing before he had to go – and Ellison rarely stopped and bought coffee, especially on his way to a crime scene, so he’d be working without benefit of caffeine.  Blair fixed two travel mugs, one for himself and one for his partner, then shut off the pot.  He strapped on his shoulder holster and got his revolver from the locked gun case, pocketed his keys, notebook and pen, and donned his jacket, and was out the door, balancing the two mugs with care as he headed for the elevator.

** ** **

Blair worked his way through the organized chaos of a crime scene investigation, inquiring once or twice where he might find Ellison.  Finally he spotted his partner crouched next to a zipped body bag, scanning the ground intently.  Thanking his lucky stars that the victim was already ‘bagged,’ and therefore not visible, Blair circled around so that he approached Jim from the front, and spoke quietly.  He knew better than to startle the ex-Ranger by creeping up on him from behind.  Jim had probably sensed him coming, but there was no reason to take unnecessary chances.

“Hey, Jim.” He held out one of the travel mugs.  “Brought you some coffee.”

Ellison raised his head, gazing abstractedly at his advancing partner. His frown of concentration faded, and he offered a tentative smile.  “Bless you, Chief – and thanks for coming.”  He took the mug from Blair and practically inhaled the contents.  “God, that’s good!  I owe you, buddy.”  He took another gulp, then cast one hand out in an encompassing gesture.  “Not sure there’s anything here to pick up, but…” 

“But we can try.”  Blair sank to his heels beside Jim and laid a hand lightly against his back.  “I know you probably already went over everything.”  He had deduced from Jim’s demeanor that they were in professional mode right now, last night’s confrontation put on the back burner, but the wary smile and the ‘thanks for coming’ revealed the Sentinel’s doubt about Blair’s turning up at all, or at least uncertainty about his mood.  Evidently Jim had been worried too – and he looked as if he’d had about as much sleep as Blair had – in other words, not much.

“Tried, didn’t come up with anything,” Ellison said tersely.  “He wasn’t killed here, he was dumped, that much I know.  Not enough blood.”  He leaned slightly into Blair’s supporting hand and resumed his careful contemplation of the area.  To a casual observer he would have seemed to be merely gazing around at the crime scene again, but Blair knew he was taking minute inventory of everything around him, down to the smallest particles – something he was reluctant to do for any extended amount of time when Sandburg wasn’t there to help him avoid zoning.  But after a few minutes Jim drew in a deep breath and shook his head dismissively.  “If there’s anything here I can’t spot it.  Whoever did this was very careful not to leave any traces.”

“Cause of death?”  Blair pulled out his notebook and pen.

“Single bullet to the forehead is the obvious cause, but Dan may find something else, something additional.”  Jim reached for the body bag.  “You want to see him?  I didn’t recognize him, but there’s always a chance you might.”

Blair grimaced but nodded.  “Yeah, guess I’d better.”  He tensed instinctively as Ellison unzipped the bag, and was only slightly surprised to feel Jim’s hand settle reassuringly on his shoulder.  He gulped a little and forced himself to observe the victim dispassionately.  Thankfully, there was just the single hole punched in the middle of his forehead, and equally to be praised, Blair had never seen him before.  He shook his head, indicating no knowledge of the identity.  “Very…tidy,” he managed, as Ellison closed the bag again.

“Professional,” Jim decreed.  He sighed a little and pushed himself to his feet, then extended a hand to Blair.  “Think we’ve seen all we can see here.  How about some breakfast before we go to the station?”

“I…guess.”  Blair felt his insides tighten apprehensively.

Jim gave him a sharp glance and seemed to understand.  “Something light,” he qualified, and Blair nodded heartfelt agreement.

They were quiet over their belated breakfast.  Neither one wanted to break this temporary truce by bringing up the ugly scenes from the night before.  Surprisingly, Jim made the first overture.

“Chief…about last night…um…I’m sorry, really sorry for the way I’ve been acting lately.  I don’t mean to be so…so…critical.”  Cringing inside, he waited for his roommate’s expected acid comeback where he really clarified what Jim’s behavior had been.  ‘Critical’ indeed – he could just imagine what Blair, the articulate wordsmith, would call it!

Blair, however, didn’t respond as anticipated.  He simply looked up from his plate of assorted melon slices and sighed a little.  His eyes were heavy, dark-shadowed with weariness.  “I know.  It isn’t just you, Jim.  I was out of line last night,” he admitted quietly, “and I’m sorry too.” 

Jim was about to say something more when his cell phone chirped.  With rolling eyes and a long-suffering sigh, he pulled it from his pocket and answered it.  Concluding the conversation, he signaled to Blair that they needed to go.  “Sorry, Chief.  Dan wants us around when he does the autopsy on our mystery man.  Guess we’ll have to put this conversation on hold again.”

When they finally made it to the precinct the partners were swept into the workday – already full, and now there was the addition of their new case as well.  They kept strictly to business; they had little time to do anything else – but Ellison paid close attention to his actions and reactions all morning, determined not to let anything spoil the tentative rapprochement between himself and Blair. 

** ** ** **

Joel Taggart, acting division head, was no dummy.  He had observed the increasing tension between Sandburg and Ellison and it worried him.  Familiar with both men and their personalities, Taggart suspected that this was probably a case of too much togetherness, exacerbated by the current work overload, but there hadn’t been any chance to give them – or the rest of the detectives in Major Crimes – a respite.  They both looked bad today, he noted, and searched for some pretext to separate them temporarily.  A recently-received memo caused the captain’s eyes to light up and prompted a satisfied smile.  He waited until he saw Ellison leave his desk and head to the elevator, then popped his head around his office door.

“Blair, can I see you a minute, please?”

Sandburg glanced up.  It was always a shock to hear Joel’s politely-phrased requests rather than Simon Banks’ bellowed demands.  “Sure, be right there.”  He minimized the computer program he was in and closed the file folder on his desk, then rose to his feet and went to the captain’s office.  Joel gestured to a chair, but Blair shook his head.  “I’ll stand, thanks.  What’s up?”

“Blair, I need you to do something for me,” Taggart began.  He didn’t meet the younger man’s eyes, instead concentrating on shuffling papers on the desk.  “There’s a station-wide request out for an emergency temporary person to handle Media Relations, and I would like to send you downstairs for a few days to fill it.”

“Wha-a-a-a-t?”  Caught completely by surprise, Blair sat down in the visitor’s chair with a thump.  “Media Relations!  Joel, you gotta be kidding; you know I can’t be a media spokesperson for the force!  I do my best to keep completely under the radar as it is!  The press got to know me way too well, back when!”

Now Taggart looked up.  He noticed that Sandburg’s eyes were wide – and wild – and he was nervously running a hand through his hair, snarling and disheveling it.  Blair was obviously upset at the prospect of tangling with the media again, in any capacity.

“I already thought of that.  You don’t have to deal with the press directly.  We can work around that.  Someone else can liaison directly with them, but M-R’s lost their press-release writer for a week or so – something about somebody having a baby prematurely.”  He waved the memo at his thunderstruck detective.  “I think you’d be ideal to write press releases – short-term, of course,” Joel added reassuringly.  “You can BS—”

“Obfuscate,” Blair corrected automatically.

“Exactly.”  Taggart’s eyes twinkled.  “You can do that better than anyone else I know.  If any release needs any sort of spin, you can spin it favorably for the PD.  And your writing skills are well known.  You could do this with one hand tied behind your back, Blair.”

Blair’s head was whirling.  It was unthinkable – Ellison would have conniption fits, and rightly so…and yet, here was a chance to let Jim have some breathing space, and to give himself some as well.  “What about Jim?” he asked.  “We’re already shorthanded—”

“Brown’s going to be back on desk duty tomorrow,” Joel replied.  “And Jim spent years working solo; a few days of it now aren’t going to hurt him.  You’ve spoiled him, Blair; he seems to think you’re not only a partner, you’re his indentured servant and private secretary, and personal punching bag – I mean that figuratively! – or something.  The man can type his own reports for a bit.  Besides, you’ll be right here in the building if anything comes up.  It’s not like we’re sending you to Outer Mongolia.”

“I…guess, but….” 

“Good.”  Taggart slapped his palms on the desk blotter.  “Done deal.  Grab your stuff and get down there.  Second floor.  Report to Captain Fitzgerald.”

“But Jim…I need to tell him…”

“I’ll inform Jim.”  Something steely in the other man’s voice and gaze reminded Blair that this was a police captain he was talking to.  Joel might look and act easygoing most of the time, but if you were smart you didn’t push him beyond the limits.  “Now go.  Dismissed, Detective.”

“Right; on my way.”  Blair exited the office and quickly shut down the program he’d been working on.  He picked up his jacket, patting the pocket to make sure his cell phone was there, then scanned the double desks hastily, deciding that there was nothing else he needed, and headed for the precinct’s second floor.  He wished he’d left a note for Jim, but after what Joel said…he wondered just how Captain Taggart was going to ‘inform’ Ellison that his partner had been summarily taken away!

When Jim returned to the bullpen from evidence lockup, he noticed immediately that Sandburg was no longer at his desk, but assumed he was in the break room or somewhere else nearby.  He sat down and resumed working, but after a few minutes looked up again, scanning the big room for any sight, sound or scent of his partner.  With a start he realized that Blair’s coat was missing from the rack. 

“Rafe, do you know where Sandburg is?”

The other detective looked up absently from his paperwork.  “Huh?  Blair?  No.  I think he was talking to Taggart a while ago, though.  Maybe he’s still in there.”

“Hmmm.”  No, he wasn’t in Simon’s office; a quick check with heightened senses told Jim that there was only one occupant – and that occupant wasn’t his partner.  Expanding his area of coverage told him Blair wasn’t currently anywhere near Major Crimes.  Frowning, he thoroughly searched their desks for a note that Blair might have left.  He checked his cell phone for messages.  Nothing.  Where in the world could Sandburg have gone?  Slightly miffed but not really worried, assuming that wherever Blair was he would show up in his own good time, he returned to the tasks which seemed to multiply every time he turned around.

As the minutes ticked by with no sign of Sandburg, Jim became more and more irked, confused and worried.  He was fairly sure that Blair hadn’t simply left in some sort of snit at him…their interaction this morning had been relatively cordial.  If he’d gone out on some sort of casework, or to meet with a snitch, he would have left a message.  Jim picked up the phone three times to dial Blair’s cell, and replaced it three times without completing the call.  He didn’t want to be seen as checking up on Sandburg, implying that the younger man had no independent rights…but damn it, where was Blair, and why didn’t he call in to let people know what was going on, so they didn’t have to worry…?  Finally Jim decided to check with their acting captain.

“Joel – can I have a minute?”

Taggart leaned back in his chair.  “Come in, Jim.  I figured you’d be dropping in sooner or later.  Sit down.”

Ellison sank uneasily into the indicated chair.  “Did you send Sandburg out on something?  He seems to have…disappeared.”

Taggart’s lips twitched slightly.  “As a matter of fact, I did.  I loaned him out to another division – temporarily, Jim, calm down!”

The caution to calm down wasn’t heeded; Ellison leaped to his feet and loomed over the seated captain, his fists braced against the desk top.  “You loaned him out!?  When we’re already short—”

“Jim…”

“Where’d you send him?”

 

“Jim…”

“I need him back, Joel!”

“Jim!”  More softly:  “Shut up and sit down, Detective, and give me a chance to explain, all right?”

Ellison blinked and complied, sinking into the chair once more.  “When’d you start channeling Simon?”

Joel snorted.  “You don’t think I’ve watched him work?  Now, listen up.  Blair’s just down on the second floor.  Media Relations – Jim, SIT DOWN!”

“Media…you can’t; they’ll eat him alive, Joel!  You think those reporters don’t have memories like elephants?”

Taggart stared up at the ceiling.  “Give me strength,” he pleaded, just above a whisper.  Then, louder, “Jim, for Pete’s sake would you mind letting me talk for more than a few words at a time?”

“Sorry.”  Ellison sat down again, looking somewhat sheepish.  “But…Media Relations?”

“Blair’s not going to be up against the beat reporters, he’s going to be writing press releases, and someone else will deliver them,” Joel explained carefully.  He picked up the memo and handed it across the desk.  “Read that.  You’ll see where he’s at and what he’ll be doing – and yes, I know they requested someone to liaison with the press, but that’s already been worked out.”

Jim rapidly scanned the missive and then handed it back, looking rueful but resigned.  “But…why Blair?  He’s my partner, and you just sent him off without even asking me?”  He paused, scowling.  “And why didn’t he leave me a note or something?  That underhanded, sneaky—”

“Don’t get the idea he wanted to leave without telling you, because he did want to,” Taggart forestalled the rising diatribe.  “I told him I’d take care of it, that I’d tell you.”  Joel leaned back in his chair and surveyed his colleague somberly.  “And as for why I sent him…I sent him because I thought he needed to get away from here for a little bit, and it was a heaven-sent viable reason.  Was I wrong, Jim?”

Long seconds passed before Jim replied, his voice very subdued.  “No…no, you weren’t wrong.”

Disclaimer:  The Sentinel is the property of Pet Fly Production and UPN.  We've only borrowed the characters for a few frolics in the sun.  
We promise to return them where we found them when we're done.