ALL IN YOUR IMAGE OF ME

by Dreamweaver

A plaintive wail filled the interior of the truck.  “This always happens.  Always.  I wanna go hooooome! I really, really don’t wanna do this, man!”  The exaggerated, pleading whine in Detective Blair Sandburg’s voice made his partner chuckle, but his eyes were full of sympathetic understanding.  “I’m not a wizard and I’m not a magician and I’m tired and I’ve got a headache, and I don’t wanna….”  

“Neither do I, Chief – but it’s not like we had much choice!”  Jim Ellison, senior detective in the Cascade PD’s Major Crimes Division, and Cascade’s only known – well, known to his captain and his partner, and a few others, at least – Sentinel, grinned ruefully at the other man as he swung his old Ford pickup around a corner with practiced ease.  “When Simon said ‘hostage situation,’ and ‘they want our resident wizard,’ you knew we weren’t going to get out of it!”  

“Sometimes I really regret being good at hostage negotiations,” Blair sighed.  “If it wasn’t for that, we’d have gotten to go home on time—“  

“Don’t kid yourself; Simon would have found some other excuse to send us,” his partner advised sagely.  “If you haven’t noticed, he likes being envied by the other departments!  Since they’ve gotten this image of you as a miracle worker of sorts.”  

Sandburg’s only response to that was a muted grumble of irritation, and Ellison smiled.  Knowing they were heading into a tense situation, a bad situation, a situation that could go very wrong very quickly, both detectives were alert, but not nervous.  They’d been in enough of these before, and had a good idea what they were up against.   

A manufacturing firm dealing in plastic components, plus one disgruntled former employee, plus some homemade bombs, plus a semiautomatic rifle – well, it all added up to something which had started with an angry confrontation and escalated into what might be termed siege warfare.  The place was surrounded by uniformed cops, SWAT teams – and now they’d called for the newest member of Major Crimes to work his magic.  Blair Sandburg might be merely a Detective Second Class, but his reputation as someone able to talk his way into or out of almost anything was growing by leaps and bounds, and the other departments had become quick to take advantage.  As Jim had said, they were beginning to think of Detective Sandburg, Major Crimes, as a miracle worker.   

Jim parked the truck as close as he could get, and the two detectives got out, making their way through the throng of police personnel.  Blair rolled his eyes toward his partner and murmured, for a sentinel’s hearing only:  

“At least most of them no longer think you swiped me from Narcotics….”  

Jim hid a smile.  Blair’s long curly hair, penchant for wearing torn jeans and flannel shirts, and numerous earrings and other jewelry, had been raising eyebrows around the police station for years.  When he had been a graduate student/police observer, it had been considered odd, but acceptable.  The longer he was around, the more used to Sandburg’s definitive ‘look’ everyone became; by the time he was Detective Sandburg, and Jim’s official partner, whatever he decided to wear was simply accepted as ‘that’s just Sandburg!’  Ironically, Blair had moderated his grunge attire early on after becoming a detective, and now only the long hair and a discreet stud earring served as reminders of his past glories.  

“They still think I did,” Jim hissed in teasing response, and moved to introduce himself and Sandburg to the harried-looking Captain Lundeen.  

“What’s the situation now?”  Blair asked, as Jim wriggled into a Kevlar vest beside him.  He sighed inwardly, knowing that Jim wouldn’t let him go one step nearer without one of his own.  His head still ached, and packing that vest around would give him a backache to match.    

“We informed the guy that we were sending for a negotiator,” Lundeen said tiredly.  “He said it wouldn’t make any difference, but he didn’t actually say he wouldn’t speak to you.  But I know you don’t want to work using the bullhorn; that’s no way to handle negotiations.  We’re gonna request that he give us a telephone number we can call in on, so that you can talk to him.”  

“Okay.”  Sandburg grimaced as the heavy weight of the flak vest descended upon his shoulders, and he felt Jim’s quick hands smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt, and then tightening the Velcro straps.  “Jim, man, I’m gonna be on the phone with the guy, not storming the place – remember?”  

“Better safe than sorry, Sandburg,” the sentinel growled softly.  “And I’m not risking losing you to some idiot who decides that you’re expendable!”  

Blair sighed resignedly and then gave his partner an appreciative, if reluctant, smile, and turned his attention to the business at hand.  “Okay, Captain Lundeen, I’m ready – let’s get this guy’s attention.”  

The graying captain nodded and lifted the bullhorn to his lips – just as an explosion rocked the building in front of them!  The first explosion was followed quickly by a second, and then a third.  Window glass shattered outward, and deadly-pointed pieces of wood were hurled through the air.  Police personnel scattered, diving behind cars and any other available shelter.  A whooshing noise signaled the beginnings of a fire.  

Jim flinched as the detonations impacted his sensitive hearing, then relaxed as his reflexes kicked in, adjusting to compensate for the noise.  Blair, despite the serious situation, grinned a little, justifiably proud of his Sentinel.   

“Holy jumping Jerusalem !  He set it off!  DAMNIT!  I thought he’d wait and at least give you a chance, Sandburg!”  Captain Lundeen spluttered in fury.  “BACK!  Get back!  Get away from the building!” he bellowed to his officers, who scrambled to obey.  

Flames were licking up now, and plumes of black smoke began curling out of the decimated windows.  It was evident to all that the fire was spreading rapidly.  A multitude of panicked employees suddenly erupted from the building, stumbling over the rubble and wreckage; they coughed and choked, clutching at their throats.  Many were bleeding from glass cuts.   

Ellison wrinkled his nose, and then muttered a soft curse.  

“What is it?”  Blair asked.  

“Plastics,” Jim said tersely.  “The fire’s melting the plastics; that smoke’s toxic!  And the air inside the building must be damn near unbreathable.”  

“What about the hostages?” Blair demanded.  “Did everyone get out?  And what happened to the guy who set off the explosion?”  

“Dead, probably,” Jim muttered, very low.   

Blair winced.  

The captain nodded that Sandburg was right in his concerns, but his reluctance was clear.  As the fire continued to spread and more small explosions occurred, it was patently not safe for the police or other rescue personnel to enter the building, for walls were collapsing with unnerving irregularity.  The sounds of shouts and shrieking sirens filled the smoky air, but the police and the newly arrived firefighters hovered indecisively, trying to get their rescue attempts organized.   

“Jim—“  Sandburg pulled his partner’s elbow, moving them out of earshot.  “Can we get in some other way?”  

“Chief, you’re outta your mind!”  Ellison expostulated.  “Let the rescue personnel do it; that building’s gonna collapse; we’re not—“  

“Listen!  Most of the employees are out, but we’re not sure they all are.  Can you hear anything inside – heartbeats?  Voices?”  Blair pressed.  “If you can pinpoint locations, the firemen might have a better chance!  Or we might,”  he added, low.  

Jim set his teeth and sighed.  Sandburg had a definite point.  “Okay,” he whispered, and felt Blair’s hand settle gently against his bicep; the grounding gesture that was so familiar to them both.  He winced at the aural bombardment attacking him.  “So much noise….”  

“Filter…filter…get past it,” the Guide murmured encouragingly.  “Filter out the sirens and the screams, locate heartbeats or other signs of life.”  

It worked, but it was a slow process, almost too slow.  It took time to work through all the distractions and sensory input.  But at last the Sentinel was able to focus down and find them, not heartbeats at first, but sobbing, catching voices, panicked breathing.  He narrowed the focus yet again.  

“Four,” he pronounced at last, returning his attention to his partner.  “Back – this way.”  Turning, he led Blair around to the back of the structure, dodging firefighters and rescue workers who were attempting to deal with the flames and the continuing collapse of the building.  Stopping once more, Jim pointed.  “There.  Straight in.”  He looked dubiously at the solid wall; no exits, not even any windows near.  “Fire and Rescue’ll have to chop a hole, I guess—“ he began, when there was another crash of falling timbers.  Incredulously, the two detectives watched as a portion of the wall they stood near abruptly fell inwards, leaving a narrow gap which rapidly began to fill with smoke from inside.  The smoke poured outward in a solid black stream.  

Jim inhaled once, and immediately began to choke.  

“Back up, back off!”  Blair was pushing him away from the burning structure.  “Hold your breath!”  He pushed harder, as if Jim had been trying to defy him instead of obeying as fast as his feet could carry him.  “Man,” the Guide panted, when they were several yards further away from the noxious fumes, “you can’t go near there!  It’d kill you!”  

“Not…arguing.”  Jim hacked out another few coughs, shaking his head.  “Get – somebody with – oxygen….”  

“You get ‘em; I’m heading in to find the survivors you heard,” Sandburg announced, and started towards the building again.  

Despite the coughing attack, Jim’s reflexes were in great shape.  His hand shot out and gripped his partner’s arm like a striking snake.  “H-hold it right there!”  

“Jim, I’ve got to!”  Blair tried to jerk his arm free.  “You can’t go in there, but I can.  It doesn’t affect me so much!”  

“Just because it didn’t make you choke when you first smelled it doesn’t mean it isn’t hurting your lungs!” Ellison countered.  “Wait for the firemen, for God’s sake!”  

“There isn’t time for this!” Blair hissed, and managed to free himself.  “I’ll slide in and try to find those people.  YOU stay out here and keep track of me, okay?  Like a lifeline?”  He swiftly unfastened the Kevlar vest.  “I won’t need this in there, and I’m not sure I can get in and out with it on,” he said as he dropped it to the ground.  

Jim clenched his jaw in frustration, but couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse to keep Blair there.  “Don’t go too far in,” he warned, and grimly watched the younger man sprint towards the burning edifice.  

“That’s all, Chief, stay here!”  

“Th-think I…saw…body….”  Sandburg handed over the third gasping survivor to his partner and turned to re-enter the building.  “I can – do it!”  

“SANDBURG!  DON’T!”  Ellison clenched his fists, staring at his partner’s retreating back.  “Damn you, Blair – why don’t you listen to  me?”

*****

“Get him out of there!”  Ellison’s voice was hoarse and raspy from exposure to the smoke.  “I tell you, there’s no one else left inside alive, but get my partner out – NOW!  He’s collapsed!”  

“We’re on it, Detective,” one of the firemen assured him, and adjusted his oxygen supply minutely before plunging into the smoky darkness of the burning building.  He was followed by a second rubber-coated firefighter who carried a collapsible stretcher and a medical case.   

Still coughing occasionally, eyes stinging and watering from the acrid smoke, Jim waited.  And waited.  

And waited.  

He was nearly ready to disregard the risks and follow Blair’s rescuers in, when he heard voices approaching the gap once again, coming from the inside.  He moved forward, sharpening his senses so as to hear his partner’s heartbeat, listen to his breathing, and assess his condition.  

Blair was strapped to the stretcher, an oxygen mask secured over his mouth and nose.  His eyes were closed; he appeared to be unconscious.  Ellison, searching for blood or signs of serious injuries, could see a few scratches and scrapes, nothing too bad, but he knew quite well that the worst damage might not be visible.  Efficiently, the paramedics transferred Blair onto the padded gurney, preparing to wheel him to a waiting ambulance.  

Jim stared down at the quiet figure of his best friend on the gurney – and the tears in his eyes were not caused solely by the plastic fumes.  

*****

Blair came awake slowly – and momentarily wished he’d stayed unconscious.  Sounds, first – a monotonous, steady beep…beep…beep that he vaguely recognized as belonging to medical facilities.  A distant muted sound of telephones ringing, and voices raised in conversations.  A hospital.  I’m in a hospital…again.  Jim’s gonna kill me.   

Then sensation kicked in – he could tell he was lying in bed, propped up in a semi-sitting position, and the slightly irritating tickle in his nose informed him he was receiving oxygen through a nasal cannula.  His throat felt sore, and his chest hurt when he tried to take a deep breath.  

And his eyes stung and burned.  That realization came with an addendum: he was unable to open his eyes; they were being held shut with some sort of bandage or compress.  

My eyes?  Blind?  Am I blinded?  Panic struck with a vengeance.  Blair shoved his way to an upright position, hands reaching frantically to pull the coverings from his eyes, his raw throat emitting a tiny, tormented whimper.  

“Whoa!  Whoa – easy, partner!”  Warm hands gripped his wrists, holding him still.  “Relax, Chief.  It’s okay.”  

“J-Jim?”  Blair let himself be lowered back to the pillows, feeling relief spread through him as Ellison continued murmuring soothing reassurances.   

“Yeah – Jim.  Remember me now?  Your partner.  The one who said ‘Sandburg, don’t go in that building again!’?”  Ellison was keeping his voice in the same reassuring timbre, but the quiet words were uttered with a slightly sarcastic edge. “The one who couldn’t go in to get you, after you passed out from the fumes?”  

Guilt spread over everything else Blair was feeling, like a thick coating of oil atop a pond.  “Oh….Um.  Yeah, I – I remember you,” he whispered.  His hands fluttered upwards again towards his bandaged eyes, and once more, Jim caught his wrists.  “Wh-what…my eyes, what…?”  

“Your eyes are gonna be fine, Chief; take it easy.  You ended up way too close to some of that molten plastic lava, and the fumes irritated your eyes and your throat and lungs.  But you’ll be okay once it works its way out of your system.”  

Sandburg tried to make himself relax.  “Why are…they bandaged?” he asked in a small voice.  

“It’s just to keep the compresses in place,” Jim explained, still gently holding his partner’s hands.  “Every so often one of the nurses comes in and drips stuff on the bandages that’s supposed to soothe the inflammation.”  

“Oh.”  Blair thought about that for awhile.  It made sense.  He just didn’t like not being able to see.  It was scary, and Blair didn’t feel much like coping with scary at the moment.  “Jim?”  

“Hmmm?”  The Sentinel shifted his grip slightly, letting one thumb rest against the pulse point in Blair’s wrist.  He could easily monitor his Guide’s heartbeat another way, but there was something infinitely comforting about being able to feel its steady throbbing.  He frowned as he noticed Blair’s heart rate speed up.  Was Blair nervous?  In pain?  Frightened?  “Hey, what’s wrong?”  

“Are you…mad at me?”  

The older man was silent for a few seconds.  Finally he heaved a sigh and spoke:  “Nah.  I’m pissed at your idiocy in going back in there that one last time…but it wouldn’t be you if you hadn’t done it.  Right now, I’m just relieved as hell that you’re okay!”  

“You…sound…mad.”  Blair turned his head away, then abruptly turned it back.  “Jim?  Did they get all the people out?”   

“All alive except for the perp,” Jim assured him.  “And it looked like he bought it when he set off the first explosion…poor bastard!  And I’m not mad, Chief.  I’m not.  You just scared the crap outta me, and that makes me a little…tense.”  

“Tense, huh.”  Blair chuckled a little, then coughed and winced.  “Ow.”  

“Here, try this.”  Ellison guided his partner’s hand to the plastic tumbler of water which sat on the over-the-bed table.  Blair drank thirstily, then lay back again.  

“Thanks, that did help….Jim?”  

“Mmm-hmmm?”   

“Are you sure you’re telling me everything?  Not keeping something from me?”  

How does he DO it?  I’m the one with the super senses, I’m supposed to be the ‘human lie detector,’ I’m the one with all the Covert Ops experience at keeping secrets – and what happens?  He’s conscious less than ten minutes and he’s nailing me….  

“Why would you say something like that?”  

“Something in your voice….”  

Damn, he’s sharp!  Is it the Shaman thing?  The Guide-Sentinel linking?  Just being my partner and best friend?  “What would I be keeping from you?”  

“Oh, I don’t know.”  Sandburg’s voice trembled a little.  “Maybe something horrible that you can’t bring yourself to tell me.  Like…I’m…paralyzed from the waist down, or something.”  

“You’re not paralyzed,” Jim said patiently.  “Move your feet and see for yourself.”  

Blair did so, and uttered a small sigh of relief as his legs obeyed him.  “Or…I got hit with scorching melted plastic and I’m horribly burned, or something?  M-mutilated.  Dis…disfigured?”  

Jim dropped his head forward, shaking it helplessly, laughing just a little.  “Sandburg, your imagination is running away with you.  Don’t you think you’d feel it if you’d been horribly burned?  You’re not disfigured.  You’re still gorgeous,” he teased gently.  “No scars, I promise.  You’ve got some scrapes and scratches and bruises, but nothing bad.”  

“Or…”  Blair’s voice went very small and hesitant.  “Or…my…eyes?”   

Jim heard his Guide’s heartbeat escalate into panic levels, and knew this suggestion had roots in real fear.  He reached for Blair’s hands once more, and held on tight.   

“Chief, I swear, you aren’t blind.  Those bandages can come off any time, and you’ll be able to see fine – but it would be better if you left them on for awhile.   Your eyes weren’t really damaged, but they are pretty inflamed and irritated, and the longer you keep ‘em quiet, the better.  The ophthalmologist they called in said that you probably wouldn’t need to stay overnight, but he did want to keep them medicated for a few hours.”  

“Then what is it?  Jim, I can tell there’s something you aren’t telling me!”  A sudden intake of breath, and Blair was sitting up again.  “JIM!  Did something happen to YOU?  Did you zone?  Sensory spike?  Are you hurt somehow?”  

“No, no, no!”  Ellison caught his shoulders and pushed him back down once again.  “Nothing happened to me.  I didn’t zone.  I’m not hurt.  Jesus, Blair, calm down!”  

“Then tell me….”  

Shaking his head again in bemused wonder, Ellison capitulated.  “You’re uncanny, Sandburg,” he muttered.  “Just damn uncanny!  Okay, just relax.”  He took hold of Blair’s left wrist once again, and guided it upward.  Up...up past the soft coverings over his eyes.  Up a little further….and let it rest in the tangled mass of curls on the left side of Blair’s head.  The curls which usually cascaded down to Blair’s shoulders, and which were now a chopped-off, two-inch mass of wavy fuzz.  

For long moments, Blair’s fingers clenched and unclenched in the soft mop of hair.  “My hair?” he whispered, at last.   

Instinctively, Jim began to stroke his partner’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort.  “I’m so sorry, Chief,” he murmured.  “So sorry – there just wasn’t any help for it.”  

Blair swallowed hard.  “How?” he rasped.  Unconsciously, his fingers clenched into the soft tufts again, and Jim gently reached to tug his hand down.  

“When you passed out,” the Sentinel began, continuing his soothing petting motions along Blair’s shoulder, “you fell forward, on your face.  It’s a wonder you didn’t break your nose,” he digressed.   

Sandburg’s hand automatically lifted towards his nose.  “I didn’t, though – right?”  He fingered it cautiously.  

“You didn’t,” Jim assured him.  “Anyway, you fell forward, and your hair tossed up and out, and spread out around your face, apparently.”  

“The tie came out,” Blair agreed.  “It was flying all over – got in my face.”  

“There was a stream of melted plastic oozing across the flooring there – hot melted plastic.  It flowed until it hit your hair – and then it stopped and settled in.”  The stroking ceased, and Jim’s fingers tightened on his partner’s shoulder.  “If it hadn’t hit your hair, Chief, it would have kept going until it reached your face.  You would have been badly burned at the very least, and maybe suffocated.”  

Sandburg’s wince was evident, even with his face half-hidden by the compress over his eyes.  

“I couldn’t get to you…” Jim faltered.  “Every time I tried, my eyes and nose seized up, and I started to choke again.  I wanted to go in there and get you, and I couldn’t.  I had to wait until the medics could get to you and bring you out.”  His voice cracked.   

Now it was Blair’s turn to offer comfort.  “I know, I know.  You couldn’t go in, Jim; I know that.  It could have been fatal for you!”  

“The molten plastic started cooling,” Jim went on at last.  “Once it hit your hair and stopped.  By the time they reached you, it was solid.  The only way they could get you free of it was to cut your hair.”  He gulped.  “When they brought you out, Chief – when I saw what they’d had to do….Oh Blair, buddy, I’m so sorry….So sorry.”  Slowly, he resumed the careful stroking.  “It’ll grow….”  he added, at last, trying his best to offer a shred of comfort.  “It’ll grow back.”  

Blair reached a hand up again, feeling carefully.  He let his fingers travel across his forehead and sifted through the long curls on the other side.  “How much is gone?” he asked in a scratchy voice.  

“Patch about as big as my hand, spread out,” Ellison told him.  “So – maybe a quarter of your hair.  Or a third….”  

“I’ll have to…have the rest cut off.  I can’t – can’t go around with one short part.”  

“I know.  I’m sorry, Chief.”   

Blair’s voice tightened, shook again, took on a bitter edge.  “So much…for the…hippie cop image, huh?  No more ‘did you get your partner from Narcotics, Ellison?’  No more l-long hair in the…in the shower drain at home….You should be really glad about that – aren’t you glad?”  

Jim felt as if his heart was breaking.  “NO, I’m not glad about it, damn it!  Don’t say things like that!”  

Blair pulled away fractionally from the hand on his shoulder.  “Jim…man, I think I need a little…a little space, okay?  I need to…process, ya know?  Why don’t you go – home?  Back to work?  What time is it, anyway?”  

“It’s about six-thirty,” Ellison told him.  “The only thing pressing at work is the report on this.  And that can wait.”  Purposefully, he replaced his hand on Blair’s shoulder.  “I’d be willing to leave you while I get a cup of coffee, but I’m not going home.  They might decide to release you, and then where would you be?”  

“I could…take a taxi,” his partner muttered.   

“As if,” Jim snorted.  He gave Blair’s shoulder a last squeeze, and stood up.  “I’ll give you some time, buddy, but I won’t leave you here alone.  I’ll tell somebody or other that you’re awake,” he added.  “They’ll probably want to check your eyes out, or at least put some more stuff on the compress.”  

Blair nodded, but didn’t give him an audible reply.  He turned his face away, and Jim was certain from the gesture that had the bandages not been there, his Guide would have closed his eyes with dismissive finality.  He walked slowly from the room, the saline scent of Blair’s hot, hidden tears nearly overwhelming him.

*****

“Jim?”  

Ellison glanced up, surprised.  He hadn’t anticipated anyone else from Major Crimes showing up at the hospital; after all, he’d let them know that he was fine and Blair was almost fine and would be released before the night was through.  He’d briefly mentioned that Blair’s hair had been the victim of a disaster, and that had elicited some laughter – and also some shocked commentary – but still, he hadn’t thought anyone else would have come.  But here they were: Rafe and Megan Connor, both looking almighty worried.  “Hey, you two.  Didn’t expect to see you here.”  

“Simon couldn’t come,” Rafe said, as if that explained everything.  Well, maybe it did.  

“How’s Sandy ?” Megan broke in.   

Jim exhaled through clenched teeth.  “Physically, I think he’s okay.  They’re keeping his eyes bandaged right now, to treat the irritation.”  

“And not-physically?” Connor pressed.  

“I just had to tell him about his hair,” the Sentinel admitted.  “He…um…sort of kicked me out, after that.  Said he needed to ‘process.’”  

“Let’s get a cup of coffee,” Rafe proposed, and the three detectives went in search of caffeine, all of them looking somber.  

“He’s not going to want to see us,” Connor stated, when they were settled once more in the waiting room, clutching their cardboard containers of coffee.  “Is he?”  

“Probably not,” Jim conceded.  “He doesn’t even want me here, right now.”  He didn’t mention the fact that this withdrawal stung…badly.  He’d always been the one Blair turned to for comfort and succor, but this time…what had Blair said?  ‘You really should be glad….”  As if he, Jim, was going to celebrate because Blair had to – HAD TO – cut off his hair!?  

“We won’t be able to call him Hairboy anymore,” Rafe mumbled, and took a gulp of his coffee.   

“That’s true,” Megan agreed softly.  “Not for awhile anyway.  By the time you could again—“  

“Maybe he’ll keep it short?” Rafe hazarded a guess.   

Jim felt a pang at that.  He didn’t want Blair to keep his hair short, any more than he’d wanted him to stop wearing the wild clothing and jewelry.  He wanted him to be BLAIR, not just some other police detective.  Oh, grow up, Ellison!  Stop whimpering because your favorite teddy bear’s stuffing fell out!  “He might, at that,” he acknowledged.   

“He’ll look cute,” Megan firmly stated.  Both men laughed, and she eyed them frostily.  “He will look cute,” she repeated.   

“Okay, okay, he’ll look cute.”  Rafe was still chuckling.  “But he won’t be Hairboy!”  

All too true.  Way too true.  With unspoken unanimity they found another topic of conversation.  

A nurse popped her head into the waiting room, and looked around.  “Detective Ellison?” she inquired.  “Is there a Detective Ellison here?”  

“That’s me.”  Jim raised one hand, then half-rose.  Concern for Blair flared in him.  “Is there something wrong with Blair—with Detective Sandburg?”  

“Detective Sandburg is going to be released,” the nurse informed him.  “He’d like you around to hear his instructions, since I understand you two are roommates.”  

With a brief goodbye to Megan and Rafe, who indicated that they would probably leave now, Jim followed the nurse to the room where Blair was.  To his relief and delight, he found his partner sitting up on the edge of the bed, his eyes no longer concealed behind layers of gauze.  They looked swollen and reddened and sore, but just the fact that they weren’t bandaged was a vast improvement, to Jim’s mind.  

“Hey Chief, you look about 100 times better!”  

Blair gave his partner a shaky smile.  “It’s nice to have that stuff off.  And to not be hooked up to that oxygen tube.”  Both of them were carefully focusing their attention on Sandburg’s eyes, and ignoring the strange appearance of his hair.  “Jim, this is Dr. Long, the ophthalmologist – oh, wait, you two already met, didn’t you?”  

“We did.”  Jim nodded cordially at the tall, gray-haired physician.  

“Detective Sandburg, I’m going to give you a prescription for eye drops, and I expect you to use it,” Dr. Long said, mock-sternly.  “Your eyes will probably be irritated and sore for the next twenty-four hours or so.  As will your throat and lungs.”  

Blair looked down sheepishly.  “Yessir, I will.”  

“I’ll make sure he does,” Ellison put in firmly.  “What else?”  

“Mostly just lots of rest,” the doctor told them.  “Sleeping a lot would be a dandy idea.”  

“I can do sleeping a lot,” Sandburg said earnestly.  “Just ask Jim.”   

His partner chuckled, nodding agreement.  “You sure can, Chief.”   

Another doctor – this one the admitting ER resident – dropped by to check Blair over and sign him out.  He produced a prescription for Blair too, this one for a soothing syrup for his throat.   Knowing his partner’s reluctance in these situations, Jim pocketed the pieces of paper.  

“I’ll see that these get filled,” he promised, and blithely ignored Sandburg’s heartfelt sigh.  

When they were ready to depart, Jim noticed Blair hanging back just the slightest bit.  “You okay, Chief?  Don’t you want to go home?”  

“I want to go, all right,” Blair said, “but…you said Megan and Rafe were here  – did they leave?  I know it’s stupid, Jim, but I really don’t feel like seeing anybody from work right now.  Or…maybe it’s…I don’t want them seeing me.”  

“It’s not stupid,” Ellison reassured him.  “It’s perfectly understandable.  I think they left, yeah.  They knew you didn’t feel up to a lot of company just now.”  He slung an arm across his partner’s shoulders.  “Come on, let’s go home.”  

*****

By the time they made it back to the loft, it was nearly ten o’clock .  Blair was drooping with weariness and the continuing discomfort of his eyes and throat, and Jim felt exhaustion nudging at him as well.  

“This’ll keep for a few minutes if you want to take a shower and get ready for bed before you eat, Chief.”  Ellison held up the bag of Chinese food they’d gotten while waiting for Blair’s prescriptions to be filled.  “You’ll feel better once you get all the smoke and stuff washed off.”  

“Okay….”  Too tired to offer even a token protest, Blair shuffled towards the bathroom, with a quick stop in his bedroom for some clean clothes.  Jim, not having been inundated by the heavy smoke, decided that he could forego a shower and just change clothes.  He trudged up the stairs and pulled on clean sweats, then returned to the kitchen to set out their belated dinner.  

The sounds of the shower stopped soon, but Blair didn’t exit the bathroom.  Jim waited what he felt was a reasonable time, then tapped gently on the door.  “Sandburg?  You okay?”  

“Guess so,” came the subdued reply, and Jim turned the knob to open the door.  His partner stood at the sink, clad in sweatpants and a T-shirt, staring bleakly at his reflection in the mirror.  “I look absolutely ridiculous.”  

“You don’t look ridiculous,” Ellison returned firmly.  “You look tired and beat up and unhappy, but you don’t look ridiculous.”  

Blair laughed, unwillingly, and turned away from the mirror.  “I also look hungry.”  

“So do I; let’s eat.”  

They consumed their late meal in relative silence.  When they were finished, Jim cleared away the cardboard containers and the few dishes, directing his roommate to head for bed and adding:  “Don’t forget to use the eye drops and that throat stuff, Sandburg.”  

“I will, I will.”  Blair sighed.  “I’m on sick leave tomorrow, I take it?”  

“Uh-huh.  The doc told you to rest for 24 hours, remember?”  

“I’ll need to get a haircut.  I’ll have to call JJ’s first thing in the morning – tell them it’s an emergency.”  

Jim closed the dishwasher with unnecessary force, and snapped off the kitchen light.   

“Jim?”  Blair looked at his roommate curiously.  Jim was hard to read at the best of times, and this certainly wasn’t the best of times.  

“I just – hell, Chief, I wish you didn’t have to.”   

“I can’t exactly leave it like THIS!”  Sandburg snorted bitterly.  

“Will you do me a favor?”  Jim felt himself turning red.  

“Sure, if I can.”  The Guide eyed him expectantly.  

“Save your hair when they cut it off – bring it home?”  Now the older man was brilliant scarlet.  

Blair began to smile.  “You want my HAIR?  Why?”  

Jim managed to grin and hastily sought a reasonable explanation.  “Well, I might want to drop some in the drain every so often, just for old times’ sake….But I had another thought too.  Remember when we offered you your badge, and you said you wouldn’t cut your hair, and I said—“  

“’Captain, I’m gonna make you a little Blairskin rug…’”  

“Exactly.  I think it’s time I made good on my promise.”  Please laugh, Blair…please.  It’s the only way I can think of to make things easier right now….Please laugh!  “But I won’t use all of it.  I want to keep some of it around…until it’s grown out again.”  He reached out and tugged at a curl, gently.  “Until you’re – right – again.  Until you look like you’re supposed to.”  

A small huff of laughter rewarded his efforts.  “Aw, Jim….You really want me to keep it long?  I figured you’d rather I’d take this as a sign that it oughta be short.  After all, the neo-hippie witchdoctor-punk image is kinda passé now, isn’t it?”  

“It’s an image I don’t want to lose, Chief.  It’s…you.”  A sudden idea made him chuckle.  “Sure you don’t want to try hair extensions?”  

Blair sighed and smiled and shook his head a little.  “Ellison, you never cease to amaze me.  Just when I think I’ve got you figured out, you throw another curve.”  He yawned.  “I’m too tired to talk about this any more.  Let’s tackle it again tomorrow.”  

“You need any help with the eye drops?”  

“Uh-uh, I can manage.  G’night, Jim.”  

“Night, Sandburg.”

*****

“Jim, how’s Sandburg?”  “Jim, when will Blair be back?”  “Jim, is Hairboy all right?”  “Jim, is Sandy feeling better today?”  “Ellison, my office!….How’s the kid?”  

Ellison sat down at his desk, shaking his head.  He’d been in the office for possibly fifteen minutes – at least ten of which had been spent repeating reassurances about Blair to their worried colleagues and their equally-worried boss!  Blair, always just the least bit insecure about his standing with the other detectives, even after all this time, would be amazed and gratified.  Jim wasn’t surprised, exactly, but the overwhelming outpouring of concern was both a little startling and very heartwarming.  He was irresistibly reminded of Sally Field’s Oscar acceptance speech:  “You like me!  You really like me!”  He reached for the telephone and punched a familiar number.   It rang so many times, Jim expected the answering machine to kick in, but suddenly there was a clattering, fum

bling noise, and a sleep-fogged voice answered:  

“H’lo?”   

“Chief?  You’re awake now?”  

“Hey, Jim.”  The drowsy tone was unmistakably pleased.  “Yeah, man – sorry I slept through you leaving; I didn’t mean to.”  

“You’re supposed to sleep, remember?  Doctor’s orders.”  

“Well, true.”  

“I’ve been asked five times in the last ten minutes how you’re doing and when you’ll be back,” the Sentinel said.  “I’m beginning to think I ought to just send blanket e-mails to everyone in Major Crimes with hourly updates on your condition, or something!  So – how are you feeling?”  

Blair chuckled.  “That’s really nice.  Tell them I’m feeling a lot better and I’ll be in…this afternoon.”  

“Sandburg, you’re not supposed to—“  

“I’ll be in this afternoon, Jim.”  There was no room for compromise in Blair’s voice.  “Right after I get my haircut.  It’ll be fine.”  

Ellison swallowed; it felt like razor blades were stuck in his throat.  “Remember to have it saved,” he reminded his Guide softly.  “I mean it.”  

“I will.”  All the fierceness was gone from Blair’s voice now, leaving appreciation and a soupçon of wry humor.  “I’ll have it all packaged up for ya – in two packages.  One for Simon and one for you.”  

“We’ll put Simon’s little present together tonight,” Jim murmured, making sure none of the other detectives could overhear him.   

“I have one condition,” Blair said, “no ribbons.  You put ribbons on it, and I’ll toss it in the nearest Dumpster, I swear it!”  

“All right, no ribbons.  Okay Chief, gotta go.  You take it easy, hear me?  Keep using the eye drops and the throat syrup.  And get some more rest.”  

“Nag, nag, nag…I will, Jim.  Promise.  I’ll go back to sleep for awhile.  See you later.”  A soft click ended the conversation, and Ellison replaced the phone receiver, smiling to himself.  Blair was going to surprise some people today.   

*****

The first person to spot Detective Sandburg entering Major Crimes late that afternoon was Rhonda.  She glanced up automatically as a person entered the door, registered it as Blair and nodded briefly and smiled – and then did a take that nearly dislocated her neck.  “Blair?….WOW!”  

Heads turned…and the silence became profound for a moment – and then was broken by gasps and whistles.  

“Wheee-oooo!”   

“HAIRBOY?  Is that really you?”  

“Oh my God, Sandy!  You look incredible!”   

“Blair, I thought you were supposed to be on sick leave today – you okay?  Wow, you look great!”  That last was Taggart, always full of concern for the well-being of Major Crimes’ youngest member.  

Ellison, returning at that moment from Records, heard the commotion from the hallway and hastened his steps, wishing he’d been there to see Blair’s entrance instead of coming in late.   

“Chief?”  The word was quiet, but Blair, attuned as always to his Sentinel, turned about immediately.  

Jim’s eyes widened.  Suddenly, he understood all the whistles and exclamations.  “Wow,” he said, very quietly.  

Sandburg laughed self-consciously.  “Is that a good ‘wow,’ or a bad ‘wow’?”  

“It’s a – ‘wow’ as in, you’ll be beating them off with a stick, Sandburg!”  Jim shook his head in amazement.  Sandburg had always been a good-looking guy -- exotic.  With the hair and eyes and mouth, maybe beautiful had been a better way to describe him.  Now – well, he still looked exotic, but in a different way.  Definitely eye-catching.  Sort of elfish.  Fey.  And so young.  It was as if the past five years had abruptly been erased, and that young grad student had suddenly appeared, only this time wearing khakis and a button-down shirt – and a holstered gun.   

His hair was still a far cry from short; it hadn’t been cropped closely like Jim’s; it was still longer even than Rafe’s.  He’d kept it close to chin-length in back, and the top now looked to be a uniform two inches of soft waves and curls, with the sides brushed back behind his ears.  It put his cheekbones in high, vivid relief, and Jim would have sworn his partner’s eyes were twice the size they’d been the day before.  Well, maybe that’s partly from nerves.  He looks like he’s afraid people are going to laugh him out of the bullpen.  Calm down, Chief.  They’re your friends, remember?   Jim noticed that the usual tiny stud earring had been replaced with one of Blair’s older gold hoops, and smiled to himself.  Thank you, Chief.   

“It’s…okay?”  Blair barely mouthed the words, through the hubbub of voices commenting on his new look, but Jim heard them, and heard the uncertainty in them.  Re-create the image, Ellison.  It’s not the image you carry of him inside your head, but he’s still your Guide and your best friend and your partner.  Re-create the image – for now.  You’ll get the old one back eventually.   

He smiled with all the reassurance he could muster, and stepped forward to drape his arm across Blair’s shoulder.  “It’s good, kid.  It’s all good.”  He raised his voice.  “Back off, people, he’s still recuperating.”  He steered Blair towards their adjoining desks, and forcibly sat him down.  Then he smiled sweetly at his partner.  “Hey, Chief – feel up to doing a little typing?”  

“He’s on leave today and he doesn’t have to type reports, Ellison.”  Simon’s stern voice overlaid the laughter in the bullpen.  “Sandburg, don’t let him coerce you!”  Stepping out of his office, the captain advanced on them and laid a large hand on Blair’s shoulder.  “You sure you’re feeling all right?”  He frankly stared at the smaller man, assessing his appearance, and Blair blushed beneath the scrutiny.  “Well, you certainly look different!  It’s a good look for you, Sandburg.”  

“Th-thanks, Simon.  I’m feeling okay.”  

“He’s supposed to be home resting,” Ellison inserted, favoring his partner with a mock glare – which Blair ignored.   

“So if he’s supposed to be resting, why are you trying to con him into paperwork?”  Simon inquired sweetly.  

Jim had the grace to blush at that.  “Um…just sort of easing him back into the mainstream?” he suggested.  

“Nice try, Detective.”  Simon glanced around at the hovering members of Major Crimes.  “Did someone declare this a holiday and I wasn’t notified?” he barked.  “Let’s get some work done here, people!”  They scattered like chaff before a stiff breeze, leaving Simon, Jim and Blair alone together.   

“I feel good enough to do a little paperwork,” Blair offered then, reaching to turn on his computer.  “That way you can get out of here earlier,” he added to Ellison, who raised an eyebrow in pleased acceptance.   

“Just don’t overdo, Sandburg,” Captain Banks warned.  “I’d hate having to deal with Jim if you decided to pass out in here!”  He turned towards his office, then pivoted and came back.  “Sandburg?”  

“Yes, sir?”  Blair raised curious eyes from the monitor screen.   

“I’m glad you’re okay – and although the hair looks great this way…if you let it grow back, I wouldn’t object.”  Banks swung about sharply and marched into his office, closing the door firmly behind him.  

Blair sat stupefied, one hand covering his wide grin.  Twinkling ocean-blue eyes met Jim’s.  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he breathed at last, Sentinel-hearing-soft.  “Simon likes my hair long?”  

“Chief – it’s all in the image.”  

Fini

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.