Whenever I Call You 'Friend'

Author’s Note: This story is set very early in the series, probably somewhere between “Siege” and “Killers”. It’s not earning me any money, but I hope you enjoy this little tale crafted for fun, and obviously I don’t own the characters of Jim and Blair, although I can dream. Comments always welcome.

“I’m going to make popcorn. You want some?”

“How can you be hungry?” Blair demanded, fixing an incredulous look on his companion. “You’ve had half a pizza and a bag of chips in the last hour and a half.”

“What can I say?” Jim shrugged as he got up and headed for the kitchen. “Anxiety makes me eat.”

Sandburg grinned and shook his head slightly. Yeah, it was an important game for the Jags that would net them a spot in the playoffs. And yeah, they were down by twelve. But it wasn’t quite the crisis situation that the somber detective was making it out to be. However, Blair played along though he wasn’t quite as invested in the outcome as his comrade. For his part, he was just glad to be there.

He’d only been to the loft once before, when they’d swung by in order for Jim to grab something he’d forgotten. Ellison had given him a quickie tour and then unceremoniously ushered him out. So Blair had leapt at the opportunity when the sentinel invited him over to watch the game, thoroughly excited by the gesture. Jim could be so closed off and remote and he hated to talk about anything personal. He seemed to be tolerating, at times just barely tolerating, the presence of the anthropologist in his life because he had no other choice. Not if he wanted to keep his sanity. But then the casual invite had come, and with it the offer of moving beyond a totally professional relationship into something more personal. Jim was opening up a little bit and giving him the chance to get to know him better.

It was probably inevitable, Sandburg mused to himself. After all, in their very brief association they had already saved each other’s lives. That pretty much propelled them out of the professional stratosphere and bonded them in a way that only trauma and danger can. And it instilled a sense of inherent trust between them, something that Blair knew Jim didn’t give easily, even though he barely knew the man. But maybe that was about to change. Ellison had invited him into his home, but the underlying message was that he was willing to let the young scholar into his life, however marginally at first. Blair was happy, for in his mind anything and everything he could learn about the sentinel would be useful for both his research and in understanding these abilities in order to help Jim learn to control them and use them to his advantage. But more than the research, Sandburg was curious about the man. He had already seen enough to develop a profound respect for Jim Ellison. A man who not only believed in honor and loyalty and the protection of the innocent, he ate, slept, lived and breathed it. And underneath that core of steel there was a compassionate, kind, caring, and yes, fun loving soul. All in all, someone Blair wouldn’t mind getting to know better, outside of the professional parameters. Although, an inner voice strongly cautioned him, he had to be careful. Above all else, he had to keep his objectivity or else anything he did on the research front would be compromised.

Then as Blair leaned forward to snag his beer from the coffee table, it hit him.

“Damn it, not now!”

“What’s wrong?” Jim asked as he returned to the living room with a large bowl of popcorn, heavily buttered and salted. Sandburg glanced up at him in surprise, having forgotten for a moment that the sentinel would be able to hear his whispered mutterings.

“Jim, I’m sorry, man,” he began as he stood up. “I have to go.”

“Go where?” Ellison asked, his brow wrinkling in confusion.

“Home.” Blair hurried over to the coat hooks by the door and struggled into his jacket. “There’s something I have to do. I’ll explain everything to you tomorrow.”

But the sentinel followed him and grasped his arm, not letting him leave as he studied him with narrowed eyes. The kid’s heart beat had increased and it was obvious something was wrong and he was not about to let him bolt off half cocked.

“Something happened to make you want to tear out of here like your ass was on fire,” Jim accused him. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

Sighing, Blair realized the honorable, loyal, protective, cop side of Ellison wasn’t going to stand aside until he got an answer. He thought about coming up with an obfuscation, but he didn’t have a lot of time and it seemed easier to just tell the truth so he could get out of there.

“An aura just hit me,” he confessed, running a hand through his hair.

“What the hell does that mean?” Jim demanded, releasing his arm and looking at him suspiciously, no doubt expecting some sort of new age mumbo jumbo explanation.

“It’s a vision disturbance,” Blair continued. “It means a migraine’s on the way.”

“You get migraines?”

“Not very often,” Sandburg told him, a bit uncomfortable and wishing he could have kept this tidbit under wraps. Not that it was a big deal, but he saw Ellison as the original tough guy and he was afraid the former army ranger would look down on him for fleeing in fear of a headache. “I get maybe two or three a year. But if I can pop some aspirin and lay down somewhere dark and quiet before it hits, then it’s usually not too bad. So I’m sorry to bail on you, but I need to get home.”

“Wait.” Jim halted him again with a hand to the arm. “How long do you have before it hits?”

“I don’t know. After the aura passes... Maybe half hour to an hour?”

“I don’t think you should be driving.”

“Jim, it’s ok,” Blair argued impatiently. “I’ll be fine.”

“You aren’t driving with this vision disturbance thing,” Ellison told him firmly.

“It’s nothing,” Sandburg protested. “It’s just some light flashes and lines, but I can still see.”

“Your eyes aren’t focusing right,” the sentinel said, meeting his gaze critically and studying his slightly contracting pupils. “And I can’t let you get behind the wheel of a car, especially that jalopy you drive, when your vision’s messed up. Not to mention if you’re driving when the migraine hits...”

“Jim...” Blair was quickly growing annoyed. He’d agreed to give the detective authority over him while they were working in the field, but they weren’t in the field. And he’d been taking care of himself for a good ten years and deeply resented being told what he could or couldn’t do like a child. But as he was about to make that fact abundantly clear, he was interrupted.

“Chief, settle down,” Ellison commanded. “You’re wasting time arguing with me. If you want to go home, then I’ll drive you home. But it’s dangerous for you to drive yourself and you know it, so stop being so stubborn and let’s go.”

“I don’t want you to do that,” Sandburg said with a shake of his head.

“Look, I don’t mean to boss you around,” Jim placated him, gentling his tone a bit. “I’m sure you know your own body and I’m sure that you’d make it home fine. But why chance it? Just let me drive you, and then you’re safe and I’m happy and everybody wins.”

“I don’t want to put you out,” Blair murmured awkwardly. It was bad enough he was running from a headache without needing the original tough guy to escort him home like a helpless invalid.

“Then stay here,” Ellison offered. “I’ve got aspirin and you can crash on the couch until you feel up to going home.”

The younger man hesitated, weighing his options. He was fighting a losing battle and, as Jim pointed out, he was wasting time arguing. Blair wanted to go home, but he didn’t want the sentinel to have to chauffeur him. He didn’t really want to stay at the loft, either, for any tough guy credibility he might have earned in fighting off Veronica Serris and Kincaid would go right out the window once the pain spiked. But if he stayed, then at least he wouldn’t have to endure the degradation of Jim driving him home like a wuss, and Ellison wouldn’t miss the end of the basketball game he’d been so amped up about.

“Well, if you’re sure you wouldn’t mind, maybe I’ll just ride it out here for awhile.”

“I don’t mind.”

Blair slid out of his jacket and hung it back up, then returned to his spot on the couch and stiffly sat down.

“Make yourself at home,” Ellison told him generously as he brought him a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water.

“Thanks.”

Sandburg swallowed a handful of the pills and then leaned his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes and absently rubbing at his temples with his fingers. He was focused on his predicament and didn’t realize what Ellison was doing until he opened his eyes and saw the sentinel heading for the stairs with his popcorn.

“What are you doing?” he blurted out. “Why did you turn the game off?”

“You said you needed dark and quiet,” Jim pointed out, as if it were obvious.

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean...”

“It’s ok, Chief. I’ve got a radio upstairs and I can listen to the game on that.”

“But...”

“Don’t worry about it, ok? Just do what you need to do to take care of yourself.”

And Blair was left sitting in the dark, listening to the light tread on the stairs and then a few muted sounds coming from above. If Jim had turned the radio on, it was sentinel soft. Feeling miserable, he stretched out on the couch, realizing what he’d hoped to avoid had come to pass. Hell, within days of meeting the sentinel, Blair had witnessed him leap off of a bridge onto a speeding bus and then come barreling through the back window like it was something he did every day. Maybe it was, who knew? But at that point, when Jim had agreed to a tenuous partnership, Sandburg knew it was game on. He was going to have to buck up and keep up. Because Ellison wasn’t exactly happy about the arrangement to begin with, and Blair figured if he gave the detective any reason to think he couldn’t match his stride or fit in with his cop world or handle the soul destroying violence and inhumanity and death they dealt with every day, then it would be the perfect excuse to terminate their partnership. So Sandburg resolved to do everything in his power to be a contributor in every way he could, prove that he could handle the physical and emotional blows of the job, and above all, he could stay out of the way and not be a burden.

And yet there he was, stranded at Jim’s place. Commandeering the entire lower floor of the loft with his needs. Essentially driving Ellison out of his own home and forcing him to miss the game he’d been enjoying with an intense passion. In a word, a burden.

These thoughts echoed through his head, making him restless and anxious and robbing him of the sleep he’d hoped to find. So unfortunately, Blair was wide awake when the aura faded, and later, when the pain struck.

Pizza. Wasn’t a part of his health conscious diet, but Blair had allowed himself to indulge in order to fit in. Jim already thought he was weird enough. Not eating pizza would seem downright un-American, and Sandburg rationalized one night of junk food wasn’t going to hurt him. But he hadn’t anticipated the migraine, or the accompanying nausea that sent him stumbling to the bathroom to expel the pizza and beer from his stomach. Well, at least the fat and cholesterol was safely out of his system and his health remained uncompromised. It was a valiant attempt to find a little humor in the situation, but the sharp, piercing pain splitting his skull made that a rather daunting task.

Blair flushed the toilet and closed the lid, folding his arms over the bowl and using them to cradle his aching head. He stayed there a long time, loathe to move and further instigate the agonizing pain, but eventually he forced himself up, unable to hold back a moan as the bright overhead light seared his eyes. But as he was in an unfamiliar place, the illumination had been a necessity. Hitting the switch and killing the piercing light with a sense of relief, Sandburg idly wondered how the sentinel stood it. And for the first time the anthropologist made a connection, thinking that maybe he understood how Ellison felt when he had a sensory spike. Overwhelming sensation and blinding pain. Wishing that he had the sentinel’s method of control, however tenuous it still might have been, Blair collapsed back onto the couch, easing his head down into the soft pillow that Jim had brought him when he’d turned in for the night, since it was obvious his houseguest would be staying.

A moment later, he heard the detective coming down the stairs. Jim headed straight for the bathroom and there were some rummaging noises and the sound of water, and then he approached, holding out a wet cloth.

“Here.”

“Thanks.”

Yep, burden. But at that point, Blair was too far gone to care. He wiped the sweat off his face and then folded the cloth, draping it over his eyes, feeling the coolness mute the pain a fraction.

“Do you need anything?”

The voice was soft, concerned.

“No,” Blair whispered. “I’ll be ok.”

“If you do need anything, just ask.”

A reassuring squeeze to his shoulder and then Jim headed back upstairs. Respectfully leaving him alone, because he sensed the younger man preferred to suffer in peace. Which he did, but Blair couldn’t deny there was something comforting about knowing Ellison was just right upstairs if he needed him. And maybe, didn’t mind so much being burdened.

Blair finally dozed off and when he awoke he was relieved to find that the headache had downgraded from skull splitting to just a painful throb. Getting up, he groped around until he found a small lamp and turned it on. The light was still a bit intense, but bearable. He made a quick trip to the bathroom and then went into the kitchen to refill his water glass so he could swallow another handful of pills. For a moment he thought about leaving and going home, and then maybe in the morning he and Jim could pretend this whole embarrassing episode had never happened. But he had second thoughts when he checked the clock and saw how late it was. It was dark and cold outside, and the loft was warm and quiet. And the couch was pretty comfortable, he conceded as he plopped back down onto it. Blair sipped at his water as his gaze traveled around the loft. Jim’s home. It was far too bland and sterile for his tastes, but he allowed that perhaps a sentinel preferred neutral tones over visually stimulating colors and objects. Or was it that Jim just lacked imagination? Or maybe, it was his sense of detachment, not allowing himself to get too invested in anything. Regardless of the reason and despite the bleak tones, Sandburg decided he liked the loft. It was peaceful. And as he turned off the lamp and relaxed back into the sofa, curling up under the warm blanket Jim had given him, Blair realized that he, strangely, felt at home there.

Maybe a little too at home. When he woke up in the morning, the sun was illuminating the loft and Jim was already up and showered and dressed and in the kitchen making breakfast.

“Morning, Sandburg,” he greeted with a grin as the bedraggled head appeared over the back of the couch. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good,” Blair yawned as he extricated himself from the tangle of blanket and stood up. “Sorry I had to impose on you like this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jim told him dismissively. “I’m just glad you’re all right. And up. I wasn’t really in the market for a new throw pillow.”

“Funny,” Sandburg mumbled over his shoulder as he headed down the hallway to the bathroom. When he returned, he had pulled his wild hair back and secured it with an elastic band and was looking more or less awake, although he halted by the kitchen and sniffed the air appreciatively. “Any chance I could maybe steal a little of that coffee before I head home?”

“Just coffee?” Ellison teased. “I figured you’d want to mooch breakfast, too.” The anthropologist hesitated, unsure as how to take the older man’s words so Jim dropped the joking and tried to sound sincere. “Have a seat, Chief. I made enough for two.”

After a second, Blair sat down at the table and it was only a minute or two before the sentinel was setting a steaming mug and a heaping plate before him. Sandburg had a few bites of the loosely scrambled eggs, then sighed and fixed an uncomfortable gaze on his companion.

“Jim, don’t think this is going to be habitual, all right? I really don’t get migraines very often.”

“I’m glad,” Ellison responded softly, glancing up at him. “It looked pretty bad.”

“Well, I’m sorry you had to, but I appreciate you letting me crash here last night.”

“Why are you sorry?” Jim shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’m not. These things happen. And I’d much rather they happen here where I know you’re all right, as opposed to out there on your own where you don’t have help if something goes wrong.”

Blair met his calm gaze, seeking validation of his words. And he found it in those blue eyes that held no condemnation or impatience or scorn. Just concern, and even a hint of burgeoning fondness. And a weight came off his shoulders as he realized that Jim didn’t think he was a burden. Not a clueless kid, a neo hippie punk, an oversensitive pacifist, or a chain around his neck that was holding him back. Well, maybe he thought some of those things a little, but Ellison liked him in spite of them and apparently saw other things as well. Aspects that were beneficial enough to overcome the liability. And maybe it was ok if he didn’t always think like a cop, or couldn’t always keep up with an army trained detective with extraordinary abilities, or couldn’t deal with some of the horrible things they saw and experienced with a clinical detachment. Maybe it wasn’t all about conformity and fitting in, and maybe he could just be himself and not be afraid to express all his ideas and theories and opinions and preferences. Maybe all he had to do was just do the job he’d signed on for. Helping a sentinel learn to manage and control his abilities. And if he needed a hand sometimes here and there, then Jim would give it to him and not consider it a burden, but rather he would do it because he considered him worth the effort. After all, everything in their association so far had been an equal give and take. And maybe, differences aside, that’s what it was really all about. Helping where you could, accepting help when you needed it, sharing your strengths and compensating for weakness in order to form a perfect team. Because that’s what they had the potential to be, with both of them bringing their equally important talents to the table and thereby complementing each other. A warrior with enhanced senses and an intellectual scholar with ingenuity and an understanding of the world. Yep, the perfect team. And the bad guys didn’t stand a chance.

“What?”

Blair looked up and saw Jim watching him curiously and realized he had been grinning to himself.

“Nothing,” he replied, diving back into his breakfast with a renewed hunger. “I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“I was just thinking that this is the start of a beautiful partnership.”

Jim scowled at him, but his eyes were twinkling with humor.

“What did I tell you? Never call us ‘partners’!”

“Right, rule number seventeen,” Blair groused. “We’re not partners.” But then he looked up, striving for casualness but there was an undercurrent of seriousness in his earnest blue eyes. “What about calling us friends?”

“Yeah,” Jim answered, smiling slightly as he buttered his toast. “That’d be ok.”

Blair grinned, hefting his coffee mug in the air, realizing his objectivity had been shattered and not much caring.

“Then here’s to the start of a beautiful friendship.”

Finis

The Sandburg Zone

Cascade Library