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Feb. 6th, 2004 10:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsSo it's WIP day, showing all the WIP's you have on your hard drive. Can I say EEP!
I have a lot of WIP's. MX, TS and a popslash that needs ripping to bits and totally redone. But the ones I'm going to show you are The End 3 and an un named TS.
Okay, The End series is my baby. I believe in it totally and think it's some of the best stuff that I've done. ( not that that's saying anything ). I know what has to happen, I can see it in my head, but I've had a block about writing it down for ages now. *thumps head against desk*. So I'll put it out here. It's not beta read, Starwatcher has seen it and I know it has problems but I want to get the damn thing done before bothering her for a full beta. So expect mistakes. Obviously spoilers for The End 3 if anyone is actually reading the series.
The first two are here.
I'll remind you again, this is my writing in all it's raw glory and it's not pretty. I'm doing this out of desperation so I start writing TS again.
As the group left the last resting place of Simon Banks none knew what was ahead. If they had would the have continued on, or would they have given up, defeated by the trials to come?
They’d grown then decreased in numbers in one day of high emotion, the joy of a reunion, followed by the utter despair of death. Surely it had to get better? Or as the saying goes, do you have to hit rock bottom before starting the journey back up? Had they hit rock bottom yet? Who knows?
***
Tension was thick in the air as the group moved on. After a quick meeting it had been decided to keep moving north, and they’d set off as Jim took his usual driving seat and Daryl squeezed into the boot, his long legs tangled with Jamie’s. Abigail sprawled across both of them.
Squashed in the backseat, Blair shifted, moving his leg slightly where it rested across the laps of Samuel and Jill. He was hot, dirty and emotionally numb. Simon’s death not really real yet. It was callous but to Blair, Simon was only one of a multitude, one more death to add to the growing list. Emma, Simon, his students and friends. They all blended together, but for now it was the only way that Blair could cope. He’d grieve for Simon later, the crash from numbness to all too painful grief hard. But not yet, not when Daryl veered from rage to despair, and Jim looked carved in stone.
It was almost overwhelming, knowing that somehow he’d have to break through the barrier that Jim had created. Blair was no fool; he knew that of them all he was the only one that had a chance of getting close. But the thought of the energy that he’d have to use was almost too much. Blair was running on his last reserves, he felt brittle, like one touch would shatter his body into tiny shards. His eyes were hot, skin tight and dry, he felt light headed and his vision swam a little as he watched the ruined buildings flash by. Blair felt unclean, tainted by the horror he was forced to live in. He could feel his hair matted to his neck, dirty and slick with sweat and grease. He felt disgusting, looked worse and would have sold his soul for a shower. That wasn’t an option. He knew that, just as he knew that he’d have to talk to Jim soon, before the ill feeling that clung to the group solidified into something that would destroy them. Simon’s death had been a tragedy, but it would be a disaster if it caused the fragile group of survivors to splinter. Blair wasn’t going to let that happen -- not now. But first he’d sleep a little, rest his aching head on Samuel’s shoulder and try to shore up his shifting energy reserves. The talk would have to wait -- for now anyway.
~*~*~*~
Squashed in the cargo area with Jamie, Daryl sat frozen, lost inside his own memories. He didn’t feel Jamie’s legs digging into his own, or Abigail lying against his chest, head resting on his arm that he casually curled round her. All he could think about was his dad, and the way that he’d been killed. Daryl tried to think of the good times, ball games and that last car ride, singing along to the radio as his dad complained about how music today was nothing but an assault to his ears. Daryl had laughed and sang louder, uncaring how goofy he looked as he laughed at his dad’s exaggerated expression of distaste. The good times had been many, but now Daryl couldn’t seem to concentrate on any of them. He tried -- oh god how he’d tried -- but all he could see was his dad lying on the scorched ground, blood trailing from his mouth. He’d tried so hard to wake him up, shouting and screaming despite knowing it was useless, but he couldn’t give up, doing that would have made it real. That his daddy was dead, so he’d shouted and pummeled the still chest until he’d collapsed to the ground sobbing in anguish as Blair suddenly appeared next to him, murmuring meaningless words of comfort.
The make shift funeral had been hard, and Daryl couldn’t really remember much. Quick flashes -- nothing more. Samuel appearing with a hand made cross, Jamie, Joel and Jim digging a hole with sticks, rocks and their bare hands. Joel whispering a prayer as he wrapped Simon in one of the sleeping bags, tears dripping from his nose as he gently maneuvered his friend. Blair always at his side, using Daryl as a crutch, his hand warm on his arm.
Blair had said some brief words as Simon was buried. Talking of Simon’s beliefs and how much the man had meant to him. Joel had sung, voice raspy and unnatural amongst the usual noise of burning buildings. Jim had stood apart, leaning against a blackened tree, and shook his head when Blair asked if he wanted to say anything. Daryl knew that he should say something too, but it was impossible, how could he when his throat felt blocked and just moving would take more effort than he could give? When they left the mementoes Daryl still remained frozen, not moving until he’d pulled his necklace over his head, draping it over the cross before he fell to his knees and started talking for hours. He stopped when Jim came, the anger at seeing the man he hated flare fast and savage.
The hatred was unjust, Daryl knew that, but he was powerless to stop the burn of loathing he experienced every time he saw Jim. It was easier to hate. If he did that he didn’t need to hurt, could hide exposed tender nerves behind a shield of anger. It was easier that way, and if he started to feel guilty, all he did was look at Jim, alive and breathing, and remember his dad -- who wasn’t -- and the guilt disappeared. He hated Jim Ellison; it was as easy as that.
~*~*~*~
Head pressed against the grimy car window, Blair flexed his shoulders, trying to ease the pain in his body. They were all cramped, crushed together and he knew that they’d need another vehicle soon. Traveling like this was okay in the short term, but no way could they last for much longer in such a confined space.
Outside the glow of the sun could be seen high overhead, and the heat was stifling, causing sweat to trickle down their bodies. Clothes stuck to clammy skin and Blair pulled at his shirt, grimacing as it clung to his chest. The temperature in the car was high, and they all seemed wilted, bodies flopping against the nearest surface, too wiped out to stay upright. All except Jim, he remained upright, body tight as he navigated holes and felled trees. Only the muscles visually bunched in his neck suggested that Jim wasn’t cool and controlled, and Blair longed to just hold him. But it was a hope doomed to failure, Jim might as well have had a neon ‘keep off’ sign above his head, and Blair wasn’t stupid enough to push with an audience. They needed a rest break, and Blair opened his mouth to suggest it when Jim cut him off.
“We’re stopping for ten minutes. I’d suggest you use some of your rations, get something to eat and drink.”
Not even looking back, Jim eased out of the car, movements clumsy, so unlike his usual grace. Pushing open his own door, Blair waited while the others shuffled from under his leg, the slowly swung it round so he was sitting in the doorway. His leg felt better, the pain not so sharp, so taking a risk he stood, wobbling only slightly while holding tight to the door frame. It felt good to stand upright alone, and he smiled a little at the triumph he felt at the small achievement. Buoyed by his success he started to move forward, limping badly for a few steps until an arm suddenly looped round his waist.
“You feeling better?”
Smile wide, Blair looked up at Jim who was staring down at him a half smile on his face.
“Much better. Still hurts can’t deny that but at least it doesn’t feel like it’s going to drop off at any moment, And hey, I’m walking at least.”
“I can see that. Why don’t you walk with me, I need to talk to you.”
“Yeah? That’s good I wanted to talk to you too. About yesterday…”
Blair could feel Jim’s grip tighten before he cut him off.
“That’s not what I want to talk about.
“Come on Jim. You can’t just ignore it.”
“Says who?” Stopping in place, Jim helped Blair ease to the ground, the crouched beside him. “I don’t want to talk about it. Do you know where we are?”
Confused at the change of subject, Blair stared at Jim, weighing up the chances of actually getting him to talk about Simon’s death. Seeing the way Jim stared into the distance he figured the chance to be zero, the talk would have to wait for a better moment.
“Uh, I think we’re on the outskirts of the city.”
“We are. My dad’s house is about a mile that way.”
Jim pointed and Blair looked in that direction, trying to imagine something other than the derelict buildings and pitted landscape that was his current view. Slowly he matched up piles of rubble with houses and blackened tree stumps with the magnificent mature oak trees that had lined the streets leading towards Jim’s childhood home. Still confused, Blair looked from Jim to the road then back again.
“You want to go there? Try and find your dad and Sally?”
“I doubt they would have survived this long, but dad’s cars might have. They were all in excellent condition, and in the garage. I reckon there’s a good chance they’ll be useable, and we need another car.”
Stunned, Blair stared at Jim, trying to see if his nostalgence was real or carefully crafted. “Don’t you want to look for them while you’re there?
“They’ll be dead.” Expressionless, Jim stood, a dark shadow looming over Blair as he stared into the distance.
“But you can’t just go and not look Jim. It’s your *dad*, and *Sally*!”
“I know who they are Sandburg, maybe I just don’t believe in miracles anymore. But if it keeps you quiet I’ll look when we get there.” Jim stood, and Blair stared up, unsure of what to say, so he reached for Jim’s hand, hoping touch would succeed where words were failing.
“I’ll go and get us some water.” Blair wasn’t surprised when his hand was shrugged off, and watched dejectedly as Jim walked towards the car. He needed to get through to Jim somehow -- and soon.
“Hey Blair.” Jamie appeared, crouching in the spot that Jim had just left. “Do you want something? Some water, I think Joel’s got some canned meat if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks Jamie, Jim’s getting me something, but if you’d haul me to my feet I’d appreciate it.” Jamie’s warm hand wrapped round Blair’s list, pulling him to his feet, then holding him firmly against a strong chest until Blair indicated that he was secure. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Jamie stayed close, so near that Blair could feel the heat from his body. “Look Blair, I might be out of line here, but will Jim be okay? I thought he’d gone into a trance or something last night, I’ve never seen anyone sit so still.”
Blair shuddered a little at the image Jamie’s words brought back. Jim sitting near the fire, face frozen, hands caked in dried blood as he stared at Simon’s grave. So still that Blair suspected a zone at first.
“Simon was one of his best friends. He doesn’t deal with letting people down well.”
“But he didn’t let anyone down. It was an accident.”
“I know, but Jim doesn’t see it that way.” Blair looked at Jim who was talking to Joel, a bottle of water in his hand. “I’ve known Jim a long time, and he’s always had this over developed habit of taking on guilt. I can usually get him to see reason, but this time…”
Defeat weighed heavy on Blair’s shoulders, and he let his head fall forward, matted curls falling into his face.
“He loves you so much.”
Startled by Jamie’s words, Blair looked up, impatiently pushing his hair behind an ear. He saw Jamie was looking towards Jim who was carefully giving out bottles of water.
“I love him too. More than I ever thought I’d love another person. He’s everything to me.”
“So why don’t you make him see reason this time? He’ll listen if he loves you.”
Irritated, Blair looked away from Jim, staring at Jamie. “It’s not that simple. Do you know how many times I’ve had to fight him for things? He goes off in these moods, pushing me away and I have to push back, making him listen…”
“So do that this time.”
“It’s not that easy. I don’t think he’ll let me in. Simon was everything to him, one of his oldest friends.”
“And you’re his lover…”
“Damn it Jamie. You’re just don’t get it! How can you get it? You’re just a kid.” Angry now Blair’s hands flew as he spat out his words. “Yes I’m his lover, but Jim only listens to what he wants to.”
“He listens to you.”
“On an aural level maybe.”
“That’s bullshit Blair. I’ve only known you a few days but in that time I’ve seen how much he loves you. He listens, but he can only listen if you talk.”
“I have to give him time…”
“No. No you don’t. We haven’t got time to give. We’re screwed if Jim stays like he is now. Can’t you see that? Look around Blair. Look at Joel, he’s hurting too but he’s trying to keep this group going and it’s killing him. He’s torn between Daryl and Jim. I don’t know why Jim does what he does. But you know something Blair? I didn’t get pulled out of that shop to see the group I ended up with pull themselves apart. It hurts me that I survived. Every day I have to live with the knowledge that I’m here and my family’s not. That I’m breathing and they probably died in terror. My sister, my mom, my dad. I want to see them every minute of every day. It hurts Blair. But I go on, because I’m not going to give up and die. I survived for a reason, and I won’t lesson their death by sitting and watching the man who saved me retreat into himself.” Tone deadly serious, Jamie indicated Jim. “You say that you love him. Prove it.”
Emotions flew through Blair as he listened to Jamie. Anger, sadness, fear, all bound with the realization he was right. The group was on the verge of self destruction. Joel was sitting with Abigail in his lap, carefully pulling tangles from her long hair, looking more defeated than Blair had ever seen him. Samuel, Jill and Irene sat in a scattered group, all staring at the floor, bottles of water clutched in their hands. Daryl was in the car, back turned in an obvious rebuff. The tension was thick, no one spoke unless necessary and Blair knew it could only get worse. He had to do something, and soon.
“Thanks.” Clasping hands with Jamie, Blair smiled then started to gather his last reserves of energy. “I think Jim and I need to talk.”
Adrenalin flowing now, Blair limped away, reaching for Jim’s arm when he came to meet him.
“You should be sitting down.”
“Later. We need to talk Jim.”
“About what?”
“Simon.” Blair replied, then watched as Jim’s face froze, and he started to walk away.”
“I told you I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Well I do.” Blair knew the only thing he could do was push forward, and he held onto Jim’s arm, pulling him back. “You’re going to listen to what I say.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t need to listen to your words of sympathy.”
“Well that’s good, because you’re not getting any. Now come on!” Tugging at Jim’s arm, Blair attempted to pull him away from the others. ”Damn you Jim! Move!”
To Blair’s relief Jim moved, jerking out of Blair’s hold before moving away and waiting for Blair to catch up. “Okay, I’ve moved. Now what do you want to say?”
Annoyed at the sarcastic tone, Blair reigned in his temper, awkwardly pacing a short distance. “I want to tell you to get your head out of your ass. You’re going to break this group apart.”
“I’m going to break then apart?” Furious, Jim glared down at Blair. “It was me that put this group together. Me and Joel. We dug people out of buildings, pushing aside corpses with our bare hands. So don’t tell me that I’m breaking it up.”
“Well that’s tough. Because that’s exactly what I’m saying. Simon’s dead Jim. I know that hurts but it wasn’t your fault. Are you listening to me? It. Was. Not. Your. Fault. Simon didn’t have to be in that house. He didn’t have to push you to safety. He could have let that beam hit you, stayed safe at the bottom of the stairs.”
“Don’t you dare say that!” Jim backed away from Blair, fists curled as if he wanted to punch something. “He wouldn’t let one of his men be hurt, let me be hurt. He wasn’t that kind of man. You know that. He was a hero”
“So don’t deny him that right to be a hero. It was *his* choice to try and save you. His choice Jim, not yours. Every time you think it’s your fault you’re putting his sacrifice down. He died for you.”
”He shouldn’t have died.”
“I know that! He shouldn’t have died. Neither should Emma, or Jamie’s family, or anyone else. But they did, and you playing martyr isn’t helping anyone. These people need you. I need you. I need you so much, I can’t do this alone Jim.” Blair sagged as Jim turned away, staring into the distance. “I’ve lost too many people already. Don’t make me lose you.”
Jim stayed silent, and Blair stood watching, sick to the stomach. He’d said everything he could. He didn’t have the strength to keep pushing. It was up to Jim now.
“You don’t fight fair, Blair.” Jim’s voice was low, and Blair strained to hear the words. “I know you’re right, but I can’t forget that Simon died saving me.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“I know.” Jim turned, arms wrapped round himself defensively. “You’re not going to lose me. I can’t promise, but I’ll never leave you voluntary.”
Blair almost collapsed in relief as Jim moved forward, pulling them together. “That’s good enough for me, just don’t leave us again.”
“I won’t.” Jim hugged Blair tighter for a second, kissing the top of his head. “Daryl still hates me.”
“I know. We just have to give it time. He’ll understand one day”
“I suppose. When did you get so smart?”
Laughter muffled in Jim’s chest, Blair looked up. “I’ve always been smart. I landed you didn’t I? I’ll tell you another reason I’m smart. If your dad’s place is nearby we should be near the river. That means water, we could get clean Jim.”
Jim paused, obviously thinking about something.
“The river could be polluted, we don’t know what did this. We could be getting washed in a river of toxic chemicals.”
“It could be. It could also be fine, we don’t know until we go there. What will it hurt?”
“It’ll hurt if one of us sticks their arm in and gets a chemical burn.”
“But that won’t happen. You’ll be able to tell.”
“I think you’re putting too much faith in my abilities Chief. How am I supposed to tell if the river’s safe?”
“By using your senses. Come on Jim, you know you can do it. It’s not like we’d be drinking the stuff. We can get clean, wash our clothes. I’m sick of feeling dirty, I bet you are too.”
Hopeful, Blair stood back, watching as Jim stared off into the distance.
The second is a story I started months ago, and it just stalled.
If looking like a crap was a college course Blair Sandburg would have gained an A that day.
Sitting at his desk, he was the representation of the phrase "Soldiering on" in the flesh. Hair normally neatly tied back while working escaped from a leather tie in all directions, more down than up. Wire rimmed glasses perched precariously at the end of a reddened nose, while eyes shimmered with that unique mixture of drugs and exhaustion. The mouth that usually cracked a million smiles held no hint of happiness. Instead, the end of a pen was being chewed into submission as yet another essay was read, marked, then put aside.
The aside in this instance was a nearby chair. No way could another paper find a place on the over flowing desk. Used tissues lay on top of books, empty coffee cups marked the boundary of the desk edge while small items such a paracetamol packets and pens lay under huge drifts of paper. To the untrained eye it was chaos, but to Blair it was normal, he knew where things were, eventually.
In the last hour he'd marked twenty-seven essays, sneezed fifty times (he knew, he counted them all) used half a box of man sized tissues and cursed his partner exactly sixty times. He knew that as well, it was part of his rhythm. Pick up an essay, curse his partner, read, curse his partner, mark said essay, curse his partner. It was an easy rhythm and one that he took great delight in creating. The curses had started relatively tame but as the hour wore on he found that he was cursing Jim after every movement.
Grab an essay.
"Bastard."
Blearily focus bloodshot eyes on paper and read what counted as wisdom from his freshman class.
"Fuckin idiot."
Scrawl some illegible comment. Hell, they hadn't bothered to be legible, why should he?
"Unreasonable, unloosening, anal retentive cop."
Place marked essay on pile.
"Brain dead throwback."
"That's Detective Throwback to you, Chief."
Jim's sudden appearance right behind him caused Blair to jerk around, causing a cascade effect that saw his perilous pile of marked essays slither to the ground, joining the mountain of used tissues already there.
"Jesus Jim, don't do that! I never heard you come in, man."
"I sorta gathered that. Are you done cursing me and ready to go?"
"You heard that? Ah man, I'm sorry…I didn't mean it, you know."
"I hope not or I'd have to book you for verbal slander of an officer."
The look of regret that Blair wore disappeared as he looked up towards Jim. The other man stood in the doorway, seemingly amused at the situation and not at all bothered that he'd just found his partner questioning his heritage. In fact Jim seemed downright amused that he'd managed to catch Blair in such an uncharacteristic bad mood.
"Verbal slander? Somehow I don't think that one's an official offence, Jim. Not that I was doing that anyway. Man, if I was done for verbal slander I'd been thrown in jail faster than a speeding train, especially after reading these all day."
The 'these' in question slid further into disarray as Blair nudged them with his toe, scorn written all over his expressive face. He could usual cope with the drivel that some of his freshman class presented him with, but not today. There was only so much one miserable TA could take and Blair's quota was nearly full.
Since Jim had been presented with a case that involved Ranier, Blair had seen more of the place than he had ever wanted to. It seemed that the top brass had pushed that the case be handed to Jim as soon as they realised the Universities involvement. It was just convenient, wasn't it, that one of their detectives happened to have a partner with inside knowledge. Simon had never admitted anything but Blair was sure that much gleeful rubbing of hands had gone on when the head men realised that Ellison's weird hanger on could be used as the inside man and they didn't even have to pay him. Brilliant for them, not so good for Blair who already had a killer schedule without hanging around Rainier out of hours, plus a summer cold that left his nose red and his brain mush.
It wasn't Jim's fault, his rational mind knew that, but after spending approximately twenty hours a day at school anything academic related threatened to push him over the edge. Meal after meal was eaten from plastic cartons in the small room that had been commandeered by the PD in order to watch the chemistry labs, hours had been spent walking the grounds and corridors of the school looking for anything out of place, no matter that no one seemed to know what that was. Rainier had a lot of students and a lot of buildings and Blair thought he'd looked at them all at least a hundred times. The only time he'd seen the loft in the last week was to get a hurried shower and change, and even then Blair couldn't relax knowing Jim sat in the dingy box room laughingly called a medical rest area. At least it had it's own toilet, which with the amount of coffee Blair was scarfing down to keep awake was a necessity.
Sometimes when he was at his lowest ebb he'd sit and wonder why Cascade seemed to attract so many weirdoes and criminal organisations. He'd even thought about investigating the correlation between the crime rate and the fact that Cascade had it's very own Sentinel, it would make a great chapter for his diss, 'do Sentinels attract more crime or is it that they just find more' at least until he acknowledged that it would take 10 dissertations to write about all he'd observed about Jim.
So here he was now, fed up, miserable, cheesed off with life in general, with a nasty lingering cold, about to become Blair Sandburg undercover agent, yet again. He should have been tucked up in bed with chicken soup and a hot water bottle, not walking drafty corridors watching for anything suspicious. Yeah, like he would know what someone carrying the ingredients for illegal drugs would look like. The way his eyes were watering he'd be lucky to see the person, never mind anything that they were carrying. Suppressing yet another sigh, he eased his aching body from the chair, ready, if not willing, to start the second phase of his day.
Aren't you forgetting something Chief?"
"I've already said sorry for that insult thing, but hey, if it makes you feel better, I'm sorry for calling you names, Jim."
"That's not what I meant, I'm talking about this mess."
Blair watched as Jim's eyes flitted from one messy surface to another, visibly suppressing the patented 'how can you work in this ' lecture. Though the detective still stood immobile at the doorway Blair could tell he was itching to pick up rubbish and straighten papers. Just as he also knew that Jim wouldn't actually come in the room and do so unless asked. Early in their relationship it was established that Blair's space was his to do what he wanted. That included his former room at the loft and obviously his office. Over the years Jim had resigned himself to chaos when he ventured into Sandburg's domain, and as long as the overflow was kept from his space he was fine. That didn't mean he didn't verbally prod Blair about the mess, a neatness fanatic like Jim could only keep so much in.
"You want me to tidy my room now?"
Blair looked amused as he watched his partner. The argument was an old one, and also one that Jim had never won. Blair would tidy what he had to, specificy put his students essays into his backpack to finish grading later then leave the rest, coffee cups, tissues and all.
"Hey, Jim, pass that new box of tissues would you?"
"I'll give you them as long as you promise to dispose of them the right way, not on the floor, the bed…"
"Jim I think you're way over reacting here, it was only one tissue in your pocket, it was convenient, what was I supposed to do?"
"It was used Sandburg, I don't want to put my hand, my ungloved hand at that, into your used tissue."
It took all of Blair's willpower not to laugh at the disgusted expression on Jim's face. He hadn't meant to put the used tissue in his partner's pocket, but he'd been concentrating on an article that needed submitting by the next morning. When he'd blown his nose Blair's automatic reaction had been to shove it into the pocket of his coat, completely forgetting he'd been wearing Jim's warm jacket to ward against the chill night air in the storage room. Somehow he doubted that Jim would offer his jacket again after that night, but it was worth it, just, for the expression on Jim's face when he realised what was stuck to his hand. Of course his partner hadn't seen it that way. In fact he'd protested loudly and at length just how unfunny it had been.
"I said I'm sorry man. I just forget sometimes, you know?"
"Yeah I know. Sometimes I can't believe that someone as smart as you can be so forgetful. What am I saying? I know how forgetful you can be, I've lived it for years now."
"So you know I'm not going to tidy up then, right?"
"The day you tidy this place is the day I turn in my badge Chief. So stuff all your crap in your bag and lets go already."
"Err Jim, aren't you forgetting something?"
Seeing the look of incomprehension on Jim's face Blair stopped stuffing essays into his backpack to gesture wildly towards the shelves near the door.
"My tissues, and you say I'm forgetful."
Warring between exasperation at his partner and laughter Jim pulled an economy-sized box of tissues from under yet another stack of papers. The tissues were named as one hundred percent natural, after Blair's first choice had caused Jim to sneeze continuously for ten minutes. Since then Blair would only buy this brand, all natural, soft on the nose and Sentinel friendly. Now boxes of tissues were placed everywhere Blair went, in the loft, their bedroom, his office, the PD and for good measure he carried a box full on his walks round campus. There was no way that Blair would have left the room without the box wedged under his arm.
"Here you go. Why you don't just pull some out I don't know."
Catching the box Blair tucked it against his side and gave his office a last look before leaving to start the second part of his day. The place was a mess, he knew that. However he also knew the rubbish would still be there in the morning and right now he needed some hot coffee and a look in the bag that he'd noticed Jim pick up from the floor. The bag was small, but just large enough to carry some of his favourite take out, maybe a chicken and red pepper sandwich from his favoured deli.
"So what's in the bag Jim?"
"Just something I picked up for dinner, so come on lets go and eat, I made reservations at a very exclusive place for us. Small, intimate, guaranteed a seat, just your kind of place Chief."
Blair suppressed a smile as he locked his office; thankful for the respite Jim's teasing was giving to his poor mood.
"So what's this establishment called then? Chez Storeroom, you’re such a cheap date Jim."
Holding the bag securely Jim turned to Blair, fake shock plastered across his face.
"You've already been? Without me, I'm wounded here."
Looking at Jim's expression Blair fought between the urge to laugh or keep up his grumbling at being stuck in the storeroom so long.
"Wounded my ass, and yeah I've been, every night this week if you remember? Not that I don't like the company, but man it's still a storeroom. We can’t do anything there, not even fool around a little, just in case we miss something. Not that we know what that something is by the way."
Hoisting his bag further up on his shoulder, Blair followed behind Jim as they walked out of Hargrove Hall, towards the small room that had become the headquarters of the detectives who were staking out Rainier. For all Jim's teasing the room was just a storeroom, but at least it was somewhere for the detectives to watch the nearby student union café without being seen.
Over the last month anarchy had seemed to break out in Cascade. It had started small, a young woman became impatient waiting in a fast food queue and had barged to the front. When she was told to move back in line she'd became violent, slapping the employee who had spoken to her. The arresting officers had noted that she seemed lucid, just didn't seem able to reign in her temper. That had resulted in an arrest for disturbing the peace and assault.
The next day the situation had escalated slightly, reports came in of young men and women dancing in the park's fountain. It would have been funny, that is if the dancers hadn't been naked at the time. That day ten arrests were made on public decency charges. The tale of the naked dancers was a favourite in the uniform division of the Cascade Police Department, escalating until it reached orgy status. Patrolmen laughed that 'something must be in the air,' a viewpoint that remained until the next morning.
An elderly woman had been punched in the face when she didn't move out of the way of a young man on roller blades fast enough. She was left in a crying heap on the floor as her assailant sped away laughing at 'decking a fossil.' The spate of crimes wasn't as funny now there was a woman with a broken cheekbone involved, and it only became worse. Windows were smashed to get at goods when shops had closed. People in pubs and clubs reported being kissed and groped by people who didn't take no as an answer. Cars were parked where their drivers wanted, even if that was the middle of the road.
With each report the uniforms became more and more confused, none of the perpetrators seemed to be high. Instead they were totally aware of what they were doing, just didn't seem to see what that they were doing was wrong. It was only a matter of time before the cases were referred upstairs. Especially as the worst case yet had happened -- murder. A murder so strange that one week ago Major Crime had been handed every case that seemed related, which added up to a *lot* of files.
~*~*~*~
Simon Banks was a frustrated man as he sat at his desk surrounded by case files. He'd just been handed the piles of reports by Rhonda, who'd staggered under the weight of them all. Like everyone in the PD Simon had heard of the so-called Cascade anarchy cases. He'd even laughed at the naked students in the fountain, but now looking at all the cases together he was horrified at how the incidents had escalated. There were at least one hundred reports, going from petty vandalism to the most recent case of murder. No one was even sure if there was a connection, so every possible related report had been handed to Major Crime. Now it was up to Simon and his men to discover what had caused his city to descend into chaos.
It looked to be a long and difficult task. The one common factor in all the cases was the age of the perps. Most were youngsters, the youngest only sixteen, the eldest twenty-eight. That was the one fact that the uniforms agreed on. Not one of them had arrested anyone over thirty, now all Major Crime had to do was discover the missing link. Simon knew there was a link, no way could things go so bad so quickly without one.
Standing so he could see over the top of the files he looked to see who was available in the bullpen. Seeing Jim, Rafe and Brown he decided to assign the cases between them. Letting a smirk briefly flash over his face Simon carefully moved past the towers of files to shout in his men. He wouldn't admit to anyone but he loved yelling people's names into the bullpen. The way all heads jerked up whatever the name amused him, amusement he hid behind a ferousious frown.
Carefully edging past more piles of reports Simon walked to his door, inhaling deeply at the same time.
"Ellison, Brown, Rafe, my office now!"
Hiding a smile as every detective in the bullpen looked towards his location, Simon moved back towards his desk. Looking at his coffee pot longingly he decided there just wasn't room for a mug on his desk at that moment. He'd save the coffee as a reward once all these reports were gone, and this meeting was over.
Standing at the side of his desk Simon watched as his detectives filed in. Looks of resignation flitted across their faces as they saw the huge piles of reports and arranged themselves in the room. Rafe and Brown waved towards the chairs by Jim as he propped himself against the conference table.
“Okay gentlemen, we’ve a problem that needs sorting out fast. You’ve probably heard all about the so called Cascade anarcy cases by now. They were pushed up to us this morning, all one hundred and two of them. I want you to find out what’s behind them, consider them your primary caseload for now. There’s already been one death, I don’t want any more.”
“There’s been a death?” Surprised, Jim questioned Simon. “There hadn’t been yesterday.”
“Well there is now, last night, here…” Quickly scanning the stacks of files, Simon pulled one off the top of one pile and handed it to Rafe. “…the details are similar to all the others. Young, male, seems to know exactly what he’s doing, but doesn’t care. Except this time it ended with murder. We’ve a witness that saw the perp approach the hotdog stand, then shot the vender with a handgun when he didn’t have any mustard…killing someone because of mustard.”
Sighing, Simon sat forward in his chair, peering over the reports to look at his men.
“Divide these up between you, read them over and see if you can see any link. I’ll take anything at the moment, however flimsy. This is looking bad gentlemen, I don’t want it to get any worse. The confrence room should be empty, use that…oh and Jim, if Sandburg comes in, let him have a look, one more pair of eyes couldn’t hurt.”
“We’re on it, Sir.”
Grabbing a pile of files, Jim followed H and Rafe from the office, resigned to hours spent pouring over reports.
Man, I've just been rooting through my files and I've way more WIP's than I thought.
Anyway, feel free to kick my ass to get these finished, especially The End.
ETA: The End is slash and refers to character death.
I have a lot of WIP's. MX, TS and a popslash that needs ripping to bits and totally redone. But the ones I'm going to show you are The End 3 and an un named TS.
Okay, The End series is my baby. I believe in it totally and think it's some of the best stuff that I've done. ( not that that's saying anything ). I know what has to happen, I can see it in my head, but I've had a block about writing it down for ages now. *thumps head against desk*. So I'll put it out here. It's not beta read, Starwatcher has seen it and I know it has problems but I want to get the damn thing done before bothering her for a full beta. So expect mistakes. Obviously spoilers for The End 3 if anyone is actually reading the series.
The first two are here.
I'll remind you again, this is my writing in all it's raw glory and it's not pretty. I'm doing this out of desperation so I start writing TS again.
As the group left the last resting place of Simon Banks none knew what was ahead. If they had would the have continued on, or would they have given up, defeated by the trials to come?
They’d grown then decreased in numbers in one day of high emotion, the joy of a reunion, followed by the utter despair of death. Surely it had to get better? Or as the saying goes, do you have to hit rock bottom before starting the journey back up? Had they hit rock bottom yet? Who knows?
***
Tension was thick in the air as the group moved on. After a quick meeting it had been decided to keep moving north, and they’d set off as Jim took his usual driving seat and Daryl squeezed into the boot, his long legs tangled with Jamie’s. Abigail sprawled across both of them.
Squashed in the backseat, Blair shifted, moving his leg slightly where it rested across the laps of Samuel and Jill. He was hot, dirty and emotionally numb. Simon’s death not really real yet. It was callous but to Blair, Simon was only one of a multitude, one more death to add to the growing list. Emma, Simon, his students and friends. They all blended together, but for now it was the only way that Blair could cope. He’d grieve for Simon later, the crash from numbness to all too painful grief hard. But not yet, not when Daryl veered from rage to despair, and Jim looked carved in stone.
It was almost overwhelming, knowing that somehow he’d have to break through the barrier that Jim had created. Blair was no fool; he knew that of them all he was the only one that had a chance of getting close. But the thought of the energy that he’d have to use was almost too much. Blair was running on his last reserves, he felt brittle, like one touch would shatter his body into tiny shards. His eyes were hot, skin tight and dry, he felt light headed and his vision swam a little as he watched the ruined buildings flash by. Blair felt unclean, tainted by the horror he was forced to live in. He could feel his hair matted to his neck, dirty and slick with sweat and grease. He felt disgusting, looked worse and would have sold his soul for a shower. That wasn’t an option. He knew that, just as he knew that he’d have to talk to Jim soon, before the ill feeling that clung to the group solidified into something that would destroy them. Simon’s death had been a tragedy, but it would be a disaster if it caused the fragile group of survivors to splinter. Blair wasn’t going to let that happen -- not now. But first he’d sleep a little, rest his aching head on Samuel’s shoulder and try to shore up his shifting energy reserves. The talk would have to wait -- for now anyway.
~*~*~*~
Squashed in the cargo area with Jamie, Daryl sat frozen, lost inside his own memories. He didn’t feel Jamie’s legs digging into his own, or Abigail lying against his chest, head resting on his arm that he casually curled round her. All he could think about was his dad, and the way that he’d been killed. Daryl tried to think of the good times, ball games and that last car ride, singing along to the radio as his dad complained about how music today was nothing but an assault to his ears. Daryl had laughed and sang louder, uncaring how goofy he looked as he laughed at his dad’s exaggerated expression of distaste. The good times had been many, but now Daryl couldn’t seem to concentrate on any of them. He tried -- oh god how he’d tried -- but all he could see was his dad lying on the scorched ground, blood trailing from his mouth. He’d tried so hard to wake him up, shouting and screaming despite knowing it was useless, but he couldn’t give up, doing that would have made it real. That his daddy was dead, so he’d shouted and pummeled the still chest until he’d collapsed to the ground sobbing in anguish as Blair suddenly appeared next to him, murmuring meaningless words of comfort.
The make shift funeral had been hard, and Daryl couldn’t really remember much. Quick flashes -- nothing more. Samuel appearing with a hand made cross, Jamie, Joel and Jim digging a hole with sticks, rocks and their bare hands. Joel whispering a prayer as he wrapped Simon in one of the sleeping bags, tears dripping from his nose as he gently maneuvered his friend. Blair always at his side, using Daryl as a crutch, his hand warm on his arm.
Blair had said some brief words as Simon was buried. Talking of Simon’s beliefs and how much the man had meant to him. Joel had sung, voice raspy and unnatural amongst the usual noise of burning buildings. Jim had stood apart, leaning against a blackened tree, and shook his head when Blair asked if he wanted to say anything. Daryl knew that he should say something too, but it was impossible, how could he when his throat felt blocked and just moving would take more effort than he could give? When they left the mementoes Daryl still remained frozen, not moving until he’d pulled his necklace over his head, draping it over the cross before he fell to his knees and started talking for hours. He stopped when Jim came, the anger at seeing the man he hated flare fast and savage.
The hatred was unjust, Daryl knew that, but he was powerless to stop the burn of loathing he experienced every time he saw Jim. It was easier to hate. If he did that he didn’t need to hurt, could hide exposed tender nerves behind a shield of anger. It was easier that way, and if he started to feel guilty, all he did was look at Jim, alive and breathing, and remember his dad -- who wasn’t -- and the guilt disappeared. He hated Jim Ellison; it was as easy as that.
~*~*~*~
Head pressed against the grimy car window, Blair flexed his shoulders, trying to ease the pain in his body. They were all cramped, crushed together and he knew that they’d need another vehicle soon. Traveling like this was okay in the short term, but no way could they last for much longer in such a confined space.
Outside the glow of the sun could be seen high overhead, and the heat was stifling, causing sweat to trickle down their bodies. Clothes stuck to clammy skin and Blair pulled at his shirt, grimacing as it clung to his chest. The temperature in the car was high, and they all seemed wilted, bodies flopping against the nearest surface, too wiped out to stay upright. All except Jim, he remained upright, body tight as he navigated holes and felled trees. Only the muscles visually bunched in his neck suggested that Jim wasn’t cool and controlled, and Blair longed to just hold him. But it was a hope doomed to failure, Jim might as well have had a neon ‘keep off’ sign above his head, and Blair wasn’t stupid enough to push with an audience. They needed a rest break, and Blair opened his mouth to suggest it when Jim cut him off.
“We’re stopping for ten minutes. I’d suggest you use some of your rations, get something to eat and drink.”
Not even looking back, Jim eased out of the car, movements clumsy, so unlike his usual grace. Pushing open his own door, Blair waited while the others shuffled from under his leg, the slowly swung it round so he was sitting in the doorway. His leg felt better, the pain not so sharp, so taking a risk he stood, wobbling only slightly while holding tight to the door frame. It felt good to stand upright alone, and he smiled a little at the triumph he felt at the small achievement. Buoyed by his success he started to move forward, limping badly for a few steps until an arm suddenly looped round his waist.
“You feeling better?”
Smile wide, Blair looked up at Jim who was staring down at him a half smile on his face.
“Much better. Still hurts can’t deny that but at least it doesn’t feel like it’s going to drop off at any moment, And hey, I’m walking at least.”
“I can see that. Why don’t you walk with me, I need to talk to you.”
“Yeah? That’s good I wanted to talk to you too. About yesterday…”
Blair could feel Jim’s grip tighten before he cut him off.
“That’s not what I want to talk about.
“Come on Jim. You can’t just ignore it.”
“Says who?” Stopping in place, Jim helped Blair ease to the ground, the crouched beside him. “I don’t want to talk about it. Do you know where we are?”
Confused at the change of subject, Blair stared at Jim, weighing up the chances of actually getting him to talk about Simon’s death. Seeing the way Jim stared into the distance he figured the chance to be zero, the talk would have to wait for a better moment.
“Uh, I think we’re on the outskirts of the city.”
“We are. My dad’s house is about a mile that way.”
Jim pointed and Blair looked in that direction, trying to imagine something other than the derelict buildings and pitted landscape that was his current view. Slowly he matched up piles of rubble with houses and blackened tree stumps with the magnificent mature oak trees that had lined the streets leading towards Jim’s childhood home. Still confused, Blair looked from Jim to the road then back again.
“You want to go there? Try and find your dad and Sally?”
“I doubt they would have survived this long, but dad’s cars might have. They were all in excellent condition, and in the garage. I reckon there’s a good chance they’ll be useable, and we need another car.”
Stunned, Blair stared at Jim, trying to see if his nostalgence was real or carefully crafted. “Don’t you want to look for them while you’re there?
“They’ll be dead.” Expressionless, Jim stood, a dark shadow looming over Blair as he stared into the distance.
“But you can’t just go and not look Jim. It’s your *dad*, and *Sally*!”
“I know who they are Sandburg, maybe I just don’t believe in miracles anymore. But if it keeps you quiet I’ll look when we get there.” Jim stood, and Blair stared up, unsure of what to say, so he reached for Jim’s hand, hoping touch would succeed where words were failing.
“I’ll go and get us some water.” Blair wasn’t surprised when his hand was shrugged off, and watched dejectedly as Jim walked towards the car. He needed to get through to Jim somehow -- and soon.
“Hey Blair.” Jamie appeared, crouching in the spot that Jim had just left. “Do you want something? Some water, I think Joel’s got some canned meat if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks Jamie, Jim’s getting me something, but if you’d haul me to my feet I’d appreciate it.” Jamie’s warm hand wrapped round Blair’s list, pulling him to his feet, then holding him firmly against a strong chest until Blair indicated that he was secure. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Jamie stayed close, so near that Blair could feel the heat from his body. “Look Blair, I might be out of line here, but will Jim be okay? I thought he’d gone into a trance or something last night, I’ve never seen anyone sit so still.”
Blair shuddered a little at the image Jamie’s words brought back. Jim sitting near the fire, face frozen, hands caked in dried blood as he stared at Simon’s grave. So still that Blair suspected a zone at first.
“Simon was one of his best friends. He doesn’t deal with letting people down well.”
“But he didn’t let anyone down. It was an accident.”
“I know, but Jim doesn’t see it that way.” Blair looked at Jim who was talking to Joel, a bottle of water in his hand. “I’ve known Jim a long time, and he’s always had this over developed habit of taking on guilt. I can usually get him to see reason, but this time…”
Defeat weighed heavy on Blair’s shoulders, and he let his head fall forward, matted curls falling into his face.
“He loves you so much.”
Startled by Jamie’s words, Blair looked up, impatiently pushing his hair behind an ear. He saw Jamie was looking towards Jim who was carefully giving out bottles of water.
“I love him too. More than I ever thought I’d love another person. He’s everything to me.”
“So why don’t you make him see reason this time? He’ll listen if he loves you.”
Irritated, Blair looked away from Jim, staring at Jamie. “It’s not that simple. Do you know how many times I’ve had to fight him for things? He goes off in these moods, pushing me away and I have to push back, making him listen…”
“So do that this time.”
“It’s not that easy. I don’t think he’ll let me in. Simon was everything to him, one of his oldest friends.”
“And you’re his lover…”
“Damn it Jamie. You’re just don’t get it! How can you get it? You’re just a kid.” Angry now Blair’s hands flew as he spat out his words. “Yes I’m his lover, but Jim only listens to what he wants to.”
“He listens to you.”
“On an aural level maybe.”
“That’s bullshit Blair. I’ve only known you a few days but in that time I’ve seen how much he loves you. He listens, but he can only listen if you talk.”
“I have to give him time…”
“No. No you don’t. We haven’t got time to give. We’re screwed if Jim stays like he is now. Can’t you see that? Look around Blair. Look at Joel, he’s hurting too but he’s trying to keep this group going and it’s killing him. He’s torn between Daryl and Jim. I don’t know why Jim does what he does. But you know something Blair? I didn’t get pulled out of that shop to see the group I ended up with pull themselves apart. It hurts me that I survived. Every day I have to live with the knowledge that I’m here and my family’s not. That I’m breathing and they probably died in terror. My sister, my mom, my dad. I want to see them every minute of every day. It hurts Blair. But I go on, because I’m not going to give up and die. I survived for a reason, and I won’t lesson their death by sitting and watching the man who saved me retreat into himself.” Tone deadly serious, Jamie indicated Jim. “You say that you love him. Prove it.”
Emotions flew through Blair as he listened to Jamie. Anger, sadness, fear, all bound with the realization he was right. The group was on the verge of self destruction. Joel was sitting with Abigail in his lap, carefully pulling tangles from her long hair, looking more defeated than Blair had ever seen him. Samuel, Jill and Irene sat in a scattered group, all staring at the floor, bottles of water clutched in their hands. Daryl was in the car, back turned in an obvious rebuff. The tension was thick, no one spoke unless necessary and Blair knew it could only get worse. He had to do something, and soon.
“Thanks.” Clasping hands with Jamie, Blair smiled then started to gather his last reserves of energy. “I think Jim and I need to talk.”
Adrenalin flowing now, Blair limped away, reaching for Jim’s arm when he came to meet him.
“You should be sitting down.”
“Later. We need to talk Jim.”
“About what?”
“Simon.” Blair replied, then watched as Jim’s face froze, and he started to walk away.”
“I told you I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Well I do.” Blair knew the only thing he could do was push forward, and he held onto Jim’s arm, pulling him back. “You’re going to listen to what I say.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t need to listen to your words of sympathy.”
“Well that’s good, because you’re not getting any. Now come on!” Tugging at Jim’s arm, Blair attempted to pull him away from the others. ”Damn you Jim! Move!”
To Blair’s relief Jim moved, jerking out of Blair’s hold before moving away and waiting for Blair to catch up. “Okay, I’ve moved. Now what do you want to say?”
Annoyed at the sarcastic tone, Blair reigned in his temper, awkwardly pacing a short distance. “I want to tell you to get your head out of your ass. You’re going to break this group apart.”
“I’m going to break then apart?” Furious, Jim glared down at Blair. “It was me that put this group together. Me and Joel. We dug people out of buildings, pushing aside corpses with our bare hands. So don’t tell me that I’m breaking it up.”
“Well that’s tough. Because that’s exactly what I’m saying. Simon’s dead Jim. I know that hurts but it wasn’t your fault. Are you listening to me? It. Was. Not. Your. Fault. Simon didn’t have to be in that house. He didn’t have to push you to safety. He could have let that beam hit you, stayed safe at the bottom of the stairs.”
“Don’t you dare say that!” Jim backed away from Blair, fists curled as if he wanted to punch something. “He wouldn’t let one of his men be hurt, let me be hurt. He wasn’t that kind of man. You know that. He was a hero”
“So don’t deny him that right to be a hero. It was *his* choice to try and save you. His choice Jim, not yours. Every time you think it’s your fault you’re putting his sacrifice down. He died for you.”
”He shouldn’t have died.”
“I know that! He shouldn’t have died. Neither should Emma, or Jamie’s family, or anyone else. But they did, and you playing martyr isn’t helping anyone. These people need you. I need you. I need you so much, I can’t do this alone Jim.” Blair sagged as Jim turned away, staring into the distance. “I’ve lost too many people already. Don’t make me lose you.”
Jim stayed silent, and Blair stood watching, sick to the stomach. He’d said everything he could. He didn’t have the strength to keep pushing. It was up to Jim now.
“You don’t fight fair, Blair.” Jim’s voice was low, and Blair strained to hear the words. “I know you’re right, but I can’t forget that Simon died saving me.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“I know.” Jim turned, arms wrapped round himself defensively. “You’re not going to lose me. I can’t promise, but I’ll never leave you voluntary.”
Blair almost collapsed in relief as Jim moved forward, pulling them together. “That’s good enough for me, just don’t leave us again.”
“I won’t.” Jim hugged Blair tighter for a second, kissing the top of his head. “Daryl still hates me.”
“I know. We just have to give it time. He’ll understand one day”
“I suppose. When did you get so smart?”
Laughter muffled in Jim’s chest, Blair looked up. “I’ve always been smart. I landed you didn’t I? I’ll tell you another reason I’m smart. If your dad’s place is nearby we should be near the river. That means water, we could get clean Jim.”
Jim paused, obviously thinking about something.
“The river could be polluted, we don’t know what did this. We could be getting washed in a river of toxic chemicals.”
“It could be. It could also be fine, we don’t know until we go there. What will it hurt?”
“It’ll hurt if one of us sticks their arm in and gets a chemical burn.”
“But that won’t happen. You’ll be able to tell.”
“I think you’re putting too much faith in my abilities Chief. How am I supposed to tell if the river’s safe?”
“By using your senses. Come on Jim, you know you can do it. It’s not like we’d be drinking the stuff. We can get clean, wash our clothes. I’m sick of feeling dirty, I bet you are too.”
Hopeful, Blair stood back, watching as Jim stared off into the distance.
The second is a story I started months ago, and it just stalled.
If looking like a crap was a college course Blair Sandburg would have gained an A that day.
Sitting at his desk, he was the representation of the phrase "Soldiering on" in the flesh. Hair normally neatly tied back while working escaped from a leather tie in all directions, more down than up. Wire rimmed glasses perched precariously at the end of a reddened nose, while eyes shimmered with that unique mixture of drugs and exhaustion. The mouth that usually cracked a million smiles held no hint of happiness. Instead, the end of a pen was being chewed into submission as yet another essay was read, marked, then put aside.
The aside in this instance was a nearby chair. No way could another paper find a place on the over flowing desk. Used tissues lay on top of books, empty coffee cups marked the boundary of the desk edge while small items such a paracetamol packets and pens lay under huge drifts of paper. To the untrained eye it was chaos, but to Blair it was normal, he knew where things were, eventually.
In the last hour he'd marked twenty-seven essays, sneezed fifty times (he knew, he counted them all) used half a box of man sized tissues and cursed his partner exactly sixty times. He knew that as well, it was part of his rhythm. Pick up an essay, curse his partner, read, curse his partner, mark said essay, curse his partner. It was an easy rhythm and one that he took great delight in creating. The curses had started relatively tame but as the hour wore on he found that he was cursing Jim after every movement.
Grab an essay.
"Bastard."
Blearily focus bloodshot eyes on paper and read what counted as wisdom from his freshman class.
"Fuckin idiot."
Scrawl some illegible comment. Hell, they hadn't bothered to be legible, why should he?
"Unreasonable, unloosening, anal retentive cop."
Place marked essay on pile.
"Brain dead throwback."
"That's Detective Throwback to you, Chief."
Jim's sudden appearance right behind him caused Blair to jerk around, causing a cascade effect that saw his perilous pile of marked essays slither to the ground, joining the mountain of used tissues already there.
"Jesus Jim, don't do that! I never heard you come in, man."
"I sorta gathered that. Are you done cursing me and ready to go?"
"You heard that? Ah man, I'm sorry…I didn't mean it, you know."
"I hope not or I'd have to book you for verbal slander of an officer."
The look of regret that Blair wore disappeared as he looked up towards Jim. The other man stood in the doorway, seemingly amused at the situation and not at all bothered that he'd just found his partner questioning his heritage. In fact Jim seemed downright amused that he'd managed to catch Blair in such an uncharacteristic bad mood.
"Verbal slander? Somehow I don't think that one's an official offence, Jim. Not that I was doing that anyway. Man, if I was done for verbal slander I'd been thrown in jail faster than a speeding train, especially after reading these all day."
The 'these' in question slid further into disarray as Blair nudged them with his toe, scorn written all over his expressive face. He could usual cope with the drivel that some of his freshman class presented him with, but not today. There was only so much one miserable TA could take and Blair's quota was nearly full.
Since Jim had been presented with a case that involved Ranier, Blair had seen more of the place than he had ever wanted to. It seemed that the top brass had pushed that the case be handed to Jim as soon as they realised the Universities involvement. It was just convenient, wasn't it, that one of their detectives happened to have a partner with inside knowledge. Simon had never admitted anything but Blair was sure that much gleeful rubbing of hands had gone on when the head men realised that Ellison's weird hanger on could be used as the inside man and they didn't even have to pay him. Brilliant for them, not so good for Blair who already had a killer schedule without hanging around Rainier out of hours, plus a summer cold that left his nose red and his brain mush.
It wasn't Jim's fault, his rational mind knew that, but after spending approximately twenty hours a day at school anything academic related threatened to push him over the edge. Meal after meal was eaten from plastic cartons in the small room that had been commandeered by the PD in order to watch the chemistry labs, hours had been spent walking the grounds and corridors of the school looking for anything out of place, no matter that no one seemed to know what that was. Rainier had a lot of students and a lot of buildings and Blair thought he'd looked at them all at least a hundred times. The only time he'd seen the loft in the last week was to get a hurried shower and change, and even then Blair couldn't relax knowing Jim sat in the dingy box room laughingly called a medical rest area. At least it had it's own toilet, which with the amount of coffee Blair was scarfing down to keep awake was a necessity.
Sometimes when he was at his lowest ebb he'd sit and wonder why Cascade seemed to attract so many weirdoes and criminal organisations. He'd even thought about investigating the correlation between the crime rate and the fact that Cascade had it's very own Sentinel, it would make a great chapter for his diss, 'do Sentinels attract more crime or is it that they just find more' at least until he acknowledged that it would take 10 dissertations to write about all he'd observed about Jim.
So here he was now, fed up, miserable, cheesed off with life in general, with a nasty lingering cold, about to become Blair Sandburg undercover agent, yet again. He should have been tucked up in bed with chicken soup and a hot water bottle, not walking drafty corridors watching for anything suspicious. Yeah, like he would know what someone carrying the ingredients for illegal drugs would look like. The way his eyes were watering he'd be lucky to see the person, never mind anything that they were carrying. Suppressing yet another sigh, he eased his aching body from the chair, ready, if not willing, to start the second phase of his day.
Aren't you forgetting something Chief?"
"I've already said sorry for that insult thing, but hey, if it makes you feel better, I'm sorry for calling you names, Jim."
"That's not what I meant, I'm talking about this mess."
Blair watched as Jim's eyes flitted from one messy surface to another, visibly suppressing the patented 'how can you work in this ' lecture. Though the detective still stood immobile at the doorway Blair could tell he was itching to pick up rubbish and straighten papers. Just as he also knew that Jim wouldn't actually come in the room and do so unless asked. Early in their relationship it was established that Blair's space was his to do what he wanted. That included his former room at the loft and obviously his office. Over the years Jim had resigned himself to chaos when he ventured into Sandburg's domain, and as long as the overflow was kept from his space he was fine. That didn't mean he didn't verbally prod Blair about the mess, a neatness fanatic like Jim could only keep so much in.
"You want me to tidy my room now?"
Blair looked amused as he watched his partner. The argument was an old one, and also one that Jim had never won. Blair would tidy what he had to, specificy put his students essays into his backpack to finish grading later then leave the rest, coffee cups, tissues and all.
"Hey, Jim, pass that new box of tissues would you?"
"I'll give you them as long as you promise to dispose of them the right way, not on the floor, the bed…"
"Jim I think you're way over reacting here, it was only one tissue in your pocket, it was convenient, what was I supposed to do?"
"It was used Sandburg, I don't want to put my hand, my ungloved hand at that, into your used tissue."
It took all of Blair's willpower not to laugh at the disgusted expression on Jim's face. He hadn't meant to put the used tissue in his partner's pocket, but he'd been concentrating on an article that needed submitting by the next morning. When he'd blown his nose Blair's automatic reaction had been to shove it into the pocket of his coat, completely forgetting he'd been wearing Jim's warm jacket to ward against the chill night air in the storage room. Somehow he doubted that Jim would offer his jacket again after that night, but it was worth it, just, for the expression on Jim's face when he realised what was stuck to his hand. Of course his partner hadn't seen it that way. In fact he'd protested loudly and at length just how unfunny it had been.
"I said I'm sorry man. I just forget sometimes, you know?"
"Yeah I know. Sometimes I can't believe that someone as smart as you can be so forgetful. What am I saying? I know how forgetful you can be, I've lived it for years now."
"So you know I'm not going to tidy up then, right?"
"The day you tidy this place is the day I turn in my badge Chief. So stuff all your crap in your bag and lets go already."
"Err Jim, aren't you forgetting something?"
Seeing the look of incomprehension on Jim's face Blair stopped stuffing essays into his backpack to gesture wildly towards the shelves near the door.
"My tissues, and you say I'm forgetful."
Warring between exasperation at his partner and laughter Jim pulled an economy-sized box of tissues from under yet another stack of papers. The tissues were named as one hundred percent natural, after Blair's first choice had caused Jim to sneeze continuously for ten minutes. Since then Blair would only buy this brand, all natural, soft on the nose and Sentinel friendly. Now boxes of tissues were placed everywhere Blair went, in the loft, their bedroom, his office, the PD and for good measure he carried a box full on his walks round campus. There was no way that Blair would have left the room without the box wedged under his arm.
"Here you go. Why you don't just pull some out I don't know."
Catching the box Blair tucked it against his side and gave his office a last look before leaving to start the second part of his day. The place was a mess, he knew that. However he also knew the rubbish would still be there in the morning and right now he needed some hot coffee and a look in the bag that he'd noticed Jim pick up from the floor. The bag was small, but just large enough to carry some of his favourite take out, maybe a chicken and red pepper sandwich from his favoured deli.
"So what's in the bag Jim?"
"Just something I picked up for dinner, so come on lets go and eat, I made reservations at a very exclusive place for us. Small, intimate, guaranteed a seat, just your kind of place Chief."
Blair suppressed a smile as he locked his office; thankful for the respite Jim's teasing was giving to his poor mood.
"So what's this establishment called then? Chez Storeroom, you’re such a cheap date Jim."
Holding the bag securely Jim turned to Blair, fake shock plastered across his face.
"You've already been? Without me, I'm wounded here."
Looking at Jim's expression Blair fought between the urge to laugh or keep up his grumbling at being stuck in the storeroom so long.
"Wounded my ass, and yeah I've been, every night this week if you remember? Not that I don't like the company, but man it's still a storeroom. We can’t do anything there, not even fool around a little, just in case we miss something. Not that we know what that something is by the way."
Hoisting his bag further up on his shoulder, Blair followed behind Jim as they walked out of Hargrove Hall, towards the small room that had become the headquarters of the detectives who were staking out Rainier. For all Jim's teasing the room was just a storeroom, but at least it was somewhere for the detectives to watch the nearby student union café without being seen.
Over the last month anarchy had seemed to break out in Cascade. It had started small, a young woman became impatient waiting in a fast food queue and had barged to the front. When she was told to move back in line she'd became violent, slapping the employee who had spoken to her. The arresting officers had noted that she seemed lucid, just didn't seem able to reign in her temper. That had resulted in an arrest for disturbing the peace and assault.
The next day the situation had escalated slightly, reports came in of young men and women dancing in the park's fountain. It would have been funny, that is if the dancers hadn't been naked at the time. That day ten arrests were made on public decency charges. The tale of the naked dancers was a favourite in the uniform division of the Cascade Police Department, escalating until it reached orgy status. Patrolmen laughed that 'something must be in the air,' a viewpoint that remained until the next morning.
An elderly woman had been punched in the face when she didn't move out of the way of a young man on roller blades fast enough. She was left in a crying heap on the floor as her assailant sped away laughing at 'decking a fossil.' The spate of crimes wasn't as funny now there was a woman with a broken cheekbone involved, and it only became worse. Windows were smashed to get at goods when shops had closed. People in pubs and clubs reported being kissed and groped by people who didn't take no as an answer. Cars were parked where their drivers wanted, even if that was the middle of the road.
With each report the uniforms became more and more confused, none of the perpetrators seemed to be high. Instead they were totally aware of what they were doing, just didn't seem to see what that they were doing was wrong. It was only a matter of time before the cases were referred upstairs. Especially as the worst case yet had happened -- murder. A murder so strange that one week ago Major Crime had been handed every case that seemed related, which added up to a *lot* of files.
~*~*~*~
Simon Banks was a frustrated man as he sat at his desk surrounded by case files. He'd just been handed the piles of reports by Rhonda, who'd staggered under the weight of them all. Like everyone in the PD Simon had heard of the so-called Cascade anarchy cases. He'd even laughed at the naked students in the fountain, but now looking at all the cases together he was horrified at how the incidents had escalated. There were at least one hundred reports, going from petty vandalism to the most recent case of murder. No one was even sure if there was a connection, so every possible related report had been handed to Major Crime. Now it was up to Simon and his men to discover what had caused his city to descend into chaos.
It looked to be a long and difficult task. The one common factor in all the cases was the age of the perps. Most were youngsters, the youngest only sixteen, the eldest twenty-eight. That was the one fact that the uniforms agreed on. Not one of them had arrested anyone over thirty, now all Major Crime had to do was discover the missing link. Simon knew there was a link, no way could things go so bad so quickly without one.
Standing so he could see over the top of the files he looked to see who was available in the bullpen. Seeing Jim, Rafe and Brown he decided to assign the cases between them. Letting a smirk briefly flash over his face Simon carefully moved past the towers of files to shout in his men. He wouldn't admit to anyone but he loved yelling people's names into the bullpen. The way all heads jerked up whatever the name amused him, amusement he hid behind a ferousious frown.
Carefully edging past more piles of reports Simon walked to his door, inhaling deeply at the same time.
"Ellison, Brown, Rafe, my office now!"
Hiding a smile as every detective in the bullpen looked towards his location, Simon moved back towards his desk. Looking at his coffee pot longingly he decided there just wasn't room for a mug on his desk at that moment. He'd save the coffee as a reward once all these reports were gone, and this meeting was over.
Standing at the side of his desk Simon watched as his detectives filed in. Looks of resignation flitted across their faces as they saw the huge piles of reports and arranged themselves in the room. Rafe and Brown waved towards the chairs by Jim as he propped himself against the conference table.
“Okay gentlemen, we’ve a problem that needs sorting out fast. You’ve probably heard all about the so called Cascade anarcy cases by now. They were pushed up to us this morning, all one hundred and two of them. I want you to find out what’s behind them, consider them your primary caseload for now. There’s already been one death, I don’t want any more.”
“There’s been a death?” Surprised, Jim questioned Simon. “There hadn’t been yesterday.”
“Well there is now, last night, here…” Quickly scanning the stacks of files, Simon pulled one off the top of one pile and handed it to Rafe. “…the details are similar to all the others. Young, male, seems to know exactly what he’s doing, but doesn’t care. Except this time it ended with murder. We’ve a witness that saw the perp approach the hotdog stand, then shot the vender with a handgun when he didn’t have any mustard…killing someone because of mustard.”
Sighing, Simon sat forward in his chair, peering over the reports to look at his men.
“Divide these up between you, read them over and see if you can see any link. I’ll take anything at the moment, however flimsy. This is looking bad gentlemen, I don’t want it to get any worse. The confrence room should be empty, use that…oh and Jim, if Sandburg comes in, let him have a look, one more pair of eyes couldn’t hurt.”
“We’re on it, Sir.”
Grabbing a pile of files, Jim followed H and Rafe from the office, resigned to hours spent pouring over reports.
Man, I've just been rooting through my files and I've way more WIP's than I thought.
Anyway, feel free to kick my ass to get these finished, especially The End.
ETA: The End is slash and refers to character death.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-02-06 03:45 am (UTC)Hmm, I might have one or two or three or fou- well, anyway, I might have some WIPs to show as well *cough*
lol
And yeah, The End is really a great fic of yours, and it sure seems to ask more of you than any of your other stories. Must be the price for writing such good and complex stories *g*
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Date: 2004-02-06 03:48 am (UTC)Okay, no detail, but really, I had to take if off my chest- pfew!
Re:
Date: 2004-02-06 04:13 am (UTC)The point is if you want to share I'm in the mood to hear it, off LJ if need be *eg*
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Date: 2004-02-06 04:16 am (UTC)You really should share yours, I've got loads of the things but I stopped at the most important.
The End is kicking my ass, and I don't know why. It's not that I don't know what to write it's just actually doing it. I mean, all the ficlets etc I've done lately I could have finished the things five times by now!