Kith, or Kin? 7/7 (gen)
Back to Part 6


Jim heard Sandburg get up and go into the bathroom. A quick look at the clock beside his bed confirmed that it was nearly seven o’clock in the evening. Rubbing a weary hand over his face, he wished he’d managed to get more than a couple of hours sleep since he’d gotten back from the PD. But he had to admit it was just as well they were both awake now – it gave them time to get some food inside them, before Jack Medina arrived to talk to Blair, as had been arranged that afternoon.

The day’s revelations had shocked him, to say the least. Buchanan had certainly been obsessive about the grudge he’d borne against his son all these years; but Medina’s grudge against Buchanan, it had turned out, was even more extreme. The guy had shaped his whole career, his whole adult life, for the purpose of taking Buchanan down. Now that really was obsession.

Jim rose, pulling on a robe as he went, and headed down to the kitchen. Opening cupboards and the fridge, he found soup and the makings of sandwiches, and started to prepare a meal. And as he moved about the familiar, comforting task, Jim reflected on what he’d learned today.

Jack Medina and Norma Sanderson – now known as Naomi Sandburg - went back a long way, it turned out. They’d grown up in the same neighborhood, gone to the same schools, and had been destined to go to college together. Medina’s mother and Norma’s father had both been single parents (Julia Medina because of divorce, and Ben Sanderson through the tragic death of his wife), and had gotten close. And young Jack had regarded Norma as a virtual sister; until their teenage friendship had begun to morph into something more profound.

But then, it had all gone horribly wrong. Norma had been effectively sold off to Buchanan - an unwilling bride at the age of sixteen - so that her father could pay off his business debts. And not long after that, Ben Sanderson had eaten a bullet, unable to live with the shame of what he’d put his daughter though.

Julia Medina had been heartbroken at the death of the man she had grown to love, and the end of her dreams of a second chance. She’d suffered from depression on and off, ever since her divorce; and after her lover’s death, it made an unwelcome return. One day, about a month after Ben Sanderson’s suicide, Jack had come home to find her sprawled on her bed, an empty bottle of pills by her side and a tear-stained note of apology on the kitchen table.

At seventeen years of age Jack, therefore, found himself totally alone in the world, while the girl he loved was in the clutches of a sadistic, powerful gangster. It was a set of circumstances that might have destroyed a lesser youth, or inspired him to recklessness. But Jack Medina was smarter than that, and made of far sterner stuff.

Jack began to make plans. He nursed his hatred of Buchanan – the man who had robbed him of everyone he cared about – and transformed it into action. He fully understood that one seventeen year old boy was no threat to someone like Buchanan. So he bided his time, did the necessary research, and came up with a foolproof – if long term - plan. And he invested the modest financial legacy his mother’s death had left him in obtaining exactly the right sort of education to make it come to fruition.

Four years later, and a Masters’ degree in Criminal Psychology resulted in him being accepted into the training program at Quantico. A few years as an FBI field officer out east, specializing in criminal investigation and, in particular, organized crime; and Medina managed to finagle a transfer back to his home town of San Francisco. And finally, the pieces of his plan began to come together, when Medina started to gather the necessary evidence to finally take his nemesis down.

Jack Medina had given, Jim thought, a whole new meaning to the assertion that revenge is a dish best served cold. Then, a couple of years after arriving back in San Francisco, fate had lent a hand in a totally unexpected way.

It was sheer luck that Thomas Buchanan had witnessed the murder of Samuel Gregory. Medina could not believe his eyes when the traumatized child was led into his office by Norma Buchanan, the testimony of the boy practically handing him Buchanan’s head – his holy grail - on a plate. At last, he had what he needed to deal with the man who had decimated his family life and transformed the carefree girl he’d loved into the terrified, bitter woman Norma had now become.

Mother and son were swiftly ensconced in a safe house, and Jack mercilessly pushed the boy into testifying against his father. “I admit it,” Medina had said to Jim earlier, “I pushed him too hard. I could have used more sensitivity in how I handled that boy. But all I could see, at the time, was everything I’d wanted, everything I’d worked for, coming to a head. Buchanan’s criminal empire dismantled, Norma away from him for good, and the good-for-nothing bastard behind bars, where he belonged. Or,” he’d admitted, “preferably dead. I’ve never wished more sincerely for a suspect to resist arrest.”

Jim could understand the sentiment, at least. But he hated the fact that Blair had been hurt so badly by it all. So did Medina, apparently. He’d gone out of his way to make sure that Blair got the help he needed after the case was all over. Jim suspected that some of that was because the guy still had feelings for Naomi; and was, perhaps, trying to get back into her life.

Medina seemed to be aware of Jim’s suspicions, even though he hadn’t voiced them out loud. “I did care what happened to Tommy, Detective Ellison. He was a good kid; a brave little guy, despite everything he’d been through. I felt partly responsible for his breakdown, and it was important to me that I tried to make amends. It still is.”

“And Naomi – Norma?” Jim couldn’t help asking.

Medina smiled wistfully. “Too much water under the bridge, Detective. By the time she turned on Buchanan, she wasn’t the same girl I used to know. Sure, I still cared for her. Still do, as a matter of fact. But not in a romantic way. More like… family, I guess you could say. Distant family. She, ah,” he shrugged. “She didn’t want to keep in touch. So as soon as I was satisfied that she and Tommy were going to be okay, I left them to get on with their lives. It was what she wanted.”

They’d talked more, mostly about the current situation and where things were going to go from here. And Medina had promised to come over this evening, to make sure Blair knew where he stood.

Jim’s musing – and food preparation – were interrupted when Blair emerged from the bathroom. “Hey, Chief?” Jim called out. “Food in about ten minutes. Okay?”

He heard Blair pause, before continuing on to his room. “Okay,” his partner’s voice acknowledged, the words barely audible, and certainly lacking enthusiasm.

The bathroom free, Jim took the opportunity to head in for a quick shower himself.

~oO0Oo~

By the time Jim emerged from his shower and got changed, Blair was in the kitchen, finishing up the food preparation Jim had begun. The familiar domesticity of it all – Blair taking over where Jim left off, just as they each had a million times since they became roommates - seemed to Jim to be a positive sign. Despite the intense trauma they’d just lived through – and the inevitable fallout to come – maybe, just maybe, there was a chance they could get back a little of the comfortable normality they’d enjoyed before it all happened.

Jim moved into the kitchen, surreptitiously taking in his partner’s appearance. Blair looked a little gaunt, a little tired. But he was dressed in clean clothes, and was finally clean shaven again, his freshly washed hair neatly pulled back into a ponytail. As Jim moved past him to help himself to coffee, he pointed out, “You’re looking better.” He tried to make a joke of it. “Although I was kinda getting used to the beard.”

Blair shrugged. He glanced at Jim, not really meeting his eyes, before looking back down at the soup he was stirring. “Yeah, well,” he said tonelessly. “It was a bit too ‘Charles Manson’. Not,” he added bitterly, “that there isn’t something appropriate about that.”

Jim had hoped to wait until they had some food inside them before getting into this, but he couldn’t stand it any longer. Moving up behind Blair, he took hold of him by the shoulders. “Chief,” he said firmly. “Stop it. Stop comparing yourself to people like that.” Blair had tensed under his hands, and Jim gave him a little shake. “Stop goddamn punishing yourself!”

Blair had stopped stirring the soup, although he still held the spoon stiffly in his hand. “Why should I?” His voice broke. “I should be in jail, man! I killed someone! I murdered my own father!”

Jim leaned closer, his breath stirring Sandburg’s ear. “You shot him, Sandburg. ‘Murder’ is a loaded word, okay? So let’s avoid using it, and stick to the facts. You shot him, yes. And you know what else? By doing so, you saved my life, Naomi’s life and your own - because the bastard had the place rigged to blow us all sky high.”

Reaching past Blair, who had gone rigid in his hold, Jim turned off the burner. Food would have to wait, now that this can of worms had been opened. “Come on,” he urged, steering Blair away from the stove and marching him stiff-legged into the living room. “Sit,” he ordered, pushing Sandburg toward the sofa. As his partner sat down - apparently stunned enough by what Jim had just told him to actually obey the order without protest - Jim perched facing him on the edge of the coffee table. He leaned forward, putting his hands on the other man’s knees, and forcing Blair to look at him. “You with me, Chief?” he asked.

Blair looked stunned. “What do you mean, he had it rigged?”

Jim kept his tone matter-of-fact. “Remember he said there was a plane standing by? That after you’d finished me off, he was going to take you and Naomi off to start a new life?”

Blair nodded, so Jim carried on. “It was a load of bull, Chief. He had no intention of any of us getting out of there alive, including himself. There was enough semtex in that warehouse to blast a crater the size of the Superbowl.”

Blair seemed to be having trouble tracking. “I don’t get it, man,” he said. “He was going to kill us? All of us?”

Jim nodded. “That’s exactly what he planned to do. Once he had you and Naomi right where he wanted you – totally under his control – he was planning on taking both of you with him in a blaze of glory. He had a remote detonator in his hand, Blair. If you’d given him even one second of a warning – if you’d done anything other than exactly what you did, in fact – we’d all be dead now. And not only us – the whole neighborhood would have been flattened. God knows how many other people in the surrounding buildings would have been caught in the blast.”

Blair didn’t say anything, and Jim watched as a riot of emotions chased themselves across his face. After a moment, Blair gasped out, “But I didn’t know. I didn’t know, Jim!”

“Chief.” Jim’s voice was soft. “You’re in the clear. The Feds are treating the shooting as self-defense. The guy murdered two cops, for Christ sakes! He kidnapped and assaulted Naomi. The detonator was in his hand.”

Blair was shaking his head in denial. “I didn’t see it,” he whispered. “I didn’t know about the detonator, or the bomb, I swear. I just… when he said that about Naomi, about how he’d made her sorry – how she’d paid for what she’d done – I just lost it. I was so fucking angry, man.”

“Blair, I know.” Jim squeezed the thighs under his hands. “I know.”

“Then how can you say I’m in the clear? You saw me do it!”

“I didn’t see anything,” Jim answered honestly. “I had my eyes closed.”

“Come on, man!” Blair’s voice cracked. “You know what I did! You were there!”

Jim shrugged. “In my statement, I said that Buchanan contacted you, after he kidnapped Naomi. You managed to convince him, over the course of the operation we ran, that you were on his side. After we finally got to meet him face-to-face at the warehouse, he overpowered me. You played on his delusions to persuade him to give you the gun. I was still a little bit out of it, after being knocked unconscious. But as far as I’m aware, you shot him to prevent him from triggering the explosives. End of story.”

“You lied.” Blair looked seriously upset. “Jim, I can’t believe you lied about all of that!”

Jim shrugged. “I believe obfuscation is the correct term.”

“Come on, man!”

“Listen.” Jim’s voice became hard. “I know what you did, and I know why you did it. For what it’s worth, I would probably have done exactly the same thing if it had been me in your place. But the point is, you fess up to it, and tell the Feds you shot that sick bastard in cold blood, and who the hell is going to gain from it, huh?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Fuck the truth!” Blair flinched at the vehemence in Jim’s voice. “He’s dead, Blair. Buchanan is dead, and you know what? There is not one person on this whole goddamned planet who gives a damn about him. But Chief – you own up to this, you let that asshole ruin your life from beyond the grave, and I promise you, there will be plenty of hurt. You’ll be hurt. Naomi will be hurt. Is that what you want? Is that just, after what he already put you and your mom through?” He went for the jugular. “You want to see me hauled over the coals over this, huh? Because if you don’t back me on what I said, Chief, we’ll end up sharing a cell. Haven’t you damaged our friendship enough?”

Blair gasped, as if in pain. It seemed that the memory of his earlier transgressions had been totally eclipsed by the shooting. Bringing it up in such stark terms, while Blair was already so vulnerable, was perhaps not the kindest thing to do.

But sometimes, you had to be cruel to be kind.

“Blair,” Jim urged softly, while he had his partner on the ropes. “Don’t do it. Don’t throw your life away over this. Don’t throw this away.” He reached out, and took Blair’s hand, squeezing the fingers hard in his own. “Please, Chief.”

Blair was breathing harshly, fighting for composure. After a moment, he glanced at Jim pleadingly. “Look, I, uh, I just need a little time, okay? I…” Blair paused, breathing hard. “I need to… to process this. On my own. All right, Jim?”

Jim nodded. Giving the hand he held one last squeeze before letting go, he left Blair sitting there, and went into the kitchen to put the soup back on.

~oO0Oo~

The world had been turned on its head.

Jim had lied. He’d perjured himself in an official statement to the FBI, with the sole purpose of getting Blair out of trouble.

Sure, Blair had seen the detective willing to throw out the book once before, when Incacha had been suspected of murder. But Blair hadn’t ever expected Jim to do it for him – especially after the way that Blair had betrayed him.

God, he had no idea what to do. His conscience, the morals he’d tried to live by ever since he’d adopted the name Blair Sandburg, all led to the inescapable conclusion that he should confess. That in order to prove to himself, once and for all, that he was not his father’s son; he should stand up and tell the truth, and admit the awful crime he had committed. Face the music, take his lumps. Be a man.

He was tired. So tired of the endless lies. So tired of hiding. Just this once, he desperately longed to be honest – about who he was, and what he’d done.

But now, Jim had forced his hand. Shown him that, while owning up might be the moral thing to do, it would also be the selfish thing to do. Because the act of salving his own conscience would benefit no-one; but would, instead, undoubtedly bring pain and suffering on the very people – Naomi and Jim - who least deserved it. The two people he cared about more than anyone else in the world.

The FBI, apparently, believed the shooting to be an act of self-defense, committed during an undercover operation to take down a kidnapper who just happened to be Blair’s biological parent. It would be child’s play to get out of this - all Blair had to do was confirm Jim’s take on the situation. Piece of cake, for a man who could lie as well as him.

But the fact remained that he’d killed a man. He’d killed his own father. There’d been provocation, for sure; but in the end, that excused little. It had been Blair’s finger on the trigger, Blair’s hatred which had propelled the bullet, Blair’s intent that had stopped Buchanan’s heart. No matter what he decided to do, the personal consequences of that decision would be with him for ever.

Perhaps, if he didn’t get thrown in jail, that might be a fitting punishment in itself after all.

~oO0Oo~

Jim decided not to press Blair right away. Instead, he tolerated his partner’s far away look as they ate; although Blair actually managed to consume very little.

Eventually, though, Jim had to know where they stood. “Chief,” he said, as he began to clear the dishes. “The Fed in charge of the investigation is coming round at about nine o’clock. He wants to take your statement before he heads off back to DC.”

Blair nodded. “Okay.”

“Have you decided what to do?”

“I’m going to back your statement,” Blair said flatly. “What’s one more lie, right?”

Jim looked at him sharply, but held his peace. As long as Blair did the right thing, they could deal with the consequences later.

And deal with them, they would. He was absolutely adamant about that.

~oO0Oo~

Even though Blair was expecting it, the knock at the door, when it came, set his heart to pounding.

Blair caught the worried glance Jim flashed him, on his way to open the door. Perversely, Blair couldn’t help muttering, “Don’t worry, man. I’ll back you up. I’ve got my lies all ready.”

To his amazement, Jim paused, and came toward him. A hard grip on his shoulder mirrored the hard look in Jim’s face. “It’s not that I’m worried about, you stupid jerk!” Jim hissed into his face. “It’s you!” In the next moment, he let go and whirled away, striding across the room to the door, where the knock was sounding again. Just before he opened it, Jim growled back over his shoulder, “For god’s sake, get your head out of your ass, Sandburg!”

Blair felt oddly sucker punched. What the hell was that all about?

He was still reeling when the door opened to admit the Fed they’d been expecting. Schooling his features to neutrality with an effort, Blair stood to greet their visitor.

The man was smiling at him as he approached. “Hello, Tommy,” he said, holding out a hand. “Remember me?”

Suddenly the room had no air. Memories Blair had buried, which for days now had been closer to the surface than he’d wanted to acknowledge, swamped him. This man, with a younger face and fewer gray hairs, walking beside him every step as he relived, over and over, the most horrific thing he’d ever seen.

“Hey, whoa. Easy, Chief.” Jim’s voice was oddly gentle, and Blair latched onto it helplessly - the only thing of substance in the suddenly wavering reality of the world. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you over here.” Then Jim’s voice turned sharp. “I can manage. Just give us a few minutes here, huh?”

Things after that got a little hazy, until the touch of something cold on his head brought Blair back a little. He was lying down, and Jim was wiping the sweat from his brow with a cold, wet facecloth. “Wha…” Blair began, the words thick and unwieldy in his mouth, “What happened?”

Jim’s face bore a flicker of a smile, although there were worry lines between his brows. The cloth moved to Blair’s neck, and he shivered at its touch. “I think you stood up too fast,” Jim said kindly. “Just take it easy, all right? Get your breath back. There’s no hurry.”

Blair felt his eyes prickle at the unaccustomed gentleness, and he swallowed, feeling utterly vulnerable. Desperate to regain some semblance of self-control, he tried to focus on his surroundings. He was on his own bed, his feet elevated on pillows. Jim was sitting on the bed beside him, a solid, dependable presence.

Blair took a couple of deep breaths, and the unwanted tears receded. He felt pretty pathetic. “I’m sorry,” he had to say.

Jim shrugged. “Don’t be, Chief. You’ve had a tough time. You’ve gotta expect some fallout.”

Blair nodded. That was true enough. “Thanks,” he whispered, still on the verge of tears, despite a gargantuan effort to suppress them.

The cloth was removed, and he felt Jim take hold of his hand. “S’okay, partner.”

“Is…” Blair swallowed again – god damn it! He was such a freaking wuss! “Is he still here?” He paused, and the name came back to him. “Agent Medina, I mean?”

“Yeah.” Jim still held his hand - a lifeline as the world righted itself. “I told him to wait. But if you’re not up to it, I’ll send him away. He can get his goddamned statement in the morning. There are other flights he can catch.”

Jim sounded pissed off - Medina, it seemed, had rubbed him up the wrong way. Jim’s protectiveness warmed Blair’s heart, but Blair knew they shouldn’t put off the inevitable. “It’s okay,” he said earnestly. “I’m feeling a little better now, man. It’s best to get it over with, right?”

“When you’re ready,” Jim agreed. He was looking at Blair with a tender expression. “Don’t rush it, though. Hey,” he rose. “I’ll go get you some water, okay? Just stay there a while longer. Take your time.”

Blair nodded and, as Jim went out the door, fought with the tears which once again threatened to swamp him.

~oO0Oo~

Medina was hovering near the kitchen counter when Jim emerged from Blair’s room, and headed for the refrigerator. “How is he, Detective?” Medina asked.

Jim paused, once hand on the fridge door. “He’s okay,” he answered tersely. “No thanks to you.” He yanked the door open angrily.

“Detective Ellison.” Medina’s voice was firm. “If you think I came here to cause that young man any further pain, you’re wrong. I told you this afternoon where I stand on that issue.”

Jim pulled out a bottle of water, and slammed the fridge door shut. He turned to glare at Medina, who looked irritatingly unruffled. “You hurt him, and you deal with me,” he said flatly. “He’s had enough.”

Medina held up both hands. “All I want is to take his statement. Nothing else. You’re a law enforcement officer yourself, you know the score.”

Jim snorted. “Just doing your job, huh?”

“That’s right.”

Jim advanced toward him. “Then do me one favor, huh?” He was perversely satisfied when Medina took an involuntary step backwards. “You cut it out with the ‘Tommy’ crap. His name is Blair. You want to avoid raking up the past for him? You leave that name back there, where it belongs.”

For a few seconds, their eye contact held, Medina not backing down an inch under Jim’s warning glare. Then he nodded. “Blair it is, then. I take your point.”

“Good.” Jim nodded in satisfaction. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going back in there to take care of my partner. He’ll be out to talk to you when he’s ready, and not before.” And turning on his heel, Jim left the agent there to stew.

~oO0Oo~

“Here you go, tough guy,” Jim said, stepping back into Blair’s bedroom and handing him the bottle of water. Blair was amused to see that Jim had already loosened the cap; although he was secretly grateful. For some odd reason, he didn’t seem to have the strength of a baby right now.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Blair sipped the water gratefully, and endured his friend’s quietly solicitous presence as he slowly recovered from what, he now embarrassingly realized, could only be called a faint. Jim was sitting on the edge of the bed and, wanting to wipe the worried look off his face, Blair took refuge in self deprecation. “I guess I uh, took a header, man,” he said.

“You didn’t ‘take a header’, Sandburg,” Jim retorted dryly. “You swooned.”

“I did not!” Okay, this was better. This was normal. “I don’t ‘swoon’. What kind of word is that?”

“The right kind.” Jim looked, for a moment, as though he’d carry on with the banter, like he usually did. But to Blair’s dismay, he got all serious again. “Blair,” he said. “Look, I have to say this, before you go out there.”

Blair’s heart sank. Ellison wanted to talk, even though there was a humorous alternative - this was definitely the twilight zone. “What do you have to say?”

Jim was looking at him earnestly. “I didn’t mean it, Blair. About you ruining our friendship. And it’s not me I’m worried about, all right? I just wanted to make you see – make you understand – that if anything else happens to you, that it will affect me too. And I’m not talking about my job, here, or anything like that. I’m talking about me.”

“I know.” Blair swallowed. How could he not, after the care he’d been shown the last little while? He reached for Jim’s hand, his returning strength evident in the grip. “I know, Jim. It’s okay.” The damned tears were back.

Jim squeezed Blair’s hand in return. “Just so we understand each other, Junior,” he said. Then, to Blair’s relief – since any more of this would have him blubbering like a child - Jim let go and stood up. “Take your time,” he said. “When you’re ready, I’ll be out here with Medina. No rush.” And without another word, he went out through the French doors.

In his wake, Blair wiped his eyes furiously. And for a little while, warmth and gratitude threatened to swamp the pain and guilt which had dominated his emotions for so long.

~oO0Oo~

Blair made a trip to the bathroom, where he washed his face and re-tied his hair. Then, heading out into the living room, he made his way over to where the other two men were sitting.

Jim caught his eye as he approached, and nodded Blair toward the seat next to him on the sofa. A rush of warm emotion overcame Blair once again at the protectiveness of the gesture. Jim, it seemed, had gone right over into Big Brother mode. It didn’t happen very often, but when it did, oh boy. And Blair had to admit that he secretly got a kick out of having the big guy on his side – especially as there had been plenty of times in his life when he’d had no-one but himself to rely on.

Jack Medina was sitting at right angles to Jim, on the other couch. Blair nodded at him as he sat down. “Agent Medina,” he greeted.

Medina smiled. “It’s Assistant Director now, Blair.” There wasn’t any censure in the correction. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah. Uh, sorry,” Blair hedged. “Wigging out like that. It’s been a tough few days.”

Medina nodded, looking sympathetic. “So I understand.”

Blair was feeling less stressed now they were actually face-to-face. He had some pretty bad memories of being around this guy, but despite that, he’d found Medina to be okay, for the most part. “So,” Blair ventured, emboldened by the small talk. “Jim says, you want to take my statement?”

Medina nodded. “That’s right. It’s just a formality, Blair. I already have statements from Detective Ellison and your mother, as well as Captain Banks. And the forensic evidence at the scene is pretty clear.”

“Oh. Right.” Blair’s nervousness, it seemed, hadn’t disappeared entirely, now they were down to brass tacks.

As if he’d read Blair’s mind, Jim’s hand moved to rest on the small of Blair’s back, and the comforting touch did a lot to settle his jumpy nerves. “You said there was some stuff you wanted to tell him,” Jim addressed Medina. “Maybe you could do that first, huh? Get it out of the way.”

Medina nodded. “You already heard a lot of this today, Detective,” he said. “But I agree, Blair needs to hear it too.”

“Hear what?” Blair’s voice jumped a little. God, he was so tired of surprises.

Jim’s hand rubbed comfortingly, as Medina spoke. “You deserve an explanation, Blair, of how your father managed to escape from custody.”

“Don’t… don’t call him that. Okay?” It was bad enough that it was true – Blair hated to hear Buchanan referred to as his father. “Just… use his name or something.”

“I apologize.” Medina didn’t look surprised at the plea. Instead, he carried on without pause. “Joe Buchanan was ill, Blair. He spent the last eleven years of his sentence in a secure psychiatric hospital, diagnosed as suffering from a variety of personality disorders. Things apparently got much worse during his last few months there – his obsessions became all-encompassing, and his behavior more erratic. Finally, after he was sent for a CAT scan, it was discovered that he had a brain tumor.”

“Oh.” Blair blinked.

“By the time it was diagnosed, it was inoperable,” Medina carried on. “Buchanan was dying. Unfortunately, he was still a dangerous man, a fact that wasn’t sufficiently understood by the psychiatrist who’d been treating him. Buchanan was clever, and his reasoning abilities were intact, even if he was delusional. He was fully aware that his disease was terminal, and he fixated on getting the three of you back together before he died, and making you pay for what you’d done. We now know that he made extensive plans to bring that aim to fruition.”

None of the stuff about how Buchanan had wanted to make them both pay was particularly news to Blair – Jim had worked it out days ago. “So,” Blair asked, “How did he get out?”

“He was being transferred from the psychiatric hospital to a secure hospice. We’re still not sure how he did it, but as a result, two guards and a medical orderly were killed. The transport van was found burnt out en-route, with the bodies still inside it, and Buchanan nowhere to be seen.”

“What I don’t understand,” Jim chipped in angrily, “is how you didn’t immediately suspect he’d gone to Cascade. I mean, you knew Blair and Naomi were here, right? It should have been the first place you looked! And not only that - you should have warned them he was on the loose!”

“I agree,” Medina conceded. “And I am very sorry that happened, Detective; Blair. All I can say is that there was a breakdown in communication at a bureaucratic level. Believe me, if I’d known about Buchanan breaking out, I’d have been on the first flight out here, and you, Blair, and your mother, would have been put immediately into protective custody. But, sad to say, I only found out about it when I went digging into Buchanan’s current whereabouts, after Captain Banks called me a few days ago.”

“He knew we were here,” Blair pointed out needlessly. He knew Jim was a sentinel too, his mind supplied. “How did he know so much about us?”

Medina shrugged. “He spent years obsessing over his family,” he said. “He was clever, devious. He put his intelligence into use to feed his obsession. How he got the information, I can’t tell you. Only that he did.”

“And so, once he’d gotten his revenge,” Blair muttered, “he wanted to take us with him. My mom and me.”

Medina nodded. “So it seems. But you stopped him, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

Jim’s hand on Blair’s back had gone still.

“Yes,” whispered Blair.

Medina nodded. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a tape recorder. “Time to switch this on, I believe,” he said. “Would you like Detective Ellison to stay, while you give me your statement?”

Jim turned his head, and what Blair saw in his eyes made him sit up straighter. “Yeah,” he said, turning to look back at Medina; his voice firm. “I would.”

Medina nodded. “Let’s begin, then.”

~oO0Oo~

Jim closed the door behind Assistant Director Jack Medina. Then he locked it, putting on the chain for good measure. It was over. It was finally over.

Although, in some ways, Jim couldn’t help but suspect that many of their problems were just beginning.

Blair had come through, like the trooper he was. He’d related the tale dispassionately, insinuating that he’d gone to Jim and Simon in the beginning, and that all his actions since had been a ploy to get them close to Buchanan, without Naomi being hurt in the crossfire. Barely faltering over the lie, he stated that he’d seen – and recognized – that Buchanan had a remote detonator in his hand. The guy was about to press the button, so Blair had shot him. What else could he have done?

Medina had taped the whole thing, and refrained from comment other than to prompt Blair now and again. Finally, seeming satisfied, he’d turned off the tape recorder. And both Jim and Blair had heaved an enormous sigh of relief.

Medina had stayed a while longer. There was, it seemed, a potential problem over jurisdiction, in that the FBI should have been called in as soon as it became clear who and what they were dealing with. But that was Simon’s area of concern, not theirs – although both Jim and Blair would back Simon to the hilt if it came down to an official investigation.

Medina hadn’t seemed to think that would happen. “Between you and me,” he’d said, “the Bureau will not be keen to see its complacency over the escape of a dangerous prisoner, or the subsequent breakdown in procedure, being looked at too closely. There were mistakes on both sides, Detective. But at the end of the day, Buchanan is dead. He left a trail of bodies behind him; but it could have been worse. Much worse. Thanks to you, Blair, it wasn’t.” Blair had flinched under Jim’s hand at that assertion, but Medina had carried on oblivious. “I don’t believe that this matter will be taken any further. Not via official channels, at least.”

So that was it. End of story. And now, it was time to deal with the fallout.

Blair was still on the couch, where Jim had left him. He looked frayed, somehow. As though bits of him were beginning to unravel and drift off. Jim shook himself of that disturbing image and, heading into the kitchen, he poured two glasses of Scotch from the stash he kept in one of the cupboards.

“Here,” he said, as he came back over to the couch. He held one of the glasses out to Blair. “Drink this.”

Blair took the glass, but didn’t drink. Instead, he looked up at Jim. “Oh, hey,” he said. “I have to call the hospital, man. In fact, I should just go over there.”

Jim resumed his place next to Blair on the couch. “Your mom’s not there, Chief,” he said. “A friend of hers came over this afternoon to collect her. Woman called Fiona? Naomi said you knew her.”

“Fiona.” Blair looked puzzled for a moment, until memory returned. “Oh, Fiona. From the women’s retreat. Right?”

“Yeah.” Jim took a sip of the amber liquid, relishing the burn as it went down. Man, that hit the spot.

Blair was nodding. “That’s good. That’s the best place for her to go. They… they helped her a lot in the past, you know?”

“Yeah. That’s what she told me.”

There was silence for a little while. Jim downed his whisky, and contemplated getting another; but Blair just sat and stared at his, not seeming inclined to drink it. After a little while, Jim ventured, “You doing okay, Chief?”

“I don’t know.” Blair sounded lost.

Jim reached out, taking the full glass out of his partner’s hands and placing it on the coffee table next to his empty one. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, trying to catch Blair’s eye. “It’s over, Blair.”

Pain-filled eyes lifted, meeting Jim’s. “Is it?” The tears his partner had been holding off all evening had made a reappearance. “I don’t know what to do now, Jim,” Blair whispered helplessly. “I just don’t know.”

Wordlessly, Jim opened his arms, and pulled Blair in. And as his friend finally permitted himself some respite in Jim’s embrace, letting out the grief, the fear, the guilt and the pain he’d been alone with for so long, Jim did his best to soothe and comfort and reassure.

And, in response to Blair’s dilemma, he made plans.

~oO0Oo~

Epilogue

It was a lovely fall morning. This area was beautiful anyway, but what had recently become Jim’s regular Saturday morning drive up here was all the nicer on days like this.

Jim parked the truck, and reflected on how relieved he was that Brother Jeremy had granted him special dispensation to bring his truck right into the monastery grounds. He’d hated the idea of having to wait for the rickety old bus which, in any case, only got driven to the pickup point every other week. Thankfully, under the circumstances, Jeremy had never once insisted that he use it.

Jim sat for a moment after turning off the engine, to think back over the past few weeks, and the reason which had impelled him to keep visiting this place every weekend.

He’d brought Blair here the morning after Jack Medina’s visit – just over six weeks ago, now. It had been a rough night, with Blair as close to a total breakdown as Jim had ever seen him. In the aftermath, Jim had bundled his exhausted partner into the truck in the early hours, and gotten on the road.

Blair hadn’t expressed any curiosity about where they were going – it was as if he’d given up control and placed himself totally in Jim’s hands, so desperate was he for some respite from the awful choices he’d been forced to make. He’d fallen asleep not long after Jim had hit the freeway, and not woken until they’d arrived here, outside the door of St Sebastian’s.

Haunted eyes had been turned on Jim. “No,” Blair had gasped. “I can’t be… I can’t see Marcus, man. Come on! After what I did? After how… judgmental I was about him?”

Jim hadn’t budged an inch. “He knows, doesn’t he? About your past, about your dad. Naomi told me.”

Blair had glanced miserably at the building. Brother Jeremy had just come out of the front door, and was heading toward them. “He… he was a chaplain,” Blair said, his voice tinged with hopelessness. “At the psychiatric hospital, when we first came to Cascade.”

Jim nodded. “It’s how you met. He spent time with you, when your head was messed up. Helped you through stuff. Naomi told me that’s why you’ve been coming here all these years. You and he got close.”

“I used to pretend Marcus was my father.” Blair’s self condemnation was tangible. “How pathetic is that, huh?”

Jim reached out, and gripped Blair’s wrist. “It’s not pathetic at all.”

A short while afterward, in Brother Jeremy’s office, Blair had agitatedly paced up and down, berating Jim for bringing him here. Saying how much he didn’t want Marcus to see him now he was a murderer. Declaring himself a hypocrite, for condemning the man for the crimes he had committed as Jackie Kozinski, when he had done much worse – he’d betrayed his friend and killed his own father.

Marcus had entered, and Blair had stopped pacing mid-tirade, closing his eyes and hanging his head in shame. But the monk hadn’t hesitated; he’d immediately moved to envelop Blair in a bear hug. Over the distraught man’s shoulder, Marcus had met Jim’s eye. “His mother called me,” he said. “She told me what happened. You did the right thing, bringing him here.”

Now, six weeks later, Jim knew Marcus had been right.

Brother Marcus was in a unique position to understand the straits Blair had found himself in. As Jackie Kozinski, he knew quite a bit about making hard choices, and learning to live with shame.

As Brother Marcus, he knew more than a thing or two about forgiveness. And that was ultimately what Jim was hoping his partner might learn from him.

How to forgive himself.

“Hey!”

Jim was shaken out of his reverie by the grinning face at the truck window. He wound the window down, smiling back at his friend. “Hey, Chief!”

“Come on in, man,” Blair beckoned. “There might be some lunch left, if you hurry!”

As Jim followed Blair around the building and in toward the refectory, he studied the changes six weeks had wrought. And he was pleased by what he saw. Blair had put back a little of the weight he’d lost, and sported a healthy tan from the groundwork he’d been doing every day. And even better than that…

“So, Brother Terence decided to bring it up with Brother Patrick. Only he didn’t know that the ones that actually worked had been taken into town by Brother Cillian… what?” Blair had caught Jim’s bemused smile, and he stopped. “What’s so funny, man?”

Jim shrugged. Blair’s usual non-stop chatter had been all that had been missing the last time he’d been here. It seemed that it was back. “You’re… looking good, partner. Really good.”

“Get outta here.” Blair punched him on the arm, but he looked pleased. “Come on, Jim,” he said, grabbing Jim by the arm to make him start walking again. “We’d better hurry, or there’ll be nothing left. So as I was saying, Brother Cillian…”

~oO0Oo~

Blair was doing well. But he thought, he told Jim later, as they walked through the orchard, that he might stay a little while longer - because there were still a few things he needed to process. “And tell me, man,” Blair said, looking worried for the first time since Jim had arrived this morning, “if this is out of the question, okay? But Marcus thinks you and I need to talk some more before I decide what to do next. Really talk. Because there’s still a lot of stuff I haven’t really faced, you know? And most of it’s to do with you.”

Jim turned to look at him. “If you’d said that to me a few weeks ago, I might have been less than enthusiastic,” he said. “But now?”

“You’re still less than enthusiastic, right?” Blair joked. But there was a very real wariness in his face. He was truly afraid, Jim realized, that Jim would refuse.

Jim shrugged. “You know me, Chief. I hate to dig too deep. But if it’s what you need? Then I’ll do it.”

“Really?” The desperate hope in Blair’s voice obliterated any lingering reluctance Jim had.

“Yeah,” he said decisively. “Really.”

~oO0Oo~

As he had for the past three weekends, Jim opted to stay the night. The monks tended to retire in the early evening, soon after Compline, so he and Blair went to sit in the empty refectory. Blair had managed to rustle up some hot chocolate, and Jim produced a hip flask to spice it up.

“Hey!” Blair grinned, as Jim tipped a good measure into his mug. “That’s not allowed.” He took a sip. “But man, it tastes good.”

Jim liberally dosed his own. “That’s one of the reasons you’ll never be a monk, Sandburg, despite staying here all these weeks.” Jim saluted him with his drink. “You’d never manage the ‘obedience’ part.”

“Speak for yourself, man,” Blair retorted indignantly. “You brought the hooch!”

They sat for a while in comfortable companionship. But something was brewing in the air, almost like an electrical storm to Jim’s senses. Blair, it seemed, was working himself up to broach one of his pressing issues.

Jim just waited, biding his time with innocuous small talk, and giving Blair the space he needed.

Finally, Blair looked up meaningfully from his mug. “Jim,” he ventured. “Can I ask you a question?”

Ah, finally. “Shoot.”

“You know when… when I was on the run? Did you really think I was some kind of covert ops guy?”

Jim put down his mug, and folded his hands on the table top. “It was the only thing that made sense at the time,” he admitted.

Blair shook his head incredulously. “That’s wild.”

Jim had to agree - it was wild, really, in retrospect.

Changing tack slightly, Jim tossed back, “Can I ask you a question?”

Blair looked at him warily. “Sure,” he agreed.

“Just before you shot Buchanan,” Jim said, trying not to notice how Blair still flinched at the words. “You said some stuff. About how you hated me. How you were angry, because I never gave you the benefit of the doubt.”

Blair looked ashamed. “I don’t hate you, Jim I didn’t mean it.”

“But you were angry,” Jim insisted. “The other stuff you said – about how I was too ready to believe the worst of you?” He tried to maintain eye contact, but Blair looked away suddenly, his expression pained. Jim carried on, nevertheless. “You were right, Chief. I was, and I’m sorry.”

Blair didn’t seem all that happy, now they’d got down to it. But certain things needed to be said, regardless. And the genie was already out of the bottle. “You know, Blair,” Jim said. “What you did, it hurt me a lot.”

Blair nodded, looking miserable and ashamed. “I know.”

Jim reached across, and captured Blair’s hand. “Hey, hey, come on, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to upset you Chief, okay? I’m just trying to explain why I reacted like I did. I felt like the whole fucking world had ended. And you know why?”

Blair still wouldn’t look at him. “I think I do, man. I betrayed you.”

“That’s not it! Will you just listen to me here?” Jim was frustrated, worried that Blair would hear the superficial words, and not what he meant by them. “Okay, okay, I’m not saying it right. Hang on.” He took a deep breath, then tried again. “It hurt, Chief, because you matter. Because during the time we’ve been together, you’ve gained my trust, my respect. Because I care about you. Because you’re my family, all right?”

That got Blair’s attention, at least. “Jim-” he began.

But Jim was on a roll. “One thing that’s true, Chief,” Jim said, looking earnestly at Blair, “is that we don’t always get the family we deserve.” He paused. “I didn’t. You sure as hell didn’t.”

Blair closed his eyes. His hand, in Jim’s gripped back, hard, then pulled away.

Jim carried on, relentless. “You know the old saying, huh? You can’t choose your family, but you can choose your friends. Well, it’s true. Except, I’d go a little bit further. Look at these guys.” Jim waved a hand, indicating the building they sat in. “The monks here. They’re a family. They call each other ‘Brother’. I think you can choose your family.”

Blair’s eyes opened. “That’s sappy, man. Even for you.” He was grinning now, trying masterfully not to add to the mush, despite the flush Jim’s declaration had brought to his cheeks. Then he gave up. “My heart is open wide tonight,” Blair quoted, “for stranger, kith or kin. I would not bar a single door, where love might enter in.”

Jim picked up his hip flask, and refilled their mugs. “I think you got it, Chief.” He took a sip. “So, you think it’s time you came home yet?”

Blair lifted his mug, and they clicked them together in a toast. “Yeah,” Blair agreed, his smile the happy, carefree one Jim hadn’t seen for far too long. “I think it is.”


The End


Note: Blair’s quote at the end of this story is from The Romance of a Christmas Card by Kate Douglas Wiggin, 1916





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