Chapter 16
He
delivered me from my strong enemy,
From those who hated me;
For they were too mighty for me.
--2 Samuel 22:18
It was late afternoon; that was all he was certain of. Telling time based on the position of the sun in the sky had never been Blair's strongest suit, and it wasn't improved now by adding pain, exhaustion, hunger and fear.
Jim hadn't set him down since he'd picked him back up in the ritual chamber. A shudder passed through the younger man again as he recalled those moments-- immortalized forever in his brain--the vision of Jim, enhanced by the wildly flickering firelight and the tremoring of the earth, as he--. Was it really Jim? I would swear on my life and a stack of bibles that I saw something else up there. Do spirit guides come to visit retribution against those who have done true harm, true evil, to someone? Or a couple of someones? His thoughts were pushed over to his partner, who was still stumbling along resolutely, picking his way along the road.
Jim wasn't very talkative under the best of circumstances; over the last couple of years Blair had grown used to the natural reticence, and learned how to get around it. But his friend was...eerily silent right now. He knows he was the one who took me. Or at least he thinks he knows. I wonder what's going on inside that head of his? And what'll it take to reach him?
He had no idea where they were in relation to Cascade, nor how far from the city. Aside from a few steaming fissures in the ground right around where they'd exited the underground caverns, there was no sign here of any seismic activity. He shifted fitfully on Jim's shoulder, groaning a little when the movement further jarred him. Jim slowed, then stopped.
"You okay?" was the quiet question as the bigger man slid him off his shoulder to stand before him.
"I don't--I don't know, Jim." It was an honest answer. He didn't know. "I'm still...I can feel more blood...but it's not like a hemorrhage, it's just like before. A slow ooze." He closed his eyes and tilted his face upward. After a week and a half underground, away from anything but pale artificial light, the warmth felt good on his face.
Jim nodded and gently turned Blair around. He hadn't bled through his jeans yet, so maybe it wasn't that bad--yet. He had no doubt that the longer it took them to find a phone and some help, the better the potential for it to become a real problem. He held Blair there, facing away from him, as his eyes filled again with tears. What kind of monster am I? That I could do this...do this to him, especially. He bent and nosed the tousled, filthy curls, breathing in the scent of Blair that was lying beneath all the other odors. The pure, fresh, spicy scent that could calm and soothe him. I love you, he thought desperately. I have no right any more; I gave that up the minute I took you by force. But god help me, I still do. I'd give my life to undo what's been done...to make everything better for you. God, Blair...help me! I need you, need your strength for this. I need you, Blair. Will always need you. He shuddered, and gripped Blair's shoulders a little tighter. A slender hand reached up to cover his own.
"It's okay, big guy. Relax." He squeezed Jim's hand, trying not to wince as the large fingers gripped him tighter. "C'mon, Jim. Let's go find a phone." He waited until Jim had shifted him back up over his shoulder, then whispered, "I love you."
After a long, tense moment Jim's voice, ragged and strained, floated back to him. "Love you, too."
They found the truck stop shortly after dark. Jim set Blair onto his feet, but supported him with an arm around his waist, helping the younger man walk.
"Do you want to call, or should I?" Blair whispered, ignoring the looks of the truckers around them. He knew what sort of a picture they presented but could have cared less. He was drifting in and out of shock and Jim was barely hanging on now, his strength having been pushed to its limits. Both of them were filthy, hungry and tired, and they smelled, and never mind the injuries. From where the shirt had stuck to his stomach, Blair could see small oozes of blood where the cuts on Jim's abdomen must have opened with all the additional lifting and carrying he'd had to do.
His partner stared at him blankly, eyes foggy and a little unfocused. He stood so that his body was between Blair and everything else, still in protector mode although it was clear from the expression on his face that he felt he'd forfeited that right. "You," he whispered. "I don't...you should."
"Right." Blair reached his hand out and patted Jim's shoulder, then turned and picked up the phone. He dialed the number for Simon's private line and was relieved when Rhonda's voice came on the other end; was more relieved when she accepted the collect charges and patched him through immediately to Simon.
"Banks!"
His knees wobbled then, and he smiled gratefully at Jim when the older man grabbed at him held him steady. "Simon? It's...it's Blair, man."
He'd never seen such a welcome sight as the cop cars and ambulance that pulled up outside the truck stop.
"Simon!" Blair waved the big man over to where he and Jim were resting, waiting. "Man, is it good to see you."
"Sandburg! Ellison! Christ have we been worried about you." Simon chomped down on his cigar and shook his head. "Where the hell have the two of you been, and what have you been doing?"
Blair felt a wave of weariness move over him as he realized that truly, this ordeal was nearly over. "It's a long, long story, Simon, and Jim and I both need medical attention." He was aware of the blood that was now dripping steadily down his legs and felt a sudden rush of dizziness. "Um, I don't know what's left of it, but the cavern we were being held in is about ten miles north-east of here. Just into the hills." He glanced over at Jim, but his partner seemed nearly zoned-out. "There was an earthquake. Or something. How far are we from Cascade?"
Simon's eyes had grown wide as he got a good look at his detective and his partner. "We're about 30 miles outside of Cascade, Sandburg. Is that where you've been all this time?"
The younger man nodded. "For the last ten days. Yeah." He shifted uneasily, from where he'd been lying on his side with his head on Jim's leg. "Can you help me up, man? Jim's pretty wiped out."
"Sure." Banks stretched a hand out to the younger man and started to pull him up, but Blair raised a hand.
"Slow, Captain. I can't move very fast...unnhhhh..." the groan escaped his lips before he could stop it and he hunched in on himself. "Shit..." he whispered.
Banks gave him a concerned look, but before he could move or speak Jim had stood up and carefully, tenderly lifted Sandburg into his arms. "I got you," he whispered very quietly into Blair's ear. "You're mine." He shot his captain a 'follow me' look, then carried his partner to the waiting ambulance.
"Captain...Blair's right. We both need medical attention. Now." He set his partner carefully on his stomach on a gurney, then climbed inside, ignoring the startled EMTs. "He's bleeding, possibly internally," he continued in a quiet voice, watching Blair as the techs scrambled to get the gurney loaded. "Sir, I'll debrief and give you a full report at the hospital, after Blair's been taken care of."
"You, too," Blair whispered, watching the older man with foggy eyes. "You need help, too."
Both men watched as a clearly bewildered Simon shook his head. "Fine. I'll send Rafe and Brown to head up the clean-up down the road, and meet you at Cascade General in a little bit."
"Very good, Sir."
Blair watched the captain, seeing the confusion on the older man's face. "I'll explain it all to you, Simon, when you meet us." He closed his eyes as one of the techs jostled him by accident, a small groan escaping from his lips. "Believe me, it's a story you don't want to miss."
Blair and Jim were both being examined by the on-call doctor in the ER when Simon arrived. Jim was settled in a corner, his eyes trained on his younger friend, while the doctor and assisting nurse slowly cut away the jeans that had by now begun to stick from the drying blood. The police captain observed his man, and the man who'd trailed after him as an observer for nearly two years now. Both looked very much worse for wear; Sandburg in particular looked pale and shocky.
Jim watched his captain enter the small treatment room. He'd refused to be separated from Blair at this point, no matter that he felt he had no right to be there. They'd only just been admitted to triage, were just starting to get the help they needed. He was very concerned for his partner, who was starting to look very pale, his eyes going unfocused every so often. He'd dropped out of consciousness twice during the ride to the hospital, each time coming around only with a great deal of effort. His eyes met Simon's and he frowned when he realized what he needed to do to rectify things--at least a little. He'd never be able to undo the damage done--and if anything happened to Blair because of what he'd done to him, he knew he'd never be able to live with himself--but maybe he could try to make amends.
"Mr. Sandburg?" Doctor Edwins was talking gently to his partner, while the nurse finished cutting away his jeans. "Mr. Sandburg, I need you to tell me what manner of injury you've received."
For the love of Christ. "He was raped, Doctor." Jim's quiet comment clearly surprised everyone in the room; he felt Simon's eyes on him, hot and curious. He looked down to see Blair staring at him, tears in his eyes, shaking his head 'no'. He nodded, then looked up at Simon. "Sir--I...I need you to take me into custody."
"WHAT?!" If the situation hadn't been so serious, Jim might have laughed at the expression on his captain's--his friend's--face.
"You heard me, Sir." The quiet voice dropped to a whisper, and Jim could hear Blair's startled intake of breath ringing out like a shot in the silent room. "I--"
"No, Jim." The voice was weak, filled with pain and exhaustion, but clearly carrying a note of authority. Jim looked over to meet Blair's eyes again.
"Yes, Chief."
"No, Jim." Sandburg struggled for a moment to lift his upper body off the table, then turned to face Simon fully. "We need to talk, man--privately. Now." His voice was hot and urgent and Banks had no problems believing him. He nodded and turned to the doctor.
"If you could give us a few minutes, Doctor?"
"These men need medical care!" the physician sputtered for a moment, then backed down in the heat of Simon's glare. "Fine--but your man here is slowly bleeding out, from the looks of things. Don't take too long." He gestured to the nurse and they exited the small room, closing the door behind them.
Simon turned to Blair, then flicked his gaze back at Jim who was sitting on the chair, his arms now wrapped around himself, rocking silently back and forth. "Sandburg?" he called softly, "tell me what's going on here."
Blair took a deep breath, wincing as his body throbbed in time with his heart. "We've been captives of the same cult that had been doing all the murders in Cascade," he whispered hoarsely, meeting Simon's eyes. "The pairs of bodies that kept turning up." He waited for Simon's nod before continuing, his eyes flicking over to watch Jim. "The woman in charge wanted a baby, Simon. She was willing to go to any lengths to get that baby--including forcing men...um..."
"You two were forced to have sex with her? Impregnate her?" Bank's voice was low, concerned, but not alarmed.
"Not...exactly." A movement from in front of him alerted Blair, and the younger man stretched a hand out to his partner, calling in a soft, quiet voice. "C'mon, man...come on over here."
Jim shook his head, rocking faster. "No," he hissed quietly. "It's my fault--leave me alone."
Simon turned confused eyes to Blair. "What's going on? What 'exactly' happened, Sandburg?"
Blair sighed deeply, his heart aching for Jim, for himself, for both of them. What did they have right now? Not even the friendship they'd had before. Right now, all aspects of their relationship--as friends, as partners, as lovers--were vulnerable. He shivered. "They... pumped him full of drugs, Simon. The same shit we kept finding in the victims' bodies. Hallucinogens and psychotropics intended to unleash whatever primitive being is inside all of us. They...we..." Sandburg dropped his eyes, his face blushing crimson. "They made us have sex... together, Simon," he continued in a rough whisper, "and they pushed Jim as much as they could to make him make it rough... They wanted him to... to... rape me, but he wouldn't. He didn't."
"Yes, I did GODDAMMIT!!!" The animal fury that was Jim Ellison surged from the chair, his eyes snapping pale-blue fire. "You can't deny it, Sandburg! I raped you! I hurt you! You are...were...mine...and now you're not--" He stumbled from the chair and dropped to his knees in front of Blair, body shaking, eyes tearing. "You can't say I didn't hurt you," he mumbled in a plaintive voice. "I know I did. I can hear the pain whispering through your body."
Simon Banks whipped his head from Blair to Jim and back again, trying to gauge what really had happened. The information he was being given was far, far more than he'd wanted--both personally and professionally. But these men were his friends and he was going to do right by them, no matter what it took.
"...it hurt, babe," Blair was whispering, "but you didn't hurt me. You'd never hurt me, Jim. I know that. You should know that."
Babe? What all went on besides the sex? Simon shook his head. "Sandburg." His voice was low and quiet, and he noticed that the younger man wasn't listening to him. He was focused on calming down Ellison.
Jim was pulling himself into a small protective ball, crouched on the floor in front of the examination table. He was shaking his head back and forth, slowly, mindlessly, his body surprisingly lax.
"Simon," Blair whispered. "Jim did not rape me. He was drugged repeatedly, and tortured. His body and mind were manipulated and pushed into doing what was demanded, because his ability to resist was worn away completely. He was not in his right mind when any of this happened, and I don't hold him responsible in any way." He paused. "Neither should you. He's got enough guilt tripping around inside to make a therapist's career, but that's something else altogether." The grad student shifted awkwardly on the table. "He needs help, Simon. Bad. He's border-line OD, if not there already. He's been starved, tortured, wounded. Help him, please." The hoarse, low voice dropped to a pleading whisper. "And for god's sake, don't believe anything he's telling you right now--it's so colored by the drugs in him that he can't distinguish what he was forced to do, from reality."
Banks stared at the younger man before him. Dark blue eyes wide and earnest, begging him. Obviously injured himself, needing help just as badly--but with a clear, coherent gaze staring back at him. His eyes dropped to the man crouching and rocking on the floor, despair, confusion and self-hatred radiating from every pore.
"What can I do?" he asked softly.
"Get the doctor back in here--Jim needs medical attention now. And have the ME fax over a copy of the autopsy reports, so the doctors here will know what sort of shit they're dealing with, in Jim's system." Blair gave an embarrassed half-smile. "Sorry, man. Don't mean to be ordering you around--"
"Forget it, Sandburg," Banks responded gruffly. He turned to the door and poked his head through, calling for the doctor.
Jim sat on the floor, listening to the voices swirling around over him, trying desperately not to be dragged back down into that muddled version of hell that had been forced on him. It was dark, and murky there. Lonely. He was cut off from even his own thoughts, unable to go back, go forward, do anything. A low, deep rumbling washed over him, then a lighter, not-quite so deep voice; a soothing voice that even the most primitive part of him would answer to. His. Calling to him, pleading with him.
He shook his head, trying to get that voice to leave him alone. He wanted to be left in peace. If he was going to drown in the murk, he didn't want to take anyone else down with him. He curled back in on himself. Why couldn't they see? Why couldn't anyone understand that he'd hurt His, hurt him badly in a way that he shouldn't have been hurt. What would it take to make them see that?
Other voices joined the fray around him; different tones and pulses mixing and adding to the discordant resonance building and moving around him. He winced and tried to fold further in on himself, to shut the noises out. From somewhere far away, very distanced from him, he could hear a quiet voice calling, "Mr. Ellison? Detective? Can you hear me?"
Another voice now, His calling. "Jim?...C'mon, man, answer the doctor! Answer me, dammit!"
The words held no particular meaning for him. He didn't recognize them as pertaining to himself. A low, muted growl rose from his lips and he surged upward, face frenzied as he tried to strike out, to quiet the noises around him. He had one look at His, at the anguish on his face, before everything around him spun dizzily and he fell toward the floor, crying weakly, "No! Nonononononononononononono...."
Simon caught him as he fell, his body twisting spasmodically, his lips moving, although no sounds were coming out now.
Blair watched in horror as the doctor instructed a sedative injected into Jim.
"No," he whispered, struggling against the hands holding him down, "he's drug-sensitive...very drug sensitive--"
"He needs to be calmed down before we can do anything for him," Doctor Edwins said, laying a gentling hand on Blair's shoulder. "We're going to do our best to help him, Mr. Sandburg. Not hurt him further."
The grad student shook his head, his eyes blurry with tears. He barely felt the IV line being inserted into his arm; didn't notice that his clothes had been totally removed and a hospital gown had been draped over him. "Please...help him. Listen to me...he's really drug sensitive."
"I believe you," Dr. Edwins said, moving around to inspect his other patient. He checked pupillary response and pulse. "We need to get Detective Ellison admitted right now," he said gruffly to the nurse attending. "And inform Dr. Barit that we need a consult from psych."
"Psych? The psych ward? What the hell are you consulting to them for?" Blair pushed at the blanket covering himself, trying to sit up. He hissed angrily when a nurse laid a hand on his arm.
"You said yourself that he's been dosed with large amounts of hallucinogens. That falls out of the realm of just the medical team and into the psychiatric venue."
"Jim's NOT crazy!"
"No, he isn't...but he is exhibiting some symptoms of extreme mental distress and psychotic behavior, Mr. Sandburg. And we'll take all the steps and precautions necessary to get him de-toxed and back on his feet, but Dr. Barit's team will assign the physician of record for this."
"Don't you hurt him! Simon--don't let them do anything to him, okay? Please, man!" Blair sank back down on the exam table, tears welling in his eyes. His body ached and throbbed, and the effort to keep from giving in to that was draining all of his reserves. He could feel himself shaking. "Help us," he whispered, his eyes closing.
"Mr. Sandburg, we need you to sign...Mr. Sandburg, wake up. C'mon, that's it." The voice was gruff, but gentle, and Blair opened his eyes to see the doctor standing next to him, concern coloring the deep brown gazing at him.
"Huh."
"Mr. Sandburg, I need to discuss your treatment. You're torn pretty badly. It's not life threatening, and we could pack your anal passage and keep you on a liquid and intravenous diet until you heal...but I feel that your needs would be better served by surgery. Repair the damage done, and you'll heal a lot faster."
"How long?" Why can't I make anything focus completely all of a sudden? The thought was a disturbing one, and Blair squinted, trying to bring the doctor into focus. He heard shuffling and noises from behind him and knew that Jim was being shifted onto a gurney, that they were going to move him to a room. He rolled onto his side and grabbed at Jim's hand as the gurney was wheeled past him. In a voice too low for anyone else in the room to hear he whispered, "I'll see you in a little while, Jim. I love you."
The only sign that Jim had heard him was his jaw twitched a little bit. His whole body looked slack, but still tense, at the same time. Blair looked up at the doctor, catching Simon with his eyes as well.
"Same room...please. We need to be together." The gurney was wheeled out and Blair shuddered.
"You'll be in the same room, Blair," Simon stood against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. "I'll make sure of it."
The doctor spared him a glance, then nodded, returning his attention to his fading patient. "How long for what, Mr. Sandburg?"
"How long...'til I'm healed?"
"Well...there'll be several different comfort levels. On a general level, you should be fairly pain free within a week's time. Bowel movements will be uncomfortable for a while... Anal intercourse is out of the question for at least a month--possibly longer, depending on fast you heal."
Blair grimaced. As if Jim's gonna touch me at all! "Give me the paperwork to sign," he sighed. "Let's get this show started."
The doctor nodded and instructed his nurse to bring in the necessary paperwork. Blair shifted back onto his stomach and signed the papers when they were given to him; answered the necessary and tiresome questions about drug allergies, sensitivities, past surgeries, reactions to anesthesia. He was still shivering when the anesthesiologist came in to help prep him for surgery.
Blair grabbed at Simon as they prepared to wheel him out. "Make sure," he hissed drowsily. "We have to be in the same room, Simon. I have to watch over him!"
The big man squeezed the smaller man's hand and nodded. "I'll go down and take care of the paperwork myself, Sandburg. You concentrate on getting better."
There were strange noises and bright, bright light swirling all around him. His head hurt. His body ached. His soul felt as if it'd been ripped from his body, the two being forced to separate. His soul...did he have a soul? Yes. His soul was Blair--and he'd ripped him away from him with that single act of violence.
A low moan rose around him, and on some level he recognized it as coming from him, but maybe it was coming from the figure he saw standing in front of him...small, smelling of His, battered and bloodied. Almost as if a panther had been at him. But wasn't he the panther? A glance down at his hands, and they morphed into paws, claws extended, bloody and dark. The claws morphed again into blood-red fingernails, hands outstretched, hands attached to a slender form with long, flowing black hair and eyes as cold as the fires of hell were hot. Chardis moved toward him, toward His, and he put himself in between, trying to protect the battered body. He raised his hands, intending to push her away, and they morphed again into bloody claws. He sank the claws into her face, ripping and shredding, satisfaction surging and peaking, then fading as pain slammed into him and he realized it had been a mirror--he was looking in a mirror, and it was his own face, and now he was screaming, the image changing from himself to the panther to His and back again, and he couldn't stop it, couldn'tstopcouldn'tstop...
"Blair--nononono, ohgod, so sorry, I didn't mean it, it was the panther--the panther is here, Blair run, don't let him get you, go away, go far away, hurry, don't let me hurt you again, him, don't let him, me...ohnononononononononononono!!!!!" His body arched, fingers clawing at himself as the vivid pictures in his mind became indistinguishable from reality, and he watched in horror as Blair--as His--was hurt, over and over, by himself, by demons, by the panther. He screamed, kicking at the sheets covering himself.
"Oh, God, he's ripping at his face!" The older nurse quickly compressed the call button and snapped for the doctor, then gestured for the younger one. "Come on, help me hold his arms down before he really hurts himself! Dr. Lewis will be here in a minute."
There were more noises, more lights now, and blood, red and hot, dripping down his face. He could see it spattered on the floor...a bright pattern, calling to him. The dots coalesced into a wave of heat blasting up at him as something hard and sharp bit into his arm. He arched away, screaming, his mind and body going on full alert, trying to process why he'd been drugged again.
"NOOOOO! I said I'd cooperate! Don't give me anymore! I'll do it...I have done it! Don't give me anymore! I can't hurt him...won't you just let me do it the way I think it needs to be done? Please..."
Harsh, loud voices spiraled around him, the words moving in and out of his understanding. He shuddered when hot hands touched him, seeing Chardis' leering face staring down at him.
"We're restraining you, Detective, until you're calmer. You've been give medication to help you. Detective--do you hear me? Detective?" The evil bitch shook her head at him, her smile growing wider, teeth dripping the blood she'd feasted on before the mass. "That's it, Detective. Relax...it won't hurt, and it's just until you're calmer."
"Liar! You fucking lying bitch! You're just trying to trick me! You just want me to rape him again, don't you? You don't give a fucking rats' ass about me or how I feel! I KNOW it! You can't fool the panther! He sees...I see... Ohhh, God!" His head thrashed against pillow as the restraints were buckled on him, holding him in place. A knife loomed over him and he flinched, expecting to be cut again. The sharp blade entered his body, invading him so privately, so intimately. He could feel it sliding, cool and slick, past his organs, through his innards, touching each part of him. Rape by knife...this was his punishment. He shuddered, the pain there and not there, burning through him, his whole body shaking now, and he cried out, voice hoarse from pain and screaming.
Dr. Sidney Lewis watched his patient writhing and screaming and moaning, pulling against the restraints. He shook his head and wrote in the chart, speaking at the same time to the nurse standing next to him.
"Four more milligrams, IM, in six hours, if he isn't calm enough to take the meds by mouth."
"Yes, Doctor."
"I want to be notified immediately if there's any change--any change. Good, bad, whatever. Do you understand?"
"I'll make sure you're contacted, Doctor."
Dr. Lewis shook his head and walked toward the door. "This guy is supposed to be a cop?"
"That's what they told me, Doctor Lewis."
"Great--I'm sure I'll sleep so much better at night, knowing folks like this are out walking around on the street." Lewis and the nurse stepped through the door, leaving Jim to writhe futilely against the bed, groaning hoarsely.
"Blair... Blaaaaaair--help me...please, help..."
Blair knew as soon as he opened his eyes that something wasn't right. He could hear Jim's labored breathing nearby, and frowned as he tried to clear his mind of the effects of the anesthesia. Small groans and soft grunts echoed through the otherwise quiet room. He shook his head again, very minutely, but the foggy haze was still too present in his body. With a quiet groan of defeat, the injured student let his eyes close again as he drifted into a healing sleep.
In the bed beside him, the sentinel scented his partner...His...and calmed fractionally, not pulling so viciously on the restraints binding him to the bed.
It was dark this time, with the lights gone, the noise minimal. Almost sensory deprivation, in some ways. He shuddered and looked around, not sure why he couldn't see better. He had special eyesight, although he couldn't remember much about it right now. Someone told him what it was, once. Someone... His. Blair. But he'd hurt Blair, so Blair wouldn't be able to tell him anymore. He watched soundlessly, his eyes wide in horror, as a smaller man appeared, blood running down his legs, a finger pointing accusingly at him.
"You!" the apparition growled, piercing him with a knife-edged stare.
"I didn't mean to...please believe me..." he could feel the words hot on his lips, caught between a lie and a plea. He hadn't meant to, but he'd needed it. He could feel the heat of that release pumping through him now and he shuddered. He moaned in terror then as the small figure in front of him changed, becoming taller, more slender--feminine. It was the devil in female form, Chardis, coming back to get him!
He writhed and wiggled, but found himself spread out, prone, bound and helpless. A large knife gleamed in her hand as she stood over him, her face changing and moving from Chardis to the panther to Blair and back again. His throat worked in a long, silent scream as she leaned closer, stroking the flat edge of the knife up and down his fully erect, weeping cock. Long, low moans tore from his throat then, when the image became Blair standing over him, pumping him slowly.
"Please...I love you. Don't let me hurt you...don't do this."
A quiet kiss to his lips and then Blair was climbing up, straddling him, pulling at him. "Not going to hurt you...relax and don't fight me, Jim...C'mon, big guy, give in..."
This time the moans from the man in the bed next to him were enough to push him from the drug-induced, healing sleep he'd been in. Blair looked around, still a little groggy, not surprised to see that there was very little light coming in from around the shades in the windows. A dim light gleamed coldly above his bed, providing minimal illumination in the small room. A faint scream from somewhere down the hall surprised him into full wakfulness and his body throbbed unpleasantly as he shifted to his side, searching for his partner.
"Jim?" His eyes were drawn to the straining, writhing figure, and he stared in horror as the image took a minute to fully form in his brain. "Jim--my god, what're they doing...?" He breathed the words, taking in the heaving chest, the sweat that was pouring down the sides of Jim's face, running in small, damp rivulets across his body.
Jim gasped and moaned, "I didn't mean to...please believe me," twisting within his bonds. Blair eyed them distastefully, his eyes widening in shock when he realized that they were dark and slick--sweat most likely, but probably blood too.
His body shuddered in pain when he shifted unsteadily toward the edge of the bed. The doctor had suggested limited movement for the first day or so after the surgery, to give him time to begin healing. That wasn't an option now. What the fuck is up with this--restraints? And is this a flashback from the drugs, or has he been dosed with something else, even after I told them he's drug sensitive? His body--his legs--shook as he stood very slowly and unsteadily on the floor, his toes curling from the cool of the tile beneath them. He gathered the IV tubing into one hand, and grasped the pole for support. One step, then another, then a third, each one agonizing as the jarring motion of footsteps reverberated through him.
He shook harder when he realized that Jim's wrists were scraped raw; some of the dark dampness on the cords binding him to the bed rails was indeed blood. Man, somebody fucked up big time...and I'm gonna make sure they know about it. And where the hell is Simon? He was gonna look out for Jim for me... Oh, man. Jim, I'm so sorry, babe. I'll get you out of here...out of these. I'll fix it, partner. Don't worry, I'll take care of you and make it better. He realized that his bottom lip was throbbing harshly and relaxed himself, shuddering when he tasted blood in his mouth from where he'd bitten hard again. He took a deep, deep breath and then blew it out, bracing himself for the bolt of pain that he knew would shoot through him when he climbed up onto the bed.
"Please...I love you. Don't let me hurt you...don't do this." Jim's voice was hoarse, harsh, probably from screaming and moaning for hours. Blair shook harder, his fingers barely able to navigate the closures on the restraints, Jim's straining and wiggling not helping any.
He leaned and gently kissed his partner...his lover, straddling the well-muscled chest to better reach the restraints. His body screamed in agony, stretching in ways it shouldn't have stretched yet. He ignored it. "Not going to hurt you...relax and don't fight me, Jim...C'mon, big guy, give in..." Another shudder as Jim began a high-pitched, keening wail, pulling so strongly against the arm restraints that Blair lost his grip entirely. "Come on, Jim--please. I know you're in there, man. I know you're scared and hurting, and so confused...but cooperate here with me, babe, and I'll get you taken care of. Come on, lover. Take a deep, deep breath--fill your lungs full of me. You know I'm safe, Jim... Hear my voice, listen to it. Breathe in, scent me... I'm no threat to you, am I? You're safe with me. That's it, Jim...calm down...relax...let me help you." He sighed as the large body beneath him relaxed a little bit, calming down slowly.
"What in the HELL are you doing?"
The outraged voice behind him broke both of their concentrations. Blair cursed loudly when Jim's body jerked, then began shifting and wiggling again, pushing him off balance and causing him to lose hold of the arm band he'd nearly had undone. He turned his head and glared at the man--doctor, from the look of arrogance on his face, and the white coat he was wearing--standing in the door.
"What the hell did you think you were doing, putting him in restraints like this?" Blair's voice was calm and icy-cold as he stared at the doctor, knowing intuitively that this was the asshole responsible. "And why the hell hasn't anyone been back to check on him? He's bleeding, man. His wrists are raw." The younger man paused to rub a hand soothingly over the agitated man next to him, speaking in a quiet, calming tone. "Shhhh, Jim...easy, man. Breathe in, babe. Deep, slow breaths...I know, I know...this one's not safe, is he? It's okay, man. I'm gonna take care of it."
The large body next to him grunted and moaned, straining toward him. He reached down and ran his fingers through Jim's hair, letting him feel his presence.
"He's in restraints for his own good--his safety. The anti-psychotic wasn't working very well to calm him down and he was in danger of hurting himself."
"The WHAT??" Blair nearly screamed the word, pausing just long enough at the last minute that the word came out as a strangled shriek, but not actually a scream. His chest heaved with his effort to calm himself down and he shifted away from Jim, torn between the need to protect him and the deep, driving desire to kick the shit out of this doctor--however figuratively. The moment for remaining calm was quickly fading into the background and he bit his lip again to keep from screaming obscenities at this quack. "I told the admitting physician in the ER that Jim is highly drug sensitive," he ground out through clenched teeth. "It's in his charts, in all his records. What the fuck are you doing, giving him anti-psychotics?"
"As I told you," the doctor moved to the end of Blair's bed and flipped open the chart, "Mr. Sandburg, we are trying to help Mr. Ellison. The anti-psychotic is a means to calm him down and help him get his system under control."
Blair eased himself off of Jim's bed, afraid to continue this conversation here, when every part of his friend was open and receptive to stimuli of any kind. Jim didn't need any more negative energy flowing around and through him. "Under control," he repeated incredulously. "Does he look like he's under control? Is there one shred of evidence anywhere that would indicate your stupid drugs are helping him at all? He's bleeding, where he's tried to get free of the restraints, man. He's shaking, and moaning--"
"He's psychotic," was the clipped response. Blair felt his mouth drop open in stunned disbelief.
"Excuse me?"
"Mr. Ellison is exhibiting symptoms of extreme psychotic behavior, Mr. Sandburg. He'll continue to be treated thusly until such a time as his behavior changes enough to warrant another diagnosis."
Breathe, Blair. Deep breaths, man. Slow, easy...don't give in to those homicidal tendencies that are running amok in your system right now. C'mon, Blair... "Did you even read his chart? There is a short version of our experience in there--as well as a list of the heavy-duty hallucinogens that he was dosed with, on a very regular basis."
The doctor shrugged. "Chemical or biological, however he arrived at the psychosis isn't important at this point. Getting it under control is."
Blair stared at him. "How in the hell did you manage to get a license to practice medicine of any kind?" he asked in a very controlled voice. "You have got to be the biggest--"
"Mr. Sandburg, I'd like to remind you that this hospital doesn't tolerate the patients abusing the staff. You need medical treatment, but if you become too much for the staff to deal with, you can be transferred to County."
The grad student narrowed his eyes and shifted a little closer to the doctor, pointing a finger into his chest. "You go on and make threats, man. Let's see who can threaten the loudest when I have you slapped with a lawsuit for negligent practice and behavior." He struggled to take a calming breath before continuing, "I went to a lot of trouble to make sure that the stimulants and hallucinogens that Jim was dosed with were known to you people, along with the dosage--as best I was able--and the fact that Jim is very sensitive to almost all forms of medication. He can't even take cold medicine, for Chrissake. He's been tortured, doctor, viciously tortured, and forced to do things that conflict completely with his personal moral and ethical code. On top of all of that, prior to this, he was involved intensely in trying to solve the case that started all of this. I'm sure his mental state is a little shaky--most people's would be. But you need to exercise a little compassion here, as well as medical treatment."
The doctor sputtered at him for a moment, then his eyes narrowed. "You'd presume to tell me how best to treat this man?"
Sandburg stared then shook his head. "You're not getting it, are you? No, man! I don't know jack about medicine. But I do know people, and more importantly, I know this person!--and the program of treatment you've set up for him isn't going to work."
Dark eyes stared haughtily, and thin lips sneered at him. "Listen, you punk kid. I don't know where you think you can--"
Blair stabbed his finger back into the doctor's chest. "I'm not a punk kid. I'm an adult, and I would appreciate it if you'd afford me the courtesy of addressing me as such, and by my name. You've already totally disregarded professional courtesy--I don't have a clue what your name is. At least be personally courteous." The low-pitched voiced dropped several notches. "You listen to me, doctor. I've spent the last year and a half observing this man. I know the things he reacts to, and how he reacts. I know his different moods and his ways of responding during them. Jim is in the midst of a drug-induced psychotic hell, and rather than helping him, you're making it worse for him, by pumping him full of more drugs. Take the restraints off of him, don't give him any more meds...and hopefully he'll start to come down out of this soon."
The doctor backed up a little bit, but his expression was still belligerent. He opened his mouth to respond, when the door swung wide, startling both men.
"Simon--thank god!" Blair breathed, his body sagging in relief.
"Sandburg! What the hell are you doing out of bed? And who are you?" The big black man swung his piercing gaze to the doctor Blair had pushed nearly to the wall.
"He--they've got Jim in restraints, Simon...man, help me...help him--"
Simon moved quickly to Blair's side, alarmed at the sudden shade of pale spreading across the grad student's face. "Sandburg? Blair!" He caught the kid in his arms as Blair's legs seemed to give out under him, fire snapping in his own eyes when he swung his gaze over to take in his best detective, now a bit quieter, his face turned toward them, although the eyes didn't look like Jim was present.
"Get this--doctor--" Blair spat the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth, "--out of here, Simon. I want someone else looking after Jim."
"You can't just arbitrarily decide on a new doctor," Simon began, only to be cut off by the doctor himself.
"You do not have the authority, Mr. Sandburg. Only Mr. Ellison or his appointed guardian could make that decision for him."
Blair pushed himself upright, leaning back slightly against Simon, but still supporting his own weight. The doctor drew back from the blue-black rage snapping from Blair's eyes. "You are addressing his guardian," he managed in an almost-civil tone. The younger man felt the start of surprise from the older man behind him and shrugged, half-turning. "Jim changed his paperwork about six months ago, man," he said, almost apologetically. "I thought he told you."
"He probably did." Simon shook his head, dismissing that. His gaze swung to the doctor in front of them, then to Ellison, then back down to the trembling man resting against him. "Let's get you into bed and then we can discuss it further." He turned Blair to guide him back to his bed; the younger man balked and shook his head.
"Next to him, Captain. Please. He needs to know I haven't left him." Blair groaned and shifted, turning toward Jim's bed. Simon shook his head.
"Sandburg, you need to be in your own bed. C'mon, Blair."
"No." Blair stubbornly shook his head and grasped his IV pole tighter. "Jim needs me, Simon. He needs to feel me next to him--I'm his anchor."
Banks stood, staring at Blair, indecision shining on his face. "Is this one of those--senses things?" he asked quietly.
"Sorta, yeah." Sandburg shrugged awkwardly, then slowly shuffled toward Jim's bed. "He's totally lost in hallucinations and a sensory kind of hell right now, Captain. He knows me...and he trusts me to guide him through that. And he needs to be able to touch me, if it becomes necessary."
"Touch--how?" Banks frowned. "Sandburg, I heard Dr. Edwins tell you that--"
"Not like that, Simon! Jeez, man!" Blair grimaced in exasperation. "Just, y'know, touch. To feel me." The odds of Jim ever touching me again are so slim they're non-existent at this point. No point in sharing that with Simon, however. It would be more than their Captain and friend would want to know.
"Whatever, Sandburg." Simon shook his head. "Get in next to him, then--but for God's sake, be careful. Don't open your stitches--or whatever." The captain turned his gaze back to the doctor who'd watched the entire exchange with interest. "You and I will talk in the hall. Sandburg, do you need help with the restraints?"
"Nah, man--I can get 'em. Just get him," Blair gestured with his chin toward the doctor, "out of here. He's, like, sending off negative energy, man. Jim doesn't need any more of that right now."
The large police captain nodded brusquely. "I'll take care of it, Sandburg." Banks gestured toward the door with his hand, his words clipped as he addressed the doctor. "After you."
The door closed behind them with a soft <snick>, and although the voices came through faintly, Blair paid no attention to them. His only focus was on his sentinel, lying so still now on the bed that if it weren't for the rise-and-fall of his chest, Blair might've believed Jim was dead.
He sighed in relief as the atmosphere in the room began to ease. A slow, cautious dance around Jim's bed loosened all the restraints, and finally, he carefully crawled onto the small bed with his partner, groaning as he slowly settled himself.
He ached in places he didn't remember having, and whatever didn't ache, throbbed dully or stung. He was tired. Bone-deep tired. With a quiet moan Blair shifted a little bit, easing himself back against the larger man, copying the position they'd slept in for well over a week. A quiet whimper escaped into the air behind him, and the observer felt his heart leap in response.
"Jim?" He tilted his head back slightly, his voice very low, nearly a whisper.
Another soft whimper greeted him, then warm arms slowly slid around him, cradling him closer. Gentle, whisper-soft lips touched against his neck, then a splash of liquid warmth fell against the same. Blair felt tears well in his own eyes. "Aw, no, man," he whispered. "Don't cry, Jim. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay." He stroked his hands soothingly up and down the taut muscle holding him, whispering soft, soothing words and noises. The body behind him shook with the force of the emotion moving up through him. Blair held on tight, anchoring his partner as best he could.
Got you, babe. Never gonna let you go. I'll fight for you...for us, forever, if necessary. Hold tight; cry all you want to...all you need to. I'll never let you go, Jim Ellison. You hold my heart; I'll keep your soul. We are bound together in some strange, wonderful, beautiful, magical way; we're fated to be together, I believe. Now I just have to convince you of that. Or maybe you see it already and that's some of what scares you. I don't know. Just hold fast, lover. I won't let you down.
Blair tightened his hold on the hands in front of him and whispered, "I love you, Jim." He closed his eyes and let the quiet sounds of Jim's tears flow over him. He was warm and drowsy and, even if he did ache and hurt uncomfortably, he was still being held by the man he loved. He was almost asleep when the low, hoarse voice washed over him.
"Love
you, too...Blair."
Chapter 17
Before I
built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out.
--Robert Frost
He crawled up from the depths of sleep aware of only one thing: he'd never hurt so badly in his life. Not physically--what few pains he had scattered across his body were minimal; certainly he'd had worse in his life. No, this was mental and emotional. He felt...raw. Like an open wound that everything was aggravating as it rubbed against him.
Images flashed across his eyelids, bathing them with memories and flashbacks. Flashes of sensation rocked through him and he moaned quietly and tried to push them away from him. Some of the memories were good ones; he would forever treasure and cherish the ones of Blair letting him kiss him, of Blair letting him touch and caress him. Then there were the other ones; the darker memories that were so irrevocably linked with the good ones. Pain. It stood out in his memory. Pain from needles, from a knife...of causing pain.
He shifted fitfully, the thoughts throbbing in his brain. Nothing hurt as bad as these did, and no matter how far he'd pulled back from them, he couldn't get away. How far back could he go? Could he get away? If he pulled himself all the way in, could he get rid of the memories? What else would he lose? Your sanity might go...if its not gone already, a soft voice hissed. He looked around in confusion, clearly having heard the words. If I'm crazy, then it's okay, because none of this happened. It means it's all in my mind...and Blair's okay. Nothing I imagined happened, and he can't be hurt then.
The yet-rational side of his brain knew that wasn't the case, but he couldn't listen to that part of himself any more. It hurt too badly; the pain cut too deep for even his stoicism to withstand. Blindly, he reached out one last time, desperately needing grounding, needing his anchor...knowing even as he did so it wasn't going to be enough; wasn't going to work this time. The only way he was going to be able to live with the pain was to go away. Far, far away.
There was a silken warmth against him and a warm scent surrounding him, and his wounded soul drank it all in thirstily, craving the contact at the same time that he felt he should deny himself this. Can I leave this? I don't have a choice. I have to. I have to find a way...keep him safe, not let anything else happen. I have no right to this any longer, if I ever did have. Another quiet moan broke from his lips and he sobbed once, realizing that he wasn't strong enough to do that. Wasn't strong enough to keep himself from the one thing he needed more than life, but no longer deserved. The warm skin beckoned him, and Jim moved his lips against it, seeking out the carotid artery with his tongue, feeling it pulse gently beneath him. He sighed and sucked lightly, his tongue stroking the warm, rhythmic place as he drew comfort from touching his Guide like this.
It would be the last time. He was going to find the strength. It was in him--he only needed to tap into it.
Blair came awake to the sensation of Jim's lips against his throat. He shivered, then groaned quietly when the shiver set off a small chain reaction of pains and aches throughout his body. The arms around him tightened a little, squeezing gently, then relaxed, still holding him, but not tightly. Jim stopped sucking, but kept his lips against Blair's neck, just holding there.
"Jim...you awake, man?"
There was a long pause when Blair wondered if he'd get an answer; wondered if Jim was capable of giving him an answer. Finally, when he'd nearly given up, a low, hoarse voice whispered against his skin.
"yes."
Well, it was a start. "How d'you feel?"
Another long pause. "hurts."
Blair stifled a groan as he tried to shift over, struggling against the arms that held him. He groaned again, then realized that Jim wasn't going to let him shift--didn't want to look into his eyes. He stilled himself and breathed in and out slowly until the pain eased, then asked quietly, "What hurts, babe?"
Was it his imagination, or did Jim actually flinch a little bit when he used the endearment?
"everything."
'Everything' is awfully ambiguous. "Can you tell me something specific, Jim?" Blair kept his voice low and soothing, and stroked one hand over the hands that were white-knuckling each other in front of him.
"my soul."
"Your soul hurts?" Christ...don't do this, Jim. I can't...God, I don't know how to deal with this any more. At that particular moment, Blair knew he'd give anything, make any sort of promise to anyone, for someone to help him work this out. A small breathy sigh escaped his lips. "Aw, Jim..."
"don't." The whisper was harsh, and the arms around him tightened. "don't try to make it better, Blair. the best thing is...is to leave me alone. run far away...before i can hurt you again."
The quiet sob in Jim's voice made Blair's heart ache worse than it already did. "No, way, man. I'm not quitting on you...and I'm sure as shit not letting you quit on me. You can forget about that, across the board."
"no..."
The harshness of the word, and the emotion behind it chilled Blair from the inside out and he shivered.
"C'mon, Jim...please. I know you're hurting, man...but we're gonna get better. You're gonna get better. We'll get help--you have to see that it'll be okay."
"Can't do this again, Blair...can't take the chance...won't hurt you again." I love you too much, the Sentinel thought desperately, his mind beginning to push away, to move to that quiet safe place, far from things that hurt. He could feel the slow drip of hot tears down his face, but couldn't think about it any longer.
"Jim? Jim...c'mon, man, talk to me."
Silence greeted him; a silence broken only by the soft susurration of Ellison's breathing, and the quiet noises that filtered in from the hallway outside their room. Icy tendrils snaked through Blair's body as he considered what might be going on, and what his options for dealing with it were.
Is this a zone-out? Can I talk him through it? He's not real responsive to my voice right now, which is really weird...he's flat-assed scaring me, is what he's doing. God, man, don't do this... What if he's... No, I don't want to go there. Jim's not gonna shut down here...is he? How much can the human psyche take, before it caves in on itself? Fuck, I wish I'd paid more attention to some of those psych classes I took. He snorted, the absolute absurdity of what he'd just thought almost amusing. As if he could help Jim with just a few classes in basic-level psychology, from his undergrad days, well over six years ago.
He was about to try again to turn inside the iron embrace holding him, when the door opened and two women walked in.
One was dressed in colorful scrubs, moving in a brisk, no-nonsense way. The other was dressed in colorful scrubs as well, but her manner was...different. More thoughtful, somehow. She watched both of them, her eyes bright and welcoming.
"Hi," she offered, approaching the side of the bed Blair was facing out toward. "I'm Dr. Elizabeth Logan--but you can call me Liz." She stuck her hand out and Blair slowly raised his to grasp it.
"Hi, Liz. I'm Blair." She was pretty. Not like drop-dead gorgeous, but pretty. Lively looking. Short, dark hair that curled around her face; hazel-colored eyes that looked warm and concerned, and friendly. A round face, with a soft sprinkling of freckles scattered over cheeks and nose. Blunt chin, slightly blunted nose. Blair smiled at her, feeling for the first time in what felt like forever, that maybe someone was going to help them.
"Nice to meet you, Blair. Um, Sandburg, right?"
"Yeah."
"So this is Jim, then?" Liz nodded to the figure still clutching tightly--silently--behind him.
"Jim Ellison. Right."
"Jim--I'm Dr. Logan...I'm going to be treating you. Both of you," she added, turning her focus back to Blair.
There was no response from Jim, not even a twitch of muscles. Liz frowned and walked to the other side of the bed. "How long has he been like this?"
Blair shook his head. "A few minutes. We were talking...and then he just...he just stopped talking. He cried for a few minutes...but he hasn't said a word."
"What were you talking about? Nancy--could you come give me a hand here? Blair, Nancy's going to help you off the bed, and back over to yours. I need to examine Jim here, and I'm going to need the whole bed, okay?"
No! I don't want separation between us! I need him, he needs me... "Uh, sure." He grimaced when the nurse moved to help him sit up, shifting himself slowly, biting his swollen, scabbed lip to keep from moaning when the pain inside him moved and intensified.
"Blair, it's okay to make noise. It hurts--don't try to hold it in."
The anthropologist flashed a grateful smile over his shoulder at the woman who was currently slowly shifting his partner onto his back. "Thanks." He stood on shaky legs for a moment, then let Nancy help him over the other bed. She was pretty too, and looked to be about his age. In another time, in another place, he'd probably have had her phone number by now.
Now he didn't want anyone but the man lying totally unresponsive in the other bed.
"C'mon, Blair--I need to take your vitals. Dr. Logan will check your sutures when she's finished with Mr. Ellison." Nancy helped him onto his stomach, then spoke quietly to him while she took blood pressure, temperature, checked his pulse and a myriad of other things that he shut out while watching Liz working over Jim.
"Is he gonna be okay?" he questioned roughly, some of the pain and panic of the last ten days bleeding into his voice.
"He's going to be okay, Blair." Liz looked up at him, and Blair could read the concern, but the belief there in her eyes. "His physical reserves are low, and he's in pretty rough shape psychologically speaking...but he'll be okay. We'll--I'll--do everything within my power to make sure of that."
"The...other...doctor," he spat the word like he had last night, unable to truly reconcile that word with the man who'd been in here, "restrained him...drugged him. He's really drug sensitive, Liz--I don't know what he gave him, but it knocked him for a major loop." Blair paused, then continued on. "He said...he's said Jim's psychotic, too. Man, he's not...and he can't have that shit on his record...he's a cop for cryin' out loud." The hand he raised to push through his tangled, dirty curls was shaking, he noticed.
"They prescribed Navene for him--one of the stronger doses." The young doctor frowned, reading over the chart, then looked over to check Ellison's wrists. She frowned harder, and gestured for the nurse. "Nancy, get a kit and get these cleaned up and bandaged, okay? We're going to need to have the wounds on his stomach, and his--" she paused, reading over the chart again, "--his thighs cleaned as well." She waited until the nurse had nodded and left the room, then asked, "Blair, do you know if he's sensitive to antibiotics?"
"I don't--know. We haven't done...Jim doesn't get sick much. It's never come up."
"Well, I'm going to give him a very low dosage of amoxicillan, and see how he tolerates that. He's showing minor signs of infection and we need to get that taken care of. As the other goes, I don't believe Jim is psychotic. I'm going to have to go over all of the information in the chart, and I'd like to talk to you at length as well, before I can actually make a diagnosis, but I don't believe he's suffering from psychosis."
The younger man flopped back onto his pillow, the tears that he'd held at bay for the last twenty-four hours pushing forward now. He was tired, scared, wounded, and his partner was totally non-responsive, totally withdrawn. He reached a hand up to wipe at the moisture seeping from his eyes, but the gesture was ineffectual; more tears replaced the ones he wiped away. A shudder tore from him when he recalled the gentle way that Jim had held him and soothed him, wiping the tears away for him, that first day in their own private little hell.
"Blair?" The voice was soft and very gentle, but he startled anyway, his eyes flying open. "Do you feel like you need something to help you calm down?"
"N..no...I don't think so," God, his heart was pounding so fast it felt like it was going to push right out of his chest in a minute. "I don't--" he gasped a little unable to breathe, the whole world pushing in on him. "Liz, I can't...I can't--"
"Hang on, Blair--you're having an anxiety attack. Breathe deeply, slowly...come on, Blair, you can do it. Take slow, steady breaths; try to clear your mind." The grad student tried blocking out all thoughts, listening to the soothing, calming tones of Liz' voice, letting it wash over him. He gasped several times, as his body tried to take in all the oxygen it was demanding, as quickly as it was demanding it.
"I don't...it's just--" He choked a little bit, his throat thick with suppressed emotion.
"You're okay, Blair. You know you're safe, right? You're in the hospital, and you're safe and nothing can hurt you in here."
"Right. Safe." Blair looked around, seeing Jim. "Jim--"
"Is safe, too, Blair. It's okay. We're going to take good care of both of you." Liz pressed the call button above Sandburg's bed and spoke into the intercom. "I need two cc's of Prozine." She turned back to Blair. "I'm going to give you a sedative, Blair. Not enough to knock you out, just enough to help you calm down and relax. Okay?"
"I...Yeah. Okay. Geez," he ran fingers through his hair again, his whole body shaking now. "I hate this," he whispered. "I really, really hate this. Man, I was holding it together okay...was doing all right. What happened?"
Nancy came in with the medication and Blair closed his eyes while it was administered. When he looked again, Liz was standing by the side of his bed, watching him. "Your body and your mind are starting to realize what has happened to you. You're reacting to all that, now."
"It sucks," he whispered, still breathing as deeply as he could manage, feeling his heart banging like a hailstorm against a tin roof.
"Yeah, anxiety attacks suck," the doctor agreed in a mild voice. Blair looked up at her. "How are you feeling now, Blair? Any better?"
He took a slow breath, letting it out carefully. He felt calmer, a little drowsy, but not bad. "Better," he affirmed cautiously. "My--um, I'm kind of achy right now."
"Do you want something for the pain?"
Sandburg shook his head. "I don't like medication," he offered in a low voice. "I'll be okay."
"You don't have to be 'okay', Blair. We'll help you--that's what we're here for."
"Just take care of Jim."
Liz fixed him with a long, assessing look. "Jim's gonna be a while getting better, Blair. You know that, don't you?"
He heard a ragged sigh and knew it came from him. "Yeah," he managed, in a whispered, breathless voice. "I guess I do...it's just...hard, y'know? They messed with him so bad. He didn't deserve that. Didn't deserve any of the shit they put him through."
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Do you feel like you did?"
"No--that wasn't what I meant. I just meant that he went through a helluva lot more than I did. All I had to do was lay there and take it. He's the one they tortured and everything." His eyes were stinging again, remembering the experience that was beginning to take on the wavy haze of a memory.
"I read your report--the short version." Liz watched him. "As soon as we get Jim taken care of, I'd like to talk to you about some of what's in there--some of your experiences."
"Are you going to be handling um, my--"
"Therapy?" At Blair's nod, Liz shook her head. "Not long-term. For now, while we get you--and Jim--stabilized and readjusted, yes. Outside of the hospital, no. I'm sorry about that, but I have too many commitments here to the hospital to take on long-term clients."
"Oh." He didn't know what to say to that. She was really nice, and he trusted her at some gut-level.
"My sister has a practice here in town; in fact, she runs the facility that I'm going to be transferring Jim to--perhaps you'd like to contact her."
Blair shrugged off everything but the fact that Jim was going somewhere else. "What do you mean the facility Jim's going to? Why not home?"
Those warm, intelligent eyes stared at him, watching him quietly. "Jim's not going to be in any shape to be going home for a while, Blair. Several weeks, at least. He's going to need rest and medication, and intensive therapy to get him back to a functioning level."
"Fuck," he whispered quietly, knowing she was right. He stared at the pillow in front of him, felt the tremors as his body started to shake once again. "I can't handle this," he offered in a very quiet, very calm voice.
"Yes, you can," she retorted, coming back to his side to touch his shoulder. "You're tired and in shock, Blair. You've had a horrible experience. You're not going to just 'put it behind you', but you can try to distance yourself from it for a little while. I want you to close your eyes and think about the most pleasant thing you can imagine. It doesn't matter what it is, or if anyone else would agree with you. Just whatever image or thought makes you feel safe and secure. Then I want you to fix that image in your mind, and relax."
"Like meditation." His voice was still strangely calm, as though he was unable to verbalize his confusion. And as upset as he felt right now, Blair had to admit that he felt strangely at ease; strangely calm inside.
"Right. This is a form of meditation. You need rest, right now. Your body needs to be able to begin healing. Relax, lay back, and know that you and Jim are in good hands, Blair. I'm going to do everything I can, for both of you."
"Thank you," he whispered, settling back down on his belly. He closed his eyes and began sorting through images and memories, looking for the exact words, the precise moment. Dimly he heard Liz tell him she was going to check his stitches, and he shifted so that she could do so, but his mind was busying with the memory that would best comfort him right now. A memory of the night Jim had told him he was in love with him.
He sighed and shivered a little bit as he sank deeper into the pillow, blocking out as much of the outside world as he could. He listened and heard Jim's voice rumbling pleasantly to him, telling him how he'd been in love for a while. A small smile spread across his face. It's going to be okay, Jim. We're going to be okay. We love each other, and we're meant to be together--nothing can force that, and separate us. We'll get through all this. I'm here for you baby. I know you'll feel the same, when you're better able to handle everything. Love you, Jim.
He was hot. Or was it just that everything else around him was cold? It was bright and he couldn't find the right place to look for the off-switch. Everything felt fumbled; off-kilter, out of whack. Breathy noises called a bit of his attention away from itself and he listened intently, hearing the quiet susurration of breathing. A loud gurgle resounded through him and he felt the vibrations as much as heard the sound. Another gurgle, then a strange liquid noise. Quiet ka-thumps filled his ears. The soft padding noises of a large animal on quiet ground.
A cool touch, then brief, burning, white-hot pain, then soft noises soothing him. Other noises, rumbling and mumbling from far away. Sounds he should--could--recognize, were he so inclined. He wasn't. It was safe here. Quiet, peaceful, restful. He could lose himself in himself. A gentle touch against his head and softer mumbling noises.
A gentle, salty rainfall touched him; the moisture was warm and felt good against his skin. It was hot around him now, but he was cold. Or was he? He wasn't certain. The bad things behind the wall wanted him...wanted him to come out. Hot and cold existed and flourished behind that wall. Things that could hurt him, if he acknowledged that they were there. It was far, far better to do this and ignore them. More mumblings filled his ears and one very small part of him wanted to go back out there and listen; wanted to hear what they were saying. The rest of him screamed and gibbered and howled in terror at the idea. Here was where he was safe. If he left this place there was no accounting for what could happen. He would be at risk.
A slow, steady beat filled his ears then, and throbbed against him. He could feel heat there, brushing over him, moving slowly. It was wonderful, and maddening. It called to him at the same time it pushed him further into himself. The beat increased, became an almost-staccato rhythm, pulsing through him now. There was fresh salt on the air, and more warm water trickling over him; another gentle shower on its way. A soft sound thrummed through him, and it evoked a memory of another sound...one that sounded like...Jim.
"Any change?"
The softly spoken question pulled Blair from the light doze he'd sunk into and he looked up, blinking owlishly at the large black man standing before him. "Huh? Oh," he shook his head, trying to shift the curls back, "no, none. Dammit."
Sandburg growled the last word, then shifted cautiously. Liz had absolutely refused to let him sleep any more with Jim, and she wasn't real happy about him sitting next to him all the time, insisting that he needed to sleep, to rest. But resting and sleeping weren't very pleasant at the moment, so Blair defied her that much, and spent many of his hours huddled into a fairly comfortable chair that Taggart and Brown had commandeered for him.
"You need to get some sleep, Sandburg," Banks grumbled. "You're not going to get better if you spend all your time sitting up here, holding Ellison's hand."
Blair raised an eyebrow then cautiously shifted himself out of the chair. How did you explain to someone why you preferred exhaustion over the images that greeted you in your dreams, each time you tried to submit to Morpheus? "Not tired," he managed, walking slowly past Banks toward the bathroom. "Keep an eye on him, would you? I'll be right back."
Simon's voice followed him into the bathroom. "How the hell could you not be tired, man? You haven't slept maybe six hours in the forty-eight you've been here..."
Blair closed the door, shutting out Simon's voice. After a long moment of consideration, when he thought about all that the dark could hide, he switched on the light, then leaned against the wall to stare into the mirror.
Forty-eight hours. Two lousy, stinking days. And in those two days, every thing about both of them had fallen into a million pieces. Pieces Blair wasn't so certain anymore could be put back together.
His first therapy session had been this morning, and had been okay--at first. He'd bull-shitted his way through so many of them in the past that he'd blithely assumed he could do the same now, with the same results. He hadn't counted on Liz being as tenacious as a dog with a fucking bone.
He stared into his own reflection; into his own eyes, now smudged with deep violet shadows beneath, and shivered. So what if I'm having a little trouble sleeping? He asked the reflection there. A little? His mind scoffed. If that's a little, what do you consider to be a lot? Total sleep deprivation? Of course, almost there, too. Blair sighed and searched his eyes for clues. Every time he closed them he'd see Chardis looming over him, ripping his earrings out or with a syringe and cock ring in hand, coming toward Jim. The absolute evil on her face as she held a knife over his partner and carved symbols into him. The hideous expression of glee when she saw him lying on the chamber floor in his own vomit, blood and semen leaking from his ass--
He made it to the toilet just in time before the harsh, wrenching spasms emptied his stomach completely.
He had about ten seconds of peace to try and collect his thoughts when there was knocking on the bathroom door and Simon's voice calling out to him.
"Sandburg? You okay in there?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'll be out in a minute." He wiped his mouth off on a piece of toilet paper, then stood on shaky legs to peer into the mirror again. Mirror, mirror on the wall... Hysterical laughter bubbled up and he bit down on his lip to keep it inside. His eyes looked wild and scared, even to him. So, this is fucking great. At the time when I most need to be holding it together, I lose it completely. Great. Just fucking great. Another image loomed up large over him and he stared himself down in the mirror, pushing it away ruthlessly. He couldn't deal with that one just yet.
Simon was waiting in the other chair by Jim's bed when he emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later. He gave the big man a weak smile, then sat down carefully in his chair, reaching automatically for Jim's hand. His partner gave no indication that he was aware of either of them, just laid there, staring sightlessly, unblinkingly up at the ceiling. If it weren't for the gentle rise-and-fall of the large chest, Blair might've thought Jim was dead.
"Did he move at all?" he questioned, once he was settled. His fingers stroked gently, an unconscious rhythm up and down the large, pale hand. Simon shook his head.
"Not so much as a blink. Blair--"
"Uh-oh." The younger man tried for smile, managed a wan imitation. "I must be in trouble if you're using my first name."
"Can it for a minute, would you?" Simon looked uncharacteristically frustrated. "What are you planning on doing, Sandburg? When you're released."
The anthropology student stared at him for a moment, noting the singular usage of 'you'. "I don't know," he said finally, his stomach coiling into knots as he voiced the words. His voice dropped into a hoarse, raw whisper. "I don't know. Jim's not--" he paused to swallow, then tried again. "Jim will be going to a...a private hospital...but I don't...I guess I'll be going back home." Home. He swallowed again. Without Jim there, it would be like all his other residences of the past. Just another place he'd lived in.
"You gonna be okay there on your own?" Simon's face was shuttered closed, and Blair found himself wanting to hug the big man for the obvious concern he was trying to hide.
"I'll be okay, man. Liz says I'm healing pretty well...I should be fine."
"If you want...need..." the big captain's voice stuttered for a second, then continued, "if you're not able...you're welcome to come stay at my place until you can get back on your feet. Darryl and I would love to have the company."
The younger man just stared for a moment. Concern was one thing, but this went well beyond the boundaries of that. This was...friendship. "Thanks, Simon." He worked to keep his voice level, knowing that Banks was uncomfortable with demonstrative displays. "That means a lot, man. I appreciate the offer."
"Just wanted you to know that you have friends...and help...if you need it. And I know that Jim would want me to make sure you were looked after, if...well, if he wasn't able to."
This time Blair did smile, and he laid a shaky hand for a moment on Simon's shoulder. "Thanks, man."
"Forget it," Banks growled, giving a low-level glare to the hand on his shoulder. His eyes softened then. "I want you to take care of yourself and get well, Sandburg." He jerked his chin toward the still, silent figure in the bed beside them, "he needs you to get well. So in light of that, why don't you go lie down? I'll sit right here and make sure Jim's okay...and that you are, too."
Blair shook his head fondly. Since their admittance to the hospital two days ago, there had been an armed guard standing watch outside their room--and usually someone in here sitting with them. He knew that Jim was friends with most of these guys. What really warmed his heart was how many of them came in and sat next to him and talked to him about how he was feeling. Only Simon and Joel knew what had really happened to and between Jim and Blair. Brown and Rafe and a few others knew he'd been sexually assaulted, but not by whom, or why. Blair planned on it staying that way, if possible. His and Jim's private lives were just that--their private lives.
"I don't think I could sleep, Simon," he offered, even while inside his body was begging for it. "I--need to sit here with Jim. For a little while."
"How the hell can you expect to get well if you're not resting? I don't--"
The door opened, breaking Simon's tirade. Liz entered, along with a nurse Blair hadn't seen before.
"Hey, Liz."
She frowned at him when she saw him sitting up, then shook her head, her voice fondly exasperated. "It does no good to tell you to do or not to do something, does it? You're going to make your own rules as needed."
"Welcome to the Sandburg Zone, Doctor." Simon's voice was dry, but amused. "He pretty much does things his own way."
"Yeah, well, my way means makin' sure that Jim is okay," Blair offered petulantly. "And if that means I sit up here next to him and watch him, then that's what I'm going to do."
"Well, that's part of why I'm here, Blair." She moved around to the opposite side of Jim's bed and looked him over carefully, glancing up at the younger man every so often.
"What's why you're here?"
"We need to talk about Jim and his condition, and his future treatment."
Shit! I don't know if I can handle this right now...c'mon, Liz, have a heart... His heart was doing a double-time dance in his chest, and Blair felt his breathing hitch slightly. He knew his Sentinel would hear it...if he was hearing anything right now.
"Okay...what about--all of those."
Simon stood up and shot Blair a sympathetic look. "I'm going to take a walk while you talk to the doctor."
Aw, Simon...man, don't desert me now... But he wouldn't be allowed to stay. Patient confidentiality. "Fine." Blair drew a deep breath and looked up at Liz. "So--talk."
The warmth that enclosed his hand was gone, and he missed it acutely. When had it left? Where had it gone? Why? The jumble of feelings and emotions and questions that raged around inside his brain didn't do anything but confuse him further, and he found himself pushing back from those questions.
He was here for a reason. What was it? Why was it? Something important was missing; eluding him. It was hard to think, though. Hard to concentrate. He could feel and hear and smell, he could taste. He could see, after a fashion, but it wasn't like normal vision. He wasn't sure what normal meant any longer, either. There was nothing formed; nothing coherent. Just thoughts and more thoughts, rattling around inside of him.
A wave of cool washed over a narrow band of skin, then another, in a different spot. One more, caressing and soothing a larger area, further down from these. He sighed gently; the cooling sensation felt good against the heat of his skin. Minutely he frowned, or he thought he did. He wasn't sure if his face changed or not, it was a frown within himself. Why was his skin so hot? He could sense illness within himself; rot of a sort that must come when evil had been done. But he wasn't evil...was he? He'd done something bad. He could remember that much.
Wait...wait...he was here because he didn't want to remember. Because it hurt to remember, and this was the last place he could go before those memories overpowered him. This was his last refuge, alone in here, in the dark. He shuddered within himself, pushing frantically at the memories, screaming soundlessly for them to go away, leave him alone. The wall he'd erected wasn't so stable any longer; as he watched in a mix of horror and terror, the first of the bricks came down, crumbling at his feet.
There was movement outside his body; he was being prodded and touched. Flavors exploded inside him, moving around like individual bits of light and heat. A bouquet of smells assaulted him, some were stronger than others; some much more pleasant. He could smell a familiar one in there...it was the tang of salt and sweat, of heat and light, of the warmth of a different kind of darkness--the kind he'd bury himself in and not come out of, but because of the pleasure, not because he had to hide from the pain. There was meaning to this scent...he knew it well. It was the scent of home. The one who belonged to this scent was his home, his shelter. The storms could rage around him but never touch him so long as he held on to this one. If he could only reach out and touch him...so easily said, so hard to do. Distance was a laughing, dancing figure in here. What appeared close was often far away; what seemed unattainable was often near. He closed his eyes, snarling in frustration and reached out again, only to miss once more. With a sigh of defeat he gave in for now. Home was still out there...he could try again another time. For now he needed to rest, he was too battered from the storms and the oncoming destruction of his wall to do anything else right now.
Blair watched as Liz finished checking Jim's healing wounds, noting that she frowned over the ones on his thighs. They'd become red and inflamed yesterday and she'd increased the dosage of antibiotic he was receiving. No change so far, apparently.
"Do you want me to take him to the bathroom before we talk?" Blair had been adamant that they not cath Jim unless absolutely necessary. Usually Simon or Taggart or Brown was handy to help him get the bigger man out of bed, but he was pretty certain he could do it alone, if necessary.
"Not right now, Blair." Liz settled herself in the chair the Simon had vacated just minutes ago, and leveled a long, serious look at him. The kind of look that made his heart rate increase. "I want to transfer him from here to Ocean Side tomorrow."
"Ocean Side?"
"Ocean Side Psychiatric Facility. It's a private hospital, for patients who need long-term, inpatient care. The kind of care that Jim's going to need for a while."
"What do you mean, exactly, by 'long-term'?" God, his mouth was dry. He really hated this.
"Long term is generally loosely defined as anything over about three or four days, stretching to a week at the most. After that, the hospital can no longer provide care for the patient, unless it's a situation such as maybe a car accident, or something of that sort, where the patient is clearly healing, but expecting to take a while. In Jim's case, his needs are better served at a psychiatric facility, because that is where the primary hurt is. Medicine can only do so much for him. He needs intensive therapy and group counseling, as well as possible rehabilitative work, if he's catatonic for a long enough period of time."
"How long do you think it'll be before--?" Blair paused, trying to remember what his psych teachers had said--if anything--about a catatonic state.
"Before he comes out of his catatonia?"
"Yeah."
Liz shook her head. "I honestly couldn't say, Blair. No one knows what the triggers are--they seem to be different for everyone. There are no set rules here. Some people aren't as mobile as Jim is, some are more so...it's different for everyone."
"What do you mean by mobile?"
"We're able to get Jim up and maneuver him into the bathroom; once there he pretty much functions on autopilot. His limbs are flexible and malleable. Not everyone is like that; some people are totally non-mobile. There are cases where some are as mobile as Jim, plus open and close their mouths automatically for feedings."
"Jim doesn't do that."
"No, he doesn't. But he does chew, right, once you put the food in."
"Right." Blair nodded his head.
"See, not everyone reacts the same way. It's very, very difficult to look at a catatonic person and try to predict when and what will bring them out of that state."
Throat painfully dry from the nervousness of this whole conversation, Blair managed to rasp, "What causes it?"
"Well...that's kind of a tricky question too, but the simplest explanation is this: catatonia is like the mind's last line of defense against whatever is bombarding it. It's kind of like...the opposite of suicide. Rather than allowing the psyche to destroy itself, it shuts down until such a time as it can handle whatever it feels overwhelmed by at present."
"So...it's a good thing?"
"Yes, and no. Yes, if it allows the person's psyche a respite while their body gets a little stronger; no, if it prevents the person from getting the help they need to deal with the core problem. Blair--" Liz' whole expression softened, and Sandburg felt his heart leap into his throat. Her voice was gentle when she spoke again. "Some people never come out of the catatonia. Whatever it was that they experienced that drove them into that state, they didn't find the strength they needed to come back out. It got to be too comfortable, too safe, and they never returned. I want you to be...I wanted you to know what all the possibilities are."
Oh, Christ. Oh, fuck. I can't...ohmygod, Jim...man, you have to come out of it. I can't even imagine what life without you would be like. Oh, God...if you're up there and listening to me, please, please, PLEASE help him find the strength...don't take him away from me now that I've found him... Please don't do that.
He nodded, unable to make his vocal chords work enough to verbally acknowledge what she'd said.
There was more; somehow, although he never knew how, he managed to stay a part of the conversation. Asking questions, giving his opinion, injecting bits of Jim's personal history to give her a better overview of the man lying in the bed beside him.
Liz talked about treatment plans and medications; possible side-affects of different meds and the potential possible outcome from some. She filled him in on different policies concerning mental health-related absences from work, and talked about how diagnoses could affect the decisions made regarding those. She made it clear to Blair that for now she was diagnosing Jim as being in an Acute Stress Disorder-induced catatonic state, and that she or the psycho-therapist who would oversee his counseling at Ocean Side would change that as necessary--presumably when Jim woke up and could verbalize again.
The door closed behind Liz, leaving Blair slumped in the chair next to Jim, watching the bigger man. He stared at him for long, long minutes, then leaned forward to rest his forehead on the arm lying so still on the edge of the bed.
One more night. That's all he had.
"You've got to come out of it, big guy," he murmured quietly. "I can't help you if you're locked away inside your mind, Jim. Come on home, babe. I'll help you...I'll get you the help you need to deal with this. Come home to me, Jim. Please."
Liz' voice replayed in his head. If he doesn't emerge from the catatonic state we may have to consider other measures.
The 'other measures' were drugs, although she assured him numerous times that she considered those to be totally a last-ditch thing.
He'll end up on medication anyway, the younger man thought caustically. Someone as far into...whatever Jim was into...wasn't going to be able to pull out just by themselves. In spite of his vehement argument against medication, he knew that Liz was going to have to put Jim on a prescribed regimen of something. It was simply going to be a 'wait and see what happens' scenario before they knew what and how much.
It was too much to deal with. He let the tears seep quietly from his eyes, the salt stinging and burning badly, as tired as he was. Jim's arm grew damp, then wet, and Blair let more tears fall, letting a little of his pain and fear bleed out with them.
How long he cried, he wasn't sure. When he came back to himself, the sheet under Jim's arm was wet, and his eyes felt like they were swollen to ten times their normal size. A long shudder passed through him at the renewed thought of life without Jim, then he pushed it away, preferring to try and remain optimistic. He grasped Jim's hand in his own and settled himself a little bit, his eyes slowly closing as exhaustion finally overtook him.
Please, God...let him find the strength within himself. He's got to come back to me.
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