The Passing Shade Pt 1

THE PASSING SHADE

(c) August 2003 by Charlotte Frost

PART ONE

Blair became aware of light penetrating the fuzzy haze before his eyes. He was flat on his back and lots of things weren't feeling right, including the soreness in his throat and the dryness in his mouth.

There were noises of an intercom a brief distance away.

Hospital.

"Easy does it, Chief," came the gentle voice to his right.

Blair darted his eyes that way, because he was afraid to try to move his head. He blinked.

"It's good to see you awake." Jim's voice was tender and soothing as it moved over him.

Blair blinked again. His sight started to focus and he saw Jim looking down at him, one arm leaning against the wall over the bed.

His own eyes watered.

Gentle fingers brushed against his cheek. "You're going to be fine, Blair. Just fine."

It took a while to blink away the moisture. Blair studied Jim's face. He looked a little ragged, like maybe he hadn't shaved in a while. But not too worried.

What happened?

Whatever had caused him to be here, he believed Jim that it was fine now. That realization made Blair's eyes water again.

Jim's fingers now brushed beneath his eye, making the moisture fall, then disappear.

"I imagine you're feeling pretty scared and confused right now," Jim continued in the same tone. "But you're going to be fine."

When he could see better, Blair decided to participate in the conversation. He started to speak, then scrunched his face tightly against the harsh pain in his throat.

"Sorry about that, pal," Jim said. "A new intern had trouble during the intubation and lacerated your throat. It'll be fine in a couple of days."

Yes, something definitely felt very tender inside his throat.

"How about we keep it simple for now?" Jim said. "Blink your eyes. Once for yes, twice for no. Three times for 'get the hell out and let me rest'." Jim grinned at him.

Blair tried to grin back, but his mouth wasn't cooperating. For that matter, he couldn't feel much of anything beyond the soreness. His eyes teared up again.

Jim turned away, and a moment later he was back with a tissue. He pressed it against Blair's right eye. "This isn't the softest paper. You'd think hospitals would be more considerate."

Blair tried to get himself under control and wondered what Jim thought of him.

After Blair's eyes could see again, Jim asked, "Are you up to hearing the facts about what happened?"

Yes. Blair blinked once.

Jim studied him a moment, then smiled. "That's a yes?"

Yes. Blair blinked again.

Jim squeezed his hand, which Blair just now realized Jim had been holding. "First, Chief, do you remember anything?"

No. Blair blinked twice. Maybe he did remember something, but he didn't want to make the effort if Jim was willing to spell it out.

Jim gave his cheek that softest of pats. "You did a brave thing."

I did?

"You were coming around that bend on Cornerstone Street at the University. The one before the parking lot near the Chemistry building?"

Yes. Blair had driven that street many times. It was a wicked curve if one was going too fast.

"It was late at night. We'd just finished the paperwork on the Patterson case, and you wanted to take your car home, because you had to swing by the University to pick up some papers you'd left."

Blair deliberately blanked his mind, not wanting to test if he remembered any of that. At least, not until he knew what happened.

"There were two co-eds and their boyfriends hanging out by the parking lot near that curve on Cornerstone. One of the girls got into an argument with her boyfriend and walked into the street without looking. The other girl followed her, trying to talk to her. They both were shouting at the boyfriend and weren't paying attention to traffic. You came around the curve and there the girls were. You jerked the wheel to avoid them, and spun around and slammed the driver's side into a light pole."

Car wreck. Blair didn't know what to think. He didn't realize he'd looked away until Jim spoke again, and Blair darted his eyes back to him.

Jim smiled warmly. "The kids all think you're a hero. They knew you could have run the girls over and it would have been their fault. They've been calling a lot, worried about how you've been."

I didn't hurt anybody? Such a relief, that.

Jim's smile broadened. "Now I can tell them that you're awake and on the mend."

Blair was aware of a nurse entering. She said, "I see you're awake, Mr. Sandburg. How do you feel?"

Jim looked at her. "His throat hurts too much to talk. How about some ice chips?"

"I'll get some just as soon as I check him over."

Blair didn't want to turn his head, so he watched Jim watch her.

He couldn't help but recall the last time he'd woken up in a hospital with virtually no memory of why he was there. As a sixteen year old freshman at Rainier, he'd been feeling some awful cramps. They grew so bad that he could hardly walk. He vaguely remembered being in an ambulance and taken to an emergency room. The next thing he knew, he was waking up in recovery and eventually found out that he'd had an appendectomy.

Recovery had been in a large room with others who were also waking up from anesthesia after surgery. Various family members sat at their loved ones' bedsides and helped comfort them while they suffered from the side effects of the anesthesia.

Blair had had no one at his bedside. A worried nurse had told him that they'd tried to get in contact with his mother, but the phone number in his wallet was disconnected. He told the nurse not to bother -- Naomi could be anywhere -- but that didn't seem to belay her concern. There were other Rainier students and staff concerned about him, but none close enough to him to allow into the recovery room. Blair hadn't minded. In fact, he'd played a little game where he'd done his best to make the pretty nurses fuss over him and feel sorry for him. Frankly, he'd thought he'd done a good job of getting their sympathy.

This time, he'd woken up to calm, steadfast Jim, who seemed to have the answers to everything Blair could ever want to know. And who only had one patient in his charge.

Blair's eyes watered a lot this time.

Shit.

"I'll be back in just a moment with his ice chips," he heard the nurse say.

"Easy, buddy." Rough-textured tissue was being pressed against his eyes again.

As soon as Blair could see well enough, he tried to glare at Jim, to show how appalled he was that this was happening to him. He didn't think he was pulling off the effect very well.

"It's all right, Chief." Jim dabbed at his left eye before tossing the tissue aside. Then he picked up Blair's hand again and looked directly at him. "They've got you on lots of drugs right now. You know," Jim shrugged, "they lower all your defenses."

Blair blinked once to show he understood -- and was relieved that Jim did, too -- and then he glanced away until his eyes were dry again.

Jim was waiting when he looked back. His free hand settled on Blair's head. "You ready to hear your diagnosis?"

Jim spoke matter-of-factly and didn't look particularly grim.

Blair blinked once. Yes.

Jim leaned closer. "First, Chief, understand that I realize this is going to sound like a lot, but everything is going to heal up fine. You'll eventually be back to a hundred percent."

Okay. It sounded like he had a bit of a rough road ahead that was probably worse than when he'd been shot in the leg the year before. He blinked once.

"Your left elbow was dislocated; that's why it's in a splint right now."

Splint? Oh, his arm was in a splint.

"It'll be sore for a while, that's all. You've got cracked and broken ribs along your left side. One of them punctured your lung, but it's already healing and they removed the chest tube a few hours ago. Your spleen was ruptured so they had to operate to remove it, but you won't miss it."

Missing an appendix and a spleen now. Blair wondered how many more parts he could lose and not have his body notice the absences.

"You've got bruising all along your upper torso, mainly from where you hit the steering wheel."

Blair tried to picture the impact.

"Your lower body came out of it pretty well. Just a gash on your lower left leg where metal from the door cut into it when you hit the pole. You might have a nasty scar, but that'll be the worst of it."

Blair waited for Jim to say more.

Jim grinned and gently tugged his hair. "That noggin of yours wasn't affected."

Blair managed a smile.

Jim's voice softened as he leaned closer. "You're going to be fine, Chief. Understand?"

Blair blinked once. He wanted to show Jim his gratitude -- for explaining this all to him, for being so calm about it, for understanding how weird he was feeling -- but he didn't know how to get his eyes to do that. Then he remembered that Jim was holding his hand. So he squeezed it, surprised at how weak his own grip was, and how distant Jim's hand felt.

"I'm right here, buddy." Jim squeezed back. "I looked through a lot of your stuff, trying to find out how to reach Naomi, but I couldn't find anything that panned out."

Blair blinked twice. The last thing he needed right now was Naomi's hovering.

Jim gazed into his eyes. "No? Don't try to reach Naomi?"

Blair blinked once.

Now Jim blinked. "Let's start over, so there's no mistake. Do you want me to try to reach Naomi?"

Blair blinked twice.

Jim squeezed his hand. "All right. When you're ready?"

Blair blinked once and squeezed back.

"Here are the ice chips," the nurse said, holding out a cup.

Blair had to resist the urge to swallow in anticipation.

Jim took them from her. She said, "The doctor should be here in about an hour to check on you, Mr. Sandburg."

"Thank you," Jim said.

"How about we get him sitting up a little?"

Jim placed his hand on Blair's shoulder while the nurse pushed some buttons and Blair felt his upper body rising. When he was at a forty-five degree angle, the nurse stopped. "How's that?"

Blair tried to smile. He did feel a little more human, now that he could see more of the room.

She nodded at Jim. "You going to help him with that?"

"Yes."

The nurse briskly left the room.

Jim took the plastic spoon that stood up from the cup.

As Blair opened his mouth to receive the ice chips, he wondered why he couldn't feed himself. Then he realized that, with the splint immobilizing his left arm, he could hardly hold the cup and spoon out the ice chips with his free hand.

Blair closed his eyes as the cool relief melted in his mouth. He swallowed it, grimacing as the liquid trickled down his injured throat.

"Maybe it'll get better as your throat gets moistened," Jim said hopefully. "More?"

Blair nodded, realizing he could do that now. He wasn't quite as afraid of moving as he had been before, though he was also becoming aware of various aches and pains.

Jim pushed another serving between his lips. This felt even better but still hurt on the way down.

Blair looked at Jim and whispered, "When?" Whispering didn't hurt as badly.

Jim studied him a moment. "When was your accident?"

Blair managed a small nod.

"The night before last. You've woken up a few times but I don't think you were very coherent."

Blair thought about that. There were whispers of images at the edge of his mind. Jim's voice was among them. He looked at Jim gratefully.

"You're looking beat here, Chief." Jim placed his hand on Blair's forehead in a familiar gesture, pressing. Only, it wasn't as playful as it usually was. "I think it's time for some more shuteye." He held up the cup. "A few more?"

Blair nodded. He was looking forward to sleep, but he accepted another helping of ice chips. He let the water settle in his mouth a long time before he finally got the courage to swallow it. He didn't fight the closing of his eyes.

Jim's hand was on his arm. "I'm going to make some phone calls. I'll get the light on the way out. Maybe the nurses won't bother you much." His hand squeezed. "I want to be here when the doctor comes."

Blair wasn't sure if he nodded before he fell asleep.

Jim was surprised to find Simon in the hall. "How long have you been here?"

"About twenty minutes. The nurse said you were with Sandburg and he was awake, but I didn't want to disturb your privacy. How is he?"

"Not feeling too good. Scared and confused, I think." Jim's mind returned to Blair's wide, trusting eyes as Jim had tried to communicate with him. Big, bleary eyes that kept filling with tears. No, he didn't think Blair was ready for Simon to see him yet.

"Does he remember what happened?"

"I don't think so. I told him about it. He didn't react much."

"Once he remembers, I hope he realizes that it took courage to do what he did. You know how hard he'd take it if anyone else got hurt."

Jim nodded, not wanting to think about that. It was bad enough that Blair himself was injured. He said hopefully, "His doctor is supposed to be here within the hour."

Simon snorted. "That means two to three hours, knowing doctors."

"Yeah, well, how about joining me for a bite in the cafeteria? I want to be here to see what he says."

"You need a shave, Jim."

Jim reached up and felt the irritation of the short hairs as he followed Simon to the elevator.

It was dark out when Jim and the doctor left. As Blair lay in the darkness of his room, his mind began to write the next entry in the journal that he kept on Jim, which served as the base source of notes for his dissertation.

Protecting the tribe is the sentinel's purpose and instinct. However, the tribe doesn't have to represent the collective society. It can also represent an individual within that society.
Nor does protection refer exclusively to prevention of harm; it also refers to caretaking after harm has been done -- seeing that the individual is well cared for and in good hands -- before the sentinel continues on with his responsibility of safety for the tribe overall.

Blair made a conscious effort to stop himself from sighing, for fear that it would hurt.

It seemed that, more and more frequently, he resisted writing about Jim in objective, scientific terms. He now gave himself permission to mentally write what he really wanted to say about today's experience.

        Waking up with Jim at my bedside, especially when I didn't understand why I was in the hospital, was the neatest thing. He calmly explained what was going on and what I could expect. He didn't judge or disapprove when I couldn't talk or when my eyes kept watering. I felt out of whack, and he was real cool about the whole thing.
        Of course, he took good care of me, too, when I got shot a while back. But I was only hospitalized overnight. No surgery. It sounds like this is going to be a bigger deal. I have to stay for a few days and recovery is going to involve more than walking around on crutches. In fact, I'm not sure I'll even have crutches but, instead, lots of soreness over various parts of my body.
        It's neat that Jim doesn't seem to act like I've let him down or anything, by getting hurt. He says I did 'a brave thing' .

A brave thing. Blair drifted to sleep, wrapped in that thought.

Jim didn't get around to shaving until early the following morning. After visiting hours had ended the night before, Jim had come home and slept. Then he'd gotten up earlier than usual and showered, anticipating seeing Blair first thing.

The doctor had interrupted Blair's nap the previous evening when he'd insisted on Blair staying alert and answering his questions. The bottom line was that Blair had come out of surgery as well as could be expected and he would probably be released in a few days. Still, he would be feeling some major aches and pains for a few weeks, especially until his ribs healed.

Jim had already turned in the paperwork to Simon, allowing him to use his backed-up vacation time for at least a two week leave.

With the long-term outlook taken care of, Jim focused on the short-term while he shaved. He couldn't help Blair's injuries heal any faster, but he wondered if there was something he could do for his throat. He hated seeing that cringing, pain-filled expression every time Blair swallowed. Surely, the hospital would let him have ice cream soon, though Blair wasn't big on heavily-sugared stuff.

Carolyn's sister.

Jim smiled inwardly as he finished shaving. Carolyn's sister, Wendy, was a health-food nut. Jim remembered her serving a milkshake dessert once at her house. It was a well-blended mixture of fruit and yogurt -- just the kind of thing that should be soothing to a raw throat. It was healthy, too.

Jim wiped his face with a towel as he came out of the bathroom. The stove clock said it was 6:10 AM. Carolyn had always been an early riser, since she jogged religiously. Jim found his address book and looked up her number in San Francisco. Taking a fresh cup of coffee in one hand, he punched in her number with the other.

A male voice answered. "Hello?" It didn't sound pleased at being called so early.

Boyfriend or husband? Jim wondered. He thought she would have told him about a husband. "May I speak with Carolyn? It's Jim Ellison."

Pause.

Does he know about me?

"Hang on," the gruff voice said.

A moment later, Carolyn's wide-awake voice said, "Jim?"

"Hi, Carolyn."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just that Blair -- my partner, you remember? -- got banged up in a car crash. He's got a bad case of sore throat from a botched intubation. I wanted your sister's recipe for that milkshake drink she makes."

Silence. Then, levelly, "I guess you didn't know."

"Know what?" Jim asked. He knew what was coming. He was about to get punished for not knowing information that nobody had ever told him.

"Wendy was in a boating accident six months ago and is paralyzed from the waist down."

Jim's heart lurched. Carolyn and her sister were close, and they'd lost their father last year. That on top of having already lost their mother. "Dear God, Carolyn. I'm so sorry. What are the doctors saying?"

She seemed miffed now, her tone having a "why would you care?" quality to it, as though it was his fault for just now finding out about the accident. "They say she won't ever walk again, but she's trying to be positive and is looking into alternative cures."

Jim knew he wasn't going to win at this conversation. "I'm sorry, Carolyn. I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I'm sorry I called."

"It's all right," she said. He knew she'd enjoyed shocking him. She always enjoyed that -- he supposed because he'd never been outwardly emotional enough to please her. "I have all her recipes right here. Wendy is staying with us."

Us? Jim wondered. Husband or boyfriend? Hell, he didn't care, so he didn't give her the satisfaction of asking.

He heard her moving around. "It's right here," she said after a moment. "Do you have a pencil?"

"Yes," Jim replied, poised to write. He felt like an ass, writing down the list of ingredients she gave for the milkshake -- as though there wasn't anything wrong with doing something as frivolous as making a soothing shake for Blair, while Wendy Plummer had a life in a wheelchair to look forward to.

"Got that?" Carolyn asked after the last ingredient.

"Yes, thanks," Jim said, glad that he sounded normal. "I'm sorry about Wendy, Carolyn. I hope some of that alternative stuff works. Blair believes in it a lot."

"So does Wendy," Carolyn said dismissively, as though she couldn't give a rat's ass about Blair's beliefs.

Why did I bring Blair into the conversation?

"Jim?" she asked in a tone that indicated she had another dig.

"What?" he asked automatically.

"Fred and I are getting married next month. I just thought I should let you know."

"Congratulations," Jim said in his best imitation of sincerity. "Really, Carolyn." He was eager to end this conversation. "Thanks. Goodbye. And... good luck." He quickly cut the connection.

As he drove to the store, he wondered why it pissed him off that Carolyn was getting married. Truly, he was happy for her. Truly.

Poor Fred.

No, that wasn't fair. Carolyn had tried. But you can't have a marriage when one party is doing all the work. Jim had thought that going through the wedding ceremony and doing his chores around the house, and bringing home one-half of their income, was being a good husband. Being open-minded about having children -- whatever she wanted. Oh, and being faithful and making love to his wife once a week, minimum. At least his body had always been up to the task, even if the rest of him really didn't see the appeal of sex on a regular basis. It felt good, sure. But so did watching the Jags win in overtime.

What he had failed at, apparently, was carrying on inane conversation. Not bothering to pretend to listen when he had no interest in whatever she was talking about. At least he'd been honest about his lack of interest. Would it really have been better to have a longer-lasting marriage based upon pretenses?

She'd moved to San Francisco a year ago for a "fresh start" and now was marrying Fred.

"You have strong issues regarding abandonment."

Jim scowled. That's all he needed this morning -- the memory of some departmental shrink, just out of school, talking to him about his childhood while she was supposed to be discussing his feelings concerning the two young perps he'd shot after a robbery. That was a tough shoot -- no easier because they'd killed the clerk inside the store. But when it was obvious he'd played this therapy game before, and was giving the right answers while thoroughly bored with the session, she had changed tactics and started making assumptions about his childhood. He'd fallen right into her trap and corrected her, thereby providing her with the truth about his past. Then she'd concluded, "You have strong issues regarding abandonment."

It had pissed him off royally, because it was so true. That's why, even though it hadn't bothered him to know that Carolyn dated other men after their divorce, he'd felt angry when she said she was moving to San Francisco. Somehow, that had seemed like a violation of his right to have some control over everyone close to him.

And they all still left him anyway.

Jim released a breath as he pulled into a parking space at the grocery store. At least he took some satisfaction in knowing that Miss My-Thesis-Was-On-Abandonment had left the PD after only a few weeks. Apparently, Jim wasn't the only one who had found the emphasis of her sessions way off the point. He never asked because it was none of his business, but he hoped she'd gotten her pert little ass fired. That was more gratifying than thinking she'd resigned for a better position elsewhere.

Besides, Jim considered as he grabbed a cart and headed for the produce section, he thought he'd done pretty well with his life for someone who had been abandoned -- whether via divorce, death, or simple neglect -- by everyone he'd ever thought cared about him.

He was a good person. Even if Simon and Blair were the only two people on Earth who knew that for a fact.

Blair.

Jim found a smile as he examined his list and started gathering the ingredients for the healthy milkshake. He wondered what Blair would think of what the shrink had said about him.

He'd probably agree, Jim realized. He also realized that he was no longer as angry about the memory of his entire psyche being reduced to one pathetic sentence.

You have strong issues regarding abandonment.

In Jim's memory, big, concerned eyes looked up at him from the hospital bed. They kept tearing, and Jim had felt sympathy for how Blair was feeling inside. He had wanted to comfort him. To soothe him. To reassure him. Now, he was taking two weeks off work in order to take care of him.

When the cart's contents matched the list, Jim crumbled it in his hand and headed for the checkout.

He'd been willing to share the nurturing duties with Naomi. Though he hadn't looked forward to her hovering, he had realized that it would be easier on all of them -- Blair included -- to divide up the caretaking chores. But Blair had been adamant that he didn't want Jim to try to track her down. That puzzled him, since she and Blair seemed like such good friends -- more so than any other parent and child combination Jim had ever come across.

Still, he was relieved. Blair would need someone to help him around for a while and Jim was happy to be the person to assist.

Ridiculously happy to do it.

He tilted his head as he wrote a check at the counter, puzzled by his feelings and how he could find so much joy in Blair's pain.

No, that's not it.

He tore out the check and gave it to the clerk, then wrote the details in his register.

No, his joy wasn't in Blair's pain.

He thought of those large, uncertain eyes looking up at him with such trust as Blair lay in his hospital bed, confused about what had happened to him, and not able to speak. Carefully watching everything Jim said; looking to Jim to define the circumstances surrounding him.

Being needed was a wonderful thing, Jim decided as he exited the store with his arm clasped around the grocery sack. But he still wasn't sure why Blair hadn't needed Naomi.

He frowned as he retrieved his keys from his pocket. Perhaps those eyes had a secret of their own.

Chief? Has everyone in your life abandoned you, too?

The two co-eds who had been the cause of the accident were waiting in the hall outside Blair's door, as was Joel Taggart.

"Hi, Jim," Taggart greeted. "Visiting hours have already begun, but we thought we should wait for you to go in first."

"Thanks," Jim said. He was later than he'd intended, but at least he had a thermos filled with the milkshake, and a pitcher full stored at home. He'd tasted it himself and thought it was as good as he remembered.

He pushed the door open. The near bed was empty. Blair was in the bed by the window.

Blair looked up, his eyes appearing more alert than they had yesterday, his bed elevated higher.

Blair smiled and mouthed the word, "Hi."

"Throat still bothering you?" Jim asked, opening the sack.

Blair nodded.

"This might help." Jim produced the thermos and unscrewed the lid. He pulled a paper cup from the bag and poured part of the thermos' contents into it. He handed it to Blair. "Try that."

Though Blair accepted the cup with a reasonably steady hand, Jim pushed the serving tray across the bed in case Blair needed to rest it there. Blair sniffed the cup.

"Just fruit and yogurt and milk," Jim assured.

Blair glanced at him in puzzlement, then took a careful sip. He made the awful grimace when he swallowed. His eyes brightened after he took a larger sip and downed it with a less sour expression. He grinned and nodded. "Good," he said in a scratchy voice.

Jim grinned back. "See? I can be good for some things besides using my senses."

"Thanks," Blair said in a croak. Then he settled back to drink some more.

"Go slowly," Jim cautioned. "Don't want to make yourself sick. There's more in the thermos."

Blair obeyed, nursing the cup the way an alcoholic does a bottle when he doesn't know where the next drink is coming from.

Jim later poured the rest of the contents into the cup and Blair spent a while drinking that.

Blair's voice was considerably less scratchy when he said, "The nurse says some people are wanting to see me."

Jim settled into a chair beside him. "Yeah. The two young ladies you avoided hitting, and Joel."

Blair frowned. "I can't really talk."

"I don't think anyone is expecting you to. They would just like to see you, to see for themselves that you're recovering." Watching Blair's doubtful expression, Jim amended, "I can suggest they come back later. They'll understand."

"Thanks. I just can't right now." Blair settled contentedly against the pillows. "That was better than sex."

Jim chuckled and reached to tweak Blair's nose. "I'll remind you of that in the future, Romeo. Frequently." He stood. "Anyway, I'll bring you some more next time." He nodded toward the door. "I'll tell the others they'll have to come back."

Blair lowered his eyes.

When Jim informed the group in the hall that they'd best return in the evening or the next day, one of the girls said, "He doesn't want to see us, does he? We're the ones who caused him all of this pain and trouble."

Jim put on his most charming smile. "You don't know Blair Sandburg. He's highly forgiving and feels just as badly as you do that this happened." His voice softened. "It's just that he's still a little under the weather and would like to wait until he's feeling better before seeing visitors."

Taggart waved at him. "Catch you later, Jim."

Jim nodded and watched the group leave.

When he went back into the room, he found Blair frowning with a contemplative expression. "They're gone for now," Jim said as he took a seat beside the bed.

Blair looked at Jim with trepidation. "I think I was going too fast."

Jim knew that self-flagellation was bound to make an appearance. He picked up Blair's hand. "Hey, Chief, I'll let you see the police report when you're up to it. There was a witness in addition to the girls and their boyfriends. Nobody mentioned anything about your speed. You know what that curve is like. They shouldn't have been in the street."

Blair croaked, "The speed limit is something like fifteen. I know I was going faster than that. That late, I didn't expect any pedestrians to be around."

"At any speed, nobody should have been in the street at the end of a blind curve like that. They know that, the other witness knows that, and the cops know that. If you'd been going slower, you still would have had to swerve to avoid them and banged yourself up. Maybe just not as much." Jim squeezed Blair's hand. "You're the victim here, Chief. Don't forget that."

Blair studied him worriedly.

Jim cocked his head. "You remember what happened?"

"I remember coming around the curve and seeing them in the street, and thinking 'How stupid.' And knowing I wasn't going to be able to stop. I don't remember anything else."

"Probably because there's nothing else to remember. You probably whipped the car around so fast that it was all a blur, and nothing registered with your memory. If you did anything wrong at all, it was that you swerved more sharply than you needed to. That's what the other witness said."

Blair seemed reassured. Then he asked, "Don't you have to get to work?"

"What? You sick of me already?"

"You've just been spending a lot of time here."

"I cashed in some vacation time, buddy. I've got two weeks with pay."

Blair gazed at him for a long time. Then, "What are you going to do with two weeks off?"

Jim wondered if Blair was fishing, or if he really hadn't put two and two together. "Chief," he said softly, "you're going to be okay, but you're going to be shuffling around the loft like an old man for a while. You're going to need some help getting around." He shrugged. "Since I had the time coming to me...."

Blair looked away. "Seems a lousy way to spend a vacation."

"It was either that or let the days build up so much that I lose them. Besides," Jim grinned, "if we drive each other crazy while you're homebound, maybe I really will take some time to go fishing or something." He squeezed Blair's hand reassuringly. "As long as I know you're getting around okay."

Blair gave him a smile and eventually fell asleep.

Blair lay awake in the middle of the night. It was comforting that Jim was going to take two weeks off to oversee his recovery. It was also rather unnerving. When they spent a lot of time together, it was generally away from the loft. This time, they'd be trapped there.

Surely, if he at least kept himself busy, it would help matters. There was one project he definitely needed to start spending more time on, and his forced convalescence was a perfect opportunity. Still...

Blair couldn't fathom facing the huge stack of notebooks, journals, books, and articles in the corner of his room. Every time he thought about gathering all that paperwork and getting serious about writing his actual dissertation, he ran into a big wall of procrastination.

He wondered if his hesitation was more than that. Quickly, he shied away from the thought.

If he wasn't going to work on the diss, he wondered how he could keep himself occupied. Maybe he should have let Jim call Naomi. But she would freak at finding out he'd been in a car accident.

Blair furrowed his brow. Why would she freak? His injuries weren't even from tailing after Jim. They had nothing to do with his police work. Beyond normal motherly concern, there was no reason for Naomi to react badly to his accident.

Still, he knew that she would.

When Jim arrived the following morning, Blair's room was full of visitors. This time it was all four students, Simon, and Taggart.

Simon turned away from the bed to greet Jim. "They said he'd be able to go home tomorrow."

"Good," Jim replied, knowing Blair would be happy about that. He hoped he was ready to truly take on caring for another person. His Special Ops medical training only went as far as rendering assistance until the patient could be transported to the hospital.

At least, Blair was functioning enough that he could move from point A to point B. It just tended to be a very slow movement and someone needed to hover near, lending an arm for him to brace against as necessary. Then there was the getting in and out of bed, which was an involved ordeal. But the hospital staff said that there should be strong improvements each day, as long as Blair didn't move around excessively and re-injure anything.

"I'll definitely speak for the cause," Blair was telling the students, smiling broadly. "That's the best way to turn something like this into a positive -- use it to prompt a change for the better."

After the students said their good-byes, Jim and Simon approached the bed. "What was that about?" Jim asked.

"Hey, Jim," Taggart greeted. Then, "They're going to petition the school to have that curve fixed. Tear it up and re-design it, so it's not so impossible to see around."

Simon grunted. "They should have done that a long time ago."

"Yeah," Blair said. "I remember a pedestrian got hit the year before I started at Rainier, and there was a lot of talk about changing the curve. But I think it never happened because of budget cuts or something. It's amazing there haven't been more injuries since then."

"I've got to go," Taggart said with a wave. "See ya, Blair."

"Thanks, Joel." After the larger man left, Blair's attention switched to Jim. "His nephew is going to loan me his car until he graduates from high school, because he can't afford the insurance. I'll just have to pay for that, and the maintenance and gas."

At least Blair's transportation problems were temporarily solved for when he was able to drive again. Jim didn't know what Blair intended to do about the smashed up Volvo. He knew Blair didn't carry collision insurance, since it was too expensive for a classic.

Wanting to keep the subject positive, Jim said, "You're sounding better."

Blair nodded and slowly shifted in the bed. "I feel a lot better, overall. I wish they'd release me today, but they said the doctor still needs to see me during his rounds tonight."

Jim teased, "Rest here or at home, what's the difference?"

"The difference is that you're not going to be poking me with needles and asking me to describe the color and texture of my last poop."

Simon laughed.

"Maybe not," Jim threatened, "but I'll have some other activities going on at the loft."

Blair's eyes shifted back and forth, feigning nervousness. "What activities?"

"You don't expect me to just watch television while babysitting you, do you, Chief? I figure it's time for some remodeling of the loft. Painting, wallpapering, new contact paper in the cabinets. Maybe stain the facings."

"That sounds like fun," Blair groaned. "You just can't relax, can you, Jim?"

Jim challenged, "We'll see who gets squirrelly first."

"Maybe I can help when I'm feeling better."

"Maybe."

Simon put an unlit cigar in his mouth. "Your little 'vacation' is looking more unpleasant by the moment. Think I'll head back to the station. Later, you two."

Blair had been home for three days. He was doing a lot of reading, writing longhand, browsing on the web, and watching TV, and had just recently started to complain about being restless.

Jim had tried giving them both a break from routine by playing card games and checkers. But while Blair could stay interested for a while, Jim got bored rather quickly. So, he tended to do what he could around the loft, while hoping that Blair could occupy himself with independent activities. If nothing else, he could surely work on his thesis. But Blair always turned down Jim's offer to gather up the notebooks and other research materials that would be needed.

Tonight, Jim was working on fixing a drawer in his dresser that didn't close right. He had his drill and an assortment of screws in his bedroom. Downstairs, it sounded like Blair was watching a science program.

The phone rang. Jim looked around, wondering where he'd last left the cordless.

"Jim," Blair called anxiously, "it's over on the kitchen counter."

Which meant that Blair couldn't reach it.

Jim knew he probably wouldn't be able to bound down the stairs in time. "Let the machine get it," he called back to Blair. He used the drill for a few seconds, then shut it off.

Downstairs, the answering machine picked up the call. Naomi's voice said, "Blair, honey, it's me. Just thought I'd check in with you, sweetie. I'm at the airport in Denver, between flights. Please send me an email soon. I should be able to check it when I get to my destination in Florida. Don't do anything dangerous. Bye."

Jim mentally cringed. That was a call Blair probably would have wanted, since he couldn't call Naomi back. He went down the stairs. "Sorry, Chief."

From the sofa, Blair turned his head Jim's way. "It's all right. I'll email her in a few days."

Jim furrowed his brow while washing his hands in the kitchen sink. Then he asked, "Are you afraid of telling her about your accident? It's not like she can get too upset about it, since it didn't happen because of your association with me."

Blair's eyes were on the TV. "I just don't want to tell her yet. She'll freak or something and feel like she has to come out here."

Jim shrugged while drying his hands. "It might give you a pleasant diversion." Not that he wanted Naomi here.

"I'll wait until I'm better before I tell her."

Okay. Jim was curious about Blair's reluctance, but he didn't feel comfortable prying further. Instead, he came toward the sofa and conversationally asked, "What's she doing in Florida?"

"Visiting friends. Probably some of her old Woodstock pals."

Jim chuckled at the image of aging hippies living in Florida. "Retired and enjoying the good life?"

Blair grinned, as though acknowledging the irony. "Something like that." He was still looking at the TV.

Jim went back to the kitchen. They'd had dinner, but he'd worked up an appetite. "I'm having a sandwich. Want one?"

Before Blair could answer, there was a knock at the door. "Expecting someone?" Blair asked.

Jim shook his head as he went to the door. He opened it and blinked. "Carolyn."

"Hi, Jim," she smiled -- a forced smile. Then she prompted, "Can I come in?"

Jim realized his shock was showing. He returned her smile and stepped back. "Of course. Come in."

"Hi, Carolyn," Blair said from the sofa, his voice struggling to be more welcoming than surprised.

"Blair." She, too, seemed surprised. Then she nodded at him. "How are you?"

Before Blair could answer, Jim said pointedly, "He's recovering from his car accident."

"Oh." She looked guiltily at Jim. "I forgot you'd told me about that. I suppose I should have called first."

"It's all right," Jim said automatically. "Can I take your coat?"

"No. Uh," her hand brushed his shirt. "I was hoping to talk to you alone. Maybe we could...."

"I could go to my room," Blair offered.

Jim put up his hand. "Stay put, Chief." He didn't want Blair moving around more than necessary, to say nothing of making him feel unwelcome in his own home.

Carolyn looked hopefully at Jim. "Maybe we could go somewhere...?"

"Uh," Jim hesitated. They definitely needed to go somewhere, if Carolyn wanted to talk to him in private. But Blair still needed help getting around. He finally settled on, "We can't be out long. Blair's pretty banged up and -- "

"Jim." Blair's voice was firm.

Jim looked over at him.

Amused, Blair said, "I can handle being by myself for a few hours. I'm here on the sofa, with my pillow and blanky, and the TV, and a few books within arm's reach." He held out his hand. "Just hand me the phone, in case some pretty co-ed just found out about the accident and wants to call to ask how I am."

"Okay," Jim said distantly, feeling embarrassed that he was being over-protective. Or was it that he was looking for excuses not to be with Carolyn? Not so long ago, he'd enjoyed being around her -- at least, most of the time. But now he couldn't help but think that her sudden appearance couldn't mean anything good. Besides, wasn't she getting married soon?

Jim handed Blair the phone. In a low voice, he asked, "Before I leave, do you need to get up and...?"

Blair's expression was one of forced patience. "Jim. I'm fine."

"Okay." Jim squeezed Blair's shoulder, then moved to the coat rack and grabbed his jacket. He held open the door for Carolyn.

"You two behave," Blair said sternly. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do. And, Jim, if you're going to be later than midnight, you'd better call. Otherwise, I'll worry that you're up to no good and be thinking about how serious your grounding is going to be when you get back."

Jim shook his finger at Blair in an "I'm going to get you for that" warning. Then he went out the door and closed it behind him. He heard Blair laughing.

Carolyn smiled at him. "He seems to be feeling all right."

As they moved to the elevator, Jim said, "He's healing fine. He's just mainly sore and achy."

"I'm really sorry I forgot," Carolyn said again. "Or maybe it just didn't register with me that he was still living with you. I somehow thought his involvement with you was just a temporary thing."

"It is," Jim muttered. "Sort of." In truth, he didn't know if it was or it wasn't. Technically, he supposed the completion of the dissertation would mean that Blair would move out. Yet, Blair seemed to be forever stalling on that damned paper.

Jim was glad that Blair was stalling.

They ordered potato skins to go along with their drinks.

They'd spent the drive to the restaurant talking about Carolyn's sister. Now, as they sat at a table in the bar, Jim asked, "So, when is the big day?"

He watched her face harden as she considered her answer. "It's been called off." She quickly looked away.

A part of Jim was relieved -- he didn't understand why -- and a part of him felt bad for her. He gently probed, "Just postponed or...?"

She shook her head, still avoiding his eyes. "It's over with Fred. Done with."

Jim realized he was going to have to lead the conversation and that made him uncomfortable. He shifted in his chair. "And you're in Cascade because...."

Finally, she looked at him, then lowered her eyes a moment later. "I need money." It was an embarrassed whisper.

Jim's stomach knotted. His mind quickly searched for a reason -- Wendy's medical expenses, for starters -- but even his subconscious wouldn't let him fool himself about the obvious.

The potato skins were placed on the table. He picked up one and spent a moment dipping it in sour cream, not looking at Carolyn. A potato -- even carved down to mostly skin -- suddenly seemed like an enormous amount of food.

Carolyn also reached for a skin. She spent a long time staring at it, then she said, "I wouldn't be asking if -- " She abruptly brought it to her mouth and bit off part of it, having managed to not look at Jim.

Jim put his partially eaten skin down. He wouldn't be eating. He picked up his margarita and sipped it slowly, fascinated that he was observing his growing anger from outside himself.

His stomach twisted into a tighter knot.

Since Carolyn was still eating, he finished her last thought. "If you weren't desperate." He didn't think his voice showed his anger. He knew it wouldn't do any good to get angry. That would be like yelling at a junkie after he'd already injected his arm with another round of smack.

His mind reviewed the literature he'd read and the comments from the therapist he and Carolyn had seen for a short time -- about how this was an illness and there wasn't a cure. Only through conscious management could the individual regain control of his life.

He had mistakenly thought Carolyn had regained control of hers; even believed her in those weeks before she left for San Francisco, when she'd sounded so rational -- and happy. When she had said that a little office side bet here, and another one there, gave her enough of a buzz that she didn't feel the need to go out of control.

He really had believed her. Because he'd wanted to. And because it wasn't going to be his problem any more.

Except, now, it apparently was.

"How bad?" he asked quietly, wiping his hands so he'd have something to do.

He could see the relief in her face; his interest in giving her a temporary bandaid providing her with the courage to be honest. "I had it under control, Jimmy. I did. It was just innocent little office bets for a few years. That's all. Then," she lowered her gaze to the table, "I went to the races once and won a few hundred. I met Fred there, in fact. Turns out," she laughed without humor, "that was the first time in his life he'd ever been to the races. Anyway," she placed her elbows on the table and folded her hands, "that gave me a bigger thrill. I started placing bets on the sports teams. Just a hundred here or there. I never meant for it to get bigger than that." She looked away again.

"Fred found out," Jim stated. He felt relief. Carolyn's gambling problem during their marriage hadn't been his fault. Despite her complaining about how lacking he was in companionship... well, if good ol' Fred hadn't fulfilled her needs either....

Her gambling was her sickness. And there was nothing anyone else could do about it.

Of course, the rational part of Jim had always known that. But that hadn't stopped Carolyn from dropping hints that he was a failure as a husband in many ways, and that her disappointment in their marriage had driven her to find excitement by placing a financial stake on the outcome of sporting events.

She'd never said that directly, of course. But there had always been the subtle hint of inference when they talked about it -- either the gambling or the marriage. Or, rather, she talked about it as Jim sat silent, at a loss as to what he was supposed to say, what he was doing wrong.

Then there had been the magazines in the john, left folded back to a particular article. A book left on the nightstand by his side of the bed, lying facedown at a specific chapter. He never read them, of course, because it only angered him at being belittled. And threatened his ego. What husband would read an article about how to please his wife in bed? Or how to have a pleasant conservation over breakfast?

More than anything, it angered him that she wouldn't talk to him face-to-face. Maybe it was because she didn't like keeping up a one-sided conversation, since Jim couldn't find a common ground on which to participate.

Hell, Sandburg had no trouble keeping up one-sided conversations. Why couldn't Carolyn have been more like him?

"He found my credit card statements," Carolyn said after a long pause. "I even admitted it," she added uncomfortably, and Jim knew she'd tried a few lies before the truth came out. "And," she sighed, "he felt I was someone he didn't know anymore." She bit her lip, then said shakily, "He moved out the next day."

What a jerk, Jim wanted to say. After all, when he'd found out that one of their joint credit card accounts was maxed out at five grand -- and Carolyn had only resorted to that after maxing out her own cards -- Jim had been determined to stick by his wife and help her get better. It never would have occurred to him to abandon her.

Trying to add some humor -- to show some sympathy -- and to prompt her to understand how supportive he had been in comparison, Jim said, "It's a good thing he found out before he vowed, 'In sickness and in health' and then left anyway."

She gave him a quick, tight smile -- as though appreciating his effort, if not his point. "I'll pay you back, Jim. I promise. I swear. I'm already going to Gamblers Anonymous meetings and I have a new therapist who has dealt with this before."

Jim steeled himself to not over-react as he asked, "How much do you need?"

"All I'm asking for is living expenses, Jim. For Wendy and me. Nothing else. I've already worked out a deal with a consumer counseling agency, so they've got all my credit card debt on one payment. I'll pay that off myself over time."

Jim nodded, hoping that would encourage her to name the amount.

She said, "I'm thinking three months of expenses, and then I should be back on my feet. I've got some bills I have to pay for the wedding preparations, even though it's been called off."

Jim nodded again, trying not to feel impatient.

She said, "If you could manage ten thousand dollars...."

Yeah. Okay. He could do that. Just cash in a CD early. It was money he'd saved, over time, for emergencies.

"Maybe pay you back a few hundred dollars a month."

He nodded. "Whatever you can manage." If he never got the money back, it wouldn't be the end of the world. There was a much larger problem that was brewing.

"So," she said hesitantly, sipping her drink. Then, "You're able...?"

He nodded again, having no desire to see her beg. "Yes, Caro. I'll go to the bank tomorrow. Get you a cashier's check."

She sagged with relief. "Thank you, Jimmy. Thank you. You're a life saver -- for both Wendy and me. It'll take the pressure off."

Jim clenched his jaw, grateful that he had only casual feelings for her now. He waited until she met his eye. "This is the only time I'll do this. Don't ask me again."

Her smile went away, as though she hadn't seen that coming. Then, wounded, she whispered, "I wasn't planning to."

"Get help," Jim implored. "Get better. I'm only giving you the money now because I want to believe that you really want to get better. If you blow this, you'll have to find somebody else to bail you out."

She looked away, "All right!" she snapped under her breath. "I'm already down. You can stop kicking."

Jim blinked. He was kicking her. It wasn't even necessary. Maybe he was enjoying the fact that she had a problem that genuinely had nothing to do with him, and he wanted to drive that point home.

It didn't matter now. "Where are you staying?" he asked, shaking his head at the waitress who gestured at his near-empty glass.

"At the Marriott."

Jim didn't voice his concern that she was staying somewhere expensive, and which was on the same street as a popular sports bar.

Well, it wasn't his problem. He'd give her the ten grand and never ask her about delinquent payments. If she gambled it all away -- or still needed more after it ran out -- he wouldn't care. He wouldn't feel guilty for turning her down.

He was free of her. Finally. His lack of taking the time for what she wanted in the bedroom; his lack of responding with "intelligent sentences" to her morning chatter -- he could have "fixed" all that and she still would have gambled away over thirty grand on her credit cards, and five thousand on their joint card before he caught on to what was happening. Being everything she wanted him to be wouldn't have cured her sickness.

He felt downright elated about being ten thousand poorer.

He finished his drink. "I'll go to the bank first thing in the morning and drop it by."

She started to gather her things. "Thanks, Jim." Her smile was warm now, and she reached to clasp his arm as they stood. "It means a lot."

He guided her away from the table, eager to drop her off at her hotel.

Jim opened the door to the loft as quietly as he could. The TV was off, as was the lamp next to the sofa.

Blair blinked his eyes awake.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Jim greeted.

"What time's it?" Blair mumbled.

"Made it in well before midnight, Mom."

"Good." Blair raised his head. "I need the john."

As Jim came toward the sofa, he chastised, "Why do you think I was worried about leaving you in the first place?"

Blair started to shift, then seemed to think better of it. "If I had to go that bad, I would have managed. Where there's a will there's a way."

"Hang on, buddy."

They had been through the help-off-the-sofa routine enough times to have it well coordinated. Jim crouched next to the sofa, and then let Blair figure out how to brace against his upper body, until he could slowly stand. As always, there were groans of pain. The groans weren't as intense, though, as they'd been the first couple of days. That was as good a proof as any that Blair was getting better. In fact....

"You know, Chief," Jim said as he slowly walked with Blair to the bathroom, acting as a human crutch, "I think that tomorrow we need to try getting you out some. Maybe a little walk up and down the block and see how you feel from there."

They'd reached the bathroom. As soon as Blair switched his grip from Jim to the vanity, Jim closed the door and left him alone. He knew that Blair was going to be a while, as even simple routines were a time-consuming event. At least he'd healed enough that Jim no longer felt the need to wait outside a partially open door, prepared to assist.

Jim went into Blair's room and arranged the various pillows to how Blair preferred them for sleeping. He still felt a little odd being in Blair's room. Ever since Blair had moved in, Jim had never done more than hover in the doorway. It was the one place in the loft that was Blair's alone and Jim had no desire to invade it. Even now, when his presence was merely to assist Blair into bed, he felt that he was intruding.

He'd given some thought to asking Blair if there was anything in the room he'd like fixed, adjusted, or painted, but he hadn't yet felt comfortable bringing up the subject. What if Blair said yes, and Jim would then spend many hours there, doing whatever necessary task, in a space that he respected as Blair's alone?

He busied himself in the kitchen until he heard the bathroom door open.

Smelling of toothpaste and soap, Blair reached for Jim's forearm and took slow steps while hanging onto Jim with the one hand.

"Hey," Jim said happily as they entered Blair's room, "this is the best you've moved so far."

"It's always easier after the first few steps." Blair braced himself against Jim again and then slowly lowered himself to the mattress. "Maybe a walk tomorrow won't be so bad." As Blair indicated how he wanted the pillows shifted, he sighed and said, "A shower is definitely on the agenda for tomorrow morning."

Blair lay with his upper body elevated the way he liked, so Jim pulled the covers over him. Blair was spending both his sleeping and waking hours in the same sweats, not wanting to bother with the discomfort of dressing and undressing since returning from the hospital, except when absolutely necessary.

Jim straightened. "I need to get you up early, then, because I have to leave for the bank first thing."

"Maybe I can go with you. It'll get me out of the apartment. And if you're just going to the drive-up...."

Jim was encouraged that Blair was eager to get out, but, "I have to go inside. I'm not sure how long it'll take. I'd hate to leave you in the truck, stiffening up."

In the lamplight, Blair blinked up at him, his large eyes filling with concern. "Jim? Is everything all right?"

While Jim hesitated, Blair said, "I mean, with Carolyn showing up here, and you needing to go to the bank...."

Jim couldn't imagine telling Blair -- or anyone -- about Carolyn's gambling problem. It was for her to tell, and no one had ever known about it except Jim and the therapist. No one at the PD had ever suspected that her "innocent" office bets hid a much deeper problem. Jim wondered if Carolyn still managed to keep it from her sister. "It's fine. I'm just helping out with a personal situation."

Blair studied him a moment longer, then gave a nod of acceptance.

Jim glanced at Blair's cluttered dresser. "What is it tonight?" he asked in reference to the reading materials there.

"Sleep," Blair replied. "I was having my best sleep yet when you came home."

Jim resisted the urge to pull Blair's hair, or give some other retaliation to his temporarily handicapped roommate. "I can take a hint, Chief. Just give the word and I'll leave you to stumble around the loft by yourself for a few days."

Blair grunted with amusement. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Riiight," Jim answered, turning off the bedside lamp.

"G'night," Blair said softly as Jim closed the double doors behind him.

Blair sat in the truck in the bank's parking lot, trying to judge how crowded the interior of the bank was by the number of filled parking spaces. This was Thursday, and not the first or the fifteenth or the last day of the month, but the lot still looked rather full. Jim had already been gone fifteen minutes.

It seemed his life consisted of a lot of sitting around these days. He'd been able to catch up on some reading and class notes. But other than that, there hadn't been a lot for him to do academically.

Except work on the thesis.

Blair resisted the temptation to squirm. He sighed so loud that it came out as a groan.

He could no longer pass off his reluctance to work on his paper as simple procrastination. It was as though he had a mental block -- a mental block so strong that he felt his guts coil whenever he picked up his notes and considered pulling them together to actually write his paper.

On the seat beside him, Jim's cell phone rang. Blair picked it up, grateful for the interruption of his musings. "Blair Sandburg speaking."

"Blair! It's you!"

This was an interruption he could do without. "Hi, Mom."

"It seems like it's been so long since I've talked to you. How are you?"

"Fine, Mom, fine. How are you? How's Florida?"

Jim got in the truck. "Sorry. The line was moving slow."

"No problem," Blair said congenially.

"I've got one more quick stop to make." Jim hoped it was a fast one. Then he and Blair could stop by a park and find out how much walking Blair was up to. At least it was a sunny day.

Rush hour traffic had cleared out and it didn't take long to get to the downtown Marriott. Jim pulled up at a "loading" sign and put the flashing brake lights on. After getting out of the truck, he grabbed his cell phone, thinking he might need to contact Carolyn on her cell if she wasn't in her room.

Just as Jim entered the lobby, the cell phone rang. "Ellison," he greeted.

"Oh," a familiar female voice said with disappointment. "Jim? Can you put Blair back on? It'll only take a minute."

"Can he call you back?" Jim asked, approaching the front desk. "He's waiting back in the truck and I'm about to meet with someone. It should just be a few minutes. Does he have your number where he can call you back?"

"In the truck?" Naomi asked in puzzlement. "He said you two were doing errands." Then, more forcefully, "It's not anything dangerous, is it?"

Jim got in line at the front desk. "No, not dangerous," he said, realizing Blair must have been talking to Naomi while he was in the bank. Funny he didn't mention anything. "It's still hard for him to get around. He's doing better than expected though."

There was silence at the other end. A desk clerk was now free and Jim walked up to him. "Can you please ring Carolyn Plummer? Tell her Jim is waiting in the lobby."

"One moment, sir," the clerk said, looking at his computer.

"What's going on, Jim?" Naomi asked. "What's happened to Blair?"

Fuck. Blair obviously hadn't told her about the accident.

Jim watched the clerk get on the phone. "He just got bruised up a little," he said hurriedly, annoyed that Blair had put him in this position. If he'd simply told his mother....

"Bruised up from what?" Naomi demanded.

"She'll be right down," the clerk said.

Jim nodded his thanks and stepped away from the desk. "Look, Naomi, I have to hang up, because I have to talk with someone before she leaves to catch her plane. Blair is fine. I'll have him call you. Does he have the number?"

"I just gave it to him," Naomi said testily.

"Then I'll tell him to call you. I have to go, Naomi. Goodbye." Jim cut the line, his detective instincts wanting to know what was going on between Blair and his mother. Hadn't it been awhile since they'd talked? If so, why had their conversation lasted for less time than Jim was in the bank? Usually, when Naomi called them at the loft, Blair was on the phone with her for at least an hour. And why wouldn't Blair have mentioned their conversation? For that matter, hadn't Blair been awfully quiet since they had left the bank?

Carolyn emerged from the elevator. "Jim!"

Jim moved toward her, pulling an envelope from his jacket that contained the $10,000 cashier's check. "Here you go."

"Thanks," she said with her warmest smile. "I really appreciate this."

Jim nodded, not knowing what else to say, and not wanting to prolong their conversation. "When is your plane leaving?"

"In about an hour and fifteen minutes."

"I'd give you a lift, except Blair's in the truck. It's his first outing since the accident."

She shook her head, still smiling. "No, that's fine. They have a shuttle."

"Take care, Caro."

She kissed her fingers, then waved them at him. "Goodbye, Jim."

It wasn't until Jim saw Blair sitting in the truck that he remembered Naomi's call. It crossed his mind to not mention that he'd spilled the beans about the car accident, to get back at Blair for not telling him that she'd called the first time. But he really had no desire to withhold what he knew from Blair.

As he got in, he asked, "Why didn't you say that your mother had called?"

Blair looked at him in shock. "How did you know?"

"She just called again," Jim said as he settled in the seat. "I told her I'd have you call her right back."

"Did she leave a number?"

"She said you had it."

"I didn't have anything to write with, but I let her think that I did."

Jim shook his head, not understanding this at all. "What?" he pressed. "Are conversations between you and your mother now some big secret? She called you on my cell phone."

"No, no, no." Blair quickly waved his hands, as though eager to get Jim off the secrecy train of thought. "We just didn't talk that long. She was between events. It was no big thing."

"It is now," Jim said with a sigh, starting the truck.

"What do you mean?"

Jim turned to look at Blair directly. "Since it was obvious you had just talked to her, I had no reason to think you wouldn't have told her about the accident." He watched Blair's eyes widen. "So, I mentioned you were waiting out in the truck and she wanted to know why and...." He shrugged helplessly.

Blair bowed his head. "Oh, man."

"I think I told her that you were bruised up. I didn't actually mention that you'd been in a car accident. So, she's going to want to know what happened."

Blair looked out his side window.

Jim shook his head, trying to clear his confusion. "Why are you making such a big deal out of telling her about the accident? You're fine. It's not like she's going to fly out here to hold your hand. Right?"

Blair waved his hands again. "You're right. You're right."

Jim sensed there was more to it, but it really wasn't any of his business. He started the truck forward. "If the phone rings in the next few minutes, you're answering it." That would keep him out of the middle.

Blair was silent.

Jim reached over to nudge Blair's leg to show that he was more than ready to change the subject. "Where do you want to go to get your sunshine for the day?"

The marina was a great idea, especially since it was an unusually warm late September day.

After getting the stiffness out of his injured leg, Blair almost seemed to be walking normally, if a bit slowly. Jim walked a step behind, his hand on Blair's back, in case his body couldn't keep up with the activity. But that hadn't happened.

As they leaned against the railing to watch the boats, Jim wondered why Naomi hadn't called back. He supposed her flighty nature meant she had other things going on that took precedence over talking to Blair about whatever she'd forgotten to tell him in the first place. Still, even if she thought Blair had the number, surely she would have tried again when he didn't call her; especially since she now knew that Blair was "bruised".

Jim mentally shook his head. He didn't understand how the Sandburg family operated. He supposed it was best if he didn't try.

He shifted against the railing, stretching his back. "Is there anything you need fixed or painted in your room?"

Blair looked over at him. "I don't think so." He grinned. "Why? You run out of things to do during your vacation, Mr. Handyman?"

"I'm going to stain the kitchen cabinets," Jim decided.

"Maybe I can help. They'll be taking off the splint at the next doctor's appointment. I can sit on the floor and do the lower cabinets." He chuckled briefly. "I just might be slow."

Jim couldn't come up with a teasing retort quickly, so he didn't say anything at all. He could understand Blair getting restless to do something, especially since he didn't seem interested in working on his dissertation. It would probably be a good week before Blair could go back to teaching. Probably another week before Jim would let Blair ride with him again.

For that matter, Jim was surprised that they hadn't gotten on each other's nerves yet. He wondered how much longer it would be before they did.

Blair nudged his arm. "Are those boys doing what I think they're doing?"

Jim followed Blair's gaze. There was a grassy area between the marina and the parking lot. It was a small park with a few picnic benches. A woman sat on one of the benches reading a magazine. Nearby were a couple of boys, maybe ten or so, who had some army figurines and toy trucks gathered about them.

"Are those GI Joes?" Blair asked with amusement.

Jim watched the boys more closely. "Uh-huh."

Blair's amusement increased. "What are they doing with their GI Joes, Jim?"

Jim focused for a moment. Jesus Christ. He shifted with embarrassment and looked away.

Blair chuckled at Jim's discomfort. "Oh, man, does that bring back memories."

Jim looked sharply at Blair, wondering if he'd completely misunderstood his childhood. "You had GI Joes when you were a kid?"

"No way," Blair replied, still amused. He was looking at Jim now. "But when we were visiting my cousins in Texas, the older one had this huge collection. Once, when I was by myself, I got them all out and pulled down their pants and positioned them all for a huge orgy."

"For godssake," Jim grimaced, making sure he didn't laugh.

"Come on, Jim," Blair said, glancing back at the boys, "don't try to tell me that you never did anything like that with your toy army men."

Well..., Jim mentally sputtered. Firmly, he pointed out, "If I did, it's not like I'd ever tell anybody."

Blair laughed again. "'Nuff said."

Thank God. Jim went back to watching the boats.

"Wonder what their Mom is going to say when she notices," Blair mused. "My cousin was really pissed when he saw what I'd done, but his mother was even madder. I finally had to 'fess up that it was me who had sex on the brain."

"Uh-huh," Jim said, though not as encouragement.

More quietly, Blair continued, "Then my mom and my aunt got into a big fight about child rearing. My mom was saying it was natural for children to think about sex. My aunt said it was perverted for a boy to be thinking about it to the extent that he'd have toy soldiers act out a huge orgy -- an all male one, at that."

Jim was intrigued by the seriousness of Blair's tone.

Yet, Blair released another chuckle. "Like, they had female GI Joe dolls." He shook his head. Suddenly, he grabbed his side. "Ow."

Jim glanced down. Blair's ribs. Too much laughing. He placed his hand on the back of Blair's neck. "Karma, Chief. Sex on the brain...." He started to steer him back to the sidewalk.

"It really sucks not being able to laugh," Blair said seriously. They were walking very slowly.

Jim pulled up short. "Wait here. I'll drive the truck up to the curb."

"Thanks, Jim."

On the way back, Jim looked over at Blair's closed-off expression. "Hurting a lot, huh?"

"I think I need my pills," Blair muttered. After a moment, he said, "I'm still thinking about that fight my mom and my aunt had. I haven't thought about that in a long, long time."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve or thirteen -- too old for my mom or any other adult to have much influence over me. I just remember that I felt really awful -- that I'd caused this big fight between them. I think my mom and I left the next day."

Jim could imagine how Blair had felt. After all, Blair seemed to be forever puzzled by expressions of anger. Such displays always seemed to amuse him, exasperate him, and intrigue him all at once.

He turned left and nudged Blair's leg. "Chinese take-out for dinner?"

"Sure," Blair said. He went back to staring out the window.

It was a few days later that Jim had all the supplies ready to stain the cabinets. While he stood in the kitchen doing the upper cabinets, Blair sat on an array of pillows on the floor, applying stain to the lower ones. He scooted carefully along the floor to get to each cabinet. Jim thought even slow movements had to be hard on his healing tissues. Yet, there was no question that Blair was enjoying participating in the domestic chores. His splint had been removed, and now he used only a makeshift sling to give his arm extra support when he was moving around a lot.

Jim finished with the upper cabinets. Then he knelt and started doing one of the lower ones near the refrigerator. Glancing at Blair, he said, "I'm going to tell Simon that I can come back to work next week." He'd originally left open the option of an additional week.

Blair glanced up. "Yeah, I'm doing pretty good now." Then he frowned. "Maybe you should take some more time off. Go somewhere. Visit a relative or something. It's not that I wouldn't like to come, too, except I've already told Rainier that I would be teaching next week."

"Nah. I'd rather save the time for when you can come along. Fishing or something."

"Sounds good."

The phone rang.

Jim propped his brush next to the can of stain and grabbed a dishtowel. He went to the table while wiping his hands, then picked up the cordless. "Ellison."

"Jim? It's Carolyn."

Jim's heart skipped a beat. Why is she calling? Her voice was cheerful, but....

"Hi, Caro," he said after a moment. Aware of Blair looking up at him, he moved towards the balcony. "How are you?" he asked, opening the sliding door and stepping out.

"Pretty good. Wendy went to an alternative therapy doctor. They have hope for her recovery, Jim. They think it's possible she might walk again."

"That's good," Jim said, some part of him wondering if it was false hope that the "alternative" doctors gave Wendy, and therefore cruel.

"They want to start a series of treatments." Carolyn's voice took on a breathless quality.

Jim felt something inside himself shut down. It was similar to when he was in the army, and he had to do something that he knew wasn't going to be pleasant, such as recovering bodies. He boxed all feelings away so he could carry out the task efficiently.

"Jim?"

"No, Carolyn," Jim said, feeling relief filter through him. "I'm not giving you any more money."

"Jim, it's for Wendy. Not for me. She could walk again!"

"No."

"Why? I'm just talking another five thousand. I'd try to pay you back before the year is over."

"No, Carolyn." He shifted the phone to his other ear. "If you want to help Wendy, get better."

"Jim." A gasping sob sounded through the phone. "It's not easy for me to ask this. I swear to you, it's for her."

Damn her.

"I can show you the brochures," Carolyn went on tearfully. "The treatment outline. The documents showing how much it'll cost. It'll be fifteen thousand over the course of the initial treatment series, but they only need five thousand to start. I wouldn't be asking this, except," she sniffed, "I have nowhere else to go. My credit is destroyed and I can't get any kind of loan."

"Whose fault is that?" Jim snapped, pacing on the balcony.

"Mine!" Carolyn shouted. "I know that, Jim. I'm getting help. This isn't about me. It's about Wendy. Please."

"No." Damn it, it was getting harder to keep saying that.

A sharp thud sounded from the kitchen. Blair!

"I have to go." Jim broke the connection and pushed the balcony door open.

"Dammit, dammit!" Blair was muttering through gritted teeth. He sat back against a leg of the dining table, his arms wrapped loosely around his body, and his eyes squeezed shut. "Oh, damn. Oh, damn."

"Blair." Jim knelt beside him. "Chief? Settle down." He squeezed Blair's upper arm, not knowing what else to do. "What happened?"

Teeth still clenched, Blair said, "I started to get up on my knees, but my leg is still sore and I couldn't get my balance. The damned pillow slid from under my legs." He drew a breath, his eyes still shut. "I fell on my ass. My ribs...." Slowly, he released the breath. But his voice was still pinched. "Feels like all the cartilage got torn away from the bones."

That was good and bad. Good that there wasn't more to it. Bad that there was really nothing that could be done to help Blair's ribs heal, but give them more time. Still, "We should have taped those before letting you help."

Blair released a harsh snort, shaking his head. "I can't believe how much it hurts for such a short fall." Then, forlornly, "Oh, God." He tried to hold himself still, as he drew shallow breaths, his head now falling back against the table leg.

Feeling helpless, Jim pondered what to do. Obviously, Blair needed to get off the floor. But standing was going to be all the more painful. He momentarily considered scooping Blair up into his arms, but he didn't think that would hurt any less.

He reached for Blair's pain pills that were on the kitchen sink and poured out a couple, then quickly filled a glass of water. He knelt back down. "Here, take these. We'll give you a few minutes to give them a chance to work before we get you up."

Blair obeyed. Jim picked up Blair's brush, deciding to finish the last cabinet while giving him time to regain his composure. He began brushing the stain onto the cabinet face.

"Do you need to call Carolyn back?" Blair asked after a moment. He sounded a lot calmer.

Shit. He'd forgotten about her. Without looking up, Jim shook his head. "We were done talking." I hope. If he were lucky, she'd never call back. Ever.

"Jim? What's going on?"

Such a simply stated question. Jim glanced at Blair. "It's something concerning her, Chief. It doesn't have anything to do with me." He ran his brush along the last area of the cabinet. Then he looked fully at Blair, who wore a concerned expression. "It's not my place to talk about it."

Blair nodded once, accepting.

"All done here," Jim said with satisfaction. He pressed the brush against the rim of the can of stain, letting the excess drip off. Then he laid the brush across the top. "Time to get you off the floor."

"Guess I don't have a choice," Blair said with dread.

"Not unless you want to sleep down here." Jim considered the situation, then said, "I'll boost you up by the rear, and you use your feet as much as possible. Grab the counter with your good hand, if you can. All right?"

Blair nodded.

"On three." Jim wormed one hand in between Blair's butt and the floor, then counted. He hoisted Blair, while Blair reached up to grip the edge of the counter. Blair held his breath as Jim steadied him on his feet.

"Don't hold your breath like that," Jim admonished. "Breathe through it."

Blair looked at him irritably, but he complied, and then cringed as his chest moved with each breath.

Jim still held Blair in a loose grip. "To the sofa? Or maybe your bed?"

"Sofa."

"Come on, keep breathing," Jim said as they made the slow trek to the sofa. He wondered how much this might set back Blair's recovery. He himself had injured ribs before, and he knew that any sudden jarring could feel a lot worse than it really was.

The sofa had been piled with extra pillows since Blair had come home from the hospital. Jim arranged them so that Blair was sitting up against the arm, and then helped him carefully stretch out his legs.

"Thanks, Jim."

Jim stepped back and studied his charge. "What now, professor? TV? Books?"

The phone rang.

God. Please, not Carolyn.

Blair looked at Jim. "Maybe it's Carolyn."

"I doubt it," Jim lied. Then he realized, "It might be your mom. Maybe I should -- "

Blair shook his head and Jim was relieved that he didn't need to answer it.

The machine picked up. Then a click was heard, followed by a dial tone.

Damn. That probably was Carolyn.

"How's Carolyn's sister?" Blair asked. Jim had told Blair about Wendy's paralysis shortly after he had found out.

It almost seemed as though Blair could read his mind. Jim shrugged. "They're working with some alternative doctors who they hope can help her."

"Man," Blair said, "that has to be rough."

Trying to change the subject, Jim asked, "Did you ever connect with Naomi?"

"I sent her a brief email. She said she and her friends were going boating for a few days in the Gulf. She'll call when she gets back."

Did that mean Naomi still didn't know Blair had been in a car accident? Jim resisted the temptation to ask, since he didn't want Blair to question him about Carolyn.

"Jim? Is Carolyn calling because of her sister?"

Jim closed his eyes, even though he knew that expression was admitting to Blair that everything in that corner wasn't fine.

How could he even answer? Maybe Carolyn's needing another five grand really had concerned Wendy. Or maybe it hadn't. But maybe it had.

He didn't know.

"Jim," Blair coaxed, "maybe it wouldn't hurt to talk about it. I know whatever's going on -- even if it doesn't directly concern you -- it's affecting you. You're all uptight."

I am? Jim wanted to protest the term, but glancing at Blair, he saw how quickly Blair's mind had been taken off his pain; how eager Blair was to think about something else -- as long as it wasn't Naomi.

Jim sighed deeply. What the hell. It wasn't as if Carolyn would ever know. Besides, Jim had been taking care of Blair these past two weeks. Blair had been helping him for a good three years now with the sentinel stuff. They were close. Best friends.

"Jim?" Blair prompted, as though he knew Jim had already decided to tell him what the problem was.

Jim drew a long, deep breath, then released it slowly. He sat on the coffee table facing Blair and rested his elbows on his knees. "Carolyn had a secret during our marriage."

Blair nodded encouragement.

"Nobody else knew. Not even Simon. Just the shrink we were both seeing." Jim shifted on the table. "She's an addicted gambler, Chief."

"Gambler? I remember she always like to place little bets in the office, but -- "

"That was just a cover," Jim interjected. "Rather, that was supposedly after she was better, after the divorce. She claimed the office bets were innocent -- just to give her enough of a thrill so she didn't feel a need to get back to placing large bets with bookies." Jim lowered his head, wondering how he could have been so stupid. "I believed her," he mumbled. "I guess because I wanted to."

"B-But," Blair began, "that was after the divorce. So... it really wasn't your concern then, right?"

Jim tilted his head. Some part of him was moved that Blair wanted to make excuses for him. It gave him the courage to say, "I still would have tried to take her aside and say something, if I thought it could help. But I was so eager to wash my hands of it...."

He told Blair, then, about how the gambling had affected their marriage. How Carolyn had used Jim's flaws as an excuse to seek the 'excitement' that she wasn't getting at home. He left out her most embarrassing complaint -- that he didn't please her in bed. He told Blair how he'd found out, after nearly all of Carolyn's own money was gone, and she'd started making cash advances on one of their joint credit cards.

"Actually," Jim concluded, "I really didn't suffer much of a financial loss personally. I found out before it got that far. Of course," he relented, "I ended up giving her quite a bit of money in the divorce settlement, so she had a chance to start over. At that point," he shrugged, feeling some of the old anger, "she was supposedly well on the road to recovery and no longer gambling. Then, within months after the divorce, she started doing the little office bets. Said that's all it was. Swore that she didn't feel an urge to do anything more elaborate than that."

After Jim fell silent, Blair said, "And so when she showed up here the other night...."

"She needed to borrow money," Jim admitted. "She'd gone back to gambling, lost the man she was going to marry because he'd found out about it, and she had nothing to live on. So," Jim felt a trickle of embarrassment down his spine, "I loaned her the amount she asked for. She claimed she had a good therapist and had stopped gambling. She just needed some money to get her and Wendy by."

Blair looked thoughtful. "Then tonight?"

Jim wondered if Blair had guessed correctly. "She wanted more. I'd already told her that the money I gave her the first time was all I was going to give her. I knew she might be lying about no longer gambling, so I wanted her to understand that if she gambled it away, I wasn't going to keep feeding her habit."

"Man," Blair said with a shocked expression, "she must be gambling a lot if she's asking you for more after just a few days. That's a no-brainer."

If only, Jim thought. He cleared his throat. "When she called tonight, she insisted that the new money she wanted was for her sister to start some alternative treatment that was going to cost a lot."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Jim emphasized, relieved that Blair could see his dilemma. "If I give her more and she just gambles it away, I'm feeding her habit and it's likely I'll never see the money again. But if it really is for Wendy -- and, you know, I can afford to loan the amount she's asking -- then I'm being a selfish prick."

"Well, Jim, even if she's being honest, why is it your responsibility to pay for Wendy's treatment?"

"It's not. But," he shifted uncomfortably, "it's not like I'd be adverse to helping her out financially for something like that. Supposedly, Wendy could walk again if the treatments work."

"Wow." Blair sighed. "That's a tough one."

"Exactly."

"So, what did you tell her?"

"I told her no," Jim said, looking away. Then he looked back and gestured with his hands. "If I knew, with absolute certainty, that the money was really for Wendy, I wouldn't hesitate. But I've seen -- more clearly than ever when looking back at our marriage -- how Carolyn lied to cover the money she was gambling away, just like any other addict. I can't trust what she tells me." He looked away again. "I want nothing more to do with her."

When he got the nerve to face Blair he again, he saw a thoughtful expression.

Eventually, Blair said, "Odds are, Carolyn's lying. Why wouldn't she have brought up the cost for the alternative treatments the first time she asked for money?"

"Supposedly, they just took Wendy for her first appointment with the alternative doctor today. So, Carolyn didn't know that she'd be asked for five thousand up front, before the treatments start."

"But she didn't mention anything about Wendy going to see the doctor and how that might be more of a hardship when she first visited?" Blair shifted slightly onto his good elbow. "I mean, if Carolyn went over her finances carefully before asking you for money the first time, it seems like she would have either waited until after today's appointment to talk to you; or else, she would have at least prepared you that she might need to ask for more, once she saw the doctor."

Yeah, Jim thought, feeling better already. He nodded slowly. "I guess so." He looked at Blair, who seemed to have settled into the sofa again. "You don't think I'm being a selfish prick for not cashing in another CD?" He made it sound like Blair's approval meant a lot.

Well, hell, maybe it did.

Blair smiled. "I think it took a lot of courage to stand your ground and not keep feeding her habit out of misplaced guilt." He shook his head. "Man. Something like a gambling addiction has to be really hard on a marriage."

Jim was glad that they'd talked about this. "In retrospect, I'm starting to think that maybe that's what destroyed it. She was always unhappy with me. Then she moved to San Francisco and found this guy, Fred, whom she was going to marry. But her gambling destroyed that relationship before they even made it to the altar."

He looked squarely at Blair. "I'm thinking now that her need to find problems with the people who are closest to her is probably her way of lying to herself about how destructive the gambling is." He suddenly had an unpleasant thought. "If Wendy is all she has left, she's probably blaming stress from dealing with Wendy's handicap as the reason she's continuing to gamble."

"That's a depressing thought," Blair said, sighing.

"Yeah."

"Gambling isn't an addiction that you hear much about, but it sounds like it can be just as serious as hard drugs and all the other stuff. Especially if a person gets involved with loan sharks and such."

Jim shook his head. "It never got to that level, thankfully. She drained a lot of investment accounts and maxed out her credit cards first. Of course," he considered uncomfortably, "for all I know, it might have reached that level now." He was suddenly anxious to change the subject. "How are you feeling?"

"Good enough to know that I don't want to ruin it by sitting up."

Jim grinned. "How about giving it a try, anyway?" He slid off the table and offered his arm, so Blair could grab hold of it. "Want to try by yourself first?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Blair let his feet drop to the floor, one at a time. Then he grabbed hold of Jim's arm and started to hoist himself up. He grimaced but kept at it while Jim's other arm hovered at his back, ready to support him, if necessary.

It wasn't necessary. Blair was taking relatively deep breaths as he sat there. Then he admitted, "That really wasn't so bad, considering how it felt earlier."

Jim squeezed his arm. "I doubt you re-injured anything. You probably just rattled what was still healing."

"Yeah," Blair agreed. "I guess this won't stop me from going back to teaching on Monday."

"Want something to drink?" Jim asked as he stood.

"A beer would be nice."

Blair knew better. "Not after the pills you took," Jim said. "How about orange juice?"

"Sure."

Three days later, Blair sat on the sofa with the cordless phone in his hand. This was the morning when Naomi had said in her email that she would be awaiting his call. She was expecting to hear all about how he got his 'bruises'. Blair realized that he couldn't put off the inevitable any longer. Jim was busy stocking up on groceries at a wholesale warehouse, so he would be gone awhile. There was no reason for Blair not to call.

He slowly punched in the numbers that he had written down from Naomi's email, feeling that he was summoning his own execution. He had considered outright lying -- saying that he'd gotten banged up falling down the stairs or something equally lame -- but experience had taught him that one lie inevitably led to another, so that everything would ultimately blow up in his face.

Besides, there was no reason not to tell the truth, was there?

A man answered. "Hello?"

"I'm calling for Naomi. It's her son, Blair."

The voice was instantly friendly. "Hi, Blair. I'll get her."

Blair listened while Naomi's name was loudly called. There were a lot of voices in the background. He guessed that there were probably at least a half-dozen people at the house where Naomi was staying.

"Blair, honey?" she greeted breathlessly. "How are you, sweetie?"

"Mom," Blair grinned. "Finally, we've connected."

"Yes, now I want to hear all about what happened. Jim told me hardly anything before he hung up on me."

Blair wished she hadn't remembered that. It had happened over a week ago. "Mom, I assure you he didn't hang up on you. He was meeting somebody that morning. Then we got busy, so I couldn't call you right back." Well, okay, he was going to tell one little lie.

Her voice was softer now, concerned. "What happened, honey? Jim said something about you being all bruised and recovering."

"Well," Blair began, then shifted to, "It's all fine now, Mom. I'm teaching again on Monday. I just got banged up a bit when I had a little accident at the University."

"What kind of accident?"

"I had to swerve my car to avoid two pedestrians who had wandered into the street."

"A car accident?" Naomi said with a hint of hysteria in her voice. "You were in a car accident?"

"Yeah, but it's no big deal. I'm fine."

"Oh, my God," Naomi gasped. "Oh, my God. Not that! Not a car accident!"

"Mom, listen! I'm fine." Blair felt his heart pound as he listened to Naomi's mindless babble.

He heard other people coming to Naomi, soothing her, asking what was wrong.

The man who had answered got on the phone. "Your mother's pretty upset right now. Maybe you should call back."

Dammit. Firmly, Blair demanded, "Put her back on the phone." He could feel anger filling him, as if it were cutting through the very fabric of time and space. He had a vague awareness that long-withheld knowledge was about to be delivered, and he didn't want to miss his opportunity.

He heard the phone being passed around, then sniffling. Naomi said, "Blair, honey, are you all right?"

"Yes, Mom, I'm fine. I told you I was better. Why did you go off like that?" Why?

Silence.

Blair held back a trembling breath of his own. "Mom," he said carefully, "I'm twenty-nine years old. You have to tell me, Mom. I have a right to know. I have a right to know why my being in a car accident upsets you so much." He quickly put his hand over the receiver as he took a couple of deep breaths.

Breathe... breathe..., he tried to soothe himself.

He shifted on the sofa, the pains in his upper body feeling distant, and repeated, "I... have... a right... to know." He waited but there was only silence. "Tell me."

Naomi's voice was now calm and controlled. "I'll have to talk to you later, Blair."

"MOM!" Blair cried as he heard the click in the earpiece.

Dammit. He flung the phone down so that it hit the sofa cushion. Dammit, dammit, dammit! He clutched his hair in his hand, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow. Frantically, he sent his memory out, desperate to grasp some thread from his subconscious that would give him the information that he was certain awaited him.

But he couldn't find any such memory.

He made an effort to calm himself, to send his anger on its way. He thought back to childhood therapy sessions. What had he talked about in them? He felt he had a reasonable recollection. All one therapist did was play the board game Sorry! with him -- every single session. Even now, Blair didn't know what the point of that had been. He remembered talking to various professionals about wetting the bed, traveling with his mother to various places. Being asked repeatedly if his stomach hurt, since he'd had a bout with ulcers. Being asked if he'd done a number two, since he was often constipated. He remembered telling one nice elderly doctor how much fun he had going to baseball games with Naomi's latest live-in lover. He remembered the man looking at him sympathetically, and that he'd been puzzled by the therapist's concern.

But he couldn't remember any of them -- ever -- talking about a car accident, or trying to prompt him to remember details of some elusive event.

But there had been an event, hadn't there? Something so raw and sensitive that all these years later, the mere mention of "car accident" sent Naomi into hysterics?

Why had she never told him?

Blair frowned.

Maybe because he'd never asked. Until now.

END PART ONE

PART TWO