Pandora's Box
(Sequel to Learning To Swim)
By: Victoria May
What have I done?
I glance over at Jim who stares out at the road ahead with a blank face. He hasn't spoken a word in the last three hours. I don't try to make conversation-what can I say? I'm sorry? I was wrong? You were right Jim, we should have left him alone? I don't think there are enough words in the entire English dictionary to fill the Pandora's box I alone am responsible for opening.
Oh, Jim said he was fine-no harm done. He and Blair have been through worse. And they have. But that's not the point. Until yesterday, neither Blair nor Jim had reason to believe the other would betray him-again.
My first mistake was coming up here and dragging Jim along with me. I should have realized that Jim trusted Blair. Trusted him more than he has ever trusted anyone. After everything they have been through together, after everything Blair has given up in the name of friendship, Jim had finally found the one person who he believed would never betray him.
It is my own fears, my own worry that could very well mean the end of this friendship. I am the one who followed after my newest detective under the guise of concern. In reality, it was my own mistrust of a man who has failed to prove himself to me. As if I somehow had the right to demand that proof. Maybe if I had been less concerned about the shell of a man Ellison had become and more concerned with the steady erosion of the brilliant mind and soul of an academic, I would never have doubted the strength of character in the latter. I would have seen to what lengths the weaker, the smaller, the more innocent would go to earn its rightful place by the side of a mighty warrior.
Instead, I believed the worst-that Blair truly was planning on leaving Jim. I had no idea what that would do to Jim, but having seen him at the edge of insanity's door, I feared the worst. So I dragged Ellison along with me, convincing him that it wouldn't hurt to drop in on Blair. It was, after all, only gentle, peaceful Blair. He would welcome us with open arms, clap us on our backs and invite us to stay the weekend with him. That was the plan at least.
I should have known that Jim would be able to sense my own worries. He's very astute that way. I can't get away with much around him. So of course, like worry tends to do, it leached onto Jim until I could almost see it dancing behind his eyes. We hadn't even reached the cabin and the damage had been done. Where once lived harmony and trust now resided suspicion and fear.
My fault.
Blair's surprise and delight at seeing us was like a double-edged sword sliding home into my heart. How I could believe this man, this innocent, would intentionally hurt Jim is beyond me. I wish I could blame it on temporary insanity, but that won't make it better.
Unlike Jim's own reaction when we tracked him down in Clayton Falls, Blair was happy to see us. My stomach rolls at the thought that he probably had believed we would just let him slip away and when he returned, act as though he had never left. He probably thought he didn't rate high enough to be missed.
Of course, he scolded us for following him, then clapped us on the back and invited us to stay the weekend. The joy was written on his face and it was obvious he was pleased that we would want to share this with him. He believed that we really did see him as an equal-a friend.
If there was any betrayal this weekend, it was mine.
We were ushered into the dilapidated cabin through a low door and entered into a bright, airy room. To one side rested an old, rusted sink and a wood stove next to that. A kitchen table straight off Happy Days was pushed against a wall. On the other side of the room sat a brown, overstuffed sofa and mismatched armchair. A low table sat between the two, its surface hidden by papers and pamphlets and books. An open notebook lay next to those, small black scribbles lining the pages. At the back of the room were two doors. One was open and I could see a discolored toilet hugging the yellowing floor. The other door was closed-I assumed it was the bedroom.
Blair was jabbering away about how surprised he was to see us but how he should have expected us to follow, after all how could we pass up a chance to commune with nature? I tuned out his voice-a talent I picked up after years of practice-and noticed Jim staring at the small table and pile of papers. I thought maybe he had zoned on the bright colors in the drab cabin, but he hadn't zoned since that first year after his senses began to act up.
Finally, Jim looked away from the table and latched his eyes onto Sandburg. 'Going somewhere Sandburg?' he asked. Oh, he feigned nonchalance and feigned it well, but I can read that man like a book, as I'm sure Blair could as well.
Confusion descended on the pixie face as Blair froze, mid-sentence. 'What?' he'd asked, suddenly winded as if a heavy weight just slammed into him.
Jim gestured towards the table and then shoved his hands into his pockets.
'Oh!' Blair exclaimed as his eyes grew wide and he looked from Jim to me. Then realization dawned on his expressive face and the hurt crept over it like a shadow.
'You thought I was leaving.' It was a statement, not a question. He's a wise man. He already knew the answer.
'Aren't you?' Jim asked. His tact needs a bit of work-I'll have to remember to tell him that sometime.
'You don't trust me,' a quiet voice stated. Blair looked as if his entire world was crumbling around him. He turned away from me and walked over to the table. He stood, staring down at the papers, finally reaching out to snag a colorful pamphlet. Turning it over in his hand, he ran a finger lightly across the smooth paper. Then, in an uncharacteristic move, he crumpled the paper in his fist and dropped it listlessly to the floor.
'I *like* the roller-coaster man. I *told* you that. I don't want to go back to the merry-go-round.' I had no idea what Blair was talking about, but Jim seemed to understand, so I kept quiet as Blair continued. 'Were you waiting for me to freak out and leave? Is that what you thought I was doing? That I couldn't handle it?' Blair had moved closer to Jim and was staring up into the terse face.
'No!' Jim protested.
'Then what the hell is going on man, because all I'm getting here is that you don't trust me. After all the shit I've gone through for you, you still don't trust me.' Blair dropped his voice and lowered his head as he backed away from his roommate.
Feeling the tension mounting, I stepped forward and put my hand on Blair's arm. 'That's not it kid. Coming up here was my idea. I thought we could crash and do some hiking-commune with Mother Nature.'
Blair shrugged off my hand and stalked over to the armchair, flinging his slender body into it. For a moment, he looked like a petulant child, reminding me of Daryl when he'd just turned twelve. Jim just stood, unmoving, and stared at the far wall. I was forced to wonder again how these two have managed to stay together this long when this 'attitude' is standard operating procedure. I bent over and scooped the balled paper from the floor. Kneeling next to the table, I smoothed it out and discovered it was a pamphlet for Amnesty International. I held it out to Jim and glared at him, daring him to defy me. He didn't and meekly took the paper from my hand.
'I should quit. I should leave-just get the hell out of dodge and never look back.' Blair announced.
I watched as Jim's face crumpled, just a little at his friend's words.
'I don't know why I put up with this crap,' Blair continued. He sounded as though his anger was waning. 'It has to stop. I don't have anything left to give you Jim.'
Still clutching the wrinkled pamphlet, Jim slumped onto the sofa and tilted his head back-as if searching the ceiling for answers.
'You don't have to give us anything Sandburg,' I said, thinking that the assurance meant something because it came from me. I am after all, the boss, the mentor, the father figure.
I was wrong.
'Apparently, I do Simon,' Blair had corrected me softly. 'Or you wouldn't be here.' Blair laughed then, a rough, spiteful laugh. 'The only thing I have left to give is my word, and it doesn't seem as though that's enough.'
Jim sucked in a loud breath of air and lifted his head to look at his partner. 'Your word is enough for me,' he paused and fingered the pamphlet. 'I promise. Fear . . .'
'Fear-based responses-I know,' Blair finished for him, his face awash with disappointment and an almost mournful look.
'Tell me about this,' Jim had said, waving the pamphlet in the air. A sign of peace. A start.
So Blair had gone on to tell us about the growing need to rediscover who Blair Sandburg is. He really does like being a cop-who knew? But he does make a damn fine detective and I should have known better than to doubt him. But once he'd settled in and discovered that being a gun toting enforcer of the law was really no different than his overly active role as a police 'observer', he'd begun to feel the loss of his previous exploits.
Turns out he was quite the little radical at Rainier. That is, until he met Jim and started filling his extra hours solving crimes and aiding Jim with his senses. And now that he had time on his hands, he could feel the familiar pull of humanitarian pursuits. So he'd sought out the local Amnesty International chapter and collected all the information on their projects, both local and international. He'd come up to the cabin to go through the information and figure out what role he could take in the organization. But more importantly, he'd come to light a few candles, meditate, and take long walks to clear his mind and body of the past year's tension.
Tension. We'd probably heaped more on him in the last hour than he'd been able to 'clear' out of his system in the last day, and then some. Being the amicable fellow that he is, Blair convinced us to stay the night, giving us time to climb one of the near bluffs. We joked and laughed and pretended that everything was okay. We knew better.
I glance over at Jim again as I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I need to stop, stretch my legs, but I can't bring myself to break the silence. Oh sure, Jim and Blair will get over this. They always do. But now I have to wonder what strange force holds these two bound together, that they should hurt each other so and keep coming back for more. And I have to ask myself, how did I become so mired with them?
I let my mind wander and think about Monday, when Blair and Jim will come into the bullpen and how we'll all act as though nothing has happened. The old tension will be back in its comfortable spot, nestling between the partners. The other detectives will notice and turn away-they've been well trained. But no one will suspect that I am the guilty party here. That I initiated this new crisis in the lives of my friends.
Sometimes I hate being captain.
(Sequel to Learning To Swim)
By: Victoria May
What have I done?
I glance over at Jim who stares out at the road ahead with a blank face. He hasn't spoken a word in the last three hours. I don't try to make conversation-what can I say? I'm sorry? I was wrong? You were right Jim, we should have left him alone? I don't think there are enough words in the entire English dictionary to fill the Pandora's box I alone am responsible for opening.
Oh, Jim said he was fine-no harm done. He and Blair have been through worse. And they have. But that's not the point. Until yesterday, neither Blair nor Jim had reason to believe the other would betray him-again.
My first mistake was coming up here and dragging Jim along with me. I should have realized that Jim trusted Blair. Trusted him more than he has ever trusted anyone. After everything they have been through together, after everything Blair has given up in the name of friendship, Jim had finally found the one person who he believed would never betray him.
It is my own fears, my own worry that could very well mean the end of this friendship. I am the one who followed after my newest detective under the guise of concern. In reality, it was my own mistrust of a man who has failed to prove himself to me. As if I somehow had the right to demand that proof. Maybe if I had been less concerned about the shell of a man Ellison had become and more concerned with the steady erosion of the brilliant mind and soul of an academic, I would never have doubted the strength of character in the latter. I would have seen to what lengths the weaker, the smaller, the more innocent would go to earn its rightful place by the side of a mighty warrior.
Instead, I believed the worst-that Blair truly was planning on leaving Jim. I had no idea what that would do to Jim, but having seen him at the edge of insanity's door, I feared the worst. So I dragged Ellison along with me, convincing him that it wouldn't hurt to drop in on Blair. It was, after all, only gentle, peaceful Blair. He would welcome us with open arms, clap us on our backs and invite us to stay the weekend with him. That was the plan at least.
I should have known that Jim would be able to sense my own worries. He's very astute that way. I can't get away with much around him. So of course, like worry tends to do, it leached onto Jim until I could almost see it dancing behind his eyes. We hadn't even reached the cabin and the damage had been done. Where once lived harmony and trust now resided suspicion and fear.
My fault.
Blair's surprise and delight at seeing us was like a double-edged sword sliding home into my heart. How I could believe this man, this innocent, would intentionally hurt Jim is beyond me. I wish I could blame it on temporary insanity, but that won't make it better.
Unlike Jim's own reaction when we tracked him down in Clayton Falls, Blair was happy to see us. My stomach rolls at the thought that he probably had believed we would just let him slip away and when he returned, act as though he had never left. He probably thought he didn't rate high enough to be missed.
Of course, he scolded us for following him, then clapped us on the back and invited us to stay the weekend. The joy was written on his face and it was obvious he was pleased that we would want to share this with him. He believed that we really did see him as an equal-a friend.
If there was any betrayal this weekend, it was mine.
We were ushered into the dilapidated cabin through a low door and entered into a bright, airy room. To one side rested an old, rusted sink and a wood stove next to that. A kitchen table straight off Happy Days was pushed against a wall. On the other side of the room sat a brown, overstuffed sofa and mismatched armchair. A low table sat between the two, its surface hidden by papers and pamphlets and books. An open notebook lay next to those, small black scribbles lining the pages. At the back of the room were two doors. One was open and I could see a discolored toilet hugging the yellowing floor. The other door was closed-I assumed it was the bedroom.
Blair was jabbering away about how surprised he was to see us but how he should have expected us to follow, after all how could we pass up a chance to commune with nature? I tuned out his voice-a talent I picked up after years of practice-and noticed Jim staring at the small table and pile of papers. I thought maybe he had zoned on the bright colors in the drab cabin, but he hadn't zoned since that first year after his senses began to act up.
Finally, Jim looked away from the table and latched his eyes onto Sandburg. 'Going somewhere Sandburg?' he asked. Oh, he feigned nonchalance and feigned it well, but I can read that man like a book, as I'm sure Blair could as well.
Confusion descended on the pixie face as Blair froze, mid-sentence. 'What?' he'd asked, suddenly winded as if a heavy weight just slammed into him.
Jim gestured towards the table and then shoved his hands into his pockets.
'Oh!' Blair exclaimed as his eyes grew wide and he looked from Jim to me. Then realization dawned on his expressive face and the hurt crept over it like a shadow.
'You thought I was leaving.' It was a statement, not a question. He's a wise man. He already knew the answer.
'Aren't you?' Jim asked. His tact needs a bit of work-I'll have to remember to tell him that sometime.
'You don't trust me,' a quiet voice stated. Blair looked as if his entire world was crumbling around him. He turned away from me and walked over to the table. He stood, staring down at the papers, finally reaching out to snag a colorful pamphlet. Turning it over in his hand, he ran a finger lightly across the smooth paper. Then, in an uncharacteristic move, he crumpled the paper in his fist and dropped it listlessly to the floor.
'I *like* the roller-coaster man. I *told* you that. I don't want to go back to the merry-go-round.' I had no idea what Blair was talking about, but Jim seemed to understand, so I kept quiet as Blair continued. 'Were you waiting for me to freak out and leave? Is that what you thought I was doing? That I couldn't handle it?' Blair had moved closer to Jim and was staring up into the terse face.
'No!' Jim protested.
'Then what the hell is going on man, because all I'm getting here is that you don't trust me. After all the shit I've gone through for you, you still don't trust me.' Blair dropped his voice and lowered his head as he backed away from his roommate.
Feeling the tension mounting, I stepped forward and put my hand on Blair's arm. 'That's not it kid. Coming up here was my idea. I thought we could crash and do some hiking-commune with Mother Nature.'
Blair shrugged off my hand and stalked over to the armchair, flinging his slender body into it. For a moment, he looked like a petulant child, reminding me of Daryl when he'd just turned twelve. Jim just stood, unmoving, and stared at the far wall. I was forced to wonder again how these two have managed to stay together this long when this 'attitude' is standard operating procedure. I bent over and scooped the balled paper from the floor. Kneeling next to the table, I smoothed it out and discovered it was a pamphlet for Amnesty International. I held it out to Jim and glared at him, daring him to defy me. He didn't and meekly took the paper from my hand.
'I should quit. I should leave-just get the hell out of dodge and never look back.' Blair announced.
I watched as Jim's face crumpled, just a little at his friend's words.
'I don't know why I put up with this crap,' Blair continued. He sounded as though his anger was waning. 'It has to stop. I don't have anything left to give you Jim.'
Still clutching the wrinkled pamphlet, Jim slumped onto the sofa and tilted his head back-as if searching the ceiling for answers.
'You don't have to give us anything Sandburg,' I said, thinking that the assurance meant something because it came from me. I am after all, the boss, the mentor, the father figure.
I was wrong.
'Apparently, I do Simon,' Blair had corrected me softly. 'Or you wouldn't be here.' Blair laughed then, a rough, spiteful laugh. 'The only thing I have left to give is my word, and it doesn't seem as though that's enough.'
Jim sucked in a loud breath of air and lifted his head to look at his partner. 'Your word is enough for me,' he paused and fingered the pamphlet. 'I promise. Fear . . .'
'Fear-based responses-I know,' Blair finished for him, his face awash with disappointment and an almost mournful look.
'Tell me about this,' Jim had said, waving the pamphlet in the air. A sign of peace. A start.
So Blair had gone on to tell us about the growing need to rediscover who Blair Sandburg is. He really does like being a cop-who knew? But he does make a damn fine detective and I should have known better than to doubt him. But once he'd settled in and discovered that being a gun toting enforcer of the law was really no different than his overly active role as a police 'observer', he'd begun to feel the loss of his previous exploits.
Turns out he was quite the little radical at Rainier. That is, until he met Jim and started filling his extra hours solving crimes and aiding Jim with his senses. And now that he had time on his hands, he could feel the familiar pull of humanitarian pursuits. So he'd sought out the local Amnesty International chapter and collected all the information on their projects, both local and international. He'd come up to the cabin to go through the information and figure out what role he could take in the organization. But more importantly, he'd come to light a few candles, meditate, and take long walks to clear his mind and body of the past year's tension.
Tension. We'd probably heaped more on him in the last hour than he'd been able to 'clear' out of his system in the last day, and then some. Being the amicable fellow that he is, Blair convinced us to stay the night, giving us time to climb one of the near bluffs. We joked and laughed and pretended that everything was okay. We knew better.
I glance over at Jim again as I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I need to stop, stretch my legs, but I can't bring myself to break the silence. Oh sure, Jim and Blair will get over this. They always do. But now I have to wonder what strange force holds these two bound together, that they should hurt each other so and keep coming back for more. And I have to ask myself, how did I become so mired with them?
I let my mind wander and think about Monday, when Blair and Jim will come into the bullpen and how we'll all act as though nothing has happened. The old tension will be back in its comfortable spot, nestling between the partners. The other detectives will notice and turn away-they've been well trained. But no one will suspect that I am the guilty party here. That I initiated this new crisis in the lives of my friends.
Sometimes I hate being captain.