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He is so dead. His fate is irrevocably sealed.
The explosion may not have done it, but when he wakes up from his pain pill induced stupor, I'm going to kill him myself.
And what in the world was Simon thinking? I told him I didn't want to go to that damn conference and leave the kid behind on his own. I mean, the man knows what a trouble-magnet Sandburg is. Hadn't I warned him? I told him 'you know Sandburg,' but did he take that warning seriously? Obviously not.
So now here I am, staring down at my partner sprawled face down on his futon, covers twisted around his body like a mummy's wrappings; his right wrist and arm in a cast and scrapes and bruises on every part of his body that's visible. He's going to be one sore anthropologist when the pills wear off.
Sandburg's going to have some explaining to do when he wakes up. Where in the world did he get hold of plastic explosives? And just what the hell kind of anthro project was he working on, anyway??
Thank god there wasn't anyone but him in Hargrove Hall when the explosion happened. Blair would never forgive himself if he'd caused someone else to be hurt. I wouldn't want to have to break that news to him. The kid takes that kind of thing pretty damn hard and I'd hate to see him hurting any more than he already is.
Damn. Even when he's unconscious he manages to deflect my anger and make me think about ways to make him feel better. How does he do that?
Sigh.
Guess I better go tell Simon that I'm not mad at him and that he can go home now. I'll call him when Sandburg wakes up and let him know how the kid's doing. He'll bluster a bit, but he can't fool me. He may protest, but he cares about Sandburg and he'll want to know
that he's doing all right.
I'll tell you what. I am never going to another one of these damn conferences and leaving Sandburg behind again. He's coming along whether he wants to or not, even if I have to handcuff him to me and pay for his ticket myself.
On second thought, I'll make Simon pay. It's the least he can do.