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Blair entered the loft, fully expecting to hear Jim begin griping at him the moment he opened the door. He dropped his backpack on the floor and toed off his shoes. It was still, quiet. Too quiet. He hung his jacket on its hook a frown forming on his face at Jim's lack of reaction. Out of habit he tossed his keys and badge into the basket by the door.
Flipping on the lights, he stilled, eyes wide in shock. Everything that had been in the loft was off center, out of place. Okay, his mind raced over that thought. His artifacts were in their normal places, well almost in their places. It was Jim's things that were out of place. They had been moved, collected together and then placed in a brand new, (all right, new to him anyway) antique curio cabinet. Okay, so maybe Jim had rearranged a little.
Slowly, Blair turned around, hoping to see a sign that it was April Fool's Day or something. Instead, a flashing red light by the door caught his attention. He had forgotten to set the alarm! Simon would have his hide for that. He reached out and typed in Jim's id number. The light stopped flashing as the alarm reset, protecting him from the outside world.
He leaned on the door, enjoying the feel of the cool wood against his forehead. He was over 4 hours late. Jim was supposed to be down here, griping if not actually yelling at him because of it. Instead, a quiet, empty loft surrounded him.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Slowly, cautiously, he turned around. A wolf was stretched out on the floor, watching him. Its sad icy eyes bored into his soul. It looked ragged, fur unkempt, ribs showing through the skin. On its side was a dark, discolored patch of fur. Blair's eyes met the wolf's in recognition as his hand rose involuntarily to his chest. He half expected to find a gaping wound there, where his soul had been ripped out.
The old, comfortable furniture was gone. The coffee table and sofas that had been their refuge from bad times, were gone. In their place was a new set, the overstuffed sofa the same shade as Jim's eyes. He found himself running his hand along the back of the soft upholstery as he walked to his room, eyes looking for things that weren't there any more. There were so many things missing.
Blair opened the French door, fully expecting to find an empty storage room He found an office. It was impeccably neat, but aside from that odd fact, it was HIS office. The artifacts were his artifacts. Some were items that he had kept in storage because they just didn't have the room for them. Others were things that his mother had been keeping for him. A few were things from Jim's past - that was Jim's football.
He stared at the office. It had shelves on all four walls, even his desk was part of the shelves. The artifacts and books stood stiffly, almost as if at attention. The papers on the desk, so very neatly stacked were covered with his handwriting. The only things that did not fit into the perfection of the office was the short stack of books beside the desk. He backed out of the office, panic raising its head, choking his lungs.
He stumbled as he hit the stairs to Jim's bedroom. Without looking at the pictures he had knocked askew, he grabbed the railing and pulled himself to his feet. Knuckles going white as he gripped the hard metal, he slowly ascended the stairs, dreading what he was about to find.
It was no longer the spartan room he remembered. Where Jim's bed had been, was his smaller one, covered with his colorful bedspread and pillows. Where Jim's things had sat on the metal shelving were his personal favorites from his artifact collection. It was no longer Jim's room. In fact, it was as if it had never been Jim's room.
He shoved open the closet door. His clothes hung there. He peered above the shelf, but the carefully labeled boxes were gone. He pulled open a drawer only to find his own underclothes. He skimmed the neat stack of books by the bed, they were all his. He checked under the bed itself, nothing, not even a speck of dust. On the night stand was the only sign that Jim had ever been here. It was a picture of him and Jim taken by Simon on some fishing trip. Other than that, it was if the sentinel had never been.
What had been the first vestiges of panic bloomed into a full force terror. Blair didn't stumble as he went down the steps. He flew and tumbled, somehow landing on his feet. He peered into the bathroom. It hadn't changed too much. His soap and shampoo were still there, but as with every other room, Jim's things were missing.
He looked for Jim and the rest of the gang, knowing this had to be the worst joke in the history of mankind. Any minute they were going to bound out of some corner, some hiding place, laughing at his terror and fear. He cursed aloud. By now the sound of his heart, pounding way too fast and way too hard should have brought the big, pre civilized, way over protective sentinel to his side.
Blair fell to his knees in front to the curio cabinet. His eyes were captured by the items on its shelves. These were Jim's awards. His medals earned during his time in the military were mounted nicely over there. The letter he'd gotten in high school half hidden behind the trophy he'd earned in college. There were the Cop of the Year Awards he'd received several times running. There were several citations, miscellaneous awards, and memorabilia on the lower shelves. Most ominous of all was the pale wooden frame that held Jim's badge and id card.
Blair shook his head in denial as he backed away from the cabinet. He tripped on his own feet as he tried to stand. Landing on the soft sofa, he rolled over it. For the first time he noticed the oversized photo albums on the coffee table. He could feel the tears streaming down his face as he picked the first one up. Easily the largest, it was labeled simply, Cascade PD 1995-2000.
He opened the cover, not sure what he was expecting. The first picture was of the precinct. Of course, he thought, the perfect place to start. He flipped through the pages, some faster than others. He saw again the first time he'd met Jim when he read the article about the Switchman Case and saw pictures taken of them standing beside the damaged bus.
He saw Simon and Daryl and Joel. Rafe and Brown. Cassie, Sam, Megan, Rhonda. The police chief, the mayor, the governor. Col. Oliver, Bracket, Alex, Lila, Maya. Every case was documented, pictures of scenes, newspaper clippings and thank you notes. Autographed pictures of a retired actor, a beautiful singer, a politician.
The memories made him laugh. They made him wince. Some nearly made him cry. He kept on turning the pages until he came to the end of the album. Without making a conscious decision he picked up the next one. This was one was labeled Cascade PD 2001 - . He shook his head at the whimsy. He didn't expect this one to be filled. He opened the cover and dropped the album.
The first page was a photograph of Jim's truck, or rather it was the blackened remains of his truck. Only license tag was really recognizable. The truck had been deliberately rammed into the blackened husk of a building. The caption said everything: "Heroic Police Detective Saves Children at Own Cost". He read the article frantically, letting every single word imprint itself on his brain. Inside his heart he could feel the wailing, keening scream building.
The flash of the red alarm light caught his attention as he stood, body wavering, fighting tears and memory.
He could remember the heavy scent of the fire, ash, charred metal, roasted paint, gasoline. A sound, the wailing screech was loud in his ears. He covered them as he headed for the glowing, pulsing light of the fire.
"Sandburg! Come on!" Simon's voice broke through the sound of the siren. A hand grabbed his arm, tugging firmly on him. The big captain's eyes were masked by the flashing lights, his face grim. "You shouldn't be here. Let's move before there are any more accidents."
"Jim?" Blair couldn't frame the rest of the words.
Simon didn't answer as he pulled the smaller man toward a waiting ambulance. Blair dug in his heels but Joel joined them then. Wrapping their arms firmly around Blair, the two captains literally lifted him off his feet, dragging his struggling body in the direction of their choice.
Blair peered behind them. Flames wrapped around a building, beautiful yellow-red flames. Destructive and yet so beautiful. They wavered and danced in the windows as if alive. Even the flame people of the Golden hadn't been quite so compelling, so attractive. For a moment, he saw Jim in the flames. Instantly, Blair tried to break free from the arms holding him back, keeping him from joining his sentinel.
"No, you don't." Simon's grim words and harsh grip made him stop struggling. "You are not going back in there."
"But Jim's..." Blair tried to tell Simon. He vaguely heard more voices, familiar ones that surrounded him. But he couldn't hear the one he wanted most. An oxygen mask descended over his face. With wild, uncoordinated movements, Blair fought it. He felt the prick of a needle. He screamed, just before everything went dark, "JIM!"
Blair's eyes opened. White walls and a white ceiling. He was in the hospital. He tried to move but his arm was being restrained. He turned his head. No one sat in the chair. No one was waiting for him to wake up. It hadn't been a nightmare. He felt the slow hot tears slide down his cheeks. Closing his eyes, he let his sorrow claim him.
The door of his room opened. He ignored it. He didn't want to see whoever it was. If it was a nurse, he or she could do their job and leave. He just wanted to grieve. A warm hand touched his cheek, wiping away the tears.
"Hey, Chief. How about opening your eyes?" The voice was soft, hopeful and it was the voice he knew he shouldn't be hearing. "Please?"
He turned towards the voice warily. Blue eyes and a bruised face met his gaze. Blair ignored the pain of his burns as he threw himself towards the other man. "You're alive!"
"Whoa! Easy, Chief." Jim's words were whispered into the younger man's hair. "I'm alive and so are you buddy."
"But you were dead... I saw the memorial and the loft was empty and..." Blair's words were confused. He tried to make sense of his jumbled memories and the vague uneasy dreams. "I was all alone."
"It was a nightmare caused by your concussion." Jim didn't let go. He simply held on to his shaking guide. "I'm right here. We're both going to be all right."