Seeds of Faith
by ysone

It isn't until the dust settles that I know we're in trouble. I guess it would be more truthful to say that it isn't until the dust settles that I have the presence of mind to realize we're in trouble. Up to this point, I've been a bit preoccupied with trying to avoid being crushed by falling debris...you know, forty-ton cement slabs, ten-ton two by fours, that sort of thing. And don't think for a minute I'm exaggerating. I'm a detective. I've been trained to state the facts as I see them. And I know for a fact that the two by four that hit me in the middle of my back weighs at least ten tons. No question about it. I have the bruises to prove it.

Point is, I know the minute the dust settles that we're in trouble. We being me, my partner and best friend, Rafe, and Sandburg, everyone's favorite anthropologist...

God help us. Because Jim Ellison is going to kill us.

What are the odds? We borrow the kid for one afternoon -- one lousy, stinkin' afternoon -- to put his psych minor to good use helping us figure out if a homeless guy feeding us info is on the level or out to lunch...and an empty building falls on us!

God, don't let the kid be hurt. Jim'll kill us. If Simon doesn't beat him to it. The captain's paternal tendency toward the kid is a "well kept" secret around the department -- "well kept" being a sarcastic phrase in this instance. Simon, bless his granite heart, is as transparent as bottled water where Sandburg is concerned, at least to those of us on the outside looking in. I think Sandburg and Simon are the only ones still in the dark on that front, though I'm pretty sure the kid is beginning to suspect something. God help Simon if Sandburg does clue in to that fact.

And God help us when Simon gets a hold of our asses.

"Henri?"

The weak, pain-filled voice of my partner draws my attention from our imminent demise. I push myself to my knees, shaking away the miscellaneous boards and debris still blanketing my back. A groan escapes before I can stop it. Probably not a good idea to be moving with an obvious back injury, but I'm pretty sure it's only badly bruised, and it's clear from the pain in that one word from my partner that Rafe is worse off than me.

"Henri...you okay, man?" His concern-laced voice is a little stronger this time, but I'm not reassured. My imagination is working overtime filling in the images my eyes can't make out in the semi-darkness, and I'm not at all happy with what it's conjuring up. I mean, hell! A building has just fallen on us!

"I'm fine, buddy," I reassure him as I make my way gingerly through the rubble. "You know me, head hard as a bowling ball. Take more than a few tons of cement to take me down."

"A regular superman," Rafe chuckles.

"No, that would be Ellison," I laugh back, finally reaching Rafe's side. Damn! Rafe's laying on his back, a slow trickle of blood making its way from a not so pretty gash across his forehead down into his hair. His right side is buried under a piece of splintered, rotting plywood. His left arm is broken, no question about it, but a quick visual examination in the dim light reassures me that the bone hasn't come through the skin. Thank God!

"Ellison...Oh, shit! He's gonna kill us!" Rafe squints up at me from his position on the floor.

"Yeah, probably," I agree, my attention focused on evaluating whether or not I can remove the debris trapping my partner in place without injuring him further. I'm well aware that Sandburg is unaccounted for at the moment, but I can only deal with one problem at a time. I have to assure myself Rafe isn't bleeding to death under this mountain of refuse first.

I slide my hand down to his neck, checking his pulse, which, thankfully, is steady. "What hurts, buddy? Besides your head and arm, I mean."

Rafe closes his eyes for a minute. "I'm okay, H. Go find Blair."

I ignore Rafe for the moment. I'm not so sure he'll tell me if he's hurt somewhere else. I need to see for myself. I begin lifting the debris, one piece at a time, as carefully as I can. The last thing I want to do is bring down even more of this crap.

I've scarcely moved the first board when I feel a grip on my arm, staying my progress. Surprised, I turn back to face my partner, who has somehow worked his right arm out from beneath the crap on top of him. At least the limb looks relatively free of major injury, and judging from the strength of his grip, looks aren't deceiving in this instance.

"H, stop...please, listen to me. I'm fine, no lie, man. I can feel my legs, move my toes, all that crap. Nothing hurts more than it should with half the ceiling laying on it. Now, go find Blair!"

I look at my friend and partner for a long minute, trying to judge the truth of his words. Finally, finding what I'm looking for in his expression, I nod and move away, climbing gingerly over the fallen debris toward where the kid was standing when all hell broke loose.

"Sandburg?" Please God, let the kid answer, I silently pray. "Sandburg!"

The lack of answer is doing nothing to calm my growing panic. It would help if I could better see what I'm doing, but I'm having to make my way across splintered lumber and twisted metal, feeling my way as I go, for the most part. As I approach the area where I think the kid went down, I slow and drop to my knees, not wanting to miss him, or, God forbid, step on him.

"Henri?"

I know what Rafe is asking. "Not yet, partner. How you doing over there?"

I hear a noisy sigh from behind me that does nothing to reassure me, despite his next words. "I'm fine, man. Quit worrying about me and find Blair."

"Working on it," I assure. Yeah, right. Quit worrying about him. Like I can do that. Hell, I'm worried about all of us, myself included. It hasn't escaped my attention that no one exactly knows where we are, which, of course, makes a quick rescue a tad bit unlikely.

A soft moan in front of me draws me back to the immediate problem. I'll deal with getting out of here later. Right now...

"Sandburg?"

Another moan answers, this one a bit louder, and I'm able to pinpoint his general location. I'm not even close. He must have moved when the collapse started. I inch toward the sound, cursing under my breath as my hands and knees repeatedly find the nastiest splinters and sharpest edges.

Relief floods me as my hand finally contacts something warm -- relatively speaking. It's Sandburg's hand, and it's way too cold and clammy to reassure me. I have to remind myself that I heard him not two minutes ago. And, damn it, he couldn't have...have...not in two minutes! Not on my watch!

"Hairboy? Come on, man, give me a sign here," I plead even as I work my way gingerly over the debris, trying to get closer. I keep pleading, until I finally get a response. The hand I'm holding spasms in mine, clenching just the slightest bit, but it's enough.

"Thank you, God," I whisper. Louder, I say, "Stay with me, Hairboy, you hear me?"

"Not...goin'...an'w'ere..."

The slurred, weak words, barely audible, spur me on, and I finally make it through the maze of debris, as close as I can get. What I find locks my throat so tight, I almost can't get a breath past. Holy Shit! Half the damned ceiling is laying on top of the kid. I can't see much more than his arm and the hand I'm still clinging to. Nightmare images of what I'll find under the mess spring before my eyes.

I'm going to have to get this stuff off of him. But where do I start? It's like that damned game I played with my sister when I was a kid. Pick-Up-Sticks. Move the wrong stick and the whole pile was liable to come tumbling down. Not once did I ever win that cussed game. My big, clumsy hands always brought the pile down.

"'enri...okay?"

"Yeah, Hairboy, I'm okay," I answer the soft question, knowing that's what he's asking. It's a Sandburg thing, duly noted and accepted.

"Rafe?"

I hesitate on that one. I'm not so sure my partner is okay, but I know this one calls for a lie. Said partner, however, beats me to it.

"I'm okay, Blair," Rafe calls out. "Just not going anywhere at the moment."

I should be happy to note Rafe's voice sounds a bit stronger than it did earlier, but at the same time I note the sounds coming from behind me, and I have no trouble matching them to what's going on. And that does not make me happy.

"You stay put, Rafe," I order in my firmest, don't-mess-with-me voice...not that that's ever made much difference with Rafe. "You hear me?" Last thing I want right now is to worry about him trying to dig himself out of that mess.

"I hear you."

That might have reassured me, but for the grunt of exertion and the crash of a tossed two by four that follows. I open my mouth to repeat myself, but I'm stopped by a sound from Sandburg. Not a moan exactly. I think it would have been if the kid could have gotten enough breath behind it, but it ends up not much more than a whimper. The sound, and the obvious pain within it, spur me into action. I begin pulling loose boards out and tossing them out of the way.

"Hairboy? You still with me?"

"Wh'r...would I go?" There's a smile in the voice, despite the effort behind it.

"Good." I pull another board out of the way, chunking in as far as I can. "Keep it that way, kid."

"When are you--" There's a gasp, followed by a small groan. When Sandburg continues, his voice is a whole lot softer, and I have to strain to pick out the words. "When are you gonna...quit calling me 'kid'? I'm almost...thirty."

"Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades," I counter, intent on keeping him talking. I grunt loudly as I strain to shove aside a slab of plywood. "You'll always be the kid to us, Hairboy, and don't delude yourself that it has anything to do with age."

"You...you saying I'm immature, H?"

"Draw your own conclusions, kid." Immature? Not a word I associate with Sandburg, despite my teasing. Truth is, I think it's his innocence that led to the nickname. Sandburg sees the world a little different than the rest of us. He's more...optimistic. We pick up a gang-banger on, oh, say...robbery charges. I see a menace to society; someone I have to get off the streets before he takes that last step over the line to something more serious. Sandburg sees a kid gone bad and he wants to know why -- what caused it, and how to stop it from happening again. And, more importantly, I think, how to save the kid-gone-bad before it's too late. No. Strike that. I don't think Sandburg would ever feel it is too late. Immature? Not on your life. Idealistic? Naïve? Childlike? Sure. No question about it. But definitely not a bad thing. In fact, I envy the kid his youthful outlook on life. I used to be that way, once upon a time. Before I let it all get to me one time too many. I pray to God Hairboy never loses that youthful exuberance, because the day he does, we'll all lose something vital.

I suddenly notice Sandburg hasn't answered me. "Blair? You still there?" Nothing. Oh, God! "Sandburg!!" I can't help the panic in my voice. I quickly scramble to find his free hand and am relieved to be met by a weak, but steady pulse.

"Henri?"

Surprised, I turn to see my partner on his knees beside me. I've been so intent on what I'm doing, I didn't even hear him approach. I don't know whether to be angry or relieved. "I thought I told you to stay put," I remind him. I notice he's tried to used his belt to strap his broken arm against his chest. Dumb putz, didn't even get it tight enough to do any good. I reach over and pull it a bit tighter, trying not to notice the grimace of pain that crosses his face.

"Since when do I follow your orders?" Rafe returns, jauntily. "Figured you needed some help over here." He turns his attention to the mass of debris before us. "Jesus!"

"I hope that's a prayer," I reply, returning to my excavation duties. "'Cause we can certainly use the extra help."

Using his good arm and struggling audibly not to give voice to his obvious pain, Rafe digs in. I'd love to yell at him, remind him of his own injuries and tell him to sit back out of the way, but I ruefully realize that even the little help he can offer is vital. We have to get the kid out and assess the damage.

We work steadily for the next ten minutes or so, mostly in silence. We take turns trying to talk to Sandburg, coax him into to waking up, but he doesn't respond. Finally, we shove aside the last of the large stuff with a sound that's somewhat reminiscent of a woman giving birth.

My throat tightens painfully as I get my first real look at Sandburg. He's laying on his stomach, one hand stretched above his head, the other under him somewhere. His face is obscured by his hair. Several lengths of lumber are still laying across his back, and it's one of them that has me on the verge of hyperventilation. The damned thing splintered when the ceiling crashed down, and the jagged edge has skewered the kid like a bug on a pin.

I spare a quick glance at Rafe, and though the lighting in here ain't the greatest, I can see he's lost the little bit of color he had to start with. I move quickly to double check Sandburg's pulse. My touch tells me it's still there...much too weak, granted, and not altogether steady, but still there. My eyes are telling me a different story, though. The kid's unnaturally still, and the dark pool creeping slowly across the filthy concrete floor does nothing whatsoever to reassure me.

"Sandburg...Blair!" I don't really expect an answer, but God, I wish the kid would wake up! I need some kind of sign here! Something to convince my eyes to buy into what the pulse under my fingertips is trying to tell me.

Beside me, Rafe scoots forward, his shaking hand reaching out to brush the hair from Sandburg's face. The touch accomplishes what all my yelling and cursing didn't. Sandburg releases a almost inaudible whimper, not much more than a pained breath really, and his arm spasms, the fingers clenching into a loose fist.

"...'im...?"

"Jim's not here, Blair," I say, hating the truth of that statement. Shit! Why couldn't Ellison be here? Hell, long as I'm wishing, why couldn't the paramedics and rescue teams be here? "It's Henri and Rafe...you with us, kid?"

My only answer is another soft moan.

"Blair," my partner pleads, "come on, man, stay with us!"

I leave Rafe to continue cajoling Sandburg toward consciousness and move down to see just what we are looking at. I'm not normally prone to queasiness, but my stomach somersaults as I take in the full extent of the damage, and I have to swallow hard against a surge of nausea. The splintered end of a piece of lumber has gone in at an angle, entering just above the top of his jeans and to the left of his spine -- thank God for that! I can't tell how far in it's gone, but at least it didn't go straight down. Maybe it managed to miss the important stuff. I try to review what I know of anatomy to determine what internal organs, if any, might be involved, but it's no use. I'm not a damned doctor, and what they teach in the basic first aid courses required at the academy doesn't even come close to covering something like this. Damn! We are so screwed.

I take a few deep breaths to calm myself and start over. One step at a time. Okay, stem the bleeding. I frown, not exactly sure how to do that under the circumstances. Removing the skewer is out of the question. Even a dummy like me knows that's better left to people who know what the hell they're doing. I examine the wound again, trying to be a bit more objective this time, trying to forget who, exactly, it is with this jagged hole in his back. It's not bleeding as badly as I had originally thought. I think the hole is pretty much plugged by the skewer. I grimace at the idea, but I guess that's a silver lining.

"What're we looking at, H?"

I try to school my expression before turning back to face my partner. Waste of time, really. It's not like he can't see the situation himself. Rather than answer right away, I nod toward Sandburg. "He out?"

Rafe shrugs with his good shoulder. "I think he's semi-conscious, but not coherent. He keeps muttering something about giving Jim something to smell so he can find us."

I sit back on my heels and rub my hands roughly over my face. "I wish to God that was an option, buddy. Even Ellison is going to have a tough time with this one." I steal a glance at my watch, thankful for it's illuminated face. "He's not expecting us back for another hour or so, and even then he'll probably assume we just got tied up or stopped to eat or something." I do some quick calculations in my head. "I doubt they'll figure out we're missing for another couple of hours, at least. Then it'll take a while for them to track down where exactly we are."

"Always looking at the bright side, aren't you, H?"

"Yep, that's me...Mr. Sunshine." I try to force a smile, but my heart's not in it. The truth of the situation isn't lost on me. Sandburg doesn't have a couple of hours.

"No..." The word is so softly spoken, we almost miss it.

"Blair?" Rafe turns back to the kid, placing a gentle hand on the sweat and grime covered forehead. "You back with us, kid?"

When Sandburg answers, I have to lean forward to catch the words.

"Jim..."

Lord, here he goes again. I hate having to remind him Jim isn't here. But he goes on before I can say it.

"...Jim's c-coming...gotta give 'im s-somethin' to follow..."

Rafe shoots me a concerned look, and I frown. I scoot forward and begin running my hands over the kid's head, looking for signs of a head injury. Rafe moves out of the way to give me better access. He takes Sandburg's hand with his good one, trying to keep up a comforting contact.

Ignoring my actions, Sandburg continues, though it's obvious speaking is an effort. "Can't see us...hearing'll be...be unreliable without...help to...filter..."

I don't find any sign of a head injury, but the disjointed rambling is worrying me. I must be missing something. I finally settle back on my heels, not at all reassured, but ignorant of what else I can do. There doesn't seem to be that many options, and with a look at Rafe, I can see he's on the same track as me.

"Stay with him, buddy." I try to keep the gravity of the situation from my tone. "Try to keep him talking. I don't think we can wait on that rescue. I'm going to see what the chances are of getting ourselves out of here."

"No, Henri...Jim's comin'!" Sandburg insists, his voice strong enough this time to give me a little hope. "Gotta help him out, though...Can't see, can't hear...gotta be smell..."

It'd be a lot easier to hold onto that hope if the kid was a little more coherent.

"Okay, Hairboy," I decide to play along. "You try to figure it out for us, okay?" Maybe it'll keep him busy, keep his mind off the pain.

I exchange a meaningful look with Rafe, squeezing his shoulder with as much reassurance as I can muster, and climb to my feet, trying not to notice how much my back is hurting as I do.

Rafe takes my place by Sandburg's head and begins speaking, his tone soft and comforting. I tune out the words, trying to concentrate on the task at hand, which is getting the hell out of here and finding help. It takes a minute, but I finally figure out which way is the front of the building and begin working my way toward it. It doesn't take me long to realize it's no use. The damage is too extensive, and I can't move enough of the debris to clear a path. I try working my way around and coming at it from another direction, but it proves just as hopeless. We're not going anywhere on our own. We'll have to wait for help.

I'm reluctant to go back and give Rafe and Sandburg the news, but I have no choice. I kneel down beside my friends. I'm not sure if Sandburg is awake or not, so I just meet Rafe's questioning gaze with a shake of my head. The despair on my partner's face tears at my heart. I know it's source, and I know it's not the two of us he's worried about. We have no idea how long rescue will take, but we know it won't be soon. Can the kid hold out that long?

"He's out...I think," Rafe announces softly. "Still insisting Ellison will be here soon."

My gaze softens at the hint of hope in his tone. I understand. I want to believe it, too. Hell, why not? My head is reminding me that there's no way in Hades Ellison can possibly know anything has happened, much less where to even begin looking, but my heart is just as loud with it's reminder of how many times in the past Sandburg and Ellison have surprised us all.

I manage a smile this time that's a bit more sincere. "Hell, these two have been rewriting the rules since day one. Why not this time, too? The kid says Ellison is on his way, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. I'll trust his faith." I'm surprised to find I mean the words. Why not, indeed?

Rafe visibly relaxes, as though he was waiting for my reaction before buying into that hope himself.

"Fire!"

The almost-shout startles us both. I look down to see Sandburg's eyes open, though I can't tell in this light if they are focused or not. That one word certainly doesn't bode well for his level of awareness. I move closer, letting my hand rest lightly on his shoulder.

"Blair?"

"F-fire," he repeats, a bit weaker this time, but just as adamant. "We gotta..." he stops, a small gasp filling the silence. "We gotta b-build a fire."

Concerned, I lay my hand against Sandburg's forehead. His flesh feels cold to my touch, clammy. That's not good. I guess shock is inevitable under the circumstances, but I'm still not happy to see the signs. I start to pull off my sweater to drape over him, but Sandburg pulls his hand out of Rafe's grasp and grabs my arm with more strength than I would have dreamed possible. The movement draws a stifled groan from him, and he clenches his eyes shut tight.

"No! Henri...listen to me, man..." He pauses, his breath harsh and ragged as he gathers his energy before plunging on in true Sandburgian style. "We need a fire...just a small one...for J-jim. He can use...use it to track--" The grunts of pain are coming more frequent now, cutting off his words.

I can see that this is important to the kid, he's using the last of his strength to make that clear, but looking around, I can also see how impractical the request is. This is not exactly the best conditions for a fire, no matter how small. We're surrounded by old, rotting lumber, and I don't even want to think about what could happen if it I try to light a fire in here while we're trapped. Uh-uh. No way.

But when I look back at Sandburg, it's to find his eyes open again and pinning me with a determination I can feel even if the poor lighting keeps me from making it out. "Please, man...trust me!"

"Jeez, Hairboy..." I complain loudly, though I know I've already lost this battle. "Make this hard for me, why don't you?" I gently pry the kid's hand away from my arm and place it back in Rafe's good hand.

"Henri?" I know what my partner's asking. Hell if I have an answer.

I just shake my head, though I'm muttering beneath my breath as I begin clearing as large a space as I can in preparation for what could be the stupidest act of my adult life. "Damn it! Why don't I just set the whole place on fire? That'll bring help for sure. Bring the whole damn fire department down. They can just join us for a wiener roast. Providing they bring the wieners. Hell, yeah, Ellison'll find us. He won't want to miss out on the festivities. Probably bring the captain, Joel and Megan, too. Hell, why not? Let's just make this a party! A Major Crime cook-out. Main course: two grilled junior detectives and a fried anthropologist. Shit!"

Despite my grumblings, which are intended as much too lighten the moment as to vent my nervousness over what I'm about to do, I find myself allowing that small glimmer of hope I felt earlier to grow. I'm not sure I really believe a fire can help Ellison find us, but the kid believes it. He has faith in his partner. Would it be so hard to have hope in his faith?

I finally clear a space that seems reasonably safe. It doesn't take long to build a hat-sized fire, with the help of Rafe's lighter. Thank God, my partner has taken up cigars recently, thanks in no small part to our esteemed captain's efforts to convert us all to his main vice. I think Simon figures if we enjoy the things as much as he does, he'll have more latitude to smoke them around the station...or at least at our weekly poker games. I make a mental note to myself to send the man a thank you card when we get out of here.

If we get out of here...

Hell, I can't be thinking like that now. We will get out of here. But as I glance over at Sandburg, I can't help but ask myself if it'll be soon enough. The kid is in bad shape. Oh, he hasn't complained, hasn't said one word about how bad it hurts, and God knows, it has to be hurting like a son of a bitch! His only worry is this damned fire, making it easy for Ellison to find us.

Ellison will find us. I have no doubt about that. I know the odds are against it. No way the man can even know we're missing yet, and I have no idea how he'll figure out where to even look. But Hairboy says Jim'll find us, Jim'll find us.

Once the handful of kindling seems to be good and caught, I double check to be sure the area around it is relatively clear, then move back over to where Rafe and Sandburg are.

Jesus! I thought the kid looked bad in the dark! The fire is providing enough light to really see the damage now. Not a good thing. The wound on his back, jagged and raw around the jutting shards of wood, is enough to turn my stomach if I look too hard. Feeling slightly ill at the sight, I pull my eyes away, letting them trail up to his face.

The fire is casting eerie, orange shadows across skin that's much too pale. Sandburg's eyes are closed and tears are streaming unchecked from beneath the lids to trail sideways into his hair. I can't even begin to imagine the pain the kid's in. I don't want to imagine it. I freely admit it. I'm a wienie. I have no tolerance for pain. It's no secret around the station. In fact, it's the source of a lot of good natured ribbing. I whine over paper cuts, for God's sake!

I steal a glance at my partner. He's no happier about it than I am, I can tell. Come to think of it, he's not looking so good himself. His arm, still strapped tightly against his body by his belt, is an unhealthy shade of gray. Worried, I reach over and loosen the belt a bit. It's still tight enough to support the arm, but loose enough to let the blood back into the limb. I grimace in apology at my partner's grunt of pain as his arm is jostled. He shrugs as though it's no big deal, and I know what he's thinking. Kinda hard to complain about a broken arm under the circumstances, but I know from experience that it's no picnic.

Rafe ignores my sympathetic overtures and turns his attention to Sandburg. "Hey, Hairboy, you still with us?" As he speaks, his good hand is rubbing small circles on the kid's back.

Sandburg's lashes flutter a bit, then open slowly. I'm taken aback by the depth of pure misery I see there. The dull blue eyes track past Rafe to the handful of fire burning a few feet away. I'm amazed to see a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. My misgivings melt away like snow in August at the sight. Sandburg turns his head just a bit and his gaze locks on mine. "Thanks, man," he whispers weakly.

"Hey, what the hell," I answer, aiming for nonchalance and achieving anything but. Even I can hear the slight cracking of my voice. Kinda hard to hide this much concern and worry. Sandburg obviously catches it, too.

"Jim's comin'," he repeats. "Trust me, H..."

The blue eyes are pain-glazed, the voice weak, but there's no denying the conviction of that simple statement and request. I simply nod, knowing I'll sound like the marshmallow I am if I try to answer aloud.

Ah, hell...who am I kidding? This is Rafe and Sandburg here. Not like they haven't seen me at my mushy best. "I hear you, kid," I hear myself saying. "You say Jim's coming, who am I to argue?" I settle back on my heals, wincing only slightly as my lower back makes its objections known. Sandburg's eyelids are beginning to flutter, and I feel an irrational flash of panic at the sight. I'm afraid to let him drift again, though I know it would the merciful thing to do. Oblivion has gotta be sounding real good to him right about now. But selfishly, I want him to stay awake. I'm afraid if he leaves now, he might not come back.

"Come on, Hairboy," I plead, "no napping on the job, okay? Just stay with us a little longer, all right?"

The eyes widen a bit at my words, and I can tell he's trying. "'m still here, H..."

Beside me, Rafe shifts and settles in. I know he's thinking the same thing I am -- keep the kid awake and talking. Distract him from the pain. "Hey, Hairboy," he says, tightening his grip on the kid's hand, "Jim's coming, right? I mean, you're so sure, and like H says, who are we to argue? We've seen you two in action too many times to question it now. Especially now. But I gotta ask, man. How can you be so sure?"

A small smile tugs at the kid's mouth and the glazed look in his eyes clears briefly. When he answers, his voice is clearer, a little stronger, as though just the idea of Ellison gives him strength. "Jim's always there for me, man. Always...as dependable as rain in September."

"Yeah, we know," I chuckle. "Mr. Steady and True. That's our little Jimmy. Gotta tell you, kid, you've really done a number on that man."

Sandburg's eyes lift slightly to meet mine, and I see confusion overlapping the pain. "What'a ya mean?"

He doesn't know. Lord, the kid would have to be blind and stupid not to see it, and I know he's neither, but somehow he's missed it. "Jim's a good man, don't get me wrong. Always has been. One of those that would give you the shirt off his back if he thought you needed it. But he's never really been one for..." I pause, choosing my words carefully, "...close relationships. Pretty much a loner, you know? Kept his distance outside the job. I can't say exactly when that changed...Well, no, I think I know exactly when that began to change. It was the day I overheard him telling the captain about this long-haired, obnoxious grad student that had somehow finagled his way into a ride-a-long pass, and was now, get this, going to be moving into Jim's place for a while. A very short while, I remember him emphasizing."

I looked down, making sure I still had my audience before continuing. "What ever happened with that, Hairboy? I distinctly remember Jim saying it was for a week. Longest damn week ever recorded, I think. To tell you the truth, some of us guys at the station had bets on how many days of that week you'd actually get before we had to arrest Jim for murder."

"Hey, man...what can I say? He likes my cooking."

I can't help but chuckle at that.

"No, come on, Blair," Rafe says, "tell us how you did it. How'd you con the man into it? I mean, with a monkey, no less."

"Ape," Sandburg corrected. "Larry was an ape...still is, I guess... Wonder where he ended up? Loved old Cagney movies...hated sitcoms, though..."

The kid's starting to drift again. Time to pull out the big guns.

"There's something there, isn't there? Between you and Ellison?" I can see I have his attention again, so I continue. "Some of the guys used to speculate...about...you know...you and Jim...but that died down quick enough. There is something there, though, isn't there? Something that keeps you coming back."

There's a short silence, and I can see Sandburg's eyes trying to focus on something internal. I'm not entirely sure he's following the conversation until he speaks.

"Jim's my friend."

Simple enough statement, and I can see that in Sandburg's book, that says it all. But there's more to it, I'm sure. We've all suspected as much for ages now.

"How'd you end up riding with Ellison?" Rafe asks, keeping the conversation going.

"Got lucky..." The kid manages to add a bit of amusement to his strained tone.

"How many broken mirrors did it take to get that kind of luck?" I tease.

"Two mirrors, a ladder...and a black cat..." Something about his comeback amuses Sandburg. "A very large black cat," he chuckles.

Must be an inside joke, but I don't care. I'm just relieved to see Sandburg as alert and coherent as he is under the circumstances. Even in his absence, Jim is managing to help the kid. Go figure.

"So a week comes and goes," Rafe says, "your ninety day pass is put on hold indefinitely, and you become a detective's 'unofficial' partner. And all this despite the fact you've been kidnapped repeatedly, shot, beaten up..."

"Drowned once," Sandburg adds.

"...and drowned," Rafe concedes, "...and you get paid for none of this, yet you keep coming back for more. I don't get it. Why?"

"Jim's my friend," Sandburg repeats.

"Henri's my friend," Rafe says with a quick grin in my direction. "But don't think for a minute I'd put myself on the line for him that many times unless there was something in it for me."

Gee, thanks, partner. I send a mock scowl toward my partner, pretending to take offense, but I know what he's getting at.

"There's a lot in it for me...just not money..." Sandburg mutters with a smile. His voice is a lot softer now, and the pain is obvious.

I glance down at the...at his back. There's a lot of blood, but not as much as you would think for a wound like that. I know that's a good thing, though, so I don't question it.

Sandburg continues weakly. "I've always had a thing for...roller coasters." His eyes finally drift closed, but he keeps speaking. "I'm...I'm Jim's backup...he needs me..."

"Yeah, Blair, he does," Rafe says softly, sincerity filling his voice. We've all seen it -- how Ellison reacts when the kid's away or -- God forbid -- down. How at odds he is. Still in control, still competent and functioning, but somehow...off. As though something is out of whack just beneath the surface, something that he can't fix by himself. Yeah, we know it's true, that Jim needs Sandburg. We just don't understand why. And until they decide to let us in on it, we never will.

A sharp gasp draws me away from my speculations. I look down to see the kid's eyes open wide, but unfocused. He's sucking in air in ragged, shallow bursts. I move closer and reach out, placing my hand on his shoulder. Tremors of pain quake through the bunched muscle there. The kid's hurting bad, and there's not a damned thing I can do about it. I hate this! I hate the helplessness!

"Ride it out, Blair," I offer softly, hoping it's just a spasm or something that will pass quickly. God, let it pass quickly!

After an eternity, the muscle under my hand begins to relax minutely. His breath evens out and his eyes close again, forcing out the moisture that's gathered there. I wipe awkwardly at the tears with my thumb, all the while whispering assurances that I don't feel.

Rafe and I exchange worried looks. We both know the situation, and we both know how horribly short time is growing. And damn it all to hell and back, there's not a damn thing we can do about it. Shit! I can't deal with this! I can't...

"'im?"

Shit! Double shit!

"Jim's not here, Blair," I remind him, cursing myself the whole time for having to say it. "But he's coming. Remember? We have a fire now, so he can find us? Remember?"

The kid's eyes crack open the slightest bit. "Jim's comin'?" The words are weak, his voice rough.

"Yeah, kid, Jim's coming. He'll be here soon, so you have to hang on, okay? You have to hang on 'til Jim gets here."

A strangled whimper is my only answer, as Sandburg's eyes squeeze tightly shut. "Hurts!"

I know, kid, I know. Damn! It's all I can do to keep from ripping that sorry assed piece of wood out of the kid's back! I can feel Rafe tense beside me and know he's probably thinking similar thoughts. I settle for tightening my grip on Sandburg's shoulder, offering him that little bit of support until he finally gives in and passes out. At first, the sudden limpness of the muscle beneath my hand panics me, but after I check his pulse and then double check to be sure I wasn't imagining it still tapping out a somewhat irregular beat, I relax.

"Shit!"

"Yeah." My sentiments exactly, partner.

"What the hell's taking Ellison so long?!"

The absurdity of that statement isn't lost on me. Suddenly I find myself drowning in uncontrollable laughter. I don't miss the incredulous look on my partner's face, but I can't help it. I can see the instant it sinks in, when Rafe "gets it." And then we're both laughing. It doesn't last long, but it feels good, despite the circumstances. Or maybe because of the circumstances.

As we both sober, Rafe sighs deeply. "God, Henri, what are we going to do? Ellison is coming, isn't he? You weren't just telling Blair that to placate him, were you? I mean, the fire and all..."

My sigh rivals his in frustration. I do believe it, don't I? I wasn't just saying that to the kid, was I? I search myself and, surprisingly, I have no trouble finding an answer. "We both know there's something different about these two, partner. Until they decide to clue us in on the particulars, we'll just have to accept in on faith. We've seen it at work before, and I don't see why this time should be any different."

Rafe nods. He wants to believe me, believe Blair, but I can see doubt barely masked in his eyes. I understand, really I do. He hasn't known Ellison as long as I have. Even pre-Sandburg the man was a hell of a detective. He's always seemed to have an extra edge, something us mere mortals lack, but post-Sandburg... let's just say there is definitely an edge there now.

There's nothing to do but wait, so we settle in. I check the fire, adding small bits of splintered wood to keep it going. Sandburg shows no sign of waking up, which both worries and relieves me. At least he's not in pain now. After a bit, Rafe gets more comfortable...well, as comfortable as one can get with an untreated, obviously broken arm. It isn't long before he's dozing right along side Sandburg. And I sit silent guard.

Time passes slowly. I start off marking its passage, but before long I abandon the effort. I know it's much too long, and that's more than I want to know. I'm sitting with my knees drawn up to my chest, my head resting on them -- not really dozing, but kind of drifting -- when I hear a soft cough, followed by a groan. I raise my head and I'm looking into two glazed blue eyes.

"Damn..."

I scoot closer, carefully avoiding my still sleeping partner. "What is it?" Even as I ask, I'm afraid of the answer.

"No offense, man...but your face...isn't really...the one I was...hoping to see..."

I can't help but chuckle at the kid's humor, remarkably intact considering the circumstances. "Sorry about that, Hairboy," I reply, attempting to keep my tone light. "You were expecting a tall white man, no doubt? Red cape, big 'S' on his chest?"

A lopsided grin pulls at one corner of Sandburg's mouth, even as his eyes drift closed. "Not..." He stops to wince. "Not exactly. Was kind'a...hoping I'd wake up in...in a hospital with a pretty...nurse standing over me."

My humor fades somewhat, as the truth in the words rings through me. Would have been nice if he'd've slept straight through to the rescue, waking up on the other side of the pain.

"How you doing, Hairboy?" I feel inane asking that question, but I have to know where we stand, pleasant or not.

The kid's eyes lids flutter and open, and I can see him struggling to focus on me. "Not s-so bad...really. Doesn't hurt much anymore. Kind'a numb..." He blinks slowly a couple of times. "'s not a good thing...is it?"

"Yeah, it is, Hairboy," I lie. "Just hang in there," I suddenly feel compelled to plead. "Jim's coming, remember? Just a little longer."

"Jim's comin'..." he repeats. His voice has been growing steadily weaker, more slurred, and my worry meter is moving off the charts here. Damn it, I don't know what to do! I've never felt so stinkin' helpless in my life! Shit!

"How--" Sandburg stops, coughs, and I can only imagine the agony it causes as he bites down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

I rub small circles on his upper back, not knowing if I'm helping or making it worse, but I have to do something. After a minute, he relaxes under my hand, and I think he's passed out again until he finishes the question he started earlier.

"How's Rafe?"

How's Rafe. Kid's laying here with a hole punched through his back, and he wants to know 'how's Rafe'. "A little banged up, but he's gonna be fine," I assure him. There's no answer, and I wonder if he's still with me. Unbidden, my hand finds it's way to his wrist again, just checking. I need some reassurance myself.

"'ss okay, man," Sandburg slurs, as though sensing my thought. "Gonna be okay."

Damn uncanny, the way he does that, but I'm so used to it, I don't even really notice anymore.

"Not...gonna be long now."

Something about those words sets the hair on the back of my neck at attention. I'm not convinced he's talking about Ellison's rescue here. My grip tightens on his shoulder. "Blair...stay with me..."

"Can't..." he says, somewhat petulantly, as though I'm asking the impossible. "Jim...tell...not 'is fault..."

My panic suddenly translates into anger, misguided as it is. "Goddamn it, Sandburg! I'm not asking that much. Just stay the hell with me. Simple enough damned request! Open your damn eyes! Don't you dare give up, you hear me?! Don't you dare! I'm not passing along any messages to Jim. You hear me? You want tell him something, you'd better damn well wait and tell him yourself! You goddamn hear me?!"

My angry shouts rouse Rafe. I can hear him groan as he struggles to sit up, but I can't spare him a helping hand at the moment. I'm totally focused on trying to get Sandburg to respond to me. I'm vaguely aware that I'm still yelling obscenities at the kid, words my grandmother would wash my mouth out even now for saying, but I can't stop. I've got to get through to him, make him listen...

"Henri...Henri, stop it!" Rafe's hand on mine finally breaks through to me, and his words register. Shocked at my actions, I release my death grip on the kid's shoulder, jerking back, away from him as though he had turned into a snake.

"Oh, shit!" I mutter. With the obscenities I was just muttering, that one seems rather mild, but it manages to convey my shock. What the hell was I doing? I back away and let Rafe move into my spot. Rafe grabs the kid's wrist, and a few seconds later, I see panic in his eyes. Oh, God...no...please...

Rafe's hand moves quickly up to Sandburg's neck, and after an eternity, he visibly relaxes. "It's there," he announces, relief making his voice catch. "Barely, but there."

Relieved, shocked and more than a little ashamed, I scoot back even further, as though my mere presence is a danger to the kid. And in a way, I guess it is. I can't believe I was yelling at him like that. Oh, God...what was I thinking? I run my hands over my face, scarcely noticing how badly they're shaking, but obviously my partner does.

"It's okay, H."

I drop my hands, looking at him like he's grown a second head. Okay? I don't hardly think so. Nothing about any of this is okay. And I say so. Rather strongly, I guess, judging from the way Rafe winces.

Next thing I know, he's at my side, his one good hand tightly clenching my shoulder. "Henri...man, it's gonna be all right. Kid's been in worse fixes, right? What about the fountain, man? Remember that? What were the odds of Ellison finding him then, just in time? Huh? But he did. He found him, and he didn't give up on him. And everything was all right, wasn't it? And it will be this time, too. Didn't Blair say so himself? Didn't he say Ellison was coming for us? I, for one, am damned well not going to give up! Not on either one of them."

But Rafe didn't hear the kid. He didn't hear Sandburg's last words, and looking at the desperate hope on my partner's face, I decide not to enlighten him. One of us should hold out some hope. And it's damned well not me. Not anymore.

I finally just nod, and that's obviously enough for Rafe. He moves back to Sandburg's side. I let him go, not bothering to join him. In my mind, it's already over. I feel dead inside, numb. Instead, I move over to the fire, which has almost died down. I stir it back to life, adding a few more splinters of wood. Doesn't seem much of a point anymore, but it was important to the kid, and it gives me something to do.

I settle down in silence beside the fire, staring into its flames as my thoughts wander. I don't know how much time goes by, but when I finally look up, drawing my focus back to the here and now, I notice Rafe is still at his post, almost like he's sitting watch. He's rubbing Sandburg's back, whispering comforting words that I know the kid can't hear.

I open my mouth to ask him what I don't want to know, if Sandburg is still...if he's still hanging on, but I'm interrupted by a loud crash. I jump nearly out of my skin. My first thought is fear laden. I'm convinced the remainder of the roof is about to come pouring down on us, but that thought doesn't last long as I register voices -- muffled, but definitely voices.

"God..." Rafe whispers.

I'm on my feet in a flash, trying to pinpoint where the sounds are coming from. More crashes follow, and then the voices suddenly become clearer. No mistaking it. Ellison! Red cape, big 'S' on the chest and all! Hot damn! The kid knew...he knew!

And then the reality of the situation hits home. My eyes dart over to Sandburg, taking in his utter stillness, the deathly whiteness of his face, the blood...so much blood...Yeah, the kid was right...but is it too late?

Suddenly the small clearing we've been trapped in is filled to overflowing with floodlights and emergency personnel. Ellison, Banks, paramedics...hail, hail, the gang's all here. Rafe and I are given a quick once over and hustled out of the way, but not before I see Ellison, tight lipped and pale himself as he takes in the gravity of the situation. He doesn't move away from the kid until the medics force him to. It's then that his eyes find the small fire, almost burned out by now, but still in evidence. Those blue lasers move from the fire to my face, and I'm taken aback by what I see in their depths. Emotions I would have never associated with this man churn through the icy blue orbs. And those same emotions echo in the softly spoken words.

"The fire...good idea."

I try on a smile. Surprisingly, it fits, so I keep it. "Hairboy's idea. Said it would help you find us."

"He was right." Jim almost smiles back, but then his attention is drawn back to the efforts to free his partner. It's not a pretty scene, and I'm not too sure I want to watch, so I let one of the medics lead me out after my own partner.

Outside, I'm surprised at the number of emergency vehicles in attendance. Ellison must've been a boy scout. Color him prepared. I'm led over to one of two waiting ambulances. Rafe is sitting just inside the open door. A woman built like a linebacker is splinting his arm for transport. As I approach, he looks up, his dark eyes slightly off-focused. Amazon woman must have given him something for the pain.

"How's Blair?"

Good question. Wish I had an answer. I ease down beside my partner, wincing as sore back muscles make themselves known. The day is beginning to catch up with me. I'm suddenly very tired. And I have a feeling it's far from over.

"I don't know, buddy." I want to tell him the kid's gonna be all right, that Ellison found us in time. But I can't bring myself to say it. I'm not sure I believe it. I've already given up on Sandburg once tonight, and don't think I'm not feeling guilty as hell for that. I just don't know if I have it in me to start all over with all that positive thinking stuff.

Amazon woman finishes up with Rafe, and they're ready to transport us to the hospital. Rafe and I exchange looks. It's unanimous. It'll take more than a Dick Butkus wannabe to get us out of here before we know about our friend. One look at us, and she gets the message. She's not happy about it, but she gets it.

It's a long vigil. People come and go into what's left of the building. Equipment comes and goes. At least we know there's still hope as long as they're looking so frantic. Taggart and Connor join us before long, along with about half of the rest of the department, and ten gazillion reporters. Thankfully, the guys from the station set up a wall of bodies to keep them away from us.

When they finally bring the kid out, no one moves. It's eerie. For nearly half an hour these guys have paced, ranted, speculated...prayed. But now, they're completely silent and still. Eerie.

Rescue workers come out first, followed by Banks, then a stretcher bearing the kid. Ellison is at his side. Big surprise there. They're moving fast, their actions panicked, but I find myself thanking God for it. You don't panic over a dead man. I get only a flash of red -- so much blood! -- as they rush past, hustling the stretcher into the other ambulance. Ellison climbs onboard with them, the doors slam, and then with a squeal of tires and scream of the siren, they're gone.

The spell is broken as Amazon woman impatiently prods me and my partner into the back of our own transport. By the time we arrive at the hospital, Rafe is out, a combination of exhaustion and pain killers. I don't think I'm too far behind him. I'm ushered into a cubicle where I'm left to wait for an eternity. I want nothing more than to settle back on the bed and sleep, but I can't. Not until it's over.

When a doctor finally comes in to check me over, I'm so busy prodding him for information about both Rafe and Sandburg that he finally gives up, pronouncing me badly bruised -- which I had tried to tell him -- and letting me go with a few instructions I don't even bother to listen to. I have bigger things on my mind.

The waiting room is packed when I limp into it, falling into a chair that someone kindly vacates. I'm met with a rousing chorus of questions, none of which I have the energy or inclination to answer. Someone shoves a cup of hot coffee into my hands. I would kiss the kind soul, but it turns out to be the captain. I don't think Banks would understand or appreciate my gratitude. Besides, it would take way too much energy. I just don't have it in me.

My eyes find Ellison, a granite sculpture, on the other side of the room. His face is tight, his eyes unfocused. Every few minutes Banks wanders casually over to his side, grips his arm and speaks a few words. He keeps speaking until Ellison looks at him and nods, then the captain wanders casually away again. It's an odd ritual, but one I'm too tired to question right now.

Forty minutes later, a dazed and wobbly Rafe is led in. I wonder if I look that bad. Ragged, filthy, scratched and bruised. No wonder everyone keeps looking at me with that pitying expression. Taggart rises from the chair beside me and helps Rafe sit down in it. Kid's sporting a nice blue cast from fingertips to just above his elbow and a large white bandage across half his forehead.

"How you feeling, partner?" I ask, knowing by the loopy grin he throws in my direction that he's feeling very little pain.

"Not so bad." His voice slurs slightly. The grin fades, though, as he continues. "Heard anything on Sandburg?"

Banks answers for me. I hadn't even heard him walk up. "Still in surgery. It'll be awhile. Why don't you let someone run you home, son? Both of you," he amended, looking at me with just as much concern.

If it had been anyone else but our boss, I think we both would have a few choice comments to make for that particular suggestion. Does he honestly think either of us is going to leave here before we know about Sandburg?

"No, thanks, Captain," I reply tersely. "We're fine where we are."

He nods. He understands. Guess he felt he had to try.

A couple of hours go by, but the crowd never thins. Rafe and I take turns dozing. Ellison never moves, and Banks never breaks his ritual. Wish I knew what was up with that. One day, I'm going to have the nerve to ask. Maybe. Right after I ask just how it was the man found us, and what the hell a fire had to do with it.

It's a weary looking surgeon that finally comes to give us the news. He's met at the door by Ellison, who somehow knew he was coming before the rest of us. I stand, none too steady, and move closer. I have to hear this. I have to know.

The news is grim, but not unexpected. In fact, it's much better than I thought it would be. Massive blood loss, muscle damage...but no major organ injury, and they were able to repair the majority of the damage. He's stable for the moment, and the doc is giving him pretty good odds, basing his opinion on the fact that the kid made it this far, despite severe injuries. A little time, a whole lot of PT, and he should be good as new.

Good news. Hell, great news! Relief floods though me so strong that for a moment I don't know what to do with the emotion. My hands are shaking, and I think there are tears running down my face. Shit...in front of all the guys, too. I'll never live this down.

Rafe and I exchange looks. We know. We understand. And I guess that's all that really matters.

Ellison disappears behind the doctor -- headed, no doubt, for Recovery and his partner. The rest of the crowd slowly breaks up, each headed in their own direction. Rafe and I finally agree to let Connor drive us home. But looking at the grim determination in my partner's eyes, a determination that I share, I know. It's not over. Not for either of us. Not yet.

It's two more days before we finally get word that Sandburg is awake. And another two before we get what we need... permission to see him.

Ellison is sitting next to Sandburg's hospital bed when we enter the room. He's watching a game on TV, though the sound is down much too low for anyone to hear. The kid is propped up on pillows, and his eyes are closed. I assume he's asleep until Ellison speaks softly and the lashes slowly part. It takes a moment for him to focus, but he finally does and a half-grin curves the corners of his mouth.

"Hey, my heroes!" The words are soft, but there's a world of emotion in them.

"Guess that means I have to share my 'Blessed Protector' title, huh, Chief?" Ellison says.

I'm not sure exactly what the joke is there, but the two of them seem to think that's funny. Suddenly, Ellison turns serious, rising from his chair and stepping closer to the bed. He lets his hand rest on Sandburg's arm.

"I owe you, both of you."

Well, color me shocked! And here I thought Ellison was going to want my head on a platter for getting his partner into this mess in the first place.

My thoughts must have shown on my face, because Sandburg quickly says, "Hey, H...what happened... it wasn't your fault, man. Just one of those things. Wrong place, wrong time. Bad karma kind of stuff. But you, both of you, saved my life. You kept me hanging on until Jim could get there."

I don't buy a word of it, but damn, it's nice to hear. I know I'm going to be beating up on myself for a long time to come over this. It's nice to know the two of them don't blame me, though. Maybe I'll come around to their way of thinking one day. Looking down on the kid, way too pale and much too still, I know that day is going to be far, far in the future.

There is one thing, though...long as Ellison feels he owes us, might as well collect.

"One question, guys," I hesitate, wondering if I really want to step into this realm. I'd love nothing more than to ask how Ellison found us, and what the fire had to do with it, but suddenly I'm not so sure I really want to know.

Ellison and Sandburg exchange looks, and I have no doubt they know exactly what I was about to ask.

"Your story," Sandburg tells his partner.

Ellison grins down at him. "Yeah, but you tell it so much better."

Sandburg grins back. "Yeah, I do, don't I? You sure?"

Ellison shrugs. "Might make next time a little easier."

"Oh, hell! You mean there's going to be a next time?"

"Chief, with you, there's always a next time."

Sandburg throws a weak swat at the hand still on his arm. Ellison doesn't even bother to dodge it. "Find 'em some chairs, Jim. It's a long story." Turning to us, he begins, "It all started with a guy named Sir Richard Burton -- the explorer, not the actor..."

-End-

Author's note: In my mind this ending has to be considered slightly AU, because I'm not sure if I'm ready for Jim and Blair to share their secret just yet. My muse, however, argued that circumstances called for it. Guess who won?

Back
ysone@otelco.net ~ Comments and constructive criticism always welcome.