Work Text:
Leaving 9
Rage Against the Past
"What happened to your hand?" Simon asked as I stepped into his office and closed the door.
I shrugged. That wasn't important right now. "I need a few days off, Simon." I knew the timing stunk, but there was something inside me that was convinced I had to do this, and I had to do it now. A Sentinel thing, maybe. I couldn't tell him about the dreams I'd been having -- dreams of an angry black jaguar and an injured wolf pup. That was on the list of 'Things Simon Does Not Want To Hear.' As it was, I knew I was going to have to do some explaining to make Simon see things my way.
"The time isn't right, Jim," Simon said to me. Exactly what I had expected. "You know that." He stood and I could hear the anger in his voice. He was mad that I would even consider asking for time off now. Well, fuck that. He could be as mad as he wanted. This was more important.
Simon stood and tried to stare me down. He should know better. At last, he sighed and asked, "How can you ask for time off in the middle of what's rapidly becoming the case of the year around here?" He turned and stared out the window, his unlit cigar clamped tightly in his teeth. "Everyone's watching this one -- we're getting national attention and the last thing I can do is pull my best detective and let him take off in the middle of the investigation!"
"I need to do this, Simon," I said quietly. "If I have to, I'll just go, but I'd rather work it out with you first."
"Hmmmphf," Simon grunted. "So you weren't really asking then, you were telling."
I shrugged. "I don't mean it like that, but Simon, this is something I have to do." I really wasn't in here to get in a pissing contest with the man, but I also knew that I needed to go take care of this -- for Sandburg, and for myself.
My sense of urgency must have gotten through, because Simon sighed heavily and asked in a less angry, more willing to understand tone, "Can you tell me what's going on?" He sat down and I got the feeling that my discussion had just shifted from meeting with the boss to conversation with a friend. Worked for me.
I was just about to start explaining, when the door opened -- no knock, of course, -- and speak of the devil, Sandburg bounced in. He was waving a fax and I was amazed he wasn't shouting, 'Hot off the press!' He just had that look about him.
"Jim! Simon!" he said, his voice intense, "this just came in. Olivia had been to the hospital for injuries twice in the past year and it had been reported to Child Services under the Mandatory Reporting Act."
Olivia was the little girl's name -- the one who had been raped and beaten to death in her own home. The one whose father had done it. The father whose floors got more protection than his child. The father against whom I could not find a single scrap of admissible evidence. The one whose well-connected, politically prominent family was keeping attention focused on the case.
Sandburg rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, the report waving in the air as he spoke. "Who knows how many other times didn't get reported because her father was a doctor? I mean, we talk about the blue wall, but there's a white wall in the medical society as well. It's almost as much a closed society as the police."
Child Services. Mandatory reporting. Blue wall. White wall. Closed society. His mind moved faster than I could keep up with at times, but instead of annoying me, I was happy he was comfortable enough to ramble on. I couldn't help it -- I was smiling at his energy and enthusiasm. Amazing what a little background info does for one's perspective.
"You're talking life and death situations, split second decisions -- medical people don't want anyone looking too closely at what they do and why. You know, they have their own version of internal affairs -- internal reviews. Doctors reviewing doctors. After all..."
"Sandburg!" Simon barked. "Enough! Can't you ever just walk in like a normal person and drop off a report? Just sit down and be quiet and let Jim and me look at what you've got."
Blair froze. He was balanced on the balls of his feet, and he teetered in place for a moment, mouth still open as the color drained from his face. Oh, shit! I did not want to see him lose it here. He'd never forgive himself. I could see the look of utter confusion on Simon's face, but I didn't have time for him right now. I jumped up and stepped in front of my partner, blocking him from Simon's view. "Breathe," I whispered and was gratified when he did. Some of the color began to come back to his face. I reached out and grasped his arms, holding him tightly as I gently pressed downward until he stood more securely. Off his toes, back on his feet.
"Simon doesn't know, Sandburg," I whispered against his ear. "He doesn't understand. But you didn't do anything wrong. You're not screwing up." He was still beneath my touch, not moving, not speaking, barely even breathing. I stepped closer till my chest was pressed against his. "You. Didn't. Do. Anything. Wrong."
I felt him shudder and he leaned against me briefly, letting my body support him. "I was getting ready to talk to him -- to explain," I murmured.
He shook his head vehemently.
"Yes, Blair," I whispered again. I had one hand around his right bicep and I was running my other hand up and down his left arm. I could feel Simon watching, and I was eternally grateful that he had the discretion not to say anything right now. "I need to tell Simon."
Blair shook his head again, less emphatically this time, and then let his head fall forward to rest against my chest. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and hold him, but we were in the middle of the Captain's office and that probably wasn't the best move for me to make at that moment. I started murmuring to him, not really saying anything new, just repeating, "It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong. Simon will understand. It's okay." It was like gentling a wild animal. As I spoke and continued to rub his arm, the tension slowly flowed out of him and finally, he nodded.
He lifted his head and stepped back, passing the report to me as he pulled out of my hands. I had one more worried moment when his eyes darted from me to Simon and back again, but then he seemed to sort of fold into himself, as if waiting to be told what to do next.
"Just go, Chief," I said softly. "Go on down to the truck and wait for me. I'll be down shortly." I reached out and almost touched his face, but at the last minute I remembered where we were and shifted the move to a pat on his shoulder. "It'll be okay," I promised, desperately hoping that was a promise I could keep. I'd been making it a lot lately.
Blair nodded, a jerky little up and down motion and then turned and was gone.
"What the hell was that about?" Simon asked in bewilderment as I shut the door and went back and sat in front of his desk.
"That," I said, waving the report at the closed door, "was why I need to take off for a few days."
"I don't understand ...." Simon turned and refilled his coffee cup. He offered the pot to me, but I said no. "Is the kid all right?" He shook his head. "That was -- weird -- even for Sandburg."
"He's really stressed right now, Simon."
"This case is enough to stress anyone."
"It's not the case." I couldn't sit and talk about this. I rose, running my hand through my hair and paced to the wall. Short pacing. I turned around and stared at my boss. At my friend. "It's not just the case."
"You better tell me, Jim," Simon said with another sigh.
"He was -- abused." I forced myself to meet Simon's eyes. "As a child."
The cigar went in the ashtray. The glasses came off. One large hand rubbed viciously across his face and he was silent for a while.
"I take it we're talking more than a spanking here," he said at last.
"He's got scars, Simon," I whispered, not able to say the words too loudly. It was the first time I'd said it and I couldn't believe how much it hurt. The rage began to bubble up again and I clamped down hard.
"Well -- fuck!" Simon said.
I nodded grimly. "Naomi was living with some guy; Blair was only four."
"Four?" I recognized my own disbelief in Simon's voice. "Some guy hit him hard enough to leave scars when he was four?"
"Beat him, Simon. With a belt. Repeatedly." I swallowed hard. "I look at the Costas girl, I mean ..." I turned my head away, unable to meet Simon's eyes. "I see her, so small and alone. So -- damaged. And all I can think is, he was half her age." Now I turn and look at Simon, and I know the horror, the disgust in his face is mirrored in my own. "Half her size." I could barely drag the words out, but something inside me needed to verbalize it, to hear it out loud. "I see her, and then, I see him, my friend -- my guide ..." This was harder than I'd thought, putting my fears and nightmares into words. "I see my Blair, and the picture -- the image -- of him, battered, bruised, bloodied, like she was -- I just can't ..." My stomach lurched and I thought for a moment I was going to be sick. "God, Simon! How did Naomi miss it? How could people ignore that? How could anyone let him suffer like that?"
I didn't realize that I was flexing my hands in an unconscious movement, preparing to snap a neck.
Simon pointed at them and I looked down and saw what I was doing. It was hard, but I stopped. I settled for clenching them into fists and then focused on not hitting anything right now.
"How's he dealing with it?"
I shook my head. "Not so good, to be honest. He's not sleeping and more and more stuff keeps coming up. He's got major issues with Naomi leaving him behind whenever she wanted to take off, and of course, now he's remembered the beatings."
"The Costas girl was raped," Simon said, and it was more question than statement.
I nodded. "He hasn't mentioned anything like that, but shit! Two months ago, I'd have never imagined any of this stuff. So, who knows what else is lurking?" My eyes were gritty, dry, and I reached up and rubbed them. "Not that he needs any more shit in his life. I mean, God! Not that too! Please, not that." My words had grown progressively softer until by the end I was pleading with a deity I no longer believed in. I paused and realized I was waiting for an answer that would never come and then looked over at Simon. "He does have other things that are coming up now -- like what you said."
Simon looked confused again. "What I said?"
"Yeah." I took a deep breath. "You told him to sit down and be quiet." I looked up and watched as the realization dawned on Simon's face. "Apparently, being active and talking a lot were punishable offenses when he was younger."
Simon's face took on a kind of gray cast as the blood drained from it. His eyes were wide and I knew he was replaying his earlier words to my partner. He rose suddenly, and then in a movement I was all too familiar with, turned and slammed his fist into the wall behind his desk.
I swallowed a bitter laugh. We were a lot alike, Simon and me.
He was breathing hard as he stood there and then I winced with him as he slowly pulled the battered hand from the wall. He reached in his pocket and produced a handkerchief, wrapping it around his fist, then dropped into his chair with a sigh. "That what happened to your hand?" he asked as he took a sip of his coffee.
I nodded. "Let's just say there are a few holes in the wall outside the loft. I'm gonna have the opportunity to check out my skills with drywall." I got serious for a minute. "You need to wash that, you know."
Simon nodded. "Later. For now, how are you?" Simon's words were spoken Sentinel-soft as if he knew I couldn't bear to hear them out loud.
I shrugged. "Angry. Furious. Full of rage." My fingers were flexing again.
Simon chuckled. "Yeah. I can see that. So -- if I let you go, what exactly are you going to do?"
"I've got a name and a place. I'm gonna go see if I can't get Blair a little closure over this whole thing."
"And you?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"And me," I admitted grimly.
"Is this going to involve bail or something more serious for you?"
I just looked at Simon and he chuckled again. "Sorry. Dumb question." He paused a moment, staring out the window, then said, "Why now? Why right this minute? Don't you think the kid needs you here right now?"
"It's got to be now," I said. "Remember that invitation you got a couple months ago -- to that convention in Virginia?"
Simon nodded slowly.
"Well, I looked it up. It's only an hour away from where I need to be. And with all the attention the Costas case is getting us, it would be logical that the Chief would decide to send someone after all -- maybe even the lead detective on the case."
"You gonna take Sandburg?"
I shook my head. "Can't. It's midterms. He's taking 'em and he's giving 'em all week."
"Guess you want me to babysit, eh?"
I laughed. Simon's a good friend. "Yeah, just don't tell him that's what you're doing. Don't you need to have your place fumigated or something?"
Simon snorted. "Yeah, well, I've been putting it off, but I guess now is as good a time as any." He looked up at me. "When are you leaving?"
"Tonight, if I can get the red-eye. The conference starts tomorrow."
"What're you gonna tell Sandburg?" Simon asked curiously.
"Same thing I told you. National attention on the case, good publicity, yadda, yadda, yadda. Oh, and you're staying over because you've got bugs."
Simon rolled his eyes. "Thanks. Need a ride to the airport?"
"Yeah. You and Sandburg can take me. I'll be in touch once I'm out there." I could feel my jaw tighten. "I don't expect this to take long."
"You sure you can find the guy? What if he's moved on?"
"He's in the fucking phone book," I muttered. "Already checked."
"All right, all right." Simon made a shooing motion toward the door and I moved as directed. "Let me know what time we need to leave for the airport." He looked up and I could see the concern in his eyes. "And don't worry about your partner. I'll take care of him."
I was almost out the door when it hit me -- something else I needed to tell Simon. "Uh, Simon?" I said and I bit back the wave of discomfort that threatened me."Something else you need to know. Sandburg's been, uh, sleeping with me. Upstairs."
He just arched an eyebrow.
"Because of the nightmares." I ran my hand through my hair. God only knew what it looked like now. "I got tired of sitting up in his bed all night and I just moved him upstairs. It, uh, works."
"I'll watch him, Ellison," Simon growled, "but I'm not sleeping with him."
"No," I said quickly, "no, I didn't mean that. Just wanted you to know. You're gonna have the downstairs, and be prepared -- you might not get much sleep."
Simon sighed heavily. "Wrap it up as fast as you can out there, okay?"
I nodded.
"And don't get into trouble. You don't need it. I don't need it. Sandburg doesn't need it."
I nodded again.
"Now -- get outta here. Your partner's waiting."