A Symbol of Loss

By CatMoran

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. I don't own the canon characters or concept; I do own this story.

Warnings: character death. Written late at night in about an hour, not beta'd.

Summary: Too short for a summary.

Feedback: Positive or negative.

Archive: SXF, SenseXangst, no_warning archives - yes. Personal archives - yes. Anywhere else - probably, but please ask first. Leave my headers intact.

A Symbol Of Loss
By CatMoran
*****

The pain in Jim's shoulder faded to nothing as he stared at the most obscene thing he'd ever seen.

*****

The last week had been a case of bad luck the likes of which he'd not seen since Peru.

First, there was his knee. It was stupid, he wrenched it when he slipped on some kid's toy in the stairway at the loft. And where had that little metal jeep come from, anyway? There weren't any kids in the building; there hadn't even been any visiting the building that he knew of. And metal? They hadn't made kid's toys out of metal since... well, since he was a kid!

So the knee had left him grounded. Just temporarily, of course. And since Sandburg was still pretty new on the force and everyone else in the department was pretty well partnered at the moment, that left Sandburg grounded, too.

Except he offered to follow up on some interviews that Rafe and Brown were doing. Seems neither of them was getting very far with the college crowd on that hate crime case they were working. Sandburg had the right idea; he was good at talking to people, getting them to open up. And he was a lot more likely to relate to the potential witnesses than a couple of career cops.

So, some strung-out kid with bad grades and worse judgement figured Sandburg was there to haul him in for B&E and drug possession. And the kid pulled a gun on Sandburg. Not a problem, Sandburg hadn't been riding with Jim Ellison for three years with nothing to show for it. He had the kid disarmed and cuffed in a matter of minutes, all without a weapon discharging.

The real problem was in the ride back to the station. Some joker at the station got ahold of Blair's cuffs, probably while Blair was using the weight room. And weakened one link in the chain. If Blair had examined them, he might have realized that they wouldn't hold. But why would he do that? They were fine when he checked them out from property, after all.

So the kid tried to get loose, and suddenly found himself with two hands that, while not exactly free, could do pretty much whatever he wanted. Instead of just opening a car door on the Interstate and saving everyone a lot of trouble, he decided he wanted control of the Volvo. And he got it, just in time to drive the car off a steep embankment.

Simon's car, with Jim as passenger, was the 3rd or 4th on the scene. Jim wasn't sure, he'd only had eyes for the skidmarks on the road; then, as they came to a stop, the Volvo sitting 30 feet below, front end smashed into a tree. He forgot about his knee, and leapt out of the car and down the embankment. His knee did not forget, so he did a header. Rolling down the hill got him to the bottom faster than anyone else, so despite some annoying pain he was the first to render aid.

None was needed, not that he didn't try. The dumb kid in the backseat had unfastened his seatbelt. He'd apparently impacted Sandburg, who in turn had impacted the windshield. Oddly enough, Blair looked much better than he had at the fountain, almost as if he were asleep. The EMTs took over when they arrived, but both were declared dead on arrival.

Jim's already wrenched knee ended up in a brace; his left arm was in a sling to help the broken collar bone and dislocated shoulder heal.

He spent the next two days tracking Naomi down. That was the first request on Blair's list of wishes. Then he arranged for the cremation, then the memorial service.

*****

Now, at the service, they were offering him a folded flag. Why him? Why not Naomi? She was his mother. She'd traveled from Nepal, over 30 hours in the air and in airports, to get here in time for the service. Why was he getting the next-of-kin treatment?

Apparently Blair felt the same way Jim felt. Apparently, he'd felt that way long enough that it was somewhere in the files at the PD. Or maybe Naomi knew, and had spoken to Simon. And this was how Jim found out. After his struggle to get past his fears, day after day spent balancing the pro of deepening their relationship against the con of loosing his best friend; this was how he found out. With a neatly folded American flag.

In this new context, the flag that he'd fought for became a symbol of waste. Of missed chances. Jim backed clumsily away from the abomination, his grief compounding every second.

He felt hands reach out to steady him. Naomi? Simon? As he continued to stare, the world finally, mercifully, went dark.

The End
(c) CatMoran 2000