Spoiler Alert: Okay, I want to warn you, this story is set post TSbyBS, and has Blair doing something that you might not agree with…  Being a cop.  There, you've been warned.  Read ahead at your own risk.

Originally posted: 19 June 1999
Revision posted: 04 July 1999

It was a dark and stormy night.  Lightening flashed across the city of Cascade, Washington as the storm that had been building all day finally let loose with all its fury at one-thirty in the morning.

The snap/crackle of a nearby lightening strike sent waves of electricity coursing over the skin of the tired detective.  He'd been tossing and turning for hours, kicking off blankets and sheets that had suddenly felt too rough, only to yank them back over his body as the chilled air invaded his sense of well being.  Of course, it hadn't helped that he had stripped his tee shirt off earlier when it had felt like a cloying entity and not the inanimate object it was supposed to be.  Sighing, he kicked off the covers again, only this time, he reached for his robe.  He was giving up, and he knew it, but until this storm blew over his mind wouldn't allow him to rest.  Removing the ineffective earplugs he had worn to bed, he left the relative comfort of the large bed.

BOOM!  The thunderclap nearly sent him reeling, but after years of training, he was able to retune his hearing to something a little bit below 'normal.'  He headed toward the stairs, his mind still racing over the
events of the last few days in an unending litany, like a CD caught in a loop pattern he was unable to reset.

He made his way slowly down the stairs, using only his natural eyesight and the not so occasional lightening strikes to light his way.  Reaching the living area of the loft, he turned and noticed that his roommate's light was off in his room.  Sighing, Jim turned into the kitchen and pulled down a large glass, which he filled with tea from the pitcher in the refrigerator.

Once seated on the large couch, he wondered how he was going to pass the time.  Spying a book lying open on the dining table, he stood back up and went to see what it was.  "Hmm, Central Lake Regions of Africa: Richard F. Burton.  Well, that should put me out if I can read it."  Before settling down to wait out the storm, Jim rearranged the furniture, pulling the large yellow armchair over closer to the balcony doors and bringing a reading lamp over to light his chosen reading material.  Setting the glass of tea down on the table, he settled into the armchair and began to read.

Getting up only one time to refill his tea, Jim realized that he was actually enjoying reading this book by Burton.  "Maybe there is something in here about his sentinel studies.  Maybe that's why Sandburg brought it home."  Settling back down, he started to read again, immersing himself in the explorer's writings about Africa in the late 1800's.

SNAP!  CRACKLE!  Jim was startled out of his reading by the nearby strike.  Glancing up, he spotted a small black cat, back arched, hissing and screeching on the balcony.  BOOM!  The thunderclap stunned him, and the cat on the balcony had disappeared.

Jumping out of the chair, Jim managed to stub his toe hard against the leg of the table.  "YEOWCH!  Damn it!"  Bouncing on one foot, he managed to lose his balance and fall against the table, spilling his tea, which caused him to slip on the waxed wooden floor and fall crashing into the reading lamp, knocking it over and breaking the bulb.

Blair Sandburg wasn't sure, at first, what had awakened him, but he heard his partner and roommate cursing and he came barreling out of his room to see what was going on.

"Jim?"  The other man was still on the floor, holding his right foot, looking out the window towards the balcony.

Approaching him, Blair realized that his friend was still cursing but it also looked like he was looking for something on the balcony.  "Jim?  Man, what's wrong?  What are you doing awake?"

"Huh?"  Jim pulled his attention back into the loft.  'Where did that cat go?'  He winced as the younger man flipped on the overhead lights, flooding the loft with light.

Crouching down beside Jim, Blair pulled the detective's hands away from his foot.  "Let me see, Jim."  Carefully holding the foot in his hands, he glanced over the injured digit.  "That's got to hurt.  What did you run into?"

"Table leg."  Jim tried to see past the reflections in the glass, still looking for the cat that had scared him.

Taking the damage to the immediate area under consideration, Blair started to chuckle.  "Uh, huh.  Sure.  You didn't see it in time, or it attacked you, right?"

Surging to his feet, Jim retorted, "That's exactly what happened.  I. Didn't. See. It."  Hobbling over to the balcony door, he yanked it open and walked out into the heavy rain.

"Hey!  Jim!  Get back in here, you're getting the floor all wet!"  Blair reached out and pulled his friend back in out of the weather.  But the rain that the other man had allowed to get into the loft made the floor slippery and they both tumbled to the floor, with Blair ending up buried under his much larger roommate. Rolling off of Blair, Jim tried to regain his footing, but the pain from his injured foot prevented him from doing so.

"Okay, that does it!  What or who are you looking for on the balcony?"  Blair demanded as he lent a hand to his friend to help him to his feet.

"A black cat, a kitten really.  I thought I saw one out there just after that last thunderclap."  Jim didn't resist as Blair led him over to the armchair he'd abandoned earlier and sat him down in it.

"Oh?  Like any cat would be caught dead outside on a night like this?"  Blair ran out to the kitchen and grabbed up a couple of the dishtowels he'd used earlier to dry the supper dishes.  He'd noticed the spilled tea when he'd stepped in it.

"Chief, I know what I saw.  Or thought I saw.  I'm not sure anymore."  Pulling his right foot into his lap, Jim began to examine his injured toe.

Wiping up the last of the tea and the rainwater, Blair bundled the towels together and looked over at his friend.  "So, how's the toe?"

"Hurts, but I can't detect any break."  Jim relaxed back into the armchair.   "Thanks for cleaning up my mess, Blair."

Righting the knocked-over glass, which was still on the table, he shrugged.  "Like you haven't done it for me in the past?"  He pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down, looking at his friend.  "So?  You going to tell me why you're wide awake at," he glanced at his watch, "three-ten in the morning, hurting yourself and startling me and," he reached out and grabbed up the book which had fallen to the floor by the armchair, "reading Burton?"

"Couldn't sleep.  Thought I'd read a little to try to tire myself out."  He reached out and grabbed the book from Blair's hand, "Hope I can remember where I was in this."

Blair watched as the man flipped through the pages of the book, finally settling on a page nearly one-quarter of the way through.  "Couldn't sleep?  Storm wake you?"

Placing his finger on his page, Jim closed the book.  "No, I was awake before it really got to going.  I just couldn't seem to fall asleep."

"Jim, you were up at the crack of dawn, five-thirty, yesterday.  Then we worked all day on the follow-ups for the string of convenience store robberies. We didn't even make it home until well after ten and you can't
sleep?"

Sighing, Jim shrugged.  "You forgot one thing, Chief."

"What?"

"Our new neighbor downstairs who insisted on moving in late in the evening the day before this case landed on our desks."

"Oh."  Blair studied his friend's face, noticing the dark circles building under the blue eyes, the fine lines of tension near the eyes, the crease in the middle of the forehead.  "Jim, I know that normally you don't like them, but do you want to use the white noise generators?"

"No."

"Might help you to sleep, shut off the ..."

"I said 'No', Chief.  It's just a touch of insomnia, I'll get through it."

Standing up, Blair pushed the chair back under the table and grabbed up the glass.  "Fine.  You want more tea?"

"No, thanks."  Opening the book back up, Jim attempted to ignore the pain in his foot and the looks his friend kept throwing at him, while trying to get back into the writings of Burton.  He was barely aware of the facts that Blair had crept back off to bed and the storm was clearing up.

The morning broke over Cascade, a clear and bright late spring day. Jim hadn't been able to catch a wink of sleep.  To top that off, his middle toe of his right foot had swollen up during the night and he couldn't stand to put his normal working shoes on, so had to settle for his well worn-out running shoes.

Blair had awakened to find him in the armchair, more than halfway through the book, and still muttering about a cat that couldn't have possibly been out on the balcony in the storm earlier that morning.  Jim had limped off to the shower while he prepared a simple breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast.  He ate while his partner was getting dressed, then he jumped into the shower.

Jim had opted to dress casual, in faded blue jeans, a white button down dress shirt, his light blue silk tie and the heavy belt that would hold his holster in place at the small of his back.  To this he would add his
lightest windbreaker, the dark blue one, to help conceal the weapon.  He chuckled when he saw that
Blair had chosen to wear his newest khaki Dockers, a light green shirt, the multi-colored vest he was so fond of and a pair of dark brown deck shoes.  Blair had hated the fact that he had had to cut his hair when he entered the academy, but upon transferring to Major Crimes after graduating, Captain Simon Banks had granted him permission to grow it back out, now it was just brushing his shoulders.

"You ready to go, Jim?"

Nodding, he got to his feet, taking his dishes out to the kitchen and placing them in the sink.  Turning back to face his partner, he said, "Aren't you forgetting something, Chief?"

Blair grinned. "Nope.  New holster came in."

"It fits?"

He turned and modeled the latest addition to his 'official' uniform.  "Which pocket is it in, Oh Great Sentinel?"

Rolling his eyes, Jim shook his head.  "Funny, Darwin.  Right back.  Your wallet's in the left.  Cell phone in the inside pocket of your vest."

"Damn.  You are good, Detective!"  Blair scooted past him on his way out the door, but not fast enough to avoid the friendly cuff to the back of his head that Jim delivered.

Walking out to Jim's truck, Blair pointed out the newest vehicle in the small lot.  "Hey, you think that belongs to the new neighbor?"

Jim looked to the vehicle in question and whistled in appreciation.  "Nice.  Subaru Outback Legacy, Limited Edition."  It was tastefully painted in dark green and beige, with a sunroof and luggage rack. "Looks brand new."

"Wonder what he, or she, does for a living that they can afford that?"  Blair climbed into the driver's side of the old blue and white Ford pickup, Jim having handed him the keys, claiming his injury from earlier was causing him some pain even with the dials turned almost all the way down.

Climbing into the unfamiliar passenger seat of his own truck, Jim answered as he closed the door and buckled up his seat belt.  "I don't know, but I can guarantee one thing, they ain't a cop."

The elevator dropped the two of them off at the seventh floor, and the best team in the precinct made their way to their department, Major Crimes, where they were greeted by the usual 'good mornings' and a not so unusual bellow from their commander.

"Ellison!  Sandburg!  My office!  NOW!"

Blair led the way, Jim hobbling on his bruised foot, and once inside the office of Captain Simon Banks, they were greeted with the smell of fresh brewed hazelnut coffee, and a scowling boss.  "Jim, why are you limping?"

"Stubbed the hell out of my toe last night, Captain."

"Humph.  Sit down, both of you!"

They sat down in the two chairs across the desk from the Captain.  Handing a file folder to Ellison, Simon continued.  "Your clown's been at it again, half an hour ago.  This time, he's left you a little present."

Reading over Jim's shoulder, Blair looked over the report.  "Oh, man!  What happened?"

"Sandburg, I realize that you're still fairly fresh out of the academy, but you've been with this department nearly five years.  I'd think by now you would know a murder when you see one."  Looking over at Jim, he concluded,  "The uniforms and the forensic team are waiting for you at the scene.  Go see what you can find out."

Getting to his feet and snapping the file closed, Jim nodded. "Come on, Chief.  Let's go earn our pay for the day."

Twenty minutes later, they were pulling up to the most recently hit convenience store, on the eastern edge of the city, close to the Cascade Zoo.  The uniformed police officers on the scene recognized them and let them through the barricade, which was actually a line of crime scene tape that stretched all the way around the Stop N' Go.

Stepping into the small convenience store, Jim was able to locate the body by the smell of the blood that had been spilled.  Behind the counter, a young man, maybe in his twenties, lay dead, apparently from a single gunshot wound to the chest.  The blood on the floor under and around the body told the story to
Jim: Bullet had either entered the heart, or went through the main artery and the young man had bled out.

Leaning over the counter to see what Jim was looking at, Blair felt his stomach lurch.

"Not on the crime scene, Sandburg."

"Yeah."  He pushed away from the counter effectively hiding the body from his view, and walked over to the field Sergeant, who was standing by the door.  "Hi, Sgt. Goodman, what have you got so far?"

Sergeant Brigham Jones Goodman, BJ to his friends, smiled at the young detective.  He had been on the force long enough to know that the man before him had proven himself a competent officer long before he had even joined the police force, and didn't resent the fact that the man was now a full fledged detective.  "Sandburg, Ellison kick you out again?"

"Yeah," Blair smiled at the grizzled veteran. "Didn't want me heaving on the DB."

Brigham chuckled. "I can see that."  He paused to open his notebook. "What we've got is the same as the rest.  No witnesses to the robbery, except for the video camera. Serena's securing the tape now, and the man who found the body is over there."  He nodded to indicate a nervous looking fellow in a Cascade Zoo uniform standing by a marked unit.  "Came in for his morning coffee and found the clerk dead behind the counter, used the phone to call it in.  Name's Terrence Walters, claims to be a grounds keeper for the Zoo."

Blair nodded as he wrote down this information in his own notebook. "Thanks, BJ.  How's Sarah doing in school?"

"Better.  Thanks for recommending that tutor to us."

"Any time."  He walked back over to the counter. "Jim?  I'm gonna go talk with the fella that found our victim."

"Fine, Chief.  Send Serena and Dan Wolfe in here if you see them."  Jim stood up from where he had been crouched down over the body.  Lowering his voice, he confided, "I can't seem to find anything."

"Your senses bothering you?"

"Nope.  It's like there's nothing here for me to find."  Jim walked around the counter to stand next to Blair, as if going over the younger man's notes so far.  Keeping his voice low, so as not to carry over to the Sergeant, he said, "I can tell that our victim smoked.  Menthols.  That he used an 'unscented' deodorant and that he recently had been around someone who smoked marijuana. But nothing else."

"Uh, huh.  Okay, I'll go talk with Walters, maybe Serena or Dan can come up with more on the victim."  Blair closed his notebook and looked up at his partner.  "There's got to be something to go on, Jim."

Putting a hand on the younger man's shoulder, Jim nodded.  "I'll look around in here a little more. Go talk with the RP."  Jim let Blair go and watched as the coroner and the forensic teams flooded into the small store.

Blair approached the man who had found the body. " Mr. Walters?  I'm Detective Sandburg, can you tell me what happened here?"

Jim Ellison sat at his desk in Major Crimes, rubbing his face, trying to get his eyes back into focus.  He'd been entering his reports on the latest robbery into the computer when his vision had gone blurry.

"Need a break, Jim?"  Captain Joel Taggart, formerly of the Bomb Disposal Unit, now of Major Crimes, asked as he held out a fresh cup of coffee towards his fellow detective.

Taking the proffered cup, Jim leaned back from the computer monitor. "Thanks, Joel."

"You're welcome."  Joel sat down in the chair next to Jim's desk. "Where's Blair at?"

"Morgue.  Picking up the report on this morning's victim from Dan."

"Any leads yet?"

Jim sipped the hot brew, then shook his head. "No.  It looks to be the same guy as in the other ten robberies.  Same clown suit, same mask, even looks like the same weapon in all the video tapes, but none of our witnesses saw a get away car. The guy never spoke, and so far, Serena's teams haven't found
anything outside of a few synthetic fibers that appear to have come from the 'rainbow' wig the perp wears."

Joel shook his head, "But?"

He sighed, "But this time, he left behind a dead man.  A twenty year old kid, just trying to make a living while going to the technical institute to be a nurse."

"Tough."  Joel looked up to see Blair entering the bullpen.  "You two talk to his family yet?"

"Yeah.  Well, actually, Blair handled that part.  I just couldn't handle it this time."

"Jim, you're looking pretty beat.  You sleeping okay?"  Joel was concerned.  This 'Clown' case had been dropped on Ellison and Sandburg a week ago by the robbery division, when there had only been seven hold ups, now there were eleven and a murder to go with it.  And they'd been fresh off a drug case, working with the DEA and FBI, when it landed.

Blair had overheard Joel's question as he approached the desks.  "No, Joel, he's not.  Storm woke him up early this morning."  He dropped the file he was carrying on his desk, which was situated in such a way that the two of them actually faced each other over the desks, and plopped into his desk chair.  "Jim, Dan says the gun was a .38.  And that the victim, Jeff Claiborne, was struck in the inferior vena cava, which tells him that the kid bled out fairly fast."

Jim reached for the report, and read it while Blair gave his 'condensed' version.  "Looks like the bullet ricocheted off the spine, then ended up lodged in the left lung.  Dan reports that he's sent the slug off to state for ballistics."  He slapped the folder down on the desk.  "But why?  Why did the perp shoot this kid?  He's not even fired a shot before in all the others."

Joel stood up and smiled, trying to lighten the situation.  "Jim, maybe what you and Blair need to do is take a night off, and come back in with a fresh set of eyes.  Well-rested eyes."

Blair smiled and nodded in agreement. "Joel's right, Jim.  Maybe our perp will take the night off as well and leave us alone for a while."

Jim sat up, "No, sorry, Joel.  You're right about needing fresh eyes, but mine and Sandburg's are not the ones."

"You lost me."  Joel glanced over at Blair to see that the young man also appeared lost.

"You, Joel.  You're on nights this month, right?"

"You did the schedule, you should know, Jim."

He snorted. "Yeah.  Look if it looks like it's going to be slow, would you mind looking over the last few tapes?  Including the one from this morning?"

Blair hissed, "Yes!  Joel could be our fresh eyes!  Maybe you could even pick up on something that we've overlooked because we've gotten too close to the case."

Joel looked from one to the other and back again.  Seeing the tired lines on Jim's face, the excitement in Blair's eyes, the weariness, the hope... "Sure guys.  Leave the tapes.  I'll go over them."

"Jim?  Did you hear that?"  Blair asked as he came around to the passenger side of the pickup.

"Thought that was my line, Junior."  Jim smiled.

"Usually.  Think that might be your mystery cat from this morning?"  He nodded towards the alley where he had heard the plaintive voice come from.

"Maybe."  Jim walked quietly over towards the alley entrance, hoping to spy the elusive feline.  The late evening sun was bright, but the shadows in the alley were deep.  Not wanting to scare off the cat, if indeed it was the one from this morning, he dialed up his vision to pierce the darkness.  He felt Blair's hand go to the small of his back, to anchor him, and they slowly entered the alleyway.  Nothing.  The single plaintive cry that had caught their attention wasn't repeated, and they found no evidence of any cats in the alleyway.  Shaking his head in defeat, Jim gave up.  " I'm starting to think that I imagined it all, Chief."

Blair smiled crookedly, "Well, I can tell you from experience that a tired mind can play tricks on you, but I heard that cat cry too, Jim.  Maybe she was just asking to be let in and her owner has her inside already."

"Maybe.  Let's head on up."  He trudged his way to the entrance of the building, his legs felt leaden and his eyelids felt like sandpaper as he blinked.  He proceeded to the lift while his roommate checked the mail.

Opening their mailbox, Blair noticed that the newest resident had finally marked their mailbox.  Apartment 207's owner had put only initials on the nameplate, three capital A's stacking in a pyramid.  "Guess they like their privacy, but I've seen that somewhere before..." Shrugging off his thoughts, he collected his and Jim's mail and hurried to catch up to the detective.

"Anything worth keeping?"  Jim asked as he watched his roommate start sifting thorough the pile of mail.

"Nah, Wal-Mart circular, bill, bill, oh and the latest copy of Fly Fisherman."  He handed the magazine to Jim as the lift came to a jerking halt on the third floor.  He led the way to the loft's door as the other man was already leafing through his coveted fishing magazine.

Once in the loft, Jim moved as if on auto-pilot, removing his windbreaker, emptying his jeans pockets into the basket on the side table, walking over to the couch, clicking on the TV by remote, all without taking his eyes off the article on the latest in fly tying techniques.

Shaking his head at Jim's actions, Blair bit back a chuckle and went about putting together a fairly fast meal for the two of them. "Jim?  Jim?  Come on, dinner's on the table."

Coming up for air, Jim realized that he had somehow managed to 'zone' on the magazine in his hand.  Not a true zone-out, but close.  "Sorry, Chief.  You said something?"

Blair laughed, "Yeah, dinner?"  He pointed at the table and sat down.

"Oh, yeah."  Getting up off the couch proved to be a little difficult.  Still limping slightly, he walked over to the table to see that Blair had put together a meal of ham and cheese sandwiches, tomato soup and a salad
tossed with a light dressing.  Then he noticed the cold bottle of beer at his place. "Beer?"

Nodding around a mouthful of salad greens, Blair pointedly directed Jim to sit and eat.  Once his mouth was clear, he answered, "Yeah.  I figure, you eat everything, drink a beer, then drag your tired butt up the stairs with your fishing magazine and the combined effects will put you out like a light in, oh, say an hour?"

"If you say so."  Jim dug into the salad, pleasantly surprised to taste the mild raspberry vinaigrette and not the balsamic one that Blair liked to use to 'wake up' his sense of taste. "Thanks."

"De nada."  Blair watched as Jim consumed the salad, his soup and three of the four sandwiches that he'd made, all the while sipping slowly at the beer.  Seeing that he was done with the bottle and his meal, Blair started to clear the table.  "Want another beer, Jim?"

"Nah."  Jim stood up and stretched, his back popping loud enough to be heard over the television and the theme song to whatever was coming on at seven p.m.  "I'm pretty tired, any more beer and you'll have to lug my ass up the stairs."

"No way!  I'd let you sleep wherever you ended up."

"You're all heart, Chief."

"Go to bed, Jim.  You need the sleep."

"Right."  Detouring to the couch, he picked up his magazine and headed up the stairs to his bed.

Webmaster: PJ Browning