Rafe looked up as Jim slipped through the elevator doors just as they were closing.
"Jim…I'm surprised to see you! What are you doing here this time of the morning? I thought you'd be at the hospital with Sandburg. How's he doing?"
"He's doing better, Rafe. I thought I'd come in and put in a few hours, since I'd just be in the way at the hospital. He's got breakfast, an exam and treatment first thing. Then after his treatment they give him a pain killer that knocks him out for a couple of hours. I figure I can get a little work done, then show up later in the morning when he'll be waking up."
"Poor guy. When can we come and visit him?"
"I don't know yet, Rafe. He's still pretty weak and tired, and he kinda dozes on and off all day. I'll let him know you asked, though."
"Thanks, Jim."
The elevator deposited them at Major Crimes, and they separated, each on his way to his own desk. Jim scowled at the pile of files growing on one corner of his desktop. He picked up his coffee cup, trying to decide whether it was worth the health risk to just fill it with coffee and drink it, or whether washing the dried sludge out of the bottom was a better idea. Sighing, he set it back down, realizing that he didn't really care.
"Jim, what are you doing here? You want a cup of coffee?" Simon was standing in the doorway of his office, a pot of coffee in one hand and a pristine Cascade PD mug in the other. Jim had to admit that the scent from the freshly brewed pot was tantalizing.
"Good morning, Simon, and if that is a clean mug, the answer is yes." He walked over and joined Simon in his office, accepting the steaming mug and parking himself on the edge of the conference table.
"So what are you doing here, Jim? I have to say I'm surprised to see you."
Jim repeated his discussion with Rafe. "So I thought I'd work on a few cases before I head for the hospital."
"OK. How'd it go last night after I left?"
"Quiet. I brought his boom box from the loft and turned the Jags game on the radio, so he could hear the play-by-play, and I watched it on the TV with the sound turned off. He didn't feel like talking, or listening to music, so that's all I could think of. I think he dozed off a few times, I'd see him wake up every once in a while. It still must be a shock to him, to wake up with his eyes bandaged, he always jerks and his heart pounds for a few minutes.
The nurse came in and brought him a snack, that he didn't eat, then later gave him a sedative for the night. He wasn't too happy about that, but she said that the doctor ordered it to make sure he got his rest. I left after he was out for the night."
Simon shook his head sympathetically. "I hope he feels better soon. Think he'll mind if I visit again today?"
"I hope not, Simon, and I hope you will visit him. Your friendship, your support, means a lot to him, even if he can't say it right now." Jim stood and walked over to the windows, looking down at the city before he spoke up, not wanting to look at Simon's face. "Simon, I heard what Blair said to you last night." He heard Simon's sharp intake of breath. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I was coming down the hall and I was just listening for him without thinking."
"Are you going to tell him you heard?"
"No, and I hope you won't tell him, either. I just wanted to say thanks, Simon, for agreeing with him. It really made him feel better, I could tell. I wouldn't hold you to it, of course. But it means a lot to me that you'd ease his mind like that. Thank you."
He turned as he heard Simon stand up and come around the desk to stand at his side, his voice deeper than usual with emotion when he spoke.
"I gave him my word, Jim. And if it comes to that, I'll stand by it. I just pray that it doesn't come to that."
"Amen to that, Simon, amen to that."
---------------
Jim closed the CD compartment and pushed the "play" button on the boom box.
"There you go, Chief."
"Thanks, Jim."
The soft sounds of one of Blair's meditation CD's began to fill his hospital room as Jim settled back into his bedside chair and picked up the case file he had been reading. He tried to set aside his building frustration and focus his energies on the case, with little success.
Jim had returned to the hospital mid-morning and had been there when Blair awakened from his medication-induced nap, as he had planned. It seemed that Blair was making some adjustment to his condition, his heart didn't pound quite as hard and he appeared to awaken with less of a jolt.
But he had gotten no further in getting Blair to talk about how he felt, or in convincing him to allow his friends to visit. Although Blair had admitted that he felt better, he repeated that he just wasn't up for visitors yet. Jim didn't push it. Other than that conversation, he didn't think that Blair had said more than a half a dozen words all day.
The nurses weren't having any better luck. When they pointed out to him that he wasn't going to get rid of the I.V. or go home if he didn't start eating, he agreed to eat. But when asked what he wanted on the day's menu, he just said, "anything is fine." He did, at least, eat all of his lunch without complaint. Actually, he ate all of his lunch without a word, despite Jim's efforts to make a few jokes about hospital food.
Blair said little else all day. If asked how he was feeling, the answer was always, "fine." When asked if he needed or wanted anything, the answer was always, "no." When Jim suggested watching TV or listening to a CD, Blair would just agree to whatever Jim said, with a soft, "thanks, Jim." Jim could get nothing further from him. At this point, he'd be happy to run a few life- and sanity-threatening Sentinel tests, anything to get Blair to talk, to show even a shadow of his normal exuberant self.
Jim knew that Blair's afternoon treatment on his eyes was coming up, so he had decided to play the meditation CD for Blair. He hoped that the extra relaxation would help him tolerate the procedure a bit better. Right on schedule, the nurse came in with the syringe of pain medication and injected it into Blair's I.V. Saying that she'd be back in ten minutes with the eye medication, and reminding Jim that he'd need to leave the room then, she left.
"Well, I guess I'll head out and catch a late lunch then, Chief. Do you want me to bring you anything, maybe something resembling real food? I don't think they'd mind if I brought you a snack, since they want you to eat more."
"No thanks, Jim."
"All right. I'm gonna take off. I'll be back later, OK? Simon said he might drop by sometime, too."
"OK."
Jim waited for a moment, but Blair had nothing else to say, so he turned and left with a sigh. He decided to pick up something at a drive-through on the way back to the station, he might as well keep busy with work to try to keep his mind off of Blair.
---------------
"Jim, got a minute?"
Looking up from his computer monitor, he found Simon standing over him. He must have been focused on the case, or more tired than he thought, to have not noticed his approach.
"Sure, sir, what's up?" He leaned back in his chair, arching his back to stretch sore muscles.
"In my office?"
"Yes, sir." They both walked into Simon's office and sat at the conference table.
"First, how's Sandburg?"
Jim leaned forward, letting his face rest in his hands. "I don't know, Simon. He says he's fine, and he looks a little better physically, but I still can't get him to talk. He still won't let anyone but you visit, and I've had better conversations with plants, for crying out loud. His doctor says he's still in shock, emotionally, to give him time, but I've got to tell you, Simon, it's driving me crazy."
Simon listened intently as he poured Jim a cup of coffee and slid it across the table for him.
"Did they say when he'll be able to go home? Maybe it'll help him to get out of the hospital and back to a more familiar environment."
"I hope so, Simon. Dr. Carver said that, depending on what Dr. Timmons says, he might be able to go home tomorrow afternoon or the next morning."
"I bet Sandburg was happy to hear that."
"I don't know, Simon. He didn't even react. Nothing. It's eerie, I tell you." Jim ran his hands over his face and sat back, picking up the cup of coffee and staring glumly at his reflection in the surface of the liquid.
"Well, we'll see. I'll stop by tonight anyway. What I really wanted to tell you is that we've gotten a little info on the bomber, and I thought you'd want to know."
Jim sat up quickly. "You bet. What do we know so far?"
"His name was Bobby Johnson. Apparently he was fairly well known by the beat cops as a mentally ill homeless man. He'd been picked up a few times for disturbing the peace, trespassing, drunk and disorderly, those kinds of things, but nothing serious. No history of violence.
Apparently he was a paranoid schizophrenic. The mental health center said that he would usually do pretty well as long as he took his medication and didn't drink too much, but every once in a while he would just stop his meds. Usually he'd end up in jail and get committed to Western State Hospital for a week or two to get him stabilized again. Then he'd be fine again for a while.
They said that the last few months he had been on a downhill slide. He had always been paranoid about government conspiracies and had a sort of survivalist mentality. But the last several months all of the hype about Y2K and all of the potential disasters that might occur really pushed all of his buttons, I guess, and he began getting even more paranoid. They had noticed and had increased his medication, were seeing him more often, and generally trying to keep him from self-destructing.
A couple of weeks ago he just disappeared, didn't show up to get his medication or see his counselor, and no one had seen him around until he showed up at the computer store. You know what happened from there."
Jim shook his head. "And here I thought that those lectures we were getting about "millenium madness" were a lot of hype, too. Guess I was wrong."
"What I want to know is where he got the guns and explosives? How does a mentally ill man with no money lay his hands on those kinds of things?"
"My guess, Simon? He probably had contacts with survivalist or militia groups, here in Washington or in Idaho or Oregon. You know that some of them are better armed than the National Guard and some believe better than some military posts. And you know that they're always eager to gain supporters. I don't know exactly how he got it, but I'd say there's a good chance that's where he got it."
"Hmmm. You're probably right, Jim. It's gonna be hard to trace any of his weapons, though, everything was practically pulverized by the explosion."
"I'm sure it was." Jim glanced at his watch. "Sorry, Simon, I've gotta go. Sandburg should be waking up about now so I'm gonna head for the hospital. You gonna stop by tonight?"
"Yeah, I'll stop by again after supper. I've got some cards and stuff that people have brought in for him, I'll bring them then."
"Great. I'll see you there."
Grabbing a few case files and his jacket, Jim headed out the door of Major Crimes for the hospital. It had only been two days, but it felt like he had been making this trip for weeks. Maybe tomorrow would be better. Please let tomorrow be better…
---------------
"You sure you'll be all right, Chief? I can beg off, reschedule or something."
"I'm fine, Jim. Go on. I'm just gonna take a nap."
Jim shifted nervously from foot to foot as he looked down at his roommate, sitting calmly on the edge of his bed with his hands in his lap. Blair had come home yesterday, after three days in the hospital. Dr. Carver had been pleased with his progress, and felt that Blair would recover better at home as long as he continued his medication as prescribed, took care of himself and rested. He told him he could take the sling off, as long as he put it back on if he needed to be standing for any length of time.
The news hadn't been quite as good from Dr. Timmons. He had said that the external injuries were healing well, and changed Blair's eye medication, telling him that he only needed to use this one twice a day. Regarding the internal injuries, he was less forthcoming, saying only that Blair's eyes weren't as painfully sensitive to light and he saw signs of improvement, but still wouldn't say anything more specific about his expectations for Blair's sight. He gave Blair another appointment in a week and instructed him to keep his eyes bandaged except when using the medication or bathing.
Jim had tried to hide his deep disappointment. He had hoped that Timmons would have some encouraging news, something to give Blair more hope. Blair had said little, but Jim could tell that he was even more discouraged than he had been before.
Since returning to the loft the day before, Blair had changed little from his behavior at the hospital. He spoke little, only responding to something Jim said or asked, and didn’t leave his bedroom by himself except to go to the bathroom. Jim had to physically lead him out to the table to eat or to sit on the sofa to just be with him. Blair just sat motionless, his hands clenched tightly in his lap, his face expressionless. When Jim peeked in at him in his bedroom, when he was supposedly resting, he was just as stiff, lying on his back with his arms down at his sides, unnaturally still. He had even refused to talk with anyone on the phone, although he had a dozen calls from friends.
Now Jim needed to go into the station for a few hours, to give a deposition on a case, and was nervous about leaving Blair alone for the first time since he was injured. Blair had still refused to have anyone else around him and had insisted that he would be fine, just resting in his room until Jim returned. Jim finally gave in, deciding that maybe Blair needed to feel more normal, more in control, and that Jim could trust him to stay alone.
"OK. The phone is there on your nightstand, if you need anything the station is speed dial number 2."
"I know, Jim. And 911 is speed dial number 1. I'll be fine."
"All right. Listen, why don't I get some carryout on the way home. Is Thai all right?"
"Fine. See you later." Blair slowly turned and lowered himself onto his bed.
"Later, Chief." Against his better instincts, Jim turned to leave. He made sure to check the thermostat, check that the burners on the stove were off, check that the back door was locked, check that the answering machine had a new tape in it, and lock the deadbolt on his way out. Even though he knew that he was being overly compulsive, he couldn't help himself. He hurried down the stairs and out to the truck, planning to give the fastest deposition in the history of Major Crimes.
---------------
Blair shuffled slowly out of the bathroom and back towards his bedroom. He was relieved that Jim had finally left. A part of him was deeply grateful for Jim's efforts, even as another part of him just couldn't deal with anyone right now. Not even Jim. He just wanted to be left alone in his dark, frightening world. Or when the bandages were off, his painfully bright frightening world. A world that he could no longer recognize, that no longer felt familiar or safe.
Halfway to his room he stopped, indecisive. He was thirsty, and both doctors had frequently reminded him that he needed to drink a lot of fluids while he was healing. A cup of tea would have been great, but the thought of finding the cup, and the tea, and heating the water…it was too much to even contemplate. Shuffling over to the refrigerator and grabbing one of the dozen or so bottles of water that Jim had installed there would have to do.
He set out cautiously towards the refrigerator, shuffling a few inches at a time, his hands spread out in front of him. He'd never realized how big the loft really was, or how many obstacles there were in every direction. Bumping into the table, he grabbed on with both hands and was working his way down the edge as he heard the telephone ring and the answering machine turn on. He figured it was probably Jim, just calling to tell him that he arrived at the station and would be home soon. An unexpected voice froze him in his tracks.
"Hi, sweetie, hi Jim, it's Naomi. I'm sorry I missed you two! I had to call to let you know that I'm not gonna be there on Wednesday, as I thought. You'd never believe it, Blair, I ran into Barbara Silverhorse the other day. Remember her? Anyway, she's about to have a baby and I just have to stay until the baby comes. You know what good karma it is to help a new life come into the world with love, and I just know that her baby is going to be beautiful. I should be there next week, Thursday or Friday at the latest. I miss you, honey, and I can't wait to see your beautiful faces. Love you. Bye."
He tightened his grip on the table as he felt his world begin to spin. Oh God, Naomi. No one had told Naomi. She didn't know that he…that he wasn't her beautiful boy anymore. How could she even look at him like this, how could he make her go through that? His body on automatic, he began shuffling again as his mind spun away and his emotions turned even darker.
---------------
Jim practically ran off of the elevator, balancing packages of steaming food with one hand as he dug the keys out of his pocket with the other. He had raced through his deposition, the assistant D.A. practically speechless at his quick and detailed responses, his cooperative attitude, and his offer to be available again at any time. They had finished in record time. He had slowed down on his way through Major Crimes only long enough to call in their carry-out order, before practically shouting his goodbyes and heading out. All he wanted to do was to walk into the loft and find Sandburg sleeping peacefully in his bed, ready for a tantalizing meal of all of his favorite Thai dishes.
He pulled up short at the door, something more than his food selections stimulating his senses. His nose wrinkled at the odor and he quickly set the food down and unlocked the door. Racing through the doorway, he almost tripped over the answering machine, lying upside down on the floor, and only had to go a few steps to find the source of the stench.
Blair was lying on the kitchen floor, half propped up against the cabinets, his head lolling down onto one shoulder. All around him on the floor were empty beer bottles, some leaking part of their contents onto the polished wood floor and onto his jeans. He loosely held a bottle in one hand, leaning precariously against his leg. The partly empty case sat half in and half out of the cabinet where Jim had stored it after buying it for the weekly poker game with the guys. Blair was muttering to himself.
"…don't you recognize me, Naomi? This blind scar-faced freak is your darling son…" His voice broke off in a sob. "I can't do that to her…I can't let her see me like this…"
Jim's mouth dropped open as he knelt down by his friend. He suddenly noticed the answering machine next to him on the floor, and he hit the playback button as he pushed a few beer bottles away from Blair's side. Hearing Naomi's message, he hung his head momentarily. With everything that had happened, he had totally forgotten that Naomi had planned to visit this week. If Blair didn't want his friends to see him, he couldn't imagine how he felt about his mother seeing him. But he had a good guess, seeing the impact that her message had on Blair.
He reached out a hand to touch Blair's shoulder as he softly called his name.
"Blair…"
Blair jerked back as if burnt. "No, don't touch me! Nobody touches me. Nobody wants to touch me, not any more…not Frankenstein's blind little brother. Leave me alone…just leave me alone…" He struggled weakly and continued babbling as Jim carefully grabbed his upper arms and sat him up more securely against the cabinets. "Nobody needs a blind, hideous ex-doctoral candidate, ex-Cascade DV…uh…PD…ex-partner, ex-friend…ex, ex, ex…nobody…"
His words faded into mumbles as Jim carefully took his chin in one hand, looking over Blair's face and head to see if he might have hurt himself. Not finding any new injuries, he quickly checked over the rest of him. Other than the reek of alcohol and Blair's obvious inebriation, he could find nothing wrong. He shoved the other beer bottles out of the way and gently took Blair's face in both hands. At that moment he would have given anything to have seen the familiar blue eyes still disturbingly concealed by wide, thick gauze.
"Chief, we gotta get you up off the floor. Can you stand up?"
Blair continued to mumble as his legs moved a bit, and Jim decided that he would try to get Blair to his feet. He reached one arm around Blair's back and grabbed the counter for balance with the other as he prepared to lift.
"Here we go, you're gonna stand up on three. One, two, three…"
He pulled upwards and was grateful when Blair more or less got his legs under him. Grabbing Blair's arm and pulling it across his shoulders, he stumbled across the room towards Blair's bedroom, trying to keep from dropping or tripping over his limp burden as he struggled to keep them both upright. Edging sideways through the door, he lowered Blair onto the edge of his bed.
Blair, unfeeling, continued right on over backwards, ending up lying on his back with his feet on the floor. Jim reached down and yanked off Blair's jeans, the reek of the alcohol absorbed there making him dizzy, and tossed them out of the room. Lifting and shoving Blair's limp body with great difficulty, he finally managed to get all of him on top of the bed and got some covers pulled up over him.
Jim sat on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to catch his breath. He tried again to reach Blair.
"Blair? Chief?"
Blair mumbled for a moment or two more, then his breathing slowed and his mumbles dissolved into a soft snore. Jim laid a hand for a moment on his chest, then pulled the covers up to Blair's chin and looked down as he stood to leave the room.
"Not an ex-partner, Chief, or an ex-friend. You can't get rid of me that easily. I'm not giving up on you, dammit, don't you give up on yourself. We'll get through this, I promise. No matter what."
---------------
Jim looked up from the book he was reading to glance into Blair's bedroom. He had left the doors standing open, so he could monitor his roommate after he had finished cleaning up the mess on the kitchen floor. About an hour ago he had heard a groan and seen Blair moving under the covers, so he had gone in to investigate. When Blair moved to sit up, Jim had asked if he was okay, and Blair had responded with only, "bathroom." Jim had helped him to his feet and guided his unsteady way down the hall, then waited while he relieved himself and helped him back to bed.
Before Blair had fallen asleep again Jim had made him drink a glass of water, knowing from experience that part of getting a hangover had to do with the dehydration that alcohol caused. Blair had silently complied, then lay back down with a groan, curling up on his side and pulling the covers up over his head. He was asleep again within minutes.
Now Jim saw Blair moving again, so he marked his page and closed the book. Picking up the bottles of water and ibuprofen he had sitting nearby, he walked over to Blair's room, stopping in the doorway and calling out.
"Hey, Chief, you awake?"
He was answered with a groan as Blair rolled over onto his back and slowly pulled the covers off of his face.
"Yeah, but I don't think I wanna be."
Jim smiled and walked over to the bed, setting the bottles onto the nightstand. "Scoot over, Chief, I want to sit down."
Blair complied silently, cautiously lowering his aching head back down to the pillow. Jim sat on the edge of the bed facing him.
After giving his roommate a once-over, more or less satisfied that he wasn't much the worse for wear, Jim spoke up again. "How do you feel?"
Frowning, Blair answered in a sheepish tone. "Stupid?"
Jim nodded. "I'll go along with that one. How's your head feel?"
"Achy, but not so bad. My stomach's kinda queasy."
"I can imagine, all that beer on an empty stomach." He got a couple of tablets and the bottle of water and held them out. "Here, take these."
Blair sat up and took the tablets, washing them down with several gulps of water. Handing the bottle back, he pushed himself up and back against the headboard of his bed. Jim helped move his pillow behind him and settle him more comfortably. Blair bunched the bedclothes up around his waist and picked at one edge.
"Sorry, man. I hope I didn't leave a mess."
"Nothing that wouldn't clean up. You wanna talk about it?" He waited nervously for the reply, hoping that Blair would finally open up with him.
"What's there to talk about?" Blair said glumly.
"Oh, I don't know. About why you felt you had to get drunk on your ass, literally. About why you haven't talked to me for days." He decided to go for broke. "How about why you don't trust me, why you called me your ex-friend…"
Blair blanched. "I said that?" He raised both hands and covered his face. "That's not what I meant, Jim. I just…I don't…" He let both hands drop and his head fall back to rest against the headboard. "I don't know what to say."
Jim reached down and rested one hand on Blair's leg, feeling a minute trembling in the muscles there. "How about the truth? Chief, you think I don't know that you're scared, scared of what your face looks like, scared of never seeing again? You think I don't know how that feels? I do, if you recall. I know exactly how it feels. And I remember that you stuck with me, you wouldn't let me get down on myself, you kept telling me that I was going to get my sight back. And you were right."
"That was different."
"Was it? I didn't know that my eyesight would return, and you couldn't know for sure, either. Would you have left me, moved out and found a different dissertation subject if it didn't?"
"No, of course not."
"That's right, you wouldn't. Why do you think I would give up on you, now? Can't you trust me, the way I trusted you?"
"Jim, I do trust you. That's not it…"
"What is it, then?"
Blair's voice was so soft, only a Sentinel could have heard it.
"It's me, not you. I don't think I can take it, Jim."
"Take what, Chief?"
"Take…this. Not seeing. I don't have heightened senses, I can't turn up my other senses to help compensate like you could. I can't stand not knowing what's right in front of me, what I'm gonna crash into next. Feeling lost and afraid all of the time. Not knowing where I am, who's around me, who's looking at me…who's staring at me…"
"And you think people are staring at you, at your face."
"Aren't they? People stare at strange-looking things, it's human nature, Jim. I don't want people staring at me, feeling sorry for me the way I look. I…I just can't handle that."
As glad as he was that Blair was finally putting voice to his fears, Jim was torn by the desolate tone of those words. He reached over and grasped Blair's chin, turning his head up and his face towards Jim.
"Blair, I know how it feels to be afraid. All I can say is that I'm here and I'm your friend. Trust me to be here with you no matter what happens, whether all of your eyesight returns or not. I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you.
I'm also asking you to trust me, and your other friends, that we're all sorry that you got hurt because we care about you. Not because we pity you. Don't push us away. Let us be here for you, the way you've been there for us hundreds of times. I know you don't believe me when I tell you that your face doesn't look that bad, and that it's healing and already looking better. I wouldn't lie to you, Chief, but I understand how hard it must be when you can't see for yourself. But you've gotta know, Blair, that even if it was bad, it wouldn't matter to me.
What matters is what's in here." He tapped gently at Blair's temple, then moved his hand down to rest it on Blair's chest, over his heart. "And in here. Everything else is just window dressing."
He stopped talking, his voice having become low and rough with emotion, and let go of Blair's chin. His other hand stayed where he'd placed it on Blair's chest, feeling the solid reassurance of the heartbeat within and the small trembling throughout his body as he responded to Jim's words.
Blair sat up, then reached up to find and grasp Jim's upper arm, using it to pull himself upward and forward until his forehead rested against Jim's chest. "Thanks, Jim," he said softly. "I do trust you. More than you could know."
Jim reached up and cupped his hand behind Blair's neck, his other hand reaching around to gently rub his back. "Thank you, buddy. Thank you for trusting me."
They sat that way for a few moments, both relieved and renewed, until an unmistakable growl rumbled up from the depths of Blair's stomach and broke the moment. Both men laughed as they sat back and decided how to address that particular problem.
---------------
"All right, Chief. All done. Any thing else I can help you with?" Jim reached up and put the gauze, pads and medication away in the medicine cabinet. He had just finished cleaning Blair's face, applying medication, and re-bandaging his eyes. They had developed a smooth routine, Blair bathing himself as best he could, then Jim coming in to help him around his stitches and bandages, and of course, his face. He was pleased with how much better Blair's face was looking and told Blair so. Blair's expression was skeptical as he gently touched his face with one hand, responding only with a "uh-huh."
"Uh, you could help me with my clothes. I'd like to wear my navy T-shirt, my blue plaid flannel shirt, and my black jeans. OK?"
"Sure, Chief, let's go find them." Waiting until Blair stood, then grasping Blair's hand and setting it on his arm, he led Blair from the bathroom to his bedroom. Walking over to the bed and letting Blair sit there, he went through the dresser until he found the desired items. He knew that they were some of Blair's favorites, probably because he had often been told by his female friends that the blue shirts complimented his eyes. Blair had come to consider it almost a good luck outfit, so Jim wasn't surprised that he wanted to wear them tonight.
It was going to be a big night. Blair had been home from the hospital for four days and since his little drinking episode, he had been a little more communicative with Jim, even though he was far from normal. But he had continued to refuse to take phone calls or see any of his friends or colleagues. Jim had finally talked him into letting Simon and Joel come over tonight and watch the Jags game with them. It seemed to be one thing that Blair still enjoyed doing with Jim, since he could listen to the play-by-play on the radio while Jim watched the video on TV, and seemed a safe enough activity for a first experience with friends since his injuries.
Jim knew that Blair still really didn't want anyone to see him, but gave in to make Jim happy and to prove to Jim that he really did trust him. Simon and Joel seemed to be the safest choices for his first visitors, as Blair had already allowed Simon to visit him in the hospital, and he felt a closeness with Joel ever since he had helped him get through some difficult moments on a case. Jim had spent time with both of them, hopefully preparing them for the way that Blair looked and acted these days. He knew that if this evening didn't go well, there was little chance that Blair would try it again.
"OK, here they are. I'm gonna go and set the snacks out, Simon and Joel should be here soon."
"OK. Thanks, Jim."
Listening to Blair dress as he set out snacks and dip, Jim hoped for the hundredth time that he wasn't making a huge mistake. A knock at the door announced the arrival of their guests. He let them in with a nervous smile.
"Hi, guys, come on in. You're just in time, the game starts in a few minutes."
Simon and Joel came in and hung up their coats, looking around the loft nervously.
"Hey, thanks for having me over, Jim, I appreciate it."
"You're welcome, Joel. Since we couldn't get tickets now that they're on a winning streak, I thought it would be fun to get together and watch the game."
Simon walked into the living room and noticed that the sound was off on the TV, even though the pre-game show was on. He reached down to turn on the sound. Jim noticed and walked over to the stereo to turn the radio on.
"Hey, Simon, would you turn that down? We're gonna listen to the radio play-by-play."
"Oh, sorry, I forgot." Simon turned to Joel to explain. "It's easier for Blair to follow the play-by-play from the radio announcers than the TV announcers."
"Oh, right," Joel nodded. "You know, my brother used to do that all of the time. He hated the color commentator on TV, so he'd turn the sound down and watch the TV but listen to the radio. He always said he liked it better that way."
They turned when Jim cleared his throat loudly as Blair appeared at the door of his room. He could hear Blair's heart pounding even as he saw him trying to paste a weak smile on his face.
"Hey, Chief, you ready for the game? Simon and Joel are here." Jim walked over and led Blair over to the sofa so he could sit at one end.
"Hey Simon, Joel. Glad you guys could come over," Blair said, nervousness evident in his voice, his hands clenched tightly in his lap.
Joel walked over and sat down carefully next to him on the sofa. "Hey, Blair. It's great to see you, man. You're looking good. We all miss you down at the station."
"Thanks, Joel. And thanks for the card and flowers you sent, that was great. You, too, Simon, thanks for the card and the plant. I really appreciate it."
"You're welcome."
Jim quickly jumped in, not wanting an uncomfortable silence to develop or for Blair to feel that they were all focusing on him.
"Well, the game's gonna start in a few minutes. Why don't you guys help yourself to some snacks and I'll grab us a couple of beers. Chief, can I get you something, some chips and veggies?"
"Yeah, Jim, thanks. And maybe some juice?"
"You got it. Coming right up." Jim made a plate up for Blair and grabbed a bottle of juice out of the refrigerator, and delivered them to Blair while the other two men helped themselves and found a seat. Once everyone was settled, Jim walked over and turned up the radio so all could hear, and settled himself in as well. "OK, Chief, I got the Jags by 10. What does the Sandburg System say about this game?"
Everyone in the room chuckled, even Blair, and he explained his expectations for the game and casual bets were made among friends as the game got underway. Jim sat back in his chair with relief. So far so good.
Three hours later, Jim closed the door behind Simon and Joel as they left, thanking them both for coming. After locking the door, he walked back into the living room and sat down beside Blair on the sofa.
"You doing all right, Chief?"
"I'm fine. That didn't go too bad, did it?"
"Simon and Joel seemed to have a good time. How about you?"
"It was all right. They seemed a little nervous, though. Was it the way I look?"
Jim ran a hand over his face, frustrated that Blair still couldn't believe that he didn't look as bad as he thought. "No, Chief. You heard what they said, that you're looking better. They both saw you at the ambulance before you went to the hospital, and I'm sure they're relieved how much better you look since then."
"Oh, I forgot that they saw me right after I was hurt." Blair played with the food remaining on his plate for a moment. "I'm glad they came over. Thanks, Jim."
Relieved, Jim stood and began cleaning up. "You want anything else?"
Blair leaned forward and set his plate down on the coffee table, then slumped back into the sofa. "No, thanks. I'm beat. I think I'm gonna head for bed."
Jim quickly came over and let Blair take his arm, then led him to his bedroom. "Do you want a sleeping pill?"
"No, I'm tired, I don't think I'll need it. Good night, Jim."
"Good night, Chief. Call out if you need anything." He closed the doors to Blair's bedroom, then returned to cleaning up the living room and kitchen. Setting the dishes in the sink, he grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and wandered in and sank into a sofa. He let his tense muscles relax at last, feeling ridiculously tired simply from the tension of the evening. It had gone pretty well, though, he thought. Blair had been fairly quiet and stiff, but had made an effort to join in, and their guests had made every effort to include him in their conversations about the game, the team, and what had been going on in Major Crimes since he'd last been there.
Jim thought it was a success. He'd be sure to thank Simon and Joel profusely tomorrow. Now there were only three more days to go before Blair saw the eye doctor again. Three more days to get through somehow. Hopefully after tonight's success Blair would loosen up a little more, and the three days would be easier and uneventful. Jim could only hope.