Feet on the Couch Page 9

  “So am I, man. But this isn’t your fault, you know.”

  Jim shrugged, looking away.

  “It’s not,” Blair insisted. “That guy is —was — a major headcase.”

  “What did he do to you?”

  Blair frowned slightly at the force of the question, but seemed to understand Jim’s need to know. “I woke up once, lying outside in a big puddle of water. Chained up with this majorly uncomfortable gag on. I see where they get the name now. Gag. I thought I was going to puke.” His nose wrinkled at the memory. “Then, I don’t know. I guess I was out of it. Then I remember him sort of hanging over me in that room. I was like majorly freaked and he’s patting me, telling me ‘it’s okay’, ‘it’s okay’, as though that’s going to make me feel better. Yeah, sure. A psychopath reassuring me is going to make me calm down…”

  Jim groaned. “That’s why I upset you later. I did the same thing.”

  “Huh?”

  “When I was trying to free you, I kept saying ‘it’s okay’ and it only seemed to make you more … upset.”

  “You can say it, Jim. The word is ‘terrified’.. I was freaking terrified. Scared out of my gourd. — What does that mean, anyway? I’m going to have to look it up.” Blair seemed to wander with the thought for a moment, then came right back. “I don’t remember you saying that, but I’m sorry. I should have known it was you. I remember you being there and thinking that if I could just get closer to you, like under your skin somehow, I’d be safe.” He looked up at the man sitting across the table from him. “I don’t know how you did it, but I know I felt safe.”

  Jim nodded, thoughtfully. “Just doing my job.”

  “Which job is that?” Blair asked softly.

  He shrugged. “Cop,” he said, after a moment, resisting what he wanted to say.

  “What about ‘Sentinel’?”

  “I guess.” Uncomfortable suddenly, he got to his feet, moving to the couch to retrieve the blanket. He stood folding it, then just held it for a moment. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I was being a sentinel, too.” Jim took a deep breath, wondering why this was all so difficult. “And I discovered something else.”

  “What?”

  “You’re a part of this. I feel like a lot of what is happening isn’t rational, it’s something instinctual within me. And it alternately scares the hell out of me and relieves me.” He put the blanket down on the arm of the couch. “Okay — here’s the bottom line. I know that you belong here. With me. For as long as you want. No deadlines. The money or chores aren’t important. You’re being here is. I can’t do this without you. Got that?”

  Blair stared across the room at him, looking shell-shocked.

  “Is that okay with you?” Jim asked, finally.

  Blair nodded, wiping his eyes.

  “Then get some shoes on. We’ve got work to do at the station.” Jim walked by him on the way to the stairs, stopping for a brief moment to ruffle the shower-damp curls.

  “I remember you talking to Simon,” Blair said, suddenly, as Jim mounted the stairs. “That you were proud of me.”

  “I am.”

  “I didn’t screw it all up?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll be ready to go in five minutes.”

  “I’m leaving in two.”

  “Four?”

  “Three.”

  “Deal.”

  *

  Epilogue

  (Sweet Science)

  Ellison hung up the phone and rubbed his eyes, yawning. Sandburg was in some sort of trouble, and he had just agreed to go down and see what the problem was. He looked at his watch again, shaking his head at the early hour of morning.

  So why’d I immediately agree to come and get you without more details? Because I’m a sentimental sentinel, that’s why. What happened to my tough guy image, Chief? If word of this type of behavior gets out…

  He shook his head, amazed that he had actually stayed up waiting for his roommate. He hadn’t planned it, but it had happened anyway. One minute he had been sitting thinking about how Sandburg came to be part of his life, then suddenly the phone was ringing and said roommate was asking for a favor.

  The static snow from the television prompted him to move aside the pillow he was still holding on to and cross over to the television set and flick it off. I can’t even remember what I was watching on TV. He looked down at what he was wearing, deciding he didn’t look that rumpled for having fallen asleep on the couch; the clothes would do for the Federal Building.

  Sandburg, what now? Now you’ve got me sleeping with my feet on the couch, clutching a pillow, waiting for you to come home at night. How the mighty have fallen…

  Jim smiled ruefully as he got the pillow and returned it to Blair’s bedroom. He shrugged into his jacket, glancing around the loft to make sure the candles were out and everything else would be safe until he got Blair back home.

  Home.

  That’s what you did, kid. You made this home. Your presence in my life took a spartan, utilitarian apartment and made it somewhere warm and comfortable and safe. A place to laugh, and yell, and, yes, even to sit up at night with my feet on the couch, waiting for you to come home. You made me worry about someone — not because I think you’re incompetent, but because I care. Because sometimes I don’t know how to help you when you’re hurting like this. I don’t know how to make you feel better, and that eats at me. I wish I did.

  Jim picked up his keys, still looking back at the empty couch.

  The words aren’t always there any more, but if this display of sentimentality doesn’t prove I care about you, I don’t know what will. It certainly proved it to me.

  He turned off the lights, shut the door behind him, and went out into the night.

  *

  *

  The End