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Cleaning up the Mess
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Jim walked through the door first, having already done an auditory scan
to make sure it was safe. Even though Chapel had been taken away in
handcuffs, Jim still felt a little on edge. Having one's home invaded by
a psycho could do that to a man.

He sighed as his eyes took in the damage. It was late, and he was too
damn tired to worry about it now. Maybe he should just find a hotel for
the night. He certainly couldn't sleep in his own bed, and the living
room was in a shambles. Two overturned lamps lay broken on the floor,
and several yellow balls of fruit littered the living room. On top of
all that, soft, gray feathers rested like snow over the floor and
furniture.

God, what a mess. He tossed his keys in the basket and slid out of his
jacket, hanging it on the first hook. Blair shuffled after him, his
shoulders hunched and his face lined with fatigue. Jim frowned, moving
to the couch and watching silently as Blair hung his jacket on the last
hook. Sandburg had seemed okay on the way to dinner, chatting
incessantly with Cassie about trivial things. Maybe that had just been
nerves. By the time they'd made it to the restaurant, however, Blair had
grown more quiet. When their food arrived, he'd eaten in almost complete
silence, apparently content to let Cassie carry the conversation for the
three of them.

By the end of the meal, Blair had begun to look like a puppy who'd just
been kicked and left out in the rain. He'd kept throwing small, furtive
glances Jim's way, his eyes growing more and more pained as the night
wore on.

Guilt gnawed at Jim. Maybe Blair had been hurt more than he'd let on.
Instead of suggesting dinner, Jim probably should have suggested the
hospital. Perhaps Blair had been hurting and just didn't want to say
anything. Why Sandburg would keep something like that a secret, Jim
didn't know, but he'd long since given up trying to understand the kid.

Blair kicked the door closed and shot another one of his pained,
almost-guilty-looking glances Jim's way. When he saw Jim studying him,
he managed a shaky smile.

"Hey, man. Wanna go take a shower, or something? I'll straighten up in
here."

Jim leaned against the side of the couch and crossed his arms in front
of his chest. "You okay, Chief? No bullshitting. Do you need to go get
checked out? Anything cracked or bruised or hurting?"

Blair shook his head quickly. "No. I'm fine. All he did was tie me to
the chair."

Jim's eyes narrowed. "You sure?'

"Yep. It's my body. I think I would know if he hurt it." Blair waved
toward the hall. "Now, I know you had a pretty grueling fight with him
and got all sweaty and icky and stuff. You can use a shower, believe me.
So why don't you go take one, and then we can head to bed?"

Jim raised his eyebrows, his lips twitching. "Are you saying I smell
bad?"

Blair grinned, and, for a moment, his eyes lit up. "Hey, you're the one
with the super sense of smell. You tell me."

Jim pushed off the couch and headed for the bathroom, gently tapping his
partner on the head as he passed. "Funny, Junior. See you in ten. You
think you can do me a favor and get me some covers out of the closet? My
bed's kind of trashed."

Blair nodded, his smile fading. "Yeah, sure. Now, go on. Git."

"Thanks."

Jim walked into the bathroom and slipped out of his clothes, turning the
water on and waiting until it grew hot enough to ease his aching
muscles. He stepped carefully into the tub and closed the shower
curtain, letting the firm spray pound away the tension between his
shoulder blades.

He took a little longer in the shower than he'd planned, but the hot
water just felt so good on his neck, back, and shoulders that he didn't
want to get out. He soaped up and washed himself twice, then shampooed,
even using some of Blair's funny-smelling conditioner on his hair. Of
course, with his near buzz-cut, he only needed about a drop of the stuff
to work up a lather.

Finally, he turned off the water, feeling cleaner than he had in a very
long time. He stepped out of the shower and quickly dried off, then
wrapped the towel around his waist and picked his clothes up from the
floor.

Shuffling into the living room, he headed toward his stairs....

Then stopped and turned slowly toward the living room. How on
Earth...? It was nearly spotless. The broken lamps, scattered fruit,
and wispy feathers were gone.

"Blair?"

How the hell had the kid managed to work so *fast?* He looked to the
stairs, his jaw dropping open when he saw his bureau situated out of the
way beneath the banister. His eyes traveled up to the foot of the bed,
but he couldn't see into his room.

"Sandburg? Where are you?"

"Uh... Up here. Be down in a minute!"

His brow furrowing with curiosity, Jim moved to the foot of the stairs
and trudged slowly upward. When he got to the top, he saw Blair standing
on the far side of the bed, a broom in his hand as he swept at something
on the floor. Sandburg's head hung low, his curls draping forward to
hide his face, and his shoulders slunched forward as he worked.

Jim looked around, his eyebrows rising in awe. Most of the feathers that
had coated the room were now gone, with only a few stragglers remaining
in some of the crevices and clinging to his bed. The vacuum cleaner stood 
propped out of place where the bureau had rested.

"Chief?"

Blair flinched, his head snapping up. "Uh. Oh, hi, Jim. Don't worry,
I'll be done here in a little bit."

Jim frowned and moved forward, his gaze dropping to the floor. A pan
held a generous pile of feathers and dust -- dust from where the bullets
had pierced the floorboards, Jim figured.

He looked back up at the young man. "What are you doing, Sandburg? This
stuff can wait until tomorrow."

Blair swallowed and dropped his head, resuming his methodical sweeping,
gathering the stray feathers and thick dust into a neat pile in front of
the already-full dustpan. "It's okay. I'm kind of ancy, anyway. I just
thought this would be a good way to work off my energy."

Jim pursed his lips, studying his friend. Blair looked dejected...
depressed, even. Slowly, Jim moved to stand next to his partner. "What's
wrong, Chief?" He asked the question as gently as possible, hoping his
tone would make Blair feel comfortable opening up to him.

Blair stopped sweeping, but he didn't look up. "N-Nothing." His voice
trembled slightly.

"Bullshit. C'mon, Blair. I won't bite you, I promise." He smiled even
though the expression was lost on the young man.

Blair swallowed hard. "It's... uh..." He took a deep breath and raised
his head to look at Jim, his eyes wide. "I'm sorry, okay? I, uh, I think
maybe it would be better if I didn't hang out with you anymore."

Jim nearly staggered back. He thought he'd been prepared for just about
anything Blair could say... but he hadn't expected *that.* "What? What
are you talking about? I mean, I know this got pretty wild tonight,
Chief. You were scared..."

"It's not that." Blair's gaze dropped back to the floor, and, with a
sigh, he sank to the bed. "It's not *me* I'm worried about. It's you."

Jim was becoming thoroughly confused. He scrubbed a hand over his face
and sat next to Blair. "Help me out here, Chief. I don't understand."

Sandburg took a slow, deep breath. "You remember when I tipped Lash off
at the church?"

"Yeah," Jim replied somewhat hesitantly. He thought he knew where this
conversation might be heading.

"I promised you something like that would never happen again." Blair
leaned forward, dropping his head and clasping his fingers behind his
neck. "I did it again tonight. Only, this time, instead of Chapel
getting away, he almost killed you."

Jim felt a slow warmth rise in his chest. Against his will, a smile
touched his lips, threatening to turn into a grin, but he held it back.
It wouldn't be good for him to look amused.

But he *was* amused. His eyes were even tingling. He struggled to school
his expression, grateful that Blair wasn't looking at him. When he
thought he'd succeeded, he nudged the young man with his elbow.

"Sandburg?"

"Huh?" Blair seemed to curl further into himself.

"Saaaaandburg."

"What?" This time Blair looked up at him. His eyes widened and he pulled
back a fraction. "Why are you smiling? You think this is funny?"

Damn. Jim cleared his throat. "No, I --" The smile escaped again. He
struggled to control it, but lost the battle. "I'm sorry, Chief. It's
just that--" The smile erupted into a grin. Then a laugh.

Blair's eyes grew hard. "What the hell is so funny, man? I almost got
you *killed* tonight. Swiss cheese! You could have been shot full of
holes all because I *looked.*" His voice cracked, and he glanced away.

Jim's grin dropped. Feeling a bit more contrite, he shifted closer to
his friend. "Chief, come here." He wrapped his arm around Blair's
shoulders and pulled him into a quick, firm embrace. The chuckles rose
again, and this time he didn't try to stop them.

Blair tensed in the hold, but Jim simply laughed and patted the young
man's knee. "Stop being so damn melodramatic, Junior. You looked up. Big
deal. So did Cassie. Unfortunately, I don't think she has any plans of
quitting over it. Cascade wouldn't be so lucky."

Blair let out a laugh, but caught it quickly and resumed his sulking
posture. "That's mean, Jim. She's not that bad."

Jim shrugged. "It's all perspective, I guess. But, as I was saying,
you're making things out to be bigger than they are. You looked up,
yeah. Next time you won't. It's called making mistakes and learning from
them. Welcome to the human race." He patted Blair firmly on the back,
eliciting a muffled *oomph* from the kid, then let his arm drop to the
bed. "And as for you getting me killed. I was in the army, Chief, and
there were bigger and better idiots than you that I managed to survive,
so don't flatter yourself. Now, go downstairs, get in your PJ's, and go
to sleep. We've got a shitload of paperwork to do tomorrow morning
thanks to this little adventure."

Blair just stared at him for several long seconds, his jaw tight and
his eyes narrow. But then his lips twitched ever-so-slightly, and the
edges of his eyes began to crinkle. Finally, a smile escaped. "Jerk."

He rose to his feet and brushed some of the dust from his pants.
Grabbing a small fist full of feathers from the battered comforter, he
turned, his lips set in a firm, hard line, raised his fist, and blew the
goose-down marauders into Jim's face.

Jim had expected it, so he sat stoically, his face expressionless as the
feathers cascaded over his shoulders and floated toward the bed and
floor. "Goodnight, Sandburg."

"Goodnight, Ellison." Blair grabbed hold of banister and descended
to the living room. His indignant voice floated up staircase. "And
tonight I think I'll sleep in the buff, thank you!"

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