Transitions 5(b) - Cypher (Missing Scene)

-- by Mackie

Blair leaned against the outside wall of the church and tried very hard not to huddle defensively. He couldn't feel any more wretched under any circumstances, but he refused to allow his shame to telegraph itself to the police officers milling around the scene.

The whole debacle had been his fault, of course. He'd been trying to get Jim's attention, but instead he'd alerted the killer and allowed her to escape. Inwardly, he cringed at the memory of the suspect fleeing through a side door. What had possessed him to behave so thoughtlessly?

Cops had been swarming all over the church grounds within minutes, but the whispered words that reached Blair's ears said Ellison had lost the killer on the bridge.

The police were trying to do their jobs without further disrupting the funeral service for Susan Frasier. Uniformed officers had pushed the media to the other side of the street, but Blair suspected it was less out of consideration for the mourners than it was a move designed to avoid embarrassing questions. Detectives quietly collected names and addresses as the friends and family of the deceased left the church at the end of the service.

Blair had already made a statement to Henri Brown, so the detectives knew what questions to ask and which guests to question further. They were interested in those who had sat closest to the suspect, those who might have spoken with her or gotten a clear look at her. Details were woefully sketchy. Despite efforts to keep it respectful and low key, everyone knew Something Was Up. Blair only hoped Don Hass got his name wrong when the newscaster launched his evening tirade against the incompetence of the police.

"I heard it was a rookie with Major Crime," one of the uniformed officers said smugly to his partner as they passed close by.

"I heard it was Ellison's new partner," the other cop chuckled.

"He hasn't had a partner in years. Bet he never has another."

They were laughing quietly as they passed out of earshot, but Blair continued to follow them with his eyes. How many of the cops were bemoaning Jim Ellison's abysmal bad luck in getting a rookie observer for a partner, and how many others - like those two - were secretly pleased with his failure to capture the killer?

"You need a lift, Sandburg?"

He had been watching the other cops and hadn't heard Henri Brown's approach. The question was polite enough, but the detective's expression was carefully neutral, his thoughts masked. Although he knew Brown probably wouldn't make any derisive comments, Blair didn't feel comfortable at the thought of riding with him. "Will Jim be coming back?"

"Yeah, probably," Brown answered. "He's lead investigator, so he'll want to make sure everything's been done."

"Then I'll wait," Blair said quietly. "Thanks."

Although Brown had been understandably peeved when he'd heard the details of the botched arrest attempt, he felt a stab of pity for the newest member of Major Crime. Sandburg had owned up, accepted responsibility and taken the blame without making excuses. Brown admired and respected that. "Your statement will probably be ready by the time you get back to the precinct," he said. "If you think it sounded bad when you said it, just wait until you read it in black and white."

Blair glanced at him sharply, but Brown's expression was sympathetic. "Gives me something to look forward to," he murmured with a tiny smile of self-deprecation. "Thanks a bunch."

Brown chuckled. "You'll be OK, Sandburg," he said. "I've got two more interviews to do, so I'll be here for awhile if you change your mind about the ride." He walked away and left the young grad student to his misery.

Blair sat down on the steps again. Almost everyone was gone - the mourners driving off in a long procession to the cemetery, most of the news crews following them. The majority of police cruisers had returned to their regular patrols. It was quiet and serene, and Blair took the opportunity to try to quell his haphazardly tumbling thoughts.

How could he have been so incredibly stupid? He might as well have shouted Jim's name in the church, he couldn't have alerted the suspect any more surely.

He thought about what the uniformed cops had said. Was Jim regretting his agreement to let Blair be his partner? Would he decide this whole detective/observer thing had gone on long enough, and relegate Blair's research to off-duty hours?

He really didn't want it to end -- not on this down note, and not so soon after it had begun. Things had been going all right these past few weeks. Gradually, Jim had come to accept Blair's presence in his life; sometimes, he even seemed to enjoy having the anthropologist around.

Had all the hard work they'd both done to form this unlikely partnership been wasted in one moment of rash stupidity?

He felt a sudden, unaccountable sense of loss. He didn't know what had prompted it. The only thing he'd "lost" was the suspect, and he would incur the well-deserved wrath of a man whose temper was legendary. He wasn't looking forward to being at the receiving end of Jim's anger, but he was determined to accept it without flinching and try to salvage something out of the mess.

So why did he have that vague, undefined feeling of loss? It was probably just embarrassment over his failure, he decided at last, dismissing it as irrelevant.

He heard footsteps approaching and glanced up, then frowned as he recognized the two cops he'd heard talking earlier. From the expressions on their faces, it was clear they'd finally figured out who he was, and that they were relishing the opportunity to rag him.

Instead, the anticipatory gleam in their eyes became guarded, and they turned away abruptly...but not before Blair saw little smirks of grim satisfaction twist their mouths.

He looked the other way and saw Jim striding across the lawn. The expression on the detective's face could only be described as 'thunderous', and Blair stood up, prepared to take whatever Jim was in the mood to dish out. Lord knew, he had it coming.

Instead, Jim said, "They left you here?"

"Uh, Brown offered me a ride, but he said you'd probably be back," Blair answered, trying to reorient his thoughts.

Jim grimaced. "I was on my way back to the precinct when H radioed me that you were still here," he said uncomfortably. He was clearly aggravated by more than the suspect's escape, but Blair didn't have a clue what was causing it. "You should've gone with him."

"Sorry," Blair murmured.

Jim glared daggers at the two cops before turning away. "OK, let's go."

His voice was tight with barely suppressed anger, but Blair was grateful the threatening eruption would not take place in front of the two officers who appeared so eager to witness it.

They climbed into the truck, each studiously ignoring the other. Blair knew he was risking the blowup he feared, but he couldn't help asking, "She got away?"

Jim's hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. "She jumped off the bridge," he admitted at last.

Blair winced. "God, Jim, I'm sorry -- "

Jim went on as if Blair hadn't spoken. "They're dragging the river for her." Abruptly, he put the truck in gear and swung into a hard U-turn to head back for the precinct. "They won't find her."

"Do you think she survived?" Blair asked quietly.

Jim shrugged. "Probably. She was in good shape." Sourly, he added, "She sure didn't have any trouble staying ahead of me."

They rode in silence for several blocks. Blair was wondering how to break Jim's grim reserve when the detective abruptly asked, "Anyone say anything to you?"

"Just Henri Brown. He took my statement."

"What did he say?"

Blair's voice was quiet and tense with confusion. "He just asked questions about what had happened and said my statement would be ready to sign when we got back. Stuff like that. Why?"

Jim had been practically vibrating with the effort to maintain his temper, and it finally erupted. "Why? Because she got away, that's why! I had the bitch cold, and I let her slip through my fingers!"

Startled less by his partner's fury than by its direction, Blair blurted, "You can't blame yourself, Jim. For cryin' out loud, I'm the one who tipped her off!"

Somewhat belatedly, he realized he'd created an opportunity for Jim to shift the target of his anger.

The detective jerked the truck into the curb with enough savagery to stall the engine and turned toward him. "Yeah, what the hell was that, anyway?" he raged, his tone uncomfortably loud in the confines of the truck cab. A fairly incoherent stream of profanity followed -- apparently aimed mostly at Blair's mental deficiencies -- before he found his focus again. "You should have had a semaphore and flare gun if you really wanted to get her attention!"

He closed his eyes abruptly and fought to curtail his temper. When he'd succeeded to some degree, he said more calmly, "What if she'd had a gun and decided to use it right there in the church? How many people could have gotten hurt or killed?"

Blair wished he could shrink into invisibility. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his misery complete. "You're right -- I didn't think about what I was doing. I just knew I wanted you to catch her. Instead, because of me, you lost her."

Jim faced forward again and massaged the bridge of his nose with the fingers of both hands. The silence lengthened uncomfortably, until he finally said softly, "No, it was my fault."

Blair shook his head in fervent denial. "I'm the one who screwed up; you were just trying to salvage the mess I made."

"No, it was my fault," Jim repeated. As he stared through the windshield, a blush crept up his neck. He tapped the steering wheel for a long minute before confessing, "I forgot you were there."

Blair frowned, thinking Jim had changed the subject. "When did you forget I was there?"

"In the church." In irritation, Jim added, "I'm not used to having a partner, OK? When I saw that yellow scarf, I just focused on it, and I forgot you were even there."

Blinking in confusion, Blair said, "I don't see how that changes anything."

Contritely, Jim admitted, "If I'd just glanced at you to acknowledge that I'd seen the scarf too, you wouldn't have been trying so hard to get my attention."

Blair finally understood. "You forgot I was there," he repeated blankly. Somehow, this hurt worse than Jim's anger at his screw up. "You didn't remember I was there until Brown called you to tell you I was still at the church, right?"

Jim sighed. "Right."

He wasn't about to admit how he'd felt after Brown's call. It had started earlier, soon after he'd lost the suspect on the bridge -- an irritating sense that he was overlooking something obvious. When he'd picked up the yellow scarf she'd dropped, he'd thought the feeling would go away. It hadn't. Instead, by the time he'd organized a search of the river, called for a truck to tow the suspect's car back to the forensic garage and delegated some uniforms to unsnarl the traffic jam he'd help create, it had intensified to a niggling certainty.

It had culminated with Brown's call -- a momentary but powerful sense of having regained something he had misplaced. Only, it hadn't been some thing. It had been some one. It galled him to think he was getting so used to having Sandburg around that he actually felt uncomfortable at his absence.

It simply wouldn't do. Sandburg wasn't going to become a permanent fixture in his life. Friends, sure. Surprising, but not totally beyond the realm of possibility...barely. Roommates, also a good thing, since Jim would be able to keep Sandburg focused on the important things and divert him from the numerous ancillary interests that kept him hopping from morning 'til night. Jim was perfectly aware this was an issue of control, but it was also just good sense.

But where had the strange feeling of connection come from; why had he felt so adrift without Sandburg by his side?

As for Blair, he wasn't entirely sure of his feelings right then. On the one hand, he was grateful Jim wasn't still ranting and raving about the folly of his actions, but on the other hand... "You forgot I was there."

"Do we have to keep going over that point?" Jim growled dangerously.

"It's just -- it's just so weird. I mean, I know I screwed up. I embarrassed you, I embarrassed Major Crime -- hell, after Don Hass is finished with me, I'll have embarrassed the whole department. But for some reason, I'm less upset about that than I am about the fact that you forgot I was even there."

"Yeah, well, I said I was sorry," Jim murmured awkwardly.

"We're supposed to be partners -- "

"Wait a minute, Chief," Jim interrupted firmly. "I mean, I know I keep saying we're partners and all, but you're not a cop. I want you to remember that. You're an observer, and that's what you're going to stay."

"I understand that."

"I don't think you do. You keep trying to be a participant -- like today in the church. It's not that I don't appreciate your wanting to help, but in some circumstances, you could put yourself in danger. I don't want that to happen."

Lightly, Blair murmured, "Too much paperwork?"

Jim smiled slightly. "Yeah." More seriously, he added, "And I don't want you getting hurt trying to help me. The risk is part of my job, not yours. Let's keep it that way."

"No argument from me," Blair agreed.

That should have settled things, but Jim didn't start the truck. Clearly, he still had something else on his mind. "And I don't want you signing your statement until I've had a chance to read it," he went on finally, not certain how Blair would react to the demand.

"Why?"

Jim tried to sound persuasive. "Look, Sandburg, this whole observer arrangement is tentative at best. Simon could pull the plug on it at any moment. I don't want you coming under fire for today's mess, or he's liable to be pressured into dropping you altogether. Also, don't let anyone give you any lip about what happened. I'm the cop in charge, so the responsibility for any mistakes is mine."

"I can't let you take the heat for my screw up," Blair protested. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, but rather than upset him, he felt hopeful. "This sounds suspiciously like you want our partnership -- or whatever you want to call it -- to continue."

Jim finally started the engine again and pulled into the driving lane. "I do," he answered, sounding bemused. "What made you think I wouldn't?"

"Oh, I don't know -- maybe the little matter of losing your suspect."

"Yeah, I'm really pissed off about that," Jim admitted. "But I'm your partner. I'm allowed to get mad at you. That doesn't go for anyone else."

"Even Simon?"

"That's Captain Banks to you," Jim pointed out with a grin, relaxing now that the hardest part of their discussion was over. "He'll probably shout at you a few times, but I'll try to run interference."

"You don't have to," Blair said, glad Jim still wanted him for a partner, and pleased Jim was willing to stand up for him even in front of Simon.

"I know I don't have to," Jim answered simply. "It's what partners do."

"I guess partners aren't supposed to forget one another, either."

Jim smiled slightly before murmuring enigmatically, "Somehow, I get the feeling that's not gonna happen again."

THE END