Blair Sandburg Goes to Hell

by Freya-Kendra

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Rating: G
Summary: After a three week absence, Blair Sandburg walked into the bullpen at Cascade's Major Crimes division wearing his arm in a sling. This alone was enough to turn heads and conjure questions. But when his answer to those questions began with the sentence, "well, it all started when I went to Hell," he was grateful he would only have to tell his tale once.

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Blair Sandburg Goes to Hell by Freya-Kendra

After a three week absence, Blair Sandburg walked into the bullpen at Cascade's Major Crimes division wearing his arm in a sling. This alone was enough to turn heads and conjure questions. But when his answer to those questions began with the sentence, "well, it all started when I went to Hell," he was grateful he would only have to tell his tale once. The entire division gathered around him to hear it -- even Jim Ellison, although since he already knew the story, he moved forward slowly, and then leaned against a desk toward the back of the crowd.

Blair began with, "I was on my way to Hell, when--"

"Come on, Sandy," Conner interrupted. "Maybe you see the University of Michigan as a rival to Rainier, but is it really fair to call it Hell?"

"No, Megan. That's not what I meant. U of M is a great university, and Ann Arbor is a walk in the park compared with Cascade--"

"I hope you're not thinking of moving," Joel broke in.

Touched by Joel's apparent concern, Blair smiled. Then he shook his head and held up his good hand. "I was only there to help a colleague with a research project; it was nothing permanent," he assured his friends.

"So what's this about Hell?" H asked, clearly more interested in that side of the story.

"Yeah. Hell, *Michigan.* It's a small town -- a very small town -- about twenty miles northwest of Ann Arbor. My friend told me about it, and I thought it would be fun to send a souvenir to Jim."

On cue, Jim produced a postcard from his jacket pocket. As people took turns passing it around, they could see that one corner had been singed, and the postmark did indeed read 'Hell, Michigan.' On the front were the words, 'Greetings from Hell. Wish you were here.'

"Cute," said Conner.

"Hey, I know a few people I'd like to send this to," H added. "No offense, Jim."

Jim just shrugged as Blair continued with his story.

"On the way there, I got off the freeway onto a two-lane highway that runs in front of a juvenile detention center."

Jim cleared his throat and fixed his partner with a demanding stare.

"Ok," Blair confessed. "Not just any juvenile detention center. Actually, the youngest kid ever convicted of murder was sent there."

Conner gazed suspiciously back and forth between Jim and Blair. "And this is significant to the story of how you broke your arm?"

"Yes and no." Blair shrugged.

"Oh, come on," Conner complained. "Either it is or it isn't."

"Just wait," Blair said. "I'll get there. The point is, when I drove by the detention center, it just happened to be at the same time as they were bringing in some gang leader."

"Which," Jim chimed in, "just happened to be at the same time the gang *members* decided to prevent that from happening."

"Yeah," Blair sighed.

"You're kidding," Joel said. "You are kidding, right?"

"Wish I was."

"So what happened?"

"I kind of got caught in the cross fire."

"You got shot?" H asked.

"No. I wasn't hurt at all. My rental car got a few bullet holes in it, but I was never hit."

"So what happened with the arm?" Rafe asked.

"I'm getting there. Anyway, after the police took control and I gave a statement, I decided to finish my trip. Since the car was still drivable, I kept on toward Hell."

"So," H put in, "on the highway to Hell, you found yourself in the middle of a police shoot out and that wasn't enough to convince you to turn back?"

"Why should it? So, anyway, I started driving through Hamburg--"

"Hamburg?" Rafe asked.

"Another small town, but not as small as Hell," Blair answered.

"But on the highway to Hell?" Conner asked.

"Yeah. So, I'm driving through Hamburg, and I noticed the weather started to turn. A bad storm was moving in."

"And you didn't consider that an omen, either?" H asked.

Blair cocked his head instead of answering. "I kept driving, toward the oncoming storm--" He went on, trying to ignore the shaking heads and sighs of disbelief. "When it started to look like I was driving right into a black wall."

"The storm?" Rafe asked.

"The storm," Blair acknowledged. "I could hear it, too. It sounded like a cross between a freight train and a jet engine."

"Don't tell me you got caught in a tornado," Conner said.

"Actually, I found out later it was something called a micro burst."

"Oh, man," Rafe exclaimed. "I've heard those things have brought down planes."

"Yeah, that's what I found out, too. It's kind of a cross between a tornado and a hurricane coming to shore, with downward winds averaging about eighty miles an hour, and sometimes reaching as much as a hundred and fifty."

"What did it do to the car?" H asked.

"A dent in the hood and a few scratches from a falling branch, but that was about it. I pulled into a parking lot and ran into a store just as the rain started to come. Man, it was a downpour, too -- except for the fact that it was moving completely sideways, right into the building. And then the lightning." Blair shook his head. "There was this bright flash, and all the power went out. A bunch of us ran to a small storage room to wait out the storm. It was pitch black in there, and we could hear things hitting against the sides of the building."

"How long were you in there?" Conner asked.

"Long enough to get a phone number," Jim answered.

"A what?" Conner seemed confused.

H laughed. "So what was her name, Sandburg?"

"Karen. Or Carey. Something like that."

"Men," Conner said indignantly.

"Anyway," Blair went on, "when it was over, it looked like Hell outside."

"Except you hadn't even reached Hell, yet," Rafe broke in.

"Not yet. The car was still drivable, and there was nothing I could do to help with the clean up -- and they still didn't have power -- so I got back into the car and--"

"And you still didn't think it was a bad idea to go all the way to Hell," Joel said incredulously.

"Nope. I had to dodge a lot of debris in the road. But I made it to Hell without further incident."

"Wait," H said, "Let me guess what happened then. All Hell broke loose."

"Actually ... no. Hell was pretty much uneventful. And there wasn't really anything to see there. Just a very, very small town with a restaurant called the Damn Site Inn and a general store that sidelined as a post office."

"Wait a minute." Conner held up one hand. "You're telling us you went through all that insanity to get to Hell, and when you got there, there wasn't even anything to see?"

"Yeah."

"So this whole story," Rafe said, "was about going to Hell and back, not about being there at all?"

"Pretty much."

"It's all about the journey," H added, laughing.

Blair shrugged.

"Wait a minute," Joel broke in. "You still haven't told us how you broke your arm."

"Yeah. That. Well, I called the rental car agency, and then I met with the manager and an insurance claims adjuster at the return lot at the airport. I explained everything that happened and pointed out the damage. They took down the details and quoted me a steep deductible."

"How steep?" H asked.

"Steep enough. Anyway, it was all said and done, I got on their shuttle to go to the terminal, and...." Blair stopped, and shook his head. "Would you believe the shuttle driver recognized me?"

"He recognized you?" Conner repeated. "From where?"

"From the juvenile detention center. He was the older brother of the gang leader, and he saw the whole escape attempt go down."

"He probably arranged it," Jim threw in.

"All I can say is he was there, and he knew I'd been there, and he decided it was my fault his brother didn't get away. So he kicked me off the shuttle -- literally. That's how I broke my arm. And while I was on the ground, he tried to run me over. I'm just lucky the claims adjuster pulled me out of the way."

"Sandburg," Joel said, "if that's what you call luck, remind me never to chip into a lottery pool with you."

"Actually, I did get lucky, in more ways than one."

"How's that?" Conner asked.

Blair gave her a sheepish grin. "He drove that shuttle right into my rental car. I mean, *right* into it. He totaled it."

"And that was lucky to you *because*...." Conner prodded.

Blair started to chuckle. "Suddenly none of the damage I had been responsible for mattered anymore. The insurance adjuster ripped up his papers right in front of me."

"So you're completely off the hook for everything?" Rafe asked. "Even the deductible?"

"Completely."

"Not so fast, there, Chief." Jim walked over to stand in front of his partner.

"What?" Blair asked, confused.

"I wouldn't say you're off the hook, *completely*."

"What? Yes I am. *Of course* I am."

Jim shook his head. "As I recall, there's the small matter of a little wager."

"Wager? What wager?"

"Remember that conversation we had when I drove you to the airport three weeks ago?"

"Conversation? What conv...." Blair's eyes widened in recognition. "Oh, no way Jim. You can't be serious."

"You bet I'm serious."

"What?" Conner was clearly anxious to find out. "What is it?"

Jim grinned at Blair, and then turned toward Megan. "What was that rumor that went around here a few months ago?" He asked her. "The one about Sandburg being a--"

"Trouble magnet," Conner finished for him. "It's true, then. Isn't it?"

Jim cocked his head to suggest that it might, in fact, be true. "On the way to the airport, I told Sandburg to be careful, and he got offended."

"I did not get offended," Blair argued. "I just said of course I'd be careful. I'm always careful."

Jim's gaze was challenging. "Yeah," he said with no small amount of sarcasm. "Which is why I bet you that you couldn't stay out of trouble without me there to watch your back."

"Yeah, but...." Blair shrugged instead of completing the statement.

"So what was the bet?" Joel asked.

Jim smile grew wider. "You want to tell them," he asked Blair, "or should I?"

"But Jim, I'm working one-handed, here."

Jim shrugged. "So, we'll wait until you're out of the cast."

"You'll wait," Blair repeated, nodding. "That's just so ... *generous* of you, Jim."

"That's okay, Chief. What are friends for?" He winked.

"So what was the bet?" H said, repeating Joel Taggart's earlier question.

Sighing in defeat, Blair finally provided the answer. "Two weeks of paperwork. If I won, Jim was going to do my administrative work at the university for two weeks. And if he won--"

"You would write all of his reports," Conner finished.

"So what else is new?" At the sound of Captain Banks' voice, the entire Major Crimes division started to act like kids caught robbing the cookie jar. The crowd broke up as everyone clumsily headed back toward their own desks.

"Come on, people." Banks said to the sea of retreating backs. "What do you think this is? Story hour? We've got criminals out there to catch."

A few minutes later, after things seemed to get somewhat back to normal, Simon turned toward Sandburg, who had found himself trapped between the captain and Jim.

"So, Sandburg," Simon began. "What are you standing around here for?"

Blair gazed up at him, confused by the stern look in the older man's eyes. "I just ... I don't know. I guess I--"

"As I recall," Simon interrupted, "you were put under doctor's orders to get one week of rest and relaxation before going back to work."

"What's that got to do with--"

"*That* means you should not be here."

"No, it means I should not be at the university. There's a diff--"

"No difference. *Here* represents work. And as I understand it, there's a game about to start. Which means--"

"Which means," Jim jumped in, "Sandburg should be back at the loft, relaxing in front of the TV."

"Damn right," Simon replied.

"I'd say it's our responsibility to make sure he does just that. Don't you agree, sir?"

"We do have a certain degree of obligation."

Before he knew it, Blair Sandburg was being ushered out of the building between Jim Ellison and Simon Banks, two men who, by some miracle of fate, had become his closest friends -- though he doubted the captain would openly admit that fact. And before the night was over, Blair realized how much he really did appreciate having both of them there to 'watch his back.'

'There's no place like home,' he thought silently as he settled into the comfort of his own bed hours later. So what if he *was* a trouble magnet? He was also damned lucky. After all, he had been to Hell and back. And he had friends who cared enough to give him hell about it. What more could he ask for?

~End~