Into the Ocean series

Summary & Notes: Blair's entanglement with the daughter of a Mafioso has tragic results. This story is told in 4 sections.

SECTIONS:

"Into the Ocean," a songfic based on the song of the same name by Blue October. This shows a very hurt and angsting Blair.

"Overboard," Prequel to “Into the Ocean,” written as a normal fic.

"The Guardian," titled to give readers the sense of the Coast Guard making a rescue, also written as a normal fic, functions as the entire story's epilogue. "The Guardian" is intended to provide closure and comfort -- hopefully lots and lots of comfort. Lastly…

“2AM: Just Grieve” is a filk originally written to counter Blair's "Into the Ocean" songfic with something told from Jim's POV. Jim angsting: Oh grieve; just grieve. / Just don't leave; don't leave.... (Anna Nalick’s “2AM: Just Breathe”)

Songs: "Into the Ocean," by Blue October; and "2AM" by Anna Nalick

Author: Freya-Kendra

Warnings: Language

* * * * *

Into the Ocean

(original songfic)

They were gone. Finally.

There was the sound of the semi growling back to life. It coughed out a puff of diesel-scented smoke, and then the massive vehicle began to move, its weighted tires rolling heavily across the gravel. Listening as the sounds faded into the distance, Blair held his breath a moment longer, until the world itself seemed to recover from the madness.

Fortunately, the world at large was much more resilient than he was. A light breeze soon stirred the surrounding trees into quiet whispers. It was about the sweetest sound Blair had ever heard. He felt tired muscles relax, and allowed himself a soft sigh as his eyelids shuttered closed.

~ * ~

I'm just a normal boy that sank when I fell overboard

My ship would leave the country but I'd rather swim ashore

Without a life vest I'd be stuck again; wish I was much more masculine

Maybe then I could learn to swim like fourteen miles away

~ * ~

The dream was different this time, as though somehow he knew, even with his brain shut down and the sights and sounds around him shut away, that he was alone -- apart both from the brothers who had seemed so intent on torturing him to death, and from the friends who stood very little hope of ever finding him alive. Instead of a wild ride through hell, Blair's dream this time gave him a tiny glimmer of desperate hope, a tenuous lifeline he was almost afraid to accept.

~ * ~

Now floating up and down;

I spin, colliding into sound

Like whales beneath me diving down

I'm sinking to the bottom of my

Everything that freaks me out

The lighthouse beam has just run out

I'm cold as cold as cold can be

be...

~ * ~

Shivering, Blair came awake to darkness and the sound of a gentle rain.

If night had fallen, how long had he been asleep? He tried to calculate time based on his jumbled perspectives. The effort proved too much for him to handle, causing his head to throb and his eyes to blur. He could not even be sure how long he had been here, or where here actually was. The building had once been a roadside store; that much was obvious from the old, broken shelving units and long dead neon signs. But the road it stood beside was as deserted as the store was. It was a forgotten place, a ghost town without the actual town behind it.

~ * ~

I want to swim away but don't know how

Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in the ocean

Let the waves up take me down

Let the hurricane set in motion... yeah

Let the rain of what I feel right now...come down

Let the rain come down

~ * ~

"Jim?" Blair called weakly into the night, the sound barely escaping the fire in his throat, barely slipping through the cracks and cuts in his lips. "I'm sorry. You were right. You're always right. I should have listened to you. Why didn't I listen?"

He dropped his head back against the concrete wall with a soft thud that reverberated through each and every one of his raw nerve endings. The solid wall was a solid reminder. He didn't listen. And now he was here, alone, trussed up like some hunter's forgotten quarry and forced to face the consequences of his most damning weakness.

~ * ~

Where is the coastguard; I keep looking each direction

For a spotlight, give me something; I need something for protection

Maybe flotsam junk will do just fine; the jetsam sunk, I'm left behind

I'm treading for my life, believe me –

How can I keep up this breathing?

~ * ~

Pheromones, Jim, He'd explained once to his friend.

You can't fight that sort of attraction. Combine it with Blair's already somewhat excessive admiration for women, and the fight can be over long before it's even begun. But when Jim had warned him against tutoring the daughter of a known Mafioso, Blair had insisted he could handle it. She needed help. How could he let her down? How could he let anyone down when he knew perfectly well he had the ability to provide the help they needed?

He had never expected to fall for her.

Then he got to know her -- to really know her -- and all his expectations went crashing down. He didn't just fall, he took a swan dive off the highest possible peak and landed with a crushing belly flop into the coldest, darkest waters imaginable.

~ * ~

Not knowing how to think

I scream aloud, begin to sink

My legs and arms are broken down

With envy for the solid ground

I'm reaching for the life within me

How can one man stop his ending?

I thought of just your face

Relaxed, and floated into space

~ * ~

"Jim?" Blair rasped to the vision standing before him.

His friend was smiling, offering him a beer. Thanks, Jim. Yeah. I'd love one. Yet somehow he couldn't seem to wrap his hands around it. And he was thirsty, so very thirsty. The rain falling outside was a cruel joke.

Water, water everywhere, but nary a drop to drink. Where had he heard that? Somewhere, some when, in a time that had no meaning, or that simply no longer mattered.

~ * ~

I want to swim away but don't know how

Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in the ocean

Let the waves up take me down

Let the hurricane set in motion... yeah

Let the rain of what I feel right now...come down

Let the rain come down

Let the rain come down

~ * ~

She's dead, Jim, Blair told the vision. She's dead, and it's my fault. It's all ... all my fault. I killed her, Jim. She's dead.

His friend, still smiling, handed him another beer. Again, it slipped through his fingers, his numb, unfeeling fingers, fingers that refused to even move, that were trapped, wrapped up, taped together ... useless.

As useless as he was. I killed her, Jim.

~ * ~

Now waking to the sun

I calculate what I had done

Like jumping from the bow (yeah)

Just to prove I knew how (yeah)

It's midnight's late reminder of

The loss of her, the one I love

My will to quickly end it all

Set front row in my need to fall

~ * ~

"I love you, Blair," She had told him just before his world exploded.

One small, quick bullet was all it took -- one gun, one bullet, and just the right trajectory. Boom. And she was gone.

~ * ~

Into the ocean, end it all

Into the ocean, end it all

Into the ocean, end it all

Into the ocean...end it all

~ * ~

And her brothers blamed Blair. They said he was working for Daddy's rival. They tried hard to get him to talk, but, "I loved her," was all he could tell them. It took a long while for them to accept that his choking sobs were as much for her as for the pain of their incessant incentives. But they finally got it. In the end, they got it. And they finally left him alone. They abandoned him here, in this nameless shop as dead as the road beside it.

As dead as the woman he'd known for so short a time -- the woman he'd loved.

~ * ~

Into the ocean (goodbye) end it all (goodbye)

Into the ocean (goodbye) end it all (goodbye)

Into the ocean (goodbye) end it all (goodbye)

~ * ~

"Blair," the vision called out to him.

For some reason, Jim wasn't smiling anymore. And where was the beer? Blair really wanted that beer. He began to imagine beer falling from the sky like rain. He could see an entire ocean of it.

~ * ~

I want to swim away but don't know how

Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in the ocean ...

~ * ~

"Come on, Chief. I need you to stay with me, here."

The world shifted then. It tilted on its axis. Or he did....

He could feel himself being moved. He was pushed. He was pulled. But it was okay, because Jim said it was okay. Everything was okay.

His hands were suddenly free, enabling him finally to pull himself back to the surface. But he needn't bother. The feeling of motion was comforting, like a baby being rocked in a cradle, safe, secure, and protected despite the storm raging outside.

~ * ~

Let the waves up take me down

Let the hurricane set in motion (yeah)

Let the rain of what I feel right now...come down

Let the rain come down

Let the rain come down

~ * ~

He could taste cool air as something was pressed against his face. But cool air did nothing to quench his thirst. He swatted the thing away, and looked out into the night, his gaze meeting Jim's once again.

His friend drew closer. Jim's forehead was etched with concern, his eyes cautious.

"It's okay, Blair. Just let them do what they need to do, okay Chief?"

But Blair had to ask him, and it was so hard to talk. Jim leaned in closer.

Finally, "Where's that beer?" He managed to whisper.

No normal person would have heard him. But his sentinel did. And finally, there was that smile, the one Blair had been envisioning.

"Soon enough, Buddy," Jim said as his own tension seemed to melt away. "Soon enough."

~ * ~

Into the ocean (goodbye) end it all (goodbye)

(Into space)

Into the ocean (goodbye) end it all (goodbye)

Into the ocean (goodbye) end it all (goodbye)

Into the ocean (goodbye) end it all (goodbye)

Into the ocean (goodbye) end it all (goodbye)

Into the ocean (goodbye) end it all (goodbye)

I thought of just your face

* * * * *

Overboard

(Prequel to "Into the Ocean" songfic)

Blair pulled his Volvo into the familiar spot overlooking Cascade's skyline. "I still don't think this is such a good idea," He said, shifting into park.

It was hard to ignore the fact that his heart was pumping harder than usual to accommodate a small surge of adrenaline. A nagging sense of trouble was tickling the back of his brain.

"What's wrong?" Katie teased. "Worried about returning to the scene of the crime?"

When he looked over at his passenger she was smiling back at him with enough intensity to outshine even the dazzling city lights beneath them. Suddenly trouble was exactly what he wanted.

Blair laughed softly. "What crime would that be?"

"The one that got you to fall in love with me."

He moved closer and tucked a stray strand of soft, black hair behind her ear. "And what makes you think I'm in love with you?" His gaze contradicted the sarcasm in his words.

"Well you'd better be," she challenged.

"Why's that?"

"Because I love you, Blair."

And for one, brief instant, Blair Sandburg discovered what it was to know -- to really know -- that all was right with the cosmos.

The instant evaporated with a sharp crack.

Blair tensed even as Katie went limp. His hand tightened instinctively around her shoulder. He drew her into his arms, his peripheral vision vaguely noticing the spider web pattern that had formed around a perfect hole in the window of the passenger door.

"Katie?" He asked, his voice shaking. "Kate? Are you okay?"

She did not answer. She did not move.

"Katie?" He tried to brush hair from her face. His hand came back moist, sticky. "Katie?" His voice breaking, the name barely escaped his lips.

"No. God, no." Blair forced himself to probe for a wound. He found it -- right at the base of her skull. "No. Katie, no. No. Katie!"

But there was not a damned thing he could do. She was already dead.

Holding her tenderly in his arms, Blair cried softly before his thoughts began to register what had occurred. She'd been shot. Someone had taken a shot at her through the glass. That someone might still be out there, and might already be targeting him.

Fumbling around numbly, his entire body trembling, Blair pulled at the handle behind him and pushed the door open. He fell backward onto the gravel, landing hard on his butt. And then, not knowing what else to do, he waited, listening.

Crickets chirped around him. There was the swish of a light breeze in the surrounding trees. That was all. There was nothing else -- no footsteps crunching on gravel; no twigs breaking under pressure; no cars peeling away toward the freeway. There was only him.

He realized his heart was pumping so loudly he probably wouldn't hear much of anything else anyway. What he needed was Jim.

Jim.

He reached back into the car. Hesitating as his hand brushed Katie's hair, he swallowed around a lump in his throat and closed his eyes. A moment later, taking an unsteady breath, he grabbed for his cell phone on the dash. Then he dropped back to the ground and hit the first speed dial.

"Sandburg?" When Jim answered after the second ring, some part of Blair noticed that his sentinel sounded wide awake despite the late hour. "What's wrong?"

"Jim?" The lump in his throat had grown to choking proportions. Blair could hardly breathe. "She's dead."

The admission released a flood of emotions. Anger, grief and shock made it nearly impossible to think.

"Where are you?" Jim asked.

"They must've tailed me," Blair answered instead. "God, Jim. I must've led them right to her!"

"Sandburg ... Blair, tell me where you are."

"I told her ... Jim, I told her she had to be careful. Her dad was right about that, you know? You can't ... you can't follow routines, especially if your family is ... when your father is...." He swallowed before continuing his rambling. "Habitual patterns can be like open invitations to stalkers or ... or ...." He started sobbing. "God, Jim. She's dead."

"I'm sorry, Blair." Jim said softly, earnestly. "Please, Chief, you have to tell me where you are."

Not even realizing he hadn't answered his friend's question, Blair's attention was drawn to the wild approach of an SUV. He was dimly aware of his hand steadily dropping toward the ground beside him as the vehicle pulled to a stop. By the time his knuckles came to rest on the gravel, Blair was completely oblivious. The phone slipped from his fingers. He was numb. He was aware of only one thing; his focus was now entirely given over to the nearly three hundred pounds of muscle approaching him.

It was Paulie, one of "Daddy's" henchmen.

Paulie leaned into the Volvo. "Fuck," he shouted. Then, "Fuck," He said again as he rose back to his full height. He slammed his fist down onto the roof of the car with earthquake force. "Mother fucking son of a bitch!"

Blair found himself inching backwards across the ground.

Paulie turned toward him. "Mother fucking son of a bitch," He repeated. When his gaze locked with Blair's, there was murder in his eyes.

* * * * *

Jim grabbed his keys with his left hand while he dialed his cell phone with his right. But Simon didn't answer until Jim was already halfway down the stairs to the parking lot.

"This better be good," Simon grumbled. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"I think Kate Stefano's been killed." Jim punched at the exit door, unconcerned by the resounding bang of it crashing back against the outer wall.

"Okay," Simon answered after a moment, suddenly fully alert. "Now tell me what you know."

"Blair called." Jim's voice was clear, focused. Not even the quick jog to the truck caused him to miss a breath or lose a word. "He said someone tailed them and they killed Katie."

"Is Sandburg all right?"

"I don't know." Jumping into the old Ford, he jammed his key into the ignition.

"Where?"

"I don't know that either, sir." Jim threw the truck into drive and pulled into the street with a squeal of abused tires. "But I have a pretty good idea where to start looking."

* * * * *

Miraculously, Simon beat Jim to the Stefano's residence. Not surprisingly, the mansion was bustling with activity, despite the hour. News travels fast when you have as many eyes and ears -- and fists on the street as Joe Stefano.

Jim pulled his truck behind Simon's at the curb, nearly twenty feet from the driveway that led to the gate guarding the Stefano residence.

Simon was leaning patiently against his own car. "Not here, Jim," The captain said as Jim approached on foot. "And not now. There have been no reports yet from anyone about a murder tonight. Not even a shooting. Hell, not even a scuffle. All's quiet tonight in the city of Cascade."

Glancing at the brightly lit estate beyond the trees, Jim did not let Simon's analysis deter him. "Maybe so, sir. But that's definitely not the case at the Stefano's. Something's happened. It's only a matter of time before we find out about it officially. By then they will already have sought their own type of justice." He gave his focus over completely to his captain -- and friend, Simon Banks. "You know that's true. You also know what Joe Stefano thinks of Sandburg."

"Everyone knows what Joe Stefano thinks of Sandburg. He thinks the kid's too closely linked to the force to be so coincidentally involved with his daughter." Simon gave a short, cynical laugh. "Like we'd ever consider sending someone in undercover without ensuring they were completely undercover."

"We need to get in there, Simon."

"Not in any official capacity."

"I'm not here as a cop tonight. I was hoping that would be the case for you as well. I just want to find Blair. I can't afford to wait for any red tape."

"As long as we have that straight." Simon sighed. "But Jim, you do realize that whatever happens, whatever Stefano or any of his goons says or whatever any of them does, if an official case does result from this, neither one of us will ever be able to handle that case directly. We will be witnesses, with no power whatsoever to turn that wheel of justice."

Jim smiled. "That's alright, sir. We can at least grease it enough to make sure it keeps turning." He gave Simon a light tap on his arm and started for the passenger side of the captain's car. "You don't mind driving in, do you? The truck doesn't exactly fit the Stefano's decor."

Simon glanced at the truck and shook his head in surrender.

* * * * *

Paulie had never liked Blair. That was obvious from the start. To be honest, Blair knew no one else in the Stefano family -- and that included all the hired goons who did not even share the Stefano name -- had ever liked Blair. If Katie hadn't been so damn beautiful ... incredible ... perfect Blair would have gladly given them all the space they wanted. He never liked any of them very much either. But Paulie ... he was Katie's personal body guard, and when Blair came into the picture Paulie wanted to guard Katie right out of Blair's reach. Instead, Katie had successfully pushed Paulie out of her reach by encouraging her father to order the brut to keep his distance. Katie wanted a guarantee she could have a degree of privacy during her rendezvous' with Blair.

Hell, now even Blair wished Daddy hadn't given in. Maybe then Katie would still be alive.

Dammit! He banged his head against the wooden crate behind him. Why did he let her talk him into going back to the overlook? They'd gone there far too often -- often enough to let anyone who was paying any kind of attention have a pretty good guess where they could be found on any given night.

Stupid! He complained silently. And then to emphasize his pathetic inability to voice the word through the tape across his mouth, he banged his head against the crate twice more, making sure he hit it harder each time. He had been an idiot.

And now Katie's dead.

She's dead. Oh, God! She's dead. The tears came again, and Blair didn't care. He let them fall. He could drown in his own snot for all he cared. Katie was dead and it was his fault.

When Paulie had told him they were 'going for a ride' back at the overlook only moments after Katie had died in his arms, Blair had been far too numb to feel even a split second worth of fear.

After Blair realized he had survived that trip, he was still too numb to feel even the slightest bit of surprise -- or hope, or curiosity.

Then Paulie had handed him over to Katie's brothers. Now he was sitting in the back of a semi, surrounded by crates filled with god-knew-what and trussed up with enough duct tape to make him feel like the result of a do-it-yourself hack's weekend project, and he just didn't care.

Katie was dead. Nothing else mattered. Nothing at all.

"Please, Chief, you have to tell me where you are."

Jim! Blair heard his friend's voice in some corner of his mind that still had clarity, and he realized that Jim mattered. And when all this was said and done, after the Stefano brothers did what they would, Jim might even feel a similar kind of pain. And that, too, would be Blair's fault.

I'm sorry, Jim. I am so, so sorry.

Jim would never know how sorry he really was.

* * * * *

Joe Stefano was sitting at his desk when Jim and Simon were silently escorted into his home office. His black leather executive chair turned toward a side window, he appeared to be giving all his focus to the darkness outside while subconsciously massaging a worry ball in his right hand. Fingers curled around the ball tightly enough to prove out a white-knuckled grip, and then eased slightly before tightening again.

Jim knew there was nothing subconscious in the gesture. It was a silent threat.

"Is it true you received some disturbing news tonight, Mr. Stefano?" Simon asked, breaching the silence.

"Disturbing?" Stefano repeated softly. "Disturbing?" He said again as he slowly swiveled his chair to face them. His hand froze into a fist around the unfortunate worry ball before slamming down hard onto the desktop.

"My daughter is dead, Captain Banks," he shouted. "I would say that's a little more than disturbing."

"It is true, then." Simon replied softly. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"So you came here to apologize, is that it? Are you admitting responsibility?"

"We only came here," Jim said, "to see if you had any information that could help us find Blair Sandburg. We understand he was with Kate when it happened. We just want to make sure he's all right."

"Cops looking out for their own?"

"Friends, Mr. Stefano," Simon said. "Friends looking out for their own. We are not here in any official capacity. We are only here as Sandburg's friends."

"Friends or cops, makes no difference to me. Family, Captain Banks, family is what matters to me. And my family has been viciously attacked. Right now, I don't give a damn about your friend."

"Blair Sandburg is my family," Jim stated flatly. "You ought to know that by now. We've had enough opportunities to discuss that over the past few months."

"Whatever we have discussed, Detective, whatever compromises we ever agreed to, none of it matters anymore. My daughter is dead; probably because of those very agreements. I knew it was wrong then. I only agreed because she was stubbornly insistent."

"You know I felt the same way. They loved each other, Mr. Stefano. And they were both adults. Neither one of us was ever going to be able to stop them from seeing each other."

"Fuck that, Detective. And fuck you. Any protections I have ever extended to your friend, or colleague, or brother, or whatever the fuck you want to call him, are over, finished. He could be dead by now for all I care. In fact, I hope to God he is."

Jim took several steps toward the desk as he shouted back. "Blair Sandburg is not responsible for your daughter's death. The last thing he would ever do would be to put her in harm's way."

Mr. Stefano rose to look Jim square in the eye. "And that's exactly what it is: the last thing he's done. Forget him, Detective. He knew what he was getting into when he got involved with Kate. And so did you. Our so-called discussions, our compromises are all proof of that. Now she's dead. Consider him a casualty of war. Because that's what this is now, war."

"If you know where he is, then you better damn well tell me."

"Or what, Detective? This is my house. This is my family we're talking about--"

"And Blair Sandburg is mine!"

Jim's interruption did not faze Stefano. "I protect my own, Detective. And if my protection isn't enough, then I see to it that justice is served."

"Justice? What kind of justice would that be? I sure don't see you calling the police."

"And yet you're here, aren't you?" Stefano walked around the desk. By eliminating that obstacle he made it clear he was not threatened by anything Jim might attempt to do. "I'm talking about family justice. Surely you understand family justice?"

"An eye for an eye?" Simon asked.

"At the very least." Stefano did not take his gaze from Jim. "So much for your compromises, Detective Ellison. But there is one benefit to all this; maybe with Sandburg out of the picture, maybe then we'll actually be on even ground -- with me mourning my loss, and you mourning yours."

"You son of a bitch--"

Simon grabbed Jim's arm before any blood could be spilled, and then insinuated himself between the arguing men, maneuvering until he could move Jim closer to the door. After he had opened up a more comfortable space, he turned his own wrath on Stefano. "So that's what this is about? You know Sandburg didn't kill her; maybe you also know he's not even indirectly responsible. But you still want him to pay? Why? Just because you need vengeance and you don't know who to blame yet? Surely you understand, Mr. Stefano, there's no justice in that."

"Maybe not, Captain Banks. But I can assure you I can find plenty of satisfaction in it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to."

"This isn't over, Stefano," Jim seethed.

"Of course it's not. But your visit is. Now leave."

Before Stefano uttered another word, two armed thugs arrived right on cue to escort Jim and Simon out.

* * * * *

The truck stopped moving. When Blair felt a final jolt and heard the screeching of solid but stressed brakes followed by that inevitable, final puff of exhaust, he braced himself to face the next stop on the nightmare journey that had begun hours earlier with the crack of breaking glass. Katie was dead. And by daybreak -- if day hadn't broken already -- he would probably be dead, too.

I'm sorry, Jim, He offered in silence.

The truck's rear door creaked open, filling the trailer with sunlight. At first it stung Blair's light deprived eyes, and then it started to warm him through and through. It was a welcome warmth, seeping in to soothe a surplus of aches from the long and grueling night. But this was clearly not a day at the beach, as he was coldly reminded when Katie's brothers dragged him out of the truck.

His bound feet bounced off gravel, making him briefly wonder whether they had returned him to the overlook after all. But no. A quick glance around, which was all his captors would allow him, showed a new setting entirely, one in which grass was more prevalent than gravel, and where an old building compromised the view. Graffiti-filled boards covered the holes where windows should be.

He was pulled inside, both Stefano's heedless of the sharp metal shards that caught the toes of Blair's athletic shoes at the threshold, slicing into the canvas and, subsequently, his feet. And then they dropped him into a dark corner, where something small and quick scurried away just before he landed -- hard -- on the concrete floor.

The Stefano brothers disappeared briefly, but not long enough to let Blair contemplate what other critters might be ready to scurry around him. When they returned, Tony, the oldest, ripped the tape from Blair's mouth, prompting Blair to cry out. How much skin had been attached to the adhesive?

"Shut up!" Tony shouted. "The only thing I want to hear outta you is who made the shot. You got that?"

Blair looked up at him, confused. If he nodded, would that mean he could actually tell them who shot Katie? Yet if he did nothing, that would just piss Tony off even more than he already was. Blair decided to shake his head.

Wrong move. Tony's brother, Mike, suddenly appeared with a baseball bat. Apparently, he thought Blair's right knee was the ball.

When the bat connected with Blair's knee cap, he could not help but scream out in agony, and then he clamped down his teeth, struggling to stay both alert and silent.

"I am god, in here," Tony said. "You got that, flea-bag? When I say talk, you talk. Now, are you ready to talk?"

Blair nodded.

"Who killed her?"

"I ... I don't know." Cringing, Blair braced himself for the bat to come down on his other knee. But nothing happened.

Tony struck a match, and Blair cringed again. Again, nothing happened. Tony simply lit a cigarette, shook the match out and tossed it away. Blair watched as Tony took a long drag, closing his eyes as though relishing the feel of the smoke circulating through his lungs. Then, exhaling, he turned back to Blair, seeming calmed by the experience.

"You know what you are?" Tony asked. "You are a lying piece of fucking shit."

Flicking off the used ashes, Tony gazed at the end of the cigarette and blew on it, watching it go red. Then he effortlessly squatted down, practically bouncing on his heels.

"She ever blow in your ear, huh?" Tony smiled, as though he was excited by the image of his sister making out with Blair. "She ever lick you right there, huh? You know right behind the ear. That turn you on?"

Blair stared back at him, not sure what to say or how to respond.

Once more, Tony flicked off the ashes, seeming to ignore the fact that they landed in Blair's crotch. And then he brought his hand -- and the cigarette -- toward Blair's left ear.

"You know," He said. "Right about ...." He jammed the lit end of the cigarette into the thin skin behind Blair's ear. "... Here."

Surprisingly, Blair was able to stifle his cry, instead emitting a low moan.

"Who the fuck killed my sister?" Tony shouted.

"I don't ...," Blair replied shakily. "I don't know."

"Wrong answer."

This time Blair didn't even see the bat coming. But he certainly felt it. When it struck his right ankle the vibration stimulated new pain in his crushed knee. He felt himself falling into blissful oblivion. But that, too, was the 'wrong answer.' The cigarette singed into his neck, forcing him back to full consciousness.

"I don't know," He cried out finally. "I swear I don't know. I had nothing to do with it, man. You've got to believe me. I loved her. Do you hear me? I loved her. I would never--"

"Shut up!" Tony shouted. "Just shut the fuck up. Whatever you know, I'm gonna know by the time we're through here. You got that?"

Hesitantly, Blair nodded.

"Now start talking."

Blair stared at his tormentor feeling absolutely helpless. He had absolutely nothing to say.

* * * * *

It was dawn by the time Jim and Simon tracked down Blair Sandburg's favorite make-out spot.

Jim leaned into Blair's Volvo, still sitting where he'd parked it at the overlook. Katie's body was gone, and it looked as though someone had made a concerted effort to clean up. Still, some blood remained, trace amounts Jim's sentinel senses could easily pick up on. He allowed himself a moment of relief at finding none of it carried Sandburg's scent. Then he rose to meet Simon's approach.

"I've got Rafe and H looking for Paul Mitchell's SUV, now," Simon said as he dropped his cell phone back into the pocket of his coat.

"I thought you and I couldn't be on the case in any official capacity."

"Yeah," Simon nodded. "That's right; for the case associated with Kate Stefano's murder. But what we're working on now is officially a missing person's case. Has nothing to do with Kate's murder."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me. Sandburg's missing under suspicious circumstances. All I know is that we've got to find him; and the sooner the better."

Jim looked at Blair's car. "And the only angle we have right now is Kate Stefano's body guard." He walked around to the passenger side and studied the bullet hole. "Now, if we were actually working on Kate's murder ...." He turned toward the bordering trees, using his enhanced sight in an attempt to locate where the shooter might have been hiding. "... We would have at least one more thing to go on." He started walking into the woods.

"Jim?" Simon called out.

Jim studied the area before responding. "If we were investigating Kate's murder," He said as he walked back toward Simon, "we would want to get a forensics team out here a-sap. I think they'd have a field day coming up with a suspect."

"Jim?" Simon asked again, raising his eyebrows in concern.

"Footprints," Jim answered. "Cigarette butts. Probably find a hair or two. All clustered around one tree, right about ..." He swiveled, pointing. "There."

"The shooter?"

Jim nodded. "I'd say it's pretty damned likely. But," He shrugged, "not our case."

"I'll call it in."

"You can't. Stefano hasn't even officially reported anything yet. For all we know, officially, Kate Stefano is alive and well and still in bed after a late date."

"What are you saying, Jim?"

"We need to call Stefano."

"Are you crazy? He'll--"

"Appreciate the fact that we can help him prove who killed his daughter," Jim cut in.

"You think that'll be enough to get him to throw us a bone?"

"It damned well better be." Jim's gaze was drawn once more to Blair's car. He couldn't imagine what his friend was going through, first dealing with the murder of the woman he loved, and then being harassed -- or worse -- by Stefano's henchmen. "It damned well better," He said again more softly.

* * * * *

The Guardian

(Epilogue to Overboard and Into the Ocean)

The punching bag didn't stand a chance. Jim Ellison, envisioning it to bear the face of Joe Stefano, attacked it mercilessly.

"We can't charge him with anything, Jim," Simon had told him a few hours earlier. "You know that."

Jim had been pacing like a caged animal in the hospital waiting room. He knew but didn't care that his gaze had been feral, his posture threatening when Simon arrived with the news that a suspect had been identified in Kate Stefano's murder. Jim had barely heard him, and had made no attempt to respond.

"Jim?" Simon called out repeatedly until finally grabbing Jim's shoulder, forcing him to stop.

Jim knew Simon was his friend, knew the man had no ill intent, yet he could not stop himself from lashing out. He twisted away from Simon's grip, throwing up one arm in retaliation. It was just his arm, not a fist -- still, the back of his hand came down across Simon's face, knocking the police captain's glasses to the floor.

"What about Sandburg?" Jim shouted, ignoring his duty to at least apologize. "We don't even need to run down a list of suspects. We know damn well who came close to murdering him, and yet where are they? Probably off on a Caribbean cruise by now!"

His own muscles taut, Simon seemed to pointedly ignore the affront. He blew on his glasses and set them back into place. "You know there's not much we can do without Sandburg's cooperation," He said calmly. "And you have to admit we owe Stefano something for giving us clues to help us find him." He shook his head. "It was close, Jim. Too close. Without Stefano's help--"

"Blair would be dead. I know." Jim started pacing again. "But how can we owe the man when he was responsible to begin with?"

"It's that fuzzy line between right and wrong."

"There's nothing right about any of this. Blair's ... he's devastated, Simon. First some creep took Kate from him, and then the Stefano's tried to take his life. He's in as much emotional pain as he is physical pain. And it's confusing him. He has this crazy idea that Katie's brothers were acting on their own grief. But nothing can justify what they did. It's inhuman, Simon, pure and simple."

"I can't argue with that. But that doesn't change the fact that forensics has yet to find anything substantial enough for us to press charges, or the fact that Blair refuses to." He paused before adding, "Jim, he needs you to be his friend right now more than he needs you to be a cop."

Simon's gaze caught Jim's the moment the sentinel rounded another turn. He might as well have flipped a switch. Jim came to a confused halt, his eyes searching, his mouth slightly agape.

"Do us all a favor," Simon went on. "Go to the gym and work off some of this energy. You know they'll be in with him for a while yet; could be hours before he's settled. And frankly I don't think this carpet is going to survive that long, the way you're grinding through it."

"I can't leave him alone, Simon."

"He won't be. I'll stick around until you're back."

Jim hesitated.

"It's the right thing to do, Jim," Simon said. "He may not have your senses, but I'm pretty certain he'd be able to pick up on all your tension. He's had enough of his own to deal with; he doesn't need more from you. He needs you to show him it's okay to relax."

And so here he was, beating the shit out of a punching bag and wondering just how in the hell he was ever going to be relaxed enough to help Blair relax.

* * * * *

An hour at the gym, a long, hot shower, and finally one of Blair's herbal tea concoctions had managed to calm Jim's predatory instincts. His tension was still high; anger and frustration were sitting right at the edge of his consciousness, ready to return at even the tiniest provocation. Simon had said Jim needed to relax. This was the best he could do. It would have to be enough.

Returning to the hospital, Jim saw that Simon was still in the waiting room. And he wasn't alone. The entire Major Crimes group was there, shifts having ended, reports having been completed, and at least one suspect already in a holding cell. Despite her father's initial desire to address the hit in his own way, justice would be served for Kate Stefano. That truth alone should be enough to help Blair Sandburg rest easier, regardless of the tense state of his partner.

Simon greeted Jim with a tired smile. "You haven't missed a thing," He said. "We still haven't seen hide nor hair of Blair's doctors."

That small statement was enough to provoke a new surge of adrenaline. Jim's tension escalated once more. "Why not? What's wrong?"

"I'm sure it's nothing, Jim," Megan Conner offered. "These things take time. At least we know he was stable enough for them to start the surgery. And you certainly wouldn't want them to race through pinning his bones back together, or whatever it is they're doing."

Before Jim could answer, an unfamiliar female voice called out toward the group, "Family for Blair Sandburg?"

Suddenly the room seemed empty. Simon, Megan, Joel ... they might as well have vanished. Jim closed the space between him and the woman in surgical scrubs without even feeling himself moving. When he reached her, she seemed tired, but her eyes were bright, alert ... and warm.

"He's doing fine," She told him. "He'll be in recovery for about an hour, and then they'll move him to a private room. The surgery on his ankle went well, but he'll need at least one additional surgery for his knee...."

The rest of her words lost meaning for Jim. He focused in on the fact that Blair was doing well, that the surgery went well. Somehow those small assurances opened up new feelings within him. Every one of his tense muscles relaxed, almost too much. An overwhelming sense of relief left him feeling more exhausted than he could remember ever having been; he wasn't even entirely sure how he'd make it to a chair without collapsing.

Jim closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and said a heartfelt, "Thank you."

He sensed Simon beside him then, and he found the strength he needed. He could do this. He could go in there and show Sandburg that it really was okay to relax.

* * * * *

~4 weeks later~

It was after midnight before Jim returned to the loft, having finished his shift on the latest and longest stakeout to date, associated with the escalating war of retaliations between Stefano and his primary rival, Yasu Takada. Both the police and Stefano knew Takada was the man behind the hit on Stefano's daughter, but no one could yet prove any direct link between the shooter and him. Meanwhile, periodic battles raged on in the form of missing persons, drive-by shootings and other incidents, none of which could be directly tied to either man. It made for frustrating work days, which only compounded the frustrations Jim had been encountering every night at home.

Since returning after a two-week hospital stay -- spent entirely in traction -- Blair had been pensive and quiet. He had taken to waking up in the middle of the night, hobbling to the living room and watching TV with the sound turned off to avoid disturbing Jim. Of course, Jim was typically already disturbed; it was difficult for Blair to maneuver soundlessly with his crutches. But Jim would play the game, feigning sleep so his friend would not feel any sense of guilt for having awakened him.

Yet even tonight, when there had been no reason to worry about bothering Jim, Blair still had the TV on soundlessly. And when Jim walked through the door, his friend was staring at the darkness outside the window rather than at the voiceless characters on the screen.

"Hey, Chief," Jim said in greeting as he wandered into the living room. "How you doing?"

When Blair failed to answer, seeming oblivious to Jim's presence, Jim placed himself directly in his roommate's line of sight. "Blair?"

"Hey, Jim," He answered without any show of surprise, and still as pensive as ever.

Jim turned off the TV. "Why bother if you're not even going to watch it?"

Blair shrugged. It was a small movement, just a tiny shifting of his shoulders. "I think it just helps me to feel, I don't know, connected, I guess."

"Take advantage while you can. You'll be back in the thick of things soon enough."

"Yeah," Blair responded without conviction.

"What is it, Chief?" Jim sat down adjacent to his friend. His gaze reflected genuine concern; his body language, genuine interest.

Blair glanced at him. Apparently noticing the gesture but disregarding it, he returned his focus to the night. "I'm not sure I can get back to ... the 'thick of things,' at least, not the way they've been ... or ... were."

"What do you mean?"

"Rainier, the thesis ... everything. It's like ... I can't see myself as a part of any of it anymore."

"Nothing's changed, Blair."

Finally Blair gave Jim his full attention. "Everything's changed."

"You still have friends, good friends, both at Rainier and at the station -- friends, colleagues, students, professors, all of whom miss you to one degree or another. They all want to see you come back." I miss you, Blair. I need to see you come back.

"I know that. And I ... I appreciate what you're saying. But, Jim, this isn't about them, or Rainier or Major Crimes, or even you. This is about ... I don't know, it's just me. I don't feel even close to what I was, or who I was. I look at the books in my room, and they have no value to me anymore. It's like none of it matters. I don't even know why I thought any of it mattered before. I just ... I don't really know what I feel anymore."

"It's called grief, Blair. That's what you're feeling. And I know it sounds like a bunch of placating words, but it's true: you will get through this. You will get past it. You just have to let yourself grieve. And then you have to let yourself live."

"Yeah, right." Blair's tone was sarcastic. "Life goes on. It gets easier. There's light at the end of the tunnel." He shook his head. "Maybe if I had your sight I could find that light, but I have to be honest with you, Jim. I don't think it's there. I don't think it ever will be again."

"It will," Jim declared resolutely. "You have my word on that; and you know how I feel about keeping my word."

"Don't, Jim. Don't make promises you have no control over. There's nothing you can do to--"

"There has to be something I can do, Chief. Look, Blair, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about Kate. I'm sorry about what the Stefano brothers did to you physically. But more than anything else, I am sorry about what this has all done to you emotionally. You matter to me, Blair. What happens to you, matters to me. I hate to see you hurting like this, and I hate to think there's nothing I can do to make it better." Tensing, Jim discovered he was raising his voice. But it was hard enough to get the words out; he didn't waste any effort on exuding a sense of calm he could not even come close to feeling.

"Do you have any idea how many hours I spend at the gym," He went on, "pounding the hell out of a punching bag simply because I can't think of a damn thing to do to help you? I need to help you, Blair. I need to help you find ... whatever it is you need to find in order to feel ..." He glanced around, searching for the right word before catching a glimpse of the TV. "Connected, again."

Blair was staring at him, seeming dumbfounded. "Jim, I'm ... I'm sorry, man. I don't--"

"No. Just stop right there. You don't have anything to apologize for, Chief. You've done nothing wrong. Not a damn thing. And that's why you can't start now."

"What?"

"If you make any life-changing decisions now, while you're still grieving, that ... that, Blair, would be wrong. It would be a mistake, a huge mistake. So just ... don't. Don't think about 'what you want to do when you grow up.' Don't make excuses for not wanting to go back to the campus or the station. And don't even give one second's thought to moving out of this loft."

"Jim?"

"It's like I told you already. You matter to me, Blair. I ... care about you, about what happens to you. I want to see you hale and healthy and happy. And frankly I miss the way you annoy the hell out of me with your endless rambling. I even miss your 'tests' on my sentinel abilities."

"Jim, I'm ... I ...."

Jim held up a hand to stop his friend from going further. "There. I said it. I said all of it. Now it's your turn."

"What?"

"I bared my soul to you just now, Chief. Now I expect you to do the same."

Blair shook his head. "I don't know, Jim. I--"

"Are obliged to talk it out. Look, Blair, you can't lock yourself inside ... yourself like this anymore. It's not healthy. More importantly, it's not you. It's no wonder you don't feel like anything fits anymore. You're not letting it fit. You're not letting yourself be yourself anymore. Okay, maybe I'm not making much sense here, but--"

"No, Jim." Blair stopped him. "You're making perfect sense. And you know what? You're right. You're absolutely ... right. You're right, man." Surprisingly, Blair smiled. It was just a small upturning at the corners of his mouth, but it was a smile, nonetheless.

Jim was sure he was finally looking at the light at the end of that proverbial tunnel. And once he could see it, he knew it would only be a matter of time before Blair could too.

* * * * *

2AM

(Jim's perspective) <to the tune of "Just Breathe," by Anna Nalick>

2AM and he calls me, and I'm still awake,

"Can you help me unravel my latest mistake?

Jim, they tailed me; and I led them all the way to her!"

When I walk through the door so accusing, their eyes,

Like they have any right at all to criticize;

Hypocrites, you're all far more to blame than my partner!

Simon can't hold me back when they tell me: "Forget him,"

That an eye for an eye is the world that they live in;

Someone must pay for the way that she died.

"Surely you must understand?

Now, leave; just leave.

Oh, leave; just leave."

Since I turned 21 on the base of Fort Bliss,

Not a day, not a damn thing's prepared me for this,

When I find him, battered and bruised and so broken.

Now he's down and I know he will hurt for a while;

But by God, then he asks for a beer and I smile,

'Cause I know that the healing has already started.

And I can't hold it back, 'cause the words must be spoken,

Especially now, when my partner's so broken:

"Someone will pay for the pain that you feel,

But there's something you must understand:

I'd grieve; I'd grieve.

So don't leave; don't leave."

There's a light at each end of this tunnel, you shout

'Cause you feel as far in as you'll ever be out;

And we all make mistakes, and we'll make them again,

But together, we'll turn it around.

2AM and we're still awake righting the wrong;

If we get it all out in the open it's not trapped inside of us,

Threatening the bond we belong to.

He must feel like he's naked in front of a crowd

'Cause these words are his diary screaming out loud,

But he knows that I won't ever use them against him.

And I won't hold it back, so I tell him, "I'm sorry,"

That the end of one dream's not the end of the story,

And someone will pay for the way that she died,

And justice will win in the end.

So grieve; just grieve.

And don't leave; don't leave.

Oh grieve; just grieve.

Just don't leave; don't leave....

* * * * *

<end>