There has to be a way to undo the damage I've done to him. I'll find the words. I'll make an argument that's as persuasive as anything he could come up with. If I have to, I'll pin him down and punctuate my argument with my body, by doing those things that shut him up and turn off his higher brain functions.
But I'll have to be careful, at least for a little while. Don't want to break those stitches and open the wounds that the doctors closed so carefully.
I wonder if he will listen to me this time when I plead my case. There's a lot to be said for having a captive audience, especially when you're about to change the basic structure of a relationship.
I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to be near me, to be a part of my life.
It was a mistake.
We fought this battle once or twice before, when he was sweating and grunting and grimacing his way through the Academy. Before I'd come to terms with what he'd given up for me; before Sandburg had a chance to realize that he would have to build a new life. He made a conscious decision to start over, with me. And I suppose that was what made all the difference. Certainly it was what kept me quiet, in the beginning.
Simon offered him the job with sincerity, but to my mind, it was meant to be more of a distraction. Something to keep him focused, give him purpose. To let him know he was wanted, that his talents were still welcomed by the people he cared about. He lacked direction so completely that he took the only option open to him, and I went right along. Already, I'd taken everything from him. I couldn't bear to second-guess him any more.
I know him better than anyone alive. I can't believe I was stupid enough to think this was what he was suited for.
I have a mental catalogue of all his injuries. Every scratch and bruise, every detail of every scar he's earned because of me. I have them all committed to memory, and I take a good hard look at them at night, when he's folded up next to me. I reassure myself that each has healed, leaving behind only a war story and a souvenir, and I take myself down into dreams, dreams of the smell of wet cotton and cold blue lips beneath mine. Dreams of death and rebirth. Dreams that would have given me the answers, if I'd been asking the right questions.
When I sleep, I live inside the jungle. It's a place I've become familiar with all over again because of the dreams, because of the weird visions that help define who I am. Talk about a long road of discovery. Every step along the way, Sandburg has been there, talking me through, interpreting. It's like there's a language only he knows, and without him, there's no way I'll ever understand.
Without him....
Those are words I don't say very often. I don't even allow myself to think them. He belongs with me. There was never any question about that. Even when I was pissed off, or worried about the danger he faced with me, I could never picture him leaving me. I tried to force the issue a couple of times. It was pretty pointless. There are some things that are meant to be. He's good about reminding me of that.
It took me a while to accept things, to get comfortable with being a sentinel. Without him...it never would have happened. I might have just gone crazy, thinking I was losing it completely.
Which brings me back to the subject at hand. Blair's life, and my part in it, and this latest chapter in the ongoing saga.
I heard him scream. Or I guess I should say, I heard him whisper. To me, it was the same thing. It shouldn't have been possible, not at that distance. But it happened. Simon tried to call me back, but nothing would have stopped me, short of a bullet. The only sound that mattered was my name, over and over, a drumbeat of need in my ears.
I ran. Faster than I've ever run. I stumbled through the rain, across roots and slippery mud, listening for it, homing in on the sound of his breathing, the ragged harsh sound of it. I crawled when I couldn't walk. I had to get there, hurry, be there. There wasn't much time, and there aren't any second chances. I pulled him back from death once, and I don't think I'll be that lucky again.
I've seen blood before, and I've even seen Sandburg's blood. Enough of it to scare me. This was different. He was pale, colder than the rain, and his blood was everywhere, all over him, soaking into the ground, away from where it was needed. I had a crazy urge to put my hands in the earth and touch his life as it bled away.
His eyes were closed, and his lips were moving, and my name was on the air, carried on frosty white clouds of breath. I felt it then. Fear, like nothing I've ever known. Not disbelief. Fear. Hard in my gut, twisting and tearing, throwing my senses haywire, flooding my mind with the scent of blood, filling my ears with the sound of Blair calling to me. It's the closest I've ever come to panic.
Down into the mud on my knees, and my hands went to the broken places, pressing hard, trying to hold back the tide of his life, but I could feel it trying to slip by me. I wondered if I could stop him from dying by will alone, because it was going to take a miracle.
That was when it happened. This is the strange part, the part of the story that shouldn't be, but is. His eyes connected with mine, and he wasn't seeing me. He was seeing inside me, down deep in the places I've never shown him, the little private corners I've kept him out of, and he was pulling out things I never meant to hide in the first place. He was in my head. I know it sounds crazy. But he was there, and I felt him, and I knew he could hear what I wasn't saying, louder and stronger than if I had said it with words.
Because I didn't want to miss the chance to say it...but the words that were coming out weren't the words he needed to hear.
His eyes fluttered closed, and his lips stopped moving, and I felt my world give way to desperation, because he was giving up and letting go, because it wasn't supposed to happen that way, not when we hadn't made it to the happily-fucking-ever-after part, not when he still had so goddamn much to do and be, not when I need him so much.
He'd given up everything for me. Not his life, too. Please god, not his life.
They had to pry me off him one finger at a time so they could do what had to be done. That was the last time we were separated. Since then, I've had my hands on him constantly. Asleep, awake, in the shower, in bed, we are always connected. I won't take a chance that he'll open his eyes and I won't be there. That road has been traveled for the last time.
Several times now, he has told me that this feeling will pass, this need for physical comfort. I hear the quickening beat of his heart when I leave the room, and I know he wants what I want. His reassurances to me don't mean a damn thing, because it's not about me. It's about Blair, and about truth.
And that brings me back to the beginning, always, and leads me toward an ending.
That first day, as soon as I knew he would live, I took his badge and gun and laid them on Simon's desk. Simon will give them to someone who will put them to good use.
I wrap my arms around him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, wondering if he will pay attention, if he will agree with my decision, the one I made for both of us, without consulting him.
I wanted him close to me, part of me, my permanent partner.
But I never wanted him to be a cop.
End
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