Author: Daydreamer
Posted: 1 March 2003

Absence

Jim's walking down the concourse now that we've said our good-byes, and I honestly don't know what to do next. Simon is standing here and he seems as uncertain as I am. I guess we should head back to the loft, but I don't want to move. I'm watching Jim's back as he moves further and further away, and once he turns the corner I still keep staring at the spot where he disappeared. I really need to get a grip.

"Let's go, Sandburg," Simon grumbles, touching my arm to get my attention. It's amazing how he can grumble and still sound like he cares all at the same time. Jim's recruited him to stay with me while he goes to this conference.

This is going to be hard.

I appreciate Jim's concern, but I don't really know what I'm supposed to say to Simon, or how I'm supposed to act. I know Simon knows what's been going on with me -- Jim told him today. And I know that's why Jim came up with this specious story about Simon and his place having bugs. About as realistic as Jim's last obfuscation -- that I was his cousin. They just don't want me to know that in reality, Simon is my babysitter while Jim is away.

I'm not sure how I feel about that.

After all, I'm a grown man and I've been on my own for a hell of a long time. I'm certainly capable of taking care of myself. But on the other hand, things have been a little -- weird -- lately. To be honest, I appreciate this gesture -- from both Jim and Simon.

I'm just not sure how I'll feel if I have one of my super-duper, deluxe-sized nightmares while Simon is there. It's hard enough with Jim; I don't think I could face Simon.

I feel the hand on my arm squeeze gently and I look up and realize that we're still standing here -- me staring down the concourse where Jim disappeared from my sight, and Simon holding onto me, trying, I guess, to give me his support. I reach up and pat his hand and nod, and he lets me go.

"C'mon," he says gruffly, "let's get back to the loft." He turns and starts walking and I follow him, still not sure what to say. I'm grateful that he's staying at the loft; he's a good friend to both Jim and me. But he's also the Captain, my nominal boss at the police station and the man who holds the strings to my observer's pass. If I come across as a complete nutcase, he's almost going to have to pull my pass, for safety reasons if nothing else. The city can't afford the liability of having someone on an extended observer's pass losing it in a tough situation. I like to think that Simon knows I wouldn't go out there if I thought there was a problem, but ...

We get to the car without speaking and I think he's as uncomfortable as I am. Simon's a lot like Jim in the little ways. He waits till I have my belt on before he starts the car, checks to make sure the doors are locked before we drive away. I wonder if that's a cop thing, or just something these two men share? I feel like I should say something, but I'm not sure what. I could talk about the Jags latest game and their chances for the play-offs, but that sounds too pat, too macho-guy-bonding. Or I could talk about separation anxiety and its impact on those who have to deal with the fallout, but that sounds too pitiful.

So I settle for saying what's on my mind.

"I appreciate what you're trying to do here, Simon, but really, I'm okay. You don't have to stay."

He looks over at me and nods, the ever-present unlit cigar held in his teeth. "I know you're okay, Sandburg," he says softly, "and I don't mind staying."

I snort. "You haven't seen where you're gonna be sleeping, man," I retort. "You may change your mind quick."

He shrugs. "Maybe I just think you could use some company right now."

"Especially after what Jim told you, huh?" I can't look at him; I turn my head and stare out the window. "It was a long time ago, Simon. I'm really okay."

"I believe you, Blair," he says, nodding. "And maybe my staying over isn't necessarily for you."

That draws my attention. I turn to look, my brow furrowed as I try to figure out what he means.

"Maybe I know Jim's a little worried about you and I feel guilty sending him off right now. Maybe he knows you don't always eat when it's test time. Maybe he knows you don't sleep like you should in the middle of midterms. Maybe, just maybe, I'm staying at the loft so that Jim can relax and focus on a conference that he didn't particularly want to go to in the first place." He stops at a red light and I can see him looking at me in the streetlight's glare. "Did you think about that, Sandburg?"

Actually, I hadn't. How self-centered of me is that? I know what Jim is like. I know how he gets into these over-protective, over-concerned moods of his and all this shit with my childhood is just the kind of thing that would push him into worrywartdom. I drop my head, ashamed. "Sorry, Simon," I mumble.

The light's changed and the car's moving and Simon is nodding his head. "It's all right," he answers me. "I know this is a tough time for you, Blair," he says and I feel a prick of tears in my eyes. Not now, damn it! "Jim worries. So do I."

I swallow hard and clear my throat. "I just hate putting you out like this. I know you don't have bugs at your place."

Simon shrugs. "Let it rest, Sandburg," he says. "I'm staying at the loft till Jim gets back. Just a couple of days." He pulls into a parking space next to Jim's truck, turns off the engine and looks over at me with a smile. "Surely we can make it as roommates for two days, right?"

"Yeah," I agree. I mean, I can get through a couple of days, right? How hard could it be?

We make it into the loft and Simon looks around, bag in hand. He heads for my room and I cough. "Uh, Simon? That's my room, remember? Why don't you just take Jim's bed?"

He stops and looks at me, then glances up to the bedroom. He shakes his head slowly then says, "It's all right, Sandburg. Jim told me you've been sleeping upstairs." He drops his bag and walks over to me, then reaches out as if he's going to touch me, but his hands fall to his sides before he makes contact. Instead, he looks at his watch. "Look, it's late. Why don't we both just turn in and get some sleep?"

I nod. I really don't want to talk about why I'm sleeping in Jim's bed, or why Simon seems so accepting of the fact. "I've got to study," I mumble as I head for the stairs, my backpack in my hand. "I'll keep it down -- shouldn't bother you at all."

"Not too late, Sandburg," Simon growls. "You need to try to sleep."

I nod again and wave over my shoulder from the fourth step. "Not to worry," I say. "I'll be in the land of Nod before you know it."

I'm at the top of the stairs when his voice floats up to me. I risk a glance down and see he has his back turned now. We seem to be studiously be avoiding eye contact this night. "If you wake up, or, uh, need anything ..." He stops and takes a deep breath. "If you need me, just call, okay?"

I swallow hard and force a cheerful note into my voice. "I'm sure there's not going to be a problem, Simon, but thanks," I say with lightheartedness I don't feel.

He turns slowly now and meets my eyes. "It's all right, Blair," he says, his voice barely carrying to the upper bedroom. "I don't mind."

I swallow again and scrub at my face with my hand, pushing my hair back. "Yeah. All right, Simon." I look down at him and nod. "Thanks, man."

He stares at me a minute more, then turns and disappears into my room and I settle on Jim's bed and begin pulling out my notes for the midterm in my Ethnicity and Nationalism class. I spend a couple hours working on that, and then look over the exam I am giving in my Social Anthro 101 course. That doesn't take near as long and before I know it, I'm yawning and the bed is feeling mighty comfortable. I had decided not to sleep tonight -- I just didn't want to risk waking up screaming with Simon downstairs. He as much as said he knew that was what happened and it would be all right, but I value the man's respect and I want to keep it. Somehow, I think hysterics in the middle of the night will not further my goal toward that end.

So, I dig through the backpack and pull out my laptop, then settle in to work on my dissertation for a while. I've always got new stuff to add, old stuff to edit and tweak, different potential areas of exploration to make note of. I spend a few minutes updating the results of some tests I finally got Jim to work with me on, and then I'm yawning again. Damn! At this rate, I'll be asleep before I know it.

I pull myself from the warm nest I've made and pad quietly downstairs in my sock feet. I fill a mug with water and pop it in the microwave. I'm standing there, waiting to turn it off before it can beep and wake my houseguest, when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I jump and whirl around, somehow managing to bang the hell out of my toe in the process. "Jesus, Simon! Give a guy a heart attack," I swear, as I hop on one foot and clutch my aching toe in my hands.

His hands are on me now, steadying me, and he moves me over to the table and makes me sit. "Are you all right?" he asks, and I can see he feels guilty for startling me so.

I'm still rubbing my toe, but I nod. "Yeah, I'm all right. No permanent damage, but it's a good thing I've finished growing or I might have been stunted for life."

Simon snorts and says, "Uh, well, about that. I've got news for you, Sandburg ..."

I roll my eyes and he laughs. "Hey, not everyone took growth hormones as a child like you and Jim," I say. "Some of us just grew up naturally."

Simon's at the microwave now, and he hands me my mug of hot water and looks around as if he knows there must be something else to go with it. "Nature was kinder to some of us, obviously," he says as I point to the tea bag and he hands it over.

"Thanks, man." I let the tea bag steep for a minute or so, still rubbing my foot.

"You really okay, Blair?" he asks as he joins me at the table.

I nod. "Yeah. I was just working on some school stuff and I thought I'd get a cup of tea. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You sure, uh, that is, it wasn't anything else, was it?" He's still uncomfortable, but he's trying so hard.

I reach out and pat his hand on the table one time, then pull back before he can react. "I'm fine, Simon," I say. "I promise."

"And you'd tell me if you weren't?" he asks.

"And I'd tell you if I weren't," I repeat.

He studies me for a minute, then rises to his feet. "Then get the hell in bed and go to sleep and stop wandering around. Some of us need our sleep."

He heads back for my room and I can hear him grumbling the whole way. It makes me smile. I grab my cup and go back up the stairs and get settled on the bed again.

But the hot tea and the late hour and the post-adrenaline rush must have conspired against me because the next thing I know it's light and Simon is shaking me awake. He has showered and shaved and is dressed for work and I can see his lips moving but I'm not awake enough to process the words yet.

"You hear me, Sandburg?"

Ah, there we go. My processors just came back online. "What's that, Simon?" I ask fuzzily.

"I'm leaving for work," he repeats. "What time is your class?"

"Uh, eight. Why?"

He just points at the clock.

"Shit! I'm gonna be late!" I fly out of bed and am downstairs in a flash and I hear Simon chuckling evilly as he follows me leisurely down the stairs.

"Bye, Sandburg," he calls as he heads out the door. "See you tonight."

I don't answer. God! I'm gonna be so late!

I've barely walked in the door and the phone rings. I'm surprised to find Simon is already here, sprawled on the sofa and watching the early news on TV. I make it to the phone before he can grab it and answer.

"Jim!" I can't keep the excitement from my voice. It's good to hear from him. He goes on about the conference for a while, and I tell him about my tests and the kid in my Social Anthro class who had turned his body into a massive cheat sheet with such tiny, tiny cribbed notes written on his arms that he needed a magnifying glass to read them. I'd caught him before class when his girlfriend gave him what for because she thought it was a new and majorly ugly tattoo he'd gotten. One look was all it took and that was it.

It's good to hear Jim laugh. We talk a bit more about nothing in particular, then he asks to speak to Simon.

I go in the kitchen and grab a beer, then begin to think about what to make for dinner. Behind me, I hear Simon take in a quick breath of air and I turn to look.

He's standing stiffly at the phone, his attention riveted on whatever Jim is saying. "Just -- keep me informed, Jim," he says. "Call as soon as you know something." He hangs up, but doesn't move.

"What?" I ask as I move over to him.

It takes a minute for him to focus on me, but then he makes this visible effort to relax and he smiles. "Nothing, kid," he says.

"Don't do this, Simon," I say. "What's happened? What does Jim need to keep you informed about?"

He shakes his head again, and smiles and this time it seems more real. "It's really nothing, Sandburg," he says. "There were some press people there and they waylaid Jim about the case. He was -- annoyed."

I smile, too. I can just imagine. Jim and the press do not a match in heaven make.

"He wanted to give me a heads up -- just in case."

I nod. That makes sense. And it is just the kind of thing Jim would do. Make sure Simon didn't get caught unawares. "All right," I say, holding up my beer. "You want one of these while I make dinner?"

"What are you making?" he asks as he follows me to the kitchen and helps himself to a beer.

I shrug. "I'm just gonna throw something together."

He fakes a shudder but we chat amiably enough while I do just that. After we eat and do the dishes, we watch the game, then he rises, yawning. "I'm done in," he says as he heads for my room. "You going to bed?"

"In a while," I respond, still staring at the tube.

Simon stops and looks at me. "You need to sleep, Sandburg," he says softly. "Don't think I don't know you tried to stay up all night last night. You can't do it again tonight."

I drop my head, embarrassed. How did he know?

He steps back over and rests one big hand on my shoulder. "Look, kid," he says quietly, "I meant it when I said it would be all right. If anything happens here, it stays here. You got that?"

I look up, not sure what I am hearing.

"I'm your friend, Blair."

I let my head fall again, hiding behind my hair. "You're my Captain, too," I whisper.

"Not tonight," he replies, his hand squeezing my shoulder. "So stop worrying and get to bed, okay?"

He pulls his hand back and suddenly I miss its warmth, but I nod and pry myself from the couch. "Yeah. I'm going, I'm going," I grumble, but when I get to the stairs, I stop, knowing he is waiting, knowing he is watching me. "Thanks, Simon," I whisper.

"Anytime, kid. Anytime."

The bed feels good and I settle right in, but when I wake I'm on a hard floor in a small, dark space. I can't see and I'm having trouble breathing. Something scrapes the top of my head and I scream as I duck my head and scuttle backwards. I can hear other screaming and someone touches me, so I scream again. I back further and further away and next thing I know, I'm in a corner with nowhere else to go. He touches me again, and I swing at him, batting my hands against the hands that hold me. But he is so much bigger, so much stronger than I am. I don't stand a chance. I scream again, "Mommy!" but even as the name leaves my lips, I know it's useless. She never comes. The hands are pulling me from my corner, pulling me from the little piece of safety I've found. "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" I cry, the tears streaming down my face.

"SANDBURG!"

My name jolts me, and I am yanked unceremoniously into the present. Someone still has their hands on me, and they are still bigger and stronger than I am. I scream again, this time calling for the one person who I know will answer my pleas. "Jim! Help me, Jim! Please!"

"Sandburg!"

The hands are gone and I blink, looking around for my partner. He always comes when I call and surely he is the reason I'm not being held so tightly anymore. My eyes rake the room and I can see someone large and strong a few feet away, but it isn't Jim.

"It's me! Simon!"

Simon? I blink again, lifting my hands to wipe furiously at the tears that still run down my face. "Simon?" I croak.

"Yeah," he says, relief evident in his voice. "It's me, kid."

He reaches out and I know he's going to pull me into a hug, but I can't take that right now. "Don't, Simon," I say, my voice choked. "Just don't touch me yet, okay?"

He drops his hands, his face stricken, and nods.

"What can I do?" he asks.

I pull myself to my feet and suddenly the barriers I've erected are falling. Hell, I'm falling, but Simon is there, catching me, and this time when he touches me, it's okay. I let myself lean against him for a bit, then pull away. "I'm sorry," I mumble as I head for the stairs. I just have to get out of this room for now.

He follows me down the stairs. I go into the kitchen, but motion for him to stop in the living room. "What happened, Blair?" he asks. "What were you dreaming?"

I shudder. "I can't talk about it," I mutter, wrapping my arms around myself as I begin to pace in the kitchen. Though I know Simon is one of the good guys, and I am three thousand miles and twenty-three years away from the terror, I still feel better with the counter between me and the world right now.

"Then how about I fix you something to eat?" he asks, moving toward the kitchen.

I immediately back away and he freezes.

"Or I could stay over here," he suggests softly. "You can have the kitchen for now, and I'll just stay over here. How's that?"

I nod. "Th-thanks, Simon." I look up and see the pained expression on his face. "I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. " 's all right, kid." He waves his hand in the air. "Whatever you need."

"Just a little space," I whisper.

"I can do space," he replies, eyeing me critically. "But how about you take a shower? You'll feel better, you know. I can fix you a snack and when you get out, you can have the kitchen to yourself."

I shake my head again. "N-not now, Simon. Please?"

He nods again and is quiet for a bit while I pace an increasingly frantic circuit of the kitchen.

"Do you want me to call Jim?" he asks, and for a minute, my heart soars.

Yes, call Jim, my mind screams. But my mouth says, "No, that's okay. Just give me a little longer. I'll be okay."

"You sure you won't reconsider that shower?" he asks again, and again, I shake my head.

I force myself to slow my pacing and am finally able to stand still in the kitchen, my arms wrapped firmly around my chest.

"Better?" Simon asks.

I shrug. The phone rings and I jump, then begin pacing again. I just can't be still. Simon picks it up.

"Banks," he says into the phone, but then he covers the receiver and looks at me. "Sandburg, it's all right," he says gently.

No, it isn't all right. That's the whole problem. I am beginning to wonder if it is ever going to be all right again.

"Oh, Jim, it's you." Simon sounds relieved, but then his voice gets tense. "I hope this isn't bad news."

There's a pause while he listens to Jim and studies me, then he sighs. "Nightmare. He doesn't want to talk to me, but he's pacing all over the place, his T-shirt's soaked, and he looks like he's about to fall apart."

I look down at myself. My T-shirt is soaked, I was pacing, and I suppose I did look like I was falling apart. And if I do, it was a fitting appearance because I certainly feel like I'm falling apart.

"What's going on, Jim?" Simon asks.

He listens again, then covers the phone and calls me over. "Sandburg? It's Jim. He wants to talk to you."

I nod but don't move.

"Can you come over here?" he asks me gently.

I nod again, but still don't move.

"You want me to put the phone down? And move away?"

He sounds so hurt; I just can't do that to him, so I shake my head and force myself to step over to him. He hands me the phone and I put it to my ear. "Jim?" I ask, suddenly wondering why he's calling in the middle of the night. "Are you all right?"

"Everything's fine, Chief," he says, and I can hear the forced cheerfulness in his voice. "At least on my end. Simon says you're having a rough night."

"I guess," I mumble. "Just, you know -- remembering." I shudder at the words and when Simon touches my shoulder this time, it feels reassuring. I look up at him and nod.

Jim is speaking again. "I want you to do something for me, Blair."

"Sure, Jim." I would do anything for Jim; he knows that.

"Go take a shower. Get cleaned up; you'll feel better," he says.

He takes a deep breath, as if he is struggling to control himself and I feel guilty, thinking how hard it is for Jim to have to be so far away and to have try to deal with me and my demons at the same time. It just isn't fair to him.

"Simon will make you some tea. When you get out of the shower, we'll talk and you'll drink tea, okay?"

I can tell he really wants me to agree. And to tell the truth, I probably will feel better once I'm cleaned up a bit. Simon has been trying to talk me into it since we came downstairs. "Maybe that's a good idea, Jim," I say. I look down at my sweat-stained shirt and grimace. "I could probably do with a wash."

"All right, then," he says, sounding pleased with himself. "Give the phone to Simon and hit the water."

I pass Simon the phone, then duck into my room for clean clothes before heading for the bathroom. My shower isn't long, but it's hot and, surprisingly, it seems to relax muscles I hadn't realized were tense. I finish and get dressed, then brush my teeth and comb my hair. I do feel better. Time and distance. That's all it takes, but I sometimes wonder if there will ever be enough time and if the distance will ever be great enough.

I come out as Simon does one of his famous grunts into the phone. "Get over here, Sandburg, and talk to your partner." He passes me the phone and a cup of tea.

I take a sip of the warm, sweet liquid. "Thanks, Simon," I say, and he grunts again, but looks pleased and a bit more relaxed than he's looked since I woke up. "Hey, Jim," I say into the phone.

"How's the tea?" he asks.

"Hot."

"Smart-ass."

"No, really, it's good." I smile at Simon as I say it and he nods in return. I take another sip, then ask, "Are you really okay, Jim?"

He sighs, but when he speaks, I can tell it's the truth. "Yeah, I really am." Jim doesn't lie to me. Not about the important stuff. "How about you?"

"I'm -- better," I say, choosing my words carefully. I don't lie to Jim either -- not about this.

"Then tell Simon good night and head on upstairs," my partner orders.

I laugh, knowing he meant for me to. "You're letting me take tea into the bedroom?"

I can hear the covers on his bed rustle and I know he is lying down. It makes me wonder how his senses have been behaving. We aren't as joined at the hip as people tease us about, but I know that Jim has better control when I am around.

"Give it a rest, Sandburg, and get your ass upstairs," he growls, and so, I do. I wave at Simon as I climb the stairs and when I look back down, I see he has watched me to make sure I am all right. When I wave again, he nods and disappears into my room. There's silence between Jim and me for a bit, then when I am settled in the bed, he asks, "What did you dream?"

I take a deep swallow of the tea, its sweetness soothing my ragged nerves. "I was in the closet. Don and Naomi were fighting."

"It's over, Blair," he says, "he can't hurt you anymore."

I want to believe him, but I don't know what to say. "Can you hear my heart?" I ask. It's something we do sometimes, when he's on a stakeout or I'm working late. It calms him, keeps him grounded. I think it calms us both.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "It's settled down a lot."

"Can I listen to you sleep?" I ask, embarrassed by the raw need in my voice, but asking nonetheless.

He doesn't answer, but I knew he wouldn't. He'll just leave the line open and the hell with the bill. "I'm coming home tomorrow," he says. "I'll call you later with the flight information." There's a pause and then he adds, "Be there for me?"

"Always," I reply.

"Blair?"

"Jim?"

"Good night."

And just as I suspected, he doesn't hang up.