The Observer 8
Aug. 12th, 2007 04:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lit_galThe Observer (8/17)
Sequel to "The Witness"
beta'ed by Beta'ed by Kitty_poker1 and Slashpuppy and Janedavitt
ADULT/SLASH
Previous parts
Warnings: Puppy play, dom/sub, bondage
Sequel to "The Witness"
beta'ed by Beta'ed by Kitty_poker1 and Slashpuppy and Janedavitt
ADULT/SLASH
Previous parts
Warnings: Puppy play, dom/sub, bondage
CHAPTER EIGHT
***
The minute the truck door slammed shut, Blair started.
"Okay, who pissed in your cornflakes?" he asked as he pulled the seatbelt across his shoulder.
"Drop it."
"Yep, that's a mature response," Blair said as he crossed his arms, but at least he did, in fact, drop it.
"Jesus, Sandburg. How much aftershave did you put on this morning?" Jim demanded as he rolled the window down. He coughed as he caught car fumes from the garage.
"How much... what?"
"Next time, use less if you plan to ride in the truck," Jim said as he started the engine and backed up a little faster than he needed to. They were meeting Collins and Shay at Pat's Cafe for lunch, but right now Jim just wanted to go home and nurse his headache.
"What are you doing?" Jim demanded as he steered out into traffic. Blair just stared at him.
"Oh, I'm observing," Blair said after a second of silence where he seemed to be at a loss for words. Jim looked over suspiciously.
"What exactly are you observing?"
"You losing your mind," Blair huffed. "Well, that and your arms. When you get frustrated, you flex your muscles. Man, you have seriously impressive arms."
"You're leering at my arms?" Jim asked as he glanced towards Blair, confused at the sudden turn in tone; Blair had gone from aggravation to sly lust in under one second. Even now, Jim found himself occasionally speechless over some of the things that fell out of Blair's mouth.
"Oh hell, yeah," Blair agreed enthusiastically. "I take any opportunity to ogle your arms. Your arms and your back," Blair corrected himself after a heartbeat. "Man, when you pick something up, those muscles ripple under your skin and that is seriously sexy. It's like a courtship display, like with a Sage Grouse, only instead of ruffling your feathers and puffing out your neck to show how white it is, you're flexing those muscles to show your strength. Very dominant. Very, very sexy."
"Sandburg, I don't even have an answer for that, but if you're comparing me to a bird, you might want to consider that I haven't tried out that new paddle yet," Jim threatened.
"And we're back to the fact that someone needs to explain the purpose of punishment to you because you're obviously a little confused." Blair smiled impishly. He gave his body a little shimmy of invitation before the abandoned topic caught his attention again. "Of course, lots of the guys do it. For Rafe, it's all about his clothes. He's showing off that family money of his. And Simon. Oh man. Do not get me started on Simon."
"Not a topic I want to discuss right now," Jim warned.
"All that shouting? Stereotypical dominant behavior. Like a bull elephant defining his territory by trumpeting. That whole bull pen is like one giant lek."
"Blair," Jim sighed. He'd long ago given up even pretending that he knew half as much trivia as Blair. Jim usually found it amusing how many rare and esoteric ideas the man had floating around in his head, especially when he could be so incredibly naive about other things. But right now, he was just too tired; too tired and too damn cranky.
"A lek: a courtship ground where male birds establish territories and then try to lure girl birds to them with their impressive dances and displays." Blair pushed ahead, ignoring Jim's frustration. "That bull pen is all about you guys showing off your big, bad, dominant selves. Even the name. Bull pen. Man, you could not find a name with more testosterone than 'bull.' Ever since Hemmingway did his whole male-centric writings with all those images of bull-fighters and the running of the bulls, American society has associated bulls with strength and virility. Although, to be fair, the imagery of the bull as strength does go back to Greek times."
"I don't think I'm trying to attract a girl," Jim pointed out dryly. Blair gave him a wicked grin.
"You're not, huh?"
"No, Chief, I can honestly say that I'm not at all interested in any of the girls."
"Not even Sam? Beautiful, strong, intelligent," Blair teased. Jim raised his eyebrows.
"Temperamental, aggressive, and potentially psychotic," Jim finished the list. He had to admit that he was more than a little amused watching Sam make a play for Blair. The man had flirted and smiled and then danced away from her and right back to Jim's side.
"Not your type?" Blair asked.
Jim shook his head. Clearly, he was not getting out of this conversation. "No. I go more for the strong, intelligent, submissive types."
"Really? I never would have guessed," Blair said with a twist of his hips.
"Strong, submissive, silent types," Jim amended himself.
"Whatever," Blair dismissed as he reached down and casually ran a hand over his own thigh.
"I'm driving here, Junior."
"Yeah, and you've got a headache, too."
"What?"
"You have got to learn to process this anger. I have no idea who pissed in your cornflakes, but you can't keep pushing yourself, ignoring the pain." Blair took another conversation detour, ending up exactly where Jim did not want to be.
Jim narrowed his eyes and turned into the parking lot of the cafe. "I'm fine," he insisted tersely.
"Sure you are, but, man, you would be so much better if we just took a little break. Let's tell the guys that we need to head back to the loft for a bit." Blair reached over and let his hand rest on Jim's arm.
"Sandburg, I have a case to work here, so if you want to get your rocks off, I can drop you off at the loft and give you and your right hand some quality time together." Jim watched as Blair's face flashed with indecisiveness, an emotion he didn't often see on his lover, but then Blair set his face and tightened his hand.
"From the way you're wrinkling your forehead, you have a killer headache that is pounding away behind your eyes, and you aren't going to be worth spit if you don't take care of yourself."
"I'm fine," Jim snapped as he opened the truck door.
"Just keep pushing yourself. Just push until you drop from an aneurysm. See if I care when you're dead," Blair muttered sarcastically.
"You're nagging like a wife, Sandburg," Jim warned. "And since you are definitely not my wife, I might do something about it that I wouldn't have done to Caro." Jim got out and slammed the door. The cafe was crowded, a line out the door, and Collins and Shay stood near the end. Jim took a deep breath and tried to push away the frustration and general unease that had followed him all day.
"Hey, I'm not Carolyn. Whatever you want to do, I'm game for it," Blair said as he followed, obviously not willing to back down, even in the face of threats.
"I do not play when I'm angry, and right now, I'm angry," Jim said as he closed his eyes for a second.
"I've seen you angry, Ellison. This ain't it," Blair said with confidence as he leaned against the truck next to Jim. "This is more like frustrated or maybe you doing the macho stoic thing. Being much saner than all you alpha guys, I'm not really sure why you would hide pain. Or actually, I intellectually get it in a one-upmanship, power-dynamics kind of way; I just don't emotionally get why you would hide the fact that you're hurting."
"Sandburg," Jim said quietly.
"No way, man. You've seen me in so much pain that I'm totally out of control."
Jim closed his eyes and listened to the air, and had one of those strange flashes where he could swear he heard Sandburg's heartbeat just slightly out of tempo with his own. Control. It was fine for Blair to be out of control, but not for him. Jim tightened his jaw as his heartbeat pounded so loudly in his head that he couldn't hear past the rhythm.
Blair fell silent, but a warm hand touched Jim's arm. Blair's hand rubbed a small circle and slowly moved up, tracing a bicep and then stroking Jim's shoulder.
When Blair's hand disappeared, Jim opened his eyes to see Blair staring at the line. Jim glanced up to see Collins and Shay both looking at them. He stood up and put his hand on Blair's back, reestablishing the touch.
"Subtle, Jim," Blair said softly, but at least he didn't pull away from the touch as Jim pushed him toward the cafe.
"I don't believe in subtle; I'm an alpha dog." Jim set his jaw and braced himself for an interesting lunch with the Tacoma detectives.
Despite Jim's fears, which sounded suspiciously like Blair's fears, neither Tacoma cop mentioned the touching as they got their table. The conversation focused on the lack of a pattern, the fact that none of the Tacoma sites were significant to Jim, and their inability to connect the Tacoma sites in any other way.
Blair picked up a piece of fried cheese from the basket. "The city is about Jim, but the places have to be connected to someone else. Maybe we could get the post office's employment records from the time Jim was living in Tacoma."
"You obviously haven't been riding long," Shay dismissed that idea as he shoved an entire potato skin in his mouth.
Jim watched the other diners as he let the case-talk float by him. An overweight, middle-aged woman in a T-shirt with a picture of a bulldog on it kept darting looks towards Shay. Two businessmen sat at a table, each on a cell phone to someone else. Their waitress was hitting on a college kid who had a book on feminist literature strategically placed on his table. Jim had played that trick more than once during his undergraduate days.
"What?" Blair asked Shay.
"The federal government is not good at sharing with us lowly peons," Collins filled in.
Two kids played swords with French fries while their mother cut up food for their little sister. A dark-haired businesswoman in a tan jacket read the menu. Two Indian men laughed far too loudly for the public setting, and the older couple sitting next to them kept looking over disapprovingly.
"But if the FBI is involved, they're the federal government too, so maybe this task force thing could work out."
"You really haven't been riding long," Shay laughed. Jim gave up watching the crowd for a second to focus on the other detective.
"The FBI would have a better chance with the records than we would," Jim sided with Blair.
"Better than ours, sure, but they're still about as likely to get them as I am to make third base with Sister Mary Margaret who feeds the homeless down on South 72nd."
"Even thinking about making out with a nun is like hugely bad karma," Blair complained softly and Shay laughed.
"Not as bad as actually doing it," he shot back. Jim reached over Blair and grabbed one of his fried cheese sticks as he now divided his attention between the room and Shay.
"If it's a task force, we can ask them to look for those records." Jim narrowed his eyes and dared Shay to contradict him.
"Ask away," Shay shrugged. "I just don't think you're getting them."
"Maybe we're asking the wrong people," Blair said quietly. "I mean, people file lawsuits all the time. The post office has, like, hundreds of them filed each year: equal opportunity cases, wrongful termination, sexual harassment."
"Good for them; your point?" Shay asked.
"So, we look for a public record. If there were lawsuits filed against that courthouse, the list of witnesses should give us a pretty good idea of who might have worked there," Blair pointed out triumphantly.
The table fell silent. Jim ignored the trucker ordering a hamburger and focused on the Tacoma detectives. Collins was smiling, and Shay just looked stunned.
"Shit," Shay finally announced to the table. "When I get a ride-along, I get stuck with some snot-nosed kid with acne who wants to play with my handcuffs. You got a good one, Ellison."
Jim nearly choked on his coffee when his imagination provided him with an image of Sandburg and his handcuffs.
"Yeah, laugh away, Ellison, but you have no idea. One asked where we locked up the hookers. He just wanted to have a quick look, and maybe a little privacy."
"I remember him," Collins nodded sympathetically. "That kid was a sex offender in training. Even the hooker in booking demanded that I get him away or make him pay her fee after he ogled her until he was damn near coming in his pants."
"Yeah, exactly. The captain hates me."
"Hate's a little strong. Maybe just... dislikes," Collins suggested to his partner.
"Next time, I'm demanding that I get the ride-along with the college degree who actually has something intelligent to say on the case."
"I could do a search through the legal database on campus," Blair suggested, smiling under the praise. "I know the database pretty well since I did some work on legal access and the poor. Besides, sometimes I just read the Supreme Court transcripts because those guys are incredibly mean for judges."
"If you want to trade," Shay joked to Jim, "I have a good bottle of whiskey and a season ticket to the Mariners I'll trade you for Sandburg."
The wave of emotion that crashed into Jim left him unable to answer the joke. He'd never been jealous, and the feeling now wasn't exactly jealousy, but Jim knew he'd cut off his right arm before he'd trade Blair. He knew a small part of him wanted to cut off Shay's right arm for even suggesting it.
"No deal." Jim frowned as he scanned the room again.
"Okay, I have to ask," Collins said. "What has you so twitchy? When the special-ops trained veteran starts looking at a lunch crowd like he expects to find a terrorist plot in the middle of the room, I get a little nervous."
"It's nothing," Jim said as he forced himself to stop focusing on the other tables. The waitress appeared with their meals.
"Jim?" Blair asked quietly.
"Just a headache," Jim answered as he focused on his hamburger. The talk disappeared as everyone ate, but Jim couldn't keep himself from watching the crowd. Something teased at the edge of his awareness and his headache was getting worse. Eating as fast as he could, Jim waited impatiently for Blair to finish.
"We'll meet you back at the station," Jim said the moment Blair put the last bite of chicken in his mouth. Blair blinked at him in surprise as Jim stood up and dropped a couple of twenties on the table.
"We're on an expense account here; lunch is on us," Collins argued, but Jim just got a hand under Blair's elbow and started pulling him away.
"We'll... um... see you at the station," Blair excused himself as Jim pulled him away from the table.
"What is your problem, Ellison? I mean, yeah, I've accused you of being a caveman a time or two, but this is a little too caveman for even you."
Jim tightened his jaw as he pulled Blair out into the daylight and started a fast walk toward the truck that left Blair trotting to keep up.
"Man, what is UP with you?"
Jim stopped at the passenger side of the truck. "I don't know. I just have this feeling, and it's the kind of feeling I used to get right before someone started shooting at my unit."
"Sixth sense?" Blair asked, irritation vanishing under the fascination that now lit his eyes.
"No." Jim glared. "When you have a lot of training, sometimes the environment will have some danger signals that are too subtle to actually identify."
"So, you're picking up danger?" Blair asked. He looked around the parking lot as though he expected to find whatever had Jim's guard up.
"I don't know. I just know I want you out of here. We'll call the station from the loft, but right now, I want you somewhere secure." Jim opened the passenger side door and started physically pushing Blair to get in.
"Oh, wait, I need to tell the guys that I'm teaching class tomorrow morning. I'll check the legal database right after class."
"Sandburg," Jim threatened when Blair started struggling to get past him.
"There they are," Blair said as he gestured toward the cafe door. "I won't even be out of sight. I'll walk over there, tell them, and come right back."
"I'll tell them when I go back to the station after getting you home safe."
"Man, you are being a completely unreasonable prick. And they're watching you manhandle me, so if you expect me to have any credibility at all, please, just let me say two sentences to them, and then you can do your weird alpha dog thing and drag me away to the loft."
Jim sighed as he glanced over. Collins and Shay were talking near their car, and both men were glancing over curiously.
"You're probably just doing some strange territorial thing because Shay tried to buy me."
"Blair," Jim sighed and then backed up a step, letting him slip by. Blair jogged over to the Tacoma cops, and Jim walked to the back of the truck to watch. A breeze blew, and Jim sniffed the air. He trotted towards Collin's car, toward the sharp smell.
"--get you that tomorrow," Blair was saying as Jim drifted closer.
"Do you smell that?" Jim asked as he walked parallel to the Tacoma car.
"Smell what?" Collins asked as he exchanged a look with his partner.
"Jim?"
Jim knelt down and looked under the back of the car. Red numbers clicked off. Nine... eight... seven... Jim stood up and grabbed Blair's arm.
"Bomb!" he yelled as he took off for the truck, practically dragging Blair along with him. Shoving his partner to the ground behind the truck, Jim threw his own body over Blair and waited the half second before the car exploded in a deafening blast.
"Shit," Blair breathed, and Jim could feel him tremble even as pieces of the car fell back to the ground with clangs and thuds. Jim sat up with his weapon drawn as he tried to identify any threat in the area. Blair's heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he could hear the wail as the fire made the metal stretch and bend.
"Jim?" Blair asked, his voice booming in Jim's head. "Collins and Shay?"
Jim pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dropped it on Blair's stomach as he continued to cover the growing crowd.
"Call it in to Major Crimes," he said tersely. Cars had braked on the road, and people stood by their doors staring at the fireball. Jim could hear car radios and cursing and people using cell phones to call 911. He could hear the cracking of glass from the fire. He could hear Shay cursing up a blue streak.
Nowhere could he find any danger. Slowly, Blair's voice went from a bellow in his head to the normal, if slightly panicked tones, of his observer.
"--haven't seen Collins and Shay.... I don't know.... He's right here." Blair held the phone out, and Jim lowered his weapon without putting it away.
"Yeah?"
"Jim, what the hell is going on?" Simon demanded.
"I think we're getting close," Jim answered as he finally looked back toward the explosion. The side of the cafe was scorched black, and the car was an unrecognizable pile of burning scrap. In the distance, sirens screamed. Looking past the smoke, Jim could see Collins and Shay near the cafe door. Collins was bare-chested, and he was holding his shirt to Shay's side. Blood was soaking into the blue fabric. "I think we're getting way too close for the Switchman."
***
The minute the truck door slammed shut, Blair started.
"Okay, who pissed in your cornflakes?" he asked as he pulled the seatbelt across his shoulder.
"Drop it."
"Yep, that's a mature response," Blair said as he crossed his arms, but at least he did, in fact, drop it.
"Jesus, Sandburg. How much aftershave did you put on this morning?" Jim demanded as he rolled the window down. He coughed as he caught car fumes from the garage.
"How much... what?"
"Next time, use less if you plan to ride in the truck," Jim said as he started the engine and backed up a little faster than he needed to. They were meeting Collins and Shay at Pat's Cafe for lunch, but right now Jim just wanted to go home and nurse his headache.
"What are you doing?" Jim demanded as he steered out into traffic. Blair just stared at him.
"Oh, I'm observing," Blair said after a second of silence where he seemed to be at a loss for words. Jim looked over suspiciously.
"What exactly are you observing?"
"You losing your mind," Blair huffed. "Well, that and your arms. When you get frustrated, you flex your muscles. Man, you have seriously impressive arms."
"You're leering at my arms?" Jim asked as he glanced towards Blair, confused at the sudden turn in tone; Blair had gone from aggravation to sly lust in under one second. Even now, Jim found himself occasionally speechless over some of the things that fell out of Blair's mouth.
"Oh hell, yeah," Blair agreed enthusiastically. "I take any opportunity to ogle your arms. Your arms and your back," Blair corrected himself after a heartbeat. "Man, when you pick something up, those muscles ripple under your skin and that is seriously sexy. It's like a courtship display, like with a Sage Grouse, only instead of ruffling your feathers and puffing out your neck to show how white it is, you're flexing those muscles to show your strength. Very dominant. Very, very sexy."
"Sandburg, I don't even have an answer for that, but if you're comparing me to a bird, you might want to consider that I haven't tried out that new paddle yet," Jim threatened.
"And we're back to the fact that someone needs to explain the purpose of punishment to you because you're obviously a little confused." Blair smiled impishly. He gave his body a little shimmy of invitation before the abandoned topic caught his attention again. "Of course, lots of the guys do it. For Rafe, it's all about his clothes. He's showing off that family money of his. And Simon. Oh man. Do not get me started on Simon."
"Not a topic I want to discuss right now," Jim warned.
"All that shouting? Stereotypical dominant behavior. Like a bull elephant defining his territory by trumpeting. That whole bull pen is like one giant lek."
"Blair," Jim sighed. He'd long ago given up even pretending that he knew half as much trivia as Blair. Jim usually found it amusing how many rare and esoteric ideas the man had floating around in his head, especially when he could be so incredibly naive about other things. But right now, he was just too tired; too tired and too damn cranky.
"A lek: a courtship ground where male birds establish territories and then try to lure girl birds to them with their impressive dances and displays." Blair pushed ahead, ignoring Jim's frustration. "That bull pen is all about you guys showing off your big, bad, dominant selves. Even the name. Bull pen. Man, you could not find a name with more testosterone than 'bull.' Ever since Hemmingway did his whole male-centric writings with all those images of bull-fighters and the running of the bulls, American society has associated bulls with strength and virility. Although, to be fair, the imagery of the bull as strength does go back to Greek times."
"I don't think I'm trying to attract a girl," Jim pointed out dryly. Blair gave him a wicked grin.
"You're not, huh?"
"No, Chief, I can honestly say that I'm not at all interested in any of the girls."
"Not even Sam? Beautiful, strong, intelligent," Blair teased. Jim raised his eyebrows.
"Temperamental, aggressive, and potentially psychotic," Jim finished the list. He had to admit that he was more than a little amused watching Sam make a play for Blair. The man had flirted and smiled and then danced away from her and right back to Jim's side.
"Not your type?" Blair asked.
Jim shook his head. Clearly, he was not getting out of this conversation. "No. I go more for the strong, intelligent, submissive types."
"Really? I never would have guessed," Blair said with a twist of his hips.
"Strong, submissive, silent types," Jim amended himself.
"Whatever," Blair dismissed as he reached down and casually ran a hand over his own thigh.
"I'm driving here, Junior."
"Yeah, and you've got a headache, too."
"What?"
"You have got to learn to process this anger. I have no idea who pissed in your cornflakes, but you can't keep pushing yourself, ignoring the pain." Blair took another conversation detour, ending up exactly where Jim did not want to be.
Jim narrowed his eyes and turned into the parking lot of the cafe. "I'm fine," he insisted tersely.
"Sure you are, but, man, you would be so much better if we just took a little break. Let's tell the guys that we need to head back to the loft for a bit." Blair reached over and let his hand rest on Jim's arm.
"Sandburg, I have a case to work here, so if you want to get your rocks off, I can drop you off at the loft and give you and your right hand some quality time together." Jim watched as Blair's face flashed with indecisiveness, an emotion he didn't often see on his lover, but then Blair set his face and tightened his hand.
"From the way you're wrinkling your forehead, you have a killer headache that is pounding away behind your eyes, and you aren't going to be worth spit if you don't take care of yourself."
"I'm fine," Jim snapped as he opened the truck door.
"Just keep pushing yourself. Just push until you drop from an aneurysm. See if I care when you're dead," Blair muttered sarcastically.
"You're nagging like a wife, Sandburg," Jim warned. "And since you are definitely not my wife, I might do something about it that I wouldn't have done to Caro." Jim got out and slammed the door. The cafe was crowded, a line out the door, and Collins and Shay stood near the end. Jim took a deep breath and tried to push away the frustration and general unease that had followed him all day.
"Hey, I'm not Carolyn. Whatever you want to do, I'm game for it," Blair said as he followed, obviously not willing to back down, even in the face of threats.
"I do not play when I'm angry, and right now, I'm angry," Jim said as he closed his eyes for a second.
"I've seen you angry, Ellison. This ain't it," Blair said with confidence as he leaned against the truck next to Jim. "This is more like frustrated or maybe you doing the macho stoic thing. Being much saner than all you alpha guys, I'm not really sure why you would hide pain. Or actually, I intellectually get it in a one-upmanship, power-dynamics kind of way; I just don't emotionally get why you would hide the fact that you're hurting."
"Sandburg," Jim said quietly.
"No way, man. You've seen me in so much pain that I'm totally out of control."
Jim closed his eyes and listened to the air, and had one of those strange flashes where he could swear he heard Sandburg's heartbeat just slightly out of tempo with his own. Control. It was fine for Blair to be out of control, but not for him. Jim tightened his jaw as his heartbeat pounded so loudly in his head that he couldn't hear past the rhythm.
Blair fell silent, but a warm hand touched Jim's arm. Blair's hand rubbed a small circle and slowly moved up, tracing a bicep and then stroking Jim's shoulder.
When Blair's hand disappeared, Jim opened his eyes to see Blair staring at the line. Jim glanced up to see Collins and Shay both looking at them. He stood up and put his hand on Blair's back, reestablishing the touch.
"Subtle, Jim," Blair said softly, but at least he didn't pull away from the touch as Jim pushed him toward the cafe.
"I don't believe in subtle; I'm an alpha dog." Jim set his jaw and braced himself for an interesting lunch with the Tacoma detectives.
Despite Jim's fears, which sounded suspiciously like Blair's fears, neither Tacoma cop mentioned the touching as they got their table. The conversation focused on the lack of a pattern, the fact that none of the Tacoma sites were significant to Jim, and their inability to connect the Tacoma sites in any other way.
Blair picked up a piece of fried cheese from the basket. "The city is about Jim, but the places have to be connected to someone else. Maybe we could get the post office's employment records from the time Jim was living in Tacoma."
"You obviously haven't been riding long," Shay dismissed that idea as he shoved an entire potato skin in his mouth.
Jim watched the other diners as he let the case-talk float by him. An overweight, middle-aged woman in a T-shirt with a picture of a bulldog on it kept darting looks towards Shay. Two businessmen sat at a table, each on a cell phone to someone else. Their waitress was hitting on a college kid who had a book on feminist literature strategically placed on his table. Jim had played that trick more than once during his undergraduate days.
"What?" Blair asked Shay.
"The federal government is not good at sharing with us lowly peons," Collins filled in.
Two kids played swords with French fries while their mother cut up food for their little sister. A dark-haired businesswoman in a tan jacket read the menu. Two Indian men laughed far too loudly for the public setting, and the older couple sitting next to them kept looking over disapprovingly.
"But if the FBI is involved, they're the federal government too, so maybe this task force thing could work out."
"You really haven't been riding long," Shay laughed. Jim gave up watching the crowd for a second to focus on the other detective.
"The FBI would have a better chance with the records than we would," Jim sided with Blair.
"Better than ours, sure, but they're still about as likely to get them as I am to make third base with Sister Mary Margaret who feeds the homeless down on South 72nd."
"Even thinking about making out with a nun is like hugely bad karma," Blair complained softly and Shay laughed.
"Not as bad as actually doing it," he shot back. Jim reached over Blair and grabbed one of his fried cheese sticks as he now divided his attention between the room and Shay.
"If it's a task force, we can ask them to look for those records." Jim narrowed his eyes and dared Shay to contradict him.
"Ask away," Shay shrugged. "I just don't think you're getting them."
"Maybe we're asking the wrong people," Blair said quietly. "I mean, people file lawsuits all the time. The post office has, like, hundreds of them filed each year: equal opportunity cases, wrongful termination, sexual harassment."
"Good for them; your point?" Shay asked.
"So, we look for a public record. If there were lawsuits filed against that courthouse, the list of witnesses should give us a pretty good idea of who might have worked there," Blair pointed out triumphantly.
The table fell silent. Jim ignored the trucker ordering a hamburger and focused on the Tacoma detectives. Collins was smiling, and Shay just looked stunned.
"Shit," Shay finally announced to the table. "When I get a ride-along, I get stuck with some snot-nosed kid with acne who wants to play with my handcuffs. You got a good one, Ellison."
Jim nearly choked on his coffee when his imagination provided him with an image of Sandburg and his handcuffs.
"Yeah, laugh away, Ellison, but you have no idea. One asked where we locked up the hookers. He just wanted to have a quick look, and maybe a little privacy."
"I remember him," Collins nodded sympathetically. "That kid was a sex offender in training. Even the hooker in booking demanded that I get him away or make him pay her fee after he ogled her until he was damn near coming in his pants."
"Yeah, exactly. The captain hates me."
"Hate's a little strong. Maybe just... dislikes," Collins suggested to his partner.
"Next time, I'm demanding that I get the ride-along with the college degree who actually has something intelligent to say on the case."
"I could do a search through the legal database on campus," Blair suggested, smiling under the praise. "I know the database pretty well since I did some work on legal access and the poor. Besides, sometimes I just read the Supreme Court transcripts because those guys are incredibly mean for judges."
"If you want to trade," Shay joked to Jim, "I have a good bottle of whiskey and a season ticket to the Mariners I'll trade you for Sandburg."
The wave of emotion that crashed into Jim left him unable to answer the joke. He'd never been jealous, and the feeling now wasn't exactly jealousy, but Jim knew he'd cut off his right arm before he'd trade Blair. He knew a small part of him wanted to cut off Shay's right arm for even suggesting it.
"No deal." Jim frowned as he scanned the room again.
"Okay, I have to ask," Collins said. "What has you so twitchy? When the special-ops trained veteran starts looking at a lunch crowd like he expects to find a terrorist plot in the middle of the room, I get a little nervous."
"It's nothing," Jim said as he forced himself to stop focusing on the other tables. The waitress appeared with their meals.
"Jim?" Blair asked quietly.
"Just a headache," Jim answered as he focused on his hamburger. The talk disappeared as everyone ate, but Jim couldn't keep himself from watching the crowd. Something teased at the edge of his awareness and his headache was getting worse. Eating as fast as he could, Jim waited impatiently for Blair to finish.
"We'll meet you back at the station," Jim said the moment Blair put the last bite of chicken in his mouth. Blair blinked at him in surprise as Jim stood up and dropped a couple of twenties on the table.
"We're on an expense account here; lunch is on us," Collins argued, but Jim just got a hand under Blair's elbow and started pulling him away.
"We'll... um... see you at the station," Blair excused himself as Jim pulled him away from the table.
"What is your problem, Ellison? I mean, yeah, I've accused you of being a caveman a time or two, but this is a little too caveman for even you."
Jim tightened his jaw as he pulled Blair out into the daylight and started a fast walk toward the truck that left Blair trotting to keep up.
"Man, what is UP with you?"
Jim stopped at the passenger side of the truck. "I don't know. I just have this feeling, and it's the kind of feeling I used to get right before someone started shooting at my unit."
"Sixth sense?" Blair asked, irritation vanishing under the fascination that now lit his eyes.
"No." Jim glared. "When you have a lot of training, sometimes the environment will have some danger signals that are too subtle to actually identify."
"So, you're picking up danger?" Blair asked. He looked around the parking lot as though he expected to find whatever had Jim's guard up.
"I don't know. I just know I want you out of here. We'll call the station from the loft, but right now, I want you somewhere secure." Jim opened the passenger side door and started physically pushing Blair to get in.
"Oh, wait, I need to tell the guys that I'm teaching class tomorrow morning. I'll check the legal database right after class."
"Sandburg," Jim threatened when Blair started struggling to get past him.
"There they are," Blair said as he gestured toward the cafe door. "I won't even be out of sight. I'll walk over there, tell them, and come right back."
"I'll tell them when I go back to the station after getting you home safe."
"Man, you are being a completely unreasonable prick. And they're watching you manhandle me, so if you expect me to have any credibility at all, please, just let me say two sentences to them, and then you can do your weird alpha dog thing and drag me away to the loft."
Jim sighed as he glanced over. Collins and Shay were talking near their car, and both men were glancing over curiously.
"You're probably just doing some strange territorial thing because Shay tried to buy me."
"Blair," Jim sighed and then backed up a step, letting him slip by. Blair jogged over to the Tacoma cops, and Jim walked to the back of the truck to watch. A breeze blew, and Jim sniffed the air. He trotted towards Collin's car, toward the sharp smell.
"--get you that tomorrow," Blair was saying as Jim drifted closer.
"Do you smell that?" Jim asked as he walked parallel to the Tacoma car.
"Smell what?" Collins asked as he exchanged a look with his partner.
"Jim?"
Jim knelt down and looked under the back of the car. Red numbers clicked off. Nine... eight... seven... Jim stood up and grabbed Blair's arm.
"Bomb!" he yelled as he took off for the truck, practically dragging Blair along with him. Shoving his partner to the ground behind the truck, Jim threw his own body over Blair and waited the half second before the car exploded in a deafening blast.
"Shit," Blair breathed, and Jim could feel him tremble even as pieces of the car fell back to the ground with clangs and thuds. Jim sat up with his weapon drawn as he tried to identify any threat in the area. Blair's heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he could hear the wail as the fire made the metal stretch and bend.
"Jim?" Blair asked, his voice booming in Jim's head. "Collins and Shay?"
Jim pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dropped it on Blair's stomach as he continued to cover the growing crowd.
"Call it in to Major Crimes," he said tersely. Cars had braked on the road, and people stood by their doors staring at the fireball. Jim could hear car radios and cursing and people using cell phones to call 911. He could hear the cracking of glass from the fire. He could hear Shay cursing up a blue streak.
Nowhere could he find any danger. Slowly, Blair's voice went from a bellow in his head to the normal, if slightly panicked tones, of his observer.
"--haven't seen Collins and Shay.... I don't know.... He's right here." Blair held the phone out, and Jim lowered his weapon without putting it away.
"Yeah?"
"Jim, what the hell is going on?" Simon demanded.
"I think we're getting close," Jim answered as he finally looked back toward the explosion. The side of the cafe was scorched black, and the car was an unrecognizable pile of burning scrap. In the distance, sirens screamed. Looking past the smoke, Jim could see Collins and Shay near the cafe door. Collins was bare-chested, and he was holding his shirt to Shay's side. Blood was soaking into the blue fabric. "I think we're getting way too close for the Switchman."
