lit_gal | Dark, Still Water

Dark, Still Water
SG1/Sentinel Crossover

When one of Daniel Jackson's friends goes snooping into the wrong computer network, the SG-1 team comes to Cascade to find her before the NID can. But the local detective assigned to assist them--and his very strange anthropologist partner--complicate an already complicated mission.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

And now... Blair is still having a bad day, Jim is actually having a worse one.

"It's not broken," Darla said with a smile as she walked in with a smile and a Styrofoam cup full of steaming coffee in each hand. "You look like you need some." She offered Blair a cup.

"Bless you and three generations of your children," Blair said as he closed his hands around the cup. It was the first decent thing to happen to him today.

"Would you like some?" She offered the second cup to Blair's large and silent shadow.

"No, thank you," Murray said with that tilt of his head that Blair was coming to associate with politeness or perhaps just a recognition of the other person's good intentions. His body language was fascinating, almost more tribal than industrial or even pre-industrial, and very few places in Africa were remote enough to qualify for that distinction. Blair shoved the thought to the side for now because he had way more immediate concerns. Darla set the second cup on the small counter.

She leaned over with a conspiratorial smile, and for a half second, Blair thought he was about to get propositioned. He and Darla had certainly been sexually compatible during their short-lived relationship, so it wasn't all that impossible. "Your partner tracked you down and wants to talk," she said as she pressed a cell phone into his hand. "You are such a cutie, even if you do look like an extra in a prison show right now," she offered in a slightly louder voice, her fingers lingering over his cheek. "I'll get you a brace and some crutches, and you can go get washed up in the bathroom." Darla busied herself with Blair's ankle, and Blair was left hiding the open phone in his lap. He had no idea why he had to hide the fact that he was getting a call from Jim.

"Oh man, the bathroom sounds great," Blair said as he slipped the phone into his shirt and prayed that he didn't accidentally switch it off. As much trouble as he and Jim were having, Blair didn't think hanging up on him would go into the good column.

"You just need to not do anything stupid for a while," Darla told him as she sat on a stool at his feet and started strapping his ankle into a heavy brace. "Of course, that may be difficult for you."

"Har, har," Blair said with a roll of his eyes.

"You need a keeper. Seriously, Blair, do not go and screw your ankle up. You know, a serious sprain can require surgery, and you hate surgery. So take care of this."

"I hear you," Blair nodded.

Darla glared up at him. "Oh no, that's the tone you use when you plan on ignoring everything I've just said, Blair Sandburg."

Blair blinked down at her in surprise.

"And that's the look that is supposed to make me forget that you never listen to anything I say, and that look works better without the black eye." Darla crossed her arms and pinned him with an unhappy look. Funny, even though she was sitting on the stool at his feet, he still had the impression she was glaring down at him.

Blair held his hands up in surrender. "I'll take care of it. Promise," he offered. He and Darla had dated for about three days, and even in that time, he had learned that she really wasn't one to cross... not unless you really enjoyed extreme sports like skiing down black flag rated slopes and dodging teapots thrown at your head at near-lethal speeds. He'd never seen that side of her, but he'd heard some stories.

"I shall ensure that he cares for his physical needs if you will entrust any instructions to me," Murray offered. Blair rolled his eyes again. Despite his hair and his lack of height, he was a grown man and he truly didn't need to be taken care of. He hadn't since he was sixteen. And yet, he was nearly thirty and he had more mother hens in his life than he could shake a stick at. He had some seriously baggage a past life, that's for sure.

Not surprisingly, Darla smiled at Murray. "Keep the walking to a minimum, make sure the brace is on anytime he's out of bed, but it shouldn't be tight enough to leave marks on the skin. At home, keep the leg elevated and an ice pack will help with the swelling. I can write a prescription for anti-inflammatory medicine if you think you can get him to take it."

"I can." Murray tilted his head, and Darla gave him a conspiratorial smile.

"I can take care of myself," Blair complained softly.

"Of course you can," Darla agreed as she pressed the last Velcro strap over the brace and stood up. "Now let me help steady you on the crutches," she said as she reached over to the wall and grabbed a pair of silver crutches. Blair snatched from her, but when he stood, only her hands on his waist kept him upright as he struggled for balance.

"Whoa. This was so easier last time I did it."

"Were you just recovering from pneumonia last time?" Darla asked sweetly. The only problem was that Darla didn't do sweet.

"Nag, nag," Blair said softly as he navigated toward the door out to the hall. Unfortunately, Murray moved with him. If Jim was trying to hide their contact, he couldn't exactly go pulling the phone out in front of Murray.

"Hey, do you mind going out and finding some food? Something that isn't the crap you find in the vending machines here. Something that I can still recognize as having grown in the actual ground. No way can they call a sandwich sealed in plastic actual food. That's more like torture for the stomach."

"There's a shop just on the other side of Harper Hall," Darla said, gesturing toward the north. Murray tilted his head at them.

"I can pay," Blair said, reaching for his wallet, which led to Darla grabbing for him as he fumbled with one of his crutches.

"I do not require currency." Murray took a step backwards, and for one second, Blair was afraid that he wasn't going to take the bait. "I shall return quickly." He turned and walked down the hall without any other comment.

"Tall, dark, and laconic." Darla gave a little huff of laughter.

"No joke. He is totally not into idiomatic English and non-verbal communication," Blair agreed as he reached for the phone. "Jim?"

"Chief, are you okay?"

Blair smiled at the concern in Jim's voice, but Darla plucked the phone out of his hand before he could answer. "Blair will be with you as soon as he sits his ass on a chair before he falls on it," she told Jim even as she gave Blair a firm stare.

"You would make one hell of an Amazon," Blair complained, but he limped his way two feet to a chair sitting in the middle of the hall and then held his hand out, demanding the phone. She gave it to him and then headed down the hall so he had a little privacy.

"Nurse Ratched is gone now," Blair said into the phone.

"Chief, are you okay?" Jim repeated.

"Man, I'm fine. I just twisted my ankle. When IA calls, I'm going to..."

"Blair!" Jim cut him off with the barked word, but Blair could hear a scuffling on the far end of the phone.

"Jim? Jim?!"

"Hey, how ya doing, Sandy?" Megan's voice came over the phone, sounding concerned.

"Megan? I'm fine. Where's Jim?"

"He's right here, and he's fine. Well, he's as fine as he usually is, but I'm more worried about you, mate."

"Seriously, I'm fine. Look, Megan, I appreciate the concern, but I really need to talk to Jim."

Blair heard another shuffling, but this time, Megan's voice came through like a faint ghost. Blair was guessing she had her hand over the mouthpiece. "Play nice or I'll make you sorrier than IA could dream of, Ellison." Blair waited for the explosion, but Jim didn't answer.

"Blair, when IA calls, just keep to the facts. Blowing up isn't going to help anything," Jim said. Blair frowned at the weariness he could hear in Jim's voice.

"Oh man, how bad is it?" Blair asked softly. Jim's sigh was all the answer he needed. "Fuck. I'm going to kill O'Neill," Blair vowed. It might not be good on his karma, but right now, killing the guy seemed like a pretty good idea.

"Blair, I have no idea whether O'Neill is acting in good faith or not—"

"Good faith?" Blair nearly squeaked. "I can answer that. He's a manipulative, son-of-a bitch who needs a good swift kick in the ass."

"Blair." Jim stopped, and the silence that followed weirded Blair out about as bad as anything else on this truly crappy day. "Blair, I was out of line."

"You've been a dick lately, but it's not like I've been a joy to be around," Blair agreed.

"Sandburg, just shut up and listen for two seconds." Jim's words were cut off by more scuffling on the far end of the phone, and Blair could just imagine Megan giving him shit. The phone went dead for a second, and then Jim was back. "Blair, please let me say this. I might have been out of line back there. From the colonel's point of view, things might have looked bad. We can't assume he has other motives."

Blair narrowed his eyes and wished that Jim was here so Blair could look him in the eye. Jim had been the one assuming that O'Neill was playing some sort of covert ops game, and now he was definitely singing a different tune. Blair was all in favor of change. He was the quintessence of change. But Jim... Jim did not change. Once he made up his mind, he was more the sort who just closed his eyes and pushed his way straight through the middle. "So, you think he's just stupid and arrogant?" Blair asked.

That made Jim snort his amusement. "Maybe." Then the silence returned. "Blair, from his point of view, you were badly hurt, and I was the only one in that alley."

"Brad Ventriss—"

"We don't have evidence against him, Blair. Let's not borrow trouble here."

"Oh, so just because the Ventriss family has money, we're going to bend over backwards to—"

"Yes, we are," Jim snapped. "Try it and I'll be taking you to the hospital with broken fingers," Jim snarled, and for a half-second, Blair thought Jim was threatening him. The angry retort he could barely hear on the other end of the phone suggested that Megan had been the target of that threat, though. "Blair, things are difficult right now. If IA believes O'Neill, I'm guilty of domestic abuse. If they believe me, I'm guilty of malfeasance or possibly just stupidity. A civilian was attacked by someone using a deadly weapon, and I didn't call it in."

"Oh fuck," Blair breathed as he realized just how much shit Jim was in. He could lose his job over this, even if Blair told the truth. "You would have called it in if we hadn't been interrupted by O'Neill," Blair quickly added as he tried to think his way through this problem.

"Would I?" Jim asked, and instead of sounding challenging or angry, Jim just sounded weary.

"Totally. Man, I know you. You would have filled out the report the second we got back to the station," Blair said firmly. And again, that silence crept into the corners of the conversation.

"Maybe," Jim finally admitted. "It doesn't matter now. Look, I can't have contact with you right now, and I don't think Megan is going to volunteer her cell phone again anytime soon..."

Blair could hear her saying something in response to that, but all he could hear was the general tone, and she didn't sound happy.

"I wanted to say that I didn't mean for you to get hurt," Jim said quickly, but Blair could just imagine how much it bothered Jim to spit out that apology.

"No harm no foul," Blair quickly assured him. He then flinched as he looked at his ankle wrapped in the large, bulky brace. Okay, minimal harm.

"If O'Neill is on the up and up, he's going to try and get me booted from the force. At best, I'm looking at a suspension. But if he's not on the up and up..." Jim stopped for a second, and Blair could hear muffled sounds as Jim and Megan exchanged words. He hated not being there. He needed to see their faces to judge what they were really thinking, and a phone was a sorry substitute for true communication. After several seconds, Jim returned, his voice low and serious. "Chief, if O'Neill takes you into custody, don't fight him. Just tell him to contact me. I won't make trouble."

"Jim?"

"Just... Chief, just don't get your mouth running when you don't have the ability to back it up, okay?"

"So, you think I’m a wimp?" Blair demanded.

"I think Colonel O'Neill has worked out of the Defense Intelligence Center in Langley. The information I have is sketchy, but from the stories I've been able to put together, he was a Lieutenant Colonel working Special Operations when he survived enemy capture and escaped on his own. He specialized as a Master Parachutist who worked behind enemy lines and has awards for courage under fire and completing a mission after being wounded. Even after calling in every military favor I have left, nearly his entire record is blacked out. I do know he has a Master's degree in Military Strategic Studies, and he's worked in satellite command, covert ops, and surveillance. His name set off red flags all over the system, and Kelso won't even talk about him except to tell me that I need to not get on his bad side, and I think it's a little too late for that. Chief, O'Neill is not a pencil pusher and I think *I'm* out of my league going up against him. I won't have you hurt getting between him and whatever the hell he's in Cascade to get."

"Oh fuck." Blair could feel his guts clench up as he tried to reconcile that resume against the gray-haired man with the dry sense of humor. They were so incredibly and totally screwed.

"What if he just wants to find his friend's friend?"

"Then we keep our heads down and survive this storm," Jim said seriously. "Chief, IA is going to figure out which hospital you went to soon enough. We really shouldn't be on the phone when they show up. Simon's ass is in a sling already because he refused to put me in an interrogation room while they tracked down witnesses. We can't make it worse for him."

Blair swallowed. "An interrogation room?"

"Let me handle this, Chief. I'll be fine."

That was a blatant lie. Blair could hear the stress in Jim's voice, but there was precious little he could do about it from here. If Blair had to guess, he would say that Jim was already on administrative leave, meaning Simon had taken his gun and badge. If they were talking about keeping in an interrogation room, that meant IA wanted him booked. They might have already forced Simon to book Jim and he was just out on his own recognizance. Maybe he was calling from jail. Fuck and fuck. Jim used the job to channel his frustrations, and this was so not the time for the fucking IA department to take that away from him. "Try the meditation routine. My candles are behind the chair."

"I'll be fine, Sandburg," Jim said, and some of the cranky was back. God forbid Blair suggest that Jim wasn't a fucking Superman. Blair sighed, and he knew Jim would hear that too.

"Call if something happens."

"I'll find a way to," Jim promised. "Take care, Chief." Before Blair could answer, the phone went dead, and Blair was left sitting in the clinic hallway wondering just what the hell he was supposed to do now. IA was coming to talk to him, and he had no idea what exactly Jim had told them on his end. Blair scrubbed his face with both hands before leaning over so his elbows rested on his knees and his face rested on his hands. Life just kept getting better. After the whole getting dead business, he had expected some sort of euphoria, a period of extreme joy as every pleasure reminded him that he hadn't actually died in that fountain with Alex's hands around his neck. Instead, he just found himself more and more weary.

"You ready to try to make it to the bathroom?" Blair looked up and Darla was standing there with a compassionate look.

"Totally," Blair agreed. He held up the phone and she silently took it.

"Babe, you have looked better. I hope that Murray plans to take care of you a little better than Ellison has been. I'm betting you didn't even take the full course of medicine."

"I took the antibiotics," Blair told her as he got his one good foot under him and used his crutches to pull himself up.

"And the pain pills? The muscle relaxers to help with the cough that was keeping you up, the pills to help you sleep?"

"A glass of warm milk works just as well." Blair could have talked all about tryptophan and melatonin and healthy sleep, he was just too tired.

She snorted. "Then why do you look like the walking dead?"

"Because a guy with a baseball bat kicked my ass," Blair quickly answered. Darla didn't look convinced, but she didn't argue as she helped him into the clinic bathroom. Blair felt scummy after clinging to the dumpster, so when Darla moved a chair to right in front of the sink, he happily sat and focused on cleaning up his hands and face instead of worrying about what he was supposed to do with the rest of his life.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

ladyivy.livejournal.com

Damn, refresh my flist and look what pops up.

Your muse is kicking ass lately; here's hoping it continues to be inspired.

At least Jim seems to be pulling his head out of his ass (of course he has some incentive since IA is looking to put said ass in a sling...)

From:

Dark, Still Water

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags