Many heartfelt thanks go to my beta reader, Kathleen. Remaining mistakes belong to me.
Out of Debt
by Ysone
Okay, that was slick. Even I have to admit it was the con job of the century, and I'm the one who pulled it off. To tell you the truth, I never really expected Jim to buy it. I mean, if it had just been me, maybe. But me and Larry? I'd have laid money -- if I'd had any -- on Jim never agreeing. My doubts didn't stop me from giving it my best shot, though. I gave it everything I had...and it worked!
So why did I feel like such a heel?
Maybe it's because from where I sat, I could see the results of my weaseling. I could see the disorder I've brought to Jim's home. His things had to be shoved up against the far wall of his former guest room/study, my current home, in order to make room for my things. I put as much in storage as I could, bringing only a few changes of clothes and a box or two of papers and books, but still it was more than Jim should have had to contend with.
Yeah, I definitely felt like a heel.
But what else could I do? I leaned against the wall behind the foldout bed which had obviously not been invented with actual sleeping in mind, and drew my knees up to my chest. I really hadn't had that many choices at the time, that part hadn't been an embellishment. Larry made most of my options null and void. I had friends, but none who would have welcomed an ape. Maybe I should have tried harder, but Jim had just seemed like the perfect solution.
I sighed deeply and slouched down further on the bed. Now I had a week. Not a lot of time, but at least it gave me some breathing room. What I needed was a plan. I didn't get paid until the following week, and there was no point even checking my bank balance. I knew exactly how much I didn't have there. It didn't leave a lot of options. I could always play musical houseguest for a while...you know, bounce from friend to friend to acquaintance to kindhearted near-stranger until I could save up enough to get a place of my own. I'd have to ditch Larry first, though. Maybe, if I buckled down and gave up sleep, I could finish my research and take him back to the lab where he belonged. That ought to make both of them happy -- Jim and Larry.
Four days down...three to go. Not that I was counting or anything.
Like hell I wasn't.
It's not that I regretted letting Sandburg stay with me. How could I? The kid was in a jam, and I could see where I was his best option. Now that the monkey was gone, he probably had a few more alternatives opening up, but I was trying not to push him. He lost pretty much everything in the fire that followed the explosion. A loss like that had to be devastating. Hard to tell with him. For all his talking, he doesn't say much of substance. But I would imagine it wasn't easy to lose everything like that.
He threw his clothes away. He thought I didn't know. He had packed up everything salvageable from the warehouse, which wasn't much, and put it in his car. That included clothes, a few books, a couple of pictures that survived the fire and the water, and a few mementos...artifacts and the like.
I went with him to offer what help I could, but I didn't know what was what, so I ended up just watching for the most part. Things I thought were salvageable, he just passed over. Things I thought were trash for sure, he pulled out of the debris, cleaned up as best he could, and stuffed into boxes. Go figure. I guess it came down to what meant the most to him. I could understand that.
Anyway, I saw him box up the clothes, though most were in pretty bad shape. He claimed all they needed were a couple of washes, and they'd be good as new...or in his case, good as used. I didn't argue with him, though I had my doubts once I got a whiff. The smoke was pretty strong.
Two days later, I saw him toss the box. I knew why. Like I said, the smoke was pretty strong. I don't think it would have bothered the average guy on the street, but I wasn't the average guy on the street. I guess I complained one time too many. Hell, I never meant for the kid to toss the clothes. I was just...well, just being me. Guess he took me serious. Probably figured the smoke was doing a number on my senses. It was, though not as bad as I was making out, but I guess he had no way of knowing that. So he tossed the clothes, which left him alternating between two pairs of jeans, both of which had seen better days, and a couple of sweaters, ditto.
What could I do? I didn't think he had the money for new clothes, and besides, I thought it should be my responsibility to replace them, right? I mean, it was my fault he tossed them. But the one time I tried to approach the subject, damned if he didn't get all offended.
Okay, that might have been my fault. I've never been known for my tact. Or subtlety. I was a straightforward kind of guy. Between my upbringing, such as it was, and my military background, I had pretty much learned to say what I was thinking in pretty much the same way I was thinking it. I didn't realize until after the words were out of my mouth how demeaning they must have sounded.
He bounced into the bullpen all excited because some professor he had studied under was coming back to Rainier as a guest lecturer. I listened with half an ear until he wound down enough for me to get a word in edgewise.
"Things are pretty slow around here this afternoon, Chief. I'm just going to catch up on some paperwork. No need for you to hang around."
"That's okay," he said, dropping his ever present backpack to the floor by the coat rack. "I know how you hate paperwork. I can help--"
"I can handle it," I insisted. "Might be a good opportunity for you to do some shopping...you know...replace some of the things you lost in the fire."
He frowned a bit at that. "There's nothing that can't wait."
"What about...you know...clothes...and stuff?"
He glanced down at his jeans with the not-quite-but-almost holes in both knees and the frayed hems, and his one-size-did-not-fit-all blue tee, topped by one of my denim shirts -- when did that happen? -- that he had to roll up the sleeves on. When he looked back up, I'd have had to have been blind to miss the embarrassment in his eyes, though it was only there for a second or two.
"I want to help out," I offered awkwardly. "I mean, I know with the fire and all, you've probably run into a lot of extra expenses, not to mention trying to find a new place."
I swear I saw something snap behind his eyes just before a wall fell firmly into place. The normally so expressive face was now completely blank, and I had a feeling it was something I said.
"Oh, hey, no biggie," he said, a forced casualness to his tone. "I got it covered." He bent and retrieved his backpack, still talking. "I've just been a little busy -- no rest for the weary, and all that, you know -- and I've been putting it off. Hate to shop, believe it or not -- but if you're sure you don't need me this afternoon, then there's no time like the present, right? Besides, I need to go talk to a guy about a place I heard about that might be for rent. I'll be at your place later, so call if anything comes up, okay?"
He was gone before I could reply.
I hadn't seen Jim's truck in the parking lot, but I gave the door a token knock anyhow. As I expected, no answer, so I dropped my backpack and shopping bag to the floor, then dropped myself beside them and leaned wearily against the wall by the door.
"Need to see a guy about a place," I muttered mockingly under my breath. "Yeah, right." Well, it wasn't a lie, exactly. I did need to see a guy about a place to live. I just didn't know which guy yet. I have no idea what possessed me to mislead Jim like that, except maybe pride -- something in short supply these days. Pride and money. Two commodities that were becoming mighty hard to come by.
I settled in for a wait, knowing it was too early for Jim to be coming home. I'd been spending my afternoons at the station, so we'd been arriving here at the same time, ergo no point in him giving me a key of my own. Besides, I was only here for the week; what did I need a key for?
I could have -- should have -- gone to my office and worked on my article. I really needed to get it finished so I could get paid for it. It didn't pay a whole heck of a lot, but it would help replace some of the textbooks I'd lost in the fire.
Closing my eyes with a sigh, I rested my head against the door frame. I was just too damn drained to care about the article at the moment, which meant I wouldn't have done my best work on it, and I really had to do my best work on it if I expected to deal with these people in the future...and I did...want to deal with them in the future, that is. My bank account sort of depended on it. I shifted my legs, trying to get a bit more comfortable on the hard floor. Not an easy feat, but I managed it, eventually.
Once settled, I began sorting through my options. I had two and a half days left of my week. I had already decided to play musical houseguest for a few weeks. I didn't figure I'd have a problem finding a friend or two to let me crash on their couch. There were a few people who owed me favors, and it was as good a way as any to collect. I needed a long term plan, though. Something a little more permanent...well, as permanent as a Sandburg could get.
I almost chuckled at the thought of a Sandburg putting down roots, but the day was starting to catch up on me, and it just didn't seem worth the effort. The longest I had ever stayed in one place was when I first came to Rainier. I lived in the dorms for almost two years before the "family itch" hit me and I was off and running. Thank goodness I was old enough by then to latch myself onto an expedition. My backup plan had been to transfer to another university, and if that had happened...
I shuddered mentally at how close I'd come to leaving Cascade, which, of course, would have meant never meeting Jim. Fate or karma or just plain, dumb luck...it didn't matter. I had stayed, and it had happened, and that's all that mattered. I had my Holy Grail, and it was up to me not to screw things up and lose it. If that meant getting myself out of Jim's face and finding another place to live, then I would just damn well find a place. Hell, I'd happily live in a cardboard box if that was what it took.
My thoughts slowed then, and I felt the beckon of sleep. Not having anything better to do, I answered it.
I stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for my floor. With a familiar, stuttering jerk, the car began its slow, upward crawl. It was after nine, and I was just now dragging my weary butt home. A dull afternoon of paperwork at the station had, unfortunately, given way to too much excitement as we were called in to deal with a hostage situation at a local finance office. Some idiot with a gun was pissed off at being turned down for a loan. Typical Cascade psycho...or at least that was the way it seemed lately.
I really hoped Sandburg had scraped together something for supper. I was almost as hungry as I was tired, and that was saying a lot.
The elevator came to a stop with a stomach-wrenching lurch and a groan of stressed gears that wasn't at all reassuring. With each passing day, the stairs became more appealing. The door slid slowly open, and I stepped from the car, only to come to a complete stop. A puzzled frown settled on my face as I took in the scene that greeted me at the end of the hall.
Sandburg was on the floor. Sleeping. On the floor, outside the loft, sleeping!
"What the hell...?" I muttered, moving closer.
His head pillowed on a flattened plastic shopping bag, Sandburg was curled on his side, one hand tucked under his cheek. His mouth hung slightly open, and a soft snore rumbled from deep in his throat. The kid wasn't merely dozing, he was dead to the world. How long had he been out here? Why the heck was he laying in the hallway? Why hadn't he gone inside--
Oh...Oh! Sandburg was laying in the hall because he was waiting for me to come home and let him in...because I had never given him a key. Damn. It hadn't seemed necessary. I mean, the kid had been coming in with me, straight from the station, so he hadn't really needed a key. Besides, he was only going to be here a few days, and I hadn't relished the idea of someone else having a key to my place. Not that I'm paranoid or anything. I'm just...careful.
I knelt beside him and gently shook a shoulder. "Sandburg ...come on, kid, wake up..."
Sandburg stirred, raising his eyelids to half-mast and blinking slowly. His baby blues reflected the exact moment awareness slid into place. He blinked the last of the sleep away and smiled sheepishly, embarrassment coloring his features. With a barely audible groan, he struggled to his feet. I rose with him, taking his elbow when he swayed a bit. Once I was sure he was steady, I pulled my key and unlocked the door. Sandburg grabbed his backpack and the plastic bag and followed me into the loft.
I eyed the bag in his hands, trying to make out the name on the front. I was curious where someone like Sandburg shopped. It wasn't until he plopped it down on the table and headed for the refrigerator that I realized the logo on it belonged to a grocery store. There were definitely clothes inside. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together and figure out the bag was recycled...used bag, used clothes...thrift store.
I sighed, but wisely didn't comment. I'd made the offer to replace his clothes, and it had been refused. There was little more I could do without further offending the kid.
Sandburg was busy pulling items from the 'fridge and setting them on the counter. "Gazpacho and olive salad all right with you, Jim?"
"Sounds good, Chief." I reached around him and snagged a bottled water, twisting off the lid and taking a healthy swig. "Sorry about that..." I waved the bottle toward the door. "We had a hostage situation this afternoon, then I had to go back to the station and file my report. I guess I forgot you didn't have a way in."
"Hey, no problem, man. The nap did me good." He said it with a grin that seemed genuine enough.
I leaned against the counter and watched him work for a minute. "I really should have given you a key, though."
He looked up briefly. "Don't sweat it, Jim. I'm only going to be here two more days, anyhow."
"Oh? Does that mean you've found a place?"
Sandburg didn't answer right away. He was running the blender, his back to me, so I couldn't see his face. By the time he finished and turned around, there was no expression on his face, nothing for me to gauge his response by. "I told you I was going to see a guy about a place, remember? Well, turned out to be just was I was looking for. Kind of small, but clean, close to the university, and best of all, affordable. I think it'll work out pretty good for me."
The kid found a place. Great. He'd be moving out in another day or two. I'd have my privacy back. No more wet towels in the bathroom floor...no more jungle music, or weird smells, or making noises downstairs in the early hours of the morning.
"So...where is this great place, Chief?"
He stuck his head back into the 'fridge as he answered. "Close to the university."
I frowned at the non-answer, but figured I didn't really have a right to pursue it if he didn't want to tell me.
He backed out of the 'fridge empty handed and made brief eye contact with me. Something churned in the depths of his dark blue eyes, but I couldn't quite put a name to it.
"It'll be Saturday before I have a chance to move my things over," he said. "I know that's one day past the deadline, so if it's a problem, I can probably take most of the stuff tomorrow night, after--"
"Not a problem, Sandburg," I hurried to assure him. Hell, what was one more day? "And I'll be glad to help you move your stuff in my truck."
"No. No, that's okay, Jim. I've got it covered. There's not that much left. What there is will fit in my car easily." He grabbed two soup plates from the cabinet and set them on the table. "Saturday it is, then. Thanks, Jim. This is ready, if you want to go wash up."
I forced myself to carry on a normal conversation through dinner. It was easier than I would have guessed, especially with Jim playing along so well. He was easy to prod for details about the hostage situation that had delayed him this afternoon, and the distraction was enough for me to feel relatively secure that the Sentinel in him wouldn't pick up on anything out of the ordinary. I was suddenly grateful that I hadn't had the opportunity yet to teach Jim how to monitor a person's vital signs. I'd been playing around with the notion that Jim could possibly detect a lie by gauging subtle changes in a person, such as an increased pulse rate. I was sure my pulse had to be racing. Good thing, then, I hadn't tested my theory yet. I mean, I wouldn't want him to figure out I was lying about finding a place to move to...right?
I was experiencing a jumble of feelings that I was at a loss to understand. My lie would stand unchallenged. That was what I wanted. Right? Then why did I feel so...disappointed?
I sighed, then quickly turned it into a yawn when Jim looked up. "Sorry. Long day."
Jim gave a half-grin and returned to eating. Normally, I would fill the silence with some kind of story I thought Jim would find interesting, but tonight my thoughts were elsewhere.
I lied to Jim. I couldn't even call this one an embellishment or misdirection. It was an outright, bald-face lie, and I was ashamed to realize I was good at it. Must be, or else Jim would have seen right through it, right? Hell, the man was a detective. Catching people in lies was his job, right? So I must be pretty good at it.
"Pretty good, Chief."
Surprised by the seemingly clairvoyant observation, I blinked dumbly at Jim. Ignoring me, he picked up his empty plate and headed for the sink. Oh. He was referring to the meal, not my talents for lying.
"Thanks." I responded, picking up my half-full plate and following him. I dumped the scraps into the trash and turned to the sink, anxious to finish the clean up and head to my room. Well, my room for a few more days, then it would return to Jim's spare room.
"I'll clean up," Jim offered, taking my plate. "You look beat. Why don't you turn in early for a change?"
I jumped at the offer with only a little guilt, said goodnight, and ducked into my room. Would have been nice to have a door to close, but there wasn't one, so I settled for darkness and the illusionary privacy it offered. Without bothering to undress, I stretched across the small bed.
I'd really put my foot in my mouth this time. Not a new experience for me, by any stretch of the imagination, but for some reason, this time was different. Not only had I lied to Jim, a feeling I didn't like at all, but I'd lied about something that was going to be a little difficult to hide in another couple of days.
My mind started racing through possibilities. Okay, it would be difficult...but not impossible. I began piecing together some plans. Somewhere between classified ads and robbing a bank, I fell asleep.
I had planned to grab a shower, then head straight to bed after Sandburg's dinner, but found myself channel surfing instead. I needed to unwind a bit first. An old war movie caught my attention, and before I knew it, it was two hours later, and I still hadn't had a shower.
Shutting the television off, I moved quickly through my nighttime rituals. As I came out of the bathroom, I glanced into Sandburg's room...funny how I'd become used to thinking of that room as Sandburg's. The kid was sprawled across the bed, fast asleep and still fully dressed. It struck me how easily he fell asleep. I guess it came from burning the candle at both ends and in the middle. His motor seemed to be running at high speed all the time, but when it did finally wind down, he crashed hard. He should have at least taken off his shoes. He couldn't possibly be comfortable like that.
I moved into the room quietly -- though I had a feeling revelry wouldn't have roused him -- and began to pull his shoes off. I grinned in fond amusement at the mismatched socks, but the grin faded a bit when I noticed how threadbare they were at the heels. Okay, the kid didn't make much as a teaching fellow. I'll give him that. But hell, a pair of socks cost what? Two bucks?
I finished stripping the kid down to his boxers and undershirt, then gently worked the blankets from under him and covered him up. Pausing at the door, I glanced back at Sandburg. He hadn't so much as stirred while I was settling him in for the night, but now he rolled to his side, drawing the extra pillow to his chest and hugging it tight.
My eyes drifted around the room, taking in the boxes -- some his, some mine. Not much of a place to call home, even temporarily. I should have moved my things out completely. I could have stored them in the basement. It wouldn't have been that much trouble. And hell, there wasn't even a door. Would it have hurt to have at least hung a curtain so the kid could have had a little privacy? Why hadn't I made even the slightest concession for him?
Because I hadn't wanted a houseguest. Not even a temporary one. But I had to admit, this past week hadn't been so bad. Not like I had envisioned it. Once Larry was gone, the two of us had settled quickly into a routine, sharing the cooking and cleaning chores. Dinner had become something to look forward to. Good food, intelligent conversation, pleasant company. I...well...I kind of liked it. I could see myself possibly getting used to it. I'd been obsessing the past few days about getting my privacy back, but had I really lost it? Sandburg was considerate about staying out of my face, for the most part. He didn't really get in my way too much. Okay, he left wet towels on the bathroom floor, but habits like that could be broken...or maybe tolerated, if I was so inclined.
Was I? So inclined, I mean. Could I get used to having the kid around? Did I want to?
No sense even pursuing that question. Sandburg was moving out. He'd found a place of his own, and I'm sure he was looking forward to getting his own privacy back. It couldn't be easy living with someone like me -- a cynical, world-weary, ex-military cop. Sandburg was too free-spirited to possibly endure such a restrictive atmosphere for long. I'm sure he was counting the days himself.
I looked around the room again, trying to envision it as more than a storage space. If the boxes were moved out...maybe a desk put against that wall...a curtain hung over the door opening...a real bed, instead of that fold out thing...would it be so bad? It wasn't as big as the warehouse Sandburg had been renting, but he'd said the place he was moving to was small, hadn't he? So space might not be his top concern. It would be warm here, and comfortable. Would he be interested in a roommate?
I turned away and headed up the stairs to my own bed. He'd already rented a place of his own. He was moving out. Besides, I didn't need a roommate. Especially one I would have to housebreak. Nope, I decided, stretching out on my bed and pulling the sheet over me, neither of us needed the headaches that would entail.
Raymond Louis Hogan...world's biggest screw up. That's me. It wasn't my fault, though, honest to God! I never intended to hurt anyone. I just...well...I panicked. In hindsight, I can see how stupid it was, but at the time, I just wasn't thinking clearly. My instincts said to run, and I guess I'm just an instinct driven animal. Stupid excuse, huh? I doubt the cops will buy it, either. But hell, it was God's own truth!
If I had just left my apartment five minutes sooner...or, come to think of it, if I'd left five minutes later. See, I managed to time it so that the cop and his...what had he introduced the kid as? His associate? Anyhow, I had managed to time it so that I met up with them at the top of the stairs. They were coming up, I was heading down. The cop evidently recognized me, probably from my mug shot. I got into some minor trouble 'bout a year ago and spent a few months in jail.
So, I was about to head down, barely noticing the two men coming up, until the cop says my name. I looked up and instantly knew I was in trouble. The cop says he just wants to ask me a few questions...like where was I the night before last...who can vouch for me...do I know a "Vance LaHaye"...stuff like that. And that's when I panicked. Not because I'd done anything wrong, mind you, but because...well...okay, I guess I have done a little something wrong. I been hanging with Vance, see, and I knew Vance had been having his own troubles with the law, and I'm sort of on probation, see...See? I ain't technically done nothing wrong, not like the cop was insinuating, but I did violate my parole, and I knew that could mean some more jail time if the cops decided to play hardball. So I panicked...and look where it got me!
I sigh deeply and settle back on the cot in my cell. God, I hope the kid is gonna be all right! If he's hurt bad, I'm gonna in some deep shit, and if I was to forget that, I have a feeling there's a cop or two around here more than willing to remind me. I see the looks they've been throwing my way since I came in. And that big black guy...I shuddered again just remembering the look in his eyes when he came barreling into booking, demanding to know what had happened to "his" men. When the cop that brung me in explained it to him, he threw me a look that made me glad there was fixin' to be metal bars between me and him.
I sigh again, just 'cause it gives me something to do. What a hell of a mess! All I was trying to do was get the hell outta there, you know? Flight instinct kicked in, and I wanted out. The only way out, though, had been past the cop. So, okay, I might have shoved him just a bit, but did that make it my fault? I didn't mean for him to lose his balance like that, or for him to fall into the kid behind him. And was it my fault the kid was standing too close to the top of the stairs? My fault he fell backwards, down the freakin' stairs?
Hell, yeah, it was my fault, I admit silently in the confines of my cell. The kid could have broke his neck. God, he might be paralyzed or something, and it would be MY fault! He's just a kid, for cryin' out loud! He might be crippled for life, and it's my freakin' fault!
I flop back on the cot, suddenly drained of energy. Throwing an arm over my eyes, I decide to do something I haven't done since my mama died...I pray. God, please let the kid be okay.
Being a police captain often has its advantages. This wasn't one of those times. All the flash of my shield managed to get me was a set of directions to the waiting room. Hell, a taxi driver could have accomplished as much.
I turned from the desk and did what I should have done to start with -- scan the waiting room for a familiar face. It didn't take me long to find it. Jim was sitting in the corner, the only part of the large room which was relatively private. His head was tilted to the side, and his eyes were closed. I made my way over to him and sat down, but he didn't even seem to notice my arrival.
"Jim?"
No response.
I leaned closer. "Jim!"
The blue eyes snapped open with a wince, his hands flying to his ears. I realized with a guilty start -- and no small amount of amazement -- he'd been listening to something. I had a feeling I knew what the something was.
"Simon," he finally acknowledged, dropping his hands back to his lap.
"Sorry, Jim. I heard about Sandburg. How is he?"
"They haven't said yet."
I gave him my "you ain't foolin' me" look, the one I used to practice in front of a mirror. It never failed to work on ninety-nine percent of my men. Ellison was usually a toss up, so I added, "You were listening, weren't you?"
He let his eyes drift to the double doors leading to the emergency center beyond and nodded.
"So how's the kid?" I repeated.
"Bruised, sore...possible concussion. He jammed his elbow. They're getting an x-ray, but they don't think it's broken. Six stitches over his eye."
Damn. I'd seen it before, but still...damn. It was amazing what this man could do. It's just...it's...amazing! Would I ever get used to it?
"Sounds like he got off easy," I ventured. Considering the report I'd gotten on the incident, I was relieved it wasn't any worse than that.
"He was lucky," Jim agreed, turning back to face me. "He took a pretty bad fall. Scared the hell out of me. But he was only out for a few minutes." A small smile lit his eyes. "I knew the minute he started arguing against coming here, he was going to be okay." His smile faded. "He was worried about his insurance covering it, I think. I told him the station would take care of it...it was in the line of duty, Simon. I mean, I know he signed a waiver when he started this ride-along, but I figure we can find a way around that."
Jim was looking to me for assurance he hadn't made the promise to Sandburg in vain. What did he think I was, a miracle worker? The kid had signed the waiver, after all. But hell, there were ways around most anything, if you knew where to look. I could make a few calls...maybe I could work something out.
"I'll take care of it, Jim," I heard myself promising. Lord, I hadn't meant to say that. I'd only meant to say I'd look into it, but no promises.
"Thanks, Simon." Jim's gratitude was evident in his expression. "Sandburg shouldn't have to worry about a hospital bill on top of everything else, especially when it's not his fault."
"Everything else?"
"The fire, losing everything...moving."
"The kid's moving out?"
"Yeah. His week's about up, and he found a place...over by the university..."
Now, I might not be the best at reading between the lines, but I had been a detective, and I hadn't made captain on my good looks alone. Jim Ellison was not overjoyed with the news. Color me surprised.
I guess Jim read my expression. "He's a good cook," he offered with a weak smile.
"Right."
"Even if some of his choices are a little...weird." His smile grew.
Before I could form a suitable comeback, the double doors opened and a portly, white man with salt and pepper hair exited. He spotted Jim and started over. We met him halfway.
"Detective Ellison, sorry for the delay. Radiology is backed up, and I wanted to wait for Mr. Sandburg's x-rays before giving you the run down. The young man is going to be fine, though I doubt he believes me at the moment. His elbow isn't broken, but it is badly bruised. Coupled with some rather deep bruising on his chest and back, he's going to be pretty sore for a while. He does have a concussion, but it's relatively minor." He glanced down at the chart in his hands, skimming it quickly. "Other than a few stitches in that laceration on his forehead, I think that about covers it. All in all, I'd say Mr. Sandburg is a lucky young man."
The doctor's report was remarkably similar to the one Jim had given me just moments before.
"You'll be releasing him, then?" Jim asked.
The doctor was silent for a moment, and I could almost see the gears turning in his head. "Is Mr. Sandburg under arrest, Detective?"
Jim's eyes widened in surprise at the question. "No, of course not. He's a victim, not a suspect."
The doctor nodded thoughtfully. "I didn't think so, or there would have been officers in the room. In that case, then, I think I'm going to admit him overnight...for observation."
"I thought you said his injuries were minor?" I questioned.
"They are," he quickly assured us. "But he did lose consciousness..."
"Is there something you're not telling us?" Jim asked, concern filling his expression.
The doctor smiled, a kindly expression that softened his age-lined face. "No, health-wise Mr. Sandburg is going to be fine, other than some spectacular bruising and a sore elbow. I just thought I'd give the boy a warm place to sleep tonight and a couple of square meals."
Now, this is where my training came in...or maybe it was my objectivity. While Jim was standing there with a "what in the hell are you talking about" look on his face, I was putting two and two together and coming up with a winnable answer. "You think Sandburg is homeless." It wasn't a question.
Beginning to show some confusion of his own, the doctor turned to me. "You mean he's not?"
"Hell, no!" Jim snarled. "What made you think he was?"
The doctor had the good grace to look embarrassed by his false assumption. "Well, in part, his physical condition and appearance, and the information he provided us...or rather, the lack of information. He was unable to give us a permanent address or phone number, no emergency contact, no next of kin in the area..."
"His physical condition?" I asked. His appearance I could understand. His clothes had seen better days, that was a given, but the kid had just lost everything in a fire. I guess he hadn't had the chance to replace them yet...though his appearance pre-fire hadn't been exactly GQ -- but hell, he was a student, that's how they dressed, right? Besides, he's Sandburg. Enough said.
"Underweight, exhaustion, low blood sugar..." the doctor listed.
"He's a college student and teaching fellow," Jim explained, finally acknowledging the doctor's point of view. "Plus, he's observing at the station for a paper he's writing. His place recently burned down, and he's sort of between residences, but he's staying with me for the time being."
The doctor nodded thoughtfully. "I guess that would explain it. I'm not so old I can't remember what college life is like. Erratic hours, skipped meals...I'm really rather embarrassed to have reached such a false conclusion--"
"Actually, Doctor," I interrupted his apology, "your concern is commendable."
"Compassion is in the job description," he smiled. "I'm just grateful it's not needed in this instance." He looked up at Jim again. "You say he's staying with you, Detective Ellison?"
Jim nodded.
"In that case, I'm going to go ahead and release him into your care. I don't foresee any problems, but he did lose consciousness, so the potential is there. I'll have the nurse give you an instruction sheet on what to watch for."
"I had some medic training in the military."
"Good, good...then you know the drill. He'll be sore for a few days -- he can take ibuprofen for that. He'll need to either come back here or see his own doctor in about five to seven days to have the stitches removed. His blood glucose levels are a little lower than I would like, so you need to be sure he eats a proper meal tonight. If there are no questions, I'll have them get started on his paperwork so you can take him home. In the mean time, that young man is going to have to sit through one of my lectures on taking better care of himself."
I tried not to stare, a feat made easier by the fact that I was driving, which sort of required my eyes to make contact with the road ahead of me every so often. My gaze, however, seemed to have its own agenda. It kept sliding over to the passenger seat, where Sandburg was sitting, his good arm cradling his injured elbow. I could only imagine how miserable he was. The doctor had said there was some spectacular bruising. I didn't doubt it, considering the kid tumbled down a full flight of stairs.
My breath caught audibly at the memory. I never saw it coming. One minute I was questioning Hogan, and the next, he exploded. He wasn't even a suspect, only a potential witness. The last thing I had expected was for him to strike out like he did. That was my first mistake. Hogan slammed into me, pushing me into Sandburg, which caused him to take a step back in an attempt to regain his balance. It was a chain reaction I was helpless to stop. I'll never forget the expression of fear on the kid's face when he realized he was falling. It was the longest ten seconds of my life. I swear it took a lifetime for him to come to a stop on the landing below. By the time I got Hogan secured and got to the bottom of the steps, Sandburg was already coming to, bruised, bloody from a gash over his right eye, and more than a little embarrassed.
"Jim?"
Sandburg's voice brought me back to the present with a jolt. I blinked, surprised at the death grip I had on the steering wheel.
"You were growling, man." I could hear a smile in Sandburg's voice.
"I was not," I protested weakly, as I relaxed my grip and took stock on my surroundings. We were only a few miles from the loft, and I didn't even remember getting here.
"Were, too."
I risked a glance in the kid's direction. Yep, I was right -- a huge grin split his face. "Smart ass."
"You want to tell me why you were growling, Jim?"
"I wasn't growling. People don't growl."
"Suit yourself," he conceded, going back to his observation of passing scenery. "But you did growl."
I took advantage of his inattention to study him as objectively as I could. I had to admit, albeit reluctantly, I could see how the doctor could have reached his outrageous conclusion. Sandburg was too thin, though it wasn't surprising, if you thought about it. He ate plenty, but was always on the run -- grabbing a muffin or bagel on his way out the door in the morning, or stuffing down a sandwich on the way to an interview or stakeout in the afternoon. Like I said, he ate plenty, he just burned it right back off trying to keep his hyperactive motor running.
Then there were the dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in days, which was probably true. I'd heard him typing away on his computer until the wee hours of the morning every night since he'd moved in. Doing his school work, I imagined. God knows when he'd do it during sane hours. His days were booked solid, it seemed. Maybe he should slow down and get some sleep and a few decent meals for a change. I should talk to him. I mean, he didn't have to come to the station every afternoon. I was a big boy. I could manage without him.
So his appearance, I was willing to concede, could lead one to the wrong conclusion. But what I didn't get was the information he'd provided the hospital. No permanent address? Why the blank on that? He'd rented a place just a couple of days ago. That would constitute permanent, wouldn't you think? At least temporarily permanent, as the case may be.
"Chief..." I waited until he tore his attention from the fascinating scenery of cookie cutter houses to look in my direction. "Why didn't you give your new place as an address on the forms at the hospital?"
His eyes narrowed. "How do you know what I put on the forms?"
Oops. Busted. Damn, how was I going to explain that without telling him what the doctor had thought?
"Why do you have that look on your face, Jim?"
"What look?"
"You know what look. Don't avoid the question. How did you get a hold of my forms?"
I sighed. Deeply. Damn. "I didn't. The doctor told us--"
"Us? As in you and Simon? He told you personal information from my file?" Anger was creeping into his tone.
"He was concerned, Chief. He was just doing his job. He didn't want to release you in your condition if you didn't have anywhere to go." I risked another glance in his direction. His body language was mute for once. "So...why didn't you give your new address?"
"I couldn't remember it."
Sandburg, of the near perfect memory? Now why didn't I buy that? "You could have given them my address."
"They just wanted a place to send the bills, Jim." He let out a weary sigh, and I could practically hear the anger leaving with it. "Look, I had just taken a header down a flight of stairs, my head hurt, I was a little fuzzy. I didn't remember my new address. It's no big deal. They can send the bills to the university. I'll get them there."
"There isn't a new address." I don't know how I knew, but I did. He was lying. Sandburg was lying to me.
He was silent, looking out the window again.
"Blair?"
He answered without turning. "No, Jim, there isn't a new address."
"Why?"
"My week is up. You've been great letting me stay with you, but you're a very private person, Jim. You wanted your space back, and I can't say I blame you, man."
"Why lie?" I pushed. I needed an answer. I needed to know why he'd felt compelled to lie to me about this.
"I just didn't want you to feel like you had to let me stay. I'm between paychecks right now, and though I'm expecting payment on a couple of articles I wrote, I'm going to have to use that to replace some of my textbooks. I've got a few friends who owe me. I'll rotate through them until I have enough saved to rent a place of my own. It's no big deal, I've done it before."
I was silent for a minute, absorbing his little spiel.
"I didn't mean to lie to you, Jim." He had turned, finally, to face me. "I was...well, I was embarrassed. Pride answered for me before I could think it through. I'm sorry."
I didn't answer right away, my mind still running over his confession.
"I really do have someplace to stay for a week or so. I've already made the arrangements. I'll be out on Saturday, just like I
said--"
"Sandburg, you're injured, in case you've forgotten. You're in no condition to sleep on someone's couch. Just put your plans on hold for a while and stay put. We'll figure something out later."
He opened his mouth to protest, so I threw him one of my patented "don't argue" looks. To my amazement, it worked. His protest died a silent death.
"Thanks, Jim."
I got a reprieve. I should be grateful. But sitting here on Jim's couch, thumbing through the channels on Jim's television, invading Jim's territory, while he's gone to buy food with his money, all I can feel is embarrassment and shame. I lied to Jim, and I got caught. The man will never believe anything I say ever again.
With a sigh, I clicked the "off" button and threw the remote violently at the overstuffed chair across the room. A nice, safe outlet for pent up emotions. Not very satisfying, though. I was so angry with myself. If I had just told Jim the truth in the beginning...
What? What would have happened if I'd gone to Jim and said, Hey man, I don't have the money to stand on my own two feet right now, but I'm gonna nag some friends into taking pity on me for a few weeks, so I'll be out of your hair by Saturday, okay?
I gave an embarrassed chuckle into the emptiness of Jim's loft. I know exactly what would have happened. The man would have done just what he's doing now. He would have swallowed his disappointment, pretended it was no big deal and extended his deadline. So, I have an extra week or so. Hurray. How much better off financially will I be in a week, especially now that I've got the added hospital expenses?
I can't believe the doctor was going to admit me to keep me off the streets...and he'd said as much to Jim and Simon! How humiliating! I'd never be able to face Jim's boss again. Okay, so my clothes were looking a little...used...that's what comes from shopping the thrift stores. It wasn't like I was dirty...though I guess I might have been a little less than pristine. Hell, I'd fallen down a flight of stairs! I'd like to see that doctor do that without getting a little grime on his spotless, white lab coat. And yeah, that address thing might have given him the wrong idea. I could maybe see that. But homeless?! Come on...
Okay. I could see the doctor's point. Damn. I really was pathetic.
Somewhere between pathetic and mortified, I must have drifted off. When I woke, I was stretched out on the couch, a pillow under my head and a light blanket over me. I was so warm and comfortable, I didn't want to wake up, but the voice beside me had other ideas.
"Dinner's ready, Chief. You want to wake up enough to sit up, or do you want me to just spoon feed where you are?"
I could hear the smirk in the man's voice, and had no doubt he would do just that. With a groan which adequately described my bruised state, I opened my eyes and struggled to a more upright position. Jim set the tray he was holding on the coffee table and helped. Once I was settled, he moved the tray to my lap.
"Wow!" I was impressed. I didn't know Jim could cook. Well, I mean, I knew he could cook, but he usually just ordered out on the nights it was his turn for dinner. This...this was a real meal...steak -- already cut into bite sized pieces in deference to my injured arm -- stuffed potato, squash, rolls, salad...the works.
"Hey, I'm offended by the insinuation in that 'wow'," Jim protested with a frown.
"Sorry," I offered, not meaning it one bit. "This looks great. What's the occasion?"
"Doc said you could use a few more pounds."
I swallowed my embarrassment, determined not to put a damper on such a nice meal. Jim had obviously gone to a great deal of trouble on my account. I didn't want him to think I was ungrateful. "A few more pounds, huh? Then I think I'll have ice cream for dessert."
Jim grinned. "I thought as much. Rocky Road, in the freezer."
"Cool." My smile was genuine. "That's my favorite."
"I know." At my surprised look, he added, "You're not the only one around here trained in the fine art of observation, you know."
Rather than offer up one of the many smart assed retorts that sprang to mind, I dug in. I really was famished, and the food was great. Jim went back to the kitchen and retrieved an identically laden tray. He detoured by the chair, scooped up the remote, then settled in beside me on the couch.
We ate our meal in near silence while we watched an old western on the classic movie channel. The movie wasn't so hot, but the meal was wonderful and the company was...well, it was Jim. I was struck by how much I was going to miss this when I moved out.
As though reading my mind, Jim suddenly said, "This is nice."
"Yeah," I said wistfully.
"Sure beats a sandwich eaten alone in front of the late news."
"I'll bet." I eyed Jim suspiciously. That was an odd comment to make off the wall like that.
"In fact, I could probably get used to this. The company, I mean."
"Um...okay..." I wasn't sure what he meant by that.
"I was thinking...maybe it's not so bad. The company, I mean."
"What are you trying to say, Jim?"
He leaned forward, setting his tray on the coffee table, then fished around in his pocket. He pulled something out, but kept it hidden in his closed hand. "I just think that maybe this arrangement isn't so bad. I mean, you can cook pretty decent...when you have the time. You have some halfway interesting stories, so conversation is...interesting. You are a slob, though."
"I'm a slob..." I repeated, kind of stunned at the track this conversation was taking.
"Yeah, you are. A real pig, if you want to know the truth. But that's fixable, I think. You just need the right motivation."
"Motivation...like?"
"Well, like...I don't know...incentive, maybe. Like, if you pick up your wet towels in the bathroom, maybe I'll let you watch the Jags game with me. You wash the dishes, and I'll let you have dessert. That kind of motivation."
"What are you getting at, Jim?" I thought I knew what he was trying to tell me, but I haven't had a lot of practice with macho male-speak, and I didn't want to risk getting this wrong.
He held out his hand, the one holding whatever he'd taken from his pocket. I hesitated, then stuck out my good hand. He dropped something into my open palm. I drew my hand back, my eyes widening as I realized I was holding a key.
"It's to the front door," Jim explained.
I had pretty much figured that out already. I mean, I didn't think it was to his truck, so what else could it have been? "Why?"
"Well, you know, some of the neighbors have been complaining about the shifty-eyed kid hanging around my door when I'm not home."
"Shifty-eyed?"
"That was Mrs. Burkholder. Actually, I think the words she used were 'soft blue eyes that remind me of an ocean breeze on a spring morning', but you have to read between the lines. She meant shifty-eyed."
"She wants me," I stated matter-of-factly.
"Sandburg, she's got to be pushing ninety. She wouldn't know what to do with you if she had you."
"You might be surprised, man. Ninety years of experience...know what I mean?" I waggled my eyebrows to make my point.
"Pervert."
"Takes one to know one."
"Very mature comeback, kid."
I returned my attention to the key, still laying innocently in my hand. "Cute," I commented, referring to the attached key chain that read, "Flower Child, Gone to Seed".
"Appropriate, don't you think? Ready for that ice cream?"
"Jim..." We needed to discuss this, but I was damned if I knew where to start.
"Look," Jim said, standing and taking my tray, "you don't have to decide right now. Just give it some thought. I was just thinking maybe it's not so bad living here. We can work out something later about the rent or whatever. Something reasonable. It's not much of a room, I know, but we can move out the extra stuff I've got stored in there, hang a curtain to give you some privacy, maybe get a desk, a couple of bookshelves for your stuff. It could be comfortable. If you're interested, that is. Just think about it."
I wasn't imagining it. Jim really was offering to let me stay. Here. In his home. Permanently. Or, at least, long term. Wow!
Jim came back with two bowls piled high with ice cream, and a small bag stuffed under his arm. As he sat down, he handed me one of the bowls and pulled the bag out, tossing it onto my lap.
"What's this?"
"A present," he answered around a huge bite of ice cream.
"It's not my birthday."
Jim swallowed before replying. "Then consider it a 'Welcome Home' gift."
My throat tightened unexpectedly at his words. Welcome Home... home...I dropped my head, letting my hair swing forward to hide my expression as I felt tears threaten. This just seemed to be my day for humiliation. I concentrated on opening the bag, determined not to further embarrass myself. As I looked inside, though, my embarrassment was forgotten in favor of confusion. It was a pair of socks. Dark purple and green plaid.
"They're hideous, Jim," I said before I could stop myself. Guess that sounded really ungrateful. They were a gift, after all. I looked up to see Jim grinning from ear to ear.
"Yeah, they are, aren't they? Reminded me of you."
"Gee, thanks, man. I'm touched."
"Yeah, you're touched, all right."
"Well, I'd have to be to wear these things."
"They match that vest thingy you were wearing the other day."
"Vest thingy? Is that a technical term, Jim? And I don't care what they match, I'll look like a clown in these things."
"That won't stop you from wearing them, though, will it?" His grin grew.
"Not at all," I grinned back.
"Just not when you're with me, okay?"
"No deal, man. I want the world to know you bought them for me." Interesting conversation in exchange for a home, huh? No problem... I could do that... "I wonder what Mrs. Burkholder would think of them? You know, there's this one culture in Uruguay that believes purple to be a sexually stimulating color..."
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