Safety in Numbers?

by Dusty Tyree

Detective Jim Ellison contemplated the contents of the vending machine with unfavourable eyes.  Not a lot of choice, but beggars couldn't afford to be choosy.

Neither he nor Blair could afford the time to go out for lunch.  With the Christmas holidays looming, less than three days away, every detective was working hard to clear the backlog of paperwork which had resulted from a series of quite successful closures of open cases.

At least Sandburg was off the streets; he couldn't get into much trouble tied to the desk with a sprained ankle, sustained when he'd followed Jim over a wall whilst the detective was chasing a fleet-footed suspected thief.

At least this time, there hadn't been any gunplay... the perp had simply ran out of space - into a dead-end alley to be precise  - and had just surrendered. Jim had cuffed the out-of-breath young man and led him back to where Blair was sitting on an upturned crate beside the wall which had been his downfall; waiting resignedly for the expected Ellison lecture on doing what he was told.

Ellison, however, seeing the downcast face and the way the younger man was rubbing his ankle had decided that Blair had got the message - this time at least.

He'd even let Sandburg persuade him that he didn't need to go to ER, Jim could tell whether the ankle was broken or not... and the ER would be heaving with hundreds of people.

Jim's mouth quirked in a reluctant smile as he remembered the way the blue eyes of the student had looked so earnestly up at him.

"Hundreds, Chief?"

The curly head had nodded. Blair's expressive face not quite hiding his relief as Jim seemed to be okay with his latest escapade.

"Okay... let me take a look..."

Ellison had ascertained that the ankle was indeed sprained and not broken, and he'd helped the younger man back into the truck and driven back to the Station, the perp riding in the back, handcuffed to the tailgate.   It was uncomfortable, but Jim didn't let that worry him.  In his view, the would-be thief deserved a little discomfort for the upset he'd caused the elderly couple he'd tried to rob, not to mention Blair and Jim.  Besides, it was only a ten minute trip to the Station.

It had taken just a few minutes with the First Aid box for Blair's ankle to be taped to the Sentinel's exacting standards. The grad student was now sitting at Jim's desk, his leg elevated on a stool with ice from the fridge to keep the swelling down, typing up the report from this arrest and the various ones from their recent surveillances.  That should keep him out of mischief for the rest of the day.

Then...home ... and a whole week's leave.

This year they would be sharing their Christmas vacation with the Ellison family.

Jim smiled a little.  That had a nice ring to it. The Ellison Family.

Jim's father and brother Stephen, and various relatives would be converging on the big house he'd grown up in...

With one very important addition. 

His friend and partner, Blair Sandburg.  A brother in everything else, if not in blood. Which made their somewhat strange relationship all the more precious - to them both.

Jim was looking forward to seeing how Blair would cope with the many varied personalities which made up his relatives; he was sure that his room mate would manage very well. Sandburg was well able to look after himself, especially in any discussions that would take place, if his remembrance of past family functions was anything to go by.  And if anyone did get out of line, well, he wasn't named Blair's Blessed Protector for nothing.

Back in the Bullpen, Blair was sitting at his desk, well technically it was Detective James Ellison's desk - but the time he'd spent here, typing his own and Jim's reports, surely he could call it his desk too.

Anyway, he was sitting here, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his ankle, waiting for Jim to come back with something for them both to eat, when all hell broke loose.

One, very drunk biker, complete with tattoos all over the exposed parts of his massive chest and bulging biceps, had escaped from the two uniformed cops who had been bringing him in. Not knowing where he was going, he’d run straight into the large room, full of armed detectives and was now creating havoc with wildly swinging arms, his cuffed wrists not even slightly slowing him down.

Blair had swung around at the first roar of drunken rage, just in time to see Henri Brown and one of the uniforms fling themselves onto the drunk.  A few moments later, the uniformed man went flying, straight into Sandburg's chair and they both went to the floor, the smaller man underneath.   

Henri hung on, but from the expression on his face everyone realised it was only a matter of time before he joined his companions on the floor.

As more of the detectives joined in the fight, a tall figure came running into the room,   wrapped sandwiches in hand. After taking one look to ascertain what was going on, Jim Ellison dropped his lunch onto the nearest desk and launched himself at the biker.

As a couple of meaty fists came swinging round at his head, Jim ducked and with two stiffened fingers jabbed the large man in the diaphragm.

As all the air rushed out of his lungs, the biker coughed, choked and dropped to his knees, winded by the well-placed jab.

Ellison had known just where to strike to disable rather than kill, and watched as the biker went down, gasping for breath.  He rarely used any of his more lethal skills acquired in his Army days, but the drunk could've done serious damage to everyone in the bullpen.   He knew that the man would recover with hardly a bruise, but he was angry that it had even been necessary.   How the hell had he got in here?

With a swift check to see Henri and the others were able to handle the now subdued drunk, Ellison ran towards where his partner lay sprawled limply on the floor.  The uniformed man who'd knocked the young observer over, was slowly getting to his feet, one hand holding the edge of the desk, but the observer was still, his limbs entangled with the legs of the overturned chair.

"Chief?  Blair?" Ellison lifted the chair off his partner and bent over the sprawled body, swiftly checking for a pulse, closing his eyes in relief when he found it beating evenly.  "Come on, Blair... you with me, buddy?"

Blair groaned, long, dark lashes fluttering as he tried to open his eyes.

He lifted his head, then moaned and clutched his middle, legs curling instinctively to protect his already abused stomach muscles.

"Okay, take it easy," Jim said softly, "let me see?"

His fingers ghosted over the younger man's torso, feeling for any damage.

Blair coughed and gasped "Wha... happ' nd?"

"You got caught up in a fight?" said Jim, frowning at the heat he could feel from the bruises forming on his partner's body.

Calvert, the uniformed officer, who’d hit Blair, had now regained the breath which had been knocked out of him and leaned over Jim's shoulder.

"Sorry, Sandburg... that drunk was too strong, couldn't hold onto him.  Are you okay?"

"Tell... ina.. min..." Blair gasped, still not able to draw a full breath.

"Keep still, Chief.  I think you've got a cracked rib."

Blair managed to roll his eyes.  "Nice... pres'nt for Christmas..."

"I'm so sorry, kid."  Calvert said anxiously. "Do we need an ambulance?" he looked at Ellison.

"Maybe...let's get you up off the floor, Chief."

With Calvert's help, Jim eased Blair off the floor and into his chair.

There was a bruise on Blair's forehead where he'd hit the desk leg, and Jim knew that this time a trip to ER was inevitable.  Blair had been unconscious for a few minutes, and that always had to be checked out.

Simon Banks, Captain of the Major Crime Unit came running into the Bullpen.  He still had his overcoat on and had obviously run up the stairs instead of using the lift.

"What happened, Jim?  I heard the commotion from downstairs."

"Drunk got loose, flung Calvert here across the room, he cannoned into Sandburg; Blair has what I suspect is a cracked rib, and he was unconscious for a couple of minutes." Jim reported concisely.

"Hell!" Banks said with feeling. "Trip to ER. I guess?"

"Oh no..." groaned Blair. 

"Yep, afraid so Chief."

Ellison shook his head sadly. "So much for keeping out of trouble." 

He looked up at Banks.  "I was just congratulating myself on the fact that Sandburg couldn't get into any trouble in the Bullpen, surrounded by armed cops of every size...safety in numbers."

"And it was an armed cop who hurt him," said Calvert miserably.

Blair turned cloudy eyes on the other man.   His head throbbed, his ankle was giving him hell, but he knew Calvert hadn't hurt him deliberately.

"Don't worry about it, Billy," he said slowly, trying to smile. "I would probably have found another way to get to go to the ER."

Jim and Simon rolled their eyes, but inwardly Ellison sighed. 

The sad thing was that Blair had just spoken the truth.

Safety in numbers... when the fates had it in for Blair, there didn't seem to be a safe place anywhere.

At least this time, it was minor... and they would still have Christmas to look forward too.

That would be okay...

It would...wouldn't it?

Hastily, Jim stopped thinking... you never really knew who - or what - was listening.

(C) Dusty Tyree

20 May 2005