|
Marathon Man Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em, Pet Fly, etc., do. Have no rights to them, just love playin’ with them. Warnings: A little language, nothing much. Rating: FRT Characters: Blair, Jim, Simon, Megan, Rafe and Henri Notes: Written as a response to the April themefic challenge on the Sentinel Angst list: CHALLENGE:
We would like to read fun, day-in-the-life kind of stories. Ideally,
these would be stories involving all of Major Crimes. Pre-TSbBS
so no Blair as a cop stories, please. Warm fuzzies and a little
smarm is encouraged.
“Look, Chief, all I’m saying is that this couldn’t have come at a worse time. The marathon is in five days, and you have the most money riding on your participation.” “You think I don’t know this? But it’s not like Professor Wharton planned to have emergency surgery this morning.” “And there’s no one else, in the entire University, that can fill in,” James Ellison said sarcastically. Blair Sandburg heaved a sigh and stared up at his friend. In a soft voice, he said disappointedly. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.” Still irritated, the Sentinel went on. “What’s to understand? Between what you already have going on at Cascade, plus your work with me at Major Crimes, you’re already over-extended. Hell, you fell asleep at the dinner table last night! And now you plan on taking over three more classes for an entire week? You’ll be flat on your face before Saturday morning. Not to mention that, even if you did show up for the marathon, you aren’t gonna have time to train this week. You won’t make it five miles!” “I’m touched by your concern for my welfare, but I’ll be fine.” Sandburg’s tone was as sarcastic has Ellison’s had been. “You’re a grown up, Chief; you do what you want to yourself. My concern is for the 200 volunteers and the thousand or so kids counting on the money we raise for the Childrens’ Charities. You have enough pledges that you could bring in over a thousand dollars yourself.” Heaving a sigh, the younger man leaned against the Detective’s desk. “Look, Jim, no one wants to see that happen more than me. But this is an opportunity I can’t pass up. It’s an honor to be trusted with this, and it’s a way for me to score points with the powers that be.” Ellison knew the anthropologist was right. He had gotten into trouble at the University several times lately. It had been minor things, but taking this on would score him much needed points. Shaking his head, the bigger man said, “I just hope you know what you’re doing, Chief.”
Saturday. Six-twenty-seven a.m. Blair woke to the sound of a firmly closing door. He scrubbed his hands over his face, then rubbed at tired, aching eyes. He had gotten maybe three hours of sleep at the most every night all week long, and that was typically in his office chair at CU. Finally last night, he had crawled into bed a little after midnight. He heaved a sigh, knowing that Jim had already left for the marathon, which was slated to start at eight a.m. The participants had to check in no later than seven-thirty. With a groan, he tossed back the covers and pushed his aching body up off the bed. Padding across the bedroom floor, he scratched his chest through his partially buttoned, red shirt. He had managed to pull off his shoes and jeans before falling into bed a few hours ago, but was still wearing his shirt, boxers and socks. Shuffling into the kitchen, he poured himself a cup of coffee. He finished two cups before moving away from the counter with a third. His stomach was already protesting the bitter brew; he had lived on it most of the week. Moving to the refrigerator he opened the door, rummaging around for something to eat. Settling on some cold hummus, he shoveled it in his mouth with his fingers. Finishing his impromptu meal, he headed for the bathroom, pulling off his shirt as he did. He had just enough time for a shower before he took off.
Jim joined the other members of Major Crimes who had already arrived. He had left the loft later than he had planned, waiting for Sandburg to wake up. When that hadn’t happened, he had left, all but slamming the door in his frustration. He couldn’t help the irritation in thinking that the young man wouldn’t be able to manage the marathon. The Cascade Police Department had made the Childrens’ Charities their focus for charitable work. And in a friendly rivalry, each inner-department was focused on raising more money than the others. And James Ellison was bound and determined to see that Major Crimes came out on top. He and Simon Banks had gone to bat getting it cleared so that Blair could participate in the first place. There had been a lot of argument that, as an observer, the young man wasn’t really part of the CPD. To think that after all of that, not to mention the fact that Blair had gotten the most pledges – the man’s natural, boyish, charm did have its uses – that he wouldn’t even show up, was driving Jim up the wall. “Hey Jim, where’s the kid?” Ellison looked up to see the Lieutenant coming toward him. Averting his eyes, he stared into the distance as he muttered, “He’s not here, Simon.” Banks frowned and burrowed his fists into his hips. “I didn’t quite catch that, Jim. Where is he?” Heaving a sigh, Jim repeated a little more loudly, “He’s not here, Simon.” “Well, where is he? The deadline’s just twenty minutes away.” “You think I don’t know that?” Ellison’s blue eyes snapped with growing anger and his words were terse. “Don’t jump me, detective. I simply asked a question.” Taking a deep breath, the Sentinel ran a hand over his face. “Sorry, Simon. I’m just a little annoyed at Blair. He took on a lot more than he could handle all week, and now he’s gonna miss the marathon.” “I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Rafe observed from where he was listening in nearby. When the two men looked in his direction, he canted his head and motioned behind them. Simon and Jim turned to see Blair Sandburg heading in their direction. The younger man was dressed in running shorts and their team shirt, his long hair pulled back tight in a ponytail. As he neared them, the other members of the Major Crimes team saw just how tired the anthropologist was. Dark circles ringed slightly glassy, blue eyes and his usual ruddy complexion was tinged with gray. Frowning down at the smaller man, Simon Banks said, “You look like hell, Sandburg.” Managing a grin, Blair said, “Gee, thanks, Simon.” Megan Conner regarded the young man. With a compassionate expression the Australian asked, “Are you sure you’re up to this, Sandy?” Shrugging, the object of the group’s scrutiny replied, “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”
The runners were gathered at the starting line, teams gathered together in small knots. Blair had managed to get in some stretches, warming up for the run ahead. He had also psyched himself out for it, convincing himself that he had the strength and endurance to cross the finish line. It was, after all, only twenty miles. He had run longer courses before. Of course he had been rested and had trained steadily for weeks for them. Shaking his head, the young man steered his thoughts away from those that could defeat him. “I can do this. I can make it. I’ll cross the finish line.” Standing to one side of him, Conner said, “Talking to yourself, Sandy?” With an embarrassed grin, the brunet said, “Yeah, I guess so.” Talk came to an end as the race officials began to speak. They listened dutifully while the obligatory rules and regulations were reviewed. Then they all poised, waiting for the marathon to begin. As the starting gun was fired, three hundred runners moved off toward a common destination.
The first five miles passed with relative ease. He could feel his strength waning a bit, but it wasn’t yet enough to slow him much. The others were ahead of him, Jim nearly a block up and the others jogging along between them. He noticed that the Sentinel glanced back every few yards, however, as if gauging his endurance. During the course of the second five miles, Sandburg felt his body beginning to protest more and more loudly. It seemed to take more effort and concentration just to keep moving; to keep one foot moving out in front of the other; to keep his lungs drawing in enough air. At the halfway point, he faltered, nearly falling to his knees. He was surprised to feel someone grab hold of him, lifting him back to his feet. Turning, he blinked the sweat from his eyes and found Jim beside him. He managed a grin and a winded, “Thanks, man.” Nodding, Ellison said, “Come on, Chief, we’re halfway there.” As the third five miles passed, Blair was becoming resigned to not finishing. He was moving at nothing more than a fast walk, his feet barely lifting from the ground. His legs felt like rubber, while his chest was burning from a lack of oxygen. His vision had tunneled, only blurs letting him know that he was being passed by most of the other runners. He felt a hand on his elbow, steadying him. Then another hand was gripping his other elbow. He managed to look from one side to another, finding Simon on one side of him and Megan on the other. They kept him moving between them, giving him a little time to recover. A short time later, his two friends moved away, giving him parting words of encouragement as they sprinted ahead. He found himself less inclined to believe that he wouldn’t make it now, if nothing more than for the reason that he knew his friends were pulling for him. Just after the beginning of the last quarter of the marathon, Blair stumbled and fell, tumbling several feet along the asphalt. He struggled to catch his breath and found himself lifted to his feet. Rafe, Megan, Henri, Simon and Jim all stood around him, putting up a barrier that kept the runners behind from running into him. “You’re bleeding,” Henri observed. Blair looked down and saw that both knees were badly skinned and one shin had a long scratch along it. The palms of his hands were also scraped. Shrugging it off, he said, “They’re just scratches, I’ll keep.” “We should have someone look after them,” Megan argued. Shaking his head, Sandburg said, “I’ll have them tended to when we get to the finish line.” With that, he took off at a slow jog, the others jogging along beside him.
They were still moving as a group when they reached the finish line. Most of the other participants had already crossed, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that they had finished. All of them. As they moved around a little, cooling off slowly to avoid cramps and other nasty surprises, they took turns keeping Sandburg on his feet. It was only when they felt he had cooled off enough that they guided him toward the first aid tent. There Simon and Jim helped him onto one of the cots, before moving back outside, out of the way. A short time later the young man limped out to rejoin his friends. Both knees were swathed in bandages, bandaids covering the deepest part of the long scratch on his shin as well. Clear gel covered the rest of the scratch, as well as the scrapes on his hands. He was pale; the dark circles had deepened, making his eyes seem even bluer than ever. As he reached the others, Jim helped him into a jacket. “How’re you doin’, Chief?” “I hurt,” Sandburg responded honestly. “You did great, though. The kids are really going to appreciate all that money.” Banks said with a broad grin. “And they’ve learned a valuable lesson in dedication, too,” Conner added. Blair looked up, for the first time noticing that there were many, many kids milling around the finish line. “Where’d they come from?” “Many of the volunteers as well as the kids came to help out today,” Rafe explained. Just then half a dozen young children broke away from the others, moving toward them. They stopped in front of Blair and one young girl asked bashfully, “Are you okay, mister?” Mustering up a smile, Sandburg said, “I’m fine.” Eyeing the white bandages, a small boy asked, “Do they hurt?” Shrugging, the brunet said, “A little, not too much, though.” One of the older children looked at him with frank awe. In a hushed tone, he said, “Thanks, mister.” His smile widening, Blair nodded. “You’re welcome.”
A small convoy pulled up at the loft. Jim climbed out of his truck, coming around just as Sandburg was pulling himself gingerly from the passenger seat. He put out a hand to steady the smaller man, grimacing as a pain-filled groan came from his friend. “Stiffening up already?” “Yeah,” Blair said through gritted teeth. Rafe came up behind them, and held out the keys to Sandburg’s car. “Think you can get him upstairs, or do you need some help?” The handsome man quipped with a smile. Chuckling, Ellison said, “I think we can make it.” Slapping Sandburg on the shoulder, Rafe said, “Good job, hairboy. We’ll see you on Monday,” before turning back and heading for the third vehicle in the line-up. A minute later, he and Henri were driving off, blowing the horn as they passed the two men on the sidewalk.
A short time later, Jim was helping the smaller man into the loft. Blair was barely moving now, every step an effort. His knees were sending arrows of pain up and down his legs, causing him to walk stiff-legged as he kept from bending his knees any more than absolutely necessary. “Why don’t you go take a hot shower and I’ll fix us some lunch?” Ellison offered. “I’ll patch you back up when you come out.” “I’d argue… but that’s an offer I can’t refuse,” Sandburg replied as he moved toward the bathroom. A short time later he was striped down, standing beneath water as hot as he could stand it. He moaned softly as the heat began to penetrate his aching muscles. The young man stood there as long as he could, emerging from the shower only when the water was beginning to cool. He managed to pull on some shorts and a tee-shirt before limping back to the kitchen. The table was littered with bandages and salves, waiting for him. Jim was at the stove, heating up some soup. He turned and pointed toward a chair. “Sit.” Easing himself to the seat with another groan, Sandburg stretched his legs out straight. His friend came over, pulled up a second chair, and coaxed him to lift them to that seat. He managed to lift one, and then the other, resting them on the seat. Jim worked quickly and efficiently, and soon the younger man’s knees were once more covered in gauze, gel covering the other injuries as well. Finishing, he quickly cleared the first aid materials away, washed up, and brought over a bowl of soup to the man. “Here you go, Chief.” Sandburg stared at the bowl blearily, wondering if he could manage to lift the spoon sitting in it to his lips. Then, turning sideways awkwardly, he leaned forward, and began to eat. He looked up after a few bites, nodding to the other man. Jim was sitting across from him, eating his own lunch. “This is great, man, thanks.” With a faint grin, Ellison said, “Figured it was the least I could do for the hero of the day.” The Guide blushed dropping his gaze. “I’m not a hero.” “I think there are a lot of kids out there who would disagree with you. There are some cops who would disagree, too. It took guts to finish the race, considering how tired you were.” Blair shrugged, not certain of what to say to that. Finally he settled on a simple, “Thanks.” A few minutes later the soup and a tall glass of lemonade had disappeared. Sandburg sat at the table, dark lashes fluttering as he fought to keep his eyes opened. Jim reached down and carefully pulled the drowsy man to his feet. “Come on, Chief, time for bed.” With a sigh, the young man mumbled, “That’s the best offer I’ve had all week.” The End |
