Title: Coping 7: Black Out
Author: Grey
E-mail address: Grey853@aol.com
Rating: NC-17 for explicit language, disturbing content, and implied violence
Pairing: J/B
Status: New/Complete
Date: April 16, 1998
Archive: Yes to both
Archive author: Grey
Archive e-mail: Grey853@aol.com
Series/Sequel: The 7th in the Coping Series.
Website: http://grey.ravenshadow.net

Disclaimer: These characters belong to others, but sharing is a wonderful thing.

Summary: Jim's behavior gets out of control, so Blair seeks help from Simon. Jim and Simon have an alpha male showdown.

WARNINGS: This deals with the issue of domestic abuse. If that's an issue for you or you don't want to see Jim and Blair in such a light, DON'T read this piece. It disturbed and depressed me and I wrote it.

Notes: This one is for Shirley Smiley who loves Blair Angst beyond reason. She gave me my own webpage and all she wanted was a dark story where Jim gets to lose control, take it out on Blair, and then Simon gets to go ballistic. I didn't think that was too much to ask. Just thought I'd mention it, so you can blame her along with me when you get pissed off at this version of Jim. And, believe me, you will get pissed off.

Coping 7: Black Out
by Grey
Grey853@aol.com

Blair Sandburg stepped gingerly down the hallway, his bare feet tip-toeing to avoid as much noise as possible. He wanted to be out of the loft before Jim woke up and started in again. God, he didn't have a clue about what to tell Simon about his partner's moods lately.

"Hey, Chief, why do I smell blood? You cut yourself on a bagel again?"

The groggy voice grumbled down from upstairs, and Blair cringed. The young man didn't know which was worse, having a lover hurt you and not care or having one who didn't even remember doing it. He just needed to get away for awhile, clear his head, and talk to Simon.

"No, man. Bit my lip. Go back to sleep. It's early yet."

The creak of mattress and zipping sound signaled Jim's decision to join his partner downstairs. Blair moved to the sink, rinsed out his mouth again to soothe and clean the cuts, and then dabbed his swollen lip with a wet cloth. His stomach cramps grew worse from the pressure of holding himself still to avoid the pain from his rear and thighs.

As he turned to get his shoes, he found Jim pushed up behind him, the bulge in his jeans rocking against his ass. Lips nuzzled at the back of his neck, while his hips were pressed down to the counter, pinned there by Jim's heavier frame. His groin tightened as a hot tongue washed across the back of his neck and teeth nibbled and locked on the earrings in his left lobe. Growing increasingly hard, his cock protested against the bother of clothes. Suddenly he flashed on the temper and angry words of the night before and his arousal vanished with a frigid wash against skin.

"Stop it, man. I've got to get to school." A backward elbow punctuated his sincerity.

Jim persisted to lean forward, wrapping his arms around the smaller man's chest. "Come on, Chief. You feel so hot this morning. Just a quick one for both of us to start the day."

Determined, and still dangerously sore from the previous night's violent session, Blair squirmed and ducked unexpectedly to slip out of the sentinel's grip. Jim fell forward into empty air.

"Come on, man. I've got an early department meeting and I've already showered."

"What's up with the Houdini act, Chief?"

Turning away, Blair hurried to the living room to get his sneakers and socks, his sentinel trailing disappointed and sulky behind him.

"Jim, I've got things to do. So do you, for that matter. After that stunt you pulled with Simon yesterday, I'm surprised you weren't suspended again."

The older man's face suddenly clouded, grey shadows drifting across blue. "Is that what this is about? Simon?"

"No, man, it's about the fact that you lost it with your boss in his office, stormed out of there, and then went and got shit-faced drunk before you finally decided to come home." Blair had on one shoe, and started with the other, avoiding eye contact with Jim. He didn't want to risk making him feel even more challenged.

"I was not shit-faced drunk, Chief. I had a few beers, that's all." Angrily Jim stood, arms crossed, watching his lover get ready to leave. Then for the first time he looked at Blair's face.

"Damn, Chief. What the hell happened to your lip?"

Sad, rounded eyes slowly looked up. "Jim, don't you remember anything about what happened last night?"

"What are you talking about? I came home and went to bed. What's to remember?"

Shaking his head in disbelief, Blair finished tying his shoelace while he spoke quietly, forcing the words to form a straight, even line. "Jim, you were drunk. You came in here still all pissed off about Simon. You accused me of flirting with him again."

Stepping back, Jim opened his mouth to deny any such thing, but stopped abruptly. In a quiet, but dangerous tone, he whispered. "You're saying I did this? I hit you?"

"You didn't hit me, Jim. You kissed me, but you did it like, I don't know, like you wanted to really hurt me or something. You were just really rough, that's all."

The air settled in his lungs like a whole drought-stricken world thirsty for rain. "Blair, I didn't do that. Don't tell me I did that."

"But you did, man."

Jim sagged down beside his partner, not touching, his guilty brain suddenly pounding like a crazy man on thick, bloody walls. "I don't remember."

"I know. You were drunk." The simple words sliced through the toughest tissue to puncture the sentinel's overworked heart.

"I'm sorry, Blair. I just can't believe I'd do that. Hell, what else did I do?"

"Jim, I have to go." Blair started to get up, but Jim grabbed his wrist, bending it too hard to bring it in close.

"I need you to tell me." The pressure increased inside Jim's fist.

"Let go, Jim." Using his other hand to try and pry open stubborn fingers, Blair pulled back. Nothing worked. "Man, you're hurting me."

"Tell me, Chief." Jim jerked the arm again to match the frustration marching through his chest.

"What's to tell, man? You came in, had a quick fuck, and then passed out."

Horror transformed the older man's square features into a whole parade of faces--fear, anger, and disgust. "Jesus, Blair. You let me do that to you? Why didn't you just tell me to stop?"

"What are you talking about, man? How the hell was I supposed to stop you doing anything, you son of a bitch? You were too pissed to listen."

Blair jerked harder against the twisting grip to free himself from the stranger he called Jim. A sharp, stabbing pain shot up his arm, all the way to the shoulder. Nausea slammed his gut. "Shit. Let go, man. It hurts."

As if waking from a daze, Jim released the wrist and fell back. He focused on his offending right hand like he'd never seen it before, his eyes clouding over, open and unblinking.

Blair jumped up from the couch cradling pain. His whole left hand now turned outward at an unnatural angle. Oddly the sharp throbbing didn't phase him as much as seeing Jim sitting there zoned, breathing short breaths through an open mouth. "Oh, man, Jim, please don't do that now. Jesus, not now."

Desperately, Blair sat back down and edged as close as he could, studying Jim's intense stare. Ignoring agony, he carefully placed his injured arm on his own leg. He rested his other hand on Jim's upturned palm. Using his most soothing guide tone, he called softly to lead his lover back from whatever dark escape he'd found from his hateful, unacceptable reality.

He chanted over and over again. "Jim, listen to my voice. Come back. It's going to be okay. Come back. Breath and listen to my voice."

After about ten minutes, slow motion movement finally started in the face. His mouth closed and he blinked several times before he flexed the strong fingers that had broken his lover's sacred bones. Stinging eyes grew too bright and a tear spilled to glide down an unshaven, twitching jaw.

"Jesus, Blair, I'm fucked."

"Well, then I guess I'm fucked, too, then."

As Jim turned his face, his troubled eyes locked with the concern of dark blue. "Blair, I'm sorry. You know I love you." He bowed his head, eyes shut, humiliated by his own soul-devouring guilt.

"I know, Jim."

"Then why is this happening?" Confusion danced in victory all along his heavy tongue.

"I don't know. I was hoping you could tell me. You don't normally drink like that. What's going on?"

Shaking his head, too ashamed to even look up, he squeezed his eyes shut. His heart skipped forward and started to speed. His lungs swelled, pepper hot. Leaping up, he grabbed his own shoes and raced to the door. Snatching his leather coat off the hook. "I've got to get out of here, Blair. I'm really sorry."

"Jim, you can't leave like this." Panicked by his partner's sudden flight response, he pleaded. "Man, you've got to stay. We've got to figure this out."

"Get out now while you can, Chief."

Without another word Jim Ellison jerked open the door, slamming it against the wall. He ran out before he could even register the plaintive voice behind him. "Jim? Like where the hell am I supposed to go, man?"

Captain Simon Banks charged up the stairs to the loft, his chest gripped with the fear that comes from predicting the future. He should've kept Blair away from Jim after yesterday's blow out in his office, but he hadn't. Instead he'd let the silver-tongued kid convince him that the strange behavior only meant stress, that everything would be okay as soon as Jim had a chance to settle down. He should've known better. He did know better.

The door opened after the first bang of his fist. "Hey, Simon. I'm sorry to have to call like this."

"What the hell's going on, Sandburg? Where's Jim?" Before the younger man could answer, Simon noted the bruising and cut on the lip. Blair held his swollen left hand up against his chest, the whole thing turned in an abnormal position. "Shit, Blair. What the hell happened?"

Bloodshot eyes refused to make contact, but the shoulders flinched at the loud words. Simon stepped closer, lowering his voice, talking softly. "Blair, tell me Jim did not do this."

"I can't do that, Simon." A terrible, too familiar story, told with very few words, connected the two men forever.

Captain Banks unconsciously praised his training. He contained his anger like a pro. "Come on then. We're going to the emergency room."

"He didn't mean to do it, Simon. He was just upset."

"Just stop right there." His voice made the words sound like a growl. He turned and stepped closer. "I don't want to hear anymore excuses, Blair. Do you hear me? You can tell me what happened on the way to the hospital, but don't you dare try to defend him or try to lessen the impact of what he's done. Do you understand what I'm saying to you, young man?"

"Yes, sir." Blair bit down on his already punished lip, defiantly refusing to give into the pain or nausea clawing at his gut. His hiss made Simon stop and change his tone.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. I just can't believe this is happening."

"Me, either." Looking all of about twelve, Blair studied his shoes extremely well.

"Come on, kid. Let's go get you fixed up." He placed a huge hand on Blair's shoulder thinking to himself that they needed a hell of a lot more than just a hospital to fix such a godawful mess.

"Captain Banks?"

"Yes?" Simon turned to find the short, middle-aged doctor standing next to him in the waiting area. The dark hair curled tight to his head and sweat beaded at the edges of his forehead.

"I'm Dr. Martinez. You brought in Mr. Sandburg, is that correct?"

"Yes, it is. How's he doing?" Simon shifted uncomfortably as the doctor held out a hand to direct to a more secluded spot in the room.

"Right now he's having his wrist x-rayed. Depending on those results, we'll either cast it or send him to surgery for a nerve block to set it before casting."

"Surgery?" Another tremor shook his chest. "Why surgery?"

"Well, it depends on where it's broken and how many breaks there are. Sometimes that area is difficult to position correctly to avoid permanent damage, especially to the function of the thumb. We'll know shortly, but that's not really what I want to ask you."

The doctor's serious tone triggered a professional reflex. "What do you need to know?"

"You're a police officer and Mr. Sandburg says he works with you, right?"

"Yes. He's a consultant and observer in Major Crimes."

"Then, I need to know if you want to be the officer of record if I can convince him to let me examine him for the assault. Right now he's only letting me attend to his wrist. He's not being very cooperative or forthcoming in helping his own treatment."

"And you think he's more seriously injured than he's telling you?" Simon knew the answer before the physician spoke, but waited to hear it anyway.

"Yes, but I can't get him to let me do anything else. When he changed into the gown, the bruises, older and more recent ones seemed evident. He obviously has been hurt more than once over an extended period of time. But there's a more significant problem." The doctor leaned in. "Captain Banks, if this young man works with you, you need to persuade him to let me do a complete physical. He's running a temperature and his blood pressure is too low."

"I'll talk to him."

"Do you by any chance know who did this to him?"

"I'll talk to him, Dr. Martinez. The rest you'll have to get from him." Suddenly energized, the dark-haired physician slapped his open hand on the record before him. "What's the problem, doctor?"

"The problem is that the law says we're supposed to report cases of suspected domestic abuse to the police, but what do we do when it's the police who are part of the problem?"

"Excuse me?"

"Captain Banks, I'm trying to tell you that this young man has been assaulted by somebody, and I'd say from his reactions, it may be his partner on the job or his life partner. Is that by any chance the same person?"

"Dr. Martinez, I said I'd talk to him. I'll take care of the matter."

Angry and frustrated, the shorter man stepped up and stared right into Simon's dark eyes. "Well, you'd better do something, because you and I both knows this kind of thing only escalates. If you protect the son of a bitch who did this, then you're as bad as he is. The least you can do if Mr. Sandburg won't press charges, is to get him to leave this person and to get counseling. He needs to understand that he doesn't have to stay in a situation like this."

"I'm sure he already knows that, doctor."

"With all due respect, Captain, if he did, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Biting down to control his own response, Simon let his words travel carefully. "I understand your concern, doctor. I said I'd take care of it."

"Well, for now, just try to make your Mr. Sandburg let me help him. I'd be even more impressed if you could get him to let me do a rape kit."

Simon stood frozen, not a muscle moving. Finally when the mob roar in his head settled down, he whispered. "Did he tell you that he was raped?"

"No, but he's bleeding and he won't let me near him. You've been trained in this area. What do you think?"

"I think somebody has a hell of a lot to answer for." A black wave of anger swept through and darkened his reason. No way was Jim Ellison going to get away with this shit. Hell, no one would be walking away clean from this one.

"I said no, Simon. Just stop asking, man."

"Sandburg." He tried to be patient, but the young man, his left arm encased in a still damp cast, sat tight, his words stubborn beyond belief.

"Don't even use that tone on me, Simon. I'm not going to do it. I'll let the doctor examine me, but I'm not pressing charges or anything like that. I told you what happened. It wasn't rape. I can't even believe you'd think that about Jim."

"Blair, listen, we'll talk about this later, because, frankly, you look like shit and I want the doctor to check you out. Then, we've got to talk about what we need to do about you AND Jim."

"What are you talking about, Simon?"

"This can't continue, Blair. You know that. There's no way, as smart as you are, that you don't see what's happening here."

"You're talking Battered Spouse Syndrome aren't you, Simon? No way does that apply here, man. I'm not like that and neither is Jim. He's just confused right now."

"He's obviously not the only one. Now, hush and listen for just a minute. Let the doctor take care of you, then do me a favor. Promise me you'll find a different place to live until we decide what to do about all this."

Blair balanced himself awkwardly on the edge of the examination table, his bare legs dangling. "I can't promise that, Simon. I love him and it's my home, too. I'm not leaving him. He needs me now more than ever."

"He needs help, Blair, professional help. And, frankly, so do you."

"You don't understand, Simon. Jim's afraid I'm going to leave him. If I abandon him like everybody else he's ever cared about, it'll just reinforce his belief that he's not worthy of being loved and that nobody can be trusted."

"You're serious? So, you're going to let him keep doing this shit?"

"No, I'm not. I'm going to try to help him. If I move out, he'll never trust me again."

"Well, trust me on this. All this violence is going to end. I won't have one of my men doing this kind of thing. You need to move out until we can make him go get help. I'll suspend him indefinitely if I have to."

"But, I just explained why he needs me, man. How can I leave?"

"I'm not asking you to move out permanently, just until we find out what's causing him to be such an asshole and what we can do about it. Now promise me."

The voice trembled and bumped the shy words out into the air. "I can't."

Shaking his head in frustration, the captain gave up for the moment. "I'll go get the doctor then. We'll talk later."

"I'm sorry, Simon."

"I know. It's going to be okay, kid." Simon Banks hated it when he had to lie like that.

"What the hell's going on, Simon? Brown said you brought Blair to the hospital?"

The words boiling on his tongue spewed out like hissing steam. "You sorry son of a bitch."

His face flushed, fists clenched at his sides, Jim contained himself. He hated to admit it, but in his heart, he agreed with the captain's sentiment.

"Is he going to be all right?"

"He will be if he can get away from you. What the hell's wrong with you anyway?"

"Sir, I don't have to explain myself to you. What happens between us is our business."

"I can't believe this shit from you, Ellison." Suddenly, red fog cleared and the captain realized the audience taking in the show. He could almost hear the silent chant--fight, fight, fight. "Come with me, Jim."

"No way, sir. I need to see, Blair."

"We need to talk in private. That is not a request, Ellison."

Military training and common sense clicked in when he saw the bull stance of his captain. "All right. Where?"

"Outside. There's an open area in the back. Let's go."

Without speaking further, the captain headed out with Jim following closely behind. Electrical sparks charged and dazzled the air around them as they moved through the corridors and out to the garden area to talk. When they got there, they turned toward each other, a mere few feet of open space between them.

Simon spoke first. "You want to tell me what the hell's going on with you? What are you thinking? You think it's okay to smack somebody around just because you know he won't leave your sorry ass?"

Jim fought down the overwhelming urge to charge and beat his Captain's face into the ground, to smash it into a bloody pulp, just for hitting him with the very questions he couldn't answer. "No, sir, I don't think it's okay." He wrapped his arms across his chest, his fists still in tight balls. "What exactly did Blair tell you about what happened?"

"I have a different question. Why don't you tell me how it is that you broke your partner's wrist?"

He hesitated a moment and then confessed. "He was leaving to go to school before we'd finished talking. I grabbed his arm and I guess I held it too tight."

"I guess you did more than hold it too tight. The wrist and forearm are broken in three places."

He sucked in the air through teeth clamped shut. Closing his eyes to clear away the self-loathing swarming like angry bees in his head, he finally said, "I didn't mean to do that, sir. Is he going to be all right?"

"His arm will heal. I don't know about the rest of it." Opening his eyes, Jim stared into one angry, black face. "I need to know what else you've been doing to him."

"What are you talking about?"

"The bruises and the blood, Jim. What the hell's going on? The doctor said some marks were recent, but others have been there for awhile. How could you do this for godsakes? I just don't understand." The gritty voice scraped the sentinel hearing like rusty spikes driven into each eardrum.

Jim started to turn away, to leave before he said too much, but he found a giant hand gripping his shoulder. Part of his primitive mind told him to swing with all of his might, to break every face bone he could smash. The other part, the civilized part Blair respected, won the toss. "Simon, I just need to see him. I need to know he's all right."

Pulling his detective around, the captain stood, taking up Jim's personal space. "Tell me what happened last night first."

An internal icy wind breezed though, a blizzard on the tongue. "I don't really remember."

"Blair told me that, but it's hard to believe."

"I was drunk."

"Jim, are you saying you had a black out? I mean, that kind of thing doesn't usually happen unless the person's been drinking a lot for a very long time. You've never been much of a drinker. In fact, that's another part of this whole thing that I don't understand."

"I know that, Simon. I don't understand it either unless it's because of this sentinel thing. I mean, I swear I only had three beers, but I was so out of it, I could barely walk. I don't remember getting home and I don't remember anything that Blair says I did last night."

"And what exactly was that?"

"He said, and I quote, I 'came in, had a quick fuck, and then passed out.'" The words, like burning coals, singed space.

"Jesus, Jim."

"I know, but I don't remember any of it."

"But you know he's not making it up?"

"I know he's not."

"And you remember breaking his wrist this morning when you can't possibly use the lame excuse of being an over-sensitive sentinel on a binge, right?"

"Simon, this isn't some fucking joke."

"Do you see me laughing?" Jim gritted his teeth and said nothing while the captain added, "Do you realize he could file assault charges?"

"He should."

"I know, but he won't." Simon stepped back, trying to even out his breathing. He could remember few times in his life when his whole body ached from the weight of absolute frustration and anger coupled across his being. He had no idea what he should do, so he paced a few times before he asked, "What the hell am I supposed to do about this, Jim?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Help me out here. I can't let you keep hurting him like this."

"And is that because you're really worried about him or because you want him for yourself?"

An atomic bomb blast at ground zero couldn't have hit him harder. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Don't you think I know you're attracted to him, Simon? I've seen the looks and smelled how you get when he gets too close. Is that why you're so concerned about our private lives?"

Shaking his head in utter disbelief, Simon put his hands on his hips. "Who the hell are you? I mean, you look like Jim Ellison, but I swear to god you're not any man I know."

"I'm serious, captain."

"I know you are, Jim, and that's why I'm even more convinced that you're in worse shape than I thought. Sure, Blair's attractive, I can't deny that."

"So you admit it?" Jim moved one step closer to being punched into oblivion.

"Shut up, Jim, and let me finish. I know you know about my time with Robert, and so maybe that's why you think I'm in some kind of crazy competition, but you're wrong. Sure, sometimes Blair gets to me. I mean, my god, to you have any idea what a lucky son of a bitch you are to have somebody like him in your life? Do you?"

"Of course, I do."

"No, I don't think you do. I don't think you understand a hell of a lot these days. That man loves you. He gorgeous beyond words, smart, funny, caring, and most of all loyal. There is no way he'd look at anybody else. So, what are you going to do, try to kick everybody's ass who gets a thrill out of just looking at somebody so damn pretty? You're going to be one busy motherfucker to do that, my friend."

"You don't understand."

"No, I don't. How can you risk losing somebody like that by driving him away with your fists, because that's what's going to happen, Jim. He may take this for awhile, but if you don't do something to change this, he'll leave. You'll lose him and you'll lose anybody else who knows the two of you. I'm not going to stand around and watch you keep this up without stepping in. I can't afford to. You keep it up and one of you will end up dead."

"You're wrong, Simon. If one of us dies, we'll both die. I couldn't live without him."

"Then what the hell are you going to do to stop this mess?"

Jim stepped over to the concrete benches at the edge of the area and sat down, dizzy from the words of truth. Lowering his face to his hands, he rubbed hard against the flesh. He could barely feel his own touch. Simon's approach only nudged dulled hearing. Sentinel abilities vanished, he raised his head and spoke, his tone level as newly formed ice. "I think I need some help here, Simon."

"No shit."

"But Jim, I want to go home, man." Blair stared up confused, his eyes dark with strain and fresh drugs.

"I know you do, Chief. But the doctor's admitted you for observation."

"Observation for what? I'm fine, man. I just need to rest and everything will be okay."

Jim shook his head, took Blair's right hand in his and stroked his thumb across the palm. Even without his sentinel senses, he felt the fever already burning there. His guide's breathing rate increased, but he didn't flinch at the touch. His captain and friend stood right outside the door.

"You're not okay, Chief. You've got a badly broken arm, an arm that I broke because I was pissed and out of control. I was angry with myself and took it out on you."

"But you didn't mean it, man."

"No, but it still happened, because I was too self-absorbed to pay attention."

"I still want to go home. It's just a broken arm."

"It's not just the arm. You've lost some blood and have an infection because I was too rough last night. God, I can't believe I hurt you like that. Just saying it makes me want to scream. I'm so sorry, Chief."

"You were drunk, man. It happens."

"Stop it. Stop making excuses for me. I don't want that. Anyway, the doctor's going to keep you here to get some IV antibiotics and fluids into you to make sure that the infection doesn't get worse."

"But, Jim, I really hate hospitals."

"And I hate you being here, Chief, especially when I know it's my fault. Now shush and listen. When you do get out of here, I'm going to be staying at Simon's for awhile."

"What? Man, that's crazy. You two have been like two really pissed off pit bulls lately."

"I know that, and I also know why. I don't want to talk about that right now. The point is, I want to be with you forever, but to do that I've got to work through some major issues, things that you really can't help me with, Chief."

"But I want to. Don't leave me out of this, Jim. I'm your guide, remember?"

"Hell, yes, I remember. You're also the man I love more than life. So, if that's the case why have I been doing my best to beat the shit out you lately? Huh? Do you know? I don't, but I'm going to find out before I let myself take a chance on hurting you ever again. Besides, you won't be left out. You've got some work of your own to do, too."

"What's that?"

"You're going to therapy, too."

"Oh, man, the shrinks are going to love us. Can't wait for that. Hope you got some savings stashed away, cause I'm broke."

"Don't worry about it, Chief. That's one of the few things I've got covered."

Blair wrapped his fingers around Jim's and squeezed. The whole world swirled in a fuzzy blur as the Demerol kicked in. "I love you, Jim."

"I love you, too, Chief. Now go to sleep like a good guide should."

"Okay, Jim, but promise not to fight with Simon, man. He loves you, too."

"I know, Blair. Now go to sleep for me."

Jim brought his lover's good hand to his lips, kissing it softly, and then rested his forehead there. Still holding on to the one anchor in his life, Jim Ellison didn't bother to wipe away the well of tears clouding his vision. While Blair drifted off, his breathing finally even and strong, the sentinel for the first time in years bowed his head and prayed. Awkward at first the inner words stumbled, but slowly, a connection linked his heart to a force far greater than he. His eyes opened slowly, and he smiled at the face of deliverance.

He finally understood.

Fear and love lay before him in the same form, his shaman and his guide. Trembling with revelation, he leaned in closer and kissed his only hope.

The End