Feeling the bitter wind whip past his head, Jim Ellison was pleased that within minutes he would be back home. Away from the snowflakes that whirled round in crazy patterns, seemingly hitting his chilled body from all angles.
After a day spent in court -- a day the felt at least forty-eight hours long -- Jim was bone weary, ready to have a hot meal, a scalding shower then at least ten hours sleep. He could practically feel the softness of his sheets, the warmth of the water hitting his aching body. Loosening muscles tight with nervous tension, after spending hours curled into a hard plastic chair.
Pushing hard against the door to 852 Prospect, Jim cursed as the wind howled, flinging a small drift of snow into the lobby with him. Using all his strength, he forced the door closed, abruptly shutting off the roar of wind. The silence was sudden, causing Jim to stand a minute, adjusting his hearing back to the normal level.
Jim sighed slightly as he commanded his body to move towards the elevator. Pushing the call button he leaned back against the nearest wall, absent-mindedly listening to the whir of gears and cables as the elevator slowly descended to the ground floor.
Hearing the car aproach his level Jim stood, and was waiting, ready, as the doors slid open. On auto pilot he pressed for his floor then stood back, resting his head against the chill side of the car. The ascent seemed to takes ages, each second stretching as Jim thought of hot water, good food and his bed. The perfect list for one chilled, tired detective.
Eventually the car stopped, and Jim exited, only seconds away from home and the first item on his list -- a scalding hot shower, using all the water and a liberal application of the bubbly shower gel that he favoured.
Mentally reviewing the list, Jim cast his senses out, hoping to catch the smell of something cooking from the loft. Maybe roast chicken and potatoes, lasagne with garlic bread, or even a pot of simmering soup. Jim knew that Blair was home; his roommate's car had been parked in its usual spot. A deep layer of snow showing it hadn't been driven all day.
Yet Jim couldn't smell any evidence of cooking, not even the smell of delivery cartons. Blair knew Jim was due back after six. The routine had been the same all week, Jim attending the trial of a major dealer, while Blair graded papers at the loft, freeing time so he could spend some of his winter break helping Jim after the trial had finished.
Blair should have known he was due in; all this week he'd had pots simmering on the stove as Jim walked through the door. Greeting him with a smile before pushing him towards the shower with shooing gestures and the promise of a hot meal when Jim was warm and dry.
The attention made Jim feel great every time he came home. However tired and aching he was, within minutes Blair made him feel content and happy. Yet today something was wrong.
Hurrying his steps Jim strode towards the loft, listening for signs that Blair was inside. He could hear the stereo quietly playing, but no other sounds, no pots bubbling, no whistling or words as Blair talked to himself as he prepared dinner. Jim was worried, and practically ran the last few meters to the front door.
"Chief! Are you home?"
Expecting to see signs of a struggle, Jim looked around, reassured as he acknowledged to himself that everything was as it should be -- apart from the lack of dinner and Blair.
"Blair...you in here?"
Not expecting an answer Jim jumped when he heard a disgusted voice call from the bathroom.
"Jim...Jim is that you? Oh man, I'm so glad you're home. You don't want to know what's happened now...well you probably do, but I don't really want to tell you. Can you get in here and give me a hand...please."
Relaxing as he realised that Blair was home after all, Jim paused long enough to hang his damp coat and hat on the hook, before checking to see what had happened to Blair this time.
Stopping in the doorway, Jim manfully tried to stifle a grin when he saw Blair. Sitting on the toilet -- thankfully with his jeans fastened -- Blair looked far from happy, with his leg obviously stuck between the toilet bowl and the wall.
"How the hell did you get your leg stuck there Sandburg?"
Jim braced himself for a fantastic tale as he leaned over to examine how Blair's leg was trapped, and if he could get it out.
"Would you believe that I slipped and fell? No I suppose you won't. Well it was like this, I thought the bathroom needed brightening up a little, and I have this perfect mask that would look great on that wall. It's a copy of course, I wouldn't put the genuine thing up there, but you know from a distance no one would be able to tell.
"Is there a point to this Chief?"
Jim smiled indulgently as he gently ran his hand down Blair's leg, wincing as he felt the hidden swelling.
"Yeah there's a point Jim. It was like this, I needed something to hang the mask on, so I got the hammer, and a nail. I was gonna get the step ladder but realised that it was down in the basement, and you know it's cold and I didn't really want to go all the way down there. Especially when I could just stand on the toilet and hang it that way.
Torn between amusement and exasperation Jim could guess where the story was going.
"Lets get this right Sandburg. You were going to hang a mask but couldn't reach. So instead of getting the steps you decided to use the toilet as some sorta ladder wannabe."
"Yeah, that's it exactly, and you know it would have worked if I'd had my shoes on. As it was I got up there, and well you can guess the rest, shiny wooden lid and socks don't mix. I slipped; one leg went that way, the other this way and BAM I was stuck.
"That was real smart Sandburg, sometimes I wonder how that thing you call a brain works."
The urge to laugh was quickly deserting Jim as he realised that Blair's leg was stuck fast. The parts he could see were mottled with deep bruising and he could feel the heat and swelling. Despite his animation while telling his story, Blair's face was pinched with pain, lips thin and pale. Every time Jim gently pulled or pushed at his leg Blair would gasp in pain, clutching at Jim's shoulder in a death grip. Beads of sweat had started to slide down Blair's face, which he would savagely wipe away with his free hand.
Jim felt terrible inflicting more pain, but knew Blair was heading towards shock.
"Look Blair, I doubt I'm going to be able to get you out like this. Your leg's swollen too much now."
Blair paled further as he processed Jim's words.
"No you can't give up now man. Look just grab my ankle and pull hard. One fast yank and I'll be free, and this nightmare will be over."
"No way I'm gonna do that Chief, that a sure way to fuck your leg up more than it is now. Don't worry I'll get you out, just from another direction. I noticed that the toilet is screwed to the floor. It'll take me a few minutes to unscrew and move the thing and you'll be out. I should've thought of it before."
Jim pried Blair's hand from his shoulder, holding it for a second in a reassuring gesture. Blair's pallor was beginning to worry him, his friends skin was cold and clammy, his face deathly white. If he couldn't unscrew the toilet he was prepared to call the fire brigade and get the experts involved, but first he'd try this.
"I'm gonna go and get my tools, okay buddy. Just hand tight and I'll be back before you know it."
"That's just so unfunny man. I'm not about to go anywhere you know."
Jim allowed himself a swift smile at Blair's disgusted tone, before hurrying to the hall cupboard to get his tools. Pulling out the box he selected a selection of cross-headed screwdrivers before returning to the bathroom.
Blair had propped his head back against the cistern, his hair falling back to expose his throat and face. Jim could hear him deep breathing, attempting to control the pain. Regretting that he would have to jostle Blair again, Jim started to speak, only to be interrupted as soon as he opened his mouth.
"Look Jim, I know you're going to hurt me again, and I know you're sorry. But I really want out of here now, so just do what you have to okay."
Hearing the weariness in Blair's voice, Jim dropped to his knees, then to his stomach, until he was looking at the base of the toilet.
"Okay Chief, I can see the screws. They shouldn't take that long to do, if you need me to stop just yell or something, okay."
Hearing an affirmative grunt, Jim snagged a screwdriver and began to force the old screw round. With every turn he could hear Blair force back cries of pain, and had to harden his heart to keep going. He could feel the heat of Blair's swollen leg next to his face, hear the muffled gasps, and smell the salt of individual leaking tears. Yet still he went on -- had to go on -- until, at last, all four screws had been removed.
"It's loose now Blair, so try not to move okay."
Standing up, Jim looked down at Blair, working out how he could ease the toilet aside while also holding onto his friend.
"I think we'll do it like this. I'm gonna hold you under the arms, and push the toilet with my knee, it'll only move a tiny bit but It'll be enough to pull you free. You do *nothing*, understand that, don't try to move, let me do all the work."
Jim could sense Blair stealing himself for the ordeal ahead.
"Yeah, I understand, I can sit here and do nothing, no worries about that."
"You ready then?"
"I'm so ready to get out of here man, just do it okay."
Steeling himself again, Jim bent over and hooked his arms under Blair's, interlocking them behind him. Bracing his knee against the toilet seat, he looked at Blair's waxen face, before suddenly pushing hard.
Jim could feel Blair's leg give slightly, so he quickly held on with one hand, dropping the other to ease the trapped limb free. Blair's body stiffened as a cry of agony escaped his lips, before the pain became too much and he collapsed into Jim's arms.
Giving silent thanks that Blair was free at last; Jim carefully slipped an arm under the other man's legs, then quickly carried him to the couch. Lying Blair carefully down, Jim looked at the unconscious man, debating the pros and cons of calling an ambulance. Deciding a decision couldn't be made until he accessed the damage, Jim began to ease off Blair's jeans. Thankful again that he wasn't aware of what would surely be a painful process.
With gentle movements the jeans were soon removed, leaving Blair dressed only in his white boxers and t-shirt. Casting his senses over his patient to access levels of awareness, Jim pressed firmly down Blair's leg, using his sense of touch to determine if any bones were broken, or sprained. Soon he was reassured that the only result of Blair's fall was a hugely swollen leg, and a spectacular array of bruises from just above his knee down to his ankle. Very painful but nothing rest and painkillers couldn't ease.
Allowing his worry to abate a little, Jim pulled the afghan down from the back of the couch, covering Blair from neck to toes. He would have to watch Blair carefully, for shock as well as his leg. No doubt for the next few days he would have to insist Blair rest on the couch as much as possible as well as supplying drinks, food, help his friend hobble round the loft while insisting that pain killers were a necessary evil. It was standard procedure while Blair was sick. As was sleeping on the couch, as close as possible, until Blair was one hundred per cent again.
Mentally listing what he needed, Jim ran his hand over Blair's face, smiling as he saw small spots of colour had started to appear again. Sighing softly he walked into the bathroom, a shiver washing over him as he saw where Blair had spent so many hours trapped in pain. He would have to re-attach the toilet, but not yet, not when Blair needed him.
Shaking his head at the situations that Sandburg managed to get himself into Jim left the room then grabbed a bottle of water and a bowl of leftover pasta. Lowering himself to the floor near the couch, Jim surveyed his meal. He was still tired, still aching. There was going to be no hot shower, and no hot meal. But at least Blair was safe. For Jim that was the more important than any comforts. He would stay as long as he was needed. Then when Blair was well, they would have a serious talk about stepladders and their uses.
But that was another day, for now he'd watch and wait. It's what he did.