~~~~~~~~~~~
It was definitely an atypical day in Cascade, Washington. The sun was streaming golden rays and golden warmth, the birds were frolicking above as much as the children below and no cloud dared mar the extreme blue of the sky.
People and animals were enjoying the rare occurrence of the sunny, warm day in spring. What most people in other parts of the country took for granted, Cascadians revelled in and accepted as a reward for enduring the other 344 days - allowing that summer might offer a few nice ones - of incessant rain and bitter bone-chilling wind. As soon as the morning dawned bright and clear, loners and families, young couples and old-timers, book-lovers and nature-lovers all tunnelled themselves out from their winter nests to pay homage to the sun-god's gift - usually in as little clothing as possible.
The officers of Cascade P.D. were no exception. Having postponed the annual C.P.D. baseball tournament - the equivalent of the World Series smaller and done Northwestern style - six Saturdays in a row, the men and women of every precinct eligible to play had greeted the day's forecast with joy and hope. Joy because the weather would allow them to play in whatever attire they felt comfortable - as long as it wouldn't get them arrested of course - and hope because this might be the year their department would go all the way. Though everyone was pretty sure who the teams in the final match-up would be, each department still wished on whatever star conveyed baseball wins.
For the last four years, the star had been rather defunct since the final game had seen the same teams battling it out for the rights for the year to claim ownership of the Rafe Cup - so named not because he was considered an MVP, but because the first year Chief Warren had coughed up the money for a decent trophy, Rafe'd gotten his hand stuck in it when he was bringing it out to the field. Thank goodness Major Crimes had won that year.
Detective First Class James Ellison stood in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the various teams and inhaled deeply, loving the feel of the crisp, clean air coming down from the mountains, into his lungs. Opening his eyes, he quickly scanned the crowd of players and fans for his teammates and co-workers curious to find what mischief they'd managed to involve themselves.
Near the parking area, Henry and Rafe seemed to be up to their usual antics as they used multi-coloured shoe polish on Megan's brand new Saturn. No glass surface was spared as the devilish duo wreaked havoc on the "fresh off the assembly line" automobile. Jim shook his head and tried to remember if his dress blues were clean so he'd have something to wear for the double funeral - correction, memorial service. When the Aussie Inspector found what they'd done to her new "baby", there wasn't going to be much of them left.
Debating on whether or not he should blow the whistle on his buddies, Jim casually browsed the area near the children's park and discovered Joel Taggert laughing happily as he played catch with his four-year-old goddaughter. Pride shone from every pore of the big man's body as little Jolie managed to finally catch the large ball in both of her outstretched arms. Jim felt his own smile grow as the tiny child dropped the ball and ran into her beloved "uncle's" arms in excitement, basking in the praises raining down on her in between the joyful kisses and tickles.
A loud noise by the swings drew his attention from the happy scene and his cop instincts, not to mention his ranger training, demanded he investigate. Piggybacking his sight to his hearing, he found Megan conducting a mini-workshop on baseball basics to a medium-sized herd of girls. It had amazed most of Major Crimes that their exchange officer knew her way around a baseball diamond, but it had floored the entire department when they discovered Connor was a batter in the leagues of Sosa and McGuire. Since she had joined their merry band, the homerun trophy had resided prominently in the Major Crimes display case - no competition necessary since no one came close to her average. Jim shook his head in amazement as he overheard Megan stressing practice above all else and downplaying her obvious skills. If baseball was a game of kings, then it had finally met its reigning queen.
A heated - but friendly - argument finally allowed him to focus on his two best friends. Over to his left, he found an irritated Simon Banks, complete with his arm in an Immobiliser, arguing with an equally irritated, but much more obstinate, Blair Sandburg over field positions. Figuring he might be able to help, Jim made his way over to the men.
"Guys, do you realise I heard you all the way over by the concessions? What is so all-fired important that you have to argue so loudly?" Jim asked.
"He," Blair explained as he pointed at the mountain of a captain, "Won't let me pitch! He says my talents are needed elsewhere! Can you believe that? I have the best arm, outside of Simon, of anyone on the team!"
"Which is why I want you to play third base." Simon growled as he stood at his full height. "I want you to be my anchor. With that arm, we can run them to ground with double and triple plays easily."
"But I'm a pitcher!"
"Not in this tournament you're not. You are what I say cause I'm the coach and I say you're a third baseman."
Blue eyes turned to those of his partner and pleaded with him to impart some wisdom that would guarantee his treasured spot. "Jim?"
"Sorry, Sandburg. I gotta go with the Captain, I mean Coach, here. You are best utilised at third."
"Et Tu, Ellison?"
"Hey, you don't see me grumbling about my assignment, do you? In my heart of hearts, I know I'm the best centre fielder, but I'm taking into account what's best for the team and accepting my role as first base coach."
Simon snorted. "Only because you had no choice. It was unanimous. The whole department refused to play if you held a field position. Your competitiveness was frightening and I still don't think any of them have forgiven you for making Peters cry when she missed the ball last year due to the sun in her eyes." He sighed. "I still can't believe you questioned her parents' rights to conceive."
"The ball was right there! It was calling her name for goodness sakes! What's a couple of burned retinas compared to letting Millerman get to second base!" Jim rolled his eyes and then zeroed in on his boss's injury. "The man is a menace to society … as you should know, Captain. "
"This was an accident, Ellison. He miscalculated his tackle. He didn't mean to take me down instead of the perp."
"Yeah, no more than he meant to shoot the Mayor's cat at the SPCA shindig or run over Rhonda's foot in the garage or beam Rafe with the ball last year when he was trying to strike him out." Shaking his head, Ellison frowned. "I don't care what his supervisor says, that man should be confined to a desk before he kills somebody."
"And I'm sure a lot of people say the same about you, Jim, after one of your little driving escapades," Blair commented as he ducked behind their boss. "I heard half of the parking personnel refuse to give tickets on days you're out chasing perps." Evilly, "How many of their jeeps did you take out last month?"
"It was only four."
"Yeah, in four different areas of town."
"They should park them better."
Sandburg laughed as Simon tried to contain his laughter. "The operative word there, my friend, is *parked*. They were all *parked*, Jim. You took out four *parked* vehicles in four *different* locations on the *same* day."
"That could happen to anyone. I'm not that bad," Jim sulked.
"Uh huh, sure. And I don't have an oral fixation. Come on, Sandburg. We'd better head to the dugout where it's safer. With comments like that, lightning can't be too far behind."
The Big Inning (Yeah, I was an X-Phile, so sue me)
The morning had gone pretty much as expected. Central's Major Crimes and Tech Services had both won four games and they only needed to win two more to land in their usual spots in the finals. The fans, as usual, were placing their bets - discreetly, this was a *police* function after all - on who would win the ultimate showdown and in that as well, the two teams were neck-in-neck.
Simon had called a time-out due to excessive celebrating when Tech Services converged on the main field fresh from their royal trouncing of Communications. It had taken several long minutes to remove the excited Techies, but finally, the seventh inning had resumed.
It didn't take a genius to know it was Blair's turn at bat when every woman - and a few men, but that's for a different type of story - stood and started cheering. Ignoring the noises and the exasperated glares of his teammates, Sandburg effected the "stance" that had about twenty members of his fan club swooning and tried to casually wipe the sweat off of his forehead.
"Sandburg, will you stop doing stuff like that! They only have so many first aid volunteers to go around and they don't need all of them tied up with your groupies!" Simon yelled from the dugout.
Respectfully, Blair shot his boss the finger and resumed his batting position. Using his exceptional observational skills developed while he was an anthropologist and honed through his detective work, Sandburg took in everything about the pitcher - including he was Jewish… somebody really needed to get the man a cup - and smiled his most wicked smile. The next ball had his name on it. He would hit it right out of the park and…
Without a thought, Blair swung at the pitch and … hit a grounder down the middle causing the pitcher to fall on his arse or lose a few toes. So what if it didn't fly out of the park - it got him to first base and that's all that mattered. It wasn't like it was a date or anything.
Ever cautious, Jim motioned for him to stay and Blair quickly took over like it was the loft. "Hey, Gibbs, how ya doing?" He asked the first baseman with a warm smile. "How's that new baby?"
"The baby's fine and I'd be a lot better if I could get more than an hour's sleep. I swear that little booger's got it in for me." Gibbs glared at the younger man and his outfit. "Of course, it's all your fault anyway."
"Your baby keeping you up all night is my fault? How?"
"Well, if you hadn't gotten Tina all hot and bothered last August prancing around in these bike shorts that ought to be licensed as a lethal weapon, I would be getting a full eight hours."
"Yeah, Chief, everyone knows Gibbs had to rely on your help to get his wife up and running. God knows Gibbs alone couldn't," Jim commented as he joined them.
Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Ellison, just like everyone knows the best form of birth control around here is seeing you behind the wheel. Forget procreation, survival becomes the key word."
"Guys, could you save this little discussion for another time? I'm trying to score here."
"And this is different from every other hour in the day, how Sandburg?"
"Ha ha, Ellison. Big words from a man who's own teammates won't let him play."
"Yeah, well…" Jim started only to stop as something buzzed by his face. "What the…?" Another pass had the tall man swatting away in annoyance - which to the people in the stands looked like he was having a losing his mind.
"It's just a bee, man. No need to get so freaked."
"I'm not freaked, I just don't like the noise and have you seen what passes for a face on those things?!"
Gibbs snorted, "You look at that mug of yours every morning and you freak over a little bee? Jeez! How do they grow you guys in Major Crimes?"
"Buff and brainy, so no need for you to apply," Blair countered.
Jim totally ignored the bickering and set his senses on the irritating irritant (yeah, I know that's redundant, but this *is* a comedy). Using his enhanced senses, he focused everything he had on taking the bee out. With muscles rippling into place (gotta appease the Jimbabes), Jim pulled back his arm, opened up his hand in preparation for the ultimate swat and swung …completely missing the bee, but knocking Gibbs flat.
"Talk about your 'oh shit' moments." Blair couldn't help himself as he started laughing hysterically. "You keep … that … up and the op-opposing team won't … won't want you on the field … either." Trying to regain control, Blair bent over and held his hand out to help the still dazed officer. "Obviously, Gibbs, you might need to rethink that whole 'Ellison's only dangerous behind the wheel' thing. You should probably be thankful he didn't have a bat."
The Buzz
Now, strictly from the bee's point of view, the day had started out like any other rare, sunny, spring day in Cascade. He'd set his sights on this great field of flowers and had started his task like the busy little bee he was. He was only about a fourth done when he started to notice the arrival of a lot of SBGs, or - for the civilians - Soft-Body Grounders, at the grassy field nearby.
Normally, the little bee - to be identified from this point onward as "Harold" and "he" in a non-gender-specific way cause we are talking bees here - wouldn't have bothered with the growing group, but his scent sensors picked up on some of the most wonderful smells and he just couldn't resist. Besides, no one would miss him before curfew and he'd have plenty of time to finish the field. Harold shrugged, or the bee equivalent, and headed over in that direction ignoring the little voice of his line commander in his head warning him that his sense of adventure would one day be the death of him.
Flying around, Harold discovered that the SBGs were just as varied as their scents. Their petals were so colourful and placed so close together that it caused his multi-faceted eyes to hurt. Though he couldn't actually hear, he could pick up on the vibrations from the crowd and he could avoid the more heavily populated areas where he might be knocked to the ground and trampled or worse, be made to lose his Precious Stinger of Life. Some of those vibrations also served another purpose for a really cool bee, which of course Harold was. Unbeknownst to most things other than bees, those special vibrations could be used to enhance their flight patterns, which seemed to the really observant or the really drunk to make the bee fly to the musical beat.
Pretty soon, Harold became bored with the sights and scents by the food area and decided to try his luck over by the damaged field nearest him where several SBGs were gathered. He paused for a few minutes to take in the strange actions taking place around him. He was able to pick out the two different hives scattered about the field. However, he had to admit their tasks appeared a bit out of the ordinary. Instead of setting about hunting or gathering food they seemed to be obsessed with a strange white rock. They seemed to focus on tossing it about or striking it with a limb. Although Harold was only a drone and not an expert in SBGs, he was certain these creatures were quite mad.
Harold would have stayed far away from these SBGs, if he had not gotten so distracted by a particular sweet aroma emanating somewhere from the field. He began to lose himself to the strange, wonderful smell and impulsively set off after it. He pushed aside any worries of danger. After all, what's the worst that could happen?
The sweet aroma grew stronger. Harold let himself get swept up in the moment, until one of the SBGs attacked. He was completely taken off guard. He was just minding his own business trying to pinpoint that wonderful scent. How rude! That creature needed to be taught a lesson.
Harold wasn't known as the hive's ace for nothing. Long ago he had perfected loop-de-loops, dives, etc. He swerved agitatedly around the SBG. Focusing on the creature's bizarre appendages, he seemed to have worked it into something of a frenzy. Harold knew he was a force to be reckoned with, so he wasn't worried. Then suddenly the creature took aim and swung with all its force. It took all of his years of experience to narrowly avoid its blow. Okay, he decided. That did it. Of course the SBG had to realise this meant war.
Sometimes, a sacrifice was necessary for the greater good. If he knew anything at all, it was duty above all else. These creatures needed to be taught a lesson. Harold wasn't worried about which creature he taught it to. They all would get "the point!"(I know…I know…couldn't resist!) Harold took in his surroundings and saw just the place to deliver his present. A nice round bulging surface filled his entire view. Perfect. With the flawless aim of the righteous martyr, Harold sounded his death buzz, to alert the bees that had gone before him that a warrior was on its way, and dove.
It was … a true moment of glory. It was … a triumphant dive of a true hero worthy of all beedom.
The End (Not really, but it sort of fit)
It was … the loudest and most pain-filled, "Awww shit!!!!" heard on the playing field to date. All eyes turned to focus on first base where the sound had emanated and they were stunned at what they saw.
For all intents and purposes, junior Detective Blair Sandburg appeared to be flinging himself all over first base. As the crowd tried to figure out what was going on, Blair's opponents and teammates were laying bets on whether he was having a seizure or inventing a new dance. It was about seventy-thirty in favour of the dance move with a slow increase to seizure as each second passed - the man *was* a trouble magnet after all and *had* seen more pain than a dominatrix. Though they hadn't witnessed any threat to the younger man, Ellison had been standing really close and that was always a sure bet.
Muffled curses and liberal "owws," "ouches," and "oh mommies, oh mommies" flowed around Jim as he tried to calm his partner and grab hold. "Whoa, Chief, hold up. What's going on?"
"What do you think, man? I got speared!" Blair howled as he continued his wild flight around the base. He groaned, "Aw, man, this hurts."
"You got speared? How?" Jim looked over at Gibbs and shrugged. Gibbs pantomimed a ball to the head too many times making Sandburg kind of loopy - he was very talented at mime from his many years as a traffic cop - and started easing away from the two. Jim shook his head, turned back to the looped one and with unerring aim, at least this time, he managed to seize Blair about the time Simon made it to them.
"What the hell is going on? I had to call a time-out for Sandburg's little trip into self-discovery. If the boy had rhythm, he'd be dangerous, but this is not the place to be figuring that out." Simon didn't seem too happy as he tried to get a handle on what was happening to his youngest detective. "Sandburg, are you okay?"
Blair still squirmed in Jim's grasp. "Hell no, I'm not okay. I've been skewered and nobody's doing anything."
Simon was even more confused. "Skewered?" He looked at his older friend for answers. "Ellison, do you have any idea what's going on?"
"Uh, no Sir. I don't have a clue."
"Oh, for god's sake. Will you guys get your heads out of your asses and pay attention?!" Blair stood as still as he could under the circumstances, glared at the two men in front of him and bit out, "I was attacked … by… a … bee!"
For a minute, there was nothing but silence from the men, but that soon changed to uncontrolled laughter. "All … of this… was caused by a … by a little bee," Simon questioned in between laughs. "You've got … got to be kidding?"
"You wouldn't be saying that if you had a mammoth projectile bisecting your …" Blair's eyes got wide as he realised exactly where that projectile was located and how close he had come to just blabbing that fact out. "Uh, it's not important where, just that I've been staked and it hurts like hell."
"Well, Chief," Jim tried to explain in between his own chuckles, "it is kind of important to know so that we can make sure the stinger's out. You wouldn't want that to stay in and cause any more problems, right?"
"Uh, I'm sure with all of the movement it fell out."
Simon started picking up on Blair's reluctance and what sounded like a touch of fear. So, he pulled out his father voice and tried to soothe the injured man. "It's okay, Sandburg. We promise to be gentle. You won't even notice we're doing anything." He placed a reassuring hand on Blair. "Now, where were you hit, son?"
At that moment and time, Blair wished that a gigantic hole would swallow him up, but no such luck. So, with pain-filled eyes, he whispered, "I took it in the butt, sir."
"You what?!"
Turning more colours of red than the spectrum allowed, the youngest detective answered a little louder, "I was stung in the butt, Simon." The redness of his face quickly began to fade into a sickly shade of green. "And I'm starting to not feel so good."
"Oh, well I see. Uh, that kind of … uh … poses a problem." Simon could hear Jim's renewed chuckles and he came to an executive decision. "Ellison, take care of your partner."
The chuckles ceased rather abruptly. "Sir? What do you mean take care of my partner? Take care of him how?"
"I don't know, man. You're the one with field medic training. Didn't the army teach you how to extract stingers and venom and stuff? You know sucking out the venom or so…"
"Begging your pardon, sir, but I am *NOT* sucking on Sandburg's butt!"
Sandburg snorted in disgust. "Not exactly my idea of a good time either, tough guy."
"I wasn't suggesting you do that exactly, just that you do something." The captain looked around the field and took in the angry glares of the officials. "And preferably, whatever you do, you do it off the field. We're holding up the game and making some people very unhappy." Focusing on his best team, Simon reached into his pocket, pulled out his keys and handed them to Jim. "Why don't you take him to my place since it's just down the street, do what you have to and then the two of you can head back. That'll give you both a little privacy and the hurt/comfort readers something to go 'ah' over."
Jim nodded, "Okay, Simon, we'll do it your way." He looked back down at his friend and frowned. "You think you can walk, Sandburg?"
"To preserve what little dignity I have, I think I can manage. Just don't go to fast and warn me of any sudden stops. Deal?"
"Deal, buddy."
Carefully, the two men walked off the field, leaving behind them concern from their friends, agonizing worry from Blair's fan club, a fallen hero dead on the ground, and a number of pay-offs from the betting pool.
The Agony
It hadn't taken them long to reach Simon's house and make their way inside even though Blair was limping pretty badly toward the end. As they entered, Jim quickly ran over the layout of the house in his mind in the hopes of finding the best spot for Sandburg. He finally decided to put his friend in the back den because it was right next to a bathroom and the kitchen was pretty close.
Carefully, he leaned Blair across the back of one of the chairs while he went in search of linens for the sofa and the first aid kit. In no time at all, the couch was made up and Jim was helping his friend with his clothes. "You want to keep on your t-shirt or do you think you'll get too hot, buddy?"
Blair shivered a little at the thought and shook his head. "I don't think being too hot is going to be a problem, man. With the way I'm feeling, I'll never warm up again."
Jim didn't like how that sounded, so he propped Blair up against his side and used his free hand to feel his friend's forehead and neck. "You don't have a fever, so that means you're probably a little shocky. As soon as I take out the stinger and put some antibacterial ointment on, I'll pile the covers up as high as you want them, okay?"
"That sounds pretty good."
Ellison gently removed the younger man's pants and he couldn't quite believe the incredible size of the little guy's … uh … wound. "Damn, Chief, leave it to you to find the one bee with an extra powerful stinger. Your butt's about ten times the size it was. We're lucky I was able to get those jeans off at all." He placed the smaller man on the sofa, sunny side up and grabbed the tweezers. With clinical detachment, he palpated around the area and used Blair's groans of pain and his enhanced sight to locate the centre of the bee's wrath. "Okay, Blair, I've found the stinger. I'm gonna try to be as gentle as possible, but you've got to prepare yourself cause this is going to hurt pretty bad with all of the swelling."
"Yeah, Jim, I kind of figured that while you were trying to find the damn thing. Forget about taking it slow and easy - just get that thing out of there as quickly as you can."
"Are you sure?"
"I told you I wa… YOOOWWWWW!"
"Got it!" Jim smiled apologetically at his red-faced partner. "Sorry, but you did say…"
"I know what I said, dammit! It just happened sooner than I was expecting." Blair winced as he tried to move his body to a more comfortable position. "As Simon would say, 'You do take a brother at his word.'"
"Well, Simon shouldn't have asked me to reset his shoulder like that if he hadn't meant it. I wasn't trying to make him pass out. It just happened."
"Yeah, man, whatever," Blair commented drowsily. "And next you're gonna deny joking about his girly scream to the guys. You do realise that man can do nasty captain stuff to us, right?"
"Yeah, I know, but sometimes it's just too hard to resist." Jim took in the pallor of his friend and frowned. "Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital? You really don't look that good, Chief."
"Nah, I think I'll be okay. Like you said, if I was badly allergic to the sting, I would have had immediate problems. I think I can live with a little drowsiness and a swollen arse." He clasped his friend's hand in his own and gave him a shaky smile. "Just pile on the covers, turn off the lights and head back to the game."
That stopped Jim in his tracks. "You've got to be kidding, right? You really expect me to just leave you here like this?"
Blair held back a groan as he managed to lever himself up to better see his friend. "Of course I do. I told you I'm going to be okay. I'm just going to sleep away the afternoon and how boring is that." He smiled at Jim. "Besides, the guys need you more than I do."
"And how do you figure that, Chief?"
"Well, with the tests we've done, you can pretty much predict the trajectory of the balls and your cues to the other base coaches are a godsend when it comes to them directing their plays. You've gotta go back out there. I'd feel really bad if we lost any chance at the trophy because of me."
"It wouldn't be because of you."
Blair pulled out the big guns, a.k.a. the eyes. "I'd feel like it was. Come on, Jim, you don't want me to feel like that now would you?"
"Okay. Okay. Go easy on the Dark Side, Emperor. I know you're right. But you need to promise me if you feel any worse, you'll call me." Jim made a show of taking Blair's cell out of his backpack and placing it on the coffee table in front of the sofa. "Promise me."
"I promise. Now, go so I can get some sleep."
"All right. You don't have to nag." Jim carefully pushed Blair down and, right before he pulled the covers over him, he opened the top of a talcum powder container. "So that you won't get too hot under all of those blankets and stuff, I'm gonna put a little of this stuff on you. It's something Sally use to do for us when we were kids."
Sandburg grinned at his friend's thoughtfulness. He always cherished moments like this. "You know you're nothing but a big softy, Ellison."
"Yeah, yeah whatever. Just don't you forget to call me if you need anything." Jim tousled his partner's hair before standing. "I'll check on you right before the finals, okay?"
"Okay. Thanks, man." Raising his head, Blair watched as his friend put water and the remote on the table before heading out of the room. He sighed as he heard the closing and locking of the front door. Finally. He hoped it wasn't too late for the Major Crimes team. They really did need Jim out there.
Blair felt his head begin to spin and he dropped back down on the pillow. He was out before he even questioned the dizziness.
Who Ya Gonna Call?
Daryl Banks quickly made his way into his dad's house, dropping his bag in the foyer. He was so proud of himself for convincing his mom to let him hang with his dad since he was home for break. He knew how surprised Simon was going to be when he saw him up in the stands cheering his team to victory in the finals. He wished that his dad hadn't been hurt so that he could play, but coaching the winning team was just as important.
Without turning any lights on, he headed for the kitchen and his favourite sodas that he knew his dad kept around for him. As he opened the can, he couldn't stop the yawn that forced its way out. He shook his head as he thought about how late he'd stayed up the night before watching the restored "Night of the Living Dead" with his friends. It had been fun and scary at the time, but now he was starting to feel it.
Daryl looked at his watch and figured the finals wouldn't be starting for about another half hour at least. He decided that a little power nap would get him through the game as well as the victory celebrations afterwards. Finishing up the last of the soda, he dropped the can in the recycling bin and headed towards the den. Because of where the room was positioned in the house, it was mostly in shadows, but that didn't really bother him because he knew his dad's house pretty well.
As he entered the room, he heard a noise that almost sounded like a moan, but when it wasn't repeated, he shrugged it off as being his overactive imagination. He figured the sofa would be more comfortable than his dad's recliner and he was just about to take a seat when movement caught his eye. Daryl could just make out a shape on the sofa when an extremely white hand fell from under what looked like covers.
This time when the moan came, Daryl knew it wasn't his imagination. Being his father's son he let out one of the loudest girly screams and took off for the front door. As he fumbled with the locks on the front door and damned his dad for being an overly cautious cop, he heard more moans and a lot more moving coming from the direction of the den. Finally, the last lock released and the door opened just as he looked back and caught a glimpse of a deathly pale man limping his way towards him with his hand outstretched.
With another scream that sent dogs barking from the high pitch, Daryl ran out of the house … and into the worried arms of his father. "Daryl?! What's wrong, son?"
"Daddy, there's a dead man walking through the house!" Daryl held on to his father for all he was worth. "I came home and he was just there! We gotta get away from here!"
Simon wasn't too sure of the story he was hearing and he exchanged a worried glance with Jim who had come with him. "A dead man? Are you sure?"
Daryl nodded, "Yes, Daddy. He was in the den on the sofa and I…"
"Did you say he was on the sofa," Jim demanded. "Did you get a good look at the guy?"
"Uh," Daryl couldn't really believe this conversation, "no, Jim. I was too busy running for my *life*."
Jim had stopped listening as he headed for the front door. Once inside, his eyes zeroed in on his partner, unconscious on the floor. He dropped beside the prone figure and turned Blair over - getting a cloud of talcum powder up his nose for his effort. As Simon almost had to drag poor Daryl back into the house, Jim checked Blair's pulse and respiration.
"Is he okay, Jim?" Simon asked from the door.
"He's running a fever and he's not breathing very well." Jim nodded at his captain. "We'd better get an ambulance here, Sir."
The Day After
"So, Daryl came in and found me on the sofa…"
"Saw your pale, white hand and his mind supplied him with the whole movie scenario from the night before. He thought you were the living dead coming for him and he freaked," Jim supplied as he chuckled. "Simon said you probably scared ten years off the kid."
Blair sat up in the hospital bed - with the help of a posterior doughnut - and smiled at his friend's enjoyment of the situation. Though there had been some scary moments the night before when they'd made it to the hospital, the new day had dawned with Blair on the road to recovery. Jim had stayed the night to make sure his friend would be okay and he had looked forward to telling the younger man the whole story.
"I'm sorry about scaring him, but his scream startled me awake. As soon as I was aware, I knew I was in trouble. I tried to get up and get help from Daryl, but I couldn't get too far. Thank goodness you guys were on your way to check on me."
"Yeah, thank goodness."
Blair decided a change of subject was needed. "So, how'd we do? I know the guys had to be hurting without you or Simon there to coach them on."
Jim scratched his head and looked a little chagrined. "Funny thing about that. Without us all there, Major Crimes played a complete shut out. We, uh, won 14-0."
"You're kidding, right? We've never beat the Techies by more than two runs since I've known about the games. Have they lost players?"
"Nope. It was their full contingent."
"So, uh, that would kind of point to the theory that you, me and Simon brought *down* the team all of those other times."
"It would seem that way."
"Well, what do the guys say? Do they still want us on the team?"
"The guys have been great. They said that their worry for you spurred them on to trounce the Techies. Simon and I didn't try to dispute that notion."
Blair breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good, man. That would have been a real disaster if I hadn't been able to play. I've had some of my best dates from the numbers I've gathered at the games."
Jim harrumphed. "That reminds me. I gathered your batch from yesterday right before I headed over to Simon's and found you. They're in your bag."
"That's great, man. Thanks."
"Yeah, well, I didn't really appreciate having to do it for you and you shouldn't expect me to do it ever again, Darwin."
"It *was* the least you could do since all of this was *your* fault."
"And how do you figure that, Sandburg?!"
"You were the one that pissed off the bee."
"Well, you were the one who waved a target in its face."
"But I wouldn't have *been* a target if you hadn't swung, missed and taken out Gibbs."
"No matter what you say, Sandburg, this was not my fault."
"Yes, it was."
"No, it wasn't."
"Wanna make a bet?"
The REAL End
FYI: The bee sting portion of the story really did happen to me, but I was bit unluckier than Blair. I was stung in the eye after my brother antagonised a gigantic honeybee. My mom, being a nurse, decided to take me to work with her so that she could keep an eye on me since it was my first bee sting. I was fine when she set me up in the nurses' lounge and she used the talcum powder to keep me from getting too hot underneath the mounds of blankets I demanded. A nurse who was late coming on shift and missed the briefing explaining why I was there, walked in the lounge. She didn't turn on the light because she really was only dropping her dinner off in the fridge. She just barely made out my shape on the couch when my powdered arm fell off and became visible. She took off down the hall screaming that someone had put a dead body in the nurse's lounge. From that point on, I was known on my mom's floor as DB, Dead Body. LOL!