Blair headed out and started the short walk home. He had just gotten to the corner when someone bumped into him from behind, making him drop his grocery bag. He started to turn to see who it was, expecting to find someone apologizing for knocking into him, but he was instead whirled around and shoved into the alley. It was at that point that he realized he was being mugged. He could tell there were two of them, but they wouldn't let him turn around and get a look at them. The cop side of his brain recognized that as a good thing, meaning they didn't intend to kill him, just take his money. He tried to be cooperative, putting his hands out to his side in a non threatening gesture of surrender.
"Take it easy. I'll give you whatever you want. Just take it easy." He said.
Before he could make another move or say another word, he felt a ton of bricks drop on his head. At least it felt like a ton of bricks. He felt his legs give out and the world spin around him. He felt them going through his pockets, then the exclamation, "Shit, hes a cop!" and another voice saying, "Lets get out of here!" and the sound of footsteps running away. He tried to get up but when he moved his head everything went black and he fell back and passed out.
The poker game was running closer than it ever had before. Everybody at the table had won a hand and lost a hand. Simon was getting ready to deal again. Jim stood up and stretched, looking toward the door, suddenly realizing that Sandburg had been gone a long time. Simon noticed his glance at the door and looked at his watch. It had been an hour. "Getting worried?" he asked Jim.
Jim looked back at the other guys. Not wanting to get teased for being the Blessed Protector mother hen, he shrugged. "He's probably too busy flirting with Julie to notice the time."
"Julie?" Rafe asked.
"Yeah. Shes Jakes granddaughter. Shes living with him now while she goes to college." Jim said.
"Hey, I'm hungry." Brown said. "I think I'll walk down and hurry him up. Deal me out this hand." He got up and headed for the door.
Jim watched him leave, thinking he should be the one going to check on Sandburg. For some reason, his partner seemed to bring out the protective instincts in all of them. It had always been that way, but even more so since the haircut. They had all been shocked to see how much younger his short hair made Blair look. When he had walked into the bullpen after his haircut, Jim had almost not recognized him at first glance. He looked like a high school kid. His hair curled up even more than it had when it was long and they had cut it so that he ended up with some falling over his forehead like bangs. Blair had insisted they weren't bangs, as he was too old for bangs. So, they weren't bangs, they were just hair hanging down in front .
Jim sat down and tried to pay attention to play another hand of poker. He had noticed when he stood up to stretch that Blair's gun was hanging in its holster on the coat rack. He wondered how long it would take him to train his partner to think of his gun as an extension of himself. Maybe he never would. That had seemed to be the only part of becoming a cop that had bothered him. Sandburg had been raised to feel that guns were inherently evil, not just a tool to be used for either good or evil. How do you convince someone that a gun is not evil, only certain people who use them.
The pounding woke him up and he opened his eyes to find himself face down in an oil spot. It took him a moment to realize that the pounding was coming from inside his own head. He reached to the back of his head and felt a sticky wet spot and a lump. Somebody must have hit him. He looked around and realized he was in an alley. In the distance he heard sirens and other city noises. Well, that was normal for Cascade. About time to get moving, he thought as he struggled to his feet. He pulled his jacket around him and stumbled down the alley, not really thinking about where he was going.
Rounding the corner, he realized he was at least five miles away from the part of the city where he usually hung out, which meant a pretty good walk to the boarded up warehouse he currently considered his home. He looked around and spotted an open backed pick-up truck stopped at the traffic light. Since it was headed in the right direction, he casually walked over and quietly slipped into the truck bed, laying down so the driver wouldn't notice him.
The light changed and the truck started off down the street.
