AUTHOR'S NOTES: 'Blind Man's Bluff' is one of my favorite episodes of TS. It has everything rolled into one episode - angst, humor, hurt, and comfort. This is a missing scene for this episode. It takes place after the scene where Jim and Blair are sitting in the living room of the loft when Blair is explaining about bats, the ambience and all that other stuff. Blair is trying to sound upbeat and positive for Jim's benefit. It is obvious Blair has no immediate idea when or if Jim is going to get his sight back. He is hopeful though and tries to convey some of that hope to Jim.
The idea for this scene came to me as I listened to Jim respond to Blair's upbeat explanations. This is from Blair's POV and takes place that night when both men are going to bed. Written 7/2001 originally for SentinelAngst.
I stand at the doorway to my bedroom and I watch as Jim walks up the stairs to his bedroom. He doesn't have the grace of movement he usually has with his sight. But I don't try to interfere. I did that earlier and Jim pushed me away. Jim is fiercely independent.
I hear him banging around, finding his way upstairs. I'm sure if he gets too frustrated, he'll call out to me. After about fifteen minutes, I hear him settle down and relax in his bed. I exhale, not realizing I was holding my breath.
I strip down to my t-shirt and boxers. I go into the bathroom and do my nightly ritual. I do a little clean-up around the sink where Jim had splashed. And I straighten up the towels. I smile to myself and think that I could use this against Jim. House rules and everything. But I won't.
I go back into my bedroom and get into bed. I close my eyes and try to imagine being blind. A blind anthropologist. I would probably die. An observer can't observe if he can't see. My mind is full of thoughts and ideas of how I can help Jim. If he wants my help.
I've got to keep him positive. That's the most important thing. Then, his almost whispered question comes to me again.
"At the risk of being a pessimist here, what happens if my vision doesn't come back?"
I never really answered the question directly. I explained what happened to his sight and that if he worked hard enough, his sight would come back. I have my doubts, though. This is completely out of my league. I don't know what I'm doing. I think about how Jim sounded. I could detect apprehension and fear in his voice. And when I looked at him, I could see worry.
I'm glad Jim couldn't see my face after he asked that question. I share the same fear and worry as Jim. I tried to keep it out of my voice when I talked to him. I think I was successful. At least Jim didn't question me any further.
Jim seemed so raw and vulnerable. Jim Ellison is never raw and vulnerable. Not around me. He's always in control. As I think about it now, the tears come to my eyes. I couldn't let them fall earlier. Jim would have caught on to me. Even now, there's a slight risk. But I won't sob or cry out.
What happens if Jim's vision doesn't come back? It's the million dollar question. And I don't know if I have the answer. But how do you tell your best friend that? 'Sorry, Jim. I don't have a clue. You're on your own, Jim.' I can't do that.
I sit up in my bed, pulling my legs up to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs. If Jim remains blind, I'm sure I could help him adapt with his other senses. But, would he come to resent me? And what would he do as a career? He could no longer be a policeman. Jim is an active person. He's a doer more than a thinker. He'd have to have something to occupy his mind.
I'm depressing myself with this line of thought. I reach up to wipe away my tears. I get out of my bed and walk from my bedroom. I walk over to the balcony and outside, closing the door behind me. I look up at the clear Cascade night. I pray to all the gods above that Jim gets his sight back. It's the only answer.