This was written after a prompt from the book by Jason Rekulak, "The Writer's Block". The prompt was something along the lines of getting stuck in an elevator for hours with somebody you don't like. Takes place on the day Blair is being offered the badge.

Thanks to Lyn for the beta!

Point of View

By Demeter

EMAIL: Demeter

I already hate this day.

I'm going to meet Jim for dinner; he said there's something we need to talk about, and with the state of my life lately, it can't be good. He also said he's going to buy, which is probably supposed to cheer me up, because today is the day...

Damn, it's getting to me, but I won't give Edwards the satisfaction of showing her how I really feel, that leaving like this, leaving all my dreams behind, is tearing me apart.

Sure, I'll adapt; I've had many jobs before, and I'll find something to keep my head above the water. Jim and I will adapt, too - maybe it will be even better for our friendship now that my observer's ride is over. Giving each other space.

I'm having a hard time leaving this building, if not the room where Alex came to see me, because she could not leave me alive. I never really felt at home there; it was too smooth. Even that storage room had a lot more personality, and it was filled with bitter-sweet memories, not the fear of death.

It's all a moot point now, because I won't be coming back. I'm carrying the last box now, inside, a coffee mug with the word 'Chief' written on it (never knew where Jim got this one), a half-dead plant and some other clutter. Pieces of my life.

I'm taking the elevator, which I tend to avoid when I'm alone, but I want to get home quick, have some time for myself, before I put on my smile and go meet Jim. All's well. I'd better meditate some, too, in order to keep that heartbeat calm... Inside, I lean against the back wall, just barely noticing when somebody else steps inside at the last moment. The last thing I'm interested now is small-talk.

There's a screeching sound, the ride coming to an abrupt halt, jolting me out of my thoughts.

Oh no. Not again. Please, not now.

"I hate elevators!" the woman swears, and I turn around in surprise, and for a moment, she looks as shocked as I am, then her expression turns to one of annoyance.

It's Chancellor Edwards.

<<<>>>

The only thing relieving about this is that she's just as eager to get off this elevator than I am. It's a Friday afternoon; there must be somebody answering? But the phone keeps ringing merrily, no one picking it up.

This can't be happening.

Edwards is acting very controlled, but I sense her tension and hope I won't be on the receiving end of it -- but hey, I've got some things to tell her, too. Like she protected a rapist, and, as we found out later, murderer, just because his parents had money and influence.

We try to call for help then, but give it up quickly, feeling silly, and she and I both know that it's not very likely that somebody will hear us, as most of the staff has already left for the weekend; those who haven't are giving classes in another part of the building.

"Just great," she snaps. "I'm beginning to think you bring me bad luck, Mr. Sandburg."

//And vice versa//, I think, but I don't bother getting into an argument with her now; it's pointless anyway. This will be the last time we see each other. Detach with -- if not love, at least without an unnecessary fight. I don't say anything at all.

We retreat into a corner of the elevator each, keeping as much distance as possible.

The silence is uncomfortable, but any talk between us would be worse. I keep focusing on the emergency button, avoiding her gaze, but her emotions are as obvious as if she'd voiced them. I wonder if there was ever a time when she has not hated me.

There's a sudden noise, making both of us jump, and I stumble a little for the lack of something to hold on to when the memory slams into me. Another drop. Screaming. Counting the minutes until the next one and asking oneself if it wasn't all pointless anyway, because there was the suitcase with the bomb inside.

"Damn, there goes my dinner invitation," Edwards mutters, and I'm grateful, as her voice brings me back to reality. The elevator hasn't been dropping. We're simply stuck, things like that happen, and we'll get out soon without some crazy criminal threatening to kill us -- right?

I agree with her in one thing: I hate elevators, too.

<<<>>>

All that cleaning out was tiring, emotionally and otherwise, and since nothing is happening here, I simply sit down in the corner, next to the box with my personal belongings.

Edwards shoots me another unnerved look - what have I done now? - and keeps leaning against the wall on her side of the enemy lines.

"Hey," I say, angry all of a sudden. "It was never my intention to embarrass the university. I loved being here."

She doesn't look at me, but says coldly, "Funny, that was not the impression I got ever since you hooked up with the police department."

"You don't understand!"

"There, you're probably right. I'm not even interested anymore."

I know it shouldn't, but it still hurts. The university used to be a shelter for me. She's calmly cutting through all the threads of meaning, and doesn't even know it.

Man, I want out of here. I know it must be my imagination, but the air has started feeling thinner, and again I'm drawn into images of the Galileo case, the body memory coming alive with the unpleasant tension gripping me.

The way we'd all tense up before the next drop, not knowing how deep it would be, and would the result be bruises, or broken bones or--

"Get a grip, now, will you?" Edwards groans. "Don't think *I'm* having fun here."

I'm trying, damn it, I'm trying, but I can't fight the feeling that the walls are closing in on me. And it's only been close to an hour; Jim won't expect me until later.

Shrinks learn to get their clients to focus on the positive, the fact that they must have been doing something right or they wouldn't be around for therapy. I know all of the jargon, so I try to direct my mind to the moments after the rescue, going home with Jim.

"True. You haven't been trapped in an elevator where a madman left a bomb, though."

She is silent then, making me wonder if she remembers that case.

Minutes pass, and my mind wanders again.

I'd been wired, unable to sit down, so I offered to cook. It went well for a while, until I stood over the stove and started shaking. I tried to hide it, but no such luck, so I started cursing about how I hated this, being such a wuss when nobody had died.

Jim was behind me an instant later, running his hands over my arms, not quite embracing. "Hey, don't talk about my friend like this," he gently admonished. "Because he was damn brave today."

Things haven't been that easy between us in a while. The sting of unshed tears at the thought of all that is lost, jarrs me back into the present again.

Edwards looks away quickly, which means she's been watching me. Oh my. It's not like I care a whole lot about her opinion, right? "What?" I say defensively.

She shrugs. "We'll be here for a while, I guess, so why not come clean. I never got it, Mr. Sandburg. All of us, we were so damn impressed with you and the glorious future we thought you had. It was all fine until you got that crazy idea playing a cop and thinking it was so much more important than your real job."

I can't let that stand; am practically breathless with the accusation.

"What do you think I did when skipping classes? We caught murderers. We did important work!"

"And your scholarly work did suddenly become totally unimportant?" she asks icily.

I get up, continuing to talk as I do so. "You don't understand, no, I don't think you even want to understand. I never even submitted my dissertation. If I had, you would probably -- ah, whatever. You've been searching for a reason to throw me out ever since Ventriss."

She blushes a little at that, but protests. "That's not true. This is something you have no idea about. I care about the university. Actually, I hardly care that much about anything else, and losing the old Ventriss' funding was a big blow."

"His son is a murderer and rapist!"

"Yes, I know that now." Edwards sighs. "But at that time? All I had heard about *you* had to do with authorized and unauthorized leaves of absence. There was hardly a hint that you'd take your studies the least bit seriously."

Whoa, that hurt. "I might have neglected them more than I should have, but I had reason to."

"Maybe you had," she agrees unexpectedly, looking tired. "It's too late for regrets though."

They're on the tip of my tongue, the words to totally embarrass myself and *beg* her to reconsider her decision. The moment passes, and my pride wins. "Looks that way."

It's back to the silence, then.

I wonder what cruel twist of fate has brought us together here, in this situation. Maybe it's good for something... There'll be no more teaching in my future, but most likely, no crazy kidnappers or bombers, either, as I'm sure my days as observer are finally over. Time to face life, right?

I know it's silly, but I could have sworn the walls have moved closer together. It doesn't help to tell myself over and over again that this time is different - reality still blurs for moments growing longer, which is twice as bad, because I don't want her to notice.

It's too quiet though to not be aware of the rapid beat of my heart, no distraction from the feel of that drop of cold sweat snaking down my spine. I take a deep breath, and another, and it doesn't seem to be enough--

"Try to relax." I jump at the sound of her voice from up close and realize she's sat down beside me, one hand on my shoulder. "It'll pass."

While I'm mentally hunting for something to say, anything to make this just a little less embarrassing, she continues, "I've had a friend who had an anxiety disorder."

Not sure if that's better. "Not that bad," I say finally. "I just don't like elevators very much, you know?"

She nods. "Look, while we're stuck here, why don't I say it. I know you think I've been on a personal crusade against you, but that isn't true."

I open my mouth to say something, but she holds up her hand. "Please. The opportunity might never come again. So - in short? I have six siblings. I would have never gone to college if it hadn't been for scholarships. And I've always loved to learn."

That's something I can relate to. It isn't so hard to remember being 16, and the first few days at Rainier. It was the first real home... before the loft. Not a good idea to think of that now, when it might be lost soon, too.

"I don't get to see every student who enrolls at Rainier, but for some reason, I kept track of you. Maybe because I thought you'd have the same attitude. When that changed, I decided I had to protect what I loved most; this university. So sue me." She laughed wryly. "Not literally, of course."

"I don't plan to sue. And... I can't really make you understand, but it hasn't changed. It never did."

Edwards just acknowledges my words without commenting on them. Seconds tick by once again. Then she slaps her forehead.

"No way. You can't possibly be saying that he, your friend, he really--"

"Stop," I interrupt her promptly. "We're not having this conversation. I understand, okay? I know you had no alternative with what information was available to you. It's over."

She looks at me intently, probably searching for proof that I'm serious. Hell, I want to, even if it's hard. The chance to turn it all around - but at what price? And then it's gone.

"It's a pity, though," she says.

"Yes, maybe."

I feel drained all of a sudden.

//I had to protect what I loved most.//

<<<>>>

The weird thing is, when somebody finally notices that we're in there, and gets us out, it's still enough time to get to the station in time without ever letting anyone know what happened, and that's fine with me. I've had enough drama for today...

I go home to change, and then I'm on my way again.

<<<>>>

An hour and several 'They'll love you at the academy' jokes later, I feel dizzy with all the revelations of this day. Fortunately, Jim has caught up on my state of mind, and prepares retreat for the two of us. "Sure, Simon, we'll be back tomorrow to talk about this. No, thanks, Megan, I guess we'd rather go home now. Goodnight, Naomi."

We're finally down on the street, my mind still racing with afterechoes of today's events.

"Chief, I'm sorry about those theatrics. I wanted to tell you first, but -- you know those clowns."

"Yeah." I find myself smiling, and he smiles back at me, relieved. Maybe a little too relieved.

"You know I can't make a decision like this in a heartbeat, don't you?"

He sighs. We keep walking to the truck, and I'm almost startled by his hand on my back. We've always been into each other's personal space, part necessity, part comfort, all of it adding up to our friendship - just not lately.

"I understand," Jim says, as he's unlocking the vehicle. "You take your time to think of it. Meanwhile, I've got another surprise for you."

That makes me groan. "No offense, man, but I've had enough of that for a while. First I get stuck in an elevator with Chancellor Edwards, of all people, who, as it turns out, isn't the Wicked Witch of the West in disguise, then you guys get me a new job and now... I'm almost afraid to ask, because--"

"Hey. Chief. Hold on a second." I've seen the amusement in his gaze turn to concern. "It's just dinner. I just didn't want anyone to get the idea to come along tonight. And what did you just say?"

"You get me a job?" It's cold out here, and I feel myself starting to shiver with today's overload.

"No, Chief, not that part."

"Being locked up with Edwards, oh, right. At least it was just the two of us and no hysterical fellow passengers. And no bomb."

His smile shows relief. I can relate to that.

"That's good." Jim says, starting the engine. "Dinner's on me for the little time left that you won't have a pay check - think of it as a transition ritual."

That makes me grin, though I'm aware of all the implications that lie in this decision. It won't be an easy transition, whatever I choose. And I need to think it through, despite the fact that Jim's hope is so very tempting to say yes right away. There's an option now.

I don't hate this day all that much any more, and I can't help but think that the transition might have already begun.

The End