And in the beginning...

The Dirty Mr. Clean

by Brenda Bailey

This takes place immediately after "The Debt" and with great appreciation to Becky's Page of Fiction and Fantasy for the following transcript excerpt.

Jim: (into cell phone) All right, I'm on my way. Thanks. (hangs up) I hate to bust up the party. We'll be back in a little while but some business has come up. Let's get out of here. Let's go. (motions for Blair to follow him to the truck) They found Larry.

Blair: Where?

Jim: That mini Kong of yours busted back into my apartment, and he trashed it again. Now Animal Control's got the place surrounded, so I'm going to give you half an hour to bag him. If he doesn't come out with his hands up, well then, I call in the SWAT sniper.

Blair: They say what he's doing?

Jim: He was watching TV.

Blair: You're kidding me. What program?

---

Jim pulled the pickup up beside the Animal Control truck parked in front of the loft and shifted into Park. Before he could turn off the ignition, a hand on his arm stopped him.

"Look, man, this will definitely be a lot easier if you let me go up there. In the kind of mood you're in, you're just going to set him off worse."

Blair's request was answered by a pointed glare at the hand attached to Jim's arm. Hastily removing the offending hand, Blair gave Jim one of his best apologetic looks.

"What do you mean, the kind of mood I'm in? I'm not in any kind of mood, Sandburg. I just didn't know I'd be turning the loft into a home for deranged apes that are suffering from an overdose of too much television violence." The sarcasm in Jim's voice contrasted sharply with the calm words.

Oh, boy. Time for some real damage control here, before I find myself out on the curb with Larry . "You're perfectly right, Jim. And I'm going to take care of everything. Larry will be back at the University today and I'll clean the loft up so well, you won't even know he's been there. You won't have to do a thing. You can go do whatever you want. How's that for an offer you can't refuse?"

Blair held his breath as Jim considered the offer. Come on, man, what do you want, an inspection by the Health Department? On second thought, a Health Department inspection would probably be easier to pass than one by a certain sensitive Sentinel.

"Okay, it's a deal. But I want everything spotless, you understand?"

"No problem, man. I can do clean." Blair vibrated with suppressed energy at the success of his plan.

A slight smile flashed on Jim's face. "Yeah, right, Sandburg. I saw where you lived, remember?"

Blair didn't care how much Jim criticized his former home if it meant he wasn't kicking him out of the loft right now when he still had to finish the paper on Larry since the grants department chairman had unexpectedly returned.

"How much time do you think you're going to need?"

Caught up in thinking about how he was going to work Larry's escape and subsequent return into his paper, Blair was caught off guard by Jim's question. "Time?"

Jim took one of the deep breaths Blair was always advising him to do to control his natural impatience. "Yeah, professor, time. You know, the way us common people measure how long it takes to do things, like cleaning up trashed lofts?"

"Oh, time. Sure." Blair rapidly calculated just how long Jim could be persuaded to stay away without an argument and multiplied it by two. "How about eight hours?"

He didn't have long to wait for the expected reaction. "Eight hours! You're cleaning the loft, not the whole building."

Blair quickly interrupted what promised to be a lengthy comment on his non-existent cleaning abilities. "But since you don't have eight hours, I'll do it in four. That's reasonable."

Jim continued to stare at him as if he suspected that he had been maneuvered into exactly this position, but affirmed the time with only a hint of suspicion in his tone. "Four hours. Okay."

"It's a deal then. Go do something you enjoy and when you return, you'll never know Larry was even here." Blair opened the door, but paused before making good his escape. "And can you get rid of the pooch patrol before you go?" He hopped out of the truck and gave Jim a cheerful wave.

Squaring his shoulders, Blair headed upstairs to see just what he had gotten himself into.

***

Blair put his key in the lock and cautiously pushed open the door. While the scene that greeted his eyes wasn't total destruction, it was a good impression of it. Books from the bookcases littered the floors, sharing space with what looked like every piece of clothing Jim owned along with most of the cooking utensils from the kitchen shelves. A glance at the kitchen made him think of a modern art exhibit, as coffee, flour, cereal, laundry detergent, corn meal, and his personal store of tea bags mixed with various liquids and unrecognizable solids in a combination of abstract swirls and disjointed lines. The refrigerator door stood open, its empty shelves a testament to the ingredients of Larry's creation. An empty jar of peanut butter lay abandoned by the patio doors. The sticky peanut butter remained though, on the wood floor, the windows, the dining table. Good thing we took out the trash yesterday.

Stepping fully into the room, Blair sighed, then turned and locked the door behind him. Kind of like locking the barn door after the horse has escaped, or in this case, after the horse has come home. The television played an old Planet of the Apes movie to an uncaring audience. The instigator of all the destruction, the wild animal that the neighbors had called the police on, was sound asleep on the couch in a midst of a pile of stuffing from Blair's handmade pillows he kept on the couch. He walked over to scoop up his unresisting research subject. "Guess all the activity just wore you out."

Placing Larry gently back into his cage and covering him with his blanket, Blair checked out the rest of the formerly pristine loft. Even the bathroom had been hit, with shaving cream and shampoo making the floor a prime contender in the slip and fall category, while gobs of toothpaste decorated the mirror and walls. The only area that had apparently escaped Larry's reversion to primitive behavior was his bedroom. And I don't think I'll be mentioning that little fact to Jim either. Or maybe, I just can't tell whether he's been in there or not. Shaking his head, he realized there was no way he was going to get everything cleaned up, Larry returned to the primate lab, and finish his paper in four hours. At least there was no way he could do it alone. He reached for the phone on the wall only to find the empty base, the handset lost somewhere in the debris that littered the floor. Hurriedly, he sought his chance for salvation, tossing items left and right as he searched for the missing phone. After a frantic five minutes, he finally located it under the couch, stuffed in one of Jim's socks. Ignoring the unusual location, he desocked the phone and quickly punched in a number. Come on, come on. Please be there.

"Merry Maids. Can I help you?" The calm words coming from the phone caused Blair's face to light up with relief and he leaned back against the couch. Merry Maids was the brainchild of one of Rainier's longtime counselors to give students who were working and going to school a flexible work environment.

"You sure can Jennifer, in fact you can save my life."

"Blair? What did you do, book two dates at the same time again and you need me to be your visiting cousin from out of town to get you out of hot water?" Her amusement came through loud and clear over the line.

Sticking his tongue out at the cordless, he reminded himself that her cooperation was a vital part of his plan. "You wound me with your accusation. That was just a scheduling error, it's never happened again." Well, at least it's never happened again where I almost got caught at it. "This is a real emergency, I really need your help."

"A real emergency, huh? Okay, Blair, lay it on me and it better be good."

Crossing his fingers for luck and offering up a silent prayer for cooperation, he took a deep breath and launched into his story. "The warehouse where I used to live got blown up in an explosion because there was a drug lab right next door. Not that I knew anything about it being there or anything, but a rival gang wanted to take over the operation and came in shooting people and they stole the drugs and then the place got blown up when a fire started. And I kind of persuaded this guy to let me come and stay at his place, and I had to bring Larry along too, because I was working with him on a paper about the effects of television violence on primates and the correlation that could be drawn from that in comparison to human reaction to increased acts of violence per hour in today's programming. Larry got loose in the loft. That's where this guy lives, a loft, and it's actually a pretty nice place, or at least it was before Larry got loose. He kind of trashed the whole place pretty good and I've still got to get Larry back to the University and finish up my paper and clean up the mess before the guy that lives here gets back and I've only got four hours, well, actually it's three hours and forty-five minutes now, until he comes back."

Blair listened to dead silence on the phone. "Jennifer? You still there?"

An amused chuckle answered him. "Blair, how do you get yourself into these situations? Never mind, I'm not sure I want to know." The sound of paper rustling mixed with her next words. "What's the address of this loft of yours?"

"852 Prospect #307."

"Okay, I've got two teams that just finished up at the Windham Towers. They can probably be there within fifteen minutes. And let me guess, you're going to have to owe me for this."

"You know I'll pay you." He thought about the hit his paycheck was fixing to take in order to keep his word to Jim.

"No way, Blair. I'm taking this out in trade. A favor for a favor, in fact a lot of favors for a favor, considering the rush nature of the job. I'm going to need volunteers to escort our young women."

"You're running an escort service?" Blair's voice rose in astonishment as visions of beautiful young women flitted through his brain.

"Didn't you know? I volunteered to be a Girl Scout leader and the annual cookie sale is coming up. The girls have to have an adult with them when they are out selling cookies. And I just know you'll be the perfect escort since the oldest is only eleven."

Blair swallowed, his dreams changed into visions of baby-sitting. "Great, Jennifer, that's great."

"Say good bye, Blair. I have to get busy on the phone to get your clean-up crews on the way."

"Bye, Jenn. I can hardly wait." Not!

Within the promised fifteen minutes the four students that made up the cleaning crew of Merry Maids arrived. Blair only took long enough to let them in and to ask them to lock up when they left, before he ran out the door with Larry's cage in hand.

Three hours later, the cleaning crew put the finishing touches on the loft. The wood floor gleamed, the windows sparkled, and order was restored from chaos. Borrowed cleaning supplies were returned to their places. The trash was emptied and the trash can returned to its home under the sink. In a hurry to leave by the required deadline, the student never noticed when the trashcan jostled the bottle of Mr. Clean under the counter. The bottle rocked back and forth before surrendering to the pull of gravity and falling over, it's contents slowly leaking out through the open pull top.

***

Blair finished typing at his computer and gratefully pushed the print button. The additional data had really added some spice to his paper. All done, and he still had plenty of time to drop it off before the deadline. Deadline! Damn, I forgot all about Jim's deadline! He glanced at the lower right hand corner of his computer to check the time. It's already an hour past when Jim should be back. What if the girls were still there when he came back? What if they weren't there and they didn't do a good job? Might as well get it over with. A little caution couldn't hurt though; I can call and see what kind of mood Jim is in before I show up. He eyed the fold away cot stuffed against the back wall of his office. I hope I won't need to use that tonight. Picking up the phone and dialing the number of the loft, he listened to the repeated rings. Had Jim gotten tied up and hadn't made it back yet? Hanging up the phone, he gathered up his paper to drop off on his way out and headed back to the loft.

Traffic was light and Blair made it to the loft in record time. He parked next to Jim's truck and slowly went up the stairs. For some reason, he was feeling uneasy and he couldn't imagine why. The worst thing that could happen would be for Jim to throw him out and it wasn't like he didn't have a place to go. He could always crash in his office for a day or two in an emergency. Opening the door, the first thing he noticed was the absence of any trace of Larry's rampage. All right, this should keep me out of hot water. He turned to the kitchen with a smile on his face only to see Jim's form crumpled on the floor.

"Jim!" All logical thought fled as he dropped his backpack on the floor and rushed to Jim's side. He knelt beside the unconscious man and carefully rolled him to his back, looking for any bullet holes or other forms of mayhem. Relieved when he didn't find any, his mind jumped to the next explanation. A fall. Could he have tripped and hit his head? Come on you idiot, there's nothing for him to trip over except his own two feet and Jim isn't clumsy, he moves like a cat. A sudden, chill swept over him. But he could fall down if he was zoned!

"Hey, Jim, old buddy. Are you zoned on something? Well, if you are, it's time to come back now." Blair shook Jim's arm and continued talking. "Jim, come on now. You're starting to scare me here. It's time to open those baby blues and get with the program." Jim made no attempt at a response. "Come on, man, you always popped right back in before. This isn't funny." Hating the whine that had somehow crept into his voice, he let go of the arm and gave a harder shake to Jim's shoulder. Still no response.

Blair leaned back against the kitchen cabinet, trying to think clearly. Okay, calm down, you can figure this out. Just THINK. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Now Jim, I know you're not trying to make this difficult for me so I'll take that into account, but it would really help man, if you would just GIVE ME A CLUE HERE!" Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair. "Sorry, man, didn't mean to yell or anything, but this is so not my idea of a good time." He quickly scanned the immediate area. "Okay, let's get with the program. If you're zoned, and I'm thinking you are, something must have triggered one of your senses."

Pausing in his one-sided conversation, Blair studied the unresponsive form before him. "Since your eyes are closed, I'm going to bet it's not sight. One down, four to go. Hearing is a possibility. I've noticed you shut your eyes sometimes when you're focusing, so we'll leave that one on the table. Smell we haven't worked too much on, but what's in the loft that you haven't smelled before? Even I can smell how clean..." That thought continued to chase itself around in his head. Even I can smell... Even I can smell...

Suddenly, the residual clean smell of the loft no longer seemed so pleasant. Thoughts of the myriad number of chemicals that made up most household cleaning products ran through his brain. Chlorine, ammonia, sulfates; some of the ingredients themselves were regarded as poisons. And he had just arranged for them to be hand delivered to a Sentinel's home. They hadn't even gotten around to testing things like that, everything had been happening too fast. Great, you might have figured out the cause, but what about a solution? Are you just going to leave him there until the smell goes away by itself and hope his condition isn't permanent? If he zoned on smell, will he come out of it if he gets some fresh air? Should I call the paramedics and let them treat him? What do I tell the doctor, he smelled cleaning products? They'll think he sniffs ammonia. Wait, doesn't mixing ammonia with bleach create chlorine gas? Maybe he really has been poisoned. Maybe I should call poison control. Maybe I should quit pretending I know what I'm doing. Maybe I should stop debating with myself and just DO SOMETHING!

Seizing on the only option that was feasible at the moment, Blair ran and opened the balcony doors. The cool, nighttime air carried a light mist in it, coating every surface it touched with a thin film. Grabbing Jim by the arms, he began tugging him over the freshly waxed floor toward the open doors. Good thing the floor was just waxed, he'll slide...

Blair stopped abruptly. God, what if I'm just making it worse, dragging him though it like a corpse! "No! I am not going to think like that! If I can't drag him, I'll carry him." Looking down at the over six foot, two hundred pound dead weight he was preparing to lift, he grimaced. "That is, if I can get him off the damn floor."

Kneeling down on one knee, Blair draped Jim's arms across his shoulders. He took several deep breaths to steady himself, and then struggled to his feet. "Oh man! The Hunchback has nothing on me." Breathing deeply with the exertion, he wobbled to the open doors and what he hoped would be the rejuvenating fresh outside air.

Now that Blair had attained his goal, the next problem hit him. What to do now? Trying to maneuver Jim into one of the patio chairs would be next to impossible in his unconscious state. He could always lay him out on the concrete, but that seemed rather insensitive. Compromising, he leaned Jim back against the balcony wall and eased him into a sitting position. "You hang on, man. I'm going to go air out the loft." He turned to go, but not before touching a hand to Jim's chest to feel the reassuring beat of his heart.

In record time every window in the loft was opened wide, drawing the damp night air inside. Blair then headed for the kitchen, determined to wipe down every available surface with a damp cloth. Opening the cabinet under the sink, he was hit with the odor of ammonia. The puddle from the bottle of Mr. Clean had seeped under the can of Comet, soaking the cardboard container.

"Oh man, oh man. Chlorine and ammonia. Could there have been a worse combination for you to get into?" Blair quickly tossed the damp containers into the trash. Grabbing the roll of paper towels, he knelt on the kitchen floor and soaked up the cleaning solution mess. Towel and towel were discarded into the trash as Blair scrubbed at the damp wood. Finally he was satisfied that he had done all he could. Guess I just cleaned up my first toxic spill. Great, now I'm making bad jokes about it. This was no joke; Jim could have died . Anxious to check on how Jim was doing, he washed his hands thoroughly to make sure he removed all traces of the cleaners.

Blair refused to think anything but positive thoughts as he made his way to Jim's side. Kneeling down beside him, he placed his hands on both of Jim's shoulders and shook him slightly. "Jim, it's time for you to rejoin the land of the living now. We've got a lot to talk about and I'm getting tired of talking to myself. Come on tough guy, are you going to let a household cleaner take you out? Isn't that against the Ranger motto or something?" Jim shuddered and began coughing. The smile on Blair's face could have lit the sun. "That's it, come on back. Just take it easy." Blair began rubbing small circles on Jim's back to ease the coughing.

The coughing eased up and Jim shifted away. Finally able to draw enough breath to attempt speech, he croaked out a question, "What happened?" The question was neutral enough, but there had been a trace of apprehension in his expression before it had been skillfully hidden.

"I think you reacted to a combination of things. When you came in the door you smelled all the different cleaning solutions used to clean up the loft. Naturally, you would have sought to identify them. When you focused on smell, you probably picked up on a small spill that occurred under the sink involving a bottle of Mr. Clean and some Comet."

"Ammonia and powdered chlorine bleach." Jim shook his head.

"You got it. It wasn't enough to notice ordinarily, but with your senses on alert already, it triggered a zone and a reaction to the toxic fumes produced. Fortunately, I got here and got you into some fresh air." That's right; don't mention that this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't brought the cleaning people into the loft in the first place. Blair leaned back against the damp wall and sighed. "Jim, this was all my fault. I didn't clean up the loft like I said I would. I had some professionals come in and do it and then I didn't check on their work. You could have died from breathing those toxic fumes if you had stayed there long enough. I didn't..."

Jim shifted against the wall again. "Chief, I'm not exactly in the most comfortable position right now to hear a confession. Can we take this inside where it's dry?"

Instantly Blair was on his feet. "Sorry, man, I wasn't thinking." He extended a hand toward Jim.

For a second Blair thought he was going to refuse the extended hand, but then Jim grasped the hand firmly as he pulled himself up.

"You sure you're feeling okay?"

Jim straightened up. "Yeah, yeah. I'm just dandy. Look, I'm going to take a shower and get some aspirin." Without looking back, he entered the loft and headed straight for the bathroom.

Blair watched the tall figure retreat before him. Well, that's that. Looks like I'll be sleeping in my office after all.

****

Ten minutes later the sound of the shower stopped. It won't be long now. He'll come out, ask me to leave and that will be the end. How could I have screwed up like that? You tell the guy you can help him and then you arrange to get him poisoned. Oh yeah, I'm sure he'll overlook that. Not!

Blair watched Jim come out of the bathroom, walk up the stairs, come down the stairs and then make himself comfortable on the couch and turn on the TV, all without saying a word.

"Feeling any better?" Blair approached the couch hesitantly and sat down on the edge of the cushion.

"Yeah." Jim continued to flip through the channels, finally settling on ESPN.

"Any residual effects?"

"Nope."

"I'm really sorry man. This should never have happened. I just..."

Jim finally turned his attention to him. "Chief, did you create that little surprise under the sink?"

Confusion was apparent in Blair's voice. "You know I didn't. I would never do something like that to you."

"That's right. It was an accident. It's not your fault I have these whacked out senses. You had no way to know I'd react like that, so forget it." Jim turned back to the TV.

"But it was my fault," Blair insisted.

Jim muted the TV and turned to face Blair. "Chief, we're both learning about this Sentinel stuff. Things are going to happen. We just have to deal with it and go on. Clear?"

"Does this mean you still want to work with me?" Blair smiled.

"Who else am I going to find that knows about this crazy Sentinel stuff anyway? It's not like I have much of a choice."

Blair couldn't decide if he had been insulted or not with that last comment but decided to let it pass. "Well, that's great...I think. You want to talk about it?"

"No. You already figured out what happened." Jim cancelled the mute and turned his attention back to the highlights of the Jags latest game.

Blair settled back against the cushions thinking furiously. "You do know we're going to have to do some tests to establish your sensitivity to things you might come into contact with." His voice became softer as his one-sided conversation continued. "We can start with things here in the loft and work outward." He reached for one of his notebooks and a pen from the coffee table, still talking. "This is great. We can find out what your base line is and then see how much it takes for you to have a reaction." He began scribbling in his notebook.

Beside him, Jim rolled his eyes upward.

The End