Guidelines
Regulations
Rated TEEN
Jump to Part: 1 .. 2 .. 3 .. 4 .. 5 .. 6 .. 7 .. 8 .. 9 .. 10 .. 11 .. 12 .. 13 .. 14 ... 15
Jim crossed the threshold of the precinct with more than a little concern. Last time he was here, the sound of cells slamming and perps yelling their innocence and cops typing up reports had merged into one cacophony that had sent him into a hearing spike that nearly killed him. Now he just had to worry about his fellow cops arresting him and the hippy guide following him and the entire USSP which was going to be happy enough to want to throw them both in a deep, dark cell. And Thumbelina behind him seemed entirely too oblivious.
The officer at the front desk must not have received the memo about Jim being an official nut case because he just nodded as Jim walked by the front desk and Jim nodded back.
"You have a pass?" Jackson asked a millisecond after the man acknowledged Ellison.
"What? Me?" Blair asked in surprise.
"He's with me, Jackson," Jim said as calmly as possible and he promptly pulled Blair to his side so that his own body was between the two men. The minute he did it, Jim flinched, but Blair just let himself be maneuvered without complaint. Not willing to push his luck or Sandburg's patience, Jim hurried toward the elevator. He'd pushed the button three or four times before he realized that he still had his hand on his guide's back. The warmth under his fingers felt so good that Jim was tempted to just let himself enjoy the moment, but he wasn't about to let himself get attached again.
The elevator doors opened, and he dropped his hand and forced himself to keep some distance as Blair stepped in.
"Man, you are going to explode from all that bottled up emotion man, this kind of repression is bad for the soul," Blair said once the doors had slid shut on them.
"Not the time, Junior. Just remember to let me do the talking."
"Yeah. No problem. I don't have any idea how to explain this anyway. I've been studying sentinels for years, and I've never heard of anything like this ever happening before."
"Yeah, I'm a regular freak."
"Oh, man. You are way too hung up on that word. There is no way…"
"Drop it."
"…way you are anything like a…"
"Drop it," Jim growled a little louder, but the kid just kept right on talking.
"…freak. You are fucking incredible and totally acting on natural instinct here, which is completely…" Jim slammed his arm into his guide's upper chest pinning him against the side of the elevator car.
"Drop. It."
"And I'm thinking you want me to drop the subject," Blair finished without even a hint of fear scent coloring the air. Jim stared at his guide, horrified with himself for physically touching his guide in such a way and equally shocked that Blair just gazed back completely unperturbed by such outrageous actions. The two stood locked in this position until the elevator doors rang open to Major Crimes.
"Ellison?" a shocked voice asked. Jim turned his head to see one seriously shocked expression.
"Hey, big guy," Jim backed off and watched as Blair turned a smile to Taggart.
"I thought you were on leave?" Taggart's said uncertainly as his hand reached out and grabbed the elevator doors which had started to close on them.
"Just gotta talk to the captain," Jim said as he quickly pushed Blair out in front of him and started for the doors to the Major Crimes area.
"Hi, Blair Sandburg," Blair stepped away from him and stuck his hand out at Taggart who both returned the handshake and shot Jim a confused look.
"Joel Taggart," the large black man offered, but before they could exchange any more than that, Jim had gotten a hold of Blair's shoulders and turned the man toward the squad room.
"Nice to meet you," Blair sort of shouted over his shoulder and even as Jim pushed him through the door and toward Simon's office. "Well that was rude," he added softly enough that Jim knew it was for him. He immediately dropped his hands off Blair's shoulders and stepped ahead of his guide. He also tried to ignore Brown who had stood the minute the walked in and had an expression on his face like he was about to tackle both of them.
Right, just get to Simon, Jim told himself as he went up to the door and knocked.
"What part of don't interrupt me did you not understand?" a voice yelled from the other side.
"Simon?" Jim yelled back, not wanting to interrupt, but by coming here he really had put a lot of faith in the guys backing him rather than throwing him back in the nuthouse, if the nuthouse would even have him after the incident with the exploding wall. The door suddenly flew open hard enough that the doorknob slammed into the wall and the glass shivered.
"Jim?" Simon stood with his eyes wide and his mouth open, and Jim drew a breath as he tried to figure out what exactly to say.
"Hi, Simon. Boy, you weren't kidding about Jim being a little touchy, were you?" Jim watched as Blair side scooted around both of them to the office and threw himself down in one of the insubstantial chairs waiting for Simon's visitors. Jim had to stomp down on a desire to pull his guide back to his side. Shit, he knew better, but he just couldn't keep his head on straight around the kid.
"Sandburg?" Jim started pushing his way past Simon to get to his guide, but Simon's large hand closed over his forearm. "Jim?"
"Man, are you planning on saying anything other than our names?" Blair said just as Jim found his own voice.
"I'm fine, Simon."
"Fine? You're fine? What about six feet of rubble that used to be a wall at Oak Groves, what about you disappearing into thin air, what about the detectives who've been working overtime trying to find you?" Simon ran out of breath.
"I think we need to talk," Jim admitted and Simon stepped back into his office with Jim following. Jim took a seat near the window, and Simon stuck his head back into the bull pen.
"I don't want to be interrupted and this time I actually mean it," Simon snarled before slamming the door and retreating to his desk. "Okay, I'm hoping you have some answers that actually make some sense. And is there a reason you brought Sandburg with you? In fact, where did you find Sandburg?"
Jim glanced over, but Blair was actually staying quiet. Jim wondered how his guide made decision about when to listen and when to totally ignore Jim's requests. He was starting to think Blair timed his responses for maximum annoyance.
"I want back on active duty, and I want Blair signed on as my guide," Jim calmly announced and Simon's face went through a whole series of emotions from shock to relief to frustration and back to shock.
"Guide? Sandburg? Since when is Sandburg a guide and since when is Jim Ellison, hardass and loner, looking for a guide?" Jim took several deep breaths because there really wasn't an easy answer for that.
"Man, you know how I told you I had this second dis topic? I wanted to look at the possibility that guides were genetically unique? I totally think Jim proved my point because he tracked me down and we totally bonded." Jim flinched at the word bonded, but really Blair couldn't have any idea that was he was saying meant something different to sentinels, and luckily Simon couldn't either.
"You're Jim's guide?"
"Not exactly," Jim interrupted before Blair could say any more. "A guide is a recognized and trained position, and Junior here hasn't been recognized by anyone. I need him to be officially acknowledged," Jim said, and he hoped that Simon understood what he was not saying with the kid in the room. Simon made eye contact and held eye contact with him long enough that Jim thought he'd gotten his point across. Unfortunately for him, his guide was not exactly an idiot, and he got the point too.
"Oh man. This sucks. Until I get recognized by someone we got zero legal protection here, don't we?" Blair blurted, and Jim felt his jaw tighten at Blair's frustrated tone.
"We just need to get you hired as an official guide, and then we're fine," Jim said as he pinned his captain with his coldest stare. Given a choice between his job and his guide, he would protect his guide first. "Meanwhile, I want back on the job Simon."
"On the job?" Simon's voice rose in surprise. "I'm trying to figure out how to avoid having to charge you with destruction of property, endangerment, and illegal use of explosives. And I don't even want to know how you got your hands on explosives," Banks voice was now nearing his full shout, and Jim just stood silent. He had wondered about the explosives too, but he wasn't going to ask Charlie where the man came up with them because he didn't want to have to arrest the one man who had been willing to break him out of the Oak Groves. "You want me to just ignore this whole incident and give you back your shield?"
"He is totally over the sensory overload. Totally. I'm sure he was a little out of hand, but I think the doctors at Oak Groves can prove he has his senses back under control." Jim opened his mouth to contradict his guide because there was no way he was going back in for testing. No Fucking Way. Before he could comment, Simon smiled.
"Done," he said with a slap on his desk that slid a file an inch or two. "You two get over to Oak Groves for testing and make nice with the director, and I'll work on getting Sandburg on the books." Simon leaned back in his chair looking satisfied, and Jim tried to find some counter argument. "Gentlemen, I do believe you have work to do, and I have to get two names off the missing persons' list." Simon turned to his computer and Jim recognized a final dismissal.
"Yes, sir," he said as he turned to leave the office. Tests. Shit. Jim was back through the bullpen and at the elevator before he realized Blair was still at his side.
"No problem, man. Just a few tests. Did you notice how those people in there were staring though? You work with some weird people. That African American dude looked ready to take you down with a flying tackle." The elevator opened, and Blair walked by Jim to get in leaving Jim standing there still trying to find a reason to avoid going to Oak Groves.
"Just tests," he finally groused as he got on the elevator. "You've never been to sentinel testing if you can say that." He stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the first floor.
"Since you're here and not locked up at Oak Grove, I'm assuming things went well," Simon said the next morning in a faintly pleased tone of voice as Jim herded his guide into the office and closed out all the curious stares with a healthy slam of the captain's door. Jim narrowly avoided rolling his eyes. Yeah, if things had gone any better, he might have killed his guide. And somehow he wasn't even surprised when Blair started that enthusiastic manic lecture mode that seemed frightenly normal for him.
"Man, he scored at the top of every scale I've ever studied. He scored a 7.2 on the indexed hearing curve, which is like having a minor league pitcher striking someone out in the World Series. I can only list three other sentinels who ever scored that high, and man, I’m talking about 125 years of keeping records. His control isn't quite as good, but he's getting here. Awesome man, things went awesome." Blair settled into a set across from Simon with a huge smile, and Jim almost found himself smiling. Almost. He still had hours of testing to be cranky about.
"Chief, I think a 'things went well' would have worked," Jim teased a bit. It was hard not to tease with Blair's unbridled enthusiasm reminding him of a hyper school kid.
"Oh yeah, great, man." Blair confirmed. Simon looked over at him, and Jim shook his head at the same time to indicate his own slightly different opinion.
"Any problems?" Simon asked suspiciously.
"None," Blair answered happily.
"Except the part where you volunteered me for a whole series of tests," Jim countered with a slight frown. Yesterday's tests had been almost bearable with Blair's voice there to talk him through the painful spikes that were the inevitable result of pushing his senses, but he had been in the military long enough that he had learned to never volunteer. Blair, however, had taken the director's none too subtle hint and had responded with an enthusiasm that Jim would have associated with winning the lottery. Of course, Blair wasn't the one who had to deal with zones and spikes and the splitting headaches that resulted from pushing his senses.
"Volunteered? For testing? Who are you and where is Jim Ellison?" Simon asked with a fierce scowl toward Jim, but Jim could also see the corners of the man's mouth twitching with amusement.
"Not funny, sir," Jim said dryly. "He agreed to a full series of tests over the next three months covering both range and control."
"Ouch," Simon said with far less sympathy than Jim thought the tragedy deserved and far more than he had actually expected from Simon.
"Oh, man. You could be the holy grail to figuring out how the senses are actually triggered. The USSP put you through the whole program, and your senses still didn't come on line until you went down in that crash in Peru." Jim felt his temper rise as Blair blithely discussed something he knew nothing about.
"Drop it Darwin," he warned, abut Blair ignored his warning.
"If we can identify the real trigger for your senses, we might find a way to help other sentinels. I mean do you have any idea how many sentinels the military is totally screwing up?" Jim grabbed his own wrist as he attempted to force down his rising anxiety as his guide showed concern for other sentinels. He knew better than to get so attached, to let himself lose control. How many times had his other guides warned him, but he couldn't help stepping right up to Blair's chair, and Blair merely looked up calmly. Simon even seemed a little concerned as he stood and leaned forward over his desk, his palms flat on the wood.
"Ellison?" Simon voice had a sharp edge that carried both concern and a veiled threat if Jim couldn't get himself back under control.
"You'll stay away from the USSP and any other sentinels." Jim ground his words out through clenched teeth and Blair just nodded as though Jim had offered ice cream.
"Sure thing, big guy. I think I'd rather avoid the whole mess right now." Jim felt his fury evaporate like frost in the sun. He quickly stepped back before his guide could complain about his physical intimidation, and one look at Simon's face told him just how out of control he had been. Simon's eyes were comically wide, and his lips pressed into a straight, grim line. "So, Simon, how is the job front going?" Blair asked as if his own sentinel hadn't just tried to physically terrorize him. Not that intimidation actually worked, Jim realized. Even before his senses had completely returned, he could smell a suspect's fear when he had turned on that covert persona and moved into their personal space. Blair had just looked up with perfect trust as though believing every child's book he'd ever read on the perfection of sentinels.
"Gentlemen, we have a slight problem," Simon admitted, and Jim felt himself stiffen. If he couldn't get guide status for Blair, he wasn't sure how he could keep the USSP from coming in and taking Blair again.
"I need him, Simon," Jim said, struggling with his need to keep his guide close and his conflicting need to not be so pathetically dependant.
"I got him credentials to ride along. But personnel is not going sign on a guide with no papers. So let's just get his paperwork from Vera so he can go with you, and we'll keep trying to get the higher ups to make an exception. Meanwhile, you've got a case detective." Jim heard the words, but his attention was focused on his guide who sat with his head thrown back and his hair hanging down the black back of his chair.
"Man. No job, no rent money, no clothes, man. Naomi always talked about letting go of the material, but this is too far even for her."
"We'll pick up some more clothes after work, Chief." Jim offered, as he tried to ignore the relieved voice in his head that pointed out that Blair couldn't leave if he didn't have money. Jim took that voice and strangled it with his bare hands. Blair had lost everything, and here Jim was thinking about his own needs. He wondered what it was about guides that brought out the worst in him.
"That's just not cool. I've been on my own since I was sixteen, but the USSP goons didn't even leave me with a driver's license or ten bucks."
"You're helping me; I'll cover it until we get this worked out." Jim stomped down on another surge of possessiveness. He needed to get the kid away from him before he lost control. "Tell you what, you head right out the door and ask for Brown. Tell him you have to get your ride along paperwork and he'll show you Vera 's office."
"It'd be nice to at least get paid enough to eat," Blair grumbled.
"You think I'd let my guide go hungry?" Jim stepped forward, his anger surging up again despite his best efforts. As he stood with his arms crossed, looming over Blair, he expected to get pulled off or yelled at or even given the boot by a guide who didn't want to put up with his attitude. He obviously wasn't used to Blair Sandburg.
"Man, I'm thinking the department shouldn't be getting two for the price of one," Blair pointed out and then he reached up and closed a hand around Jim's forearm in order to pull himself up out of the chair. Blair fingers curled around Jim's crossed arms, and Jim could feel every millimeter of his guide's touch. He could feel Blair's grip pressing into his flesh and slowing the blood flow as Blair pulled himself up right. He could feel Blair's body heat flowing toward him as Blair stood so close that his chest pressed into Jim's crossed arms. He could smell the eggs on Blair's breath from the breakfast they had shared at the loft. He could see a dozen shades of blue in Blair's eyes.
"I can pull my own weight, as long as I don't have modern day witch hunters arresting me as the local heretic," Blair pointed out, and Jim held himself still as Blair pushed back on the chair rather than try to maneuver between it and Jim. Without further comment he left the office closing the door behind.
"Jim? You okay?" Simon asked. Jim took a deep breath and reasserted some of the control that he lacked when his guide was in the room. Of course now he just felt restless and on edge with Blair out of the room, but that was an improvement.
"Yes, sir. I'm fine." Simon just snorted at that. "You said I have a case?" Jim knew he needed something to focus on. Well, something else anyway. He'd been doing a fair amount of focusing lately and none of it was healthy.
"Yeah, we've had an explosion on one of the ferry boats. Twelve killed, mostly by drowning after the explosion and no suspects. Joel and every other bomb expert in the state have said that the bomb components are so common that they can't give us anything. If your senses are on line, you may be our only hope of finding whoever did this." Jim felt a more familiar anger creep up his backbone. This was his territory, and no one could come in and challenge him.
"Given your expression, I assume you're willing to take the case," Simon said with a small chuckle and Jim pulled his anger back.
"Simon, you know I am. Any leads?"
"Other than the obvious terrorist act, no. Rafe has been looking at the usual terrorist suspects with no luck."
"I'll get the file from Rafe," Jim said as he mentally ran through a list of suspects and snitches in his head.
"Just remember to bring the suspects home in one piece. I'm starting to worry about you here, detective. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Just having some adjustment problems, sir. The USSP isn't going to just walk away, and Blair does things that…" Jim stopped. How could he explain to Simon just how much the kid annoyed him at times without making it sound like he didn't like the kid?
"Yeah, he grows on you like mold, but it can still be annoying as hell. I fought like hell to get him recognized as a guide, and I'm worried that without some sort of protection, now you're both going to disappear one night."
"It could happen, Simon."
"Damn it. I don't know who else to go to. He doesn't have guide training or the certificate."
"I know."
"I tried, Jim."
"I know you did. But I need another favor."
"I think that will depend on what you want," Simon said cagily. "I'm hoping there are no explosives involved this time."
"Call a press conference," Jim asked. Simon froze, searching Jim with his eyes so intensely that Jim might have been convinced that the man was a sentinel himself.
"Are you going to let Blair announce his theory?" Simon asked slowly. Jim let himself consider that option for a moment, but he knew that in the long run, that wouldn't be best for Blair or himself, or for the USSP in general. If they backed the USSP into a corner, things could get very messy, so it was time for some more subtle forms of attack. And despite his colleagues' opinions, he could do subtle.
"Hell no. He'd talk the press to death and then I'd have to arrest my own guide. But if they knew that Blair has been working with me, trying to take the place of a guide without the guide training…. If I tell them how Blair is an expert on guides and sentinels, they might be interested in a way for sentinels to work without a formal guide."
"So make yourself enough of a public figure that they can't touch you two without getting every conspiracy theorist in the state up in arms," Simon confirmed with a small smile. "But at the same time, you aren't challenging their theories… you aren't calling Blair your guide."
"Something like that." Jim dropped into on of the chairs and spent a moment trying to locate his guide. Finally he heard a faint burst of laughter from Blair, and he forced himself to relax. "If they think we're willing to keep our mouths shut in return for being left alone, they may take the offer."
"Will that keep them away long term?" Simon finally asked in the silence of the room as he brought a cup of coffee to his lips.
"I don't know. I’m military, Simon. They have the legal right to recall me, but maybe I can get them to leave Blair alone. But if they figure out where he is and we haven't made any plans...." Jim paused as he considered some of the darker duties he'd been called to do in his covert ops days. "I just don't want them to get their hands on Blair even if they do call me back to active duty."
"I thought sentinels and guide always traveled together."
"I've been through four guides already, Simon. It hurts to separate, but it's very possible. If they come for me, I don't want him getting caught up in the middle. If we go public, the USSP can't take him without making him look important and making people go digging into the kid's past research."
"So this is more about him." Jim looked up and caught a calculating expression on Simon's face that he didn't quite understand.
"Hopefully it will be enough for the USSP to just call a truce. We won't call ourselves sentinel and guide, they won't draft us back into the military. The kid can't take what happens in the USSP, Simon. I don't want him destroyed."
"I'll call the press conference for tomorrow afternoon. Press always eats up the sentinel angle, and they'll love getting you in front of the camera. Every time I have a conference they complain because I can't drag you down to meet with them. So, you get that file from Rafe and go to that sentinel thing," Simon ordered, and Jim gave a little laugh. Simon had always been casual about his sentinel abilities, which was a relief from the hero worship and ridiculous expectations of most people, but Simon had never dealt with Jim when the senses were on-line and he was a true sentinel. Jim just hoped he could control himself well enough to not get shown the door. God knows the USSP didn't put up with him for long.
"Thank you, sir," Jim said as he stood and started for the door. He hoped that Simon understood just how many reasons Jim had to be thankful. Taking a deep breath, Jim pulled open the door and faced the detectives who had all picked this morning to catch up on all their paperwork.
The big, black head of the bomb squad stood leaning against a file cabinet. He wasn't officially in Major Crimes, but in today's world of terrorism and suicide bombers, Joel Taggart had become a *de facto* member of Central Precinct's first line of homeland defense. Henry Brown sat at his desk near Simon's office, a piece of paper in his hand and half way to the desk frozen in space. Salvatore Ricardo, the newest member of the main shift despite his salt and pepper hair and lined face, stood by the fax machine and at least tried to look like he was doing something other than staring. Detective Rafe didn't even bother trying to look busy. He sat on the edge of his desk watching with hazel-brown eyes and a growing smile.
"Well you're a welcome sight for overworked eyes," Rafe finally announced and the other detectives added small words of support, Brown's "Hell, yeah" clearly the loudest.
"What, you girls can't handle the workload on your own?" Jim asked with a smile.
"Har-har," Taggart added as he walked up and slapped Jim's arm. "We just got slowed down spending all our time looking for your sorry ass."
"Good thing I came back because you weren't doing such a good job at that," Jim shot back, and he couldn't remember the last time he had felt so comfortable with this group. He had always felt like he was connected to the department through Simon who had recruited him from Vice and acted as surrogate guide when everyone else had started avoiding taking calls with him. Well, to be fair he had broken Brown's nose coming out of a zone once, so he couldn't blame them.
"Hear ya got a guide," Ricardo said, his New York accent still slightly coloring his deep voice.
"Got a ride along who can duck faster than you lot," Jim replied as he went back to his desk. His usual stack of files and notes stuffing his two baskets had disappeared. However, his pictures and knickknacks still waited. He fingered the gooseneck lamp as he looked down at the pictures of his wife and his mother: two more people who hadn't been able to handle having him around too long. Jim picked them up and reverently put them in a desk drawer. It was time to let go of that past. A small plastic Jags pencil holder still waited with its mismatched pens inside. Sitting in the center of his desk were his resignation letter still sealed and a file labeled "MC15147: Ferry Explosion."
Jim lowered himself into his chair and opened the file to Rafe's summary written in the detective's neat, crabbed handwriting. If Rafe hadn't made time to type up his notes, the unit really had been busy. Jim looked up at the bull pen, and most of the guys still watched him. Simon had obviously noticed the lull as well.
"Police work is not a spectator sport, people. Get to work!" Simon yelled from the door, and Jim ducked his head and started reading the meticulous file. He was seven or eight pages in when one sound started rising above the background noise. Jim had to strain to hear it clearly, so it obviously wasn't loud, but he cocked his head in concentration.
"Man, you are going to be in so much trouble. I'm just waiting for my credentials."
"No unauthorized personnel are allowed above the second floor."
"I'm not unauthor… OW!"
Jim stood so fast that his chair bounced off the wall behind him, but he was charging toward the door, roughly shoving Ricardo out of the way without a word as he stormed through the doors to the elevator lobby where some nameless patrolman had Blair handcuffed and pushed up against the wall next to the elevator doors. Blair was still talking, but Jim didn't even hear the words as he grabbed the officer by the back of his collar and ripped him back and away from the guide.
Jim put himself between the officer who now smelled of aggression and anger and his guide who was still making sounds. The man reached for his gun, and a hand fell on his shoulder from behind.
"Don't go there," Taggart advised. Jim stood, only now realizing that he had gone into an aggressive crouch, and Taggart stood behind the offending officer with one hand on the man's shoulder and one hand reaching out palm first in a placating gesture.
"Jim, the kid didn't know Blair was your guide," Taggart pointed out, and Jim realized that the officer he'd attacked was a kid himself. His wide brown eyes and his smooth face registered shock and fear.
"Regulations say that…" he started in a shaky voice, and Jim tensed at the sound of the man's voice.
"Man, I was just getting a candy bar," Blair cut him off and wormed his way out from behind Jim who stood immobile. "Vera was having problems with the new photo I.D. machine." Jim felt Blair's weight against him as his guide got in front and leaned back, his handcuffed hands pressing into Jim's stomach. "So, there's no need for anyone to get testy here. I totally need to bring my chamomile and bacopa leaf tea down here because you are all way too uptight."
"They're both fine." Taggart said definitively, and Jim recognized the face as one of Joel's 'you'll be fine or I'll make you be fine' expressions.
"Yeah." Jim reached in his pocket and got out his handcuff key so he could set Blair free before throwing the cuffs back at the young man who had used them on Blair.
"Um, yeah. Sure," the patrolman agreed as he slipped his cuffs back in place on his belt. Jim looked around and saw all of Major Crimes and half of Narcotics and a couple of uniforms from Traffic all looking at him like he had lost his mind. Jim clenched his teeth and closed his hand around Blair's arm.
"We have work to do," he gritted out as he realized just how many people had seen him lose control. There was no way this little incident would avoid the rumor mill, and he cursed the moron that had put Traffic with all its little rookies on the same floor with Major Crimes. Jim punched the button for the elevator and when the door quickly opened, he pushed Blair inside before retreating from all those shocked eyes. He noticed that Blair had already pushed the button for the basement, so he just closed his eyes and struggled to regain the control that he had just completely and entirely lost.
"Um, Jim. Going the wrong way, man." Blair gestured toward the sign on the double doors that announced staff parking, the sign they were currently going past.
"Nope, we got a job, Chief, and there's no time like the present."
"Really?" Blair bounced a little at a chance to actually get out there and do something. The whole time in USSP he had been allowed to read and theorize and write reports, but he'd never been allowed to actually get in there and get his hands dirty. Well, except for the run that ended with a sentinel nearly dying. Blair wondered how Jamal was doing, but this time he had the good sense not to mention his concerns.
"It's a job, Darwin, not a day at the park."
"Yeah, exactly. Out patrolling your territory, protecting your tribe. This is so cool." Blair followed Jim through a set of doors that said 'Staff only' and he resolved to stay close to Jim this time. He was quickly discovering just how little he knew about being a guide, but he had figured out one or two things like don't go talking about other sentinels and don't put Jim in a position of trying to defend him. Blair had gotten the impression that the traffic cop who had caught him at the candy machine without badge or identification had come very close to death.
"This isn't some movie of the week," Jim pointed out in a dark tone, and Blair could hear the repressed anger. What had that girl he dated called it? Fear-based responses. Yep, dating counseling major had given him a whole new set of vocabulary terms, and if he ever made a dictionary, he was putting his sentinel's picture next to that term.
"Don't expect it to be," Blair said as he put his hand on the small of Jim's back. For one second Blair could see his sentinel's jaw relax and then Jim jerked forward, away from the hand as he walked even faster. For the hundredth time in his life, Blair cursed his short legs as he hurried to keep up.
He shouldn't have bothered because Jim stormed into a glass enclosed office at the side of the garage. The uniformed man in the office was so startled that he half stood and knocked a pile of papers to the floor that he scrambled to pick up and then the slightly overweight officer clearly started yelling. Blair backed up a bit to lean on an unmarked white van. The dominance display was fascinating. The uniformed man clearly considered this his territory, slamming a hand down on his desk as he gestured wildly with his other hand. His sentinel was not backing down though. In fact, Jim stepped forward, looking down at the man with his hands clenched into fists at his side.
Blair shook his head as he tried to figure out what was going on. The car ride back they had been in perfect sync. They talked about what had happened in the woods between them and what had happened to each of them before they came together. Blair still had to suppress a grin at the thought of Charlie getting enough explosives to blast the wall of Jim's room at the asylum. Considering Charlie's normal level of altered consciousness, he was lucky to still have all his fingers, even if he did pass the stuff through for Jim to actually set. Hell, he was surprised Charlie actually followed through with the entire plan without getting distracted half way through and driving around Cascade stoned with enough explosives to take out a building in his back seat.
Blair rubbed his eyes and sat on the van's bumper as he considered the difference between then and now. Even when Jim was angry in the car—and Blair got that Jim had been furious with Charlie—but even then, there was a familiarity and comfort in being together. Now, everything he did seemed to annoy Jim. Like in Simon's office. Blair was perfectly capable of recognizing a dominance display even if he did ignore it. Hell, he'd seen dominance displays where the men shook spears or painted their bodies and chest butted. He wasn't the sort to get bothered by a little invasion of personal space. Unlike the uniformed man in charge of the cars.
Blair watched with amusement as the two men ended up chest to chest. The uniformed cop's gestures against Jim's stillness. Yeah, he was totally glad Jim had shut the door in his face without letting him follow. He definitely did not want to be in the middle of that. Finally the uniformed cop picked up the phone and dialed with short punching jabs.
After some time on the phone, the man reached toward the keys hanging on hooks before practically throwing a set of keys at Jim. Jim just smiled and caught the keys before turning his back to the man who made a rude if pointless gesture to Jim's back. God, he could write a whole dissertation on establishment of dominance except he wasn't sure if this behavior was part of cop culture, sentinel culture, or just uniquely Jim.
"Come on, Junior. We got a ride," Jim held the keys up and jingled them as he walked by, his mood clearly improved. Blair added that tidbit to his growing hypothesis about his sentinel as he followed Jim to a large, brown panel van.
"So, what are we doing?" Blair asked as he climbed into the passenger side seat. He hadn't even gotten the door closed before Jim started the engine. Blair scrambled to get settled as Jim pulled out of the parking space.
"Two days ago a bomb was placed on a ferry near the engine compartment. At 2:17 the bomb went off and within 15 minutes, the ferry sank. Twelve dead, no leads."
"So, if we have no leads, where are we going?"
"An act of terrorism means that someone out there is cheering their success. We're going to see if we can listen in on the celebration." Jim gestured toward the back and Blair slid open the flimsy door between the front seats and the back area of the van. He couldn't suppress a whistle.
"There's enough equipment back there to run a rave," he said, looking over at Jim who was currently watching traffic and waiting for a chance to pull out onto the street.
"Only you, Chief," he commented dryly.
"What?" Blair slid the door shut again.
"This is a police vehicle, not a toy."
"Man, you are better than all those listening devises. I don’t know why you even brought this stuff."
"Because a sentinel's testimony is only as credible as the sentinel, and after my stay at loony central, we need to get the comments on tape."
"Oh, Jim." Blair stopped, unable to even figure out what to say. Jim was a sentinel and the people in his territory didn't trust him, or at least he felt like they didn't trust him. After all the research Blair had done, he couldn't even imagine how painful that had to be.
"Save it, Darwin." Jim snapped, and the jaw once again knotted in frustration or anger. "I didn't have much credibility to start with after being booted by the USSP as unstable."
"But. What? You aren't unstable."
"I've never been able to keep a stable link to a guide, my senses are unpredictable, and I show a significant lack of control." From the bitterness in his tone, Blair guess that the last phrase was one had heard entirely too often.
"That does…."
"Not now. We need to focus on the case." Jim's fingers were so tight on the steering wheel that his knuckles were white, and Blair decided to just drop the issue before the man did lose the control he was trying so hard to maintain. Blair wondered exactly what it was that Jim wanted to control.
Funny, he had so many other things to worry about like his missing computer disks with his dissertation work and the fact that the USSP was still out there looking for him and the likelihood that he would be kidnapped again once they found him and the fact that some bomber had killed twelve people for absolutely no reason and might kill again. He had entire encyclopedias of worry, but all he did worry about was the man who sat driving with white knuckles and a clenched jaw.
Jim pulled up in front of the mosque and parked the van. Beside him Blair made a guttural snort.
"Man, this is just so wrong that I can't even describe the general aura of wrongness around it," Blair complained, and Jim tried his best to ignore his guide's disapproval.
"We have a bad guy to catch Chief, where do you think we should look? The local den mothers' meeting?" Jim unbuckled his seatbelt and quickly slipped into the back of the van before anyone could spot him. He thought for a minute that Blair would refuse to go along, but then Blair followed him into the back, sliding the door shut behind him and Jim switched on the overhead dome light.
"These people are praying, man. There has never been any link between Cascade's Muslim population and any terrorist organization. They even turned down funding for their new mosque because it had some questionable links." Blair threw himself into a technician's chair and faced Jim with crossed arms.
"And how would you know this?" Jim turned wary eyes to Blair who didn't even have the decency to be intimidated by a gaze that had left suspects babbling confessions.
"I arranged to have my Intro to Methodology in Anthropology class come over to have a demonstration against the anti-Muslim demonstrations not long after the Veteran's Day bombings. Does it occur to you that these people fled that part of the world and came here looking to get away from the violence?"
"And lots of suspects have been found in the Muslim community," Jim pointed out as he started flipping switches to turn on the sound equipment and external cameras.
"Suspects as in their visas expired and they stayed here illegally to avoid going back to a country where they would have faced persecution. Suspects in that the pig-headed laws of our country won't allow hard working, law-abiding would-be citizens to make new lives for themselves the way our own ancestors did."
"Chief," Jim used his coldest tone. His nerves could not take fighting with his guide, and yet his guide just went verbally tripping right along.
"People assume that the Muslim religion is violent, and man, there are a few violent cults within Islam, but the imam here has a reputation for being very liberal, so you are so not going to find mad bombers hiding in the basement."
"Chief," Jim said a little louder.
"Yeah?"
"I'm the cop, you're the observer. I need to find a bomber, and I need to start somewhere. If I was trying to find a drug dealer, I'd start looking in the ghetto. Since I'm looking for a terrorist, I'm going to look where other cops have found terrorists."
"Man, that's what is wrong with the system. One percent more blacks than whites report having used cocaine, but there are so many more whites in the country that three percent of whites using cocaine means that over 80 percent of cocaine users are white. So maybe you should be looking somewhere else for drug dealers." Jim found himself wanting to gag his guide. Of course, he wasn't sure if even that would actually stop Mr. Energizer Bunny. He had an image of Blair gagged and just continuing right along in a muffled voice.
"Chief, I know this is a long shot, and I agree that the people in there are probably harmless, but when you have as few leads as we do, you have to take the long shots. So I'm going to set up some listening equipment and record any conversations going on in that building while you stay very quiet," Jim insisted.
"Recording them isn't…"
"Got it. I understand your position far better than I ever really wanted to." Jim said tersely as he locked his jaw. Every fiber of his being wanted to reach out and grab the guide, hold him and make sure that the guide wasn't going to run away in the face of such conflict. Every fiber of his training and upbringing ordered him to control himself. Jim felt such incredible pain as the two collided that he couldn't do anything other than focus on the equipment in front of him and keep his hands busy.
Blair huffed and moved up to the front portion of the van. Jim thought he heard Blair complaining about USSP tactics, but he focused his hearing on the equipment so that he didn't need to hear any accusations. Technically Jim should get him back where he couldn't be seen from the street, but Jim needed the distance as badly as Blair.
Jim finally got all the wires plugged in and hit the switch to record as he started adjusting knobs to find a conversation worthy of recording.
"… seen you."
"Man, I have missed your Khatti dal. I tried making it on my own and I couldn't get the chili flavor right," an enthusiastic voice exclaimed, and Jim froze.
"And I cannot tell such a valued family secret without making you marry my daughter and join the family." Jim sat in the van in a state somewhere between shock and panic. He moved to the front area of the van where Blair had retreated, and the van was empty, which was logical since Jim could hear his missing guide inside the mosque. Jim gripped the plastic on the passenger side armrest so hard that he heard a cracking sound and had to force himself to retreat into the back of the van. He was not going to charge in there like a madman.
Blair and the other male were still laughing as Jim sat back down in the seat.
"This totally sucks, but the bomb on the ferry, you know people are going to start with the finger pointing."
"This is unavoidable. People are suspicious of anyone different."
"Can't argue with that, man. But I'm working with a cop now." There was a long pause that almost sent Jim running into the building.
"Are you here investigating us then?"
"Totally not. I know you didn't have anything to do with this, and Jim… well he *will* know that before I'm done with him." The second male laughed.
"You are persuasive my young friend."
"Hey, not so young," Blair said, and Jim heard a joy and a happiness in his guide's voice that Blair never used around him.
"Allah has given me sixty three years, to me, you are young."
"Yeah, well you and I also know there have been some people claiming to love Allah who are doing some stuff I don't think the Big Guy would appreciate."
"These are difficult times, and the young are often misled with promises that they are doing the right thing by doing the easy thing, and sometimes dying is much easier than living. Easier and simpler to understand."
"So, I accused Jim of jumping to conclusions by wanting to come here, and I realized I was jumping to some conclusions too. Just because I know you're good people, doesn't mean I can assume everyone here is following the same Qur'an you follow."
"There is only one Qur'an, Blair."
"Yeah, but there are many imams who read that Qur'an and many followers who listen to the words of the imams."
"*One learned man is harder on the devil than a thousand ignorant worshippers*. You are very hard on the devil my young friend." There was another long pause, and Jim found himself holding his breath as the second man considered Blair's request. What if the man had pulled a weapon? Jim strained and could faintly hear Blair's heartbeat through the microphone. It was slow and steady, and Jim tried to use that to try and rebuild his crumbling control.
"I do not want innocent followers of the faith to be driven from the path of Allah out of fear. If I give you these names, these men may not come back and to risk their souls is a great burden," the imam finally said slowly.
"I know what I'm asking, but Jim's a sentinel. He can check out any addresses without going inside, without even bringing the men in for questioning."
"And will their names be put in the computers… put in the system so that their work visas do not get renewed and they are not allowed to fly home and they are questioned every time something happens?"
"Oh boy, I wish I could say absolutely not, but all I can say is that I give you my word that I will do my best to keep their names out of it once we clear them… if we clear them."
"And this 'Jim'? Sentinels are noble warriors, but a man's nature cannot be dictated by his birth. Will he choose to do the right thing by these men?"
"He's a good man, and he's my sentinel. I think he'll do the right thing." In the van, Jim was caught between joy that his guide trusted him and despair at the tentative nature of that trust. Really, considering what an ass he'd been, he supposed that he should take what he could get.
"*Your* sentinel?"
"He kinda picked me to be his guide, man. I talked him down off a major spike and everything." Blair sounded so proud that Jim felt like an absolute heel for keeping the kid at arm's length, but if he didn't he would never be able to control these feelings he had.
"Allah be praised, you have found yourself a sentinel. In the tribes, that is always the way of things, a sentinel chooses the one whose voice speaks to him, but here… Americans make things so complicated."
"Really? No one ever writes about Arabic sentinels. Oh god, that would be a wonderful paper." The man laughed
"The Qur'an says, "Seek knowledge from the cradle to the grave," and you are a Muslim at heart. Blair Sandburg, you should come to prayers, listen to elders debate the words of the Prophet, consider where you put your divine faith."
"Oh man, that is really tempting, but I think my plate is full with trying to figure out my sentinel and my thesis committee and my teaching and now the police work. And did I mention that the government has put me on one of their lists?"
"No, indeed, you did not. But I trust you to keep Sulayman Al-Tawil Imber and Harun Al-Isfahani from being unjustly added just because they are young and impetuous and very new to the American way of life."
"Man, I promise to do my best because being on the government shit list is entirely no fun." The older man laughed again, and Jim did find himself admiring how calmly Blair was taking all the changes and threats to his way of life. "I gotta go before Jim has a coronary about me being in here alone."
"He does not trust us to even talk?"
"No no no no, it's totally not that. We're new with the sentinel stuff, and I'm lucky if I get to go to the bathroom by myself."
"Sentinels are very territorial about their companions, to the point of strangeness sometimes."
"Yeah, I’m getting that now. So, thanks for the help."
"Walk with Allah."
"You too, man. You stay safe." Jim could hear Blair's footsteps both through the microphone and with his own sentinel hearing. He turned and clicked a few pictures of Blair walking away from the mosque and the people walking into the mosque as a plan formed in his mind. Of course, they may not need the plan because he just might kill his guide. The van door opened, and Blair slid into the passenger side seat as Jim shut down the equipment, carefully erasing the digital recording since his guide had made a promise. Besides, it gave him something to do other than wrap his hands around Blair's throat.
When the equipment was shut down, Jim opened the divider and got into the driver's seat without a word. Luckily Blair seemed to know he had crossed some line because he sat silent for the first time since Jim had known him. Rather than go back to the station, he drove to 852 Prospect and pulled over to the curb.
"Get out," he said carefully despite his urge to yell.
"Jim, I just wanted to…"
"Go to the loft and stay there," Jim interrupted. He couldn't have this discussion now. Hell, he couldn't have this discussion ever. Blair continued to sit in the passenger seat and out of the corner of his eye, Jim could see him looking for some sort of reassurance, but Jim kept his eyes on the passing traffic.
"Right," Blair finally said as he got out of the van and put his hand in his pocket for the key Jim had made him. Blair stood at the open van door for nearly a minute before he slammed it shut and even then Jim waited. He waited until Blair was safely in the building. He waited to make sure Blair didn't come back out of the building. He waited until he could get control of the pain in every cell in his body: the pain that said that once again he was the freak who couldn't form pairing, the pain that said he was separating from his guide and would soon turn back into the half-sentinel freak he had been ever since coming back from Peru.
Jim closed his eyes as he tried to catch his breath and ride through the urge to run up and grab his guide and refuse to admit that he was going to be left by one more person. He only known Blair a couple of days; it shouldn't hurt this damn much. Jim checked the street and then pulled back onto the stream of traffic.
Jim sat typing his report at his desk, and his co-workers had the grace to ignore him. Considering Jim's current state of frustration and anger, that really was best. When finished, he knocked sharply at Simon's door, and the Captain called a short "Come in" before returning to a phone call. That was fine, Jim needed the time to collect his thoughts and calm his nerves. Jim was facing the window when he heard Simon hang up and then start moving papers on this desk.
"How'd it go at the mosque?" Simon asked, and Jim turned to watch the man separate papers into two files before slipping them into a drawer.
"Simon, you should hire the kid as the cultural liaison; he got the imam of the Cascade mosque to cough up two names." Jim almost smiled at the look of disbelief that crossed his captain's face as the man half rose in his chair before settling back down.
"You're lying. You have to be lying because that man has done nothing but fight us on every move. If he filed one more complaint, the commissioner's desk was going to collapse under the weight of all the paperwork." Jim could almost classify Simon's expression as shell-shocked.
"Two names of local hotheads. I'll check them out tomorrow. Blair promised to try and keep the names clear of the system until we had evidence of involvement, and I want to follow through on that. I called them unnamed leads in the report." Jim felt a wave of something pretty close to pride. True, he had wanted to kill his guide for the stunt, but Blair had come through where far more experienced people had failed. Of course that pride only intensified the growing pain as the pairing failed.
"Where *is* the kid? I thought you two were joined at the hip." Simon leaned toward the door as if expecting to see Blair standing there waiting.
"It's not working Simon. The pairing isn't working between the two of us." Jim rubbed his hand over his face and tried to ignore the look of pity on Simon's face. He failed.
"Oh lord. Are your senses going off line?"
"Not yet, but they will. This is happening even faster than it did back in the U.S.S.P., and something is going to snap. Before that happens, we need to make some arrangements." Jim dropped heavily into the chair and propped the heels of his hands up on the wood arms as he leaned forward. It gave him something to physical hang on to as he struggled to regain his control as the guide separation anxiety started. Damn cold phrase for a condition that left a person trembling and screaming. Jim did not look forward to going through it for a fifth time.
"Sweet Jesus, not again. The last time we made 'arrangements' it ended with you blowing a hole in the side of Oak Groves," Simon pointed out.
"You know the USSP is coming after us."
"I thought that the press conference would head them off. I have it set up for tomorrow morning." Jim closed his eyes as he considered having to hold on to his control until tomorrow, but he didn't have a choice, so he would. He closed his hands even tighter around the arms of the chairs.
"Maybe, but I doubt it. As a registered sentinel, you can't stop them from reactivating me," he answered slowly as he tried to think through the possible moves and countermoves while his thoughts kept sliding away into the dark of his mind.
"Okay, if that's your arrangement, I have to say it needs some work." Simon leaned back and gave Jim that look the man had developed that told people they were idiots without Simon ever opening his mouth.
"The arrangements are for Sandburg." Jim paused as he gathered his scattered thoughts. He hated this feeling of sliding down some emotional hill in a car with no brakes. "They're going to try and grab him again, maybe with me and maybe after the pairing fails. Either way you need to hold on to him here until he can contact his people. I did a background search, and if Blair has a chance to make contact with his friends at the ACLU and in the press, the USSP won't be able to touch him."
"So what, you want me to stall? Stall the USSP?" Simon gave Jim an incredulous look and Jim actually did laugh, a dark, malicious laugh that made Simon sit back a little. Jim tightened his hold on the arms of the chair again until he could feel his fingers tremble under the strain.
"I want you to arrest him if you have to. Local law enforcement has priority in terrorism cases, and I took pictures showing Blair coming out of a local mosque with two possible suspects in the ferry bombing. I attached it to the report I filed electronically about five minutes ago."
"Are these the men named by the imam?" Simon turned and typed a few keystrokes to pull up the right file. Another click and the screen showed Blair with a tense expression trotting down the mosque steps and nodding to two Islamic men walking up to the open door.
"I have no idea. Probably not, but in my report I have simply identified them as unidentified Muslims of a mosque where an anonymous source reported two possible unnamed suspects for the ferry incident." Jim knew it was shaky, but the new laws didn't exactly require airtight cases. Simon glanced over to Jim.
"It's not enough to hold him."
"It is under the new terrorism laws, and it's enough to give him time to rally some support if I've been taken out of the picture." Jim considered just how much to reveal. "Simon, he's going to need a friend, and I can't be that. I want to be. God, I really want to help him through this, but I can't." Jim struggled to explain, but he would never have the words to explain to Simon how much the need for Blair and the need to get Blair the hell away from him warring inside until he wanted to rip out his own heart. This time it was going to be as bad as losing his first guide. The thought of Rob still made Jim ache, and now Jim would add one more loss to his already impressive list.
"Have to say, Jim, I never thought you'd hit it off the little neo-hippy. When he wanted to interview you, I told him he looked like a Dead Head who had too much time on his hands now that the Grateful Dead had stopped touring. I even told him he had as much chance of getting you to open up as reading tomorrow's paper and discovering world peace. But I can also see he wormed his way into you the way he did me when he wouldn't stop calling me for three weeks straight about his thesis. Are you sure you can't make this work?"
"It's a sentinel thing, Simon. We're not compatible, and now I have to go home and tell him that."
"He's not going to take it well."
"He doesn't have a choice," Jim said as he stood up and focused on the here and now, like walking across the bull pen without falling. If he started thinking about what he had to do when he got home, he was never going to make it home at all. He'd drive his truck off a cliff first. So, instead he thought about putting one foot in front of the other and ignoring the curious glances and loud whispers as he got into the elevator and pushed the button for the basement.
Blair paced the loft nervously. He could feel things sliding away from him. Naomi always said that it was life trying to tell you to move on, but Blair refused to believe it this time. He and Jim had been perfect in the car, and something in Jim's life was making that comfort impossible to find again. Blair has his suspicions, but really he was working with so little information that he could be absolutely totally wrong. At this point, absolutely wrong was a very real possibility.
Blair threw himself down on the couch and started flipping through the various stations: Ellen, The Nanny, Beverly Hills 90210, Wings. Absolutely nothing good on television. He was making his third round on the television when he heard the elevator doors open. He sprang to the door, fumbling with the locks in an effort to get the door open. Outside in the hall a woman in her late fifties juggled her purse and a briefcase and a bag of groceries as she tried to get the lock open on her apartment door down the hall a bit.
"Would you like some help?" Blair asked with his most charming smile. The woman turned and then gave him a double take. He also didn't miss her death grip on her keys, but considering she had a good three inches and 20 pounds on him, Blair wasn't sure why she felt defensive around him. If they got into a physical fight, Blair was putting his money on the grey haired grandmother type.
"Doesn't Detective Ellison live there anymore?" she asked suspiciously.
"Oh, yeah. I'm just staying with him. I work with him at the station, and I sort of lost my lease." Yeah, lost as in the liberty sucking government had taken it, but Blair really didn't think that the woman wanted to hear that.
"You're a police officer?" the woman's voice rose dramatically at the end in disbelief.
"No no no, I’m actually an observer. Working on a PhD and riding along, that kinda thing."
The woman held out a bag of groceries, and Blair stepped up and took them from her so she could open her door. "Well that's a little easier to believe. I'm Mrs. Denier."
"Blair Sandburg," he answered with a smile. Once the woman had put her purse and briefcase on a table just inside her apartment, Blair held out his hand to shake.
"So, how long are we going to be neighbors, Mr. Sandburg?"
"Oh boy, that depends since I don't have a summer teaching job and there aren't any grants open right now and I’m totally tapped." The woman laughed.
"I have my masters in business administration, and I remember my starving student days a little better than I would like. I'm glad that Mr. Ellison is helping you out." Blair surrendered the groceries with a smile.
"Yeah, well I’m not so sure he's happy. You should have seen his face when I bought ostrich meat at the alternative grocery yesterday. It's a great substitute for red meat with all the preservatives and steroids you get in beef these days."
"I'll keep that in mind," Mrs. Denier replied, and then her face beamed with her first genuine smile. "Detective Ellison! I was just…" Mrs. Denier's voice trailed off, and Blair turned to see stone-faced Jim heading his way. He had to admit that was an intimidating face. Hell, even as Jim's guide that one was intimidating. "…just getting home, I'm very glad to meet you, Mr. Sandburg," Mrs. Denier finally finished weakly.
"Blair, just call me Blair," Blair barely had time to blurt out before Mrs. Denier snatched the grocery bag from his hand and disappeared behind her door. Blair found himself in his sentinel's unforgiving grip being pushed toward the open door to the loft.
"Man, no need to get physical here," Blair complained, and the hands on his arms only tightened.
"I told you to stay in the loft."
"I was just helping Mrs. Denier."
"And how exactly do you know Mrs. Denier?" Jim demanded harshly as he half dragged and half carried Blair into the loft before kicking the door shut with a foot. Blair still stood without fighting in Jim's grasp.
"Man, you are going to give yourself a heart attack if you don't chill out. I heard the elevator. I went and helped the neighbor."
"You came into the hall without knowing who was out here?" Jim had a look of such horror, that Blair actually reviewed his actions as Jim finally let go to lock the door. Yep, even in hindsight he'd been perfectly reasonable. "You left the loft door open and you didn't know who she was." Jim accused him in a low, threatening tone as he stepped into his guide's personal space. Blair planted his feet so that he was face to face with Jim. Okay, he was face to chest, but close enough. He just looked up.
"I was guessing she wasn't an axe murderer," he replied coldly as he crossed his arms defiantly.
"You can joke, but you have no idea the number of serial killers we've found in some middle class church alderman's meeting." Jim had brought one hand up to Blair shoulder, and Blair was caught between wanting to reassure Jim and wanting to beat the shit out of the man. Yes, he understood the protective and territorial instincts a sentinel had to deal with, especially when it came to a guide. He'd read the research. On the other hand, not even Naomi got to push him around this much and he was really not going to put up with Mother Hen Jim for the next fifty years. Not even the next fifty seconds, truth be told.
"Is that what has you going all primal on me?"
"I am not…." Jim started, and now Jim stepped back, the cold, emotionless expression replacing the concern as if someone had thrown a switch. Blair cursed himself for driving Jim even farther away, but he really was trying to figure out an entire instinctive and cultural set of mores without a net, and he had the feeling he was falling fast.
"If we're going to make this work, you have to put some faith in me to take care of myself. I've been doing it since I was sixteen and I haven't lost the ability now that I'm living here." Blair tried for a conciliatory tone, but Jim's face simply hardened even more.
"You aren't." Now Jim crossed his arms, and Blair fought an urge to sigh with frustration.
"Okay, that didn't even make sense. I'm not what?"
"Living here, Chief. This isn't going to work." Jim still had that expressionless face, but Blair knew he had to look like an idiot because he could feel his own jaw hanging. For one second, the pain of being rejected rolled through him threatening to shred every bit of self esteem he owned, but then his anger and his Sandburg stubbornness set in and Blair closed his mouth and put his hands on his hips.
"I'm your guide, and I'm not going to leave," he announced. The flash of anger in Jim's eyes was almost a relief because at least the man was showing some emotion.
"No, you aren't my guide. Face it, Darwin, we don't even know if you are actually a guide. This isn't working and we just need to stay away from each other until the worst of the separation anxiety is over." Jim's voice had calmed, but Blair could still see his arm muscles flex and his jaw bulge slightly as he clenched it. The pain of being denied by his sentinel vied with the pain of knowing his sentinel was suffering and he was doing squat to actually figure out how to help. Some guide he was proving to be.
"You're kicking me out?" Blair asked, confused by Jim's distress and his need for a guide at the very instant he was kicking his guide out. And as the kickee, Blair had no idea how he was supposed to react.
"No, not *kicking* you out," Jim quickly denied. "You're going to pack your stuff and I'll drive you to a nice hotel. I'll pay up for two weeks and hopefully by then we can get your stuff back from USSP."
"You are--you're kicking me out." Blair felt the insecurity and the fear fade under a growing anger.
"I'm moving you out. It's the way it has to be." Blair took a deep cleansing breath before he could make a suggestion to Jim about what he could move and where to put it. Despite Jim's attempts to move him out, Blair knew that Jim needed him, and he was not going to let a little thing like the man's complete and total stupidity get in the way.
"I don't own anything except three pairs of pants and a few shirts that you bought, so I guess they're yours anyway," Blair started, and he waved a dismissive hand as he turned to the living room and started for the loveseat. "But there is no way I'm moving." Blair sat on the arm of the furniture and used every trick he knew about body language to communicate his refusal to move: crossed arms, determined scowl, sprawling legs. Oh yeah, if his sentinel wanted stubborn, Blair could do stubborn.
"Damn it, Chief, I know you can feel the wrongness." Blair almost relented as Jim pulled out a kitchen chair and sat heavily. He propped one elbow on the table and put his forehead on his hand, obviously struggling with some strong emotion.
"Yep," Blair finally admitted. An emotional invalid could feel the tension in the room, so he couldn't exactly deny it.
"Good, so you'll leave." Looking up from the table, Jim flashed an expression of total relief.
"Not a chance, man," Blair announced. Jim retreated back into that emotionless void in which he seemed to live so much of the time, his face motionless and quite frankly intimidating as hell, but once you had faced Dr. Edwards and the dissertation committee, James Ellison had no leverage. Blair just talked on. "You are fighting your instincts so hard that I'm surprised you haven't cracked teeth. But I have instincts of my own. I feel a need to be near you and make sure you don't do something incredibly stupid like toss out the person who's trying to help you. I feel these instincts and unless you plan to call your buddies over and have me arrested, I’m so not moving." Blair waited for the explosion.
"Don't assume I wouldn't do it," Jim threatened.
"You do, and before they finish the arrest paperwork, The USSP will be up here. The minute my name goes into any official computer, General Kern will have me taken into custody and that will be the last you ever hear from me, so if you want to get rid of me that badly, you go ahead and call, but don't expect to find me when you pull your head out of your ass and figure out that I'm not the enemy here." Fear made Blair's arm hairs stand up as he realized that one wrong move, and that could be his future. The loft went quiet. Blair refused to say more and Jim sat unmoving. As the kitchen clock counted the minutes, Blair half expected Jim would make that call. Oh, he knew Jim would regret it eventually, but the man was obviously not working with all brain cells firing today.
"Blair, you have to leave. I'll take you anywhere. Maybe over to Charlie," Jim finally said as he dropped his head back down to his hand.
"There is no way, man. I'm staying."
"Shit, you aren't safe here."
"Oh man, I so totally am," Blair countered.
"Damn it. You act like I’m this knight in shining armor, this ideal hero you have in your mind. I can't live up to that, and if you don't get out, I’m going to lose control." Jim slammed his hand down on the table with the thunderous crack, and now Blair could hear the fear, the panic. "Maybe I should call Simon and have him take you somewhere safe."
"That's it, you think you can't let go of the control. You can't just let the instincts out." Blair said softly as he stood up and took a step closer to his suffering sentinel.
"I just told you that I was a danger to you. My instincts are dangerous. How much clearer of a threat do you need? This pairing is becoming unstable and that's not safe… not for the sentinel or the guide. I'm going to do something…." Jim hands curled into fists, but he continued to face the tabletop, his head now resting on his fist.
"I don't believe you'd ever be a threat." Blair stopped for a second. "Well, okay, you would be to other people, but not to me." Jim glanced over with an incredulous look, and Blair knew he had to reach his sentinel now or lose him. He thought of that first meeting in the woods. "Man, you were in the middle of a psychotic moment and you still stopped when I was scared. You stood there hanging on to a tree branch to hold yourself back. If I told you right now to stop, you would." Blair could see Jim's back muscles tremble.
"Of course I would, but I can't keep that control," Jim almost whispered.
"You don't have to. I'm not telling you to stop. I'm telling you to let go." Now Blair closed the distance and stood beside his sentinel, offering his support.
"Don't. Just don't." Jim physically flinched away, and Blair tried not to allow his own pain show at that small act.
"I've watched you for the past few days. I've studied sentinels most of my adult life. You aren't a danger to me," Blair said as though Jim hadn't just torn his heart out by flinching away.
"You don't know." Jim hoarsely complained.
"Then tell me. Tell me what you're feeling right now."
"No." Jim's voice was once again flat.
"Oh, there's a mature response for you. 'No' isn't fixing anything," Blair snapped in frustration.
"Blair, there's nothing to fix. The pairing is failing, this is about to turn ugly, and I want you as far from the epicenter as possible."
"See, that's what I mean. You're in pain. You're holding on to what little control you have because you're scared for me."
"I'm not scared," Jim said entirely too quickly for Blair to believe him.
"Whatever, man. Fine, you're concerned. The point is that you have never put me at risk and you won't now."
"Four times." Blair thought for a moment that he had misunderstood Jim's words.
"What?" he finally asked.
"Four times I've gone through this and four times I attacked my guide. I had to be physically restrained." Jim took an unsteady breath. "Blair, I need you to get as far away from me as possible. You have to stay clear of me, even if I come looking for you later." Blair froze. He had never read of any sentinel no matter how injured or panicked ever harming a guide, but now Jim was telling him that all that research had been wrong. Blair eyed the door, but he couldn't deny his own growing need to stay, to fix whatever had gone wrong. He wouldn't leave Jim here in pain and convinced of his own worthlessness.
"Did you want them hurt?" he asked quietly, fully prepared to start edging toward the exit if he got an answer he didn't like.
"NO!" Jim practically shouted, "of course not."
"*How* did you attack them then?"
"Blair," Jim said in a tone that clearly demanded that Blair drop the subject. However, Blair wasn't anywhere near giving up because he was quickly forming a hypothesis that explained a lot of behaviors that individually didn't make sense.
"Forget it; I’m totally not leaving, so you might as well resign yourself to trying to figure this out. So, *how* did you attack them?" Blair demanded more forcefully.
"I… I really don't know, it wasn't very clear," Jim admitted.
"Okay, how did they react?" Blair needed some evidence he was on the right track because if he was wrong and sentinels actually did attack guides he was not in a good position.
"What do you mean?" Jim asked. "They reacted the way most people react when I’m completely off base. Something like the way you reacted when I dragged you in here."
"Annoyed then," Blair said dryly.
"To say the least." Jim said with a small crooked smile, but then his expression turned cold and dark again. Blair considered the options and considered that he might be totally wrong and about to get his ass royally kicked.
"Jim, you can let go, honestly." Blair put a hand on Jim's shoulder.
"Don't, you're just making it harder," Jim growled in response.
"I'm making it harder for you to fight yourself, yes. Hopefully I’m making it harder for you to throw me out of here because Charlie's place is a biohazard waiting to happen, and it's hard to cook ostrich chili in a hotel room. I'm really hoping I’m making it harder to for you to just say this partnership is over." Blair moved his body so that he was leaning slightly against his seated sentinel.
Then suddenly his sentinel wasn't seated anymore. Blair looked up and saw a near feral look of desperation as Jim's hands closed around his upper arms and held him tightly. Blair prayed his theory was right because whatever sentinel instincts included, he wasn't convinced Jim could stop anymore, no matter what words of comfort he had offered his sentinel.
Blair struggled to keep his balance as Jim half pushed half carried him back to the middle of the living room furniture. At first Blair thought Jim wanted to reach the loveseat and he tried to help by moving toward the small couch, but Jim's grip pulled him up short as Jim used a foot to shove the coffee table out of his way. Slowly Jim sank to the ground, and Blair limply followed. Well, really he didn't have much choice since Jim still grasped him firmly enough that Blair knew he was going to have bruises in the morning.
Blair ended up with his back to the loveseat with Jim straddling his legs and now those long muscular arms wrapped around Blair's back, pulling him in close. Blair could feel Jim shaking, strong muscles trembling minutely.
"It's okay," Blair promised, and he wished he could wrap his own arms around his sentinel, but his arms were trapped within that strong embrace and all he could do was lay his forehead on his sentinel's shoulder and murmur reassurances. "It's okay, just let go, man." Blair felt a shiver go through Jim's body and then he was pushed back into the loveseat, hands fumbling at his shirt.
Like the last time this had happened, Blair tried easing his sentinel's hands away from the buttons so that he could open his shirt himself. Unlike last time, Jim grabbed his wrists. Blair gasped in surprise when Jim pushed his entire weight into Blair so that Blair had to struggle for breath as Jim pressed him back into the furniture. The loveseat scooted back on the floor, and Jim seemed to take personal offense, pushing even harder.
For a second Blair considered trying to fight free, trying to force Jim to stop. However as much as Blair wanted to rip his hands free, another part of him also wanted to pull his sentinel close. Assuming that his first instinct was just his culture's prohibition against male displays of physical affection, Blair ignored his discomfort just like he'd ignored his discomfort going to the bathroom in public when he stayed with the Kombai people. He followed his second instinct and pressed back into Jim's harsh grasp.
Jim's fingers slowly loosened on Blair's wrists, and Blair ignored the urge to rub the circulation into them, choosing instead to take his newly freed hands and slide them around Jim's shoulders. When he pulled Jim into his arms, the trembling beneath his hands stilled and Jim dropped his own face into the crook of Blair's neck, his large hands once again going for the buttons of Blair's shirt.
This time Blair allowed his sentinel to take what he wanted. He focused on his own growing need to pull his sentinel close. His sentinel was in pain, a far greater pain than any physical injury. He was the guide, and he had to fix it. Unfortunately, he also had no idea what he was doing. He felt warm hands inside his shirt now, the front completely open, and Blair dropped his hands to his side as Jim pushed the fabric off his shoulders.
Now Jim pulled him in close so that Blair could feel Jim's heart beating beneath his shirt as the two of them huddled on the floor in front of the loveseat. Since Jim again embraced him around his upper arms, Blair just did the best he could to hold on to Jim's waist as Jim slowly let his weight fall onto Blair's outstretched legs.
"Guide," Jim said quietly, but in a voice rough with emotion. Blair felt his eyes start to sting with unshed tears at the tone of pain and loss and fear he could hear in that one word.
"Sentinel," he answered softly and Jim pulled him in tighter. Blair had to struggle to breathe, but that didn't matter to him. He could feel the harsh edges and annoyance that had lain between them evaporate and something in him... some hole he never knew he had... filled. He didn't need Jim to loosen his hold, he needed Jim to hold him and need him and he needed to hold Jim back and he needed to keep Jim safe.
Blair hadn't realized that his tears had escaped until Jim brought a finger up and traced the moisture from his chin up and over his cheek before gently wiping the tears that escaped when Blair closed his eyes. Blair opened his eyes and looked up to Jim's whose expression now calmed into a look of peacefulness, and Jim's grip now loosed so that he still held Blair close but no longer crushingly tight.
"My sentinel," Blair said, and Jim shifted his weight to the floor. Blair bent his legs, pulling his knees up to relieve the pins and needles that immediately started prickling his flesh as the circulation returned, but he ignored that annoyance in favor of continuing to hold his sentinel close.
"My guide," Jim eventually echoed as he shifted around, putting his back to the loveseat and pulling Blair into his lap. Considering how much larger Jim was, Blair happily allowed himself to be pulled in, relieved to not be under his sentinel's weight any more. Jim never let go of him but instead pulled Blair around as he moved so that now Blair practically lay on top of Jim. In return, Blair just laid his head on Jim's shoulder and allowed his sentinel to hold his weight as large fingers started moving in aimless circles on his back.
Blair's one arm had ended up trapped between their bodies, so he used his one free hand to stroke Jim's shoulder. Putting his hand palm down on Jim's upper arm, he felt the muscles gather and bunch under his fingers as Jim held him and ran fingers up and down his own bare backbone. Blair reached in toward the buttons on Jim's shirt, when the phone rang.
Blair gasped as Jim's grip turned deadly, pulling Blair into a fierce hug. Blair tried to avoid being smothered as Jim one arm grabbed him around the waist and pulled his bare chest to Jim's chest and his second hand gripped the back of his neck. Blair wasn't sure, but he thought that Jim might have actually growled at the second ring. By the third ring, Jim was pushing away from the loveseat, still holding Blair close.
The answering machine went off, and Blair listened as Simon explained that the press conference had been moved to 7am and that Jim needed to be to the station early. The sound of Simon's voice seemed to make Jim even angrier, and now Jim stood up, dragging Blair with him. Blair yelped as the hair on his chest tangled in Jim's shirt buttons and then ripped out, and Blair realized that crying out in pain wasn't the smartest reaction in front of an agitated sentinel. Of course he figured that out after his yell had caused Jim to manhandle him into a corner with a look of pure murder on his face.
"Oh boy, I'm fine. Yeah? Everything's okay. You just pulled some hair there." Blair used his best soothing voice, but Jim didn't answer him. Jim pressed him back into the corner as far from the phone as Jim could get him, back in the corner behind the wood stove.
"Man, I had this professor who theorized that sentinels were more connected to the reptilian brain--you know, the part of the brain that controls instinct. I just had no idea how right he was." Blair could tell that Jim wasn't hearing the words, but he just surrendered himself to Jim and kept talking. He only hoped that his voice if not his words would still reach Jim. "You must be totally in tune with primitive man, the whole throwback to another time. It's totally cool the way you have just freed yourself from the shackles of modern man and find that pure instinctive part of yourself."
When Jim finally backed off and started pacing, Blair thought that his sentinel had calmed. Instead, Jim went from one door to other checking the locks and touching each window. Blair tried stepping out of the corner, but instantly Jim left his rounds and stepped closer to his guide. Blair sighed and leaned back into the corner. Message received.
"Man, if I was watching some primitive culture, I would say that you are trying to defend your territory. But, this kinda sucks. I mean, how long are you going to feel threatened? What if I have to go to the bathroom? And somehow I don't think Simon's going to be amused by Tarzan Jim grunting answers to the press tomorrow. Man, why do I have the feeling he is totally going to blame me for this? I mean, I barely talked the man into tolerating me and now I've sent you off the deep end of bonkers. Not good for my rep, man. Really making me look bad here."
Blair watched as Jim finally stopped in the middle of the room, his head cocked and obviously listening to something only sentinel ears could hear. For one second Blair considered leaving his corner, but some tension in Jim's body told him that Jim didn't consider the territory safe yet. With a deep sigh, he just lowered himself to the floor and rested his back against one wall while tilting his head to the side and resting it against the cool, rough brick.
Jim stood stock still for several minutes, cocking his head and moving a foot or two in one direction only to retreat to his original position in the center of the room. Blair just waited, but at least he wasn't getting kicked out. Blair watched as Jim tilted his head toward the stairs before approaching them slowly. Jim finally stalked upstairs and Blair just waited.
Jim was obviously running on pure instinct now, and Blair had no trouble identifying his sentinel's anxiety. Hell, if they were going into a gunfight, Jim's reaction would be perfectly reasonable: find a safe place, secure the area, and put the civilian in a place that could be guarded. Blair just wondered why Jim had gone so far into his instinctive behaviors now. Of course, Jim mentioned that he had lost guides four times before and had been physically restrained, so Blair guessed that the man was now a bit on the paranoid side. Still, they had to figure out some sort of compromise before classes started because Blair didn't intend to be stalked all over campus by a primal sentinel.
Blair heard a heavy thump from upstairs and he just sighed as he waited for Jim to decide it was safe. Jim had almost returned to his senses when the phone and Blair's own yelp had driven him back into the more primitive state, so hopefully Jim would calm quickly now.
Heavy footsteps came down the stairs, and Blair stood, hoping Jim would be feeling more secure and more willing to have a conversation that went beyond the words 'sentinel' and 'guide'. As Jim came closer, Blair could see the wary glances around the room, and the tension making the muscles of Jim's arm stand out in cords. Jim's hand darted out and curled around the back of Blair's neck, fingers reaching under his hair. Blair simply followed Jim's gentle pull and for one minute they stood with arms wrapped around each other. Then Jim started back for the stairs without releasing Blair.
Blair followed torn between enjoying the physical closeness and intimacy of the embrace and objectively observing the unique behaviors. Kingsley had identified a primitive and violent instinct within sentinels with injured guides, but he had also noted the ability of the guide or of other members of the military unit to control that aspect of sentinel-guide relationships. Blair doubted that anyone would be able to control Jim right now. Blair truly questioned Kingsley's analysis of the situation in its entirety.
When they reached the upstairs bedroom, Blair sat on the bed when Jim did. Jim's arm went around Blair's waist as the two men sat side by side, Jim pulling Blair's body close.
"Yeah, well this time you're not taking my hair with you, big guy," Blair pointed out as he reached over and unbuttoned Jim's own shirt. His sentinel didn't react but instead watched with curious eyes. "So, are you back with me?" he asked as he finished opening the shirt and then pushed it off Jim's shoulders.
"Guide," Jim answered as he allowed the shirt to fall off his arms.
"Man, this is just weird," Blair said. His mother had loved a number of men in her life, but Blair had never been particularly close to any of them. When Jim pulled him into a hug, Blair felt the firm chest under his cheek and the hard muscles close around his arms. It was nothing like laying in the arms of a woman who was all softness and curves. Where women had wide nipples and curving waists, Jim had small dark nipples and a straight line from underarm to hip. "You *are* going to be talking again tomorrow, right? Because, man, if you are like this at the press conference you are so going to make the front page."
"My guide," Jim replied as he pushed himself back onto the bed. Blair quickly toed his shoes off as Jim lay down between him and the stairs, pulling Blair down with him.
"Yeah, yeah, your guide," Blair agreed amiably. One of Jim's hands slid across Blair's stomach and he shivered at the trail of heat he could feel as those broad fingers reached his waist and pulled him closer into Jim's chest so that Blair's entire right side was pulled tight to Jim. "Your cold guide, man," Blair complained as he eyed the comforter at the foot of the bed. He hadn't expected any response, but one of Jim's feet slipped under the comforter and then he pulled up his leg, dragging the comforter up high enough for Blair to grab it.
"Thanks." Blair pulled the comforter up over both of them, and then Jim's one leg slipped over the top of his own thighs, trapping him on the bed, and Jim settled on the same pillow with a cheek pressing into the side of Blair head. Blair bought his free hand up and traced small designs on the arm wrapped around his chest, and Jim's body relaxed under his touch.
"Man, I so hope you don't plan on freaking out in the morning," Blair whispered.
"My guide," Jim answered drowsily, and Blair could only agree.
"Your guide." He just hoped that Jim didn't try pushing him away in the morning because for the first time in his life, a part of him that had always been cold and empty had been filled and warmed by the firm body currently curled around him. Considering how many women he'd chased to try and fill that absence of love that haunted him, he had some serious meditating and possibly a few apologies to make in his near future.
"Well that went well," Blair said as the two of them escaped the conference room where the press still buzzed.
"Sure did, Chief." Jim reached out and tugged on a curl of hair as his guide walked in front of him down the hall toward Major crimes. Some nameless uniform was busy manhandling a thug with piercings sticking out of his head like sprouts popping out of an old potato. When the pair reached them, Jim put a hand on his guide's shoulder and pulled the smaller man back towards his own body as the danger passed.
"I was being sarcastic," Blair pointed out as the officer and criminal passed, and Jim didn't miss how Blair accepted both the touch and the protective embrace without comment.
"What? I think the press conference was a great success," Jim pointed out as he gave Blair a small cuff to the back of his head before stepping around his guide to head into the bullpen. Rafe and Ricardo were already at their own desks, and Jim smiled as he spotted a new desk against the wall. Well, to be honest it wasn't exactly new, but still, someone had gone out of his way to welcome Jim's guide, and Jim found himself smiling even as the guide in question continued to complain.
"When the press asked you how you liked me, your grand endorsement was 'He's okay'. So totally not cool, man."
"Would you rather have me say, 'he's not okay'?" Jim asked with a small smile.
"Har, har, har, man. Still not cool."
Jim slipped his coat off and draped it over his chair before quickly going through the mail on his desk.
"You could have said something nice," Blair pointed out.
"I did, Chief. I said you were helping me. I said that your research had the potential to save those sentinels who couldn't form stable pairings."
"You said I was inexperienced," Blair countered
"You are."
"Hey, I've done lots of things. I drove a semi truck; I've pounded grain in South America." Blair took a breath, and Jim knew that his guide was about to list everything he'd ever done. Jim had done a background check, so he really didn't want to be stuck in the office that long.
"I know, you've got a varied and colorful background, but when it comes to police work, you have no experience. And your knowledge of sentinels is limited to a textbook."
"Yeah, I know that one too well." Blair's voice lost energy and dropped into a tired near whisper. "Are we ever going to talk about yesterday, man? It's not good to keep strong emotions bottled up." Blair settled in on the corner of Jim's desk and Jim leaned back to better watch Blair's face. All morning he had avoided talking with his guide. He had woken up still curled around Blair, feeling secure because his guide was secure. But talking with the guide always led to bad, bad places, and Jim braced himself.
"If you're not comfortable talking here, we can go somewhere else," Blair said as he glanced around the room. Jim looked at the people walking in the hall on the other side of the glass wall and at the two detectives in the room, but he could tell that no one was paying attention to them. Ricardo was bent over the keyboard of his computer swearing so softly that only a sentinel would know. Jim could easily hear the man curse the computer up one side and down the other in Italian as he tried to attach the photo references to his report.
Rafe was busy talking on the phone, and from Rafe's side, it didn't sound like business. Then again, every time they had to do some joint venture with vice, Rafe was the designated sacrificial victim, so Rafe talking dirty might actually be official business. Either way, the man wasn't listening to Jim and Blair. At least in the squad room the conversation would stay civil, so Jim made his decision to take his medicine and get it over with.
"I have no problem talking it over now," Jim announced unemotionally as he locked down on his anxiety and all his other feelings too. Was this where his guide would finally lose his temper about Jim's out of control behavior? "If you have something to say about last night, just come out and say it, Chief." Jim stared at a lab report with preliminary findings from the ferry bombing as he mentally chanted the little rhyme he'd use when kids at school had accused him of making things up… the one that went 'sticks and stones,' but the problem was that Jim knew just how much words *could* hurt you.
"Man, I have nothing to say. Well, actually it felt nice to not wake up alone with this dull ache in me where I could feel something missing but I couldn't figure out what. I really liked that. I just expected you to be more… I don’t know… furious?" Jim looked up from his report in surprise.
"Why would I be mad, Chief?"
"You woke up with another man in your bed," Blair whispered as he leaned in, and Jim didn't miss how Blair's leg pressed against him as he leaned. "That really didn't bother you?" Blair demanded as he pushed his hair back out of his face carelessly. Jim considered that because honestly he would rather share his bed with a rattlesnake than put up with any *other* man in his bed, but Sandburg was different.
"I woke up with my guide, Sandburg. Different thing."
"Okay, that's what I mean, man. We've got to talk about this. How's it different?"
"It just is." Jim started organizing his mail, which for most of it meant scanning it and then reaching around Blair and pressing into the man's legs as he dropped the mail into the trash can on the side.
"Buddy, you are one piece of work. I can't be a guide if I don't know what the hell I’m doing." Blair protested quietly.
"You *are* a guide, Chief. So drop it."
"You are so going to get ulcers from this repression crap."
"Already have 'em," Jim confirmed and Blair went silent. When Jim looked up, Blair had an expression of shock that made Jim turn around and check to see if something or someone was behind him. Nope.
"What?" he asked as he turned back to Blair.
"No more coffee for you, man," Blair said as he picked up the cup from Jim's desk. The big insulated cup Jim had filled right before the press conference.
"Junior, don't go there. Just hand the coffee over and no one gets hurt," Jim said as he narrowed his eyes.
"Not a chance. Caffeine is like the worst thing you can do for your stomach." Blair stood up and started backing towards the door, and Jim quickly followed.
"Oh no you don't. Give me that cup," Jim darted forward and caught Blair's wrist, but Blair quickly switched the cup to his other hand as he danced backwards holding the cup away from Jim who held on to Blair's other hand.
"Not a chance, man. Not a *chance*."
"Blair," Jim warned with his tone.
"Cabbage juice. It will help the ulcer heal right up." Jim started reeling Blair in by his hand, and Blair twisted to keep the coffee out of reach. They fought over the cup for several minutes until Blair had his back to Jim's stomach. Blair was totally hunched over, and Jim was bent at the waist and draped over Blair's back as he used both hands around Blair in an effort to reach the cup that the guide was protectively huddled over.
"Gentleman!" Bellowed a deep, strong voice, and both of them froze. Jim looked up to see Simon standing at the door with a shocked expression while Rafe and Ricardo both watched with far more amused faces.
"Simon." Jim acknowledged as he stood up.
"I thought you had some work to do, detective," Simon said with his eyebrows raised in a look that didn't invite debate.
"Yes, sir. I was just getting my coffee," Jim said as he reached out to grab the cup from Blair who had also stood up straight.
"Not even!" Blair yelped as he held on to the cup and retreated to Simon's side. "Caffeine is so not on your diet right now. I'll just pour this out and get you some orange juice… wait, no too much acid. I'll get you some milk. If I can find some, maybe I'll just get you some water," Blair babbled as he backed out of the double doors, and with Simon in the way, Jim couldn't even tackle him to the ground and pry the coffee out of his guide's hands.
"Jim?" Simon asked once Blair had disappeared, and Jim walked over to Ricardo's desk and picked up a Styrofoam cup. He could tell from the smell that the man hadn't had any yet, so he downed the cup in three swallows. When Ricardo looked at him shocked, Jim shrugged.
"Hey, at least you can get more without that hyperactive bundle of trivia lecturing you about ulcers," he pointed out, and Ricardo gave a short laugh.
"I divorced wife number three over that," he said as Jim tossed the cup into the trash.
"Yeah, well I expect you two to be working leads, not wrestling in the middle of the bullpen," Simon pointed out with his hands on his hips, and Jim gave a wry smile.
"We're on the suspects from the mosque," he said as he went over to his desk and grabbed his coat.
"Detective, this time take a vehicle requisition form instead of just intimidating the car pool officer."
"Right," Jim agreed as he pulled a form out of his desk. He quickly jotted down figures in a few squares and then stepped aside so Simon could sign the form.
"And this time, don't wreck it."
"I haven't wrecked the last three I signed out," Jim protested.
"And the cars before that?" Simon demanded. "The city pays more to fix your cars than it does to pay your salary, so be careful."
"Right, Simon," Jim agreed, recognizing his captain's words as the gruff man's way of expressing his own worry, and Jim had to agree that they all had more to worry about since going public with Blair, but the USSP was going to come sooner or later, and Jim preferred to face his trouble head on.
"Come on, Junior. We've got work to do," Jim said when he found Blair in the hall coming out of the bathroom. "Just drop that on my desk," he said, and Blair literally trotted back through the doors with the empty cup before coming rushing back out and nearly taking out a clerk who happened to be walking by the doors.
"Oh, wow. I'm really sorry," Blair said as the woman stumbled away a bit. "That was totally my fault." Jim had to choke down a laugh when the woman's aggravation turned to forgiveness as she took one look at Blair with his flushed face and wild hair.
"It's fine, you didn't hit me," she said, and before she could say anything more, Jim walked by, grabbing Blair's arm as he went so that he pulled his guide to the elevator as his guide walked backwards still talking to the woman.
"I'll remember to watch those doors. They really should have clear glass on those so no one gets hit," Blair said, but he also walked backwards with Jim rather than fighting Jim's grip. Jim waited for the elevator with his hand still wrapped around Blair's arm. He shifted his hand so that he had the flat of his palm against Blair's back, and Blair leaned back a bit so that Jim could feel his guide's muscles move under the shirt and coat.
"Right, so are we heading down to look at the evidence?" Blair asked.
"Forensics is getting the court order to open the sealed bags for a sentinel inspection. I haven't actively used my senses before, so they may have to explain to a judge how active sentinels work."
"But sentinels have been doing crime scene work for a century," Blair protested.
"Military sentinels with military courts. We're just letting Cascade's courts get used to the procedure before some nutso liberal judge yelling about civil rights throws out one of my cases." The elevator opened, and Jim stepped in. For one second, Blair didn't, and Jim turned to look at his guide who now frowned at him slightly.
"Nutso liberal?" Blair repeated in a tone that made his annoyance clear even as he stepped into the elevator. Jim smiled a little at Blair's injured expression.
"Leftist pinko?" Jim teased back. Blair answered with an elbow in Jim's stomach right as a uniformed officer walked into the elevator and gave them both a confused look. Jim reached over and pressed the button for the basement garage.
In the garage Jim rushed through the paperwork and snagged the keys from the same car pool officer whose career he had threatened a day before. The man seemed grumpy. Quickly he bundled Blair into the large blue truck that had been signed out to him and headed out into the busy traffic.
"So, where's the first place?" Blair asked after nearly fifteen minutes. Jim didn't think he'd ever heard Blair quiet for so long.
"Just right down 75th and Grand," he said as he turned the truck onto 69th.
"Nutso liberal?" Blair asked out of the blue, and Jim really couldn't contain the smile this time.
"Oh, come on. Work inside the force for a while, and you're going to get frustrated with how many people walk because of some bleeding heart judge."
"Judges are supposed to protect the integrity of the system, man. Our country is built on the belief that it's better for a guilty man to get off than it is for a guilty government to get away with crimes against its citizens."
"That's all good on paper, but when you're on the street, you see what really matters," Jim pointed out as he thought on some of the criminals who had gotten away from him. More importantly, he thought of the people who had been hurt because he hadn't gotten some slime off the street.
"So it's okay for the government to kidnap someone in order to protect what really matters?" Blair demanded, and Jim felt his aggravation and anxiety rise in equal parts.
"That's not what I said."
"Everyone has a different idea about what matters. Judges are supposed to protect the system from people who all think they know what matters."
"So if people die while protecting that system? Is that right? The law should be about the people, not the system." Jim felt himself growing angry with his guide for arguing and with himself for being so uncomfortable arguing with his guide.
"Spoken like a true sentinel," Blair laughed, and Jim found his growing anger sidetracked by confusion.
"What?"
"Oh man, in ancient cultures, sentinels were often second only to the chief in deciding how to punish criminals. Away from the village, sentinels were one person courts, deciding whether people would live or die."
"They were?" Jim turned the truck around another corner and pulled to the curb where he parked behind an old green coupe.
"Totally, man. Didn't you ever learn that stuff?"
"I was a little busy learning covert tactics, Chief."
"Man oh man, you missed some interesting reading then. Bulotta found Greek friezes of heroes who archeologists believe to be sentinels, and they would decide which prisoners of war would be beheaded and which would be taken back to the king and which would be left to farm the conquered land. He theorized that sentinels could tell who lied when they promised to obey the conquering king."
"They could," Jim said as he got out of the truck.
"Really? You mean you can?" Jim walked around the truck to find his guide staring at him with open shock.
"Heart rate increases, body odor gets sharper, the eyes sometimes do this tiny little trembling thing," Jim said slowly as he focused on which actual signals would combine to give him the overall feeling that a suspect was lying.
"Wow," Blair said reverently.
"Yeah, well now I just have to focus on that grey house down the street, so let's get a little closer and be prepared to do your guide thing. I haven't used my senses on the job much and I sometimes lose control," Jim admitted even though he hated sounding too weak to even control his own senses.
"No problem, man. I've got your back," Blair assured him, and when Jim started casually walking down the street, Blair did stay a half step behind to Jim's right so that Jim was between his guide and the suspect's house. As they got closer, Jim casually leaned against a rod-iron fence as he opened his hearing to its fullest. The first sound he heard was the regular beat of Blair's heart and then he focused that sense forward by staring at the house in question.
Music. Unfamiliar music. Jim almost lost himself in the exotic rhythms, and then he felt the heat of his guide's hand on his arm and he pulled back from that seductive sound. Footsteps on a wood floor. The music stopped and Jim could hear a television going on. The volume was much lower than the music, and Jim let that sound fade away as he concentrated on the voice he could now hear muttering. Jim could hear an almost musical lilt to the voice as it went on in some foreign language. Damn. He should have brought the recording van no matter what Sandburg had said.
He focused on that voice until everything else disappeared and all that existed was the voice, but the voice warbled in and out as his hearing started spiking. He struggled to concentrate because there was something familiar here, even if it was in a language he didn't understand. Jim closed his eyes and cut off his sight as he pushed away everything other than hearing as those strange half-musical words filled his awareness. Then he heard something *so* familiar that Jim rocked back in surprise at the heavy accent singing the familiar words.
"Gillian, the Skipper too, the millionaire and his wife…" the voice went on, but Jim had broken his concentration and now the sound of the entire street flooded in: dogs barking, couples fighting, stereos and televisions from a dozen different houses. Jim fell to his knees and nearly vomited from the pain. His hearing distorted so that the many sounds turned into one roaring spike that threatened to tear his head apart. Then something threaded its way into that pain.
"Come on, man. Relax. Just dial back the hearing until you hear just me." Jim could tell from the tone that Blair was whispering, but the sound boomed in his head, echoing in all the corners of his mind as he struggled to control the hearing. "You know what to do. Just take the dials back to normal. You can do this. Find the hearing dial. It's set way too high, so just start moving it back down. And I really hope I'm doing this right because you're scaring the shit out of me, man."
The voice had gone from booming to simply loud, and Jim reached out blindly, his hand finding some part of Blair and holding on as he attempted to comfort his guide.
"Just come back, big guy. You know you're going to hate yourself for getting your pants dirty on this street."
"Not my first concern," Jim grimly answered as the sounds finally settled into something approaching normal.
"Thank god," Blair softly sighed, and it was actually soft in Jim's hearing.
"I stretched too far, sorry," Jim offered in a rough voice as he let go of Blair's hand and grabbed the fence to pull himself upright.
"*You're* sorry? I'm the one who's supposed to keep you from spiking and zoning."
"It's fine." Jim closed his eyes and did a mental check of his other senses as his muscles finally stopped the shaking that always came with a spike although this one was shorter and milder than most.
"So, did you hear anything?" Blair finally asked.
"Yeah, the man likes to sing the theme song to Gilligan's Island."
"Okay, I totally wasn't expecting that."
"Me neither, which explains the loss of control." Jim brushed his pants off and started walking toward the house.
"Whoa, where are you doing?"
"Chief, just because he likes Gilligan's Island doesn't mean that he's not our suspect. I need to get close enough to see if there is any explosive residue around the house." Jim walked casually across the street and toward the house before stopping to tie his shoe. Blair had stayed with him and now leaned against a nearby tree so that anyone looking out of the house wouldn't see him.
"Stay there," Jim ordered as he straightened up again and started walking toward the house again. He quickly scanned the windows looking for any sort of camera or lookout.
Stepping over the low fence easily, he flattened himself against the side of the house and started working his way toward the back where he could see an open window that would give him access to the smells from inside the house. He was bent over low enough that people from the street wouldn't see him behind the bushes and his head was below the sill of the window when he caught the scent. Almost refusing to believe it, he turned to find Blair two steps behind him.
"I told you to stay put," Jim hissed.
"Yeah, but what if you spike again or zone?" Jim ground his teeth at his guide being so near a potential bombing suspect, but if he made a scene here, they would make themselves targets for anyone inside who happened to be near. Jim started back toward the open window with half his concentration on the house and half on the guide who trailed behind him awkwardly.
Below the window, Jim knelt as he focused this time on scent: rotting wood, dog feces, garden dirt, the evergreen-like scent of the bush, overcooked chicken. Jim catalogued and dismissed each smell as his first guide had taught him. The scent of herbal shampoo and coffee and some sort of soft smoky scent Jim put in the part of his brain labeled 'guide.'
Then he began working on the subtler scents coming from the house searching for any of the many chemicals the USSP had trained him to identify with bomb making. He felt Blair moving closer, and he made a mental note to get Blair some academy training because right now they were one big target if anyone came outside. But his guide had promised to try and keep these men's names off any official paperwork, and Jim would do his best to honor that—including avoiding official search warrants.
"Well?" Blair asked as Jim rocked back on his heels and rubbed his head as he got the dials back to normal.
"He's a little more adapted to life in America than his imam thinks he is," Jim offered as he identified only one illegal scent coming from the house.
"What do you mean?" Jim waved his hand toward the street, and Blair turned around and started retracing their steps, still carefully keeping below the level of the window. Maybe there was hope for his guide yet.
"Let's just say that not all of his 'highs' come from loving god, Darwin," Jim said as they reached the fence. Blair had to hop to get over it, and Jim quickly followed, his long legs giving him an advantage.
"Oh man, his imam would be so disappointed."
"Yeah, well that's human nature," Jim added with a slap to Blair's back.
"You are way too young to be so damn cynical" Jim looked at his guide with a raised eyebrow. "You are," Blair said defensively.
"There are times I worry about you, Chief"
"Whatever, man. You are way too --."
"Human nature, Chief," Jim interrupted as they reached the truck.
"So, are you going to turn him in?"
"If I started busting everyone who smelled of narcotics I'd never finish the paperwork-starting with your friend."
"Oh man, you wouldn't really bust Charlie after he..."
"If you mention anything about explosions, I will personally cuff you and throw you in the back of the truck," Jim warned with a mock-growl.
"Yeah, right. Whatever, man." Blair said cheerfully as he opened the door and hopped in.
"You could at least have the courtesy to pretend to be intimidated," Jim complained as he got in the driver's side and started the truck.
"Next time, man. I promise I'll be absolutely petrified. So, what's the next stop?" Jim rolled his eyes as he checked the side mirrors before pulling out.
"We check the next name the imam gave us and then we hope the lab has the paperwork that will give us access to the evidence."
"Cool."
Jim had expected Blair's excitement to quickly die once the man learned of the slow often boring nature of investigative work, but as they pulled back into the precinct garage with absolutely no leads, Blair seemed just as cheerful. And if the man managed to find one more way to say 'I told you so' without actually saying the words, Jim was going to look into buying some gags. He'd worked vice long enough to have an idea where to start. Blair stayed fairly quiet while Jim checked the car back in.
Blair and a young cop Jim knew from vice discussed the band advertised on the shirt the vice cop wore, and Jim had to shake his head at how Blair seemed to just instantly ingratiate himself with absolutely everyone. Jim respected Simon, but he had to admit that the man could be a bastard to people he didn't know well. However Blair with his long hair and non-stop mouth had somehow gotten Simon to trust him. Now this vice cop was telling Blair all about the undercover work he was doing in an underground rave, and Blair was happily nodding and giving the man tips on what to look for and which bands were big with the underground scene. Jim finished up and gave Blair a couple of slaps on the back.
"Time to head up, Junior." Blair wished the vice cop luck as and followed Jim to the elevator. Once inside, Blair stood pressed up against Jim's arm with his right side.
"The imam is going to be really pleased that we managed to clear his guys without having to create a paperwork trail that would haunt them," Blair said as Jim kept his eyes focused on the blinking numbers.
"Four minutes."
"Huh?"