Ellison raised a hand and placed it over Sandburg's heart, feeling the rapid beat that he was no doubt listening to.
This is so not cool. Blair closed his eyes and reopened them, hoping for a miracle, but nothing had changed. If anything, the jungle was clearer, denser, darker. Frustration flared, exhausting him with the effort of keeping control. Blair felt his eyes brim with tears and he covered his face with one hand. He bit his lip trying to keep it from trembling. Shit.
Jim shifted over to him, one arm resting on his shoulder. "If you need to talk, then talk, Sandburg. The doctor will be back here in a few minutes."
Ah, man. What can I say? Blair shook his head, eyes tightly closed, feeling his whole body begin to shake. Air seemed to be squeezed out of his compromised lungs, refusing to enter his body when he inhaled.
He felt himself being shifted with infinite care to rest against his friend's shoulder.
"Relax. I'm here. Tell me what's wrong."
"Can't," Blair managed to gasp.
"Concentrate on your breathing," Jim said softly, and Blair tried to comply, gradually controlling his hyper breathing until he was able to pull away from his partner and lean back again. "That's it, Chief. Now talk to me."
"Okay. Here goes," he said, in a rush. "Something's wrong with me. I don't think it's anything the doctor can do anything about, but something's definitely not right here. Hasn't been since I first woke up. Yesterday, I mean. But it's the same today. It hasn't changed or gotten any better. I thought it might, but it didn't. Jim, my sight-- my sight, it's..." He didn't know how to word it, but before he could try, Ellison tilted his face up.
"Your eyes? Can you see me? How many fingers am I holding up?"
"One and that's rude, Jim." He felt the smile creep to his face, appreciating his partner's attempt to steady him. "I can see you. It's just how I'm seeing you."
Jim frowned. "Tell me what you see, then."
Again, he could feel the panic rise and he held on to Jim's arm until the feeling passed. He fingered the fabric of Jim's jacket, his fingers blurring over his partner's bare arm. His voice was little more than a whisper, but at least it was steady. "I know I'm in the hospital, okay? I can hear the sounds of the machines, I can smell the place, I can feel the blanket and the bed and your jacket. But-- but-- I see the jungle, man. I see you wearing stuff like you wore in Peru when we were there, when you sorta went native on me. And speaking of natives, unless there are a lot of Peruvian natives in the medical business in Cascade, I'm kinda screwed there, too. If they're talking English, it's a mystery to me. I understand you, but the rest is all gibberish. Nothing I remotely recognize. Maybe I just got hit on the head too hard. Or maybe I'm really not awake yet -- maybe this is all a dream and I'm gonna wake up soon. I don't know, maybe I'm dead. Maybe I'm dead," he said again, and hiccuped.
Fingers dug into his upper arm, where Jim had gripped him. "Don't say that. You're not dead."
"Sorry," he whispered, and hiccuped again, drawing his legs up to sit cross-legged beneath the covers. "But I'm not all here either. I don't get what's happening.
Jim's hand moved to his knee, the pressure slowly increasing, and when Blair looked up, he could see Jim's eyes blinking rapidly, unfocused.
"Jim? What is it? What's wrong?" He sat up straighter, reaching to touch Ellison's shoulder. "Jim!" he shouted, sharp coughs resulting from the effort. He doubled over, leaning forward as he fought to breathe around the hiccups, but Jim's hand on his back eased the battle for oxygen.
"Don't worry, Chief. Just concentrate on breathing steadily. I'm okay. I'll tell you about it in a minute, once you're settled," Ellison said, quietly stroking his back, calming the lung-shaking coughs.
Sandburg closed his eyes, too tired to fight, and leaned into the gentle massage, feeling the muscles across his back and between his ribs ease up the pressure on his chest. After a minute or two, the hiccups died down and faded, and he took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
When Jim finally spoke again, Blair listened intently, trying to grasp every nuance of what the other man would say. "Chief, I had a dream this morning -- actually it was a repeat of one I had last night, but I had forgotten it."
"Yeah?" Sandburg sat up, his attention focusing further. "What was it about?"
Ellison touched the young man's forehead with the back of his hand. "Your fever's going up a bit."
"Well, I'm not claiming to be one hundred percent right now, Jim. What was the dream about?"
"You. I think the old Sentinel-warrior of my dream was telling me about this. This is something he warned me about, something we have to work together on." Ellison looked at him carefully, then took Blair's hand, placing it on his jacket sleeve. "This might not work because you're still sick, so don't worry if nothing happens."
"Yeah, yeah. What did he say to do? Did he tell you what we needed to do?"
"Not really. The dream was a little different than this. But this might work." Jim's free hand rested on the side of Blair's face, his fingers curling around into his hair. "Are you willing to try something? Then look at my jacket carefully, Chief. You can feel it, you said, so try to see it, too. Tell me what color it is."
Blair closed his eyes and felt the fabric, then opened them and saw Jim's bare arm again. "I told you, I can't see normally, just what you had on in the jungle. You're not wearing a jacket at all...wait...it's beige," he said suddenly, looking up. "It's your beige jacket." He blinked, his eyes trying to focus on two things at once. Like a photograph with a double image.
"You can see my jacket?"
"Yes. No. It's like..." Blair looked around the room, then back to Jim. "It's like a reflection in a window. I can see the jungle around me, but there's an image of..." He stared at Jim's chest, concentrating on the second image he was seeing. "You're wearing a gray T-shirt." It made him tired, but he could see it.
"That's right." Ellison carefully withdrew his hand from Sandburg's face, standing and moving a foot away from the bed. "Now what do you see?"
Blair felt his world crash. "Nothing. Just the jungle. And you. Like before. I thought it was coming back. What happened?"
"I'm not sure, but I think your sight will come back," Jim said after a moment. "I told you I had a dream. I think when we're together, maybe in physical contact, you're going to be able to hear and see normally. But when we're apart..."
"It's jungle time."
"Something like that," Ellison said, smiling, once again dressed normally as he sat on the edge of the bed and rested his hand on Blair's.
It was becoming easier to see, the real image strengthening as Blair clung to Jim's hand. The pounding of his headache hadn't diminished, nor had the pressure behind his eyes. Maybe it'll clear up when my headache goes away.
Ellison turned his head toward the door and a few seconds later, a man wearing a white coat entered the room.
"Are you ready? I've got a busy schedule this morning and I'd like to take a look at you first."
Blair nodded. "Dr. Albinoni, I presume?" He knew he was smiling widely, but it was a relief to be able to see the man and actually understand what was being said to him.
"Yes. I've been keeping an eye on you, young man. You gave us a bit of a scare this morning when we couldn't wake you up. I'd like to run some tests to see what the cause might be. Could you lie back down for me?"
"Yes, sir." Blair's smile faded as he shifted to lie flat and Jim moved away from him. The shutters had fallen back in place. The doctor metamorphosed into a tribal healer, the medical instruments fading into meaningless blurs. "Uh, Jim? You mind staying here? You don't mind do you, Doctor? I'm just a little freaked out by all this and I'd really like if he could stay. Right, Jim? Could you tel
l him something?" Anything, man. Make up anything, but find some way to stay with me. "Please? Would that be a problem?" He knew his heart rate had gone back up, both the doctor and Jim listening to the betraying sounds on the monitor, but he didn't really care. He was cold and tired, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what was going on in his head.
Jim walked around the bed and sat on the other side, away from the doctor, one hand resting on his lower leg. "How's that?"
Cascade Hospital returned. Dr. Albinoni and the blue cotton blanket. And a nurse with a bunch of needles to take his blood. "Fine. Thanks."
Albinoni didn't look happy about Ellison's presence, but since it left him with a calmer, responsive patient, he apparently decided not to argue about it. Thirty minutes and a lot of poking around later, Blair wrestled his eyes open and watched the doctor leave the room. Or rather, watched the tribal healer leave the room.
"Jim?" he whispered, relieved when he saw the Sentinel come to his side. "I'm tired."
"The medication is going to make you feel that way. You need to sleep. You're fighting a fever." Ellison rested a hand on his arm, massaging it gently.
"The jungle's still there. It's not working," Blair said, shivering.
"I didn't say I had all the answers. Maybe you're just tired and when you're feeling stronger, it'll be better. We'll work it out, okay? Sleep now and we'll try again later."
"But why is this happening? Just tell me why... tell me... Hey, Jim, how come I don't dream like you do, huh?" Blair asked, his eyes only half open. "If I'm the shaman, how come I don't dream? I only have nightmares. You get all the cool dreams with panthers and stuff."
Jim continued the mesmerizing massage on his arm and shoulder. "I don't know, buddy. Sometimes I wish you would have them, not me. I can never make sense of them. I'm sure he told me all kinds of things, but I can't remember much when I wake up."
"What else do you remember?"
"Why don't you have a nap, then we'll talk more?"
"Please, Jim. What did he say? Is this the way it's always going to be?"
"No. This will pass. I'm sure of that. It's just teaching us something."
"Oh." Blair nodded to himself, then furrowed his brow slightly, both eyes closed. "Stay here?"
"I'll be here. I might go get some coffee, but I'll be able to hear you waking up."
"Hmm..."
* * *
9:30 a.m.
The donut was stale.
Disappointed, he let it drop back to the cafeteria plate and brushed the dry crumbs off his hands, frowning at the sticky flakes of frosting seemingly glued to his fingers. The napkin, when he tried to wipe his hands, also stuck to his fingers, leaving behind tiny wisps of white paper. The mug, made from the same hard green plastic as the rest of the dishes and stained inside from years of use, nevertheless held a reasonably fresh cup of coffee, which he drank down quickly.
At least he could say to Dr Albinoni that he went down to the cafeteria for a break, as was their deal. And if the doctor didn't know that Ellison's hearing stayed focused on his sleeping partner, that was fine, too. Ellison strongly suspected that Blair would remain asleep until he returned to the room; the coincidence of it happening two days in a row made any other option unlikely.
He stretched his legs under the otherwise deserted table and stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the light rain falling on the small courtyard of the hospital. What would Sandburg make of this? A tropical downpour? He was surprised, actually, at how easily he had accepted what Sandburg told him. Why? Because it means he'll stay close to you, like the hobbled wolf?
Maybe, he admitted, reluctantly. Maybe right now, that's what he needed, to keep Blair within reach. To guard him from whomever had hurt him. He remembered the fierce gray wolf and how it had laid its head in his palm, accepting his protection and care, and he knew that within him was the need to extend that to his Guide. The wolf accepted it, nuzzling into his hand, but at any time, it could have turned and bitten him. No, the wolf had willingly entrusted itself to him.
Something was doing this to Sandburg, altering his sight and possibly his sleep-patterns. Who? Why? For how long?
Something was manipulating them, and Ellison hated feeling manipulated.
What do you want from us?
He felt the shift in perception, an awareness as intense as if one of his senses were activated. A dream fragment resurfaced as he sat alone in the cafeteria.
"How can he be my Guide if he can't walk?"
"Then you must learn to listen to him. That is your lesson. Your task. Listen and he will guide. Stay close to him, and he will guide. With you, he can walk. Without you, he cannot. And if he cannot, you will not be a Sentinel."
Stay close to him.
Listen to him.
Suddenly the two floors separating them was too much. Ellison pushed up from the table and returned to Sandburg's hospital room, taking the last corridor at a jog in his haste. But everything seemed fine. The young man was asleep, his temperature closer to normal. Even his breathing seemed less labored, the slight wheeze gone from his lungs. Ellison touched his partner's temple, feeling the pulse through his fingertips, the life in a body that had been left for dead a few days before.
We'll get through this somehow. It's not just you, Chief. We both have lessons to learn.
His head throbbed. It took him awhile to remember the dials and longer yet to do anything about the level of pain. Probably just a tension headache -- why should that be a surprise, considering his last few days. Few weeks. Few months. Ellison dropped into the chair by the bed and stared at a spot on the floor until he heard the doctor enter the room.
"He's still sleeping, I see." Albinoni scribbled something on his clipboard, then set it down on the foot of the bed and moved closer to his patient.
"Doctor, when can he be released?"
"We'd like to monitor him for a few days yet. He's had a remarkable recovery, but he's not out of the woods yet."
"What if I agree to bring him in to be checked as often as you'd like and watched him carefully for any signs of difficulty?" Ellison asked, keeping his tone reasonable. "Can he go home? I mean, I thought there was a bed shortage here or something. Couldn't this bed be put to better use by the hospital if he's well enough to go home?"
The doctor frowned, turning to glance back at the clipboard on the bed, then over to Ellison. "What are his living conditions?"
"He lives with me. I was a medic in the army."
"And would you be with him for the next week?"
"I can be. Yes."
* * *
12:15 p.m.
Arms folded across his chest, Simon Banks stood at the foot of Sandburg's hospital bed and studied the sleeping young man. Maybe studied wasn't the right word. Scrutinized. Contemplated. Pondered. "Have you...uh...discussed what happened before? With you kicking him out of the loft?" He turned his head sharply to look at his detective. "You can't just sweep something like that under the rug."
"We've talked about it. A little. Enough for now."
Banks snorted. "I bet. I can see it now. You saying 'Sorry about that' and the kid replying 'No problem, man'."
"I realize it's not going to change overnight, Simon."
"Yeah? Well, realize this: Sandburg's been through hell and back this last week. I don't want to see you adding to it." His voice softened as he saw Ellison's reaction. "Oh, hell, Jim. I know how much you were hurting when you thought he was dead there--"
"And what? Now that he's breathing and his heart is pumping, I'm back to being a soulless bastard?" Ellison stared out the window, eyes fixed on some distant place.
"Listen to me, Jim. I know what the kid means to you. And I know you kicked him out anyway. What does that say?"
"I don't know."
"What?"
"I don't know why I kicked him out." The detective began restlessly pacing.
"Maybe you need to figure that out before it happens again."
"So
why did I do it?"
"What were you thinking at the time? Or, more important, what were you feeling at the time?"
Sharp eyes stared through him. "Isn't your lunch hour over yet?"
"Don't change the subject, Mister. Why did you kick him out?" Banks reined back his anger, trying not to direct it at his friend. "There must have been a reason why you did it," he asked, his voice softer.
Ellison was at the window again now, staring down at the city. "I can't think of one good reason why I would do such a thing."
"Maybe there wasn't one good reason," Sandburg whispered, struggling to open his eyes. "Maybe there were just a lot of little reasons that added up."
Ellison's eyes closed, his jaw tightening, but he didn't acknowledge the comment.
The captain moved to the young man's bedside. "He cares about you, kid." Banks sat at the edge of the mattress, resting one hand reassuringly on Sandburg's forearm.
"I know, Simon."
Ellison turned then, glancing at Sandburg. "Cascade?" he asked, quietly.
Blair nodded, his eyes blinking as he looked around. "Yeah. About half and half."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Banks demanded
Ellison shrugged and looked back out the window, and Banks' stare came back to Sandburg. The young man had probably been shaved sometime that morning and his face now seemed even paler than when he had visited before. He had dark circles beneath his eyes, his hair untidily pulled back by an elastic. "Well?" the captain asked.
"It's not important, sir. Jim?" Sandburg sat up, accepting Banks' help in fixing a pillow at his back. "Jim?"
With a long, drawn-out sigh, Ellison left the window and returned to the observer's side. He said nothing, arms hanging loosely. Worn out, Simon could see. Empty.
A Different Way of Seeing Page 2