by Carol Roi
Jim looked into his guide's worried face and sighed. She'd saved his partner's life, if Blair's story was true. Blair trusted her that much was obvious. Why couldn't he trust his guide's instincts? "Go ahead," he finally said, grudgingly. "Take care of her, and I'll see you later. You both have a lot of questions to answer."
"Sure, Jim, we'll answer all the questions you want, but later." He swung up into the cab of the truck and started the engine. Checking for traffic behind him, he pulled out into a U-turn, and headed for the loft.
At the first stop light, Blair stole a glance at Dee. She was slumped in the seat, her head leaning against the door, but her eyes were bright and clear and fixed on him. He fidgeted under her gaze for a moment, then said "What?"
"Go ahead and ask me. I know you're dying to. Pardon the bad choice of words." She gave him a little smile.
Taking a deep breath, Blair said, "How did you do that? How did you heal me?"
Dee shifted in the seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. "I don't really know. I mean, I do know, but I've never really gone into the scientific how part of it. So the unscientific explanation is I speeded up your body's healing system by giving you some of my life energy, actually, a lot of my own energy. That's why I'm so wiped right now. I know that probably doesn't answer your question, but I think that's the best you're going to get at the moment."
The traffic light turned green and Blair set the truck in motion again. Part of him had a million more questions to ask her, but he knew he really didn't have any right to ask them. After all, he had his own secrets. "Thank you," he said finally, unable to come up with any other words to express his gratitude.
Realizing his words weren't meant for her explanation, but for her actions, she laid her hand on his bicep, squeezing gently. "You're welcome," she responded. "Sorry, it had to hurt so much. I haven't quite figured out why the healing hurts more than the injury."
"Maybe it's because you're compressing weeks or months of pain into a few seconds," he said, his analytical mind already at work on the problem.
"Maybe," she answered with a sigh. "Goddess, my head hurts."
"We're here," Blair announced, parking the pickup behind the building. He helped her out of the truck and upstairs. By the time they exited the elevator, Dee was leaning heavily on his shoulder.
"Keys are in my pocket," she told him.
"What?" Blair said distractedly, trying to find the key to the loft on Jim's key ring, since his was in his backpack at the crime scene. He hoped Jim remembered to bring it home with him. "Oh, your keys. No, no, you're gonna come with me. You're in no shape to be by yourself. Besides, I've seen the mess in your apartment, there's no place to even sit down." Finally getting the door open, he gave her a hand inside. Taking her coat from her, he hung it up on the peg by the door, sneaking a peek at what was hidden inside while Dee's back was to him. He didn't know what he expected to find, but it certainly wasn't a Japanese sword.
"Lobo?" she said, drawing his attention back to her.
He hurried to her side and helped her take a seat on the couch. "I think your coat's ruined. You must have knelt right in my…." He couldn't finish the sentence.
"Hmm?" Dee said, distracted by the pounding in her head. "Oh, bloodstains. They should come right out; they have before."
He so didn't want to know how she knew that. A change of subject was in order. "Now you just lie down and rest," he told her, getting her a couple more pillows and dragging an afghan off the back of the other couch. "Can I get you anything to drink? Some aspirin for your headache maybe?"
Dee couldn't help but smile as Blair fussed over her. "Just some water, Lobo. I don't think I can stomach much else right now."
Trotting out to the kitchen, Blair grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and brought it back, cracking it open before handing it to her. "Do you think you'll be okay for a couple minutes while I, uh, get cleaned up?" he asked, gesturing to his blood stained clothing.
"I'll be fine, 'Mom'," she replied, giving him a wink.
"Don't you start with me too," he shot over his shoulder as he headed for the bathroom, snagging some clean clothes from his bedroom on the way. "Jim tells me I have a 'mother hen' mode."
Leaning her head against the back of the couch, Diandra shot back, "Okay, then you can be my mother wolf, my lobo mama."
Shaking his head, Blair closed the bathroom door behind him, giggling at her comment. The adrenaline rush was wearing off, leaving him punchy. Yanking his ruined T-shirt over his head, Blair heard something hit the countertop and bounce to the floor. Tossing the shirt into the trashcan, he bent down to search for the object, finding it buried in the plush pile of the bathmat. Straightening up, he stared at the small metal slug in his hand, struggling to wrap his mind around the concept of its existence. "This is a bullet; a bullet that was in me; a bullet she pulled out of my chest…" Until this moment, the whole experience had all seemed very surreal. Now it came rushing back to him with painful clarity. Danny's drug clouded eyes, the gun waving around, Danny moving past him toward the back of the store, toward Dee! He saw himself grabbing for the gun, Danny pulling his arm back, his hands on Danny's wrist, over his fingers, trying to wrestle the gun away, his thumb brushing against the trigger, an explosion of sound and the smell of sulfur, and pain, oh god, the pain, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe!
Blair grabbed for the edge of the counter as he retched violently into the toilet. He was still shaking with dry heaves when he heard Diandra's voice outside the door. "Lobo! Are you okay in there?"
"Yeah, " he managed, taking a breath, trying to keep his stomach calm. "I'll be okay in a minute. Just a little post traumatic heaving." Turning on the faucet, he splashed cold water on his face and into his mouth, rinsing away the worst of the taste. Grabbing a washcloth and some soap, he cleaned the blood off his chest and stomach, closing his eyes as he wrung the cloth out under the running tap, not able to face the sight of the blood tinged water swirling down the drain. Throwing the washcloth into the trashcan to join his shirt, he toweled off. Tossing the towel in the vicinity of the towel rack, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His fingers trailed across the skin of his chest, pausing in the middle, just to the left of his sternum. A dime-sized patch of pale pink flesh marred the even tones of his skin. He brushed his index finger over it lightly, and it faded to white, then back to pink as he removed the slight pressure.
"Blair, are you sure you're okay?" he heard Diandra say once again.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he answered, pulling on a fresh shirt and exchanging his jeans for a pair of sweats. Opening the bathroom door, he found her leaning against the wall in the hallway, her complexion ghostly. "Jesus, Dee!" he exclaimed as he caught her before she slid to the floor. "I thought you were going to stay put." Throwing her
arm across his shoulders, he guided her back to the couch.
"Sorry, but you sounded like you needed help," she murmured, wincing as her headache intensified from her exertion.
Noticing her look of pain, Blair once again offered some aspirin. Dee started to shake her head, but thought better of it. "Don't think that'll have much effect. It's more like a migraine."
"I have some herbal tea I drink whenever I get a migraine. Do you think that will help?"
"It can't hurt."
"I'll be right back, then." He headed for the kitchen and put the teakettle on to boil. "Shit," he thought, "Jim'll be home soon and I promised dinner." He didn't even want to think about what Jim would say when he saw Diandra. Yanking open the freezer, he pulled out some lasagna he had frozen last week and threw it in the oven after adjusting it to the correct temperature. Maybe Jim would end up riding with the suspects downtown and dinner would be ready by the time he finally showed up. Blair opened the refrigerator again and began looking for enough lettuce to make a salad.
Dee scrunched down further into the sofa cushions and listened to the comforting sounds of Blair puttering in the kitchen. For the first t
ime in a long while, she felt herself letting her guard down in another's presence. She gazed around the loft, noting that it was immaculate, yet still managed to feel lived in. Somehow her residences tended to move rapidly from lived-in to messy. If she had to guess at it, she would attribute the neatness to Ellison, and the lived-in to Blair's influence. She idly wondered how they had managed to hook up with each other. She had never met a companion/champion pair that was comprised of such extreme opposites. Maybe that was what she had sensed in Blair when they had first met. Maybe he believed that to increase the bond between himself and his sentinel would mean remaking himself in Ellison's image, something he knew he couldn't do. Or maybe he just didn't know how to bring them closer. It wasn't as if guides were handed instruction manuals when they found their sentinels. A wave of pain radiated through her head and down her neck, causing her to bite her lip to keep back a moan. "Serves me right for trying to puzzle out metaphysics when I'm this tired," she thought.
Blair was back in front of her then, holding out a steaming mug. When he saw how much her hands were shaking, he sat down on the coffee table and closed his fingers around hers, steadying the cup so she could take a sip.
Blair's closeness was almost more than she could bear. She kept her eyes shut while she drank, afraid of what the expression on his face would do to her if she could see it. Feeling hot tears collecting behind her closed eyelids, she tried to force them back. "Dee?" Blair's voice softly queried. She felt him prying the mug from her hands, then running his finger lightly across her cheek. She opened her eyes to find his face inches from hers, his blue eyes full of concern. "There you are," he said. "I was getting worried there for a minute."
Those kind words were too much for her, and her tears spilled over, running in rivulets down her cheeks. "Damn, you must really be hurting, " he said. He was beside her on the couch immediately, carefully pulling her against his shoulder, one hand slowly rubbing her back, the other trying to lightly massage her neck and scalp, but getting tangled in her braid.
"Hair band," she breathed against his neck, and Blair tugged it gently loose, combing his fingers through her hair until it fell in dark waves over her shoulders. He returned to his tender ministrations, and Dee relaxed against him, her heart overwhelmed with the feelings he was instilling in her. It had been so long since anyone had treated her like this, since she had let anyone take care of her. She hadn't realized how much she had missed being fussed over and cared for, how much she had missed letting someone else be strong for a change.
Blair could hear Diandra's breathing even out, and her head slid into a comfortable position on his chest as she drifted off to sleep. He rested his chin against her hair, and just held her, enjoying the feeling of being able to do something to ease her pain.
Part 2
Ellison shouldered his roommate's backpack and headed toward the loft, glad of the three-block walk. Maybe it would give him a chance to figure out what had happened that evening. Lord knew the employees of the store hadn't been much help, and the one crook that had regained consciousness had no idea what had happened to him. The other was on his way to the hospital with a broken wrist and what looked like a dislocated jaw. The female cashier, who had been the only employee at the front of the store during the robbery, had ducked under her register when Blair and the suspect had begun struggling for the gun, and had stayed there until the uniformed officers had coaxed her out when they arrived. Hopefully the store surveillance tape he had taken into evidence would show what had happened. He planned on going over it at the station in the morning. Right now, he just wanted to get home to his guide, and relax in the knowledge that he wasn't dead, no matter how unsettling the reasons for that miracle were.
That was another thing Jim planned on taking care of in the a.m. He would run a background check on their new neighbor. He knew he should be grateful to her for saving his partner's life, but there was just something that bothered him about her, something he couldn't quite get a handle on, just an instant dislike. If nothing else, looking into Diandra Pallas' past would make him feel better about Sandburg's new acquaintance.
Jim entered the apartment building and took the stairs instead of the elevator, hoping to burn off a little steam, and prevent himself from taking his frustrations out on Blair. He stretched his senses upward as he climbed, and found his guide's heartbeat in the loft where it belonged. Listening a little more closely, he discerned there were two heartbeats coming from the loft, and odder still, they were beating in tandem. Reaching the door of 307, he rummaged through Sandburg's backpack until he found his keys. As he slid the key into the lock, he heard the heartbeats diverge into two separate rhythms, one slow and measured, the other slightly faster, and more animated.
Blair was just leaning Diandra's sleeping form back against the sofa cushions when he heard Jim outside the loft. Thank god he hadn't walked in to find Dee asleep in Blair's lap. That would have ended the night on a swell note. Dee was definitely not a "table leg", and he wouldn't ever want to give Jim that impression.
He looked up as Jim opened the door, setting the backpack on the floor by the small table. Blair raised a finger to his lips, and gestured for Jim to follow him into the kitchen.
"She's here, isn't she?" Jim said in a low voice, barely controlling the growl he felt building.
Sandburg opened the oven door and checked its contents before answering him. "Yes," he replied, turning around and folding his arms across his chest, "she is. Her stuff isn't unpacked yet, and in the shape she's in, I didn't want her to be alone. She can barely stand, Jim. She's not a threat to me, or you. Besides, she just fell asleep, and with any luck, she'll be out the rest of the night." He turned to the kitchen counter and began slicing a carrot. "Dinner will be ready in about 15 minutes."
Opening the fridge, Jim helped himself to a beer. God knew after tonight's events he needed one and the night wasn't over yet. "What makes you think I have a problem with Ms. Pallas?"
Blair turned his head slightly, and shot him a look through a fringe of hair. "It's Dr. Pallas, and you have that look on your face, like a dog that's just discovered someone else has been pissing on his fire hydrant."
Jim choked on his mouthful of beer, and there was a moment of coughing and sputtering before he could even attempt an answer. "That's one way of putting it, Sandburg. I prefer to think of it as being cautious. We don't know anything about her."
"Actually, I know quite a lot," Blair said, moving from slicing the carrot to a tomato. "I spent a couple hours helping her move in this afternoon, and I asked questions. You know, that thing you do when you want to get to know a person."
"And?"
"And I found out she's lived in the Pacific Northwest for the past couple of years, but this is her first time in Cascade. She's going to be teaching at Rainier, probably in the history department, but she does have a background in archeology and anthropology. She's published at least one novel, and has made a name for herself by forcing the academia to change its whole way of thinking about the Amazons. She drives an '89 Jeep Cherokee, and is into healthy living and lots of exercise, dancing, I think. Oh, and she speaks Spanish, and whatever that language was she was shouting at the EMTs, possibly Gaelic."
Jim stared at Blair for a moment. Sometimes he forgot that even though he wasn't a cop, Blair was just as trained in observation as the best detective. He felt a small smile curve his lips. "Sorry, Chief. I should have figured you'd find out all you could about the most attractive resident in the building."
Blair felt his cheeks grow hot. "It's not like that, Jim, not at all. She's not like anyone I've ever met before, and not because she had the power to save my life."
Ellison felt his smile fading at the reminder, "Um, listen, Chief, I know you are probably uncomfortable talking about what happened, but the employees at the store weren't any help. I know you told me before, but that account wasn't exactly lucid. What exactly did happen?"
Blair scraped the diced carrot and tomato off th
e cutting board and on top of the lettuce in the salad bowls. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled something out and handed it to Jim.
"What's this?" Jim asked.
Blair ran his hand uneasily through his hair. "I, uh, found it in my shirt when I was getting cleaned up. It's evidence, man. It's the bullet I was shot with."
Jim stared at it, still barely able to comprehend what had happened to his guide. Automatically, he went to the cupboard, got out a ziplock baggie, and dropped the slug inside, writing on the plastic with a marker where and when the evidence had been obtained.
The stove timer dinged, and Blair grabbed a hot pad and removed the pan of lasagna, then went about setting the table. "Jim," he said after a moment, "I remembered exactly what happened when I got shot. I don't want to press charges against Danny. It was my fault; I grabbed for the gun, and in the process of struggling for it, my thumb got caught on the trigger. I shot myself."
The older man stood at the counter, his emotions wound so tight he couldn't move. He shot himself. His guide could have died, and would have taken the best part of his sentinel with him, all because of a stupid move on his part. Jim tried to contain his outrage before he turned around to face him, but he could feel the blood rushing to his face. His piercing gaze pinned Blair to the table. "Don't you ever do something so stupid again!" he hissed, then fell silent, unable to trust himself with any more speech.