by K Ryn
"When?"
Blair opened his mouth to answer and then closed it with a snap, whirling away from the Sentinel. He took two steps, intent on running like hell, but instead, he grabbed onto the fragile reins of what was left of his willpower and came to an abrupt stop. With his back to the older man, he closed his eyes, clenching his fists at his sides. He felt the warmth of Jim's hand on his shoulder and he opened his eyes, staring straight ahead. "I don't understand it, and I'm afraid to try," he whispered.
"Then we'll tackle it together," Jim said softly, turning him slowly so that their gazes met once again. "Right now, I need your promise that you'll do exactly what I say, when I say it. You don't go anywhere, or do anything without a signal from me first."
"I thought that's what I agreed to when we first started working together?"
"Yeah, and I'm still waiting for you to follow through on it."
"Okay. Observer rules. I got it," Blair muttered softly.
"Just see that you remember this time, Chief."
And the second you get in the line of fire, Ellison, all rules are off again, you remember that, too, Blair thought grimly as he nodded, acknowledging his partner's comment.
Jim squeezed his shoulder once more and prodded him forward, quietly explaining what he'd found and what he thought they we headed into.
Joel Taggert looked up in surprise as the outer doors to the Major Crimes Unit offices crashed shut with a deafening bang. Glancing out through the blinds of his own office windows he caught sight of a dark visage stalking through the bullpen and grimaced. Closing his eyes he started to count slowly under his breath -- he'd seen the lightning flash, now he was waiting for the roll of thunder to see just how close the storm really was. He grimaced when he heard another crash of rattling glass and wood -- the door to Simon's own office. Eight... usually takes 'til ten to get through the bullpen. Must have been a 'bad' meeting, he thought to himself.
Joel glanced at his watch and shook his head. 3:30, no wonder he's bent out of shape. Wonder who's program got the ax this time. Hope it wasn't one of ours. With surprising agility for a man his size, he eased out from behind his desk, picked up his coffee cup and headed to the break room. He managed to suppress a smile, observing the sudden increase in the level of activity in the bullpen. Everyone knew that dealing with the upper levels of bureaucracy was Simon's least favorite thing to do. Budget days were the worst and judging from the length of this meeting and the Richter scale level of the door slamming, the captain's patience level was exhausted. Looking busy was key at this point -- evacuating the scene until things cooled off an even better option, if you could create a plausible reason for it.
Joel filled his cup and peered through the break room blinds, eyeing Simon's office intently. Banks was pacing, the anger flowing off of him in waves. Joel frowned. This was more than just frustration for the bureaucratic process. Simon never let his impatience with the bean counters get this far out of control. No, it had to be something else. He was worried about something or someone. Or, more correctly, two someones -- Ellison and Sandburg.
Joel shook his head again, his own concern for the two men resurfacing. He admitted he had a soft spot where Sandburg was concerned, but during their last case, he'd also seen the toll it was taking on Ellison. He'd seen them when they'd come in that morning, looking like death warmed over, the kid's usual bounce and energy missing, the detective even more closed down than usual. He knew Simon had seen it. He'd been certain that Bank's had planned to give them a break, even though the waiting caseload was overwhelming. Simon demanded a lot, but he took care of his people and Ellison was more than just the unit's best detective -- he and Banks were good friends. And, although Joel was sure he'd never admit it out loud, Simon liked the young grad student as well. He made less than tolerant noises about Sandburg's presence, but underneath that, Taggert could sense a growing respect and trust.
"Kid does have a way of getting under your skin, doesn't he?" he murmured, grinning at his own reflection in the glass for a moment.
The grin turned to a frown as he considered Simon's current mindset. Banks hadn't been happy about sending the partners off on that search and rescue mission. Word was the mayor had approved it over his head. Maybe that's what had him steaming.
He refocused his attention on Simon. The big man was standing behind his desk now, phone in his hand. Something in his frozen posture made Joel uneasy and he slipped out of the break room. Crossing to Simon's office, Taggert hesitated outside the captain's closed door, waiting until the other man put down the phone before pushing the door open a few feet. The angry expression on the captain's face told him that whatever the call had been about, it wasn't good news.
"Simon?" he asked softly, not sure whether his interruption was welcome. Banks looked up abruptly and Taggert saw definite worry in the captain's eyes. "What is it?"
"Joel... come in and shut the door. We've got a problem." Simon said softly.
Ellison gestured quickly and Blair dropped to the ground behind him, edging closer to bring himself to the older man's side. They were thirty feet from the edge of a small clearing and through the trees he could see the shape of the small school bus, perched on the far side. He turned to look up at Jim's face, not hardly daring to breathe as he watched the Sentinel at work, scanning ahead with his senses, probing for the signs of life they were so desperate to find.
He swallowed hard and tried not to let his imagination run ahead. tried not to think of what could be waiting for them. The thought of finding more bodies, particularly those of the children sickened him beyond belief. He felt an internal 'push' at his emotions and shook his head, attempting to slam the door on another attack.
Not here, not now! he pleaded desperately with himself.
He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, willing the feelings to subside and after a few moments, the sensation began to ebb away. Taking a deep breath, he focused back on his partner, grateful that the older man had been too absorbed in his search to notice.
"Anything?" he whispered hopefully. The Sentinel didn't answer immediately and Blair reached out to touch him gently on the arm. "Jim?"
The older man's head slowly swiveled in his direction and he watched the almost expressionless face carefully. Jim Ellison was a hard man to read, but Blair had gotten pretty good at it. Now he was looking at the small signs which he'd learned meant trouble. His eyes widened and he felt his body start to tremble. Jim's hand was immediately on his arm, steadying him.
"There's nothing there, Chief. Nothing. No heartbeats, but no bodies, either," the Sentinel said softly.
Blair felt too numb to speak, so he simply nodded. Disappointing as it was not to find the children, the alternative could have been far worse. He stayed silent as Jim contracted the rest of the search teams, ordering them to move forward, but to keep their eyes open. At his partner's gentle urging, he rose to his feet and followed in the older man's footsteps. At the edge of the trees, Ellison stopped and drew his gun, motioning for Blair to remain behind.
Sinking down into a crouch, Blair watched as Jim crossed the clearing to the bus and climbed on board. His heart was pounding even though he knew that the Sentinel had evaluated the scene and determined the absence of danger before they'd arrived. His gaze flickered around the clearing, noting the appearance of the other members of the search teams, watching as they converged on the vehicle. When Jim reappeared, he almost rose to his feet, but just in time he remembered the stern set of orders that he'd agreed to and stayed where he was. He saw the others milling about and nodded absently when he heard Dunn contact the reserve party, ordering them to bring up the vehicles. He chafed at the restrictions Jim had set, wanting to know what the Sentinel had discovered, but he didn't move until Jim waved him over.
"Anders is going to deploy the rest of the teams to search the perimeter of the clearing," Jim informed him when Blair joined his partner at the front door of the bus. "I wanted you to help me take a look inside. They didn't
leave us much."
Blair nodded and followed the Sentinel inside the vehicle. "Take a deep breath, Jim and concentrate. Don't filter anything out right now. Just take it all in. We'll sort it out later," he advised.
The walked the length of the bus, two sets of experienced eyes scanning the interior, pausing to search under each bench-like seat, examining the few items left behind -- a tiny pink compact filled with Polly Pockets; a well worn sweatshirt that looked like it had belonged to at least one older brother before becoming the property of its latest owner; several cartoon-emblazoned backpacks, filled with school books and pencils. Then, with Blair at his back, Jim walked it again, with each of his senses wide open. At the end of fifteen minutes, they still had nothing to go on -- the Sentinel hadn't even found a smudged fingerprint. The kidnappers had been very thorough.
With a discouraged gesture, Ellison motioned for Blair to follow him as he exited the bus. Lingering behind for just a moment, the anthropologist turned at the top of the steps and stared at the vacant seats, trying to imagine the seven smiling, innocent faces that the photo had captured. Somehow he couldn't do it. The bus felt so empty, so devoid of any sense of life, that he couldn't envision the children at all.
"I don't get it, Jim," he murmured, scrubbing at his face in tired exasperation when he rejoined his partner outside. "Does this mean that they're still ahead of us? Or did we miss something along the way?"
"We didn't miss anything, Chief. We were led here," the detective answered softly. "Somebody wanted us to find this bus, just like they wanted us to find the driver and the teacher. Maybe these people like playing games, or maybe Anders and his men missed something on the road before we joined them. I don't know."
Blair watched the Sentinel wince as he rubbed his own eyes in weariness.
"You need to rest and eat something, man. That's got to be one killer headache by now," Blair observed, his voice filled with concern.
Jim shot him a bemused look. "This advice coming from the man who exists on granola and four hours sleep during exam week."
"Hey, I'm a grad student. I'm used to it. You're the one who needs three squares a day and wants absolute quiet after 10 pm."
"Guess we could all use a break," Jim responded. "I'll have a word with Anders. If his men haven't found any signs leaving the clearing, we may end up pitching camp here to regroup and determine a new strategy. We've only got an hour or so left to keep looking. Once we start losing daylight we'll be stumbling around in the dark."
"Well, not all of us."
Jim gave him a scowl and a gentle shove which propelled him toward the supply truck. "Go see if there's anything more inviting to eat than what we've got in our packs. I'll join you in a few minutes."
After a less than satisfactory discussion with Anders, Jim went looking for his partner, following the thump of the familiar heartbeat to the south end of the clearing, where Blair was perched atop a small pile of boulders. Easing to the mossy ground at the base of the rocks, the Sentinel leaned back and gratefully took the water bottle that the younger man offered. Sipping from it, he closed his eyes and tried to relax. His body bought into the plan, but his mind was still turning over the puzzle before them and was getting nowhere fast. Grudgingly, he finally realized that the only thing he was doing was aggravating the headache his Guide had nailed him on.
The soft whisper of denim dragging across granite prompted him to open his eyes. Glancing up, he found that Blair had repositioned himself on the boulders, effectively shielding Jim from Anders' and the rest of the search party's view.
"I thought the 'Protector Thing' was my job," he said softly.
The younger man's gaze shifted to him immediately and held there for a moment before he shrugged and looked away.
Ellison's eyes narrowed in concern as he watched his partner. The anthropologist's drawn face and too tense body; the jerky, uncoordinated movements he made as he reached into his pack for a package of trail rations, all spoke volumes about how 'not right' he was with the world. Jim took a quick look around, noting the location of Anders and his men and decided that the time had come for some answers.
"Okay, Chief," Jim said quietly. "This is the best chance we're going to get. Talk to me."
Blair glanced nervously over his shoulder and shook his head. "Jim, I really don't think --"
"Sandburg..."
"Okay... jeez, you sound like Naomi when I was six."
"What happened when you were --" Jim caught himself before falling into the trap. As usual, Blair was trying to redirect the conversation. "Oh no, not this time. Stick to the subject at hand, Chief. Tell me what you can about these attacks."
Having caught him in the act, Jim half-expected the familiar roll of the eyes and quirky grin as a response. Instead, Blair huddled into himself, his gaze fixed on the ground, his normally active hands clasped tightly together. The intense, strained stillness was so unlike his partner that Jim took a deep breath, preparing himself for the worst.
"I'm not sure I can explain it," Blair finally answered. "It's kind of like getting hit with an emotional sledgehammer. Just... 'wham.'"
"'Wham'? That's it? You, the master of the 'use three hundred words to explain what most people would say in five' routine are giving me 'Wham'?"
"Guess I'm working on brevity, man."
"That'll be the day," Jim muttered, closing his eyes, his fingers rubbing none too gently at his forehead.
"Headache's still pretty intense, huh?" Blair's voice dropped in pitch and volume, taking on a soothing resonance. "Maybe if you --"
Jim's eyes opened and he fixed the younger man with a glare. "Don't even think about it, Sandburg. It's not going to happen this time."
"What?"
"Changing the focus of this conversation from you to me. You know I'm practically programmed to respond to that tone in your voice when you shift into your 'Guide' mode. You use that trick whenever you want to avoid talking to me."
"That's pretty cold, Jim." Blair's eyes reflected a sudden flicker of anger. "I know you're in some major pain here. I was just trying to help. You want to handle it on your own, then fine."
Jim's hand on his knee stopped him before he could get to his feet.
"Blair..." Jim tried to get the younger man to meet his eyes, but the anthropologist dropped his head and sat in sullen silence. Momentarily at a loss for words to repair the damage his comments had caused, the Sentinel reached out with his senses through their physical link. He could feel the tension in the younger man's body and the minute shivering which could be attributed to either exhaustion or anger.
Or both. Apologize, Ellison, or you're never going to get him to open up.
"I didn't mean it that way," Jim murmured. "I'm worried about you. I realized back on the helicopter that something's been wrong for a while and with everything that's happened... I guess I've been aiming these senses of mine in every direction, but you. There's no excuse for that. And no excuse for jumping down your throat, either. I know you don't take being my Guide lightly. I know you were trying to help. I just wish you'd let me return the effort. I want you to know you can count on me when you need help."
The younger man sat quietly, the silence stretching awkwardly between them, his Guide's rapid heartbeat pounding painfully in his ears. When Blair finally began to speak, his voice was whisper soft, and even Jim had to lean in to hear the words.
"I thought at first it was just nerves and exhaustion... you know... with everything going on with the last case. I started getting these little 'pushes', especially after we'd find... find the victims. They weren't bad... just little emotional blips on the curve. Nothing like what happened in Simon's office or on the roof."
"Or when you met Anders?" Jim's interjection was more a statement than a question, but Blair raised his head, meeting the Sentinel's eyes and nodded. "So this started during the Haight case?" Jim pressed gently when Blair seemed reluctant to continue.
"I'm... I'm not sure..."
Bla
ir dropped his eyes again, avoiding Jim's searching stare. He appeared genuinely uncertain, but the Sentinel picked up the skip of the heartbeat and knew differently.
"Tell me about what's been happening today. You said before that it had something to do with my safety. What's that mean exactly?"
"I don't know, Jim. That's what I don't understand. This thing that's happening... it's not words running around in my head, you know, with instructions for interpretation. It's just feelings... sensations..."
"So what's it feel like?" Jim asked, an edge of exasperation creeping into his voice.
"Like the world's just ended."
The stark flatness of his Guide's voice silenced the words the Sentinel was about to utter. He squeezed the younger man's knee gently, in quiet support and entreaty.
"Everything just stops," Blair whispered, obviously caught up in the memory of the feelings and images the attacks brought on. "There's no sound except my voice screaming your name, no movement, no light. Only darkness... and absolute despair..." his voice faltered and he took a ragged breath, unable to continue, apparently unwilling to say the rest of it out loud.
"Okay, just relax, Chief," Jim directed, eyeing his young partner closely and waiting until he'd regained some control before asking his next question. "This feeling... does it have something to do with me as a cop or with me as a Sentinel?"
The younger man's head jerked up sharply and there was a puzzled expression on his face which Jim knew was real.
"I don't know. It's hard to separate you from who you are, especially in relation to me."
Jim's expression must have reflected his own confusion, because Blair shook his head and gave a sheepish grin.
"That sounded pretty esoteric even for me," he muttered. "Look, my relationship with you gets a little confused at the edges because things overlap so much. You're my Sentinel, you're a detective and I'm your observer, so there's that whole partnership thing, then we're friends and roommates, and of course you have to throw in the 'Blessed Protector' contract and my penchant for finding trouble just to muddle things up even more. I'm not altogether sure how to separate each aspect of you and me out to even answer your question."