Smoke and Mirrors

by K Ryn

  "I don't intend to get caught napping on this one," the Sentinel said firmly, his vow meant not just for Joel, but for his frightened Guide as well.

  Taggert glanced up and eyed both partners before nodding. A small smile formed on his face. "It may sound kind of corny, but I'm glad to see the two of you side by side, instead of at each other's throats. I have to admit that your performance over the last two weeks has been pretty painful to watch."

  Blair made a small, choked sound and turned away. Jim watched him intently for a few seconds, and then turned back to meet Joel's steady gaze. "It's been pretty painful from this side too," he said softly. "Hopefully it was convincing."

  "Oh, I'd say it was," Joel assured him. "Especially after today's confrontation. You've managed to alienate practically everyone with the hard-ass routine. Jenson should find you a very attractive candidate. I assume the suspension was also part of the plan?"

  Jim nodded. "Along with getting Blair out of the picture -- he's not the type that Jenson would be interested in recruiting into his private little army."

  "Long-haired, hippie-looking Jews need not apply," Blair growled.

  Jim shot his friend an amused glance. "Personally, I think it's your brains that they're afraid of, Sandburg," he teased. "Now that I'm officially on the shit-list at the station, I'm hoping Jenson or one of his buddies will come calling. They should have heard all about our little blowout by now. "

  "And when they do contact you?" Joel prompted.

  "Then I'll get the answers and evidence we need to put them away for a very long time."

  "There's one thing I still don't understand," Joel said quietly. "How'd you figure that there were cops involved in the first place?"

  "Actually, it was Blair that made the connection," Jim responded.

  "Only after you'd already figured out the protection racket angle," the younger man countered.

  "Take some credit, Sandburg," Jim frowned. "You're the one that found Jankowski."

  "Jankowski? I vaguely remember that name... isn't there an APB out on him?" Joel asked.

  Jim grimaced. "There is. Unfortunately we couldn't find a plausible excuse to cancel it. He's a long-time resident of the neighborhood. Sandburg met him the night of the sixth fire. It was his comments that pointed us in the right direction."

  "Yeah, and I'm the one that let him get away as well," Blair hissed bitterly. "If I hadn't lost him, none of this would have been necessary. Jankowski would be safe and you wouldn't be about to risk your neck."

  "We still would have had to make the case, Chief." Jim frowned and fixed his partner with a firm stare. "We've been over this before, remember? I know you feel guilty about putting the old man's life in jeopardy, but with any luck we'll wrap this up before anyone else gets hurt."

  "Every beat cop in the area is watching for him," the anthropologist argued. "How do we know that one of them isn't tied into Jenson's group?"

  "There's been no sign of Jankowski for over two weeks, Sandburg. From what you told me about his reaction to your being involved with the police, I'd say he's probably found a safe place to wait out the storm, or left the area for a while."

  "I hope so, man," Blair whispered, shaking his head uncertainly. "This is going to be over soon, Blair," Jim murmured, putting all the confidence he could into the simple words. "Just keep the faith a little longer."

  The Sentinel waited until his Guide nodded a hesitant acceptance before turning back to Joel.

  Taggert held his gaze, the captain's eyes reflecting his understanding of Jim's determination and his concern for the younger man. "What can I do to help?" he asked quietly.

  My days are crackled and gone up in smoke...

  They talked for hours, laying out the entire plan, modifying it to add Joel into the mix. Taggert's admiration for Ellison's strategy and cunning grew with each new detail. When he tried to compliment Jim, the detective shrugged off the praise and glanced at his younger partner with what could only be interpreted as an expression of pride.

  "A lot of the credit goes to Sandburg. If he'd ever cut his hair, the boys in Covert Ops would probably be fighting over him. He's got a sneaky mind."

  Blair muttered something unintelligible, but Jim suddenly laughed and reached out to cuff the younger man lightly on the head.

  "Hands off, Ellison," Blair objected, chuckling himself. "You've already gotten in one shot today. That's your limit."

  Jim's laughter died immediately, his partially shadowed face going still and unreadable. Blair's grin faltered, but he held eye contact with the older man.

  "You were supposed to duck," Jim finally whispered, reaching out to touch the bruise on the observer's face.

  "I know," Blair admitted, spreading his hands in a gesture of apologetic explanation. "But it needed to look real, man."

  Taggert held his breath. The two men were so focused on each other, that for the space of several heartbeats, he was certain that they had forgotten that he was even in the room. Then Ellison shifted in his chair, rising to his feet in one smooth movement.

  "I should head out," Jim announced brusquely, grabbing his jacket off of the chair and shirking into it.

  Joel saw Blair reach for his own coat and suddenly freeze, his fingers clenching the soft plaid fabric for just a second before he dropped it. Jim had gone still as well, and was watching the younger man intently.

  Sandburg forgot he was staying behind, Taggert realized abruptly. He's so used to shadowing Jim... watching his back... now he's got to sit the sidelines... and he is NOT happy about it.

  The anthropologist's gaze was locked on the floor and his hands were clenched in fists at his sides. "Sorry..." he murmured, just loud enough for Joel to hear. He looked up and gave them both an embarrassed, rueful smile. "Force of habit, I guess."

  Joel nodded his understanding, but Jim remained silent and motionless.

  "Guess it's time to make my exit, as well," Taggert said quietly. He struggled out of the overstuffed chair far less gracefully than Ellison had and crossed over to the outer door.

  "Hold on a second, Joel," Blair said abruptly. "I'll walk you out." He moved to the bigger man's side and gave Taggert a feeble grin. "Guess we might as well do this right and give anyone watching a good show."

  The grad student paused with his hand on the knob and turned to where Jim was standing in the shadows of the room, a questioning expression on his face. Joel watched Ellison cock his head to the side, his whole posture one of extreme concentration. Taggert could almost feel the tension and stress emanating from the detective -- tension that abated abruptly with Jim's terse nod. Beside him, the anthropologist let out a soft whistle of breath.

  "We don't appear to have an audience, but better safe than sorry," the younger man murmured.

  As Blair ushered him outside, Joel was once again struck by the almost psychic bond between the two unlikely partners. Without a single word, they'd both appeared to know exactly what the other was thinking -- what the other expected and needed. Their ability to work as a cohesive unit was almost unnerving to watch.

  But there was a price to pay for that closeness. Taggert had studied them carefully over the last several hours. He'd seen the anxious looks that Blair had sent Ellison's way and those that Jim had cast in the younger man's direction. It was clear that they were worried about each other.

  Blair had hovered within arm's reach of his partner during the entire time they'd been talking, stepping away only to retrieve a folder of information and a fresh bottle of water, which he'd pressed into Ellison's hands. As the discussion had worn on, the observer had intruded farther and farther into the detective's personal space, laying a hand on Jim's shoulder several times, as if both offering and seeking comfort in the physical connection.

  Ellison hadn't seemed to mind a bit. In fact, unlikely as it seemed, the anthropologist's proximity seemed to put the detective at ease. He'd reached out several times to bat playfully at the younger man, tugging a long lock of hair gently and tea
sing him with the good-natured banter that had always characterized their verbal exchanges. The wariness in the pale blue eyes and the worried tightening of Jim's jaw had materialized without warning the two times that Blair had moved out of his line of sight -- disappearing just as quickly when the grad student had returned to his side.

  Joel realized that he'd watched this particular dance hundreds of time before and had never quite understood the significance of the performance. Whatever it was that bound the two of them together, it was stronger than anything he'd ever seen. Together, they were an almost unbeatable team, but now, forced into separate roles, that loss of connection was generating almost palpable anguish, particularly for the younger man who would be remaining behind.

  Blair paused just past the threshold, pulling the door partially closed behind him to mask Jim's presence. The angry scowl on his face caught Joel by surprise -- Blair had stepped back into his role of betrayed and abandoned partner in the blink of an eye. Meeting the younger man's determined glare, Taggert found himself examining his opinions of the anthropologist once more, wondering how anyone could question Blair's right to be at Jim's side. As difficult and painful as this was for the observer, he was obviously determined to see it through.

  Up until the last week, the general consensus at the station had been that crossing Sandburg was like asking Ellison to hand you your head on a platter. What hadn't been as obvious until now, was that the fierce protectiveness ran both sides of the equation. As he searched frantically for something to say, Joel recalled the way Blair's dark blue eyes had burned with an unholy fire when they'd discussed the possible complications of the sting. The younger man had covered quickly -- making some joking remark about having some well deserved downtime if Jim ended up in the hospital, but Taggert recognized what he had seen, and it had sent a shiver up his spine. The seemingly innocuous anthropologist would be as deadly and dangerous as Ellison if anything happened to his partner.

  That realization made the bitter words that flowed from the younger man's lips even more bizarre.

  "I really do appreciate your coming by, Joel, but there's no way I'm going back to work with that jerk," Blair intoned. "Ellison's an asshole. That's all there is to it. I'm tired of putting up with his attitude and his stupid rules."

  "I can understand that, Blair," Joel answered, picking up his part of the act. "I just wanted you to know that if you need something, you've still got friends down at the station."

  "Thanks, but after what happened today, I'm not setting foot in there again," Blair snarled. "I'm not going to be Ellison's personal punching bag any longer."

  "You can still press charges, Sandburg. He not only hit you, he threatened you."

  "If he comes near me again, I will," Blair decreed. "You tell him that. If he doesn't stay away from me, I'll get a restraining order to make it official. And if that doesn't work, I'll have his ass hauled into court, cop or not."

  "I hope it won't come to that, Blair," Joel said quietly, extending his hand to the younger man who gave it a quick shake. "You've got my number. Stay in touch, all right?"

  "I'll try, Joel. But I'm not making any promises. It all depends on what happens in the next week or so. I might not even stay in Cascade once the semester's finished. After wasting the last couple of years, it might be a good idea to get away. Start fresh somewhere else."

  "Just don't do anything rash," Joel urged, still playing along, but far too aware of the flash of determination that had filled the younger man's eyes. "Don't do anything without calling me first, okay?"

  Blair nodded, somewhat reluctantly, and Taggert hoped that he was responding to the double meaning in the bigger man's words. "I promised Simon the same thing. Don't worry, I'll be fine."

  Taggert nodded and turned away. As he made his way down the short sidewalk to his car, he felt the younger man's gaze fixed on his back.

  The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart...

  Blair held the bitter expression on his face as he watched Joel walk toward his car. With an angry shake of his head, he stepped back inside and closed the door. As the latch clicked into place, he released the breath that he'd been holding and closed his eyes. The words that he'd just spoken echoed in his mind. He could taste the vile ugliness of each syllable and his stomach churned up acid that left an equally nasty tang in the back of his throat.

  They're just words, damn it! They don't mean anything... not really. Jim and I don't hate each other. Once this is over, things will go back to normal... I'll be back home and we'll be tossing 'harmless' insults at one another... just like we always do...

  He wanted to believe that -- needed to believe it. But it was hard to keep things straight after the stress of playing the other role practically non-stop for the past two weeks. And there was no way to tell how much longer they'd have to keep up the charade. What he did know was that his Sentinel was about to put himself in the line of fire while he stayed behind -- in a strange and lonely motel room, surrounded by the piles of boxes that held the contents of his life. He suddenly felt incredibly weary, as if the little scene at the threshold had drained every ounce of his energy. Trembling, he placed both palms against the door and leaned into it; closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the metal panel; fervently wishing that the nightmare was over instead of just changing scenes.

  "God, this is hard..." he whispered.

  "Chief?"

  Jim's worried voice carried across the softly lit room, but Blair didn't dare open his eyes or move -- not until he got himself under control. He was afraid that if he turned and faced his partner right now, he launch himself toward the Sentinel, grab on and never let go. It was what he wanted to do -- what his Guide's instincts screamed at him to do.

  But I can't... Jim has to do this... I have to let him do this...

  Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself away from the door, forcing himself to stand upright. He opened his eyes, focusing on the ugly gray metal panel in front of him, still not trusting himself to meet his friend's gaze.

  "I know this is how this has to play out, man," he murmured, shuddering, his hands opening and closing into fists, flexing to punctuate each word. "I know it's all a sham... pretense not substance... but it feels... it feels so wrong!"

  He felt the stress and exhaustion of the last several weeks wash over him like a storm-swept wave. Fear rode along with it, threatening to drag him away from the solid footing of the life he'd come to love and immerse him in an undertow of despair.

  A warm, firm pressure on his left shoulder forestalled the buckling of his knees -- Jim's solid, reassuring physical presence grounding him against the terror he felt swirling within.

  "Blair, look at me..."

  The quietly spoken command couldn't be refused. It was an order, but there was comfort in the beseeching voice as well. Jim Ellison was a man of few words, but Blair had learned to listen to the Sentinel's silences and they spoke volumes. The nuances of the older man's tone and body language conveyed his emotions better than any long drawn out speech. The Guide drew a shaky breath and allowed himself to be turned to face his Sentinel.

  "Are you going to be all right?" Jim asked softly, pulling Blair toward him and gently massaging both of the younger man's shoulders.

  Blair looked up into the Sentinel's face and forced an awkward grin. The pale blue eyes that had more than once frozen criminals in their tracks, blazed now with worry and a desperate, protective gleam.

  A gleam that changed for an instant into a flicker of flame, wiping the half-smile from the Shaman's face. The flame expanded in his mind's eye, growing in intensity until it became a solid wall of fire, cutting him off from his Sentinel.

  Blindly, Blair reached out, his right hand flattening against Jim's chest. His own pulse pounded in his ears as he sought to feel the Sentinel's heartbeat. The grip on his shoulders tightened, matching the urgency of his friend's voice.

  "Chief? What is it?"

>   Wide eyed, and straining to feel the rise and fall of the older man's breathing, Blair couldn't answer immediately. The flames filled his mind and he struggled for air against the imagined, smothering heat and the primal roar of its destructive dance.

  "Promise me!" he gasped, his own voice hoarse and distant in his own ears.

  "Blair?"

  Jim's voice cut through the vision, ending it abruptly, leaving Blair confused and trembling. Suddenly aware that he was gripping his partner's shirt like a frightened child, the younger man took an awkward step back, pulling out of the Sentinel's hold.

  Shit, what the hell was that?

  Still reeling from the roller coaster ride of raw emotion, Blair risked a quick glance at his partner. There was confusion and concern in the older man's eyes.

  Get a grip, Sandburg. Jim doesn't need this now. He has to stay focused on the case and not on your inability to handle your own fears -- real or imagined. These little mystical episodes of yours need to 'stay' your problem not his.

  "Promise you what?" Jim pressed, taking a step closer.

  Blair opened his mouth to speak and abruptly shut it with an almost audible snap that made his teeth hurt. He turned away and walked across the room, placing some physical distance between them. He forced himself to stop and stand still, hovering next to the small floor lamp. Nervously, he crossed his arms over his chest and drew a deep breath, banishing the unreasoning, irrational terror back into the farthest corner of his mind. There would be time enough later to pull it out and examine it -- once the Sentinel was gone and Blair was beyond sensory range.

  He took another deep breath and managed to face Jim once again. He knew that the Sentinel was scanning him, listening to every traitorous signal that his body was sending out, but he was determined to put on a good show -- at least on the surface.

  "Promise me that you're not going to trash the stuff I left in the refrigerator," he dissembled weakly. "The pasta and the leftover Chinese is mine, man."

  Jim didn't look at all convinced. His eyes narrowed and he shifted another step closer.