Out of Harm's Way

by K Ryn

  The warmth of his Guide's hand pressing his brought Jim back to the present. He stared into blue eyes that held no anger, no accusation -- just calm acceptance.

  "Jim... you said it... yourself... It was... an accident... There's no blame... to assign, man," Blair whispered, the words barely audible. "So when... I brewed the tea..."

  "The residue that had impregnated the tea bags began to dissolve. That actually reduced the potency of the caustics, but when they combined with the tea water, there was an unusual reaction. It created a new toxin -- something like what you get when you mix ordinary household cleaners without checking the labels first. The chemicals reacted -- maybe with one of the herbs in the tea, or maybe there was enough chlorine in the water to set it off. We don't know yet."

  Jim met Blair's searching gaze again and sighed, making a mental note to check the water heater and plumbing at the loft, no matter what the lab ultimately found.

  "You probably would have been all right if that damn virus in your system hadn't chosen to kick in at the same time you ingested the poison. Even in their most concentrated form, most of the chemicals are primarily comprised of inert substances and you would have passed them without too many complications. You would have had the typical poisoning symptoms -- fever, rash, light headedness, an achiness in your muscles, stomach cramps -- but it wouldn't necessarily have been life threatening. It was the vomiting that aggravated the situation."

  "That and my... pouring... more of that shit... down my throat... every time... I was conscious enough... to move." Blair's faint voice was filled with disgust and self-incrimination. "Why the hell... didn't I realize... what was happening?"

  "Chief, that virus was strong enough to flatten you out on its own," Jim said soothingly. "With the poison in your system... you were a mess, buddy. It's a miracle that you were able to hold it together at all."

  "I don't think... I did..."

  Jim frowned. "Your instincts were right on target, Blair. If the tea hadn't been contaminated, it probably would have helped. As it is, it looks like it might have lessened the severity of the chemical burns -- the doctors are still trying to figure out why there's so little damage. Maybe it does have those 'healing properties' you were raving about. The important thing is, you didn't give up. That's pretty amazing considering how sick you were. And you were trying to get to help. Simon told me he found you only a few feet from the door."

  "Instincts... I wonder..." Blair's eyes took on a familiar pensive gleam.

  "Uh, uh... Keep those ideas in your head, Chief," Jim admonished gently. "You've talked enough for today."

  "But Jim..."

  "Doctor's orders, Sandburg. And mine. That golden throat's got to show some serious improvement before they spring you, and it won't, if you don't give it a rest."

  "With my luck... it'll probably... take a week before... shit!"

  Alarmed at the sudden outburst and the expression of dismay on his friend's face, Jim tighten his grip on Blair's hand and dialed up his senses.

  "What is it, Chief? What's wrong?"

  "What... day... is... it...?" Blair demanded.

  "Monday... very early Monday," the Sentinel answered in a firm tone. "I don't even think the kitchen help's here, yet, so I wouldn't be looking for breakfast anytime soon."

  "Monday... then there's still... time..." Blair gasped. His eyes flickered around the room in a desperate dance.

  "Time for what?" Jim asked, confused.

  "My paper... it's due... today... I have to finish it... I only got... a third of it done... before..."

  The Sentinel abruptly found himself arguing with a handful of squirming Guide. He shifted to his feet and placed his hands on Blair's shoulders, using his own weight to keep the weak, but determined young man in the bed. "Will you just lie back and forget the damn paper, Sandburg?" The exasperation was clear in Jim's voice, but Blair didn't seem to hear it.

  "You don't... understand... I have to get it done..."

  "You will get it done. Just not today."

  Blair opened his mouth to object, but Jim fixed him with a hard stare. Once he was satisfied that his Guide was going to remain silent, the Sentinel softened his gaze.

  "You've already been granted another extension, Chief. The Commissioner took care of it."

  "The Commissioner?"

  "Well, the explanation I have came from Taggert. Seems that Simon told the Commissioner that your hospitalization was the result of accidental poisoning which occurred while you were in the precinct on police business. Apparently, the Commissioner was less than pleased at the thought of a potential lawsuit. Simon suggested that he didn't think that you'd be looking to file any damages other than your medical bills, but that you were going to be very distressed that you'd missed a deadline for an important paper. Next thing you know, you've got an extension. It appears that the Commissioner and Simon both know people on the Board of Regents at the University."

  "But how..."

  "I didn't ask any more questions, and I suggest you don't either. Just be suitably grateful when the opportunity presents itself," Jim advised sternly. "Now rest. You've broken rule number one already. I wouldn't try for rule number two. You won't like the consequences."

  "Threats... now... it's threats..."

  "Just remember who your nursemaid is going to be when you get home, Chief."

  Jim leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. He had to struggle to maintain the pretense of anger when Blair shot him a weak grin and settled back into the pillows.

  Cascade

  Friday

  3:00 p.m.

  True to form for Cascade, it was raining the day Blair came home from the hospital. The drizzle that had begun just after midnight had turned into a steady downpour. Jim parked the truck and ushered Blair into the building while he struggled with the plants and presents that the young man accumulated during his stay. The detective grumbled good naturedly about the quantity of treasures, but he was pleased at the significance of the gifts -- they were a tangible indication of just how many friends his partner had in his corner, both at the department and at the university.

  Blair helped him load everything into the elevator and hit the 'hold' button when they reached the third floor. He bent down to grab a box, but Jim waved him away.

  "I'll get this stuff. You get the door," he ordered.

  Blair muttered something under his breath about 'hovering Sentinels' and headed down the hallway. Jim grinned and started pulling the paraphernalia out into the hallway. He'd just released the elevator when he heard a change in his Guide's heartbeat. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Blair standing motionless in front of the loft door. The expression on the younger man's face was a mixture of uncertainty and fear. Grabbing two of the plants, Jim quickly joined him.

  "Chief?"

  "I couldn't open it," Blair murmured, his eyes still fixed on the door. "I had to wait for you."

  "Your keys are probably inside." Jim set the pots down and dug out his keys. "Here, let me get it."

  The Sentinel unlocked the door, but before he could reach out for the knob, Blair had his hand on it.

  "No... I... I can do it."

  Jim watched in concern as Blair took a deep breath and gave the handle a quick twist. There was a moment when the door, slightly swollen from the humidity, refused to move and fear flashed openly across the anthropologist's face. Then the panel swung freely inward. The younger man's expression changed to one of relief as he crossed the threshold. Feeling like he'd missed something important, the Sentinel followed his Guide into the loft.

  Jim automatically did a quick scan of the apartment. He could still detect the faint smell of cleansers and deodorizers. The Sentinel had never seen the evidence of his Guide's traumatic illness. Simon had arranged for someone to come in and clean the loft while Jim had been with Blair at the hospital. They'd done an amazingly thorough job, although his sensitive nose could still pick out the faint odor of blood and vomit.r />
  The Sentinel repressed a shudder and instinctively sought out the comforting presence of his Guide. Blair had disappeared from sight, but his jacket lay over the back of the couch and the steady beat of his heart thumped from the lower bedroom. Vaguely bothered by his friend's reaction at the door, Jim used his senses to monitor his partner while he retrieved the rest of the younger man's belongings from the hallway.

  Closing the door behind him after the last load, he found Blair standing at the kitchen table, one hand resting on his closed laptop, the other thumbing through a hastily stacked pile of his research papers and books.

  "Sorry about the mess, Jim," Blair said softly. "I know I promised to have things back to normal before you got back."

  "Not your fault I decided to come back early."

  Blair flashed him an inquisitive look.

  "And why, exactly, did you come back early?"

  "Sandburg..."

  "Come on, Jim. You've put me off on this long enough. You said once we were home we'd talk about it."

  Jim headed into the kitchen, and grabbed a mineral water out of the refrigerator. He glanced at Blair who nodded and handed a second bottle to the younger man.

  "You're not going to let this drop, are you?" Jim asked, leaning wearily against the counter.

  "No, I'm not. There were, and are, some weird things going on in my head, Jim. I need some answers to help sort it all out. Answers from you. You came back two days early. In the dead of night..."

  Jim barely managed to hide the flinch at the phrase the younger man used. It was too accurate.

  "Not that I'm at all sorry you did, man," Blair rambled on. "I needed you. But you couldn't have known..."

  "I did."

  "What?"

  "I knew something was wrong."

  "How?"

  Jim shook his head, regretting the admission he'd made. "Later, Chief. Go take a nap and I'll figure out something we can both handle for dinner."

  "I'm not tired." Blair's hoarse voice belied the petulant objection.

  "You're practically asleep on your feet," Jim pointed out.

  "And you're avoiding the question. Again."

  "I'm not avoiding anything. Just delaying the conversation for a bit."

  "Semantics," Blair grumbled.

  "That's an interesting comment coming from an expert in obfuscation."

  "I'm not budging a foot toward my bed until you talk to me, Jim," Blair insisted stubbornly.

  "Sandburg, your knees are shaking, your heart's beating like a hummingbird's and your voice sounds like coarse sandpaper rasping over raw timber. You're in no shape to get into this conversation right now."

  "I'm fine, Jim."

  "So fine that you practically freaked out in the hallway when the door wouldn't open?"

  Blair's head snapped up and he stared at Jim with the same expression of fear that the Sentinel had seen earlier. He opened his mouth and then shut it with a snap. Pivoting precisely, he stalked into his bedroom and closed the French doors firmly behind him.

  Strained silence filled the loft, broken only by the patter of rain hitting the windows. With a deep sigh, the Sentinel nursed his bottle of water and wondered when the demons inside his Guide were going to break loose.

  Cascade

  Saturday

  2:30 a.m.

  The Sentinel woke and stared up through the skylight, tracking the paths of hundreds of water droplets as they were chased helter-skelter across the pane by the driving wind. He slipped quietly from his bed and into the pair of sweats that he'd laid out before he'd gone to sleep.

  A flash of lightning illuminated the loft, accompanied by a slow roll of thunder. With practiced ease, Jim turned down the dials and waited for the strike. It came as expected, after a slow count of ten. The massive storm front that he'd sensed building in his sleep was nearly upon them.

  He moved to the top of the stairs and paused, waiting. Another lightning bolt zigzagged across the sky, brightening the downstairs living area and revealing what the Sentinel had already seen through the darkness -- his Guide, standing motionless in front of the balcony doors.

  Night returned to the apartment, cloaking the blanket-wrapped figure in another layer of obscurity. Still the Sentinel didn't move. He'd anticipated this. The early hours of the morning and the raging storm outside seemed imminently appropriate for the upcoming exorcism.

  "Do you believe in fate, Jim?"

  The soft whisper carried upward through the darkness and the Sentinel smiled. Almost soundlessly he padded down the stairs, stopping at the bottom step.

  "You're the one who's always reminding me that I'm genetically pre-disposed to these Sentinel abilities, Chief. What do you think?"

  There was an odd scraping gurgle from the still figure, the sound that Jim had identified as his partner's sore-throated version of a chuckle. The sound died as quickly as it had begun and the loft filled with the sounds of the storm once more.

  "Maybe I should rephrase that, " Blair whispered, his words cutting easily through the noise of the wind and rain. "I wasn't talking about predetermination, although between you and me, I'm starting to think there might be something to that..."

  The younger man's voice faded away as though he were indeed considering some cosmic connection. The Sentinel remained silent, something deep inside telling him that it was his turn to wait.

  "I guess I'm asking about... choices," Blair murmured after a few minutes.

  "Making them or not making them?" Jim asked softly.

  "Both... neither..."

  The Sentinel heard the confusion in his Guide's voice and crossed the room to stand behind the younger man. He didn't touch him. He just stood waiting, offering the support of his physical presence if Blair needed it.

  "You said something in the hospital... about instincts..." Blair turned slowly and looked up at Jim, his eyes wide and straining in the darkness for a glimpse of his Sentinel's face. "It made me think about Incacha."

  "Incacha?"

  "About his gift... about being a Shaman. Your Shaman. You know, we've never really talked about what that means."

  "I know."

  "I've thought about it. Before this... wondered what he really meant, what I was supposed to do..."

  "Blair..."

  "I think I took a walk."

  Blair's incongruous statement caught Jim off guard.

  "A walk. When? Tonight?" The Sentinel reached out to touch the flowing curls to see if they were wet.

  "No. Then. When I was sick."

  "Blair, there's no evidence that you ever left the apartment," Jim objected gently.

  "But I did. A part of me did, at any rate. I wasn't here the whole time."

  The memory of feeling his Guide's presence outside of his hotel room door flashed through the Sentinel's mind.

  "Then where were you?" Jim asked softly.

  "I'm not sure." Blair's delivery was hesitant, but his voice was filled with conviction. "There was a hallway, filled with doors. It was carpeted, and I remember thinking that the pattern was moving. Lots of little shapes and figures chasing each other endlessly. It was pretty weird at first. There were voices and sounds behind the doors, but none of them would open when I tried them."

  "Sounds like a dream, buddy. Maybe something brought on by the virus and the reactions of your body to the poison."

  "I thought it was a dream at first, but it kept reoccurring. There was one point where I know I was awake. I was standing right here looking out into the rain and suddenly I was there, in the hallway again, walking the length of it, searching for something... someone..."

  "What else happened in this 'dreamwalk'?" Jim asked after a few moments of silence.

  "Not much. It changed a little each time. The hallway I mean."

  "In what way?"

  "Fewer doors. There was a point where there was only one left. And then it disappeared as well. Funny... I remember it being green, just like the door to the loft. But it had four numbers on it, no
t three."

  "Do you remember what the numbers were?"

  "No... I do remember thinking that door was really important. I kept being drawn to it. I was even sure that I heard someone call out my name from the other side once."

  Jim stiffened, remembering the hotel corridors that he'd stalked that night. Long, carpeted hallways with green doors. His room had been at the far end of one of the wings. Number 1231.

  "I'm pretty sure the voice was yours," Blair whispered.

  A sudden streak of lightning flooded the loft with light. In that instant, Jim was certain that Blair's eyes looked right into his mind and found the disturbing events that the Sentinel had kept hidden.

  "It was your room, wasn't it? It was you I was searching for -- your door that I kept seeking." His Guide's voice was filled with wonder. "The dreamwalk led me to you... connected us, somehow. That's how you knew something was wrong and that I needed you. You admitted as much yesterday afternoon. That's why you came back, isn't it?"

  "There are a probably a dozen logical explanations for what happened, Chief," Jim countered evenly.

  "Name one."

  "I called you Friday night. When you didn't answer, I left a message on the machine with the hotel room number. That was probably what your subconscious picked up."

  "And my mind created the dream hallway to explain it? That's a pretty good hypothesis, Jim. You sure you haven't been taking some psych classes behind my back?"

  "Just learning from the master, Chief," Jim growled in annoyance.

  "It still doesn't explain how you knew something was wrong, or why you called Simon and demanded that he come to the loft that night. He told me he'd never heard you so desperate."

  "Simon's got to learn to keep his mouth shut," Jim muttered.

  "It also doesn't explain why you had a headache, a sore throat and an upset stomach at the same time I was suffering similar symptoms from the poison."

  "How did you know about that?" Jim asked in shocked surprise.

  "One of the nurses told me. I woke up one time when you were gone. She said that Doctor Henderson had ordered some tests for you."