by K Ryn
"Any further and I'd be driving with my eyes closed," Jim answered wryly, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.
"Headache?" Blair asked softly, his voice modulating to a soothing pitch.
"Just a small one," Jim admitted, putting his glasses back on.
"You should have stopped sooner," Blair admonished. He dug in his pack again and pulled out a small bottle, handing it to Jim. "These should help."
"I don't know if I'm up to one of your voodoo remedies," Ellison cautioned, viewing the unlabeled bottle warily. Blair shifted to kneel on the seat, reaching into the back and digging through the bags of groceries that they'd purchased.
"Aspirin, Ellison." Blair pulled out a bottle of water and plunked it in Jim's hand. "Straight over-the-counter pharmaceuticals."
Jim gave him a suspicious stare, then nodded his thanks. He pulled out two caplets and swallowed them with a gulp of water.
"You hungry? Want something else to drink?" Blair's voice was muffled as he leaned even further over the seat.
Jim thought longingly of how good a cold beer would taste at that moment, but shook his head. "This is fine. I grabbed my sandwich while you were sleeping. You should eat something though."
"I will," Blair assured him, still digging. "Where... oh, here... great."
"I had something more substantial in mind with that suggestion, Chief," Jim commented, noting the bag of granola and bottle of water that Blair dropped onto the seat next to him. "There's still a sandwich left."
"No way, man. That's processed mystery meat. You have any idea what's in that stuff? Scary!"
"No scarier than some of the stuff I've found in your side of the refrigerator."
Blair grinned at the familiar jibe and pushed down on the handle to open the door. "Ugh..."
Ellison forced back a smile as Blair scrambled out and then climbed out himself. Even with his Sentinel ability to lower his own tactile awareness, the heat was still intense. The difference in temperature hit him immediately, intensified by the coolness of the air-conditioned car.
"God, I'd forgotten how hot it can get out here!" Blair exclaimed. "It's like walking into a oven."
"Oh, I don't know... doesn't feel that bad to me," Jim teased, schooling himself to an expression of innocence as he stretched. Blair flashed him a glare, and pulled his hair back into a loose ponytail as he stomped around to the driver's side.
Ellison grinned and moved to the passenger's side, reaching down to shift the seat back before sliding in. Blair settled into the driver's seat and then paused, an odd expression on his face as he realized that his feet didn't even reach the pedals. Jim hid another smile as he heard the younger man fumble with the seat lever and mumble something about "living with a giraffe," and "thank God for bucket seats." Stretching his legs as far as he could, Jim closed his eyes, sighing in relief.
"So, where are we?" Blair asked, as he started the car and eased it out onto the road.
"Just past the half-way point," Jim answered, not bothering to open his eyes. "We're making good time. Think I'll take a nap and see if I can shake the rest of this headache."
"This has got to be a first," Blair mused quietly, amusement coloring his voice. "You never sleep while I'm driving. Not that you let me drive that often, but --"
"I haven't seen another car for an hour and a half," Ellison responded, cutting off Blair's ramblings. "And it's a straight shot to the reservation. Not even you can get lost out here."
Jim heard Blair's soft chuckle and knew that his partner's good humor had returned in full force. He shifted once more to ease a kink in his left leg and took a deep breath, relaxing into sleep.
Blair was fidgeting before he'd driven more than 30 minutes. He didn't do 'still' well. Not ever. And especially not when he was excited. The nap had re-energized him and he was impatient to get to the reservation. A fragment of music teased at the edge of his mind and he caught himself tapping the steering wheel in time to the beat. He glanced anxiously at Jim to see if he'd awakened -- his drumming fingers would have sounded like pounding hammers to his partner's enhanced hearing -- but his friend hadn't budged.
Letting out a sigh of relief, he turned his attention to the road, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to settle his energy level. Moments later, he was practically bouncing in his seat again. He contemplated switching off the cruise control, but he decided against it, realizing that in his current state he'd probably end up varying his speed so much that he'd make Jim crazy.
He gripped the wheel firmly and then found himself almost laughing out loud at the number of adjustments he was making for Jim's benefit. If anyone had told him two years ago that he'd be changing his own patterns to accommodate someone else he would have laughed them out of the room. Of course, that was before he'd met Jim Ellison. Now he was constantly adapting his behavior to suit the older man's rules. Some of those rules made sense -- most of them having to do with the proper procedures of police work. But some of them were just anal. Like the house rules -- no flushing after 10 o'clock, no drinking out of the orange juice carton, no shoes on the couch.
Blair found himself smiling again, recognizing that he was, in Jim's terms, finally getting 'housebroken'. Oddly enough, adapting to his partner's patterns was easier and more natural than he would ever have thought -- although he still protested vehemently whenever Jim brought up some new rule. It was particularly easy to adjust when it came to his partner's Sentinel abilities. Blair had seen the discomfort and pain in his friend's eyes often enough to know that having enhanced senses wasn't always a comfortable thing.
That was what it was all about -- friendship. You did things for friends that you didn't do for co-workers or acquaintances or even college deans. You made adjustments for friends. You made accommodations for them. Of course, Blair had never had a friend like Jim. He carried the whole concept to an entirely different level, with a commitment that sometimes left Blair wondering about his own.
With Jim Ellison, friendship was a very direct, straightforward thing and once given, it carried over into everything. Blair's own approach was a little more complicated. He was used to categorizing people based on the responsibilities or feelings that he had for them. With Jim that was getting harder to do. As Jim's Guide, he was teacher and protector. As his partner, he acted as a sounding board while he offered advice and watched the detective's back. As a friend, he adjusted. And then there was the whole Shaman issue which he was still trying to come to grips with. But the more time Blair spent with Jim, the more things kept getting mixed up; he could no longer tell just where the differences lay between Guide, Shaman, partner and friend.
Blair was so absorbed with his thoughts that he didn't even see the car that was barreling down the road toward them until it was only a few hundred feet away. With a startled jerk, he gripped the wheel and made sure that his daydreaming hadn't caused him to drift into the wrong lane.
He glanced to his left as the car flashed by and as his mind registered on the details of car and occupants, his stomach suddenly lurched. Frantically, he glanced up into the rear-view mirror, holding his breath as the car pulled away. He was about to relax and breathe again when he caught a flash of red tail lights.
Oh great, he groaned silently, shifting his eyes between the road ahead of him and the reflected image of the other car. Beatup convertible, angry driver, two no-necks and a pretty girl show up on your tail in the middle of nowhere. Wonder who that could be and what they want? he asked himself sarcastically, pressing his foot down on the gas.
Blair glanced anxiously at his partner, who, wonder of wonders, was still sleeping soundly. He must be as exhausted as I was. He started to reach out to shake his friend awake, genuinely regretting that he hadn't told Jim about Ben and his friends earlier. The sudden blare of a horn made him clutch the wheel and the car swerved a bit before he got it straightened out.
"What the --"
Blair heard Jim's groggy question, but his teeth were clenched together as he c
oncentrated on driving and he couldn't answer. He risked a glance at the rearview mirror again and realized that the they were no longer behind him. They were pulling up alongside.
"Sandburg," he heard Jim growl as he pressed his foot on the gas once more and swerved to the right to avoid the other car.
"Sorry, Jim. I'm a little busy right now," Blair muttered as he struggled to keep the car on the road.
Jim caught the panic in his friend's voice and snapped fully awake, jerking upright in his seat. "Hit the brakes," he ordered as he caught a flash of the convertible swerving toward them.
Blair reacted immediately, jamming his foot down on the brake pedal. The Chevy started to nose-dive and he gripped the wheel, fighting to keep control of the car. Jim grabbed onto the shoulder belt with one hand, his other cushioning his collision with the dash. There was a moment when they both thought that the convertible would hit them, then it swerved and tore off down the road.
The Chevy screeched to a stop, fish-tailing to end perpendicular to the highway. Assailed by the smell of burning rubber and abused brake linings, Jim winced, but he kept his gaze on the horizon, the convertible now out of even his enhanced sight.
"Oh, man..."
Jim turned to look at Blair, registering the shakiness in his partner's voice, picking up on the pounding heartbeat and the rapid breathing. "You okay?" he asked softly, reaching out to touch the younger man on the arm.
"Did you get a good look at them?" Blair asked tersely, his voice oddly flat.
"Older model convertible, three men, mid twenties and a young woman," Jim responded after a moment's search of his memory. "Probably some local kids with too much to drink, out for a joyride."
"They'll be back..." Blair whispered dully, his hands still clenching the wheel.
"I doubt it," Jim answered, eyeing the horizon again. "Pop the trunk, will you, Chief? I want to make sure nothing got shifted around back there."
Blair's gaze shifted to him and Jim could see the confusion in his friend's eyes. Suddenly understanding clicked in and the color drained from the younger man's face.
"Hey, easy, buddy. Are you all right?"
Blair took a shuddering breath and shook his head. He slumped back in the seat and closed his eyes. Jim watched him closely, monitoring his vital signs, but he could find no sign of an injury. Reaching beyond Blair, Jim popped the trunk latch. He did a quick tour around the car, checking for damage. Finding nothing, he opened the trunk, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw the two gas cans still strapped in their places. Satisfied, he returned to the passenger side and eased onto the seat.
"Everything's fine back there," he said encouragingly. "We should get moving. You okay to drive?"
"Yeah... yeah, I'm fine... just dealing with the aftermath of another one of my screw-ups that could have gotten us killed, but I'm fine..."
The bitterness in Blair's voice made Jim frown. "Sandburg, I know that line that Simon's always giving you about attracting trouble, and the truth is you do have a way of finding it. But trust me, you are not responsible for every crazy thing that happens. Besides, we haven't been here long enough for someone to want to kill you." Jim added the last part lightly, hoping to ease his partner over the worst of his scare.
The eyes that Blair turned on him were tortured and filled with doubt.
Blair's mind reeled with the possibilities of what could have happened.
I should have told him... I made the mistake of not taking them seriously and they nearly killed us... if I'd told Jim about it... he would have been ready... the gas cans... what if they'd tipped?... they could have exploded... Jim... Jim could have been killed...
"Chief..."
Just tell him... you owe it to him to tell him... What kind of partner are you?... What kind of Guide... What kind of friend?
"Blair, talk to me..."
What if they come back?
With a panicked gasp, Blair cranked the car to life and put his foot on the gas, wrenching the wheel around. Jim felt his door swing open at the movement. Seeing his Guide's eyes wide with terror, he grabbed for the wheel to keep the car on the road, and to keep himself from being thrown out.
Suddenly, Blair hit the brakes again, snubbing the car to a stop. His hands jerked away from the wheel and he pressed himself into the seat, shuddering.
Jim released his own hold on the wheel and placed his hand on the back of the younger man's neck, gently massaging the tight muscles. He remained silent, monitoring Blair's racing heartbeat. Slowly, he felt the tension ease and 'heard' the pounding pulse slow to a more normal rate.
"I'm sorry, Jim... I almost did it again..." the whisper was so soft, that even with his Sentinel hearing, he almost missed the words.
"Tell me what happened at the park."
Blair flashed him a shocked glance. "How did you --?"
"I'm a detective, remember?" Jim responded, mentally kicking himself for not picking up on Blair's odd behavior earlier. "I'm supposed to be good at putting together clues. Just tell me what happened."
Haltingly, Blair told him about his confrontation with Ben at the park. As he talked, Jim heard not just the words, but also the embarrassment and regret in his young friend's voice. While the lines of fatigue were evident on his face and in the posture of his body, it was more than just physical tiredness that the Sentinel felt emanating from his Guide. It was a tiredness of the spirit. A spirit that Jim cherished and felt compelled to protect.
"You did the right thing," Jim assured him, when Blair had finished.
"Yeah, right."
"You did the right thing. Three against one are not good odds."
"Never stops you."
"Sure it has. Lots of times. More often since you've been with me."
Blair shook his head, still refusing to meet Jim's eyes.
"Blair, I used to be a maverick. Used to drive Simon crazy. I'd go off for days at a time, never calling in, just handling whatever needed to be handled. Almost got myself killed a dozen times. It wasn't that I didn't care what happened. I didn't have a death wish or anything like that, but I think I had less appreciation for life before I met you."
Jim waited until Blair raised his head and met his gaze before continuing. "You've made a difference in my life, Chief. Not just with these senses, but with my perceptions. I do think about the odds now. Not just because you're with me, but because I value my life a great deal more than I did before. You did the right thing back there. You kept your head and got out of a bad situation, without anybody getting hurt."
"I should have told you," Blair whispered. "You would have been ready in case they did show up. Face it man, my ego got in the way and almost got you killed. You deserve better --"
"I'm satisfied with what I've got."
Blair looked away, his gaze focused on the horizon where the convertible had disappeared.
"This hasn't been a good day for you, has it?" Jim asked softly.
Blair gave Jim a halfhearted smile. "Actually it's had some high points. Right now they're outnumbering the low ones."
"Good. Then let's get going. I'd like to make it to the reservation before midnight. You drive and I'll ride shotgun," Ellison added, catching the look of uncertainty in Blair's face. "I don't think they'll be back for another shot, Chief, but if they do, we'll be ready."
Blair took a deep breath and nodded, starting the engine and shifting into gear carefully as he eased the Chevy out onto the road.
"So, tell me again about your friend Nate. Where'd you two meet?" Jim tried to keep his tone light, hoping that the casual question would help divert his friend's mind from what they'd just gone through.
Blair shot him a wry smile, communicating the fact that he recognized what Jim was trying to do. Turning his gaze to the highway, he began to talk, slipping into his storytelling mode. Jim saw his hands relax on the steering wheel, the tension beginning to ease as what were obviously good memories started to take the sting out of the day's experiences.
The S
entinel, however, was anything but relaxed. In his mind he replayed the scene at the bus station and then used the details Blair had supplied to flesh out what had happened at the park. A rush of anger swept through him and he turned his head so that the younger man wouldn't see his reaction.
How dangerous are these guys? Jim found himself wondering, his gaze flickering back to the highway again. Were they just some local bullies filled with hot air, or was there more? From Blair's reaction to the one called Ben, Jim guessed that there was a definite threat there. His partner was a good judge of character, whether he wanted to give himself credit for it or not. It was entirely possible that his Guide's instinct for self-preservation had kept him out of something very nasty. Maybe the game of tag on the highway had been just an attempt to frighten them, and maybe it was something more serious.
"Slow down," Ellison ordered abruptly, catching sight of a familiar shape in the distance.
Blair's foot eased off on the accelerator and glanced at Jim nervously. "What is it?"
"There's something up ahead. On the side of the road."
Blair scanned the highway anxiously. All he could see was a black spot shimmering in the heat. "What do you want to do?" The thought of meeting up with Ben and his buddies sent a shiver down his spine.
"Just keep going. Take it slow," Jim answered. Reaching into the back seat, the detective pulled his gun out of his bag.
Blair swallowed hard and kept driving, his eyes glued to the road, straining to see what Jim had already seen. Finally, he recognized the distinctive shape of the convertible, sitting at an odd angle just off the side of the road. The front end was pitched down, out of sight, as if it had been driven into a ditch. There were no signs of life. He glanced over at the older man questioningly. The detective shook his head, his concentration on the car ahead of them.
"Pull up another twenty feet and stop."
Jim opened the door as Blair cut the engine. Listening intently, the Sentinel could hear the music blaring from the radio, and underneath that, what he thought were muffled heartbeats. Climbing cautiously out of the car, he saw the skid marks that tracked tight 's' curves across the road.