Sniper part two
If Jim was in charge, and in his right mind, then nothing too bad could be
going to happen. So why the gag? That was the key. What would happen if
he, Blair, could talk to Jim?
Then they came back, and there was no more time for questions. It was the
flex-cuffs and the blindfold again, and then another seatbelt in another
car. "Hey, Chief. You OK?"
Jim's voice.
He nodded. Because, you know, he really was OK, fundamentally. Oh, his
brain was likely to explode from unanswered questions but, you know, he had
his arms and legs and brain, and he was clean and well dressed and well fed.
Let's not be gauche enough to mention the drugged and kidnapped and other
side of the world…
"Sandburg, I-"
Oh god.
"Look, Blair, this is important, I believe it is, or I wouldn't be here.
This is it. All you have to do is be quiet; please, I beg you, don't make
or try to make any noise, not at all. They'll stop you. They'll hurt you;
use any means necessary. In an hour this will all be over, just… don't."
And Jim was gone and it wasn't a car at all, it was a helicopter, and it was
a good thing he had the high-tech gag thing still in his mouth or else, Jim
or no Jim, he'd have been screaming.
After the helicopter landed there was an eerie quiet. People picked him up;
more than two of them, he thought. Hands, not ungentle, lifted him,
shoulders and waist and knees, and carried him flat as if on a stretcher,
not uncomfortably but in oppressive silence. He lay still, quiescent, or at
least tried to. Jim said it was important, Jim said it was all right, Jim
said silence was key. He had no information, after all. And Jim had earned
that much credibility, he judged. Something was happening he didn't
understand, so he held on to the one thing he DID know. Jim was the good
guys.
He was laid on the ground as gently as if he were eggshells. Hands patted
him gently and were gone. He lay still. There was warmth next to him.
Jim, he intuited. Something made a tiny noise and he heard his own
breathing hitch, tried to hold his breath, be calm. A hand touched his
shoulder. Jim. He tried to puzzle it out. He was lying on his back on the
ground. Someone, hopefully Jim, was next to him. There was warmth down his
right hand side, something against his hip. As if Jim were… lying down too,
on his stomach, next to Blair but a little further forward, Jim's foot next
to Blair's hip, Jim's thigh next to Blair's shoulder. A hand - Jim's, he
was sure now - touched his head. Jim took a deep breath.
Pop.
Such an anticlimactic noise. But suddenly he was lifted and moving again,
fast, quiet, but with more speed than stealth, and was thrown rather than
placed back in a chair, and the helicopter was on its way before he was
strapped in, and then, as if a switch had been clicked, there was an
exuberant chorus of "Boo yah!"s and random we-did-it noises.
And a needle in his arm. And darkness. Dammit…
…damn damn damn DAMMIT!!!!
He sat up, furious, in darkness. And then felt around and hit his own
bedside lamp, next to his own dammit bed.
Someone had a lot of explaining to do.
He stomped into the shower, wilfully and malevolently left hair in the
drain and wet towels on the floor, angrily detangled his hair over the sink
and got dressed. Then, having exhausted the possibilities of the bathroom
unless he wanted to get really childish and write "Ellison is an asshole" on
the mirror in soap, he went out to face the day.
Jim, as he had suspected, was making breakfast and looking guilty.
Pancakes. From flour and eggs, not a mix - atonement cookery. He ignored
the cook and sat down, drank juice, then coffee, and then inhaled his first
pancake.
Jim served him another and opened his mouth to speak but Blair held up a
warning hand and then an empty coffee cup. He poured maple syrup over the
pancake and then, with careful deliberation, melted a small square of butter
on the hottest bit of pancake he could find.
Jim handed him another cup of coffee and drew breath to speak again. And
again, Blair stopped him with the magic hand. He was getting good at this.
"Sit," he said calmly.
Jim sat down, warily.
"OK, I'm pissed, but I'm alive and well, and we've established non-verbally
that you feel guilty and that you owe me. And so far I'm down with the 'you
owe me' part, and let me tell you that after that metal contraption a few
pancakes aren't going to cut it. Well, this is your chance. Impress me. I
can give you half an hour before I pack and get out of here. What the hell
just happened?"
"I was approached a few days ago by… a military unit I can't tell you about.
They know, Chief; they've known about sentinels and guides for… ever… but
because the chances of duplicating what I… what we… can do together are
negligible, they've been content to leave us alone. But they needed… my
skills. We had a chance - just one chance - to … take out … someone way,
way, high up on the Most Wanted list. But it needed a sniper who was also a
sentinel, to make the shot at the distance we could get to."
"You killed someone."
"I killed someone."
"In cold blood? An assassination? Who the hell was it? Bin Laden?"
"I went to a lot of trouble to make sure you didn't know who, Chief. Or
what, or where, or when. I… needed a guide, to be able to make the shot.
And I… killed someone in cold blood, at a distance, without warning, without
a declaration of war. Like a coward. It was probably, strictly speaking, a
war crime."
Blair waved his hand, dismissing the charge. "But - WHY, Jim? Why take me?
Why not ask me? Do you really trust me so little, after all this time? You
really couldn't count on me to back you up?"
"I thought long and hard, Chief. But, in the end, it was the only thing I
could do for you."
"FOR me? You don't mean, TO me?"
"I couldn't do it, Chief. It was on me, not on you. I couldn't ask you and
take the chance you'd say no."
"THE HELL YOU COULDN'T!"
Blair hurled his plate across the room… where it bounced harmlessly off the
back of the sofa, spattering maple syrup onto the upholstery. An
irrepressible smile twitched the corner of his mouth till he controlled it.
The same irrepressible impulse twitched at the corner of Jim's. And then
suddenly they were both laughing hysterically, tears in their eyes, ribs
aching.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the hysteria stopped.
"I'm still pissed at you," Blair said flatly. "But I won't move out. So
finish it. Finish telling me. You couldn't take the chance I'd say no?"
Jim covered his face with his hands. His voice came as if from a long way
away. "And… I couldn't take the chance you'd say yes."