Fic: All Hell Breaks Loose part 1 of 2
Title: All Hell Breaks Loose
Fandom: Sentinel
Pairings: Jim/Blair, Tony/Gibbs
Rating: PG-13 until the Epilogue when it's a solid NC-17
Warnings: Bonding fic (sorry, it didn't start out that way but I was ambushed by a very determined Jim!) and minor crossover with NCIS, but nothing to worry about if you don't know the show.
Ficathon Prompts: "All Hell Breaks Loose" or "Sacrifice", and I ended up using both.
I'd like to thank andeincascade for the gentle encouragement in starting this fic ("I've signed you up for the ficathon, hon." "You did what??") and for the awesome beta throughout. This story would not exist without her.
Also thanks to Nancy for her story "Awakening"
They called it the Sentinel flu, and for a world society that had become dependent on the mystique of the "all seeing Protectors", it was devastating. At first it was the weak and the imperfect Sentinels with three or four Senses, the Halves, who were taken. Next were the damaged True Sentinels who were already sick in body or mind, unable to fight back when their Senses sent them spiraling into coma-like zones.
But just as with the Spanish Influenza centuries before, the disease's true horror was it's ability to kill those in the prime of life. The strong, seemingly invulnerable True Sentinels began dropping, coughing up blood and collapsing while chasing suspects or simply zoning at their places of work, Senses entrapped by the progress of the disease inside their bodies. Those that zoned never woke up again, and the word spread. The Protectors were dying.
Crime became rampant. The local police forces, overwhelmed. Despite the relatively small number of Sentinels present in any populace, the force of their presence had been invaluable in suppressing all but the most determined lawbreakers. With the world's protectors dying, criminals became bold. Murder, an unheard of crime in the modern world, reared its ugly head once more and soon it wasn't just the Sentinels dying. Chaos threatened to take us all.
*_*_*_*_*
Detective First Class Jim Ellison stood at attention in his Captain’s office, eyes fixed on the wall behind the desk, a perfect example of military readiness. Privately, Captain Banks thought Jim did it just to piss him off.
“Damn it Jim, there’s nothing I can do. My hands are tied! The Mayor refuses to allocate any more budgetary relief to the law enforcement agencies this quarter. We have to cut costs, and he insists that we pull back from the non-essential sectors and pay greater attention to those we can still do some good for!”
“Non-essential, Sir?” Jim bit out frostily. “And the people huddled like rats in the Blue and Grey sectors, are they non-essentials too?”
“You know very well what I think of this piece of legislation, Detective. Hell Jim, there’s more black and minority people in the Blue and Grey than anywhere else in Cascade combined. Those are my people we’re talking about.”
Jim’s eyes locked onto Simon’s now, angry and desperate. “Then let me do my job!” he ground out urgently. “No other cop will even set foot in the Blue anymore. Those people deserve protection. They need it a damn sight more than the Mayor in his fancy, security augmented mansion.”
“I can’t.” Simon growled, determined to win this stare-down. “You’re the last Sentinel on his feet in this entire city. You’re already doing the work of five, and you’re needed on the high profile cases.”
“You mean I’m needed to put on a show so the brass still feel safe in their beds at night-“
“You’re needed to protect the people who still pay their taxes! You know, the ones who make it possible for you to do your job?” Simon spit out sarcastically. “Play guardian angel on your own time if you want, but while you’re on the clock, you’ll cover Red, White, and Green sector crimes only. End of discussion!”
“Sir!” Ellison snapped, standing so rigidly at attention that the air around him practically thrummed. “Will that be all, sir?”
Simon sighed and sat back in his chair, watching his friend sadly. “Jim, don’t be like this. You know I don’t like this any more than you do.”
The stone wall in front of him refused to soften, and Simon pulled out an unlit cigar and bit savagely into it. “Fine. Go play martyr. Just do it in approved city sectors only. Dismissed.”
Ellison all but snapped a salute as he turned and stalked out of Bank’s office. Simon cursed and in a rare moment of impotent frustration, smashed his cigar to dust on his desk.
*_*_*_*
The raging fury in his chest was so overwhelming Jim could hardly breath, hardly knew where he was. Gasping for air he stared wildly around the Major Crimes bullpen, the sounds and smells of a normal workday failing to ground him in reality.
Protect! screamed his instincts, and his body quivered under the blow, muscles twitching to run, fight, keep the tribe safe! Drowning under the onslaught, he closed his eyes and tried to center himself, tried to remember the most basic exercises every Sentinel child learned. Help them! screamed across his nerves and he ground his teeth in agony. His instincts had always been extraordinarily acute, even as a child, and in the past those instincts had led him into trouble that other Sentinels had able to talk themselves out of.
“Yeah, and they also contributed to the best solve rate, the best save rate of any detective on the force!” he whispered to himself, once again arguing against his father’s insistence to “be more normal, son.”
Damn! His eyes flew open, his body already moving towards his desk. Files upon files were crammed around his computer, the envelopes almost exclusively blue and grey, showing better than words where Jim’s attention had been focused in the past year. Other desks had white, green, or even a few coveted red folders, but only Jim doggedly continued to march into the quarantined city sectors and dared to bring justice and Protection to the unfortunates still living there.
He wouldn’t give up on these people. Here, Maryanne Rice, 54 year old woman, robbed of her weekly food stamps. How would she eat if he didn’t find them? And who but a Sentinel could find her food stamps and ID them by scent? Or what about Robert Collins, missing for ten days, reported gone by a dirty, haggard looking wife with too many kids and not enough teeth? The look of hopelessness in her eyes made Jim want to punch something, to promise miracles. Made him want to find Collins, even if it was just the man’s body, to prove that someone cared.
Case file after case file, each one a person, a family, a member of his tribe. Each one desperately in need of their Sentinel. How cold he turn his back on them? How could they even ask him to? Well, he wouldn’t. He simply couldn’t, no more than he could walk up the side of a building or breathe water. He had a hardwired, ingrained need to protect built into his blood and sinews, and his body would drag itself across broken glass to do its job, even if the mind tried to say otherwise.
Jim smiled grimly, finally feeling the threat of emotional zone-out starting to fade. Calming exercises might work well and good for those pansy-ass Sentinels with two or three Senses, or those whose instincts had been blunted by centuries of selective breeding. But good old-fashioned police work was all he’d ever need to keep the Senses in line.
A small cough, really just a clearing of the throat had Jim glance up in surprise to the man in front of his desk. Obviously he’d approached while Jim was still semi-zoned, and he immediately catalogued torn jeans, threadbare Henley, curly hair, strong jaw and blue, blue eyes. God those eyes, a man could get lost in them, lost and found and never want to make his way out of their extraordinary depths… so open… so blue…
“Detective Ellison? Um, Detective?” Blair Sandburg waved his hand uselessly in front of a blank face, glanced around for help, then back to the mesmerized gaze in front of him. The nametag on the desk was right, but how could this be the great Sentinel Ellison? Who’d ever heard of a healthy, adult Sentinel falling into a zone?
*_*_*_*
Blair felt a panic attack looming, and glanced around again. God, he’d broken him. Would they notice? If he just sort of walked out and turned around, could he have a do over? Blair waved his hand in front of Ellison’s face again, feeling more and more frantic. Respirations solid, tissue perfusion excellent, no sign of petechiae hemorrhage around the eyes that came with the Flu, so what the hell was wrong with him?
In desperation Blair leaned into Ellison’s face, his breath bouncing between them he was so close. “Detective? C’mon, I know you must be seeing or hearing something pretty incredible, but it’s time to come back now.” Years of training brought his hands to Ellison’s neck, fingers gently wrapped around the back and thumbs stroking the jaw line. “James Ellison, it’s time to wake up now. That’s it James, that’s it, you’re doing so good, now it’s time to wake up, just focus on my voice.”
Blair imagined that Ellison’s eyes maybe twitched a little, the pupils maybe contracted at the sound of his soft murmuring. Anxious to believe, he kept stroking the jaw, and actually felt the moment when the Sentinel relaxed back into his body, heard the deep breath and saw those gorgeous blue eyes blink him back into focus. “S’Jim.” The man slurred.
“Jim then,” Blair smiled, still stroking with his thumbs. “Do you know where you are Jim?”
The gaze focused sharply, and Ellison stood abruptly, dumping Blair off the desk where he’d been perched and onto the floor.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, hauling Blair up by his shirt and scanning the bullpen around them. “And why didn’t any of you jokers think to stop him?”
“Hey man, we all just thought it was some Sentinel thing,” a black man with a wide, apologetic smile shrugged.
“Thanks H, remind me to show you a ‘Sentinel thing’ or two at the next poker night.” He gave Blair another shake by the shirt, then released him, ignoring the protests and laughter of his friends to focus on the man who’d caused the problem in the first place.
“What the hell did you do to me? Assaulting and deliberately causing a police officer to zone is a criminal offense worth more time in Leavenworth than you’ve got fleas on your whole body.” Jim loomed menacingly, and ignored the thought that he was enjoying being close to this young man more than he should for interrogating a criminal.
“Hey, Joe Friday, I resent that! Just because I’m a little short on cash does not mean that I don’t know how to stay clean, thank you very much. Jesus, I’d have thought that a Sentinel would be less likely to judge based on economic class. And I didn’t “assault” you, you just zoned. Period.”
Blair, far from being intimidated, pushed himself up on his toes right into Jim’s face, his finger stabbing Jim in the breastbone in emphasis. Jim winced, more from his words than the sharp pokes, and grabbed the shorter man by the shoulder, steering him into a nearby conference room.
“What? You gonna rough me up in here? Take away my civil liberties? I’m a law-abiding citizen man, hell I could have just left you zoned and no one would have been able to blame me!”
“Cool it, Chief.” Jim snapped, embarrassment and shame making him short tempered. “I’m not going to hurt you, and how the hell did you know how to end a zone, and who are you anyway?”
Blair paused mid-gesture, mouth open to launch into his next argument. “Oh, yeah, I guess we could start there.” He smiled, mulish stubbornness suddenly giving way to a bright and open happiness, and Jim could swear he felt a third zone gathering like a storm at the edges of his mind. “I’m Blair Sandburg, professor of Children’s Studies at the Cascade Sentinel School. I’m here because I think I know how to stop the Flu.”
*_*_*_*
“What?” Jim asked, wondering if his Hearing was turned down or something. “Children’s studies? Stop the Sentinel Flu? How in the world-“
Blair cut him off before he could sputter on. “It’s about Guides man! The Guides can stop the Sentinels from dying.” In one of those mercurial shifts, Blair was suddenly all passionate intensity and back in Jim’s face. “It has to stop! Our world is dying, Jim. Humanity needs its Protectors, and the Sentinels need their Guides!”
“Hold it, hold it.” Jim put his hand up, stepping away from Blair and massaging an impending headache with his free hand. “Okay, lets start from the beginning. You’re a children’s teacher, right?” At Blair’s nod Jim continued, “Which explains why you know about zone-outs. And as a kiddie teacher, you think you’ve discovered the miracle cure that has eluded the most advanced scientists and physicians the world over?”
“I know, it sounds sort of arrogant, doesn’t it?” Blair smiled, “But you see-“
“Not arrogant Chief. Crazy. We’re done here.”
Jim turned to leave, only to find one hundred and fifty pounds of curly haired angry in his face.
“Oh no you don’t. You’re not going anywhere. I’m right, I know I’m right. I am going to stop the Sentinels from dying, and you’re going to help me do it.”
“With Guides.” Jim snarked. “You’re going to save us all with training wheels. What’s next, give us all popsicles and send us to bed?”
“It is a well known fact that a Sentinel can access depths of strength and focus with a Guide’s help that he or she can never attain working alone. This has been true as far back as recorded history and remains true in medical testing as late as the twenty-first century.”
“Well this is the twenty-second century, Darwin, and one hundred year old speculation isn’t going to cut it. Guides are for children, nothing more. We can’t keep them after puberty or we become so dependent on them that we won’t ever function as independent adults. Sounds to me like someone just doesn’t know when to cut the umbilical cord.”
“And it sounds to me like you’re so afraid of being dependent on someone that you’re willing to let thousands of Sentinels and millions of people suffer because of it!”
Fury burst free in his chest, and Jim found himself slamming Sandburg up against a wall before he knew what his body was doing. “Those are my friends and my brothers you’re talking about.” he whispered fiercely. “I would give my life to save even one of them! So don’t you even think of saying that crap to me.”
“You’d give your life, maybe, but risk your independence? Hell, your trust? I’m not asking you to make me your Guide. Sentinels don’t need to establish the Bond to overcome the Flu. I’m just asking you to hear me out! If you keep messing with me, you’ll never figure out what’s up with all you Sentinels, and then you’ll be dead. Hard to help people when you’re dead, Mr I Don’t Need Anybody.”
“All right, all right,” Jim blew out a breath and lowered Blair to his feet. “Look, I’ll see if I can’t get you the phone number of a couple of guys, maybe get you in to see a buddy whose been in a coma-“
“That is so great, Jim, but there’s no time. I’ve already researched hundreds of cases, spoke to dozens of Sentinels, both partial and True on the phone. And I’ve been to more hospitals than I can even keep track of. We can’t stop the progression of illness after the coma sets in, and we sure can’t do it after they start coughing up blood and dropping dead. I need active, aware Sentinels. I need field data to support my research. I need you, man.”
“Why me?” Jim threw his hands up, ignoring the fact that he probably sounded like one of Sandburg’s kids.
“Because,” Blair said with a wry grin, “I’ve spent my entire savings just getting to you.” He pulled his hand out of a pocket and the smell of old copper and lead coins floated off his palm. “Not even enough left for a bus ride home.”
“Great. Not only do I have to let you do your ‘field testing’ with me, but now I have to give you a ride home too?”
“Unless you want me crashing at your place.” Blair replied cheerily. “C’mon, I’ve got everything we’ll need in my backpack, but I left it at your desk. After that I’m all yours, big guy. Where to first?”
Jim thought back to his desk, the piles of grey and blue folders, the voices across the city crying in pain and fear that he could hear even in his sleep. “You ever been to the Square when they hand out food stamps?”
*_*_*_*
Jim loaded Blair into his truck with a minimum of fuss. Most of the detectives and staff at Major Crimes were used to seeing homeless or just scruffy-looking people show up at Ellison’s desk for help. As a Sentinel he never had to worry about landing a high profile case to make his career, his genetics had ensured him a prestigious place already. And as a Sentinel he never turned anyone away from his desk empty-handed. Even the worst smelling, most strung out meth heads got a sandwich and directions to a shelter with one hand, while Ellison covered his nose with the other.
So seeing Ellison lead Blair back to his desk and then down to the parking garage was just situation normal for the CPD, and if he had a hand pressed against the small of Blair’s back and seemed to hover a little protectively over his new charge, well Blair did smell better than most of the people who came to Ellison for help.
“Sorry about the whole, you know, uh…” Jim began as he maneuvered the truck around debris of trash and the occasional damaged building littering the street.
“You mean the grabbing and shaking and throwing up against the wall thing?” Blair supplied, smiling and digging in his backpack.
“Yeah, that. Listen, I’m not normally so prone to, ah, physical intimidation.” He rubbed a hand over his brow, frowning at the thought. “Honestly I’m not really sure what came over me.”
“Oh, it’s the Guide thing.” Blair replied absently, now pulling wires and half assembled electronics from the bag in his lap.
“What?” Jim swerved sharply, to avoid a new crater in the road.
“Hey!”
“Sorry.”
“You know, you could drive slower along here, it’s not like the city has been looking after this piece of road recently.” he said with some heat, wires and pieces of unnamed gadgetry now all over the floor.
“And you could stop changing the subject.” Jim shot back. “What Guide thing?”
With a click and a whisper of movement, Jim registered his passenger’s seatbelt was off, and Blair was now scrounging under the dash, his muffled voice carrying up to Jim. “Guides get that all the time from Sentinels. Well, not the shaking and wall slamming thing, but, you know, the physical closeness thing.” His voice was clear now as he looked up from the floor. “No big deal, man. All is forgiven.” Jim glanced down the length of his leg, past his knee to where Blair sat crouched comfortably on the floor, and had to shake off an odd sense of satisfaction at seeing him there.
“Are you saying that you expected me to hurt you?”
“No, no man!” Blair leaned forward, one hand braced on Jim’s knee for balance as the truck swerved again. “I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. That’s the point. You just had to be close to me. Your instincts were telling you to get close and read me and know me.”
Jim risked another glance down and was caught by the intensity, the passion in those blue eyes, the warm hand on his knee, the feel of Blair’s chest pressed against his leg-
Screaming pain ripped across his Senses and he yelled as he jerked his head back up, swerving to avoid the honking car he’d almost rammed.
“Easy Jim, that’s right, just let that car horn fade away, there you go, easy does it…”
The soft crooning did help. The pain was fading almost immediately. Damn it. He wasn’t some brain-damaged Halfie who needed someone to hold his hand. He was a True, and had been managing these Senses since well before most Sentinels his age had even known how to avoid a zone.
He deliberately took the next turn too fast, sending Blair tumbling, and took a guilty satisfaction in hearing the thunk of skull impacting glove box. “Better buckle up Chief, it only gets rougher.”
Ignoring the insulting mutters from the next seat over, Jim weaved his way through the cordoned off areas of the city, nodding familiarly to the National Guard outposts as he entered the quarantined city sectors. Green gave way to Grey, which was wrapped around the Blue sector like a Band-Aid around a sore. Cascade Square was in the middle of Grey, and the weekly food stamp lines were already over a mile long.
*_*_*_*
Only an hour into the stakeout, and Blair was ready to spit with frustration. Every instrument that he’d tried to use to measure Jim’s autonomic responses to stress had been met with a sarcastic “Oh, that’s subtle Chief. Let’s just make a freak show of ourselves and see if the bad guys laugh themselves into giving up.”
He was down to taking notes by pen and paper, his hand-held having long ago been cannibalized for spare parts. He had years of observing Sentinels using their senses, both children and those unfortunates who had been born with a handicap that required Guiding into adulthood. Even so he was having trouble establishing a baseline for Jim’s abilities. It seemed Guiding a True Sentinel was nothing at all like he’d imagined. Jim was a monster! A genius with his body and mind working in tandem. It was a symphony of skill and evolution, and Blair could hardly take his eyes off of Jim long enough to write it all down.
They were watching the food stampers by the simple method of pretending to be in line themselves. Or more accurately, they were watching for anyone who was showing more interest than normal in the stampers. National Guardsmen wandered up and down the line, keeping order and reminding the stampers that getting rowdy wouldn’t get them their food stamps any faster. Jim, with an old Jags cap and a faded leather jacket, blended into the crowd better than Blair would have imagined. Apparently he was the only one who could see the fierce, predatory sharpness hidden in that gaze.
Huh. Fierce. Predatory sharpness. God, what was next? Was he going to start rhapsodizing about Jim’s ice blue eyes? His bulging muscles and soft lips that could quirk into the most heartbreaking smile…
Okay. Not helping. In an effort to distract himself he groped for the first topic that came to mind.
“So, food stamps. Not exactly Major Crimes material here, Jim. How did you end up with this case?”
Jim turned to him with a frosty look that made Blair wish he’d kept his mouth shut. “No, Sandburg. Stolen property is rightfully theft, but Higgins has been in a coma for three weeks, right next to Wilkerson from arson. I’m covering for them, just like I have for Bates from homicide and Sharon from missing persons, both of whom died last year. Any other questions, Professor?”
“Geez Jim, it’s cool! I didn’t mean to insult your Sentinelness or anything. Just trying to make conversation.”
Jim eyed him for another minute, then grunted and turned away. Blair blew a long breath out and added a few notes on the likely synergistic effects of testosterone with increased use of Senses, with the side effect of major pissiness.
The morning went like that, periods of silence while Jim scanned the crowds using all his Senses, Blair absorbed in scanning Jim to the exclusion of watching his own feet. The second time he tripped over a broken piece of concrete, Jim was noticeably slower in removing his hand from Blair’s elbow. By the time they were halfway up the line Jim was in constant contact with Blair, shoulders brushing, hand steering him around obstacles, hips bumping when they took a step forward. Jim seemed determined to maintain his frosty silence, which only made his physical proximity all the more evident. Blair gave up trying to draw him out and was scribbling furiously, wondering if he’d have enough pages to last the day when a shadow blocked out his light. He looked up into Jim’s curious face reading over his shoulder.
“I am not, what did you write? Instinctively drawn to maintain my territory? What the hell does that even mean?”
“It means that as a Sentinel, you recognize a viable Guide and firstly, want to protect me, and secondly want to let the other Sentinels know that I’m, you know, not available.”
“Available?” Jim quirked an eyebrow, but his voice was mild. Apparently he’d decided to get over his earlier pissiness, or maybe he was just looking for new ammo. Either way this was the first overture Jim had given him in hours and he was determined to press on.
“Yeah. We see it in kids all the time. The need to mark territory and protect it from the other kids, the driving force for safety that only a Guide can provide.”
“Those are kids, Chief. They do that to their parents, too. Trust me, I haven’t felt a driving need to go anywhere near my father in a long time.” Jim chuckled dryly, apparently satisfied with his argument and took another step in line.
Blair just smiled, and kept smiling as Jim turned back to him. “What?”
He quirked his own eyebrow, and Jim blew an exasperated breath and snatched his hand back from the nape of Blair’s neck. “Told you man, it’s instinctive.”
Jim balled up his fists and shoved them into his coat pockets, hunching down against an imaginary chill. “Is any of this actually helping you in your little crusade, or am I being annoyed beyond reason for nothing?”
“Oh no, you’re being a great help. Huge.” Blair grinned and went back to his pen and paper, noting that Trues tended to sulk when they were called on their instinctive reactions.
In the end the job was a simple one. One of the volunteers at the Square spent far too much time watching the stampers and not enough time watching Jim. Between one scribbled line and the next, Jim leaped away from Blair, dragged the man out from behind his booth and was cuffing him on the ground, reading his rights. A quick frisk showed hundreds of dollars of stamps in his pockets and no way to explain them.
The National Guard had their hands full keeping the stampers from instituting their own brand of justice. Jim handed the thief over to their custody and spent the rest of the afternoon tracking the owners of the stamps by the residual smell left on their envelopes. Blair admired the simple efficiency of the plan - not only would the thief probably be present, but Jim would be able to find the owners of the lost property in this same crowd.
Turned out that the thief made note of those who always came alone to pick up their food stamps, marking them as easy targets to rob that night. More than one person burst into tears when presented with their weekly food relief, making Blair’s heart swell with pride. Not everyone there was going home happy - some had spent their stamps already and were unable to get more, no matter how hard they begged. But those who had lost theirs by foul play were so overwhelmed at being treated fairly, at being Protected, that the whole crowd cheered every time another owner was located.
Jim kept throwing odd glances over his shoulder at Blair, and finally couldn’t keep from asking, “Not the sort of glamorous job you expected?”
Blair cleared his throat, surprised to find himself a little choked up. “Jim, this is exactly what I’d hoped to find.”
Jim seemed a little surprised, then quietly pleased at that, and Blair noticed Jim didn’t pull his hand away the next time he found himself hanging on to the Guide. “All right,” he thought to himself. “This is progress.”
*_*_*_*_*
Jim finished the day in a much better mood than he’d ever have imagined, considering how it started in Simon’s office. He still didn’t know how he would tell his Captain that he’d spent the entire shift in Grey, when he wasn’t even supposed to set foot beyond the Green anymore. But despite that, he felt… happy. God, had it been so long? Happy. He tried the word on for size and found it a good fit. He was tired but satisfied with his accomplishments. He’d worked hard and returned essential supplies to good people. And best of all, he had someone to share these little triumphs with, if only for a while.
He smiled to himself, remembering Sandburg’s scent as Jim had worked the crowd, how the man had become more and more able to anticipate Jim’s sudden turns and responses to the Senses, more adept at sliding right next to Jim’s side, right where that smell would help the most with the incipient headache that came from using Scent in a crowd-
Fuck.
It’s not his fault, it’s not his fault, it’s not his fault. Maybe if he kept repeating that to himself he could squash the urge he felt to pick Blair up and throw him against another wall. Or run like hell in the other direction. Blair wasn’t intentionally trying to make Jim dependent on him. At least, Jim was pretty sure.
Honestly, Guides were as instinct driven as Sentinels. All the literature pointed to the relevant genomes in their DNA, the instinctive response to Sentinel pheromones, to voice timbres and vocal inflections created by mouths that learned early on that harsh syllables hurt sensitive ears. Guides could no more stop Guiding than Sentinels could stop Protecting.
So no, Blair probably wasn’t trying to make Jim into his own personal lab rat. Probably.
Just to be safe, though, he’d better cut this little partnership short and send Sandburg back to whatever strange little world he’d crawled out of.
“Sandburg, time to wrap it up!” Blair had been interviewing the last victim, God only knew why. Wasn’t Jim supposed to be the subject of Blair’s little project? Squashing another surge of irritation he turned and strode towards his vehicle, parked safely with the Guardsmen’s. If the man didn’t move it, he’d lose his ride and that was his own tough luck.
Hearing a muffled “Oops, that’s my cue.” and the scrambling of hurried steps behind him, Jim took the time to unlock the passenger side door before swinging around and sliding into the driver’s seat. Mollified by Blair’s promptness, Jim was even considering buying supper for the both of them, it had been a long day after all, when amidst the detritus of scientific gadgets and note paper Blair was juggling he spotted-
“A phone number! You used my investigation to get a date?”
Furious for the umpteenth time that day, he peeled out of the Square, daring God or anyone else to get in his way.
“Not a date man!” Sandburg protested, hanging on for dear life to the roll bar. “It’s just a follow up interview, in case I need more information later-“
“Like her bra size or whether she likes cherry or strawberry lube?” Jim knew he was overreacting, but just as with everything else involving Sandburg, he couldn’t seem to put a lid on it. The man made everything inside him want to reach out and shake him, and then put him somewhere safe where Jim would always be able to get his hands on him. Like beside him, or behind him…
… or under him.
God help him, it was Sentinel Syndrome. He’d spent less than a day with the man, and he was already showing classic signs. The dependence, the mood swings -
-the urge to shove him down and kiss that hot, wet mouth until he moaned Jim’s name.
He stopped the truck so sharply that Blair flew forward, slapping his hands against the dash to protect himself. “This isn’t working, Chief.”
“Well, if you could sort out the skinny pedal from the brake pedal, and try using a judicious amount of both-“
“I mean the research, smart ass. I can’t keep doing this. Give me directions to your place and I’ll drop you off.”
Blair’s mouth hung open, shock writ large on his face. “No man, no! It’s only been one day. I don’t have nearly enough-“
“It hasn’t even been one day, and I’ve had all I can take!” Jim roared back, his shout causing air currents to swirl around them in the enclosed space. “Do the words Sentinel Syndrome mean anything to you?”
“SS?” Blair looked truly stunned. “That, no Jim, that happens over weeks, sometimes months of continuous contact. It’s a precursor to the Bond.” he went on as though Jim himself had no idea what the hell it was. “Sometimes Sentinels who truly need Guidance never enter into it at all. No one knows why or how each individual responds, not really. But a day?” he smiled weakly. “Not gonna happen.”
“It’s happening Sandburg. Right now.” Jim took a deep breath, consciously focusing, opening Touch and letting his mind guide his body into a state of relaxed awareness. He was one with his Senses, and his body was one with him. He was whole, and as a whole being he was-
-being watched. He cracked open an eye to see Blair’s fascination leaking all over the place. Hell.
“Look, maybe you’re right.” he conceded, not willing to strip that look off of Blair’s expressive face. “Maybe I’m just really run down. Either way, I need to go back to my home and just cool it for the night.”
“You got it,” Blair nodded enthusiastically. “Anything you need man, anything at all.” His head was bobbing so much Jim was afraid some of his crazy thoughts might break free and start bouncing around the cab. Sighing, he put the truck back in gear. “Where’s home, Chief?”
“Fourth and Nicollet, by the Sears Bridge.”
He was a whole being, and as a whole being he would not put his fist through his window. “Sandburg,” Jim ground out through clenched teeth, “that’s in the Blue.”
“Yeah Jim, I know,” the little bastard replied innocently, arranging his notes as though nothing in the world was wrong.
“You can’t take the bus out of the Blue,” Jim said, oh-so-reasonably, “it doesn’t even run in Grey anymore.” Therefore Blair could not live in the Blue. Ipso facto. Surely Blair saw this.
“Sure. I just walked out to the Green and hopped a bus. No big deal.”
Walked. Jim thought. He’d walked through a violent, gun infested nightmare of a war zone and hopped a bus. Just thought he’d go for a stroll. God. There was no help for it. Absolutely none. Simon would forgive him everything; even help him bury the body. No one would ever be the wiser. He ground his teeth a little harder and kept driving.
*_*_*_*
Twenty minutes later, Blair looked up from his notes to find the truck driving sedately in a very respectable part of White sector, near the waterfront. “Um Jim, do we have another case or something?”
“No,” Jim bit out, annoyed with himself but unable to argue his instincts down. “You’ll be staying with me. I’ve got a spare bedroom and-“
“Whoa, whoa, hold on there kemosabe. For a man who was all worried about the Sentinel Bond just half an hour ago, this is quite a turn around. Not that I mind, because I’d have had to hitch a ride just to get to the station tomorrow-“
“Just stop!” And more quietly. “Please, Blair please. Stop saying things that will make me want to hurt people.”
A look of confusion, then lightning fast comprehension followed. “Oh, I get it, because hitching a ride isn’t safe, even in the better parts of town, and you’d be worried that I’d get hurt and-“
“Yes, exactly.” Jim replied, parking the truck. “Now get your gear upstairs.”
“Jim! I can’t stay here!”
Jim quirked an eyebrow, obviously asking why not?
“It’s not that you’re not a good provider or anything, or even, oh hell. I mean, how long would I have to stay?”
“I don’t know, Sandburg!” Jim blew out an annoyed breath and grabbed Blair’s backpack, holding it hostage as he started up the steps to the loft. “Until you find a safer place to live, I guess.”
Blair scrambled after him, following his backpack with anxious eyes. “Jim, everything of value that I own is in that pack. I can’t exactly afford to go house hunting, remember?”
Jim ignored him. Blair was being unreasonable. Blair lived in the most festering, violent, awful part of Cascade and it was a wonder he’d lived long enough for Jim to find and Protect him. Blair would just have to deal with living in a closet sized bedroom and having the second shower and be grateful for it.
Jim unlocked the door to the loft. Just stepping in, breathing the perfectly balanced environment, the soft smells and soothing colors was always a delight. This was a good place. He’d brought Blair to a good place. Tomorrow would sort out itself, it usually did.
“Bedroom’s that way, Chief,” he motioned, his good humor restored. “Kitchen’s over there, bathroom around the corner. Make yourself at home.” Humming contentedly, Jim wandered down the hall to the shower, mind already planning for supper.
Blair looked around, feeling a little lost. Sure he’d been prepared to sacrifice a lot for his mission. He was attempting to save all of mankind by saving the Sentinels from dying! He expected hardship, ridicule, even a fair amount of personal danger in the mix. But this? Who would have anticipated being kidnapped and forced to live in a nice place with running water and Sentinel quality light fixtures? He had to admit, he was completely out of his depth when dealing with a True Sentinel.
Quietly he set up his laptop and began researching Sentinel Syndrome.
*_*_*_*
Supper had been an informal affair, Blair typing up his notes in the living room, Jim humming contentedly from the kitchen and then serving some really excellent roast beef on rye. Blair had been forced to pause, his stomach reminding him how long it had been since he’d had time to stand in line for stamps. He’d devoured it, potatoes and all, and was not surprised when a second helping appeared on his plate.
Jim seemed far more mellow at home, which could be a result of being in his home territory, or could just be Jim when he was off-duty. Either way he slumped down companionably on the couch and flipped on the vid-viewer while Blair went back to his notes.
Eventually Blair needed to reference something in his bag and he reached for it, only to find it on Jim’s lap, contents mostly emptied and organized on the coffee table in front of him.
Of course, Blair grinned. Give a Sentinel a closed box and he’ll not only have it opened but will catalogue and classify every little thing inside of it.
“Find anything interesting?” he prompted, just to let Jim know he wasn’t mad.
“Who’re Dinozzo and Gibbs?” Jim asked absently, flipping through a paper file that Blair had yet to update electronically.
“Umm, Sentinel/Guide pair, out of NCIS. Stationed in Washington DC, actually.” Blair cast around, trying to find a way to switch the subject. Given Jim’s less than open stance on adult Sentinels and Guides, he was sure this couldn’t lead anywhere good.
“NCIS?” Jim looked thoughtful. “They’re good. Really good. I was Army Rangers myself, but if I’d ever gotten in trouble I know that I wouldn’t have minded having people like them backing me.” He looked up from the file. “How can this Dinozzo guy have made the grade if he needed a Guide?”
Here we go, thought Blair. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for the rest of it. “He’s a True Sentinel Jim, just like you.” In for a penny, in for a pound, after all. “Turns out he just sort of accidentally bonded to Gibbs. That’s his boss, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, actually.”
Jim looked amused, although Blair couldn’t tell if it was from the thought of a True “accidentally” Bonding or Gibb’s name.
“So, he went to work for this Guide, who happens to be his boss, and he happens to Bond with him, and what, he was fine with that?” Jim actually seemed to want to talk about it. Blair looked closer. No warning signs of temper - the jaw muscle wasn’t ticking, the eyes remained clear and calm. Okay then.
“Well, they didn’t really know they’d Bonded, not until Dinozzo contracted the pneumatic plague.”
“Wait, he did what?”
“Yeah, some nut job sent it to the office in an envelope a la’ anthrax.”
“Geez, and I thought our criminals were nuts.”
“Yeah, no kidding. Anyway, he was all set to just check out, coughing up his lungs and everything, and then Gibbs just sort of strolls into his isolation room and baps him on the head and orders him not to die.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. Close as I can tell, the bond had been forming slowly over two years of very close, very intense working conditions. Saving each other’s life, trusting each other in return, almost never apart for more than a few hours each night. Then wham, Gibbs somehow knows that he can order Tony, ah, that’s Dinozzo, not to die, and he doesn’t.”
Jim held the file in both hands, but didn’t seem to be seeing the words on the page in front of him. Blair wondered what exactly he was looking for.
“So this is where your theory started? That Guides could stop us from dying of the Flu? With these two?”
“No man, that was just some majorly awesome validation. I told you, I’ve worked with Sentinels and Guides for years, and studied hundreds of case files. All a Sentinel needs is for a trusted Guide that understands his individual body to help him access the most incredible parts of his physiology. Senses are expanded and better controlled, muscle responses are stronger and faster, healing times are improved, all with the presence of a Guide. It’s all in here.” He gestured at his computer. “Sentinels have been socialized to work without Guides in the past few hundred years,” he gave a meaningful look at Jim, “but they evolved with Guides as their partners. A Sentinel with a Guide is a better Protector, Jim.”
“And you theorize that a Guide, a trusted, but not necessarily Bonded Guide,” Blair nodded, “could stop a Sentinel from dying once he or she has contracted the Flu.”
“Yes Jim,” Blair replied gravely. “That’s exactly what I think.”
Jim stood up, wandered around the loft quietly, and Blair finally realized that he was checking the security measures on the doors and windows. He sat there in the semi-gloom, wondering if they were done, and kept sitting as Jim walked softly up the steps to his bedroom.
“It won’t work, Blair.” he called down softly, at last.
“Why not,” Blair whispered.
“Because we can’t share our Guides, Blair. Your history books tell you that? They’d have to be Bonded to be of use to us, and I don’t know anyone who’d be willing to live like that.”
Blair stared at the computer in front of him. Years of effort, thousands of hours of work compiled in front of him. The only hope he could see to keep civilization from crumbling under its own weight.
“G’night Jim.” he whispered.
“G’night Chief, see you in the morning.”
“Yeah.”
*_*_*_*
The next day started out pretty shitty, as far as Jim was concerned. Getting reamed out by Simon before the man had had his first cup of coffee was never pretty. And it didn’t help that, technically, Jim didn’t have a leg to stand on.
“I told you in no uncertain terms, stay out of the Grey and Blue! And what do you do? Why, you disappear! Off to the Grey. No cell phone coverage there, Jim. Did you think of that? What if there’d been an emergency and no way to get a hold of the last functional Sentinel in all of Cascade? Did you think of that while you were on your little food stamp crusade? Did you!”
“Sir, I can explain.”
“Explain? Oh this better be good.” Simon leaned back in his chair, voice rich with sarcasm. “Tell me how you’re going to explain away violating a direct order from a superior officer, Jim. Let’s hear it.”
“This is Blair Sandburg, Professor of… of Sentinel Studies.” Blair didn’t miss the quick edit of his title, and decided that bringing up the age group of Sentinels he studied wasn’t actually pertinent to this conversation. He leaned around from behind Jim and gave a small wave to Simon.
“And he what? Kidnapped you at gunpoint and made you find the stamper thief?”
“Jesus Simon, no. Professor Sandburg is doing research regarding the Sentinel Flu. He thinks he can stop it, Simon. He thinks he can keep the rest of us from dying, but he needs to study a True in the field. I agreed to help him, but I had to choose a case where he wouldn’t be in danger. Tracking down a stamp thief seemed like a safe bet-“
“In the Grey. That’s like dragging a steak through a wolf pack, Jim. You put that civilian in danger and disobeyed-“
“Sir! He was never in danger. Not once while he was in my presence, Sir.” Again Blair decided to keep his comments to himself, especially regarding his safety in tandem with Jim’s driving.
“Fine. So while you were babysitting and chasing down petty thieves, Senator Cole’s daughter was abducted.” Simon drew a red file out of his desk drawer and slapped it in front of Jim. “I’d just as soon have you suspended for insubordination, but he insists that you be assigned to this case, Detective.”
“Sir, I have over thirty open cases on my desk-“
“And all of them the wrong color, Jim.” Simon paused at that, and winced. “God that came out sounding terrible. But you know what I mean, Jim. You can Protect people all you like, but you need to Protect the ones still supporting our infrastructure first.”
“Sir, I don’t think-“
“Jim! You don’t get a say in this. Now be a good detective, and pick up the case.”
Jim scowled and picked up the folder. He couldn’t argue or ignore his way out of this one, not without losing his job. And as tempting as that sounded some days, he could Protect better from inside the CPD than from outside it. He took a long breath to ease the anger in his gut, one that ended on a quiet cough. “Fine, I’ll take the case.”
“I know you will, and you’re already twelve hours behind on it. Coordinate with Rafe and Henri, they’ll bring you up to speed.”
All that long day, Jim was sure the only thing keeping him sane was Blair’s outrageous sense of humor, Blair’s impeccable timing for fresh coffee or warm soup from the machine. Blair’s scent.
He grew more and more tired as the day wore on, hashing through background checks and phone records. In the first twelve hours every good lead had dribbled away to nothing and there were no doors to pound on, no bad guys to intimidate. Just endless lines of data making his oversensitive eyes water, and too much cologne and deodorant haze in the bullpen, making him cough and cough.
He looked up from the torture of his computer screen to see Blair joking around with H, and he smiled to see the two of them laughing easily. Blair was integrating well with the rest of the MC team. Good, that was good. In ways Jim didn’t want to have to admit, it was good to have a Guide nearby.
Not that he wanted someone else calling the shots with his body, mind. It’s just that Simon had been a friend for years and still obviously couldn’t understand what it felt like to have your instincts grab you by the throat and mess up your life. With every Sentinel around Jim falling ill or dying he’d been dealing, alone, with instinctless people for too long. It felt good to have someone by his side, someone who knew what he was feeling and who felt something similar themselves.
It felt good to have Blair there.
*_*_*_*
All that long day, Blair could hardly drag himself from Jim’s side. Every sniffle, every cough sent him flying back to Jim with coffee, or soup, or hell, the latest bad joke he’d heard. Anything to keep Jim’s mind off of his Senses. Because that’s how it started sometimes, right? Sometimes they just got sick, and became so enthralled with their bodies fighting back that they just… got lost.
At the same time he knew if he hovered too much Jim would snap and snarl and make him leave. Blair knew all too well by now that Jim would rather be dead of the Flu than give the appearance of needing a Guide. So he joked with Henri and Rafe, ran errands for the detectives, and tried to convince himself it was just a bug. Just a cold. Nothing special, nothing to get worked up about.
Until the next time Jim coughed.
Blair just about sobbed in relief when Jim stood up and announced it was time to go home. He thought he’d been doing a good job, hell a stellar job of hiding his fears. But the look of pity from Henri and Rafe belied that. Or maybe they were counting the number of times Jim had coughed today too. Either way, it was an eerie, not-quite normal cheerfulness that accompanied them out the door, as though each one was hoping to God it wasn’t the last time they’d see their Sentinel walking and talking.
Stop it with the negative vibes already! He yelled at himself. Jim needs you positive. He needs calm, soothing scents, not fear and dread. Get with the program, Guide!
Determined to keep his good cheer up, Blair chatted brightly all the way home, insisting that Jim take the first shower (“Thanks so much Sandburg, and remind me who owns this place again?”) and cooking something light and easy for an overtaxed system to digest. No fresh fruits or veggies. No undercooked meat. Please, please let him be okay. Please.
Blair figured that there was enough salt in the soup he was making that a few tears wouldn’t be noticed, even by a Sentinel.
*_*_*_*
Jim tried to keep things light between them, passing off his fatigue with jokes and muffling his coughs as best he could. Blair was obviously worried, his scent was sour and thready , his pulse jumping with every one of Jim’s coughs, and it hurt Jim’s heart to be the cause of it.
It wasn’t until Blair went off to take his shower, though, that Jim made his decision. Picking up his phone he dialed a number he’d committed to memory the day before.
“NCIS, Dinozzo speaking. And if this is about those free thongs for the secretary staff, I swear I had nothing to do with it.”
“This is Special Agent Anthony Dinozzo?” Maybe the kid was touched in the head after all.
Jim could hear the man on the other side of the line sit up straight, feet plopping to the floor from the desk.
“Hello? Sorry, just assumed at this time of night. Anyway, yes, Special Agent Dinozzo here, and you are?”
“Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade PD. Sorry to be calling you so late, but I have a rather urgent personal matter to-“
“You’re dying.”
“… Yes. I know.”
“You’re a Sentinel and you’ve got the Flu. I can hear the congestion building up in your lungs already. You’ve got maybe a day left. Maybe two if you take it easy.”
“Yes, thank you, Agent Dinozzo,” Jim snapped with irritation. “That’s essentially the purpose of this call.”
“Please, call me Tony. And how do you think I can help you? Not that I wouldn’t love to help a brother Sentinel, but really it’s a bit out of my league, not to mention my jurisdiction…”
“Tell me about Gibbs.”
An indrawn breath on the other line and Jim heard snapping sounds and frantic fabric whupping that could only be an arm waved at another person. His suspicions were confirmed when he heard a hissed “McGee!” from Tony and more frantic waving.
“Ahem, sorry about that. Detective Ellison was it?”
“Yes, and you can stop stalling for time. We can talk while your techie gets you my background.”
“McGee’s a great computer guy, hell on wheels with the whole breaking and hacking thing, but not so hot with the paying attention to field signals.” This was obviously directed with some venom to a man sitting a few feet beyond Tony’s desk. From the way the sound bounced against Tony’s face, Jim estimated it was a fairly good sized room and concluded the other agent must have been just behind and the right of Dinozzo.
“Ah, here we are. Jim Ellison, Cascade you say. I still don’t see how I can help…”
“Stop dancing around it. Tell me about Gibbs.”
“Huh. Right to the point. He’d like that about you. Sure, I’ll tell you about Gibbs. The second “b” is for bastard you know, a real treat to work with. Pushes us harder than anything. And you know what else? He’s taken, Sentinel, so back off.”
“Don’t worry,” Jim shot back. This kid was NCIS? How did he ever get past the psych profile? “I’ve got my own Guide to worry about. Well, he’s not actually mine, per se, but…”
“Sandburg. It’s gotta be Blair. How’s he doing?”
Jim heard the wistful tone in Tony’s voice, and for a minute his gut cramped in jealousy. “Remember what you said a minute ago? About Gibbs?”
“Right, right. Sorry. So, you’re not Bonded, and if I’m reading your file right, you’re not only a wealthy son of a bitch, but a True. Lap of luxury, all the finest, and all the inbred snobbery against Guides and those that need ‘em. Am I close?”
“Just because I don’t want someone else in control of my body, my body for Christ’s sake-“
“And people call me self-centered.” Tony replied with a harsh little laugh. “Listen up, Ellison. This life, this Sentinel thing, it’s not about being comfortable, you know? I was born with a silver spoon up my ass too. And you know what else? I walked away from it when I was twelve, never looked back. There was no room in that world for being who and what I needed to be. No place for a Protector, you hear me?
"Now I’m guessing that you walked away from your old man at some point, walked away from all that wealth and comfort, just like I did. Because it’s about more than having things the easy, safe way with us. It’s about them, the tribe. And we’re willing to go a long way to Protect them, aren’t we, Jim.”
“But to give away control of ourselves! Even someone like you has to admit that’s too much. How can you stand it?”
“Honestly, it wasn’t hard at all. Not for ‘someone like me’. Blair’s probably told you that I barely knew it was happening until it was over. It’s made me a better agent, you know. A better Sentinel. I don’t know, you think this could the future of Sentinels and Guides? Back in the saddle again, after all this time?"
“Hell, I don’t know.” Jim rubbed a hand over his face, tired to the bone. “Doesn’t look like we have much of a future, one way or the other.”
“Are you sure you’re not Mussad? Or possibly Russian?”
“What?”
“Never mind. You were saying?”
Jim hesitated for a minute, then, “What’s it like?” Anything worth doing, after all…”
“The sex? Absolutely fantastic, of course.”
Jim choked a little at that. “Are you ill?”
He heard a chuckle across the phone, then, “Seriously, though, it’s not like Gibbs controls me. Well, not more than he normally does. But you know, he’s like that with everyone. It’s more like he just gives me a nudge when I need it, gives me some focus.” He heard the agent shrug. “Really, I’d hate to imagine my life without him. I don’t think I could go back to being the other way. Oh, and did I mention the sex? Completely out of this world!”
“Ah, yes. Thank you, Agent Dinozzo. I’ll think about what you said.”
“Well, don’t take too much time there, Jimbo. Like I said, a day, two at most. Then…”
“I know.”
“You could do worse,” Tony said softly. “Blair, he’s something else.”
“Yeah, I know that, too.” he replied in kind.
“Right then, good luck.” and the click of the dial tone rang in Jim’s ear.
“Have a good talk?” Blair asked from behind him, hovering in the shadow of the bay window.
“Depends. He’s either crazy like a fox or just completely nuts. Either way, it’s early to bed for us, Chief. Gotta find that little girl in the morning- clock’s ticking.”
“Yeah, tick tick.” Blair echoed, a strained smile on his face.
They both lay awake late into the night, Jim coughing and coughing, Blair in the room below trying to breathe for him.
--continued in Part 2
Fandom: Sentinel
Pairings: Jim/Blair, Tony/Gibbs
Rating: PG-13 until the Epilogue when it's a solid NC-17
Warnings: Bonding fic (sorry, it didn't start out that way but I was ambushed by a very determined Jim!) and minor crossover with NCIS, but nothing to worry about if you don't know the show.
Ficathon Prompts: "All Hell Breaks Loose" or "Sacrifice", and I ended up using both.
I'd like to thank andeincascade for the gentle encouragement in starting this fic ("I've signed you up for the ficathon, hon." "You did what??") and for the awesome beta throughout. This story would not exist without her.
Also thanks to Nancy for her story "Awakening"
They called it the Sentinel flu, and for a world society that had become dependent on the mystique of the "all seeing Protectors", it was devastating. At first it was the weak and the imperfect Sentinels with three or four Senses, the Halves, who were taken. Next were the damaged True Sentinels who were already sick in body or mind, unable to fight back when their Senses sent them spiraling into coma-like zones.
But just as with the Spanish Influenza centuries before, the disease's true horror was it's ability to kill those in the prime of life. The strong, seemingly invulnerable True Sentinels began dropping, coughing up blood and collapsing while chasing suspects or simply zoning at their places of work, Senses entrapped by the progress of the disease inside their bodies. Those that zoned never woke up again, and the word spread. The Protectors were dying.
Crime became rampant. The local police forces, overwhelmed. Despite the relatively small number of Sentinels present in any populace, the force of their presence had been invaluable in suppressing all but the most determined lawbreakers. With the world's protectors dying, criminals became bold. Murder, an unheard of crime in the modern world, reared its ugly head once more and soon it wasn't just the Sentinels dying. Chaos threatened to take us all.
*_*_*_*_*
Detective First Class Jim Ellison stood at attention in his Captain’s office, eyes fixed on the wall behind the desk, a perfect example of military readiness. Privately, Captain Banks thought Jim did it just to piss him off.
“Damn it Jim, there’s nothing I can do. My hands are tied! The Mayor refuses to allocate any more budgetary relief to the law enforcement agencies this quarter. We have to cut costs, and he insists that we pull back from the non-essential sectors and pay greater attention to those we can still do some good for!”
“Non-essential, Sir?” Jim bit out frostily. “And the people huddled like rats in the Blue and Grey sectors, are they non-essentials too?”
“You know very well what I think of this piece of legislation, Detective. Hell Jim, there’s more black and minority people in the Blue and Grey than anywhere else in Cascade combined. Those are my people we’re talking about.”
Jim’s eyes locked onto Simon’s now, angry and desperate. “Then let me do my job!” he ground out urgently. “No other cop will even set foot in the Blue anymore. Those people deserve protection. They need it a damn sight more than the Mayor in his fancy, security augmented mansion.”
“I can’t.” Simon growled, determined to win this stare-down. “You’re the last Sentinel on his feet in this entire city. You’re already doing the work of five, and you’re needed on the high profile cases.”
“You mean I’m needed to put on a show so the brass still feel safe in their beds at night-“
“You’re needed to protect the people who still pay their taxes! You know, the ones who make it possible for you to do your job?” Simon spit out sarcastically. “Play guardian angel on your own time if you want, but while you’re on the clock, you’ll cover Red, White, and Green sector crimes only. End of discussion!”
“Sir!” Ellison snapped, standing so rigidly at attention that the air around him practically thrummed. “Will that be all, sir?”
Simon sighed and sat back in his chair, watching his friend sadly. “Jim, don’t be like this. You know I don’t like this any more than you do.”
The stone wall in front of him refused to soften, and Simon pulled out an unlit cigar and bit savagely into it. “Fine. Go play martyr. Just do it in approved city sectors only. Dismissed.”
Ellison all but snapped a salute as he turned and stalked out of Bank’s office. Simon cursed and in a rare moment of impotent frustration, smashed his cigar to dust on his desk.
*_*_*_*
The raging fury in his chest was so overwhelming Jim could hardly breath, hardly knew where he was. Gasping for air he stared wildly around the Major Crimes bullpen, the sounds and smells of a normal workday failing to ground him in reality.
Protect! screamed his instincts, and his body quivered under the blow, muscles twitching to run, fight, keep the tribe safe! Drowning under the onslaught, he closed his eyes and tried to center himself, tried to remember the most basic exercises every Sentinel child learned. Help them! screamed across his nerves and he ground his teeth in agony. His instincts had always been extraordinarily acute, even as a child, and in the past those instincts had led him into trouble that other Sentinels had able to talk themselves out of.
“Yeah, and they also contributed to the best solve rate, the best save rate of any detective on the force!” he whispered to himself, once again arguing against his father’s insistence to “be more normal, son.”
Damn! His eyes flew open, his body already moving towards his desk. Files upon files were crammed around his computer, the envelopes almost exclusively blue and grey, showing better than words where Jim’s attention had been focused in the past year. Other desks had white, green, or even a few coveted red folders, but only Jim doggedly continued to march into the quarantined city sectors and dared to bring justice and Protection to the unfortunates still living there.
He wouldn’t give up on these people. Here, Maryanne Rice, 54 year old woman, robbed of her weekly food stamps. How would she eat if he didn’t find them? And who but a Sentinel could find her food stamps and ID them by scent? Or what about Robert Collins, missing for ten days, reported gone by a dirty, haggard looking wife with too many kids and not enough teeth? The look of hopelessness in her eyes made Jim want to punch something, to promise miracles. Made him want to find Collins, even if it was just the man’s body, to prove that someone cared.
Case file after case file, each one a person, a family, a member of his tribe. Each one desperately in need of their Sentinel. How cold he turn his back on them? How could they even ask him to? Well, he wouldn’t. He simply couldn’t, no more than he could walk up the side of a building or breathe water. He had a hardwired, ingrained need to protect built into his blood and sinews, and his body would drag itself across broken glass to do its job, even if the mind tried to say otherwise.
Jim smiled grimly, finally feeling the threat of emotional zone-out starting to fade. Calming exercises might work well and good for those pansy-ass Sentinels with two or three Senses, or those whose instincts had been blunted by centuries of selective breeding. But good old-fashioned police work was all he’d ever need to keep the Senses in line.
A small cough, really just a clearing of the throat had Jim glance up in surprise to the man in front of his desk. Obviously he’d approached while Jim was still semi-zoned, and he immediately catalogued torn jeans, threadbare Henley, curly hair, strong jaw and blue, blue eyes. God those eyes, a man could get lost in them, lost and found and never want to make his way out of their extraordinary depths… so open… so blue…
“Detective Ellison? Um, Detective?” Blair Sandburg waved his hand uselessly in front of a blank face, glanced around for help, then back to the mesmerized gaze in front of him. The nametag on the desk was right, but how could this be the great Sentinel Ellison? Who’d ever heard of a healthy, adult Sentinel falling into a zone?
*_*_*_*
Blair felt a panic attack looming, and glanced around again. God, he’d broken him. Would they notice? If he just sort of walked out and turned around, could he have a do over? Blair waved his hand in front of Ellison’s face again, feeling more and more frantic. Respirations solid, tissue perfusion excellent, no sign of petechiae hemorrhage around the eyes that came with the Flu, so what the hell was wrong with him?
In desperation Blair leaned into Ellison’s face, his breath bouncing between them he was so close. “Detective? C’mon, I know you must be seeing or hearing something pretty incredible, but it’s time to come back now.” Years of training brought his hands to Ellison’s neck, fingers gently wrapped around the back and thumbs stroking the jaw line. “James Ellison, it’s time to wake up now. That’s it James, that’s it, you’re doing so good, now it’s time to wake up, just focus on my voice.”
Blair imagined that Ellison’s eyes maybe twitched a little, the pupils maybe contracted at the sound of his soft murmuring. Anxious to believe, he kept stroking the jaw, and actually felt the moment when the Sentinel relaxed back into his body, heard the deep breath and saw those gorgeous blue eyes blink him back into focus. “S’Jim.” The man slurred.
“Jim then,” Blair smiled, still stroking with his thumbs. “Do you know where you are Jim?”
The gaze focused sharply, and Ellison stood abruptly, dumping Blair off the desk where he’d been perched and onto the floor.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, hauling Blair up by his shirt and scanning the bullpen around them. “And why didn’t any of you jokers think to stop him?”
“Hey man, we all just thought it was some Sentinel thing,” a black man with a wide, apologetic smile shrugged.
“Thanks H, remind me to show you a ‘Sentinel thing’ or two at the next poker night.” He gave Blair another shake by the shirt, then released him, ignoring the protests and laughter of his friends to focus on the man who’d caused the problem in the first place.
“What the hell did you do to me? Assaulting and deliberately causing a police officer to zone is a criminal offense worth more time in Leavenworth than you’ve got fleas on your whole body.” Jim loomed menacingly, and ignored the thought that he was enjoying being close to this young man more than he should for interrogating a criminal.
“Hey, Joe Friday, I resent that! Just because I’m a little short on cash does not mean that I don’t know how to stay clean, thank you very much. Jesus, I’d have thought that a Sentinel would be less likely to judge based on economic class. And I didn’t “assault” you, you just zoned. Period.”
Blair, far from being intimidated, pushed himself up on his toes right into Jim’s face, his finger stabbing Jim in the breastbone in emphasis. Jim winced, more from his words than the sharp pokes, and grabbed the shorter man by the shoulder, steering him into a nearby conference room.
“What? You gonna rough me up in here? Take away my civil liberties? I’m a law-abiding citizen man, hell I could have just left you zoned and no one would have been able to blame me!”
“Cool it, Chief.” Jim snapped, embarrassment and shame making him short tempered. “I’m not going to hurt you, and how the hell did you know how to end a zone, and who are you anyway?”
Blair paused mid-gesture, mouth open to launch into his next argument. “Oh, yeah, I guess we could start there.” He smiled, mulish stubbornness suddenly giving way to a bright and open happiness, and Jim could swear he felt a third zone gathering like a storm at the edges of his mind. “I’m Blair Sandburg, professor of Children’s Studies at the Cascade Sentinel School. I’m here because I think I know how to stop the Flu.”
*_*_*_*
“What?” Jim asked, wondering if his Hearing was turned down or something. “Children’s studies? Stop the Sentinel Flu? How in the world-“
Blair cut him off before he could sputter on. “It’s about Guides man! The Guides can stop the Sentinels from dying.” In one of those mercurial shifts, Blair was suddenly all passionate intensity and back in Jim’s face. “It has to stop! Our world is dying, Jim. Humanity needs its Protectors, and the Sentinels need their Guides!”
“Hold it, hold it.” Jim put his hand up, stepping away from Blair and massaging an impending headache with his free hand. “Okay, lets start from the beginning. You’re a children’s teacher, right?” At Blair’s nod Jim continued, “Which explains why you know about zone-outs. And as a kiddie teacher, you think you’ve discovered the miracle cure that has eluded the most advanced scientists and physicians the world over?”
“I know, it sounds sort of arrogant, doesn’t it?” Blair smiled, “But you see-“
“Not arrogant Chief. Crazy. We’re done here.”
Jim turned to leave, only to find one hundred and fifty pounds of curly haired angry in his face.
“Oh no you don’t. You’re not going anywhere. I’m right, I know I’m right. I am going to stop the Sentinels from dying, and you’re going to help me do it.”
“With Guides.” Jim snarked. “You’re going to save us all with training wheels. What’s next, give us all popsicles and send us to bed?”
“It is a well known fact that a Sentinel can access depths of strength and focus with a Guide’s help that he or she can never attain working alone. This has been true as far back as recorded history and remains true in medical testing as late as the twenty-first century.”
“Well this is the twenty-second century, Darwin, and one hundred year old speculation isn’t going to cut it. Guides are for children, nothing more. We can’t keep them after puberty or we become so dependent on them that we won’t ever function as independent adults. Sounds to me like someone just doesn’t know when to cut the umbilical cord.”
“And it sounds to me like you’re so afraid of being dependent on someone that you’re willing to let thousands of Sentinels and millions of people suffer because of it!”
Fury burst free in his chest, and Jim found himself slamming Sandburg up against a wall before he knew what his body was doing. “Those are my friends and my brothers you’re talking about.” he whispered fiercely. “I would give my life to save even one of them! So don’t you even think of saying that crap to me.”
“You’d give your life, maybe, but risk your independence? Hell, your trust? I’m not asking you to make me your Guide. Sentinels don’t need to establish the Bond to overcome the Flu. I’m just asking you to hear me out! If you keep messing with me, you’ll never figure out what’s up with all you Sentinels, and then you’ll be dead. Hard to help people when you’re dead, Mr I Don’t Need Anybody.”
“All right, all right,” Jim blew out a breath and lowered Blair to his feet. “Look, I’ll see if I can’t get you the phone number of a couple of guys, maybe get you in to see a buddy whose been in a coma-“
“That is so great, Jim, but there’s no time. I’ve already researched hundreds of cases, spoke to dozens of Sentinels, both partial and True on the phone. And I’ve been to more hospitals than I can even keep track of. We can’t stop the progression of illness after the coma sets in, and we sure can’t do it after they start coughing up blood and dropping dead. I need active, aware Sentinels. I need field data to support my research. I need you, man.”
“Why me?” Jim threw his hands up, ignoring the fact that he probably sounded like one of Sandburg’s kids.
“Because,” Blair said with a wry grin, “I’ve spent my entire savings just getting to you.” He pulled his hand out of a pocket and the smell of old copper and lead coins floated off his palm. “Not even enough left for a bus ride home.”
“Great. Not only do I have to let you do your ‘field testing’ with me, but now I have to give you a ride home too?”
“Unless you want me crashing at your place.” Blair replied cheerily. “C’mon, I’ve got everything we’ll need in my backpack, but I left it at your desk. After that I’m all yours, big guy. Where to first?”
Jim thought back to his desk, the piles of grey and blue folders, the voices across the city crying in pain and fear that he could hear even in his sleep. “You ever been to the Square when they hand out food stamps?”
*_*_*_*
Jim loaded Blair into his truck with a minimum of fuss. Most of the detectives and staff at Major Crimes were used to seeing homeless or just scruffy-looking people show up at Ellison’s desk for help. As a Sentinel he never had to worry about landing a high profile case to make his career, his genetics had ensured him a prestigious place already. And as a Sentinel he never turned anyone away from his desk empty-handed. Even the worst smelling, most strung out meth heads got a sandwich and directions to a shelter with one hand, while Ellison covered his nose with the other.
So seeing Ellison lead Blair back to his desk and then down to the parking garage was just situation normal for the CPD, and if he had a hand pressed against the small of Blair’s back and seemed to hover a little protectively over his new charge, well Blair did smell better than most of the people who came to Ellison for help.
“Sorry about the whole, you know, uh…” Jim began as he maneuvered the truck around debris of trash and the occasional damaged building littering the street.
“You mean the grabbing and shaking and throwing up against the wall thing?” Blair supplied, smiling and digging in his backpack.
“Yeah, that. Listen, I’m not normally so prone to, ah, physical intimidation.” He rubbed a hand over his brow, frowning at the thought. “Honestly I’m not really sure what came over me.”
“Oh, it’s the Guide thing.” Blair replied absently, now pulling wires and half assembled electronics from the bag in his lap.
“What?” Jim swerved sharply, to avoid a new crater in the road.
“Hey!”
“Sorry.”
“You know, you could drive slower along here, it’s not like the city has been looking after this piece of road recently.” he said with some heat, wires and pieces of unnamed gadgetry now all over the floor.
“And you could stop changing the subject.” Jim shot back. “What Guide thing?”
With a click and a whisper of movement, Jim registered his passenger’s seatbelt was off, and Blair was now scrounging under the dash, his muffled voice carrying up to Jim. “Guides get that all the time from Sentinels. Well, not the shaking and wall slamming thing, but, you know, the physical closeness thing.” His voice was clear now as he looked up from the floor. “No big deal, man. All is forgiven.” Jim glanced down the length of his leg, past his knee to where Blair sat crouched comfortably on the floor, and had to shake off an odd sense of satisfaction at seeing him there.
“Are you saying that you expected me to hurt you?”
“No, no man!” Blair leaned forward, one hand braced on Jim’s knee for balance as the truck swerved again. “I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. That’s the point. You just had to be close to me. Your instincts were telling you to get close and read me and know me.”
Jim risked another glance down and was caught by the intensity, the passion in those blue eyes, the warm hand on his knee, the feel of Blair’s chest pressed against his leg-
Screaming pain ripped across his Senses and he yelled as he jerked his head back up, swerving to avoid the honking car he’d almost rammed.
“Easy Jim, that’s right, just let that car horn fade away, there you go, easy does it…”
The soft crooning did help. The pain was fading almost immediately. Damn it. He wasn’t some brain-damaged Halfie who needed someone to hold his hand. He was a True, and had been managing these Senses since well before most Sentinels his age had even known how to avoid a zone.
He deliberately took the next turn too fast, sending Blair tumbling, and took a guilty satisfaction in hearing the thunk of skull impacting glove box. “Better buckle up Chief, it only gets rougher.”
Ignoring the insulting mutters from the next seat over, Jim weaved his way through the cordoned off areas of the city, nodding familiarly to the National Guard outposts as he entered the quarantined city sectors. Green gave way to Grey, which was wrapped around the Blue sector like a Band-Aid around a sore. Cascade Square was in the middle of Grey, and the weekly food stamp lines were already over a mile long.
*_*_*_*
Only an hour into the stakeout, and Blair was ready to spit with frustration. Every instrument that he’d tried to use to measure Jim’s autonomic responses to stress had been met with a sarcastic “Oh, that’s subtle Chief. Let’s just make a freak show of ourselves and see if the bad guys laugh themselves into giving up.”
He was down to taking notes by pen and paper, his hand-held having long ago been cannibalized for spare parts. He had years of observing Sentinels using their senses, both children and those unfortunates who had been born with a handicap that required Guiding into adulthood. Even so he was having trouble establishing a baseline for Jim’s abilities. It seemed Guiding a True Sentinel was nothing at all like he’d imagined. Jim was a monster! A genius with his body and mind working in tandem. It was a symphony of skill and evolution, and Blair could hardly take his eyes off of Jim long enough to write it all down.
They were watching the food stampers by the simple method of pretending to be in line themselves. Or more accurately, they were watching for anyone who was showing more interest than normal in the stampers. National Guardsmen wandered up and down the line, keeping order and reminding the stampers that getting rowdy wouldn’t get them their food stamps any faster. Jim, with an old Jags cap and a faded leather jacket, blended into the crowd better than Blair would have imagined. Apparently he was the only one who could see the fierce, predatory sharpness hidden in that gaze.
Huh. Fierce. Predatory sharpness. God, what was next? Was he going to start rhapsodizing about Jim’s ice blue eyes? His bulging muscles and soft lips that could quirk into the most heartbreaking smile…
Okay. Not helping. In an effort to distract himself he groped for the first topic that came to mind.
“So, food stamps. Not exactly Major Crimes material here, Jim. How did you end up with this case?”
Jim turned to him with a frosty look that made Blair wish he’d kept his mouth shut. “No, Sandburg. Stolen property is rightfully theft, but Higgins has been in a coma for three weeks, right next to Wilkerson from arson. I’m covering for them, just like I have for Bates from homicide and Sharon from missing persons, both of whom died last year. Any other questions, Professor?”
“Geez Jim, it’s cool! I didn’t mean to insult your Sentinelness or anything. Just trying to make conversation.”
Jim eyed him for another minute, then grunted and turned away. Blair blew a long breath out and added a few notes on the likely synergistic effects of testosterone with increased use of Senses, with the side effect of major pissiness.
The morning went like that, periods of silence while Jim scanned the crowds using all his Senses, Blair absorbed in scanning Jim to the exclusion of watching his own feet. The second time he tripped over a broken piece of concrete, Jim was noticeably slower in removing his hand from Blair’s elbow. By the time they were halfway up the line Jim was in constant contact with Blair, shoulders brushing, hand steering him around obstacles, hips bumping when they took a step forward. Jim seemed determined to maintain his frosty silence, which only made his physical proximity all the more evident. Blair gave up trying to draw him out and was scribbling furiously, wondering if he’d have enough pages to last the day when a shadow blocked out his light. He looked up into Jim’s curious face reading over his shoulder.
“I am not, what did you write? Instinctively drawn to maintain my territory? What the hell does that even mean?”
“It means that as a Sentinel, you recognize a viable Guide and firstly, want to protect me, and secondly want to let the other Sentinels know that I’m, you know, not available.”
“Available?” Jim quirked an eyebrow, but his voice was mild. Apparently he’d decided to get over his earlier pissiness, or maybe he was just looking for new ammo. Either way this was the first overture Jim had given him in hours and he was determined to press on.
“Yeah. We see it in kids all the time. The need to mark territory and protect it from the other kids, the driving force for safety that only a Guide can provide.”
“Those are kids, Chief. They do that to their parents, too. Trust me, I haven’t felt a driving need to go anywhere near my father in a long time.” Jim chuckled dryly, apparently satisfied with his argument and took another step in line.
Blair just smiled, and kept smiling as Jim turned back to him. “What?”
He quirked his own eyebrow, and Jim blew an exasperated breath and snatched his hand back from the nape of Blair’s neck. “Told you man, it’s instinctive.”
Jim balled up his fists and shoved them into his coat pockets, hunching down against an imaginary chill. “Is any of this actually helping you in your little crusade, or am I being annoyed beyond reason for nothing?”
“Oh no, you’re being a great help. Huge.” Blair grinned and went back to his pen and paper, noting that Trues tended to sulk when they were called on their instinctive reactions.
In the end the job was a simple one. One of the volunteers at the Square spent far too much time watching the stampers and not enough time watching Jim. Between one scribbled line and the next, Jim leaped away from Blair, dragged the man out from behind his booth and was cuffing him on the ground, reading his rights. A quick frisk showed hundreds of dollars of stamps in his pockets and no way to explain them.
The National Guard had their hands full keeping the stampers from instituting their own brand of justice. Jim handed the thief over to their custody and spent the rest of the afternoon tracking the owners of the stamps by the residual smell left on their envelopes. Blair admired the simple efficiency of the plan - not only would the thief probably be present, but Jim would be able to find the owners of the lost property in this same crowd.
Turned out that the thief made note of those who always came alone to pick up their food stamps, marking them as easy targets to rob that night. More than one person burst into tears when presented with their weekly food relief, making Blair’s heart swell with pride. Not everyone there was going home happy - some had spent their stamps already and were unable to get more, no matter how hard they begged. But those who had lost theirs by foul play were so overwhelmed at being treated fairly, at being Protected, that the whole crowd cheered every time another owner was located.
Jim kept throwing odd glances over his shoulder at Blair, and finally couldn’t keep from asking, “Not the sort of glamorous job you expected?”
Blair cleared his throat, surprised to find himself a little choked up. “Jim, this is exactly what I’d hoped to find.”
Jim seemed a little surprised, then quietly pleased at that, and Blair noticed Jim didn’t pull his hand away the next time he found himself hanging on to the Guide. “All right,” he thought to himself. “This is progress.”
*_*_*_*_*
Jim finished the day in a much better mood than he’d ever have imagined, considering how it started in Simon’s office. He still didn’t know how he would tell his Captain that he’d spent the entire shift in Grey, when he wasn’t even supposed to set foot beyond the Green anymore. But despite that, he felt… happy. God, had it been so long? Happy. He tried the word on for size and found it a good fit. He was tired but satisfied with his accomplishments. He’d worked hard and returned essential supplies to good people. And best of all, he had someone to share these little triumphs with, if only for a while.
He smiled to himself, remembering Sandburg’s scent as Jim had worked the crowd, how the man had become more and more able to anticipate Jim’s sudden turns and responses to the Senses, more adept at sliding right next to Jim’s side, right where that smell would help the most with the incipient headache that came from using Scent in a crowd-
Fuck.
It’s not his fault, it’s not his fault, it’s not his fault. Maybe if he kept repeating that to himself he could squash the urge he felt to pick Blair up and throw him against another wall. Or run like hell in the other direction. Blair wasn’t intentionally trying to make Jim dependent on him. At least, Jim was pretty sure.
Honestly, Guides were as instinct driven as Sentinels. All the literature pointed to the relevant genomes in their DNA, the instinctive response to Sentinel pheromones, to voice timbres and vocal inflections created by mouths that learned early on that harsh syllables hurt sensitive ears. Guides could no more stop Guiding than Sentinels could stop Protecting.
So no, Blair probably wasn’t trying to make Jim into his own personal lab rat. Probably.
Just to be safe, though, he’d better cut this little partnership short and send Sandburg back to whatever strange little world he’d crawled out of.
“Sandburg, time to wrap it up!” Blair had been interviewing the last victim, God only knew why. Wasn’t Jim supposed to be the subject of Blair’s little project? Squashing another surge of irritation he turned and strode towards his vehicle, parked safely with the Guardsmen’s. If the man didn’t move it, he’d lose his ride and that was his own tough luck.
Hearing a muffled “Oops, that’s my cue.” and the scrambling of hurried steps behind him, Jim took the time to unlock the passenger side door before swinging around and sliding into the driver’s seat. Mollified by Blair’s promptness, Jim was even considering buying supper for the both of them, it had been a long day after all, when amidst the detritus of scientific gadgets and note paper Blair was juggling he spotted-
“A phone number! You used my investigation to get a date?”
Furious for the umpteenth time that day, he peeled out of the Square, daring God or anyone else to get in his way.
“Not a date man!” Sandburg protested, hanging on for dear life to the roll bar. “It’s just a follow up interview, in case I need more information later-“
“Like her bra size or whether she likes cherry or strawberry lube?” Jim knew he was overreacting, but just as with everything else involving Sandburg, he couldn’t seem to put a lid on it. The man made everything inside him want to reach out and shake him, and then put him somewhere safe where Jim would always be able to get his hands on him. Like beside him, or behind him…
… or under him.
God help him, it was Sentinel Syndrome. He’d spent less than a day with the man, and he was already showing classic signs. The dependence, the mood swings -
-the urge to shove him down and kiss that hot, wet mouth until he moaned Jim’s name.
He stopped the truck so sharply that Blair flew forward, slapping his hands against the dash to protect himself. “This isn’t working, Chief.”
“Well, if you could sort out the skinny pedal from the brake pedal, and try using a judicious amount of both-“
“I mean the research, smart ass. I can’t keep doing this. Give me directions to your place and I’ll drop you off.”
Blair’s mouth hung open, shock writ large on his face. “No man, no! It’s only been one day. I don’t have nearly enough-“
“It hasn’t even been one day, and I’ve had all I can take!” Jim roared back, his shout causing air currents to swirl around them in the enclosed space. “Do the words Sentinel Syndrome mean anything to you?”
“SS?” Blair looked truly stunned. “That, no Jim, that happens over weeks, sometimes months of continuous contact. It’s a precursor to the Bond.” he went on as though Jim himself had no idea what the hell it was. “Sometimes Sentinels who truly need Guidance never enter into it at all. No one knows why or how each individual responds, not really. But a day?” he smiled weakly. “Not gonna happen.”
“It’s happening Sandburg. Right now.” Jim took a deep breath, consciously focusing, opening Touch and letting his mind guide his body into a state of relaxed awareness. He was one with his Senses, and his body was one with him. He was whole, and as a whole being he was-
-being watched. He cracked open an eye to see Blair’s fascination leaking all over the place. Hell.
“Look, maybe you’re right.” he conceded, not willing to strip that look off of Blair’s expressive face. “Maybe I’m just really run down. Either way, I need to go back to my home and just cool it for the night.”
“You got it,” Blair nodded enthusiastically. “Anything you need man, anything at all.” His head was bobbing so much Jim was afraid some of his crazy thoughts might break free and start bouncing around the cab. Sighing, he put the truck back in gear. “Where’s home, Chief?”
“Fourth and Nicollet, by the Sears Bridge.”
He was a whole being, and as a whole being he would not put his fist through his window. “Sandburg,” Jim ground out through clenched teeth, “that’s in the Blue.”
“Yeah Jim, I know,” the little bastard replied innocently, arranging his notes as though nothing in the world was wrong.
“You can’t take the bus out of the Blue,” Jim said, oh-so-reasonably, “it doesn’t even run in Grey anymore.” Therefore Blair could not live in the Blue. Ipso facto. Surely Blair saw this.
“Sure. I just walked out to the Green and hopped a bus. No big deal.”
Walked. Jim thought. He’d walked through a violent, gun infested nightmare of a war zone and hopped a bus. Just thought he’d go for a stroll. God. There was no help for it. Absolutely none. Simon would forgive him everything; even help him bury the body. No one would ever be the wiser. He ground his teeth a little harder and kept driving.
*_*_*_*
Twenty minutes later, Blair looked up from his notes to find the truck driving sedately in a very respectable part of White sector, near the waterfront. “Um Jim, do we have another case or something?”
“No,” Jim bit out, annoyed with himself but unable to argue his instincts down. “You’ll be staying with me. I’ve got a spare bedroom and-“
“Whoa, whoa, hold on there kemosabe. For a man who was all worried about the Sentinel Bond just half an hour ago, this is quite a turn around. Not that I mind, because I’d have had to hitch a ride just to get to the station tomorrow-“
“Just stop!” And more quietly. “Please, Blair please. Stop saying things that will make me want to hurt people.”
A look of confusion, then lightning fast comprehension followed. “Oh, I get it, because hitching a ride isn’t safe, even in the better parts of town, and you’d be worried that I’d get hurt and-“
“Yes, exactly.” Jim replied, parking the truck. “Now get your gear upstairs.”
“Jim! I can’t stay here!”
Jim quirked an eyebrow, obviously asking why not?
“It’s not that you’re not a good provider or anything, or even, oh hell. I mean, how long would I have to stay?”
“I don’t know, Sandburg!” Jim blew out an annoyed breath and grabbed Blair’s backpack, holding it hostage as he started up the steps to the loft. “Until you find a safer place to live, I guess.”
Blair scrambled after him, following his backpack with anxious eyes. “Jim, everything of value that I own is in that pack. I can’t exactly afford to go house hunting, remember?”
Jim ignored him. Blair was being unreasonable. Blair lived in the most festering, violent, awful part of Cascade and it was a wonder he’d lived long enough for Jim to find and Protect him. Blair would just have to deal with living in a closet sized bedroom and having the second shower and be grateful for it.
Jim unlocked the door to the loft. Just stepping in, breathing the perfectly balanced environment, the soft smells and soothing colors was always a delight. This was a good place. He’d brought Blair to a good place. Tomorrow would sort out itself, it usually did.
“Bedroom’s that way, Chief,” he motioned, his good humor restored. “Kitchen’s over there, bathroom around the corner. Make yourself at home.” Humming contentedly, Jim wandered down the hall to the shower, mind already planning for supper.
Blair looked around, feeling a little lost. Sure he’d been prepared to sacrifice a lot for his mission. He was attempting to save all of mankind by saving the Sentinels from dying! He expected hardship, ridicule, even a fair amount of personal danger in the mix. But this? Who would have anticipated being kidnapped and forced to live in a nice place with running water and Sentinel quality light fixtures? He had to admit, he was completely out of his depth when dealing with a True Sentinel.
Quietly he set up his laptop and began researching Sentinel Syndrome.
*_*_*_*
Supper had been an informal affair, Blair typing up his notes in the living room, Jim humming contentedly from the kitchen and then serving some really excellent roast beef on rye. Blair had been forced to pause, his stomach reminding him how long it had been since he’d had time to stand in line for stamps. He’d devoured it, potatoes and all, and was not surprised when a second helping appeared on his plate.
Jim seemed far more mellow at home, which could be a result of being in his home territory, or could just be Jim when he was off-duty. Either way he slumped down companionably on the couch and flipped on the vid-viewer while Blair went back to his notes.
Eventually Blair needed to reference something in his bag and he reached for it, only to find it on Jim’s lap, contents mostly emptied and organized on the coffee table in front of him.
Of course, Blair grinned. Give a Sentinel a closed box and he’ll not only have it opened but will catalogue and classify every little thing inside of it.
“Find anything interesting?” he prompted, just to let Jim know he wasn’t mad.
“Who’re Dinozzo and Gibbs?” Jim asked absently, flipping through a paper file that Blair had yet to update electronically.
“Umm, Sentinel/Guide pair, out of NCIS. Stationed in Washington DC, actually.” Blair cast around, trying to find a way to switch the subject. Given Jim’s less than open stance on adult Sentinels and Guides, he was sure this couldn’t lead anywhere good.
“NCIS?” Jim looked thoughtful. “They’re good. Really good. I was Army Rangers myself, but if I’d ever gotten in trouble I know that I wouldn’t have minded having people like them backing me.” He looked up from the file. “How can this Dinozzo guy have made the grade if he needed a Guide?”
Here we go, thought Blair. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for the rest of it. “He’s a True Sentinel Jim, just like you.” In for a penny, in for a pound, after all. “Turns out he just sort of accidentally bonded to Gibbs. That’s his boss, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, actually.”
Jim looked amused, although Blair couldn’t tell if it was from the thought of a True “accidentally” Bonding or Gibb’s name.
“So, he went to work for this Guide, who happens to be his boss, and he happens to Bond with him, and what, he was fine with that?” Jim actually seemed to want to talk about it. Blair looked closer. No warning signs of temper - the jaw muscle wasn’t ticking, the eyes remained clear and calm. Okay then.
“Well, they didn’t really know they’d Bonded, not until Dinozzo contracted the pneumatic plague.”
“Wait, he did what?”
“Yeah, some nut job sent it to the office in an envelope a la’ anthrax.”
“Geez, and I thought our criminals were nuts.”
“Yeah, no kidding. Anyway, he was all set to just check out, coughing up his lungs and everything, and then Gibbs just sort of strolls into his isolation room and baps him on the head and orders him not to die.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. Close as I can tell, the bond had been forming slowly over two years of very close, very intense working conditions. Saving each other’s life, trusting each other in return, almost never apart for more than a few hours each night. Then wham, Gibbs somehow knows that he can order Tony, ah, that’s Dinozzo, not to die, and he doesn’t.”
Jim held the file in both hands, but didn’t seem to be seeing the words on the page in front of him. Blair wondered what exactly he was looking for.
“So this is where your theory started? That Guides could stop us from dying of the Flu? With these two?”
“No man, that was just some majorly awesome validation. I told you, I’ve worked with Sentinels and Guides for years, and studied hundreds of case files. All a Sentinel needs is for a trusted Guide that understands his individual body to help him access the most incredible parts of his physiology. Senses are expanded and better controlled, muscle responses are stronger and faster, healing times are improved, all with the presence of a Guide. It’s all in here.” He gestured at his computer. “Sentinels have been socialized to work without Guides in the past few hundred years,” he gave a meaningful look at Jim, “but they evolved with Guides as their partners. A Sentinel with a Guide is a better Protector, Jim.”
“And you theorize that a Guide, a trusted, but not necessarily Bonded Guide,” Blair nodded, “could stop a Sentinel from dying once he or she has contracted the Flu.”
“Yes Jim,” Blair replied gravely. “That’s exactly what I think.”
Jim stood up, wandered around the loft quietly, and Blair finally realized that he was checking the security measures on the doors and windows. He sat there in the semi-gloom, wondering if they were done, and kept sitting as Jim walked softly up the steps to his bedroom.
“It won’t work, Blair.” he called down softly, at last.
“Why not,” Blair whispered.
“Because we can’t share our Guides, Blair. Your history books tell you that? They’d have to be Bonded to be of use to us, and I don’t know anyone who’d be willing to live like that.”
Blair stared at the computer in front of him. Years of effort, thousands of hours of work compiled in front of him. The only hope he could see to keep civilization from crumbling under its own weight.
“G’night Jim.” he whispered.
“G’night Chief, see you in the morning.”
“Yeah.”
*_*_*_*
The next day started out pretty shitty, as far as Jim was concerned. Getting reamed out by Simon before the man had had his first cup of coffee was never pretty. And it didn’t help that, technically, Jim didn’t have a leg to stand on.
“I told you in no uncertain terms, stay out of the Grey and Blue! And what do you do? Why, you disappear! Off to the Grey. No cell phone coverage there, Jim. Did you think of that? What if there’d been an emergency and no way to get a hold of the last functional Sentinel in all of Cascade? Did you think of that while you were on your little food stamp crusade? Did you!”
“Sir, I can explain.”
“Explain? Oh this better be good.” Simon leaned back in his chair, voice rich with sarcasm. “Tell me how you’re going to explain away violating a direct order from a superior officer, Jim. Let’s hear it.”
“This is Blair Sandburg, Professor of… of Sentinel Studies.” Blair didn’t miss the quick edit of his title, and decided that bringing up the age group of Sentinels he studied wasn’t actually pertinent to this conversation. He leaned around from behind Jim and gave a small wave to Simon.
“And he what? Kidnapped you at gunpoint and made you find the stamper thief?”
“Jesus Simon, no. Professor Sandburg is doing research regarding the Sentinel Flu. He thinks he can stop it, Simon. He thinks he can keep the rest of us from dying, but he needs to study a True in the field. I agreed to help him, but I had to choose a case where he wouldn’t be in danger. Tracking down a stamp thief seemed like a safe bet-“
“In the Grey. That’s like dragging a steak through a wolf pack, Jim. You put that civilian in danger and disobeyed-“
“Sir! He was never in danger. Not once while he was in my presence, Sir.” Again Blair decided to keep his comments to himself, especially regarding his safety in tandem with Jim’s driving.
“Fine. So while you were babysitting and chasing down petty thieves, Senator Cole’s daughter was abducted.” Simon drew a red file out of his desk drawer and slapped it in front of Jim. “I’d just as soon have you suspended for insubordination, but he insists that you be assigned to this case, Detective.”
“Sir, I have over thirty open cases on my desk-“
“And all of them the wrong color, Jim.” Simon paused at that, and winced. “God that came out sounding terrible. But you know what I mean, Jim. You can Protect people all you like, but you need to Protect the ones still supporting our infrastructure first.”
“Sir, I don’t think-“
“Jim! You don’t get a say in this. Now be a good detective, and pick up the case.”
Jim scowled and picked up the folder. He couldn’t argue or ignore his way out of this one, not without losing his job. And as tempting as that sounded some days, he could Protect better from inside the CPD than from outside it. He took a long breath to ease the anger in his gut, one that ended on a quiet cough. “Fine, I’ll take the case.”
“I know you will, and you’re already twelve hours behind on it. Coordinate with Rafe and Henri, they’ll bring you up to speed.”
All that long day, Jim was sure the only thing keeping him sane was Blair’s outrageous sense of humor, Blair’s impeccable timing for fresh coffee or warm soup from the machine. Blair’s scent.
He grew more and more tired as the day wore on, hashing through background checks and phone records. In the first twelve hours every good lead had dribbled away to nothing and there were no doors to pound on, no bad guys to intimidate. Just endless lines of data making his oversensitive eyes water, and too much cologne and deodorant haze in the bullpen, making him cough and cough.
He looked up from the torture of his computer screen to see Blair joking around with H, and he smiled to see the two of them laughing easily. Blair was integrating well with the rest of the MC team. Good, that was good. In ways Jim didn’t want to have to admit, it was good to have a Guide nearby.
Not that he wanted someone else calling the shots with his body, mind. It’s just that Simon had been a friend for years and still obviously couldn’t understand what it felt like to have your instincts grab you by the throat and mess up your life. With every Sentinel around Jim falling ill or dying he’d been dealing, alone, with instinctless people for too long. It felt good to have someone by his side, someone who knew what he was feeling and who felt something similar themselves.
It felt good to have Blair there.
*_*_*_*
All that long day, Blair could hardly drag himself from Jim’s side. Every sniffle, every cough sent him flying back to Jim with coffee, or soup, or hell, the latest bad joke he’d heard. Anything to keep Jim’s mind off of his Senses. Because that’s how it started sometimes, right? Sometimes they just got sick, and became so enthralled with their bodies fighting back that they just… got lost.
At the same time he knew if he hovered too much Jim would snap and snarl and make him leave. Blair knew all too well by now that Jim would rather be dead of the Flu than give the appearance of needing a Guide. So he joked with Henri and Rafe, ran errands for the detectives, and tried to convince himself it was just a bug. Just a cold. Nothing special, nothing to get worked up about.
Until the next time Jim coughed.
Blair just about sobbed in relief when Jim stood up and announced it was time to go home. He thought he’d been doing a good job, hell a stellar job of hiding his fears. But the look of pity from Henri and Rafe belied that. Or maybe they were counting the number of times Jim had coughed today too. Either way, it was an eerie, not-quite normal cheerfulness that accompanied them out the door, as though each one was hoping to God it wasn’t the last time they’d see their Sentinel walking and talking.
Stop it with the negative vibes already! He yelled at himself. Jim needs you positive. He needs calm, soothing scents, not fear and dread. Get with the program, Guide!
Determined to keep his good cheer up, Blair chatted brightly all the way home, insisting that Jim take the first shower (“Thanks so much Sandburg, and remind me who owns this place again?”) and cooking something light and easy for an overtaxed system to digest. No fresh fruits or veggies. No undercooked meat. Please, please let him be okay. Please.
Blair figured that there was enough salt in the soup he was making that a few tears wouldn’t be noticed, even by a Sentinel.
*_*_*_*
Jim tried to keep things light between them, passing off his fatigue with jokes and muffling his coughs as best he could. Blair was obviously worried, his scent was sour and thready , his pulse jumping with every one of Jim’s coughs, and it hurt Jim’s heart to be the cause of it.
It wasn’t until Blair went off to take his shower, though, that Jim made his decision. Picking up his phone he dialed a number he’d committed to memory the day before.
“NCIS, Dinozzo speaking. And if this is about those free thongs for the secretary staff, I swear I had nothing to do with it.”
“This is Special Agent Anthony Dinozzo?” Maybe the kid was touched in the head after all.
Jim could hear the man on the other side of the line sit up straight, feet plopping to the floor from the desk.
“Hello? Sorry, just assumed at this time of night. Anyway, yes, Special Agent Dinozzo here, and you are?”
“Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade PD. Sorry to be calling you so late, but I have a rather urgent personal matter to-“
“You’re dying.”
“… Yes. I know.”
“You’re a Sentinel and you’ve got the Flu. I can hear the congestion building up in your lungs already. You’ve got maybe a day left. Maybe two if you take it easy.”
“Yes, thank you, Agent Dinozzo,” Jim snapped with irritation. “That’s essentially the purpose of this call.”
“Please, call me Tony. And how do you think I can help you? Not that I wouldn’t love to help a brother Sentinel, but really it’s a bit out of my league, not to mention my jurisdiction…”
“Tell me about Gibbs.”
An indrawn breath on the other line and Jim heard snapping sounds and frantic fabric whupping that could only be an arm waved at another person. His suspicions were confirmed when he heard a hissed “McGee!” from Tony and more frantic waving.
“Ahem, sorry about that. Detective Ellison was it?”
“Yes, and you can stop stalling for time. We can talk while your techie gets you my background.”
“McGee’s a great computer guy, hell on wheels with the whole breaking and hacking thing, but not so hot with the paying attention to field signals.” This was obviously directed with some venom to a man sitting a few feet beyond Tony’s desk. From the way the sound bounced against Tony’s face, Jim estimated it was a fairly good sized room and concluded the other agent must have been just behind and the right of Dinozzo.
“Ah, here we are. Jim Ellison, Cascade you say. I still don’t see how I can help…”
“Stop dancing around it. Tell me about Gibbs.”
“Huh. Right to the point. He’d like that about you. Sure, I’ll tell you about Gibbs. The second “b” is for bastard you know, a real treat to work with. Pushes us harder than anything. And you know what else? He’s taken, Sentinel, so back off.”
“Don’t worry,” Jim shot back. This kid was NCIS? How did he ever get past the psych profile? “I’ve got my own Guide to worry about. Well, he’s not actually mine, per se, but…”
“Sandburg. It’s gotta be Blair. How’s he doing?”
Jim heard the wistful tone in Tony’s voice, and for a minute his gut cramped in jealousy. “Remember what you said a minute ago? About Gibbs?”
“Right, right. Sorry. So, you’re not Bonded, and if I’m reading your file right, you’re not only a wealthy son of a bitch, but a True. Lap of luxury, all the finest, and all the inbred snobbery against Guides and those that need ‘em. Am I close?”
“Just because I don’t want someone else in control of my body, my body for Christ’s sake-“
“And people call me self-centered.” Tony replied with a harsh little laugh. “Listen up, Ellison. This life, this Sentinel thing, it’s not about being comfortable, you know? I was born with a silver spoon up my ass too. And you know what else? I walked away from it when I was twelve, never looked back. There was no room in that world for being who and what I needed to be. No place for a Protector, you hear me?
"Now I’m guessing that you walked away from your old man at some point, walked away from all that wealth and comfort, just like I did. Because it’s about more than having things the easy, safe way with us. It’s about them, the tribe. And we’re willing to go a long way to Protect them, aren’t we, Jim.”
“But to give away control of ourselves! Even someone like you has to admit that’s too much. How can you stand it?”
“Honestly, it wasn’t hard at all. Not for ‘someone like me’. Blair’s probably told you that I barely knew it was happening until it was over. It’s made me a better agent, you know. A better Sentinel. I don’t know, you think this could the future of Sentinels and Guides? Back in the saddle again, after all this time?"
“Hell, I don’t know.” Jim rubbed a hand over his face, tired to the bone. “Doesn’t look like we have much of a future, one way or the other.”
“Are you sure you’re not Mussad? Or possibly Russian?”
“What?”
“Never mind. You were saying?”
Jim hesitated for a minute, then, “What’s it like?” Anything worth doing, after all…”
“The sex? Absolutely fantastic, of course.”
Jim choked a little at that. “Are you ill?”
He heard a chuckle across the phone, then, “Seriously, though, it’s not like Gibbs controls me. Well, not more than he normally does. But you know, he’s like that with everyone. It’s more like he just gives me a nudge when I need it, gives me some focus.” He heard the agent shrug. “Really, I’d hate to imagine my life without him. I don’t think I could go back to being the other way. Oh, and did I mention the sex? Completely out of this world!”
“Ah, yes. Thank you, Agent Dinozzo. I’ll think about what you said.”
“Well, don’t take too much time there, Jimbo. Like I said, a day, two at most. Then…”
“I know.”
“You could do worse,” Tony said softly. “Blair, he’s something else.”
“Yeah, I know that, too.” he replied in kind.
“Right then, good luck.” and the click of the dial tone rang in Jim’s ear.
“Have a good talk?” Blair asked from behind him, hovering in the shadow of the bay window.
“Depends. He’s either crazy like a fox or just completely nuts. Either way, it’s early to bed for us, Chief. Gotta find that little girl in the morning- clock’s ticking.”
“Yeah, tick tick.” Blair echoed, a strained smile on his face.
They both lay awake late into the night, Jim coughing and coughing, Blair in the room below trying to breathe for him.
--continued in Part 2