by Carol Roi
"Just have to finish up my dissertation and I can put those initials after my name." Blair grinned at her.
Diandra laughed. "Believe me, those initials are over rated. So what's your dissertation subject?"
Blair hesitated, as if pondering whether or not to trust her with the information. She wondered what could be so sensitive about his paper that he wouldn't discuss it.
Finally, it seemed he came to a decision. "Uh, it's based on some obscure monographs of Sir Richard Burton."
Oh, so that was why he didn't want to talk about it. He's afraid someone will connect his dissertation with his real life role of companion. "I see," she answered thoughtfully, "which monograph in particular? I have some familiarity with Burton's work."
"Sentinels," Blair answered, his voice so low, Dee almost didn't hear him. He visibly flinched as well, as if he expected her to laugh at his subject choice. Jesus, what kind of crap had this kid been given over a stupid paper?
She decided to surprise him. "You know," she said gently, "Burton was the one to come up with the term sentinel to describe the individual in primitive villages with heightened senses. Other cultures had different names for the sentinel and…." She searched her memory for Burton's term. "And guide phenomenon. The ancient Amazons called their nation's protector the Champion, and the champion's partner was the Companion. The two of them worked together to defend the village from attackers, seek out game, and give advance warning of natural disasters. They were respected and revered by the nation. The subject of your paper is nothing to be ashamed of."
Diandra suddenly realized that Blair was no longer at her side. Turning around, she saw him standing a few paces behind her, a look of amazement on his face. As quickly as he had stopped, Blair was in motion again. He caught up to her in a couple bounds, his hair flying behind him, and his hands waving, punctuating his next words. "Oh, wow! I can't believe you've heard of Sentinels. I can't believe you actually believe in them!" His expression grew intense. "Do you have any documentation of the Amazons' Champion? Could I reference it in my work? Have you come across any other incidents of the phenomenon in other cultures?"
Throwing back her head, Dee laughed at his eagerness. "Any materials I have you're welcome to use. Have you really been having such a hard time of it?"
"Oh, man," he sighed, "you don't know the half of it, Dee. You don't mind if I call you Dee, do you?" She shook her head, and he continued. "I've got lots of info and field work with actual people with heightened senses, but not much more background other than Burton's. It's really been what's holding me up."
"You've been working with a Sentinel then?" she asked, trying to get him to talk about his own experiences. She was unprepared for the look of panic that crossed his face.
"I've said too much already," he replied, his anxiety rising.
Diandra frowned. What had him so scared? Without thinking, she opened her sight for a brief moment, focusing it on finding the truth behind his jumbled emotions. What she saw was a large, snarling, growling, blue-eyed, silver wolf. He's protecting his champion, she realized, and ceased her probe. "Sorry, Lobo, I wasn't thinking. Of course you have to protect your subjects. It's okay, your secret's safe with me."
The tension radiated off of Blair for a moment more, then he relaxed. "I don't know how I know, but I feel I can trust you. Thanks for not pressuring me." They walked a few feet in silence, and then Blair said, "Lobo? Where did that come from?"
She grinned at him. "Only fair if you're going to call me Dee. I get to give you a nickname too."
"But 'wolf'? Where did you dream that up?"
If you only knew, she thought. "Just seemed appropriate. Suits your personality. Eager, affectionate, protective of the pack," she trailed off as they reached the market.
Blair held the door for her as they entered. Someone's mother taught him some manners, Dee thought. Picking up a basket, she headed for the produce, Blair trailing along behind. They had spent about twenty minutes shopping, picking over the vegetables for the freshest, and debating the merits of organically grown versus chemically treated, when a loud voice carrying clearly through the small store froze them in their tracks.
"Gimme the money and nobody gets hurt!" The female cashier gave out a frightened squeak.
Tucked around the corner of an aisle, Dee and Blair were out of the robber's line of sight for the moment. Digging into his backpack, Blair produced his cell phone and calmly dialed 911. "This is Blair Sandburg. I'm at Del Amichi market on the corner of Prospect and 53rd. There's a robbery in progress. The robber may be armed. I need some help here!" he whispered into the phone. After receiving assurances that help was on the way, he cut the connection, and peered around the end of the aisle toward the cashier.
Dee planted a firm hand on his shoulder and pulled him back under cover. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked, her voice low.
"It's okay," Blair replied, "I work with the police, and I recognize the suspect. He took one of my classes a couple years ago. Maybe I can talk him out of this." Shrugging off her grip, he crawled forward again.
Glancing up, Dee caught a glimpse in the security mirror over the front door of something Blair was unaware of. There were two thieves, and they were both armed. One was dumping the contents of the register into a bag, while the other was concealed around the edge of shelves a few aisles away from her and Blair's position. She was distracted for only a split second, but it was long enough for Blair to slip out into the front of the store. "Damn," she hissed under her breath. There was only one thing she could do for him now, and that was take out the second suspect.
Silently, she made her way back down the aisle she was in, and crept up behind her target. He never heard her coming. Her right arm snaked around his neck in a chokehold, and after a few seconds of struggle, he went down.
Dee had been keeping an ear open to what Blair had been doing, and she could hear him trying to reason with the first robber. "Hey, Danny, it's cool, man. You've got the money; nobody has to get hurt." She heard a terrified squeal from the cashier. "You don't have to hurt her, Danny. You got what you want; so go ahead and leave, man, before the cops get here."
Diandra moved toward the cashier's area, keeping the shelves between herself and the suspect's view, while keeping track of what was going on by using the security mirrors. She watched as the suspect headed for the door, gun raised in his right hand, the sack holding the money in his left. "Come on, Robbie, let's go!" he yelled. When no answer was forthcoming, the gunman took a step in his partner's direction. Blair chose that moment to grab for the gun.
Her scream of "NO!" was drowned out by the gunshot. Rounding the corner of the shelves, she witnessed Blair sliding to the floor, his shirtfront covered by a blossoming crimson flower. Scooping up a can from a display, she hurled it at the stunned thief, hearing the bones in his wrist crack as it connected with his hand, causing him to drop the gun. Two long strides closed the distance between them, and a roundhouse kick to the head sent the young punk crashing to the ground.
Dropping to her knees beside Blair, Dee quickly examined him, realizing that if she didn't do something, he would be dead in a matter of minutes. Without hesitation, she placed her hands over the wound, centering herself, then forcing her life's energy though her fingers into Blair, sending his body's own healing abilities into overdrive. In the long seconds that followed a million thoughts crashed through her mind. What if she couldn't save him? She'd never healed anyone hurt this badly before. If he died, she would be responsible…and what about his champion? She wouldn't wish that kind of torture on anyone. She would be responsible for two deaths…
A groan from Blair broke through her self-recrimination. With a start, she realized he was conscious, and could feel everything that was happening to him. Gazing into his wide, frightened eyes, she said, "You're going to be fine, Blair." His only response was a strangled moan. She could feel his tissues healing under her hands, her energy knitting the wound together.
She could also feel herself weakening, and knew she would have one hell of a headache once this was over. She apologized for hurting him. "Sorry, Lobo, I know this hurts worse than getting shot…"
"Jim…" he whispered weakly.
She realized then that "Jim" must be his sentinel. How typical that the companion's first thought was of his champion, rather than his own pain. "Shhh…. It's going to be okay, mi corazon," she reassured him.
He was out of the woods now, she knew, and she struggled to finish the job, to neatly close the last of the wound. The sound of someone crashing through the market's front door broke her concentration. Looking up, she found her eyes locking with those of a tall, dark-haired man, whose blue eyes held an agony she remembered only too well. Her last thought before she slipped into unconsciousness was "This must be Blair's champion."
****
He was drowning, Blair thought. Everything was hazy, and had a peculiar distortion to it, as if he were underwater, and viewing the world through a liquid lens. His chest burned, and against his better judgement, he inhaled, half expecting a rush of water to flood his lungs. Instead the taste of sweet air shocked him into fuller consciousness.
There was a weight of something, no, of someone, he realized, lying on top of him, as his eyes focused on the body sprawled across his own. "Dee?" His cry was barely audible to his own ears. He tried again. "Dee?" It was louder this time, but there was no response from her. Numb fingers fumbled at her throat, relief crashing through him as they found the slow steady pulse. That emergency taken care of, something else tugged at his awareness, needing his attention. The scream of a jungle cat cut through the gauzy film still surrounding his mind. "JIM!" he yelled, sitting upright, dumping Diandra's limp form to the floor.
His vision drawn upward, he saw his sentinel standing over him, eyes blank, face slack in the classic portrait of a zone out. Blair rose slowly to his feet, most of the world spinning around him. He caught at his sentinel's arm, steadying himself, and began speaking to him, falling instinctively into Guide speech. "Jim, it's okay, man. Snap out of it. I'm okay; really, Jim, I'm fine. Follow my voice, come back to me." His hand clutched at the sentinel's, his thumb rubbing over the back of it, providing a distraction. "Turn all the dials down, Jim, your senses are lying to you. I'm okay, I'm okay."
A sharp intake of breath signaled his sentinel's return. Jim blinked slowly, then focused on the anxious face of his guide. "Blair?" This couldn't be him. He was dead; there was so much blood, he could taste the sharp metallic tang even now. Arms wrapped around his waist, and he found himself yanked into a tight hug. A well-known heartbeat pounded against his chest, and Jim dropped his head, burying his face in his partner's soft curls, inhaling the familiar scent of shampoo, sweat, and…blood. "God, Blair, you were dead; I heard your heart stop…"
"No, Jim, I'm fine. I don't know how, but I'm fine." He pulled back to gaze up at the taller man. "Dee…Diandra saved me." The mention of her name reminded him that he had forgotten her in the need to help his sentinel. He whirled around, relieved to find her lying in the position he'd left her on the floor, her chest rising and falling with her deep, even breaths.
"I think she's just unconscious, Chief," Jim said, trying to reassure him. The discussion was interrupted by the arrival of the paramedics.
The technician took in the puddle of scarlet on the floor, the unconscious woman, two unconscious men, and the bloodsoaked Sandburg. "We were told there was a gunshot victim?"
"Uh…" Blair stammered.
"Little mistake in all the confusion," Ellison said, taking charge. "She needs help though. The other two are the perps?" Blair nodded. "Check them out and let the officer over there know if they can be shipped downtown." Throwing an arm around his partner's shoulders, he led him toward the door. "C'mon, Chief, let's go outside and you can explain all this to me."
Blair followed Jim through the market's doors, and across the sidewalk to the truck. He leaned against the fender, suddenly grateful for the support as a lingering wave of unsteadiness passed over him. Jim planted a hand on either side of him, and invaded his personal space. "What the hell happened in there, Sandburg?" he growled.
He swallowed nervously, knowing that Jim's anger was only in response to the scare he'd had, but feeling the butterflies in his gut just the same. "It's hard to explain, Jim…" he began.
"I'll make it easier for you. Who the hell is that woman?"
Blair took a breath. Okay, that was an easy question. "Diandra Pallas, our new next door neighbor." Seeing the scowl on Jim's face deepen, he rushed through the rest of the story. "I helped her move in this afternoon, and when I saw she didn't have anything in her fridge, I offered to show her the way to the grocery, since she was new to Cascade, and I needed to pick up a few things anyway, and you know me, Jim, a trip to the store just can't go smoothly, and so there was this guy holding up the cashier and I was afraid he was going to hurt her, so I was just talking to him, trying to calm him down when he went all crazy and I grabbed for the gun and it went off and…." He paused to take a breath, rubbing the heel of his hand over the center of his chest, the ache of the wound remembered. "And I was dying, Jim…I was dying!" His voice was suddenly all tight and squeaky, but he couldn't stop now. "I could feel the blood pouring out of me with every beat of my heart, and then I was on fire! I didn't think anything could hurt worse than getting shot, Jim, but it did. It felt like she reached inside my chest and pulled my insides out…. And then there was this incredible calm, this peace, and I was floating, and then I couldn't breathe, and I took a breath, and woke up, and you were there, in a zone out, and you know the rest, Jim." He finished his recitation, and stood there, looking up at the older man, waiting for a response.
Sighing, Jim took a step back and shook his head. "You know that doesn't make a damn bit of sense, Chief."
Blair studied the toes of his sneakers for a moment. "Yeah, I know, but that's what happened."
Jim ran a hand through his short hair and unclenched his jaw. "Well, keep that story to yourself for a while okay? Simon's never going to believe that one."
"Sure, Jim," Blair agreed, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Seeing the familiar sparkle in his partner's blue eyes overwhelmed Jim, and he pulled the smaller man into a bearhug, a hand in his hair pressing the anthropologist's head against his shoulder. He felt the other man tense, then relax against him.
"I'm sorry, Jim," Blair apologized. "I didn't mean to scare you like that…"
Jim was about to reply, when a commotion behind them caused him to release Blair and turn around. The paramedics were carrying Diandra out on a gurney, just as she began to regain consciousness. Disoriented, she tried to stand, and in the process slid halfway off the stretcher. The words coming out of her mouth were definitely curses, but not in any language Blair or Jim had ever heard. They both started in her direction when she seemed to remember how to speak English. "Goddamit, get these straps off of me! I am not going to any bloody hospital where you can pump me full of drugs!"
One of the paramedics approached her, something held in his hand. "Damn it, I'm not kidding!" she yelled, kicking out at him. "Get these things OFF OF ME!" Dee struggled to bring her hands up high enough to unfasten the strap across her chest, but she couldn't manage it. Her panicked gaze found Blair behind Jim's imposing form. "Lobo!" she cried almost plaintively, her eyes filling with tears of frustration.
Pushing past Jim, Blair ran to her side, his hands going immediately to the buckles holding her in a twisted position, half on and half off the gurney. "Relax, Dee, it's okay. I'll have you free in just a minute." The strap came loose, and she slid off the pallet into his arms. "It's okay, nobody's going to make you go anywhere you don't want to," he soothed, feeling her trembling against him. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, when her shudders showed no sign of stopping.
Using his shoulders to pull herself into a kneeling position, she nodded against his neck. "I'll be fine," she croaked, "I just
need to rest, wore myself out…doing what I did."
Blair slid his arm around her waist, his eyes widening a little as he felt something long, thin and solid under the left side of her coat. Now was not the time to ask about it, he knew. "Okay," he told her, "I'm going to help you up, and then I'm going to put you in Jim's truck and take you home." She nodded against him again, indicating she understood. Tightening his grip on her, he lifted both of them to their feet and headed toward the truck. "Jim, can you get the door, man?"
The muscles in Jim's jaw clenched again, but he did as his partner asked, opening the passenger side door, then standing out of the way as Blair helped her into the pickup. "Give me your keys, man," Blair said, holding out his hand.
Jim dropped the keys into his guide's fingers, feeling uneasiness creeping over him. He really did not want Sandburg anywhere near this woman. "It's okay, Jim. I'm just going to take her home. You finish up here, and by the time you get back to the loft, I'll have dinner ready. Okay? I'm really, really sorry about this."
