Who Shall Guard the Guardian Themselves

by K Ryn

  "Your anal house rules? Yeah, lets talk about those..."

  Jim gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching in anger. Whoever picked this landing site was going to get a piece of his mind once Blair was safe on the ground. It didn't bode well for the success of their efforts if the organizational skills of the men in charge were this poor. There had been other sites, not too far away, where the helicopter could have landed. Jim had done a quick surveillance of the area as he'd made his own descent, automatically scanning the terrain, using the higher vantage point to pick out landmarks so that he'd be able to pinpoint their location later. They were far from the entrance of the park, at least a dozen miles northwest, if he remembered the area correctly. The sudden shift in plans irritated him, although not nearly as much as the unnecessary risk to his partner did.

  He realized that his thoughts had drifted and he focused his attention on Blair again. The younger man was nearly in reach. Only fifteen feet to go, and his Guide would be out of danger.

  The sudden, faltering whine of the engines was all the warning he had before the aircraft dipped and swung to the right. The nylon cord burned across his hands as the ladder was wrenched from his grip. Jim lunged forward trying to regain control of the swinging lifeline, but he overextended, and landed on his knees. He could only watch in horror as Blair lost his grip. The anthropologist swung one-handed for an agonizing moment before losing even that tentative hold. As he plummeted downward, the Sentinel scrambled to his feet, knowing there was no way he was going to reach his Guide before he hit the rocky ground.

  Blair knew he was going to fall the second he felt the rope slip in his hands. He gulped for air and had a flash of deja vu -- he'd done this falling thing before and he'd wound up breaking his arm. Gonna break more than that if you don't do something, Sandburg. Another childhood memory kicked in and instinctively he pulled in his flailing limbs, tucking himself into a ball. He hit the ground hard, but rolling, his arms wrapped over his head.

  He felt firm hands on his shoulders, heard Jim calling his name, but he was too committed to the basic activity of filling his lungs to answer right away. The hands shifted him gently to his side and almost immediately his breathing eased.

  "Am I there yet?" he managed to whisper.

  "Hell of an entrance, Sandburg. I think you lost points for style on the take-off though."

  Blair heard the relief in Jim's voice, and ignored the teasing jibe. "I think... I did that... out of order..."

  "What's that, Chief?" Ellison asked soothingly, his hands still running over his partner's smaller frame, searching for injuries.

  "Supposed to be stop first..."

  "Sandburg, what are you talking about?"

  "Stop, drop and roll..."

  "That's what you do in case your clothing is on fire, Chief," Jim answered, fighting back a smile. It never ceased to amaze him how Blair could find an instinctive answer or action to fit almost any situation.

  "Seemed appropriate at the time."

  "Yeah, it was. You going to open your eyes now?"

  "Just as soon as the ground stops moving."

  "It'll be better if you open your eyes, Chief."

  "Easy for you to say."

  "Just do it, Sandburg," Jim growled.

  Blair caught the undercurrent of worry in his partner's exasperated comment and followed his Sentinel's orders. His eyes flickered open and he found himself blinded by a curtain of his own hair. He started to raise his hand to brush the strands away, but a firm hand on his arm stopped the movement.

  "Don't ."

  Blair obeyed that one word command and lay motionless. Gently, Jim brushed the hair away from his face and tilted Blair's head slightly. Gazing up into his partner's eyes, Blair could almost feel the invisible touch of Jim's extended senses as the Sentinel anxiously checked him out.

  "I'm okay, Jim." The barely whispered comment didn't alter the intense look on concentration on the older man's face. Abruptly aware of movement behind his partner, Blair hissed in warning. "Don't zone, man. We've got company."

  "My God, is he all right?"

  Blair ignored the new arrival, still focusing on Jim's dilated eyes. He saw his partner shake himself free of the zone-out and he breathed a quick sigh of relief -- relief which turned to concern as the detective's face darkened with anger when he became aware of the other man's presence. Sensing Jim's protective instincts surging to the attack, Blair reached out and snagged his fingers in the Sentinel's jacket.

  "Jim..."

  The warning tone in his voice halted the building rage. Blair watched Jim struggle for control and cringed at the cold anger in the sky blue eyes, even though he knew it wasn't directed at him.

  "Just lay still for a few more minutes," Ellison cautioned.

  "No problem."

  Still kneeling at Blair's side, Jim shifted positions slightly, turning his icy gaze on the man who stood next to them.

  "He is all right, isn't he?" the newcomer asked.

  Blair allowed himself a quick glance at the man before fixing his attention back on Jim. The man's tone was filled with concern, but Blair felt a shudder ripple through him, a fleeting sense of terror flashing behind his eyes.

  "Are you the one responsible for picking this drop site?" Jim snarled the question through clenched teeth. Blair tightened his grip on his partner's jacket, fearful that the Sentinel was going to tear off the man's head if he didn't derail this immediately.

  "Yes, I'm..."

  "Hey, Jim. Give me a hand here," Blair interrupted, struggling to sit up. Sometimes Jim's 'mother-hen' mode could sometimes override the 'Blessed Protector' instincts. He hoped this was one of those moments.

  "Damn it, Sandburg, I told you to stay put!" Jim's attention immediately swung back to him, just as Blair had hoped.

  "I want to sit up, man," Blair assured him, his own hold shifting to grip the older man's arm and give him a reassuring squeeze. "I'm okay, Jim," he said softly, holding his partner's gaze until the Sentinel nodded.

  "Are you Agent Anders?" Blair directed his words and his attention to the waiting man, who nodded and stretched out a hand, offering to help him up.

  Ellison reacted then, not brushing Anders offer aside physically, but edging between the Agent and his Guide. Realizing that the Sentinel's need to protect him was still operating, Blair allowed Jim to pull him to his feet . Following his own instincts, he shifted into position slightly behind the older man, only then letting his gaze return to Anders' face. A warning shudder rippled through him and he forced himself to clamp down on his reaction.

  Don't go there, man! This is NOT the time or the place.

  Struggling to deal with the revulsion he felt crawling over his skin, Blair took one step closer to Jim, finding relief in the protective aura which was emanating from his partner.

  With Blair in his familiar place at his back, Jim's attention focused on the FBI agent.

  "I'm Ellison," he said tersely. "This is my partner, Blair Sandburg."

  "Frank Anders," the agent said quietly, hesitantly extending his hand and then withdrawing it when he saw the set of Jim's face. "I apologize for this. The cross-winds up here are trickier than we thought." Anders shifted his gaze to Blair and he shook his head in admiration. "You must have a lot of experience in high level descents."

  Jim sensed the shudder that ran through his young partner and his jaw tightened even further. "Why the change in plans?" he asked roughly.

  "We've made some progress tracking the bus since you left Cascade," Anders answered, meeting Jim's gaze again. "The last sign of a trail that we found is just a mile or so down below us. We're only going to have six or seven hours before we lose our daylight. Given the need to resolve this quickly, I thought we'd be better off picking you up here."

  Reminded of the reason they were present, Jim relaxed slightly at the agent's explanation, the part of his mind which wasn't still seething at the danger that his Guide had faced accepting the rationale behind the decision. He pushed aw
ay the flash of anger and studied the man closely.

  Anders was nearly his height and build, but slightly older. Jim guessed late 40's. Definitely some military background, Jim judged, noting the ramrod straight posture. Salt and pepper closely cropped hair topped a face which had seen its own share of traumatic experiences. There was a long-healed scar trailing down the man's left cheekbone, and a spider-web pattern of discoloration around the right eye which Jim suspected was the result of some kind of powder burn. Again, long-healed.

  The man's eyes caught his attention and he found himself automatically dialing up his senses. He'd had the feeling there was something shuttered behind that pale gray stare. After a moment's monitoring, he let himself slip back into normal range, having found nothing to explain the uneasy feeling which had flared in the pit of his stomach. He felt Blair shift behind him and decided he was simply picking up on his partner's odd behavior.

  Or maybe you're just at the edge of your limits, Ellison. You know your senses tend to be less trustworthy when you're tired. Just get the job done, so you can both go home.

  As if guessing that he'd just passed some kind of test, Anders extended his hand again. "I understand from your captain that you're coming off a pretty ugly case. We really appreciate your joining us."

  Jim finally took the outstretched hand and shook it, nodding his acknowledgment, noting that his partner made no move to do the same. The absence of the gesture was apparently lost on Anders who pointed toward one of the supply vehicles.

  "Make your choices from the gear in the truck and we'll head out. You can ride with me and I'll fill you in. Oh, and sorry again, for the rough entrance." Anders shot Blair an apologetic smile and moved off to join several of his men at one of the jeeps.

  "Let's go, Chief." Jim touched Blair on the arm and started toward the vehicle the agent had indicated.

  "He's lying. It wasn't an accident..."

  Jim spun around at his partner's angry whisper. One look at Blair's bloodless face and he was back at the younger man's side. "Sandburg..." The younger man didn't respond, his gaze still fixed on Anders. Jim shook him gently. "Blair... look at me."

  Eyes filled with rage swiveled in his direction. When they locked with Jim's, the violent emotion suddenly dissipated, replaced with a dazed expression of confusion and fright -- the same look which had filled them earlier that morning in Simon's office, and on the roof before the helicopter had landed.

  "Blair?"

  The familiar blue eyes blinked and refocused. "What? Did you say something?"

  "No, you did," Jim countered.

  Blair ran his hand through his hair and shook his head, giving Jim one of his disarming, wry smiles. "Oh. Sorry. Guess I was just kind of stunned there for a minute. I'm not used to being treated so nicely by the FBI. They're usually ready to kick my ass OUT of the party, not invite me to it and apologize when I trip on the welcome mat."

  Jim studied his young friend suspiciously. The smile was still plastered on his face, and his color was improving, but Sentinel senses revealed a different picture. His partner might be a master at misdirection where other people were concerned, but he never fooled Jim. Blair's heart was pounding, his respiration was fast and he was starting to squirm under the intense scrutiny. There was definitely something wrong -- and for some reason it felt dangerous.

  "What the hell's going on?" Ellison hissed, tightening his grip.

  Blair ducked his head and tried to pull away, but Jim wasn't about to let him go.

  "Answer me, Sandburg, and don't forget that I can hear it when you try to bend the truth."

  "Jim --"

  "This is the third attack of some kind you've had today. Now, either you tell me what's going on, or I'm packing you out of here."

  "No, Jim. You can't. I have to stay with you!" Blair gasped. He grabbed onto the Sentinel and stared up into his face, stark fear filling the wide blue eyes.

  "Then tell me what's going on," Jim said soothingly, all traces of anger gone from his tone.

  "I don't... I can't..." Blair shook his head and shuddered.

  "Tell me." Jim pitched his voice even softer, betraying none of the anxiety he was feeling.

  He felt Blair stiffen abruptly and realized that the younger man was once again staring at Anders. There was a sharp intake of breath and he almost missed Blair's whispered comment.

  "Not here. Not with them watching."

  Blair's eyes flickered up to meet his. There was a desperate plea in them which Jim couldn't refuse.

  "As soon as we're alone, then," the detective agreed, finally releasing his hold on the younger man.

  Blair nodded and started walking toward the truck. Trailing in his wake, Jim began to doubt his decision. It was obvious that Sandburg was in no shape for this. His partner was normally the last person who would make a spot judgment about someone. Why had he reacted to the FBI agent that way? Jim stopped and glanced over his shoulder at Anders, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. As if aware of the Sentinel's scrutiny, the agent raised his head. Their gazes locked for a brief moment and Jim found himself tensing, as though he were preparing for an assault. The odd spell was broken as Anders nodded and looked away.

  Sandburg's anxiety attacks must be contagious, Ellison told himself uneasily. You're on the same side, remember? Don't go jumping at shadows. You're tired and you're worried about your partner. Rubbing his neck in puzzled contemplation, Jim hurried to catch up with Blair.

  When the ex-ranger saw the assortment of gear and provisions, he gave a mental nod of approval, losing some of his initial reservations about the operation. They may not be able to choose a decent landing site, but whoever outfitted them knows his stuff. Grabbing an empty backpack, he began filling it with his selections, glancing at Blair occasionally as he monitored the younger man's choices.

  The anthropologist had declined the use of one of the FBI's packs, opting to hang onto his own, slightly smaller one. Well at least that aspect of his behavior is normal, Jim mused.

  It was almost impossible to imagine Sandburg without his backpack. It was more than just a convenient carryall -- it was like a detachable part of his anatomy. Early in their association, Jim had razzed him about it, referring to the bag as Blair's substitute American Express card. After one such comment, the anthropologist had given him a wary, searching look and then shrugged his shoulders, responding, "Just trying to be prepared, Ellison. Ford Prefect favors a towel, I prefer a backpack."

  The suspicion that there was something important hiding beneath the surface of that cryptic comment had stuck with Jim for days. Ultimately, it had nagged at him so much that he'd put on his detective cap and started digging. One call to the reference desk at the public library had uncovered the literary source of his partner's strange remark. He'd waited until Blair had left for a night class that evening, and then, feeling somewhat guilty for intruding into the younger man's privacy, he'd dug through the still unpacked cartons of books in the anthropologist's room, unearthing an obviously well read, dog-eared copy of 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.'

  Several hours later, he'd returned the book to its box, troubled by the insights which he'd gained. It had been strange, relying on a 'Guidebook' to help him better understand his own Guide, but it had helped. Even the writing style had reminded him of his friend: seemingly disjointed ramblings on the surface, flashes of brilliance and gentle humor underneath.

  Jim had found the reference to Ford Prefect and the towel within the first thirty pages, but he'd continued to read, amazed at the parallels between the fictional character and the young grad student. Armed with his towel, Ford Prefect, hitchhiker on the highways of the galaxy, was ready to move on at a moment's notice; backpack on his shoulder, Blair Sandburg, self-confessed wanderer with itchy feet, was apparently prepared to do the same on this planet.

  That revelation had set in motion a night of intense, personal scrutiny on Jim's part. It had been the first time he'd admitted to himself just how closely the anthropologi
st had wormed his way inside his carefully constructed walls. He'd realized then, that if he wanted their friendship and partnership to continue, he was going to have to work at it and give the younger man a reason to stay. The jokes about the backpack had dropped off significantly after that.

  The canvas bag had taken on a whole new meaning after they'd returned from Peru. Stuffed to overflowing with his student's term papers, his own research textbooks and Jim's case files, it had come to represent Blair's ability to shift into any of the roles of his multi-layered life -- grad student, teacher, Observer, Guide and friend -- at the blink of an eye. It still symbolized Blair's readiness to take off at a moment's notice, but Jim no longer worried about watching for flying saucers.

  With the fleeting thought that hitching a ride on a UFO might be less dangerous than the descent his partner had just made, Jim returned to the task at hand. Recognizing that both of their energy reserves were down, he paid special attention to packing a quantity of high-protein ration kits and trail bars. He tossed several packages of dried jerky over to Blair, who packed them into his own bag without comment. Ellison raised an eyebrow at that and gave his partner a hard look. Any other time, Sandburg would have launched into at least a ten minute lecture about the questionable origin of the processed meat.

  The younger man was still silent and withdrawn, although his heartbeat and respiration had returned to normal. Promising himself that he was going to find a way to get the two of them off alone soon, so that Blair would make good on his explanation, Jim closed up his own pack and slung it to his shoulder.

  "You ready?"

  Blair nodded, still not meeting his eyes. Ellison started to turn toward the jeep that Anders was occupying. A tug at his jacket sleeve stopped him.