Smoke and Mirrors

by K Ryn

  Hell, my entire world's been turned upside down... why wouldn't my perspective be a little skewed?

  But the thought nagged at him, as if it were a truth of some distinct importance.

  "Sandburg?"

  Blair whirled around in his chair. Joel Taggert stood in his doorway.

  The anthropologist's throat constricted and his mouth went dry at the sight of the big man. Joel wouldn't be here unless...

  "I packed up your things from the station," the dark captain explained, hefting the cardboard box in his hands. "Thought I'd bring them by, see if you wanted to go grab something for lunch."

  Blair could only stare in numb shock at the older man, his wide-eyed gaze shifting from the worried brown eyes to the carton.

  "Hey, you all right?" Joel asked in concern, stepping into the room and letting the door swing shut behind him.

  "Uh... yeah... sure," Blair dissembled awkwardly. "I just didn't hear you come in."

  Taggert glanced around, obviously looking for a place to put the box. Blair gestured to one of the chairs.

  "Just put it there. I'll find a spot for it later."

  Joel eyed the suggested surface uncertainly. A haphazard stack of files already occupied the seat that Blair had suggested. Setting the box on the top of the pile, he backed away cautiously.

  "Thanks," Blair murmured.

  "No problem," Taggert smiled, turning to the younger man once more. "So, how about grabbing a sandwich or something? My treat."

  Blair glanced at the clock on his wall, surprised to see that it was almost 2:00 p.m. "Isn't it a little late for lunch, Joel?"

  "That's what my stomach's been telling me for the past couple of hours," Taggert grinned. "I got tied up with some new developments on a case I'm helping out on and couldn't get away until now."

  Blair was more than intrigued by the big man's casual comment, but he was also well aware of the risk of being seen with him. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Joel," he said hesitantly.

  "Come on Sandburg, even you have to eat once in a while," Taggert prodded. "Besides, I've already cleared the time."

  There was no mistaking the slight emphasis. Blair's eyes narrowed for a moment, trying to guess the reason behind Joel's arrival and invitation. His initial fears seemed unfounded. If something had happened to Jim, Taggert wouldn't have bothered coming up with a cover story for the visit. Simon had told him that morning that there had been no activity out of Jenson during the night. Had the contact that they'd been waiting for finally been made?

  Only one way to find out. "Okay... just give me a second." He grabbed the notebook and slid it into his pack along with some of his student's papers. Snagging his keys he took a quick look around the office -- based on Taggert's odd behavior, he wasn't sure he was coming back any time soon. Satisfied that he had everything he needed, he motioned for the bigger man to precede him.

  Once they were outside, Joel steered them toward the visitor's lot. "How about Zantigo's over on the east side? I hear they've got some killer burritos."

  "Ummm... sure... wherever..."

  Joel unlocked the passenger side door of his light blue four- door and the anthropologist slid inside. After fastening his seatbelt, Blair wedged his hands between his knees to still their trembling. At least a dozen half-formed questions whirled in his mind, clamoring to be asked, but he forced himself to wait until Taggert had pulled out of the parking lot before voicing the most pressing one -- he need confirmation.

  "Jim's all right, isn't he?"

  "Yeah."

  There was only a hint of hesitation in Taggert's reply. Enough to worry the already stressed Guide. Blair closed his eyes for a moment in an attempt to get a handle on his emotions. When he opened them again, he looked directly at Joel, studying the older man's profile intently.

  "What's going on Joel?" he asked softly. "Why the sudden concern for my dietary habits?"

  Taggert's eyes flickered toward him for an instant before the captain turned his gaze back to the road. Blair saw him take a deep breath and stiffened.

  "Jim's got a meeting in about an hour. At the Lariat."

  "Oh."

  Blair swallowed hard and pointedly looked away. That explained everything. The contact had been made. The Lariat was one of Archie Gordon's hangouts. Blair remembered the hole-in-the-wall country-western bar from the surveillance they'd run on the detective. It was the perfect location for a clandestine meeting. At three o'clock in the afternoon, the place would be nearly deserted.

  The fact that the bar was on the west side of town also explained Taggert's lunch invitation to a restaurant on the opposite end of Cascade. Blair felt an irrational flash of anger at the way he was being 'handled', and wondered whose idea it had been -- Simon's or Jim's.

  "Tell me that he at least took Simon along as backup," Blair murmured. A longer hesitation this time -- one that caused Blair to shake his head and answer his own question. "Of course not, what am I thinking?"

  "It's a preliminary meet, Sandburg. Both sides checking each other out."

  "Yeah, if that's the case, then why the bodyguard routine?" Blair heard the snarl in his tone and immediately regretted it. Taggert was just doing his job and at the moment that meant keeping Blair safe so that Jim could do his. Joel was also a friend -- offering a shoulder to lean on in a time of stress. "Sorry, Joel. I didn't mean..."

  Taggert responded by patting Blair's leg gently. "Don't worry about it. I know this has been tough on you. You're Jim's partner and you want to be with him, not stuck out in the cold, waiting for us to feed you little tidbits of information. But I also know how important you are to him. If anything happened to you..."

  "Couldn't," Blair interrupted. He didn't want to hear that rationalization. "Not with two captains watching over me." He managed a crooked grin, even though his heart wasn't in it. "You guys have it all covered. Just one question."

  "What's that?"

  "Is lunch coming out of your pocket or the department's? It'll have some bearing on how much food I order. Don't want to take advantage of a friend, you know, but since observers don't get paid, I wouldn't mind taking a bite out of the station's budget."

  Joel shook his head and chuckled. "I'm sure I can find a way to justify the meal on my expense report." He turned his attention back to guiding the car through the surprisingly busy rain drenched streets, leaving Blair to his own anxious thoughts.

  Despite his threat, Blair's lunch order amounted to a taco salad and an iced tea. He would have preferred the beverage hot -- with honey and lemon, and drunk in the comfort of the loft with his partner safely seated on the couch watching a Jags game. As it was, the drink was cold and weak; much like he was feeling.

  As he toyed with the salad, Joel filled him in on the sketchy details. There was little more to add beyond how and when the contact had been made. Taggert made small talk after that, asking the younger man questions about his classes and students. Blair appreciated the efforts his friend was making to distract him, but he found it hard to keep from watching the clock on the far side of the room.

  As the hands inched their way closer to three o'clock, Blair gave up all pretense of eating and simply clutched his water glass, taking small sips every few seconds. Joel kept up the one-sided conversation, shifting to an update on the status of the office basketball pool.

  Blair let Joel's soft patter fade to the background. He stared at the clock, counting the seconds as they crawled by, their agonizingly slow movement a painful counterpoint to the staccato beating of his own pulse. The smoldering embers of his earlier anger flared to life, fueled by his worry and frustration. He wanted to be with his Sentinel. That's where he belonged. Not here.

  At the stroke of three he closed his eyes. While Blair had never been inside the Lariat, Jim had ventured into the bar several times, scoping it out. From his partner's detailed descriptions, the younger man could easily envision the setting. Behind his tightly shuttered lids he could see his Sentinel opening the door to the
bar. Jim would pause for just a moment on the threshold, letting his eyes adjust to the darker interior. There would be no outward signs of the sensory sweep he'd conduct before stepping forward.

  He'll let the door swing shut behind him... If there's no sign of any of the six, he'll head to the bar... no, a table... one that would put a wall at his back and still give him an unobstructed view of the interior and both exits... He'll order a beer, something they have on tap probably... He'll keep the small talk with the waitress to a minimum, giving her no reason to hover... an attempt to keep another innocent out of the line of fire in case things go bad... He'll take a sip of the brew... a small one... pacing himself... outwardly calm, inwardly tense... a lone warrior girded for battle...

  Be vigilant, my friend, the Guide prayed silently.

  Eyes that can see for miles will flicker over each patron and employee... watching, evaluating their potential threat in a single glance... Taste and smell will work together, sampling the stagnant air for the salty tang of perspiration and the smell of fear... Touch will come into play as well, his skin tingling in warning with any perceived evidence of tension or change in his surroundings... He'll glance at the clock above the bar, reading 3:07 now, the sound of its ticking as loud as the footsteps on the pavement outside, as distinctive as the metallic scream of hinges turning on themselves as the front door opens...

  For an instant Blair was there, seeing through Jim's eyes as a figure shaped itself in the doorway. A silent malevolence, silhouetted against the rectangle of gray outside light, features lost in shadow until a lighter flared, the summoned flame burning away the darkness...

  Erupting into a wall of fire.

  It filled Blair's mind. All consuming, roaring a scream of death, the flames blotted out everything. He couldn't hear Joel's anxious whispers; didn't feel the big man's hands lock around his arms. He had no knowledge of being dragged to the restroom; no sense that he was the object of curious concern from startled restaurant patrons. There was nothing except the fire and the suffocating heat that stole the air from his lungs.

  A splash of cold water in his face doused the vision. Harsh reality returned, sentinel-sharp. The grouted crevices in the cold tile bit like icy shards into his knees. Glittering shafts of fluorescent brilliance reflected by the mirrors were like daggers in his eyes. A throbbing resonance surrounded him, its pulses goose-pimpling his skin.

  He wanted to ignore it all -- just curl up in a ball and shut out all the stimuli. But the vibration pounded against him, finally resolving itself into an urgent, demanding voice.

  "Sandburg, look at me!"

  The Guide and Observer recognized that commanding tone, even though the voice was not the one he longed to hear. Blair blinked -- once, twice, three times -- and Joel's anxious face came into focus.

  "That's better." There was no mistaking the relief in the big man's tone. "God, Blair, you just added ten years to my life!"

  "Sssorry..." The response was hoarse and slurred, but audible.

  "Are you all right? Can you stand or do you want to stay where you are for a little longer?"

  "Stand, I think..."

  Blair reached for the edge of the sink that hovered like a white beacon at the edge of his peripheral vision. Taggert's huge hand tightened around his arm, gently supporting his efforts to drag himself to his feet. Blair was thankful that grasp didn't falter once he was upright.

  "Thanks," he murmured when the world had stopped lurching and the nauseating roll of his stomach had quieted. "What happened?"

  "You tell me. You mumbled something about fire and then nearly did a nose-dive into your lunch."

  Fire... the vision... Jim... the bar... Man, what happened?... It was so real...

  "What time is it?" he asked urgently. Joel glanced at his watch. "3:30."

  Blair did a mental double take. He'd lost 23 minutes -- or was it 30? Confused, he lifted his head. The pale, haggard reflection of a stranger stared back at him. He shuddered and grabbed the sink again for balance.

  "That does it. I'm taking you to the hospital," Joel muttered grimly.

  "No," Blair objected immediately. That was the absolute last place he needed to be. He was certain that the doctors would take one look at him and pull out the strongest sedatives that they had at their disposal -- if not the nearest straight-jacket. That did not fit in with his plans.

  "Blair..."

  "I'll be fine... Just give me a second."

  "Trust me, Sandburg. I've seen fine and you by no means fit that description," Taggert retorted.

  "Give me a break, Joel. I'm just a little wiped."

  Joel snorted in disgust. "A little? You're a mess, kid."

  "You know, I'm getting pretty tired of people thinking I can't take care of myself," Blair objected heatedly. A fresh surge of anger gave him the strength to shake off Taggert's grip. He turned and glared at the bigger man. "This may come as a surprise, but I've been self-sufficient for a long time. Hell, I was only sixteen when I met my first tribal chieftain and I managed to come out of that encounter with my skin intact. So just back off. I already have a mother, and it's been a long time since I've needed a baby-sitter."

  "You're right. You don't need a baby-sitter. You need a keeper," Taggert responded just as forcefully. "I've seen you worn to the bone before, but this is different. Something's wrong and it's more than just stress. You're not acting like yourself, Blair."

  "Hopefully not."

  Joel rolled his eyes. "I swear, Sandburg, I don't know how Ellison does it. If you were my partner..."

  "But I'm not. I'm Jim's, which is the whole problem here." Blair drew a deep breath and forced his anger down, deep inside. "No hospital. No doctors, Joel. And no telling Simon about this... episode." His gaze turned from firm to beseeching at Taggert's stubborn expression. "You can't, Joel. Even if Simon doesn't say anything to Jim, he'll know that something's going on. My partner's got a great sixth sense when it comes to me and trouble. He'll do something stupid like coming to the motel again -- and this time Jenson or one of his goons will be right on his heels. It'll get him killed."

  He saw Taggert's eyes narrow in acknowledgment of the truth and pressed his advantage. "You know I'm right, Joel. This needs to stay between the two of us. Please."

  Taggert frowned and Blair held his breath. "All right," the big man finally agreed. "But if you want my silence, you're going to have to agree to a few rules."

  "Jeez, what is it with you cops and rules?" Blair sputtered. He held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. Lay 'em on me."

  "The first one is that you're going to start eating regular meals again. Sleeping more than two hours at a time is number two -- and don't think you're going to con me. I know exactly how much sleep you got last night. I was listening."

  "Fine. Done. Can we go now? I'd like to get some fresh air." Blair tried to brush past the older man, but a firm hand on his arm halted him in his tracks.

  "Rule number three, Blair," Joel murmured, his intense dark gaze holding the younger man just as resolutely as his grip. "You have another one of these... episodes and you're going straight to the hospital."

  "You're making too much out of this, Joel..."

  "Do we have a deal or not?"

  Taggert's expression and tone was as intractable as Jim's in the same mood. Blair nodded his less than enthusiastic agreement to the conditions and Joel released his arm. They headed back out to their table. Blair glanced at the clock as he gathered up his belongings and Joel paid their bill. It was quarter to four. The meet could still be going on, or it could be long over. Was his Sentinel all right?

  He followed Taggert out to the car. Once he was belted in, Blair rested his head on the back of the seat. He let his eyes follow the hypnotic swish-pause-swish of the wipers. The rain had slowed to a gentle downpour, but the clouds were still dark and swollen, a good indication that the storm would worsen again. He let his thoughts range free, too tired to try to control them.

  The idea that he'd so
mehow tapped into Jim's reality had startled him at first, but once he'd gotten past the initial shock, it was actually very easy to accept. Burton's writings and his own experiences suggested that Sentinels and Guides shared a special bond -- one that could easily kick in unexpectedly, especially in the face of danger. And, after all, it was no stranger than his partner seeing a black panther in the middle of downtown Cascade.

  I was there somehow. What I saw was happening... did happen...

  The experience had been weird and it had obviously taken a toll, but what Blair found much more worrisome was not knowing what had happened after the firewall vision had broken their connection.

  The man at the door... he was the one Jim went there to meet... Who was it? Probably not Jenson... he's too smart to show himself until he's certain that Jim's interested in the proposition... Gordon, most likely... it's his hangout, and since he's from Central, he'd be at least a vaguely familiar face...

  Blair let his gaze drift to the clock on the dash.

  3:57... nearly an hour since Jim arrived at the Lariat, fifty minutes since Gordon walked in, assuming that the clock over the bar was correct... What happened? Was the contact made, or was it just a test to see if Jim would show? Had things gone down as planned? Did Gordon buy the cover story? Is Jim 'in'?

  The glowing green numbers on the clock changed. Fifty-one minutes. It felt like years.

  Come on, Jim... call Simon... let us know you're all right...

  The rhythm of the wipers claimed his attention again. Swish. Pause. Swish. Wait.

  God, I hate this. Waiting. Not knowing. What I'd give for Jim's patience level right now... He's always so cool... always in control when it comes to this covert shit... They all are. Joel's sitting there like we're out for a Sunday drive. Simon's probably just as relaxed. I can picture him, leaning back in his chair smoking one of those awful cigars... Me? I'm ready to climb out of my skin...