Mistake

by Kristine Williams

  "That's why you need me to watch your back."

  Jim's head spun around, sure that time he'd find Blair standing right behind him. Again he was alone in the living room, Blair still asleep in his own room. Jim set his beer down, then ran a hand over his short hair. There was a thought tugging at the back of his mind, but he wasn't sure he wanted to grasp it. Probably Raymond. The thought of Raymond, cowering in the corner like that, letting everyone assume Blair was him. Jim wanted to beat the crap out of the younger man, let him see and feel what Blair had felt. Let him experience the gut-wrenching terror that Jim had felt, knowing what was about to happen, and being helpless to stop it.

  "It's about control, Jim."

  That was it! Jim stood and walked to Blair's room, opening the door slowly even though he was certain he'd find Blair standing there, talking to him. His partner greeted him with a gentle snore. Jim stood for a long while, staring down at Blair's sleeping form. The bruise around his eye was nearly gone, and he was sleeping through the day without the pain waking him. As he stood there, Jim felt oddly detached. It was as if the world had been locked outside, Raymond included, and he was being compelled to look inside. But inside where, and for what, he didn't understand.

  Satisfied his partner was asleep, he shut the door and returned to the living room. His stomach growled and he only then realized it was 8:30. Two hours! Two hours had passed, and he'd done nothing but sit there thinking. How could that much time have gone by? His stomach growled again and he took it to the kitchen. Keeping his mind on fixing dinner would help pass the time, and there would be no more hearing voices, surely. It would have to be something slightly complicated, he knew, to keep his thoughts from straying. Stir fry. Not terribly complicated, but it would occupy his thoughts and his hands.

  An hour later Jim sat down at the table, wondering if Blair should be waking up. He seemed to be sleeping soundly, and bed rest was exactly what he needed. But right now, Jim felt he needed to talk. He picked up the phone as he began to twirl the chopsticks with his other hand, but his finger stopped over the keypad, not sure what number to dial. He could call Simon, but he had already stated his position on the matter. Pushing the issue wouldn't get him anywhere. He could call Beverly Sanchez, she was always a good listener. Jim started to punch in her number, then stopped. He had no idea what he wanted her to listen to. Frustrated, he set the phone down and concentrated on eating. When he finished, he cleaned the kitchen to within an inch of its life, then checked in on Blair again. As he watched, Blair sighed and turned his head, settling back into a deep sleep.

  Jim backed out of the room and left the door open again, returning to the couch. He clicked on the television, adjusted the volume, then began to flip through the channels. His mind wasn't on anything in particular, and after two runs through the entire cable list, he settled on a documentary about the history of flight. Jim tossed the remote to the other side of the couch, got comfortable against the cushions, and watched the program with half-closed eyes.

  It was hot, hotter than it should be, and Jim was beginning to sweat. He reached up to remove his sweater, only to find he wasn't wearing one. Groggily, Jim opened his eyes and wiped the sweat from his forehead. How did it get so hot in the evening? A sound behind him forced both eyes open wide as Jim became instantly alert. He wasn't sitting on the couch anymore. He wasn't even in the loft anymore. Surrounding him on all sides, was a jungle of cement and wires. It was some kind of warehouse, with wires hanging from gaping holes in the ceiling, many of them shooting off blue sparks into the darkness that enveloped him.

  Oh God. "Sandburg!" Where was he? It was night, and sparks flying from the wires lit up the room with an eery, flashing blue. Jim reached out with his senses, and found nothing. Nothing! He couldn't pick up any more sounds than the ones directly near him. Jim's heart began to beat faster, and the sweat was building on his upper lip. "Sandburg!" Okay, calm down. Switch to sight. That's it, use your eyes. Jim changed focus, peering through the heavy cables and cement pillars. Nothing! He heard a low growl and spun around, seeing nothing. Oh God, not again. He was alone, and his senses were out of control. How could this be? He had taken that step, made the commitment. Why had his senses left him again? And where was Blair? Jim's heartrate was rapid, his breathing quick. He had to calm down! Just calm down and concentrate. The spitting sound of wild electricity was getting louder, but not due to his Sentinel senses. He couldn't even focus on one of them.

  "Blair!" That's it, he had to go looking for his partner, and he'd have to do it the old-fashioned way. Jim glanced around, trying to judge where he was, where Blair might be. There was nothing but darkness in every direction. Cement pillars, huge dangling cables, loose wires spitting blue fire. Dammit, Sandburg, where the hell are you? Jim picked a direction and started to push through the cables. Blair couldn't be far. He'd have to circle around, make his search in a grid pattern, figure out what kind of building this was, and rely on his old army training if his senses weren't going to help. He'd find him.

  Jim sat up with a start, instantly awake.

  "Jim! You okay?"

  He spun around, seeing Blair standing next to the couch, one arm wrapped around his side.

  "What are you doing out here?"

  A dream? He was on the couch, the sun streaming in from the windows. The television was still on, displaying the morning news. "I must have fallen asleep out here." God, he wassweating. The faint sounds of a toilet ending its flush filled Jim's ears, and he realized his sense of hearing was back to its ultra-sensitive level. "What are you doing up?"

  Blair rubbed his face, then let his left hand run through his hair, keeping his right arm close to his injured side. "I had to go to the bathroom. Besides, I've been asleep since yesterday."

  Jim cleared his throat, trying to recover the rest of his composure after that dream. He felt as though he hadn't been to sleep yet. "The doctor gave you something. Sleep is what you needed." He got off the couch slowly and stretched tired muscles, then found the remote control and one of his socks stuffed behind the cushions. Flipping off the television he pulled off the other sock. "How are you feeling now?"

  Blair nodded, looking tired still. "Better. I'm just tired of lying down, you know?"

  "Well, Chief, until you can stand up without looking so pale, I think you'd better get used to it." He took Blair by the shoulder and turned him around gently.

  "I'm fine, Jim. Just let me sit down." Blair resisted the hand urging him back to his room. "As long as I'm moving slowly, I'm okay."

  Jim paused, looking at Blair. The blueness of his partner's eyes caught his, and for one instant, he saw the pupils change shape, then quickly return to their normal roundness.

  "Jim, what's wrong?"

  Jim shook himself slightly, then shook his head to cover the action. "Nothing. You hungry?" He pulled out a chair and helped Blair ease himself down.

  "Yeah, a little."

  "Good. Let me grab a quick shower and I'll fix breakfast." Jim waited there until Blair nodded, then he walked upstairs to his room for some clean clothes. His heart was still beating quickly, and he scanned the room for any sign of the panther. Something was tickling the back of his mind, and he fully expected to see the jungle cat there, waiting for him. The room was empty. He went back downstairs with clean shorts and hurried into the bathroom.

  "Jim, what's happening with the case?" Blair called from the dining room.

  "Not much. Agent Mills has taken over, so it's out of our hands." Jim kept the bathroom door half open so he could reply, then turned on the water and began to brush his teeth.

  "That doesn't sound like you, Jim."

  Jim came out of the bathroom, towel in hand. "Why do you say that?"

  "There's something not right about this one, Jim. It's just not like you to stop before it's over."

  If it wasn't for his partner's slightly stooped posture, and the lingering bruise on his face, Jim would have sworn Blair was his usual chipper self. "That's somet
hing for the FBI to work out, Chief. As far as you and I are concerned, it is over. " Jim returned to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

  Part 8

  * * *

  Blair sat there, listening to the shower. He felt better than he'd expected, and as long as he sat still, or moved slowly, he seemed to be okay. Of course, the pain medication was helping some, but as long as it didn't put him to sleep anymore, he didn't mind taking it. What he didn't like, was the look he'd just seen in Jim's eyes. There was something there, something he hadn't seen in some time, but to define it was impossible. It was just the case, he was sure. Being blindsided like that, and taken captive, wasn't something Jim Ellison took lightly. He'd probably been involved in the case all the while Blair was in the hospital. Agent Mills didn't seem to be the type to block Jim out completely.

  And then there was that man. The one Jim had been beating. Killing. God, the thought sent a strange feeling through his gut. Blair was so confused by his own reactions to the memory, he didn't hear the shower turn off, or Jim getting dressed. By the time Jim passed him on his way upstairs, Blair was totally absorbed in the memory. When he came back downstairs and began to make breakfast, Blair's mind was as confused as ever.

  "Where have you been?"

  Blair looked up, startled to realize Jim was halfway through making breakfast. "Um, just thinking." He hardly knew where to start. Or even if he should.

  "I know what you mean." Jim flipped on the coffee pot. "There's something we need to discuss, Chief."

  You were going to kill that guy. Come on, say it! "What's that, Jim?"

  "I think it's time we put an end to this observer work. It's gotten way out of control."

  Blair froze, staring at Jim, who continued to crack eggs into the pan. The fear and uncertainty he'd been feeling about Jim's beating that man suddenly intensified into something that scared him even more. "What are you talking about, Jim?"

  "You were never supposed to get hurt doing this. It's research, remember?" Jim finished with the eggs and brought the pan and two plates out to the table, then went back for the coffee.

  Blair reached out for a plate and realized his hands were shaking. He managed to clutch the plate before Jim returned. "Listen, Jim..."

  "No, you listen." Jim set two cups of coffee down and sat, looking Blair in the eyes. "You were suppose to help me with these Sentinel senses, not get yourself shot at, beaten, and everything else that's happened since you started working with me. That's it. It's over."

  The finality in Jim's voice was like a knife through Blair's stomach. "No, no way, Jim. You're not dumping me this easily." The shaking in his voice was audible even to Blair.

  "Sandburg, I'm not dumping you," Jim replied, holding his gaze. "You'll stay here, and work with me on these senses. But no more cop work. It's too dangerous, and not what you signed up for."

  "No, Jim." God, it was his nightmare come to life! All this time, Jim convincing him this would never happen, and here it was, happening. "I have to be with you, I can't just phone it in or something."

  "Well, it's just too dangerous, Chief. End of discussion." Jim proceeded to eat his breakfast.

  "No, it's not the end, Jim. Come on, man, you need me!" His desperate plea was hampered by his inability to take deep breaths, and he realized his sudden wincing from the stabbing pain in his side wasn't helping his case much.

  "That's right, Chief. I need you. But I need you alive." Jim sighed, then set his fork down. "This isn't about you, Blair. You're not a cop, and being put in these situations constantly, well, it's bound to catch up. And if and when that happens..." Jim faltered for a moment. "Well, I can't let that happen."

  Oh God...Okay, just take it slow. "Jim, things happen. You were there, and it all worked out, just like it always does. It's no more dangerous for you than me."

  "Seeing you in that hospital, being hurt like that...it really sucked." Jim clenched his jaw, then continued. "Besides, it's my job, Sandburg, not yours."

  "No, Jim, it IS my job. I'm your Guide." Blair could feel the desperation welling up, but he had to maintain control, or Jim would never be persuaded.

  "Being a Guide isn't a job, Chief, it's..." Jim faltered again and seemed to be looking at something behind Blair.

  "It's not a job in the conventional sense, no." Blair ignored the far-off look that flashed across Jim's eyes and took the opening. "But there's nothing conventional about being a Sentinel either."

  "Listen, I'm too tired to have this discussion. Sleeping on the couch wasn't my plan." Jim picked up his empty plate and returned it to the kitchen.

  Blair sighed, somewhat relieved to hear him call it a discussion. So, maybe it wasn't a new commandment, and there was still time? Maybe if he just let Jim calm down, get past this case, they'd all just go back to life as usual, no hard feelings. After all, when Simon and Daryl were missing in Peru, Jim and he had gone through something similar. That had worked itself out. Maybe so would this. But then, why was his heart skipping so badly?

  "You should get some rest, Chief." Jim returned from the kitchen and placed a hand on Blair's shoulder.

  "Yeah." Blair nodded. He didn't want to say anything that might bring Jim to a final conclusion, not until he was more in shape for a fight. Jim had to see reason, but he was too tired to go up against the mountain that he'd have to face in order to convince his partner that he needed to re-think his logic. One thing Blair had learned, finally, was that you had to have proof and a good argument when you came to Jim Ellison about anything. And right now, he was too tired and too scared to come up with anything Jim might be apt to listen to. He stood slowly, grateful for Jim's supporting hand, then made his way back to the bedroom.

  Jim kept a hand on his arm the entire way, and Blair let him help ease his sore body back down to the bed. If it was true, if by some freak of terror Jim was going to keep him from working with him again, he'd have to find a way to cling to whatever part of Ellison the man was left for him. He couldn't lose his Sentinel, not after going through all of this to get him, but he couldn't live without his friend, either.

  "You gonna be okay for a while? I'd like to take a nap."

  "Yeah, I'm fine, Jim." Blair eased his legs onto the bed. He was feeling tired all over, and thought maybe some sleep would clear his head of all these emotions hammering down on him.

  "Did you take all your pills?"

  Blair laughed slightly. "Yes, Jim."

  "Okay. I'm gonna get some sleep upstairs this time. That couch wasn't terribly restful." Jim turned and walked out of the room, stopping just outside the door. "Listen, if you need anything, don't raise your voice. I can hear you fine."

  Blair nodded, settling in against the pillows. "Thanks, Jim." He watched as Jim left, then listened to him walk up the stairs to the room right above his own. God, this wasn't going well. He just had to cling to Jim's last statement. It was still a discussion. It wasn't over, and there was still time to come up with something to convince Jim he was over-reacting. And that's all it was. Blair was sure of that. He had to be. Just overly upset at what had happened. That's all. He'd been so enraged at the time, he was killing that guy! That's all it was. He'd calm down in a few days or so, and it would all be okay.

  But then, why wasn't he calming down? Blair's heart was still racing a little, and he didn't think it was due entirely to the drugs. The fluttering feeling in his stomach was still there, and kept wanting to climb up his throat. He reached a hand up and ran it through his hair, stopping himself short of exclaiming his frustration out loud. Jim would just hear him, and that might start the argument all over again. No, he needed time. Maybe if he just ignored this morning, let it all fade away with the bruises. Yes, that was probably it. Jim seeing Blair still bruised and sore was just reminding him of that entire episode. Of course! He was killing that guy. That was it. Jim had lost control, and was killing that guy, and that's what has him so upset. Blair sighed, gently so as not to elicit another stab of pain, and settled his head more deep
ly into the pillows. That was the problem right there. Jim was upset with himself for losing control. He'd calm down in time.

  Blair's conviction, coupled with the drugs, finally led to sleep.

  By the time Blair finished in the bathroom, he was exhausted all over again. He had insisted on taking a shower, alone. Four days without a shower and pulling his hair back had been more than he could stand. Moving slowly, and taking the pills Jim kept insisting he take, had made it possible to basically stand in one position while the water ran over him. It took him ten minutes and several times telling Jim he was fine to get himself toweled off. By the time he pulled on his sweat pants, and the zip-front sweatshirt jacket Jim had given him, he was nearly sweating again. Surprisingly, the pain wasn't all that bad, as long as he remembered to move slowly and not make any wide gestures or movements with his arms. He walked out to the living room and eased himself onto one of the couches, with Jim's help. His partner was on the phone, but he came over the instant Blair approached the couch, cradled the phone between his chin and shoulder, and didn't even skip a beat in his conversation while he helped Blair sit down.

  It was early evening, and Blair hoped all these naps and drugs wouldn't screw up his normal sleeping pattern. Jim had slept most of the afternoon as well, but then he never seemed to have a problem adjusting. Blair had seen Jim stay awake for three days, only napping on occasion, and then return to a normal pattern after just one good sleep. Must be an army thing. He didn't see how it would be a Sentinel thing. Or maybe it was. He was too tired himself to consider it much. He got comfortable against some cushions and listened to Jim's conversation.

  "No confession yet?"

  It was with Simon, about the two men they had arrested. The feeling Blair had tried to overcome crept back into his gut as he listened. He wanted to talk to Jim about the case, but that might bring back the issue he had mentioned this morning, and he was not ready for that yet. If he ever would be.