by K Ryn
Disclaimers: The usual. All TS regulars belong to Pet Fly and Paramount. Since all the rest of these folk are figments of odd mental aberrations on my part, they belong to me. No money earned, many sleepless nights involved.
Author's Notes:
Thanks to all who have written about my stories over the past months. Real life has kept me hopping with very little time to write. I do have several new stories in the works. None are quite ready for posting, however I do have an 'old' story to offer in the meantime. ~g~
The following story, Judgments, was previously published in Sentry Post #3. Linda has graciously released the story back into my hands for 'net' consumption. It has been minorly edited since the zine version was released. Per the show's timeframe, this story would take place after Warriors. I hope you enjoy it.
Judgments started out as a short story about a journey and ended up as another monster-length piece. Don't blame me -- blame my Muse. She obviously had a firm direction that she wanted me to take -- and specific points she wanted me to make. I've learned not to argue with her. ~g~
My thanks to my beta reader Carolyn, for pointing out a few 'gaping' holes and supplying virtual pats on the back; to Chris and Wendy for their encouragement and proofreading assistance; and, to Linda, for doing me the honor of including this story in her superb zine.
Rated: PG-13 for some violence and language.
Judgments
by
K. Ryn
[email protected]
.
"What do you mean there's no bus?" Blair Sandburg asked in surprise.
"I mean there's no bus," the station attendant answered brusquely, not even raising his eyes. "The bridge to Arendo is out."
"I understand that, but I only need to go as far as the Integra Reservation," Blair explained patiently. "I'm meeting some friends to work on the new dig site. That's this side of the bridge."
"No bridge, no bus," the man snapped, his attention shifting back to the magazine in his hands.
Struggling to control his rising irritation, Blair glanced around the bus station. His eyes caught for a moment on the bright Nevada sunlight streaming in through the doors, and he felt a shiver crawl up his spine. He'd known that there was something wrong the second he'd stepped inside and found the place nearly deserted. The last time he'd been here it had been full of laughing children, people laden with suitcases, and solemn retirees. Now it was just him, an old man who was stretched out on one of the benches with a newspaper draped across his chest, and the less than cooperative attendant behind the counter. This can't be happening. Not now.
"Until when?" he pressed.
The clerk raised his head and gave Blair a scathing glare; eyeing his earrings, his long hair and his threadbare jeans in disgust. "Until they fix the bridge. Is that simple enough? Or do you want me to write it out so that you can read it over a few times? Assuming you can read, that is," the man added contemptuously.
"Now wait a minute." Blair's temper was close to erupting. Tired of being ignored, he reached over the counter to grab the man by the arm, determined to make one more attempt to get around his stonewalling.
The man pulled away as if he'd been stung by Blair's touch and practically lunged for his phone. "Get your hands off of me you Indian-loving, hippie freak!"
Blair stepped back, startled by the hatred in the man's voice. "I'm just trying to --"
"You're all scum!" the attendant hissed, cutting off his protest. "I'm calling the cops. They're gonna throw your lazy ass in jail."
Blair's frustration and irritation abruptly crystallized into full blown anger. "Why you --"
"Hey, partner, I'm sorry I kept you waiting." Jim Ellison was suddenly at his side, the big man's hand closing firmly on Blair's left shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.
Blair glanced up and saw the flash of icy fire in his partner's eyes, the tightening of his jaw muscles. Recognizing the warning signs of his friend's temper, Blair's mouth snapped shut on the tirade he was about to let loose.
Ellison's gaze shifted to the attendant, flicking from the man's ID tag to his face. "Good morning... Mr. Weston, is it?" Jim pulled his own identification from his pocket. "I'm Detective Ellison, Cascade, Washington PD. I see you've already met my partner."
With a silent groan, Blair realized that Jim must have heard every word of his 'discussion' with the man behind the counter. Jim's gold shield flashed in the man's face, his voice betraying none of the anger that Blair knew was boiling under the surface.
"I heard you talking about calling the police," Jim continued. "We're a little out of our jurisdiction, but perhaps we can help."
"Your... p-partner?" The attendant had gone pale and he barely managed to stutter out his question, his eyes flickering to Blair and then back to Jim, uncertainly.
"Blair Sandburg," Jim said, nodding toward the anthropologist. "Mr. Sandburg and I were scheduled to be on the next bus. Is there some problem?"
Blair had to drop his own gaze to hide the burst of laughter and satisfaction that bubbled up inside as the man stammered out a response to Jim's question. The attendant was talking rapidly, suddenly realizing that the 'freak' wasn't going to be such an easy target. Blair composed himself and looked up, enjoying the clerk's discomfort.
"... so you see, until the bridge is restored there's no way of crossing the river. The bus line has suspended service until that happens," Weston babbled, anxiously eyeing Ellison's towering form.
"I see," Jim said softly, his face going hard and still. His gaze locked on the clerk for what seemed like an eternity.
Blair forced himself not to laugh. He'd seen his friend do this trick before, but it never failed to amaze him how menacing and deadly Jim Ellison could appear if he wanted to.
"I... I'm sorry..." the man stammered, turning even whiter.
"I'm sure you are," Jim murmured quietly, a dangerous edge to his voice, his body tensed as if ready to spring. He held that pose for a moment, then turned casually to Blair, handing him his backpack. "Looks like we'll just have to find another way out to the reservation, partner." Jim's tone was light as he focused his smiling attention on Blair, completely dismissing the man behind the counter.
Blair didn't trust himself to speak. Nodding in agreement, he allowed Jim's firm grip on his shoulder to turn him in the direction of the door. Before stepping out into the sunlight, he paused, glancing over his shoulder. The clerk still hadn't moved and he looked like a good candidate for a stress-relief seminar. Barely smothering a chuckle at the man's discomfort, Blair let the door swing shut behind him.
Once outside, however, his feeling of smug satisfaction quickly shifted to stinging disappointment. Blair had been excited about the opportunity to see the new dig site and visit with his old friends on the reservation. More importantly, he'd been looking forward to showing Jim around, sharing a part of his life for a change. Now, that wasn't going to happen.
With a disheartened shake of his head, Blair stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and started across the street. His shuffling feet kicked up small clouds of dust as he glumly followed his partner to the small park adjacent to the bus station.
Jim dropped his travel bag on an old-fashioned iron bench. As he stretched and rolled his shoulders to work the kinks out of his back, he stole a quick look at the anthropologist, observing the range of emotions that flickered across Blair's expressive face. Troubled, Jim glanced away, scanning the small city square in frustration, struggling to control the anger he still felt at the bus station attendant's treatment of his friend.
He pretended to study their surroundings while he focused his Sentinel senses on his partner, hoping to get a clue as to what to do next. He'd caught the soft chuckle from Blair when they'd left the station and hoped that the expression c
urrently darkening the younger man's face was due to the unexpected set back, not Jim's interference.
He hadn't expected to find trouble waiting for them in this sleepy little Nevada town, but it had been evident the moment Jim had stepped into the bus station that something was wrong. He had sent Blair ahead to check on the bus while he'd collected their bags and paid off the driver who had brought them from the airport. Without conscious effort, the Sentinel had tuned into his Guide's distress and frustration, his enhanced hearing easily picking up the attendant's snide remarks. Jim had frowned, irritated, but he'd held back, confident that Blair could handle the situation, expecting the patented Sandburg charm to smooth things over as it usually did. The sudden increase in Blair's heartbeat had pushed the alarm button on his 'Blessed Protector' instincts and he had found himself in the middle of the confrontation almost before he realized it.
It was Blair's anger which surprised him. Over the course of their rather unconventional partnership, he'd seen or felt his friend's temper only a handful of times. Blair's normal response to a tense situation was to turn the uncomfortable into a joke. Or simply ignore it. If it was bad enough, the response was flight, not confrontation. But just moments ago, the younger man had been ready to leap over the counter and take on the bigoted clerk physically. His behavior was distinctly out of character.
Blair dropped heavily onto the bench, lowering his backpack to the ground with only a little more care. His eyes were fixed on the ground; his face a closed, silent mask.
"I'm sorry if I stepped into the middle of something I shouldn't have," Jim apologized.
Blair's head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise. "What? Oh, no man, your timing was great. The look on his face when you did that 'Ellison thing' was just priceless."
"That 'Ellison thing?'"
"Yeah, you know. The stone face look. Gets 'em every time." Blair contorted his face mimicking Jim's stern expression.
Jim glared at the younger man, then let his face relax into a smile. He knew the look Blair meant -- the one that he'd been accused of practicing in front of the mirror -- and he felt no guilt as he remembered the pale, frantic look on the attendant's face. Serves him right for screwing with my partner.
Blair grinned back at him and then glanced around. The smile faded after a moment and he rubbed his eyes wearily. "Sorry man. Looks like we hit a major dead end here. Guess we might as well head back to the airport and find the next flight home."
Jim remained silent, studying his friend closely. The blue eyes which normally sparkled with excitement were dull and the signs of fatigue were clearly evident -- the result of too many days stretched between working with Jim, while still carrying a full load of teaching responsibilities. Not to mention the time he put in on his own research and studies.
Ellison realized abruptly that it was the station attendant's 'lazy ass' remark that had propelled him into their confrontation. While Jim might tease Blair about sleeping 'til noon or having a 'soft' teaching job, he didn't take it well when someone else tried it. Sandburg was one of the hardest working, most responsible people he'd ever met.
Blair had been pushing harder than usual over the last few weeks. Making time to sleep had been at the bottom of a very long list of priorities. When he hadn't been sitting on overnight stakeouts with Jim, the anthropologist had been frenetically grading papers and writing lesson plans for the TA who was taking over his classes for the few days that he planned to be gone. Jim had heard him moving quietly around the loft at all hours, the scratching of his pen or the soft tapping of his fingers on the keyboard carrying upstairs as the Sentinel automatically monitored his Guide's presence throughout the long nights.
And Sandburg looked thinner, especially since the searing heat of the Nevada morning had forced him out of the oversized jacket and layers of shirts he usually favored. He looked smaller and somehow vulnerable, sitting dejectedly on the park bench, dressed in a tie-dyed t-shirt and a pair of his favorite worn jeans. Jim was struck suddenly by how young his friend looked. And how disappointed.
It just wasn't fair. They'd gotten this far. Surely there was another way to get out to the reservation. "What about calling your friends?" Jim offered. "Someone at the reservation must have a car. Maybe they'd drive in to get us. Must be a woman there who'd be susceptible to the Sandburg charm."
"Unfortunately they're wise to that angle," Blair said ruefully, a small smile flickering across his face. "My friend Nate's got a car, but it's in worse shape than mine. I've got too much respect for that desert to risk the drive in his bomb."
"Why don't we just rent a car ourselves?" Jim suggested, an idea forming in his head.
"Look around you, Jim," Blair said slowly. "Unless you're picking up something with that Sentinel sight of yours, I don't see any Hertz signs. That's why we were taking the bus, remember?"
"No, I mean, why don't we try to rent a car from someone in town?" Jim responded, ignoring the jibe. "There's got to be someone who wouldn't mind a little extra cash."
Blair brightened, considering the idea. But only for a moment. "Sounds good in theory, Jim, but I think we'd be better off just heading home."
Jim stared at his friend in confusion. "I don't get this, Sandburg. You've been talking about nothing else but this trip for the past three weeks. I was ready to have them sedate you to keep you in your seat on the plane. Now you're ready to just give up and head home?"
"Jim..."
"You're usually like an immovable object once you get an idea fixed in your head," Jim continued, his eyes fixed on the younger man's face. "Giving up's not your style. What's going on?"
"Just facing reality, man," Blair answered, meeting Jim's gaze almost angrily, gesturing with a quick jerk of his head toward the bus station. "I've been here before, remember? That guy's attitude is pretty consistent with the rest of the local perspective. They might rent a car to you, Joe Friday, but they're sure as hell not going to rent one to an 'Indian-loving, hippie freak.'"
Jim grimaced at the anger and hurt in his friend's voice. Considering his words carefully, he sank down onto the bench next to Blair. "Is that how you see yourself?"
"Hey, man, this isn't about my self-image," Blair responded flippantly, reaching for his backpack. The Sentinel immediately sensed the increase in his friend's heart rate and caught his arm.
"Answer the question, Sandburg," Jim growled, vowing that for once, he was going to get a straight answer out of his friend.
Ellison felt the rigid tension in Blair's muscles; watched a flood of raw emotions flicker in the expressive blue eyes. The stress seemed so great that he was sure that the younger man was going to bolt. He was surprised, and relieved, when Blair took a deep calming breath and settled onto the bench once more.
Sandburg stared out across the park, his eyes half focused, his voice a bare whisper when he finally answered. "I learned a long time ago not to worry about what other people think about me."
The undercurrent of pain in Blair's voice merged with the loud pounding of his heartbeat and Jim 'heard' the truth that his friend was trying to obscure. He wondered again at the strange upbringing the young man had experienced as a child. Jim liked and respected Naomi, but he sensed that her Bohemian wanderings and new age philosophies would have made it very hard for Blair to be accepted by his peers.
"Sandburg --"
"Jim, just let it go, okay?" Blair pleaded, still not meeting Jim's eyes.
"Do you think that's how I see you?" Ellison pressed, voicing the disconcerting question which had arisen in his own mind.
Blair's heartbeat surged again, old insecurities suddenly laid bare to the Sentinel's probing senses. Jim was hard pressed not to grab his partner and shake some sense into him. Somehow he forced himself to remain still.
"You did once," Blair finally whispered, turning his head to meet Jim's unwavering gaze. Ellison flinched and Sandburg immediately shifted gears, forcing a lightness into his tone. "But that was a first impression thing, right? We're past
that. I'm not always sure about Simon and some of the other guys at the station, but you and me, we're past that now."
Despite Blair's assertion, an unspoken "Aren't we?" hung in the air between them. Jim nodded. He'd been ready to make a sarcastic, teasing retort, but the pain and uncertainty that tinged his friend's voice and filled his eyes stopped him. As did a memory. Ellison remembered guiltily that he had used some of those same insulting terms one of the first times they'd met.
"Long past it, partner," Jim said truthfully. His eyes never flinched from Blair's searching gaze and he gave his friend's arm a gentle squeeze before releasing his hold.
Blair glanced away, but the immediate lessening of the tension in the set of his shoulders reflected the relief Jim's words had provided. He finally sighed, scrubbing his face tiredly. "We'd better see about exchanging those plane tickets."
Unwilling to upset the fragile balance of understanding they'd just achieved, Jim took a deep breath of his own, weighing his next words carefully. "Look, I know that sometimes you think I get a little out of line with my 'big brother' protectiveness, but I know how much you were looking forward to this. So I'm going to ask you to keep quiet for a minute and consider something, okay?"
Blair made a gesture that could only be interpreted as 'zipping his lips', then sat back, eyeing Jim suspiciously.
"I'd like to go ahead and try to find us a car." Blair immediately opened his mouth to object, but Jim waved him off. "You can sit here and relax, enjoy the sunshine. I'll pick you up as soon as I find us some wheels and we'll head out to the reservation. It's what, a four-hour drive?"
"More like five," Blair responded, shaking his head. "Jim you don't have to do this. I'm really --"
"Okay with this," Jim interrupted him. "Yeah, I know. Think of how much more 'okay' you're going to feel when the local red-necks see you driving out of town with 'Joe Friday'."
Blair stared at him for a moment, astonished. Then a grin split his face and he laughed delightedly. "Simon's right, Jim," he commented, leaning back into the park bench and relaxing. "You have been spending too much time with me. You're getting devious."
