by K Ryn
"I was devious long before you met me," Jim replied, rising to his feet and slapping his hand gently against Blair's knee. "Just sit here, and try not to get arrested for anything while I'm gone, okay, Chief?"
"Sure, Big Brother... anything you say, Big Brother," Blair teased, taking his glasses from his pocket and drawing a book from his pack.
Jim glared down at the younger man in mock irritation, then cracked a smile and headed off in pursuit of their transportation.
Peering over the top of his glasses, Blair watched Jim cross the street and enter one of the stores. Oddly enough, he found himself worried about his tall friend and sent a silent 'Watch your back' thought speeding in the Sentinel's direction. Then he shook himself, laughing at the irony of the situation. Jim wasn't the one out of place here; he was. The staggering wave of hate the clerk in the bus station had sent his way wasn't the first one of its kind that he'd ever received. He'd had a lot of experience with being the odd man out -- 'the freak' -- all of his life.
It hasn't been a big deal for a long time, so why now? Blair asked himself uneasily. Why does it matter now?
He flashed back to the moment his anger had almost erupted at the attendant and realized it was not as foreign an emotion as it had seemed at the time. Suddenly he remembered a lot of black eyes and aching heads, the results of coming up against someone bigger or faster than he was.
But that was a long time ago. You were much younger and a lot dumber back then. Why let this guy get to you now?
He slipped off his glasses, tucking them back into his shirt pocket and closed his eyes, rubbing them against the fatigue that rolled through him. The station attendant's words rippled through his memory again, accompanied by older memories of other curses; other words voiced in hatred. Other taunting nicknames.
He opened his eyes again and glanced toward the stores just in time to see Jim exit a second one. The older man glanced in his direction with a thumb's up signal as he moved easily down the street and ducked into another doorway.
"Atta boy, Joe Friday," Blair snickered, using the nickname that he'd pegged for the detective on their first meeting.
He wondered whether Jim realized it was a joke. He'd always hated nicknames himself. He'd had his own share of them as he was growing up and most of them brought back less than positive memories. His own given name didn't immediately suggest one, but that hadn't stopped the kids from coming up with their own ideas. 'Flower-child.' 'Hippie.' 'Freak.' 'Bastard.' He'd fought a lot of battles over that one until his mother had stepped in and convinced him that he didn't need to fight to protect her honor, or his own.
And now he had at least a dozen more, thanks to Jim; 'Darwin,' 'Einstein,' and the ever popular, 'Chief'. Absently he wondered why those names didn't carry the same sickening rush of anxiety and the answer came to him abruptly, sitting him straight up in his seat.
It was because they came from his 'Blessed Protector.' His Sentinel. For Jim they were only words of friendly familiarity; a verbal acknowledgment of the sense of closeness and trust that he shared with very few people besides Blair. When Jim spoke those names there was no hatred, no taunting.
After years of pretending he didn't need or want it, Blair suddenly found himself immersed in a friendship that demanded complete honesty, respect and trust. He found it almost overwhelming sometimes, fearing he would let his friend down, knowing that his lack of true knowledge as to how to guide and protect the Sentinel might someday have drastic consequences.
"It's not your style," Jim had said. But there were some days when Blair wasn't sure what his style was anymore. Raised to be a wanderer by Naomi -- to treat life as something that was to be sampled, then abandoned for the next experience -- he'd spent a lifetime not connecting with anything permanent, only to suddenly find himself sharing a loft and a life with a man who had entirely different ideals; strong ideals about stability, commitment and friendship. Without much resistance, Blair found himself adapting to his partner's perspectives -- although sometimes it was a scramble trying to live up to them.
And that was what had set him off earlier. Jim had offered a friendship that he had never before experienced. Jim had shared a part of his life with Blair -- had made him a part of his life. It was a commitment that went far beyond even the Sentinel and Guide connection. When the news about the site discoveries had reached him, Blair had jumped at the chance to offer a glimpse into his own life in return.
He'd been frantic to make sure all the basis were covered -- his classes, Jim's paperwork, everything. He'd even managed to pay for their plane tickets by wheedling a travel stipend out of the anthropology department. Everything had been going fine. No last minute case, no raging lunatics from their past showing up at the gate of the airport. The plane had even been on time and the seat next to Jim's had been empty so he'd been able to sit through the long ride in relative comfort, his long legs stretched out instead of cramped into the seat in front of him. And now, a few hours from their destination, they'd hit a major road block. It was the frustration of a plan gone awry, combined with a few choice comments from a bigot, that had blown his cork.
"Hey, you're not from around here."
Blair looked up abruptly into the face of a young woman.
"No, I'm not," agreed Blair, smiling tentatively.
She smiled back, touched the book in his hands and grimaced when she saw the title. "You actually like to read this old stuff?" The expression on her face and the tone of her voice reflected her disbelief as she curled up on the bench next to him.
"Yeah, I do. I'm an anthropologist," Blair admitted, chuckling and offering his hand. "My name's Blair Sandburg."
"Connie Phillips." She took his hand and shook it, but didn't let go. "An anthropologist? Does that mean you only study dead people?" she asked, leaning forward suggestively.
"Actually, my current subject is alive and well, thank you," Blair answered, grinning at her obvious flirtations.
"Where are you from?"
"Cascade... Washington. A friend of mine and I came down to check out the new dig site at the reservation." Blair eyed her warily for a moment before adding, "... and to see some old friends there."
"So, you got a car?" she asked with studied innocence, snuggling closer. "Maybe we could go out there, together. Would your friends mind if I tagged along?"
"No... no I'm sure they wouldn't," Blair stammered.
Caught off guard by her aggressive advances, he eyed the attractive woman sitting next to him uncertainly. Blonde, blue-eyed, with a figure not diminished by the shapeless waitress uniform she wore, she looked to be in her early twenties. Normally, he'd be more than willing to pursue this and see where it went, but today... He cleared his throat and nervously pushed his hair back, weighing his words carefully. He didn't want to hurt her feelings, after all.
"The problem is we don't have a car. We were going to take the bus, but with the bridge out we're kind of stuck. My friend's trying to see if anyone has something we could rent."
"Jake's got a car he'd probably let you have," she offered, squeezing his hand gently.
"Jake?" Blair brightened immediately. Come on, Sandburg, where's that charm Jim's always kidding you about?
"Yeah, he runs the only garage in town. Just a block off the main street," she added, pointing out the direction. "His name's Jake. Jake Sanders. He's usually got an extra car that he lends out when he's fixing one for somebody."
"You really think he'd let me rent it?" Blair asked dubiously.
"Sure. He's a nice guy. Not like some of the other jerks in this town. Offer him a good price and he won't care who you are, or what you're wearing."
Blair's grin widened even further at her comments and he was almost ready to bounce off the bench in his excitement.
"We could walk over there now, if you want. I could tell him you're a good friend. It might even help lower the price." Connie leaned toward him and Blair realized that she was planning to kiss him.
The sudden s
creech of brakes and the roar of an angry voice caused him to shift backward in alarm.
"Hey, what are you doing?"
Startled, Blair realized that Connie had moved away from him. She was standing a few feet from the bench, staring at the beatup convertible that had just pulled up with an anxious, almost fearful expression on her face. Blair grimaced as the driver launched himself out of the vehicle, heading straight toward them, his face contorted with anger.
Great... the angry boyfriend.
The other two occupants in the car were also climbing out, not bothering to open the doors. Why is it the tough guys always do that? Blair wondered cynically. He watched them closely and decided that the best course of action was to sit still and see how things played out. The three men were all in their mid twenties, all at least six feet tall and each outweighed him by a good thirty pounds.
"Ben let go! You're hurting me!"
Connie's fearful exclamation snapped Blair's attention back to the driver. The young man she'd identified as 'Ben' had grabbed her by the arm and was shaking her angrily.
"You were supposed to wait for me at the diner," Ben snarled. "Instead I find you here practically climbing down this guy's throat."
"Nothing happened!" Connie protested. "I was just --"
"Shut up you lying little slut!" Ben snarled, shaking her again.
Instinctively, Blair reacted, rising from the bench and taking a step forward. "Hey man, ease off. She's telling you the truth."
His words had an immediate effect. Ben's attention abruptly shifted to Blair and he found himself halted in mid-stride by the force of the young man's hatred.
"You talkin' to me, freak?"
Jeez, that was a mistake, Blair reprimanded himself, but he held his ground, meeting the younger man's angry gaze as calmly as he could. "I'm just asking you to cool down, man," Blair responded in the most reasonable tones he could manage, aware of Connie's frightened expression. "You're making a mistake. Nothing happened here."
"He was just looking for a car to rent," Connie interjected. "I was telling him about Jake --"
"A mistake?" Ben asked softly, ignoring her comments, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
The other two young men closed up ranks behind their leader and Blair groaned silently. This was going from bad to worse. He could almost hear Simon's voice in his head -- 'What's with you Sandburg? You attract trouble like a dog attracts fleas!'
He felt himself tensing under their scrutiny and wondered whether he remembered enough of his self-defense lessons to keep himself from getting pulverized. Jim where are you? Now would be a good time for the 'big brother' routine.
Face dark with rage, Ben took a menacing step forward. Blair took a deep breath, preparing himself for the worst. Help suddenly arrived from an unexpected source.
"Ben, come on, honey," Connie murmured soothingly, no longer struggling to get away from her boyfriend, but clinging to him suggestively. "You promised me a ride."
Ben paused, his attention still on Blair. Connie snuggled up to him, whispering into his ear. Blair didn't need his partner's enhanced hearing to know what she was saying; not by the way Ben's face looked, his expression changing from rage to lustful interest almost immediately.
"A ride, Ben, remember?" Connie said persuasively, pulling at his arm.
Ben's gaze shifted to her for a moment and then immediately focused on Blair again. "I'll deal with you later," he snarled, planting his hand in the anthropologist's chest and shoving him backward.
"Yeah, sure... later," Blair muttered as he regained his balance. He watched Connie pull her boyfriend away while keeping tabs on the other two young men who seemed reluctant to leave him standing in one piece.
"Jens, Harvey, come on."
Responding to their leader's voice, the two thugs-in-training gave Blair a sneering glare before returning to the car.
Ben gunned the engine and the car roared away with a screech of tires. Blair kept an eye on them until the convertible wheeled around a corner. Once they were out of sight, he took a deep breath and sank down on the bench.
"That went well," he murmured aloud, shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair nervously. That does it. No more kissing strange girls in parks until you have Jim run a complete background check on them -- name, address, status of boyfriends, size of boyfriends, mental health of boyfriends... He could feel his heart pounding and he wondered why he wasn't shaking all over. Blair closed his eyes and took a deep breath and then another, trying to calm his frayed nerves with some of his mediation techniques.
After a few minutes the breathing exercises helped, and he found himself chuckling at his run of luck. Things hadn't turned out so badly after all. He'd managed to escape the confrontation without any bruises, although this did seem to be his day to have people saving him from himself -- first Jim and now Connie. But the good news was that she'd given him a lead to a car and a way to get out of town. One thing was certain, he didn't intend to run into Ben and his buddies again. Not even with Jim around.
"What went well?"
Startled, Blair spun around in surprise. Thinking that they'd snuck up on him and expecting to be attacked at any minute, he almost gibbered in relief when he saw that it was Jim.
"Easy, Chief," Jim cautioned. "What's up?"
"Nothing." Blair rose to his feet and shook his head. "You startled me, that's all," he explained, embarrassed to admit what had actually happened. "Any luck?" he asked brightly, hoping to redirect the conversation.
Jim's face grew tight and his eyes glittered angrily. "No. I even stopped into the local cop shop. The sheriff's out of town somewhere and his deputy wasn't particularly helpful. Guess they've never heard of Joe Friday."
"Guilt by association." Catching his partner's odd, questioning glance Blair added, "News travels fast in a town this size. Sorry, man."
"Well, I'm not finished yet," Jim said determinedly, his jaw clenching even tighter. His expression suddenly changed and he glanced at Blair curiously. "What 'went well'?"
Blair stared at him in confusion.
"I heard you from the other end of the park," Jim explained. "You said, 'That went well.'"
"Oh." Blair felt himself starting to blush in embarrassment and reached down to pick up his book and stuff it into his backpack, hoping that the Sentinel wasn't 'listening' closely enough to pick up his thundering pulse. "I was talking to one of the local kids," he responded, finally raising his head to meet Jim's gaze. "She gave me a possible lead on a car."
"She?" Jim flashed an amused, knowing smile. "I should have known. And how old was 'she'?"
"Old enough to give me directions," Blair answered, grinning. "Come on."
An hour later they were on the highway, headed out of town. Blair closed his eyes, settling himself deeper into the comfortable seat. Things had gone better than he'd hoped. Connie had been right: Jake had turned out to be a nice guy. Better than nice -- once they'd gotten him out from under the hood of the car he was working on and explained what they were after. He'd given them a long, hard look before he'd agreed, but then he'd made them a surprisingly good deal -- one that even Blair's meager budget could afford. And he'd rented them his own car, not the beater that he usually lent out.
The result was that they were now driving a three-year-old, dark green Chevy, complete with air conditioning, tape deck and cruise control. When he'd learned of their destination, Jake had thrown in two ten-gallon cans filled with gas and an extra water jug, explaining that it was standard procedure for anyone heading across the desert.
Jim had wanted to stop for something to eat, but Blair had convinced him that a quick run through the local grocery store for some on-the-road supplies would be enough. Jim had agreed without too much argument and while he'd gone in to get the groceries Blair had called out to the reservation, leaving a message on Nate's answering machine to let his friend know they were coming.
Blair shifted in his seat, relaxing for the first time in weeks. As hi
s mind drifted toward sleep, two nagging problems emerged: Connie was one of them. While he really had appreciated her rescuing him from her boyfriend, he couldn't help but feel a little guilty and worried about her safety. He promised himself that he'd talk to Jim about her and see if maybe they could check into that situation when they came back. Of course, that brought up problem number two; he really should have told Jim what had happened at the park. The threat from Connie's boyfriend echoed loudly in Blair's head. "I'll deal with you later..." Maybe it was just all air, and then again, maybe not. The safest thing to do was to get out of town and let it blow over. I'll talk to Jim about it later.
Problems resolved for the moment, he settled more deeply into the seat.
Jim heard his friend's heartbeat slow to the even, measured pattern of sleep. He smiled in satisfaction as he adjusted his sunglasses and fixed his gaze on the road. His sensitive nose picked out the freon discharge of the air conditioner at work, but he didn't turn it off. It was already hot out there and it was going to get hotter.
Two hours later, Jim was shifting uncomfortably in his seat, trying to ward off a growing headache. The blazing sun made his eyes hurt, even behind the polarized lenses. The heat, rising off the pavement in endless shimmering waves, made it hard to focus on anything and he blinked again, tiredly.
Ellison glanced over at his sleeping partner and sighed. He'd hoped to let Blair rest for a while longer, but he needed a break. Easing the car over to the side of the road, he pulled to a stop.
"What's up?" Blair questioned sleepily, the brief lurch of the braking car waking him from his 'dead-to-the-world' slumber.
"Nothing's wrong, Chief. I just need a break. Your turn to drive."
"Break... drive... oh, yeah, right..." Blair stammered groggily, squirming to sit upright. He rubbed his eyes, blinked, and then winced. "Man, that sun is bright!" he yelped, digging in his pack and dragging out a pair of sunglasses. "You got it dialed down, man?" he asked, shooting a concerned glance at Jim.
