by K Ryn
He spoke of things that were unimportant, filling the silence with references to their life in Cascade. He joked about the leftover's that he'd forgotten to take out of the refrigerator before they'd left; about how he'd had problems with his car again and that he'd have to find a way to get it fixed when they got back; insisted that they had to check out the new Oriental grocery store that had opened just around the corner from the loft; raved about plays from the last basketball game they'd watched together.
Jim's hand clutched convulsively on his shoulder and Blair felt their pace falter when his partner pulled to an abrupt stop. He wheeled around and saw the look of intense pain and confusion on the older man's face. He reached out and grabbed Jim's arms just as the older man swayed unsteadily. A shudder rippled through the Sentinel and with a gentle push, Blair eased him to the ground.
"Easy, Jim... you're on overload." He murmured soothingly to his distressed friend, hoping the panic that he was feeling wasn't evident in his voice.
"Blood... I can smell blood," Jim rasped, shaking his head as his senses zoomed in and out of control.
"Jim... I can't hear you... remember? We've got to get your senses dialed back." The Sentinel shook his head in confusion, and Blair squeezed his arm gently. "One at a time, all right? Start with smell. Take it down to zero if you can."
Jim had a brief flicker of rational thought and found himself wondering how his Guide had known which sense was troubling him the most. The smell of blood filled his nostrils again and he shivered, forcing himself to concentrate on Blair's voice and the soothing directions that he was giving. Slowly, the nauseating odor retreated to a vague sensation and Jim nodded in relief. Taking the rest of his senses down to a more comfortable level was easier and he finally drew in a deep breath, his control reestablished.
"Great Jim... that was just great." The Sentinel could hear the relief in the younger man's voice even without his senses being enhanced. "We just had an overload there. Kind of like a zone-out, but with all senses misfiring at once," his Guide continued in quiet explanation. Jim nodded and felt Blair's grip on his arms release, then sensed a small stone being placed in his hand.
"Can you tell me what happened? Was there something that set it off or did it just all hit at once?" Blair's voice was quiet, with the familiar, questioning edge that the Sentinel always identified as his 'Guide searching for answers' tone. Awkwardly, Jim scratched out the letters of a single word on the pavement.
BLOOD
Blair was glad that his partner couldn't see the stricken look that he was sure was plastered on his face. The gash on Jim's head was bleeding again, but Blair was certain that the small amount wouldn't have been enough to set off the overload. His partner had to have picked up the gunshot wound. For a split second, Blair considered telling Jim about the injury, but his words caught in his throat and a strangled gasp was all that came out. He saw the older man's head jerk up, the sightless gaze fixing on him in concern. He reached forward once more to grip the Sentinel's arm.
"It's no wonder you're picking that up, man," he managed to murmur, his mind racing to come up with an explanation that Jim might accept. "That blow you took to the head bled a lot. Your shirt's covered with it. When your senses kicked into hyper-drive you must have zoned on the smell."
He watched Jim anxiously, wondering if the older man would buy into the misdirection. Blair knew that what he'd said could be the truth, and he hoped he had put enough conviction into his tone to carry off the lie. When Jim finally nodded in confused acceptance, he breathed a small sigh of relief.
"Look, it's bleeding a little again. I'd better put another bandage on it. In the meantime, I think you'd better keep everything dialed back to the minimum." Pulling the remains of his t-shirt over his head, Blair quickly tore the fabric into strips and bound another layer of bandaging around the Sentinel's head.
As he worked, Blair could feel the heat pounding down on his bare shoulders, making him lightheaded. He took a deep breath and helped Jim to his feet, certain that he'd made the right decision in not telling his partner about his own injury. There wasn't anything that could be done about it until they found help, anyway. The overload had frightened Blair and made him even more determined to get Jim to a doctor, or, at least, to a place of shelter.
"Just keep everything off-line, Big Guy. Let me lead the way."
As the afternoon sun grew hotter, Blair's incessant, rambling conversation faltered. They moved automatically; Jim's pace now matched to his partner's, Blair keeping his eyes fixed on the wavering horizon ahead of them.
With his senses dialed down to the minimum, Jim slipped into old Ranger habits, moderating his breathing and his movements to maximize his body's strength. He felt the dullness in his mind only at the fringe of his consciousness and he was unaware of his Guide's increasing fatigue and distress.
Jim felt Blair stumble and heard him swear softly. Both the movement and the whispered comment jarred him out of the fuzzy mental state he'd fallen into. He realized with a lurch that they'd been walking without a break for far too long, and he cursed himself for losing his concentration. Cautiously, he released some of the hold on his senses and nearly cried out as he felt the sun and heat beat down like a physical blow.
He cursed again as he felt the heat radiating off Blair's bare shoulder where his hand rested. The grad student's ragged breathing and pounding heart hammered in his ears and he squeezed his Guide's shoulder briefly, urging him to turn around.
"Jim... what is it?" Blair asked blearily, struggling to shift out of his own dazed mindset and respond to the needs of his friend.
"We've got to stop. Rest," Jim gasped, suddenly aware of his own parched throat.
"Jim... I'm sorry... I still can't..." Blair whispered in response, the confusion and weariness obvious in his voice.
Angry at himself for forgetting Blair's inability to hear him, Jim shook his head and put his hands together forming a 'T'.
"Time out?" Blair whispered uncertainly, his brain working hard to understand what Jim was trying to tell him. "Oh, yeah... time out... a break... good idea..." He glanced around, looking for any place that they might find some relief from the pounding sun. "There's a spot about twenty yards ahead, just off the road to our left. Looks like just a pile of boulders, but there might be some shade there."
Jim barely heard him as he struggled to regain control under the onslaught of his unleashed senses.
"Jim, did you hear me?" Blair asked urgently, his own difficulties forgotten as he saw the look of confusion on his friend's face. "Concentrate... dial it back, man."
The Sentinel struggled for a moment, catching the nauseating smell of blood again in his nostrils. He shook his head sharply, hoping that the movement would help clear it. He managed to clamp down on his senses, finally nodding to his Guide that he was ready.
"About fifteen feet, then we'll leave the pavement... watch your step... the ground's pretty uneven," Blair murmured, anxiously guiding Jim across the broken terrain.
As they approached the tumble of rocks, Blair eyed them hopefully. Moving to the east side of the pile he found a small crevice that would provide some shelter and eased his partner to the rocky ground. Even with his senses shut down, Jim felt an immediate sense of relief from the heat and smiled gratefully.
"I'll be right back... I think I saw something..." The Sentinel heard the younger man move away and then, a few moments later, caught the soft scuff of footsteps that announced his return.
"These are Argula pods," Blair explained in a soft rasping voice, dropping something leathery into his friend's hands. "They're fibrous... store a lot of moisture... but they taste awful, so be prepared..."
Jim nodded and turned the pods over in his hands curiously before snapping one and touching it to his dry lips. Even dialed down, his taste buds recoiled at the sour taste, but he placed it in his mouth and sucked on it, knowing that his body needed the precious moisture it contained.
Blair grinned briefly a
t Jim's dismayed reaction, then gritted his teeth and eased himself to the ground, holding back the moan of pain that threatened to escape. He pressed his left hand against the bullet wound in his leg and felt the wetness of new blood. Grimacing, he leaned back into the rock. Wincing at the contact of rough stone against sunburned skin, he closed his eyes, struggling to keep his distress to himself.
Just sit here for a minute... It'll get better.
But it didn't. The ringing in his ears was turning into a painful buzzing that seemed to increase in volume now that he was sitting still. And his leg throbbed. He knew that he should rebandage it; that the precious moisture of his own body was leaking out onto the sand, but he'd already used up the last of his t-shirt on his partner's head wound, and he wasn't about to ask Jim for his shirt. Not yet.
He found himself wondering how long they'd been walking -- how many miles they'd traveled -- but he had no idea. He'd lost all track of time, focused as he had been on just moving them forward. The attack had occurred half-way into the trip. That put the old man's store at least another hundred miles ahead of them. Assuming it was still there. A hundred miles. Just an hour and a half of driving. But on foot? Blair began to doubt his own judgment, as the desperateness of their situation hit him. In the shape they were in, it would take them days to make it that far. But they wouldn't. Not without food and water. They needed help. Jim needed medical attention for that head injury.
Where could help come from? Not from the town they'd left hours ago. Not from the kids that had attacked them -- Blair had spent the first hour or more of their trek glancing over his shoulder, afraid that Ben and his friends would come after them and try to finish the job they'd started.
That left Nate. Nate was expecting them. At least he should be. Grimly, Blair remembered his friend's tendency to get more than a little wrapped up in the excitement of his work. The two of them together had once spent a full three weeks on a round-the clock dig, ignoring the rest of the world in their enthusiasm over what they'd found. If Nate did get the message Blair had left on his answering machine, then he'd come looking for them in the morning. If not...
A sudden shaft of pain shot through his leg and he cried out, his eyes flying open in shock. Stunned, it took him a moment to get past the pain and focus on what had happened. Jim was shaking, his hands pressed against his ears, his body almost curled into itself in pain, pressing against Blair's injured leg.
"Jim... listen to me! You're on overload again!"
Instinctively, he reached out toward his friend. Jim's hand flashed out, knocking Blair's away, then suddenly grabbing for it, imprisoning his Guide's wrist in a vice-like grip.
"Easy, man... easy," Blair whispered, trying to keep his voice as soft as possible. "Focus... take 'em one at a time."
He saw Jim shudder as though his whispered words had been shouted directly into the older man's ears. The iron grip on his wrist tightened even further. Blair imagined that he could feel the bones grinding together, but he set his jaw and held his breath, refusing to make a sound. He saw Jim's jaw muscles clench as his friend struggled for control. Blair closed his eyes and focused on his own heartbeat, willing it to slow, striving to find a way to send his own strength and support through their physical link.
"You can do this, Jim." Through his own clenched teeth he managed to repeat the encouraging words over and over, like a healing mantra.
Finally, just when he thought he would cry out from the pain in his wrist, he felt the pressure lessen. His eyes flashed open and he focused on Jim's face, relieved to see the lines of pain smoothing away, replaced by a look of confusion and utter weariness.
"You got it. What happened? Did you forget to concentrate?"
Jim's answer was a quick shake of the head and his eyes flickered shut.
"It's just like before, Jim. Something must have tripped one or more of your senses out of whack when you relaxed."
Anxiously, Blair struggled to focus his own fatigue laden thoughts. What had happened? What stimulus would have been strong enough to shift Jim into overload again? He glanced down at his own bleeding leg and shuddered. Was it his blood that Jim was sensing again or was it something else? His gaze caught suddenly on the broken remnants of the Argula pod that he'd given Jim. Was that it?
"Jim... listen to me," Blair murmured urgently. "I need to know what you remember just before it hit. You were sucking on one of those pods. Was it the taste of that? They're pretty strong. Maybe it just caught you off guard and that's all it took."
Still struggling to keep his senses from running wild, Jim considered Blair's words and then shook his head again.
"Then what was it?"
What had happened? Jim asked himself. He forced his mind to go back through the sensory chaos he'd just experienced. He realized that he was still gripping Blair's wrist and he used that physical contact to ground himself, searching his memory for the answer.
He had been sucking on the pod, and it had tasted awful, but he'd managed to control his reaction to that. No, it hadn't been something he'd tasted. Think! he ordered himself. Drawing in a deep breath he could almost hear Blair's voice in his head -- Put yourself there, Jim. See it like a picture, then freeze it, walk around it.
... sucking on the pod, getting past the taste and letting the moisture ease down his dry throat... feeling the comfort from the small portion of shade that his Guide had found for them... the relief of stopping for a while... relaxing... allowing his other senses to open up just a bit... smelling something... something that frightened him... something that Blair had told him...
Suddenly Jim tensed, caught in the memory of fear that had thrust him into the overload. "Blood! I smelled blood again," he gasped, the memory of it so vivid that he squeezed Blair's wrist without even realizing it.
"Ow! Jim take it easy!"
Jim was so focused on the overwhelming feeling of terror and the scent of the blood that he barely heard Blair's pain filled exclamation. Instinctively, he loosened the control on his sense of smell and drew in a deep breath, recoiling physically as the raw odor filled his nostrils.
"Jim... listen to me, man!"
Blood... he could smell it now. Where was it coming from? He touched the wound on his head. Nothing but a damp spot. That couldn't be it. Even with his senses working overtime, that small amount wouldn't have set this off. A quick inventory of the rest of his body confirmed that other than a few scrapes and bruises, the blow to his head was the only injury he'd taken. And if it wasn't his blood, then it had to be...
Jim's eyes widened, a look of anguish crossing his face. Suddenly he was aware of the grip he had on Blair's wrist, the thundering of his friend's pulse as the blood surged beneath his sensitive fingertips. Blood... on his hands? On his Guide's hands?
Blair stiffened as the expression on Jim's face changed to one of anger. He winced and cried out again as the pressure on his wrist became almost unbearable.
"Blood," said Jim out loud, his sightless gaze focused on Blair's hand, seeing in his mind what he couldn't see with his eyes.
"What?" Blair started to ask what Jim had said. His breath caught as he realized what the Sentinel was focused on, felt his own heart lurch as he saw the blood on his hand.
Oh my god! That "is" what he's reacting to!
Blair tried to pull his hand away, hoping to break the contact. Jim's grip tightened even further and the look he turned on his Guide was pure blazing anger.
"Damn it Sandburg, what's going on?" Jim roared.
"Jim..."
"There's blood on your hands!"
"Jim... I can't..." Blair gasped, the throbbing in his wrist echoing in his pounding head.
His Guide's racing heartbeat reached the Sentinel and he forced himself to struggle for some kind of control. With his left hand he pried open the younger man's clenched fist , touched the blood there and held out his stained fingers accusingly. Blair struggled to swallow against the icy blue anger he saw directed toward him.
"Le
t it go man... it's... it's not... that bad..." he finally whispered.
"Where? Where are you hurt?" Jim asked grimly, his senses reaching out to probe his friend's body, searching for the wound that he knew Blair had been hiding from him.
"Jim..."
"WHERE?" Jim shouted, the expression on his face telling Blair what his ears couldn't hear.
"My left leg," Blair mumbled miserably.
Jim dropped his Guide's wrist and reached out to where he thought his partner's leg would be, extending his tactile senses. His fingers touched the rough denim of Blair's jeans and kept searching. He paused for a moment when he felt a stiffness that could only be dried blood. Panic started to fill him, but he pushed it back in anger.
"Jim... it's all right," he heard Blair insist, but his fingers kept moving, following the path of the dried blood up the pant leg. He hissed when he felt fresh wetness and the soaked bandage.
The anger on the Sentinel's face nearly held Blair speechless. He'd made a mistake. He should have told Jim. "It's just a graze, man." He winced, hearing the feebleness of the excuse in his own head. "The bullet's not in there. It's just bleeding again because of all the walking..."
Jim's hand froze over the wound, his mind absorbing the younger man's words. Bullet? This was caused by a bullet? When...? Suddenly he recalled Blair's sarcastic response when Jim had started to give him a hard time about not keeping their assailants from taking the car. "Sorry man, I was a little busy dodging bullets at the time... and trying to keep you alive..."
An image of his young partner -- his Guide -- dead, his blood leaking out onto the rocky ground filled his mind and he stiffened, horrified at what might have happened. He could be dead right now and where would that have left me? What would I have done if he hadn't been alive... What would I do if...?
The panic that he'd been holding back broke over him like a wave. Terror that made him reach out, desperate to touch his partner, to assure himself that his friend was all right. He felt Blair flinch away from his grasp, and his fingers tangled in something soft. Convulsively, his left hand closed around a handful of the younger man's hair and twisted it, pinning Blair in place while his right hand sought the beating pulse at his Guide's throat.
