Progression Series 15 Buried Fears Page 7

Jim dropped his gaze, his brow suddenly furrowing.

  Blair frowned. He had thought his little speech would help but Jim looked more miserable now than he had before. "What's wrong, man?"

  "It's what you just said," Jim whispered. "About watching each other's backs." He looked up at Blair, his expression miserable. "I didn't do that for you. I didn't...." His voice trailed off as he shook his head.

  "What, Jim?" Blair pressed, reaching out to grip his arm. "What are you thinking?"

  "Why didn't I know, Chief?"

  "Why didn't you know what?"

  Jim locked his gaze with Blair's, his eyes searching. "Why didn't I know it was Grant?"

  Blair's heart ached at the sound of pleading in Jim's voice. "Jim," he breathed. "How could you have known?"

  "Because I'm a sentinel, dammit!" Jim paced away from Blair, moving across the living area, stopping before the kitchen island. "I should have recognized his voice, his smell. Something! But I didn't and you...you...." He slammed his fist down on the counter.

  "Jim...." Blair crossed to him, laying a gentle hand on his back. "What do you think? That because you're a sentinel you're expected to categorize every person you meet? Catalogue their smell? Their voice? Be able to pull up that information at a moment's notice?" He moved around Jim so he could look at his face. "You're not a human computer. You're a man with heightened senses who, most days, needs help just to keep them under control."

  Jim still didn't meet his gaze, just kept his eyes downcast, his expression unchanged.

  "Jim," Blair began again, trying a new tact, "how do you know it's Simon at the door before he knocks?"

  "I smell cigars," Jim said softly.

  "And Eli?"

  "Pipe tobacco."

  "So you know them both by smells you associate with them, not their smell. Do you see the difference? And you know, you're not the only one Grant fooled. I didn't recognize his voice either. How could I? We only talked to the guy a few times almost a year ago. How could we remember the sound of his voice? And hey, maybe that fall in the river did some damage to his vocal cords. Maybe that's why none of us recognized it. It had changed somehow just enough so we didn't know who he was."

  Slowly, Jim glanced sideways at Blair, his gaze skeptical.

  Blair smiled, shrugging one shoulder. "It's possible."

  Turning, Jim leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest, obviously considering his guide's words. Blair moved to stand beside him, mirroring his stance. They stood that way for several minutes, side by side, so close that Blair's arm brushed gently against Jim's.

  "You really think his vocal cords could have been damaged?" Jim asked finally, his brow slightly furrowed.

  "Sure," Blair answered. "Stranger things have happened."

  "Stranger than a man we thought was dead coming back to life?"

  Blair laughed out loud. "Come on, Jim, let's not get crazy here." He smiled up at Jim and was glad to see him smile in return.

  "Okay, Chief," he said finally.

  "Okay, what?" Blair asked.

  "Okay, I accept your reasoning. After all, I don't identify people by their scent. I know Simon is at the door because I smell his cigars -- not Simon. You're the only one I know by scent."

  Blair's eyes went wide. "You do?"

  Jim looked down at his guide, his eyes filled with affection. "Chief, " he began softly, "I can tell when you're getting a cold because of a slight change in the timbre of your voice. I can pick out your heartbeat from a crowd of people. And yes, I know your scent -- not your shampoo or soap -- but you."

  Blair stared up at Jim, stunned by the admission. "Jim, I had no idea...." His voice trailed off as the full implication of the statement hit him. "That's...amazing."

  Jim nodded slightly, his gaze taking on a contemplative look. "I don't know if it's a sentinel and guide thing, a roommate thing, or just a friend thing. But you're the only one I have fully registered on every sense in every way." He glanced down at Blair again. "So you're right. Why should I expect myself to know Grant? No one else did."

  Blair quirked one eyebrow. "So...we okay here?" he asked quietly.

  "Yeah, we're okay."

  "Good!" Blair whapped him on the arm before pushing away from the counter.

  "But Chief," Jim called out before he could take two steps, "Grant is still out there. How do you want to deal with that?"

  Sandburg frowned as he considered Jim's question, then raised his eyebrows and smiled. "I think we deal with it one day at a time. That's really all we can do, isn't it?"

  /

  /

  /

  Jim opened the French doors and stepped out on the balcony. Blair had decided on a shower to help wash away the grime and stress of the day--his "first token step" toward moving on with his life, he'd quipped. Jim smiled at the memory, at the fact that Blair could--after all he'd been through--still bounce back and somehow recapture the exuberance that was such a huge aspect of his unique character.

  Ellison leaned against the railing and took in the sight of the city lights across the bay. The warm evening air felt good against his skin and he closed his eyes, drinking in the feel of it. But as the breeze ruffled across his clothes and hair, he found his thoughts turning once again to his partner...to the things Grant had done to him.

  He straightened and opened his eyes. His hands gripped the railing and his jaw clenched as he thought about Marcus Grant drugging Blair, holding him prisoner in that mental institution, strapping him down like an animal.

  I'll kill him. If I ever get my hands on Grant again, I'll kill him.

  The phone rang in the background, pulling him away from his dark thoughts of revenge. Crossing inside the loft, he grabbed up the receiver halfway through the third ring.

  "Ellison."

  "Does it ever bother you when Blair is hurt because of you?"

  Jim's hand tightened around the receiver as Grant's voice came across the line. "You son of a bitch," he grated out.

  "Me? I'm the son of a bitch?" Grant let out a short laugh. "You know, I told Blair he would live longer with me than he will with you, and I think what happened today only proves that I was right."

  Jim's heart slammed into his ribs. The man was close enough to know what had transpired at the Randall house earlier that day. He's still watching us! How the hell can I trace this call? But even as the thought of a trace crossed his mind, Jim discarded it--he knew Grant was too smart to allow it to happen--he'd never stay on the line long enough.

  "If Blair just thinks about it a little bit longer," Grant was saying, "he'll come to see that I was right as well. He'll come to see that he'd be better off with me."

  "With you!" Jim ground out. "Grant, you come near him again and I swear I'll kill you."

  The sound of an amused chuckle came across the line. "Such violence, Detective. Don't you think Blair deserves a life without so much violence? That's what I could give him. That what I plan to give him."

  "Grant!"

  But the line had already gone dead.

  "Dammit!" Jim slammed the receiver down. Then, lifting it, he slammed it down again. Hot rage churned through him--rage and fear....

  "I told Blair he would live longer with me than he will with you."

  What the hell had Grant meant by that? And why hadn't Blair told him about it? Suddenly, unbidden, the nightmare Blair had suffered that morning came back to him.

  "Don't touch me!"

  Why had Sandburg yelled that? He'd told Jim it was because of the restraints they'd used on him. But now...now Jim wondered if the terror Blair was feeling was based in something more than the memory of being restrained.

  Ten minutes later, Blair came out of the bathroom. He had donned a tee-shirt and his favorite pair of sweats. "Hey, man, isn't there a game on tonight?" he asked, crossing toward the living area. "I thought maybe we could call out for pizza." He plopped down on the couch, grabbed up the remote and began flipping through channels.

  Jim hesi
tated, rubbing at his temple in an attempt to ease the headache that had begun throbbing there. If he told Blair about the call from Grant, what would his partner do? How would he react? But even as he pondered Blair's reactions, Jim knew he had no choice. He had to tell Blair. Had to warn him.

  But not tonight, he decided. Tonight they were going to order pizza and watch the game. Tonight they were going to relax. And then Blair was going to get a good night's rest. Whatever Marcus Grant had planned, they would deal with it tomorrow.

  /

  /

  /

  Jim jerked awake, pulled from his sleep by the sounds of distress coming from the room directly below his.

  "Don't...don't!"

  He threw back his blankets as Blair's voice reached him. Grabbing up his robe, he raced down the stairs and pounded across the loft toward the small room tucked under the stairs. He knew Sandburg was having another nightmare, that there was no one in his room with him, but the fear in his partner's voice pulled at him, making him move desperately, quickly.

  Pushing the doors wide, he stepped into the room without hesitation and crossed to Sandburg's bed. His guide lay on his back, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his hands fisted, sweat dotting his brow.

  "Sandburg." Jim reached down and gripped his shoulder, shaking him lightly.

  The kid came awake all at once, sitting straight up and jerking away from Jim's touch, pressing himself flat against the wall behind his bed. "Leave me alone!"

  "Blair, you're home. You're safe!"

  Sandburg blinked several times, his gaze sweeping the dark room around him. His shoulders slumped. A long breath escaped him. "Damn," he muttered.

  Jim eased himself down, sitting on the edge of the mattress, his gaze locked on his partner. "What's going on here, Chief?"

  Blair looked down, shaking his head. "Nothing's going on, man. I'm fine."

  Jim frowned. "You're lying to me." The words were spoken softly and without anger, but he heard Sandburg's heart rate increase just the same. "I can hear your heart pounding in your chest." He waited but Blair said nothing. Instead, he pulled his knees up close and hugged them, keeping his gaze averted. "You said something when I woke you just now," Jim continued in a low tone of voice. "You said, 'leave me alone.' And you were scared out of your mind when you said it. This morning you yelled out, 'don't touch me.' Chief, what's the matter? What are you dreaming about?"

  But Blair shook his head obstinately. "It's nothing. Really." He straightened a bit where he sat, ran his hand through his sleep-tousled hair, but still didn't look at Jim. "Just go back to bed. It'll work itself out. Okay?"

  But as Jim stared at his partner, he knew it was time to discuss the phone call he'd received from Grant. He knew that whatever Grant had said or done to Sandburg while he was with him was now haunting the young man, and he knew that the only way to get Blair to be honest with him was for him to be equally honest with Blair.

  "Chief," he began softly, "Marcus Grant called the loft tonight."

  His guide's head came up sharply. He gaped at Jim, his eyes wide, haunted. "What? When?"

  "When you were in the shower. I was going to tell you tomorrow. I wanted you to have one good night's sleep before you knew. I wish that could have happened," he finished softly.

  Blair continued to stare at him, clearly stunned by the news. "What did he want? What did he say?" he stammered out at last.

  Jim could hear the fear behind the words. He knows what he said. Or at least he has a good suspicion. "He said that he told you you'd live longer with him than with me. Said that what happened today just proved that."

  "Oh, man," Blair breathed, burying his face against his knees again, shuddering slightly.

  Reaching out, Jim placed his hand on the back of Blair's lowered head, stroking lightly at his hair. "Come on, Chief. Talk to me. What happened in that institution that you don't want to tell me about?"

  Slowly, Blair raised his head and rested his chin against his knees. Jim dropped his hand away as Blair looked at him. "Grant...." Sandburg's voice trailed off, his gaze shifting away from Jim for a moment before locking back into place. "He kept...he kept touching me," he admitted in a shaky voice.

  "Touching you?" Jim repeated, his back stiffening at the words. "What do you mean he kept touching you?" He swallowed, then forced out the question uppermost in his mind: "Blair, Grant didn't...." But he couldn't finish, couldn't put into words the fear that now gripped his heart.

  Blair's eyes widened as sudden understanding flooded him. "No, no, nothing like that, Jim! He never...there wasn't anything inappropriate. It wasn't like that. He wasn't like that."

  Jim sighed out in relief. "Then what, Sandburg? What don't you want me to know?"

  Blair closed his eyes, exhaling a long, rattling breath.

  "Come on, Chief." Jim reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind Sandburg's ear. "It's obvious something about what he did to you is bothering you. What is it?"

  Blair opened his eyes again, staring at Jim, his gaze troubled. "Grant wanted to protect me," he whispered finally. "He came to my room, told me he felt protective toward me, and then he touched my hair. It wasn't unlike the way you've always touched me--the way you just touched me." He looked at the sentinel and shrugged one shoulder. "It's weird, but I think...I think in his own warped way, Grant was trying to comfort me." Sandburg shivered again. "But his touch, man.... His touch made my skin crawl. Thinking about him ever touching me again...it makes me sick."

  "And that's what the nightmares are about?"

  Blair dropped his gaze. "That...and about something Grant said to me."

  "About you living longer with him?"

  Blair nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly. "He told me that I would have lived longer with him as David Jacobs than I would with you as Blair Sandburg."

  Jim frowned. "The same thing he told me on the phone. What do you think he means by that?"

  Blair sat back, leaned against the wall behind him. "One of the reasons Grant said he couldn't kill me was because I brought out a protective side in him." He dropped his gaze again and shook his head. "Oh, man, this is so hard. I feel...embarrassed talking about this."

  Jim cocked his head to one side and studied the smaller man. "Embarrassed? Why?"

  Blair looked up at Jim again, his eyes locking with his partner's. "It made me so angry when he started talking about wanting to protect me. I mean, with you...well, I like that you care enough to want to protect me." He dropped his gaze again, his face coloring a bit. "But like we already talked about, I can take care of myself. I don't need anyone protecting me." He shook his head, exhaling another long breath. "I'm not explaining this very well...."

  "You're doing a great job," Ellison assured him. "And I know exactly what you mean. I understand the difference between Marcus Grant being protective of you and the way I'm protective of you."

  "You do?" Blair asked, a hopeful tone underscoring the question. He stared up at Jim. "I guess I realized for the first time that what you and I have...our friendship.... Well, I guess I never really realized how...comfortable I am with you, how comfortable we are with each other."

  Jim reached out and placed a gentle hand on his knee. "Not until Grant tried to step in and be that for you, too. Am I right?"

  Blair nodded. "It was like he thought if he could change me into David Jacobs, then he could be to me what you are to me." He laughed nervously, shifted a bit where he sat. "It just did not work for me, man. Not at all."

  Jim smiled at him and, reaching out with one hand, rested his palm against Blair's cheek, cupping it lightly. "I understand." He allowed his touch to linger against Sandburg's face for a moment, then he dropped his hand. "There's a big difference between someone wanting to protect you because they're your friend and someone wanting to protect you because they have a warped sense of what friendship means in the first place. There has to be mutual trust and respect. Without those two things, protection becomes a means of manipulating
the other person, of possessing them."

  Blair nodded, clearly relieved that his partner understood. "I guess that's my biggest fear. I keep thinking that Grant is going to come back after me. But not to kill me. To possess me."

  "You may be right about that, Chief. On the phone," Jim explained, his voice low, quiet, "he told me he wants to give you a life free of violence. Unlike the one you have with me here."

  Blair shook his head, clearly bewildered at Grant's line of thinking. "He wants me to have a life free of violence? How can he say that after the things he's done to me? He locked me in a crypt, kept me tied down in a mental institution. How can he, of all people, say he wants to give me a life without violence?!"

  "Evidently he's had a change of heart, Chief," Jim whispered.

  Blair shivered then turned his haunted gaze up to his partner. "You know, Jim," he began softly, swallowing hard, "there's only one thing that scares me more than Marcus Grant wanting to kill me, and that's the idea of Marcus Grant wanting to be my best friend."

  The End

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