This week's fic posting...
Aug. 14th, 2005 10:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
calic0cat...is a little early since I may not get a chance to do it tomorrow. It's one of my TS stories written for this year's Moonridge Auction. It can be read as pre-slash or, I think, as gen, depending on how the reader wants to see it. My regular readers will know which I had in mind while writing it. *grin* It's not - quite - a crossover, though it does contain somewhat of an homage to a recently-deceased author whose books I grew up reading. Posting to LJ first, though I'll try to get it up on my site and 852 Prospect later today or tomorrow. Split into two postings since LJ's so stupid about post length. :P
Title: The Path to Trust
Author: Calic0cat <calic0cat@fastmail.fm>
Date Completed: June 29, 2005
Category: Gen or Pre-slash (hints only)
Rating: FRT (Fan Rated Suitable for Teenagers)
Warnings: Profanity, Violence
Website: http://www.calic0cat.net/
Notes: Canon background up till early fourth season.
Author's Note: Written for the 2005 Moonridge Auction. Thanks to Sheila and T.W. for an exhaustive (and, I'm sure, exhausting!) beta job. Any errors that remain are mine.
italicized paragraphs - flashbacks
Blair lay perfectly still, trying to figure out what had awakened him. He didn't hear anything noteworthy; in fact, Jim was so still and silent in the bed beside him that Blair was tempted to wake him, just to be sure that he hadn't slipped back into that strange, sort-of-like-a-zone-but-not-really state that he'd been in for the past few days.
He didn't, though. Jim was sleeping deeply but naturally for the first time in god-only-knew how long, finally getting the healing rest that he needed. Blair wasn't about to disturb him unless it became absolutely necessary.
Blair needed the rest as well, but he was too uneasy to go back to sleep. A gut instinct that he was learning to trust was telling him that he needed to be on the alert.
Carefully lifting Jim's hand from its resting place over his heart, Blair slid to the edge of the bed. Sitting up, he slipped on his sneakers, moving to cautiously twitch the drapes aside and peer out the window. The motel parking lot was still and silent, as was to be expected at this hour, but the uneasiness didn't fade. The urge to do something, to protect his Sentinel, stirred within him, intensifying again.
That urge had been with Blair for weeks - no, months - now. Its urgency waxed and waned, but its presence had been a constant in his life, ever since that fateful morning...
Sleeping uneasily. Waking to a vague sense of foreboding and a strange reluctance to let Jim out of his sight. Expecting that Jim would dismiss it out of hand, but mentioning his feeling anyway. Being surprised when Jim took him seriously and tried to get the day off, failing because he had a meeting with the D.A. that couldn't be rescheduled. Trying to get the day off himself, and failing to find someone to cover the two tests he had to administer. Admitting that he couldn't afford to cancel classes so soon after his reinstatement following the Ventriss mess. Parting reluctantly, both of them promising to be extra careful and to go straight home as soon as possible.
Feeling that vague foreboding deepening as the morning crept by; feeling it become a deep-seated, anxious restlessness, a relentless, unreasoning need to be with Jim.
Sitting in his office marking the first set of tests between classes. Answering the phone to hear Simon demand, "Tell Ellison to get his ass in here, Sandburg; he's late for his meeting with the D.A.". Knowing beyond any shadow of a doubt that Jim hadn't simply had a flat tire or followed a tip. Realizing with sick certainty that Jim was in trouble.
Neglecting his duties at Rainier to help in the search for Jim. Following even the faintest of leads till finally Jim's truck was located. Watching in numb disbelief as it was dragged from the ocean, water streaming from the open doors of its mangled cab.
Refusing to accept that Jim was gone. Knowing somehow, deep inside, that he was alive. Insisting that, in light of the lack of a body, Jim be declared missing rather than legally dead. Pointing out that Jim had survived against incredible odds before. Garnering unexpected - and crucial - support from Jim's father and brother.
Discovering that, since the fountain incident, Jim had given him both full power of attorney and co-ownership of the loft. Acknowledging that was one hell of a gift - of a commitment - to give a friend, a partner. Realizing that, despite the rough patch they'd been going through, Jim still cared very deeply for him. Hoping that, just maybe, the direction they'd seemed to be heading in before Jim had gone behind his back to read the first chapter of his dissertation, before all of the tension and miscommunication had started, wasn't quite the lost path he'd begun to believe it was, that maybe their mutual mistakes had merely sent them on a brief detour.
The rustling of sheets drew Blair's attention away from both his thoughts and the window, turning it to the still-sleeping form of his companion. Jim's rest was no longer quite so peaceful; his brow had furrowed and his hand moved restlessly over the empty space beside him. Blair allowed himself a few moments to just gaze his fill. Gaunt and battered though Jim might be, he was alive. Alive, and free.
And they were together once more; Sentinel and Guide were reunited. Having achieved that much, Blair had no intention of allowing them to be separated again.
Nagging Simon to continue the search. Using police resources to continue it himself until Simon finally pulled his pass and had him barred from the station, advising him sadly that it was for his own good, that Blair needed to accept reality and move on with his life.
Continuing the search on his own. Suspecting that Brackett might be involved. Requesting help from Jack Kelso. Hearing Jack advise him, a mere day later, to let it go. Being told explicitly to forget that he'd ever heard of James Ellison or a rogue CIA agent named Brackett.
Realizing that he was completely on his own in this, that it was up to him and him alone to rescue Jim. Knowing that he was about to start something from which there would be no turning back.
That knowledge hadn't stopped him then and Blair wouldn't let it stop him now. He would not - could not - allow Jim to be taken again. Even fleeing the country wouldn't be enough to guarantee that, at least not judging by his dreams. He shuddered convulsively at the thought; he couldn't take the chance that any of those visions would be fulfilled.
That left just one other option. A drastic one, one that held its own risks, but he was willing to give it a shot. He was certain that Jim wouldn't choose to fall into the hands of their pursuers again, and he honestly didn't think there was any other way to avoid that for more than a short period of time.
Well, other than the loaded gun that he'd appropriated when he'd rescued Jim, that is. That first look at his abused best friend had told him that he couldn't allow the two of them to be taken alive; some things were far worse than death. But since he'd really prefer the option that kept them alive and together - well, that growing uneasiness was telling him that it was time to hit the road.
"C'mon, Jim. Wake up, man, we've gotta get moving." Blair kept his voice to a mere breath of sound, but the Sentinel still jerked sharply awake, hands instinctively raising to cover his ears. "Check the dials. Set them as close to normal as you can. C'mon, Jim, you know the drill." He kept up a low, steady murmur of encouragement and reminders while he swiftly gathered their belongings. A snarl interrupted him, and he turned sharply to see the jaguar vanishing through the closed door of the motel room. "Shit." Out of time; if he'd missed anything, they'd just have to live without it.
"Chief? You saw..." Jim's voice was a barely audible croak. Blair tried not to dwell on how it had gotten that way. Tried not to imagine his best friend screaming until his voice gave out. Tried to think instead of how grateful he was to hear Jim speak at all.
"Yeah," Blair said, deliberately casual about both his answer and the fact that Jim had just spoken for the first time since the rescue. Despite his best efforts, he shivered involuntarily. Waking, sleeping, it didn't matter. He'd been seeing the jaguar, the wolf, Incacha, and a whole bunch of other weird shit that had been too damn helpful to waste time freaking out over. Sure, he'd deliberately sought the spirit world in a last-ditch effort to find Jim, but he'd gotten a little - okay, a lot - more than he'd bargained for. He didn't regret it, but he couldn't help being just a little bit freaked out by the whole thing. But he wasn't about to start explaining any of that to Jim right now.
For one thing, this was definitely not the time to explain precisely how he'd jump-started his crash course in Sentinel-specific Shamanism. Desperate straits or not, his Blessed Protector wasn't going to take the news of a near-overdose of certain 'traditional' substances too well. At least it had been enough to break through the subconscious barrier of his scientific scepticism and let him contact the spirit world.
Turning in desperation to the spirit world after it became clear that he was completely on his own in this, that he had no other avenue to locate his missing Sentinel. Using meditative techniques, candles, incense, at first. Attempting a dream walk to find Jim and failing miserably. Struggling fruitlessly to reach his spirit guide, Jim's spirit guide, Incacha, any possible source of help. Feeling intensely frustrated by his failures. Deciding that extreme measures were required. Obtaining the necessary supplies and making a final attempt...
Struggling to consciousness on Jim's bed, sick and weak and aching all over, air thick and cloying, candles burnt down and guttered out on the surfaces around him. Feeling even sicker at the realization that this too had failed, that he still had no way to find Jim. Attempting to sit up, only to be growled at, snarled at, and scolded sternly in Quechua as two pissed-off spirit guides and a dead Chopec Shaman emerged from the loft's shadows.
Daring to hope that maybe, with the help of their spirit guides and Incacha, he would finally be able to find and rescue Jim.
Learning about the role of a Sentinel's Shaman, something both like and unlike the regular variety, according to Incacha. Soaking up Incacha's instruction eagerly, knowing that he didn't have the time to figure it out as he went, the way that he'd figured out how to be a Guide. Realizing just how critical Incacha's assistance and teaching were, that there was no room for trial and error experimentation.
Being led on a spirit walk by Incacha, the jaguar and the wolf guarding his passage. Nearly losing the connection in the rush of outrage at his first sight of his suffering friend, only maintaining it with Incacha's help. Reluctantly leaving Jim's side to explore the facility.
Witnessing an argument between Brackett and the project's lead scientist. Learning that the scientists wanted him, too. Discovering that he had Brackett to 'thank' for his freedom, that Brackett believed he and his research would bring more Sentinels to light, that he was more valuable left free. Realizing from the conversation that Alex must be in their custody as well.
Finding the necessary clues to figure out where the facility was. Mapping its layout, assessing its security, cataloguing every detail for later consideration.
Returning all-too-briefly to Jim to brush ghostly fingers over a gaunt cheek, press a phantom kiss to a pain-furrowed brow, and whisper a fervent promise, hoping that somehow his Sentinel would hear and take hope. Yielding reluctantly to the spirit guides' gentle but firm insistence that it was time to leave.
Just like he was heeding the jaguar's warning now, despite his reluctance to let these first signs of true awareness from Jim go to waste. Blair shrugged a heavy backpack over each shoulder, then moved to help Jim to his feet, steadying him as he swayed uncertainly.
Part of Blair wanted to just sit Jim back down again and keep him talking. Wanted to question Jim about everything that had happened to him, from the moment that they'd parted company on the morning he'd been taken until the moment Blair had arrived to rescue him.
Blair hadn't been worried about getting into the research facility. If necessary, he'd been perfectly prepared to just drive up to the front gate and demand to see Brackett. Getting himself and his partner safely out again, however... Well, that had been a different question entirely.
It had been clear that Jack Kelso had no intention of becoming involved any further, and, in all honesty, Blair couldn't blame him. The visions triggered by thoughts of involving Captain Banks and their other friends had eliminated that plan before it was even fully formed. That had left the entire rescue operation dependent on himself, a pair of spirit animals, and the spirit of a dead Chopec Shaman. Not exactly the most imposing rescue force ever assembled, but he'd known that it would have to suffice. Incacha had promised to take care of actually getting them into and safely out of the base itself, but everything else - transportation, money, supplies, red herrings - had been entirely up to Blair.
Convincing Jack and Simon and everyone else that he was leaving for Sierra Verde to study the temple and collect local Sentinel lore in order to finally finish his dissertation. Selling off his artifacts and car, ostensibly to fund his trip.
Making a trip into Seattle to sell off several very old books at a rare books store. Using cash from Jim's 'emergency stash' to covertly order durable, functional, low-tech hunting and fishing gear through a small Seattle shop that carried goods produced by native peoples. Casing the airport. Booking a ticket on a flight departing from Seattle for Mexico in several days.
Signing his - and Jim's - power of attorney over to Jim's brother. Asking Stephen to look after the loft while he was gone. Having Stephen give him a long, thoughtful look before agreeing.
Maxing out his credit card buying first aid supplies and survival gear suitable for Sierra Verde - or just about anywhere else.
Visiting his cousin the bookie and feeding him a half-truth about one of Jim's old cases possibly coming back to haunt him now that Jim was gone. Obtaining fake identification for himself through Robert. Arranging to buy an old but reliable Jeep with slightly questionable ownership papers under that new identity. Leaving the new camping gear with Robert, safely stored in the Jeep. Persuading him to make sure that the Jeep had a full tank of gas and several filled gas cans in the back.
Arranging for various widespread contacts to release his Sentinel materials - including a cautionary tale about the less desirable fates a Sentinel might face even in the 'land of the free' - all over the Internet in a few days, in hopes that others in need might benefit from his and Jim's hard-earned knowledge. Gutting his laptop and disassembling the hard drive to destroy each platter individually, purely to irritate the hell out of anyone trying to access it.
Having Stephen show up early one morning shortly before his scheduled departure, supposedly to wish him luck on his trip and to get last-minute instructions regarding the loft, bearing an unfamiliar duffle that he claimed Jim had accidentally left behind after a family golf game at their dad's country club. Knowing Stephen's story for an obfuscation but playing along with him. Discovering after Stephen's departure that, beneath a concealing layer of clothing, the duffle contained rolls of bills in mixed denominations, an assortment of precious and semi-precious gems, gold and silver jewellery - and a sealed envelope with a simple J scrawled across it.
Depositing the old camping gear in a bus station locker, ready for future pickup. Treating everything in the loft as suspect, including his jewellery and clothing and Jim's spare gun. Changing into a completely new outfit, taking a couple more changes of clothing and a few other specially purchased supplies in an equally new backpack, and leaving everything else - except the contents of Stephen's duffle, which hadn't been out of his possession since Stephen delivered them - behind. Using an ATM to make a large cash withdrawal from Jim's account.
Picking up Jim's beloved truck, newly restored to near-classic condition, then driving it halfway across the state. Renting and prepaying, with cash, for a storage unit. Storing the truck in it. Mailing the key to the unit, together with papers gifting the truck to Daryl Banks, to Daryl's mother, to be given to Daryl at an appropriate future date. Going to the airport and paying cash for two tickets on a flight departing for Peru three days after his scheduled flight from Seattle to Mexico, and then - clothing changed, hair braided and tucked up under a hat - hopping a bus for the long ride back to Cascade. Hoping that he'd left a clear enough trail to be noticed, but not so clear as to be an obvious red herring.
Stopping at a Cascade restaurant to let his hair down and to don the second new outfit from the backpack, an outfit carefully chosen to resemble the airport staff's uniforms. Retrieving his and Jim's old camping gear before catching a bus to Seattle.
Picking up the new hunting and fishing gear, then leaving it in a locker at the train station before taking a taxi to the airport.
Checking the camping gear at the airline's check-in desk. 'Borrowing' a porter's jacket and cap on his way to the gate and concealing them beneath his own jacket, carried draped over his arm. Chatting and flirting with the pretty girl at the gate, making sure that the airline staff would remember him. Boarding the plane and waiting till the last minute to duck inside the washroom, pull his hair into a hasty but snug ponytail and stuff it down inside his shirt, don the borrowed uniform cap and jacket, and slip away unchallenged, leaving the old camping gear to make the trip without him.
Ducking into a 'family' bathroom and ditching the jacket and cap in the bottom of the diaper disposal. Stuffing his hair up under the ball cap he'd had crammed in his pocket, removing his outer shirt, donning a fake beard. Exiting the terminal and taking a cab across town to the train station. Retrieving the hunting gear from its locker. Buying a ticket, then slipping outside to catch a bus several blocks away - after tossing the cap and letting his hair down again.
Changing buses repeatedly to make his way first to Cascade, then towards Robert's place; making the final portion of the trip on foot. Picking up the Jeep and supplies, and driving out of town. Knowing that he was about to pass the point of no return...
He'd laid as many false trails as feasible, purchased supplies with an eye to portability and the most likely needs of a severely abused Sentinel, tried to think of as many contingencies as possible. Incacha had promised to help free Jim, and the Chopec Shaman had delivered on that promise, but keeping Jim and himself free was going to be entirely up to Blair.
Returning to the facility in the flesh over three weeks after his spirit walk, near frantic at the delay but knowing that it had been necessary to ensure the best possible chance of a successful rescue and escape. Knowing that, whatever Incacha was planning, the Chopec Shaman could only do this once.
Willingly becoming an observer in his own body, allowing the spirit of the trained Shaman to merge with him and use their combined powers. Watching in awe as Incacha summoned a storm and called down lightning to fry the facility's electrical system, reducing high tech security systems to junk. Walking unnoticed through the shadows, flanked by a jaguar and a wolf. Seeing locked doors swing open at a touch.
Following a spotted jaguar to find Alex Barnes, no longer catatonic but just as tortured as Jim had been when he'd seen him during the spirit walk. Wanting to protest but yielding to the senior Shaman's decision to release her, accepting his assurances that she would have no interest in Jim or himself. Leaving her to her own devices and continuing the search for Jim.
Finding Jim floating in a sensory deprivation tank, deeply zoned, his naked body emaciated, bruised, and newly scarred. Getting him out of the tank, dressing him in a too-small lab coat found hanging on a chair, and, ironically grateful for the lost weight, lifting him in a fireman's carry.
Exiting the room to find the bloodbath left by Alex as she prowled the facility exacting vengeance for her mistreatment. Seeing the corridors littered with unmoving guards and dead men and women in formerly-white lab coats. Finding Brackett sprawled on the floor, injured and helpless, with Alex circling him, gun in one hand and knife in her other. Hearing Brackett demand then beg for his assistance. Shaking his head and ignoring Brackett's pleas, he and the Shaman sharing his body in perfect agreement. Calling Brackett a black-hearted bastard who deserved everything he got. Walking away as Alex decided to see what colour the agent's heart really was. Not looking back when Brackett started to scream.
Not faltering when the screaming stopped.
Blair shuddered and jerked his thoughts back to the present. The strength of his own vicious satisfaction in Alex's bloody distribution of justice was something that he'd have to face eventually, but he didn't have time for that now.
"C'mon, we can talk more once we're on the road again," he promised as he steered Jim towards the door. Hopefully, about something else. But hell, he'd even talk about the weird shit - well, most of it anyway - if it would just keep Jim interested in what was going on. The past days of Jim-the-compliant-zombie had been downright terrifying; Blair had been afraid that the damage was too great, that Jim's retreat from the abuse of his senses couldn't be reversed.
Disturbing as the new scars and extensive bruising were, the physical damage was a fairly minor concern. Jim's captors wouldn't have let any serious injuries go untreated; they couldn't exactly order a new supply of Sentinels from a lab supply company the way that they would order replacement rats or mice, so they hadn't been too likely to waste their current specimen. The sensory damage, however, was a different story.
One of Jim's greatest fears in the early days of their association had been that the senses would drive him to insanity, and, for all his casual dismissal of that fear, Blair had always been uneasily aware of the possibility. Even more so after witnessing Alex's rapid downward spiral into madness. While the researchers probably wouldn't have intended to push Jim beyond the point of recovery - at least, not yet - Blair wasn't at all certain that they would have known where that point lay. So, Jim's growing lucidity over the past twelve hours had been a relief.
The moment when Jim halted just inside the door and commandeered one backpack, hissing in pain as he shrugged it into place, was an even bigger relief. Not just because it was good to be relieved of part of the load, but also because it was another sign of Jim beginning to really act like Jim, his partner and Blessed Protector.
The black jaguar appeared as soon as they stepped out of the room, leading them away from the rundown motel - and from the old sedan they'd arrived in. Blair followed without hesitation, a guiding hand resting lightly against Jim's back in case he zombied out again or his senses decided to act up. As they turned down a narrow alley, Blair glanced back towards the motel. A dark panel van and a couple of sedans were just pulling up in front, black-clad figures spilling out of their doors. Blair bit his lip hard and quickened his pace, his palm pressing against Jim's back in a silent admonition to move a little faster.
They followed the big cat as it led them confidently through a maze of side streets and alleys, finally stopping in front of a rundown used car dealership. A short yip heralded the wolf's appearance from the shadows. The jaguar joined it, and the two spirit guides led them to a back corner of the lot.
A corner where the overhead light was conveniently burnt out.
The jag leapt lightly onto the hood of an old Dodge truck. Sitting by the driver's door, the wolf gave a sharp bark of summons. Blair couldn't quite suppress another shiver. Useful as it was, this mystical shit was still taking some serious getting used to. Incacha had started him down the Shaman's path, but even a spirit-Shaman couldn't cram years of apprenticeship into a mere few weeks. And now, Blair was on his own to figure it all out.
Pulling off the road at a rest stop, hundreds of miles from the facility they'd rescued Jim from, still vaguely aware of Incacha's presence within himself. Slumping, exhausted, in the driver's seat, unable to stay awake any longer even with the aid of caffeine pills. Succumbing to the relentless drag of sleep, despite his worry about Jim's still-unresponsive state and the possibility of pursuit.
Dreaming of Incacha - a spotted jaguar waiting peacefully at the Chopec's side, one of the Shaman's hands resting lightly on its head in benediction. Listening as the spirit-Shaman bid safe journey to himself and his Sentinel. Waking to the realization that Incacha was truly gone and would not be returning, that Alex was dead now too, her soul finally at peace.
Hearing the insistent snarl of a jaguar and warning howl-bark of a wolf. Knowing that it was time to move on again.
Swapping the Jeep's license plate with a vehicle in an airport's long-term parking lot. Ditching the Jeep a day later at a rundown campground when it mysteriously refused to start after the jag took a nap on its hood. Following the wolf to the farm across the road. Using some of Stephen's cash to buy the beat-up old sedan that they'd just abandoned at the motel. Pulling off another license plate snatch a few miles down the road.
As he stepped up to the truck door, Blair blessed his very unconventional upbringing. The skills he'd learned from the ghetto kids while Naomi was busy helping their mothers organize protests against police brutality and racial profiling had come in handy more than once lately, as had other skills that he'd picked up over the years. Both his childhood experiences and those he'd undergone as a student of anthropology had been so useful, in fact, that he'd been experiencing some decidedly unsettling and highly unscientific thoughts about fate and destined paths in life.
Jim gave him an odd look but thankfully didn't protest as Blair switched on a tiny penlight, pulled a few useful items out of a pocket, and set to work. In a matter of moments, he had the locked door open and they were both inside. A few moments more and he had the truck running.
One glance at the gas gauge and Blair was shivering again. This was undoubtedly the only damn vehicle on the lot with a full tank. He'd still have to 'acquire' license plates very shortly but at least he wouldn't need to buy gas right away.
Blair stole a quick glance at his ominously silent partner as he eased the truck into gear and pulled into the alley alongside the dealership. Thankfully, the spark of awareness was not only still there, it was nearing full-fledged lucidity.
"Something you forgot to tell me, Chief?" Jim whispered hoarsely.
Okay, so maybe this wasn't the best of times for Jim to start taking an interest in what was going on. Blair could foresee a discussion of exactly when and where and how he'd become such an expert at jimmying car doors and hot-wiring engines in the none-too-distant future. At least Jim wasn't debating the necessity of such measures so far.
"I'm kinda busy here right now, Jim..." he prevaricated, hastily turning his full attention to navigating sans headlights. A gleam of silvery fur up ahead told him that he'd be following it to the right in a moment. Good thing his spirit guide had a better sense of direction than he did.
Er... or not. The jag joined the wolf and shouldered it across the intersection. Blair turned left on the side street, following the pair.
"Uh huh. Later, then," Jim answered.
"Um, yeah, sure," Blair agreed glibly. With any luck, the occasion for that particular discussion would never arise. None of that stuff was going to matter. The vision, like most he'd experienced so far, had been pretty vague and kind of confusing, but Blair had picked up the definite impression that, wherever this 'road of the gone-before ones' led, his and Jim's wilderness survival skills would be far more useful than their more technological ones once they got there.
How very convenient that they had both spent substantial periods of time living with hunter-gatherer tribes.
Preparing for the rescue. Considering where to find sanctuary for the two of them. Realizing with a sick shock that there would be no lasting safe haven, that they would be forever on the run. Dreaming, seeing future after future where he rescued Jim only to have them both recaptured. Seeing himself used as leverage against Jim, Jim used as leverage against him. Seeing friends, families, innocents used against them both. Watching as Guide and Sentinel were broken or killed.
Waking. Despairing.
Hearing Incacha rebuke him for giving up. Following Incacha to the spirit plane to meet with another Shaman, one of Navajo heritage. Being shown 'the road of the gone-before ones'. Learning that no one could pursue them there - and that none who took the road ever returned. Looking at the path and doubting. Being told sternly, "Trust as you would have your Sentinel trust you."
Resolving to set aside his scientific scepticism, and believe.
Blair had collected a number of legends about places such as the one in his vision while searching for Sentinel lore but - while the topic had interested him - the lure of his Sentinel research had been stronger. Most of the sites he'd heard of previously were overseas and, since he really doubted his ability to get himself and one seriously messed-up Sentinel safely out of the country under the circumstances, he was glad that there was one substantially closer. He'd been a bit concerned about losing his way initially - he didn't have the greatest sense of direction in the first place and the old Shaman's directions had been decidedly cryptic - but he'd soon discovered that was an unnecessary concern.
Admittedly, most of the time Blair had no idea where they were, let alone where they were going, but then he didn't really need to know. He simply had to turn wherever the jag and wolf appeared. Only once had he attempted to pick his own path, passing the turnoff that the animals were standing by. A moment later, he'd nearly driven the Jeep into a ditch as the jag suddenly appeared on its hood, looking straight through the windshield and snarling at him. He'd decided then that maybe it would be a good idea to just follow obediently; the spirit guides apparently knew exactly where they were going.
Blair made one quick stop to obtain a license plate for the truck, then followed the spirit guides onto the highway. They'd been sticking to less well-travelled roads up till now and he wasn't sure whether the change was something to worry about or to be glad about. Either speed was becoming more important than a low profile, or no one was looking for them in the area. Considering what had happened at the motel, he couldn't quite bring himself to believe the second possibility, so he pushed his speed just slightly over the limit - not enough to get pulled over, that was the last damn thing they needed - and held it there. He shifted in the seat, making himself comfortable, then, steering one-handed, dropped his right hand to the seat. His wrist was immediately encircled, long fingers curling to rest against the pulse point, seeking reassurance of his presence.
It was a familiar feeling after the past few days. Even before Jim had shown any real signs of surfacing from his virtual catatonia, he'd instinctively sought out contact with Blair. Blair knew that, at least in part, Jim was using the contact to ground himself, to focus and control his senses. But he suspected that it was also a reminder of the here-and-now. Reassurance that they were together again.
A sort of... security blanket.
An uncontrollable snort of amusement escaped him at the image that brought to mind.
"Care to share, Chief?"
The dry inquiry, so very Jim despite the almost unrecognizably hoarse, strained whisper that voiced it, sent a surge of unreasonably joyous relief through him. "Uh, just my overactive imagination," Blair snickered, shooting a sideways glance at his companion.
Jim raised his eyebrows and tilted his head a fraction in silent invitation. The fingers enclosing Blair's wrist squeezed gently in encouragement.
Blair shook his head and grinned. "Trust me, Ellison, you really don't want to know," he chuckled.
"Sandburg Zone..."
"Aw, man, you know you've missed it..."
The only response was another gentle squeeze of his wrist. Blair twisted his hand within Jim's grasp, lightly gripping Jim's wrist in return. Silence fell for a few minutes. Finally, Jim released his grasp and shifted on the seat, a pained grunt escaping as he tried to get comfortable.
Sneaking an uneasy peek at Jim's obvious discomfort, Blair suggested, "Hey, you think you can manage a body-check yet? I couldn't find anything that justified the risk of a hospital, but I'd feel a hell of a lot better if you can confirm that." He'd had some pretty advanced first aid training for the various field expeditions he'd taken part in over the years before he'd met Jim, and he'd made a point of squeezing in some additional training along with his re-certifications since then, so he did know what he was doing, but he couldn't even begin to match the level of examination that a Sentinel could carry out.
There was no verbal response, but fingers reached for his wrist again, curling around it to rest with the tips pressing lightly against his pulse. "Don't go too deep at first," Blair cautioned softly. "You know the drill. Nice and easy, take it slow. Remember how things are supposed to feel, then look for what's different. Don't let the pain dial drift too much while you're concentrating." He kept up a quiet, steady murmur. It didn't really matter what he said. Jim knew what he was doing; he just used the sound of Blair's voice and the feel of his pulse to ground himself.
A slight hitch in Jim's breath warned Blair that his concentration was slipping. Voice firming from reassurance to command, Blair reminded him, "Check your dials. Keep them around normal. Squeeze my wrist if you need me to pull over and help." Dividing his attention between Jim and the road, Blair started looking for a good spot to pull off if necessary. But Jim's grip remained light and his breathing evened out again, so Blair kept driving and talking.
Finally, Jim gave a careful sigh - long, but not very deep - and released Blair's wrist. "No hospital," he rasped hoarsely. "Strains, deep bruising, nothing critical... everything's healing okay... just need time..."
Relieved, Blair gave a sigh of his own. "Okay," he agreed, grateful that his decision not to risk a hospital or clinic visit had been the right one. Danger of capture aside, conventional painkillers and muscle relaxants tended to do Jim more harm than good. As long as there weren't any major injuries - broken bones to be set, internal damage requiring surgery, bullets to be removed - Jim tended to be better off relying on the pain dial and toughing it out rather than seeking professional medical attention.
Shifting, Jim gave a hiss of discomfort as he raised his left arm to lie along the back of the seat, his hand resting against Blair's shoulder, fingertips just brushing the back of Blair's neck. Blair recognized the move for what it was - an alternate grounding touch that would leave both of his hands free for steering. One more sign that Jim was slowly making his way back to full alertness.
They rode in companionable silence for a while. Blair knew that there were things they should be discussing. Jim needed to be brought up to speed on what was happening, the possibilities open to them, and exactly why Blair believed that there was really only one option worth serious consideration. But that necessitated explaining all the weird shit, and he really, really wasn't looking forward to that. Jim didn't like dealing with that side of the Sentinel thing in the first place, and he was going to be even less happy with most of what Blair had to say.
However, they did have to make some pretty big decisions in the very near future, so he really did need to fill Jim in. Just because he felt that they only had one real option, that didn't mean that Jim would agree with him. And this was way too important for a unilateral decision.
Finally prepared to broach the subject with Jim, Blair shot a quick glance across the cab towards him. The words on the tip of his tongue died unspoken. Neck crooked at an uncomfortable angle, head leaning against the side window, Jim was once again asleep, his limited strength depleted by their recent activities. Unwilling to interrupt his rest, Blair turned his full attention back to the road. Their discussion could wait until Jim woke up on his own.
He hoped.
***
Title: The Path to Trust
Author: Calic0cat <calic0cat@fastmail.fm>
Date Completed: June 29, 2005
Category: Gen or Pre-slash (hints only)
Rating: FRT (Fan Rated Suitable for Teenagers)
Warnings: Profanity, Violence
Website: http://www.calic0cat.net/
Notes: Canon background up till early fourth season.
Author's Note: Written for the 2005 Moonridge Auction. Thanks to Sheila and T.W. for an exhaustive (and, I'm sure, exhausting!) beta job. Any errors that remain are mine.
italicized paragraphs - flashbacks
Blair lay perfectly still, trying to figure out what had awakened him. He didn't hear anything noteworthy; in fact, Jim was so still and silent in the bed beside him that Blair was tempted to wake him, just to be sure that he hadn't slipped back into that strange, sort-of-like-a-zone-but-not-really state that he'd been in for the past few days.
He didn't, though. Jim was sleeping deeply but naturally for the first time in god-only-knew how long, finally getting the healing rest that he needed. Blair wasn't about to disturb him unless it became absolutely necessary.
Blair needed the rest as well, but he was too uneasy to go back to sleep. A gut instinct that he was learning to trust was telling him that he needed to be on the alert.
Carefully lifting Jim's hand from its resting place over his heart, Blair slid to the edge of the bed. Sitting up, he slipped on his sneakers, moving to cautiously twitch the drapes aside and peer out the window. The motel parking lot was still and silent, as was to be expected at this hour, but the uneasiness didn't fade. The urge to do something, to protect his Sentinel, stirred within him, intensifying again.
That urge had been with Blair for weeks - no, months - now. Its urgency waxed and waned, but its presence had been a constant in his life, ever since that fateful morning...
Sleeping uneasily. Waking to a vague sense of foreboding and a strange reluctance to let Jim out of his sight. Expecting that Jim would dismiss it out of hand, but mentioning his feeling anyway. Being surprised when Jim took him seriously and tried to get the day off, failing because he had a meeting with the D.A. that couldn't be rescheduled. Trying to get the day off himself, and failing to find someone to cover the two tests he had to administer. Admitting that he couldn't afford to cancel classes so soon after his reinstatement following the Ventriss mess. Parting reluctantly, both of them promising to be extra careful and to go straight home as soon as possible.
Feeling that vague foreboding deepening as the morning crept by; feeling it become a deep-seated, anxious restlessness, a relentless, unreasoning need to be with Jim.
Sitting in his office marking the first set of tests between classes. Answering the phone to hear Simon demand, "Tell Ellison to get his ass in here, Sandburg; he's late for his meeting with the D.A.". Knowing beyond any shadow of a doubt that Jim hadn't simply had a flat tire or followed a tip. Realizing with sick certainty that Jim was in trouble.
Neglecting his duties at Rainier to help in the search for Jim. Following even the faintest of leads till finally Jim's truck was located. Watching in numb disbelief as it was dragged from the ocean, water streaming from the open doors of its mangled cab.
Refusing to accept that Jim was gone. Knowing somehow, deep inside, that he was alive. Insisting that, in light of the lack of a body, Jim be declared missing rather than legally dead. Pointing out that Jim had survived against incredible odds before. Garnering unexpected - and crucial - support from Jim's father and brother.
Discovering that, since the fountain incident, Jim had given him both full power of attorney and co-ownership of the loft. Acknowledging that was one hell of a gift - of a commitment - to give a friend, a partner. Realizing that, despite the rough patch they'd been going through, Jim still cared very deeply for him. Hoping that, just maybe, the direction they'd seemed to be heading in before Jim had gone behind his back to read the first chapter of his dissertation, before all of the tension and miscommunication had started, wasn't quite the lost path he'd begun to believe it was, that maybe their mutual mistakes had merely sent them on a brief detour.
The rustling of sheets drew Blair's attention away from both his thoughts and the window, turning it to the still-sleeping form of his companion. Jim's rest was no longer quite so peaceful; his brow had furrowed and his hand moved restlessly over the empty space beside him. Blair allowed himself a few moments to just gaze his fill. Gaunt and battered though Jim might be, he was alive. Alive, and free.
And they were together once more; Sentinel and Guide were reunited. Having achieved that much, Blair had no intention of allowing them to be separated again.
Nagging Simon to continue the search. Using police resources to continue it himself until Simon finally pulled his pass and had him barred from the station, advising him sadly that it was for his own good, that Blair needed to accept reality and move on with his life.
Continuing the search on his own. Suspecting that Brackett might be involved. Requesting help from Jack Kelso. Hearing Jack advise him, a mere day later, to let it go. Being told explicitly to forget that he'd ever heard of James Ellison or a rogue CIA agent named Brackett.
Realizing that he was completely on his own in this, that it was up to him and him alone to rescue Jim. Knowing that he was about to start something from which there would be no turning back.
That knowledge hadn't stopped him then and Blair wouldn't let it stop him now. He would not - could not - allow Jim to be taken again. Even fleeing the country wouldn't be enough to guarantee that, at least not judging by his dreams. He shuddered convulsively at the thought; he couldn't take the chance that any of those visions would be fulfilled.
That left just one other option. A drastic one, one that held its own risks, but he was willing to give it a shot. He was certain that Jim wouldn't choose to fall into the hands of their pursuers again, and he honestly didn't think there was any other way to avoid that for more than a short period of time.
Well, other than the loaded gun that he'd appropriated when he'd rescued Jim, that is. That first look at his abused best friend had told him that he couldn't allow the two of them to be taken alive; some things were far worse than death. But since he'd really prefer the option that kept them alive and together - well, that growing uneasiness was telling him that it was time to hit the road.
"C'mon, Jim. Wake up, man, we've gotta get moving." Blair kept his voice to a mere breath of sound, but the Sentinel still jerked sharply awake, hands instinctively raising to cover his ears. "Check the dials. Set them as close to normal as you can. C'mon, Jim, you know the drill." He kept up a low, steady murmur of encouragement and reminders while he swiftly gathered their belongings. A snarl interrupted him, and he turned sharply to see the jaguar vanishing through the closed door of the motel room. "Shit." Out of time; if he'd missed anything, they'd just have to live without it.
"Chief? You saw..." Jim's voice was a barely audible croak. Blair tried not to dwell on how it had gotten that way. Tried not to imagine his best friend screaming until his voice gave out. Tried to think instead of how grateful he was to hear Jim speak at all.
"Yeah," Blair said, deliberately casual about both his answer and the fact that Jim had just spoken for the first time since the rescue. Despite his best efforts, he shivered involuntarily. Waking, sleeping, it didn't matter. He'd been seeing the jaguar, the wolf, Incacha, and a whole bunch of other weird shit that had been too damn helpful to waste time freaking out over. Sure, he'd deliberately sought the spirit world in a last-ditch effort to find Jim, but he'd gotten a little - okay, a lot - more than he'd bargained for. He didn't regret it, but he couldn't help being just a little bit freaked out by the whole thing. But he wasn't about to start explaining any of that to Jim right now.
For one thing, this was definitely not the time to explain precisely how he'd jump-started his crash course in Sentinel-specific Shamanism. Desperate straits or not, his Blessed Protector wasn't going to take the news of a near-overdose of certain 'traditional' substances too well. At least it had been enough to break through the subconscious barrier of his scientific scepticism and let him contact the spirit world.
Turning in desperation to the spirit world after it became clear that he was completely on his own in this, that he had no other avenue to locate his missing Sentinel. Using meditative techniques, candles, incense, at first. Attempting a dream walk to find Jim and failing miserably. Struggling fruitlessly to reach his spirit guide, Jim's spirit guide, Incacha, any possible source of help. Feeling intensely frustrated by his failures. Deciding that extreme measures were required. Obtaining the necessary supplies and making a final attempt...
Struggling to consciousness on Jim's bed, sick and weak and aching all over, air thick and cloying, candles burnt down and guttered out on the surfaces around him. Feeling even sicker at the realization that this too had failed, that he still had no way to find Jim. Attempting to sit up, only to be growled at, snarled at, and scolded sternly in Quechua as two pissed-off spirit guides and a dead Chopec Shaman emerged from the loft's shadows.
Daring to hope that maybe, with the help of their spirit guides and Incacha, he would finally be able to find and rescue Jim.
Learning about the role of a Sentinel's Shaman, something both like and unlike the regular variety, according to Incacha. Soaking up Incacha's instruction eagerly, knowing that he didn't have the time to figure it out as he went, the way that he'd figured out how to be a Guide. Realizing just how critical Incacha's assistance and teaching were, that there was no room for trial and error experimentation.
Being led on a spirit walk by Incacha, the jaguar and the wolf guarding his passage. Nearly losing the connection in the rush of outrage at his first sight of his suffering friend, only maintaining it with Incacha's help. Reluctantly leaving Jim's side to explore the facility.
Witnessing an argument between Brackett and the project's lead scientist. Learning that the scientists wanted him, too. Discovering that he had Brackett to 'thank' for his freedom, that Brackett believed he and his research would bring more Sentinels to light, that he was more valuable left free. Realizing from the conversation that Alex must be in their custody as well.
Finding the necessary clues to figure out where the facility was. Mapping its layout, assessing its security, cataloguing every detail for later consideration.
Returning all-too-briefly to Jim to brush ghostly fingers over a gaunt cheek, press a phantom kiss to a pain-furrowed brow, and whisper a fervent promise, hoping that somehow his Sentinel would hear and take hope. Yielding reluctantly to the spirit guides' gentle but firm insistence that it was time to leave.
Just like he was heeding the jaguar's warning now, despite his reluctance to let these first signs of true awareness from Jim go to waste. Blair shrugged a heavy backpack over each shoulder, then moved to help Jim to his feet, steadying him as he swayed uncertainly.
Part of Blair wanted to just sit Jim back down again and keep him talking. Wanted to question Jim about everything that had happened to him, from the moment that they'd parted company on the morning he'd been taken until the moment Blair had arrived to rescue him.
Blair hadn't been worried about getting into the research facility. If necessary, he'd been perfectly prepared to just drive up to the front gate and demand to see Brackett. Getting himself and his partner safely out again, however... Well, that had been a different question entirely.
It had been clear that Jack Kelso had no intention of becoming involved any further, and, in all honesty, Blair couldn't blame him. The visions triggered by thoughts of involving Captain Banks and their other friends had eliminated that plan before it was even fully formed. That had left the entire rescue operation dependent on himself, a pair of spirit animals, and the spirit of a dead Chopec Shaman. Not exactly the most imposing rescue force ever assembled, but he'd known that it would have to suffice. Incacha had promised to take care of actually getting them into and safely out of the base itself, but everything else - transportation, money, supplies, red herrings - had been entirely up to Blair.
Convincing Jack and Simon and everyone else that he was leaving for Sierra Verde to study the temple and collect local Sentinel lore in order to finally finish his dissertation. Selling off his artifacts and car, ostensibly to fund his trip.
Making a trip into Seattle to sell off several very old books at a rare books store. Using cash from Jim's 'emergency stash' to covertly order durable, functional, low-tech hunting and fishing gear through a small Seattle shop that carried goods produced by native peoples. Casing the airport. Booking a ticket on a flight departing from Seattle for Mexico in several days.
Signing his - and Jim's - power of attorney over to Jim's brother. Asking Stephen to look after the loft while he was gone. Having Stephen give him a long, thoughtful look before agreeing.
Maxing out his credit card buying first aid supplies and survival gear suitable for Sierra Verde - or just about anywhere else.
Visiting his cousin the bookie and feeding him a half-truth about one of Jim's old cases possibly coming back to haunt him now that Jim was gone. Obtaining fake identification for himself through Robert. Arranging to buy an old but reliable Jeep with slightly questionable ownership papers under that new identity. Leaving the new camping gear with Robert, safely stored in the Jeep. Persuading him to make sure that the Jeep had a full tank of gas and several filled gas cans in the back.
Arranging for various widespread contacts to release his Sentinel materials - including a cautionary tale about the less desirable fates a Sentinel might face even in the 'land of the free' - all over the Internet in a few days, in hopes that others in need might benefit from his and Jim's hard-earned knowledge. Gutting his laptop and disassembling the hard drive to destroy each platter individually, purely to irritate the hell out of anyone trying to access it.
Having Stephen show up early one morning shortly before his scheduled departure, supposedly to wish him luck on his trip and to get last-minute instructions regarding the loft, bearing an unfamiliar duffle that he claimed Jim had accidentally left behind after a family golf game at their dad's country club. Knowing Stephen's story for an obfuscation but playing along with him. Discovering after Stephen's departure that, beneath a concealing layer of clothing, the duffle contained rolls of bills in mixed denominations, an assortment of precious and semi-precious gems, gold and silver jewellery - and a sealed envelope with a simple J scrawled across it.
Depositing the old camping gear in a bus station locker, ready for future pickup. Treating everything in the loft as suspect, including his jewellery and clothing and Jim's spare gun. Changing into a completely new outfit, taking a couple more changes of clothing and a few other specially purchased supplies in an equally new backpack, and leaving everything else - except the contents of Stephen's duffle, which hadn't been out of his possession since Stephen delivered them - behind. Using an ATM to make a large cash withdrawal from Jim's account.
Picking up Jim's beloved truck, newly restored to near-classic condition, then driving it halfway across the state. Renting and prepaying, with cash, for a storage unit. Storing the truck in it. Mailing the key to the unit, together with papers gifting the truck to Daryl Banks, to Daryl's mother, to be given to Daryl at an appropriate future date. Going to the airport and paying cash for two tickets on a flight departing for Peru three days after his scheduled flight from Seattle to Mexico, and then - clothing changed, hair braided and tucked up under a hat - hopping a bus for the long ride back to Cascade. Hoping that he'd left a clear enough trail to be noticed, but not so clear as to be an obvious red herring.
Stopping at a Cascade restaurant to let his hair down and to don the second new outfit from the backpack, an outfit carefully chosen to resemble the airport staff's uniforms. Retrieving his and Jim's old camping gear before catching a bus to Seattle.
Picking up the new hunting and fishing gear, then leaving it in a locker at the train station before taking a taxi to the airport.
Checking the camping gear at the airline's check-in desk. 'Borrowing' a porter's jacket and cap on his way to the gate and concealing them beneath his own jacket, carried draped over his arm. Chatting and flirting with the pretty girl at the gate, making sure that the airline staff would remember him. Boarding the plane and waiting till the last minute to duck inside the washroom, pull his hair into a hasty but snug ponytail and stuff it down inside his shirt, don the borrowed uniform cap and jacket, and slip away unchallenged, leaving the old camping gear to make the trip without him.
Ducking into a 'family' bathroom and ditching the jacket and cap in the bottom of the diaper disposal. Stuffing his hair up under the ball cap he'd had crammed in his pocket, removing his outer shirt, donning a fake beard. Exiting the terminal and taking a cab across town to the train station. Retrieving the hunting gear from its locker. Buying a ticket, then slipping outside to catch a bus several blocks away - after tossing the cap and letting his hair down again.
Changing buses repeatedly to make his way first to Cascade, then towards Robert's place; making the final portion of the trip on foot. Picking up the Jeep and supplies, and driving out of town. Knowing that he was about to pass the point of no return...
He'd laid as many false trails as feasible, purchased supplies with an eye to portability and the most likely needs of a severely abused Sentinel, tried to think of as many contingencies as possible. Incacha had promised to help free Jim, and the Chopec Shaman had delivered on that promise, but keeping Jim and himself free was going to be entirely up to Blair.
Returning to the facility in the flesh over three weeks after his spirit walk, near frantic at the delay but knowing that it had been necessary to ensure the best possible chance of a successful rescue and escape. Knowing that, whatever Incacha was planning, the Chopec Shaman could only do this once.
Willingly becoming an observer in his own body, allowing the spirit of the trained Shaman to merge with him and use their combined powers. Watching in awe as Incacha summoned a storm and called down lightning to fry the facility's electrical system, reducing high tech security systems to junk. Walking unnoticed through the shadows, flanked by a jaguar and a wolf. Seeing locked doors swing open at a touch.
Following a spotted jaguar to find Alex Barnes, no longer catatonic but just as tortured as Jim had been when he'd seen him during the spirit walk. Wanting to protest but yielding to the senior Shaman's decision to release her, accepting his assurances that she would have no interest in Jim or himself. Leaving her to her own devices and continuing the search for Jim.
Finding Jim floating in a sensory deprivation tank, deeply zoned, his naked body emaciated, bruised, and newly scarred. Getting him out of the tank, dressing him in a too-small lab coat found hanging on a chair, and, ironically grateful for the lost weight, lifting him in a fireman's carry.
Exiting the room to find the bloodbath left by Alex as she prowled the facility exacting vengeance for her mistreatment. Seeing the corridors littered with unmoving guards and dead men and women in formerly-white lab coats. Finding Brackett sprawled on the floor, injured and helpless, with Alex circling him, gun in one hand and knife in her other. Hearing Brackett demand then beg for his assistance. Shaking his head and ignoring Brackett's pleas, he and the Shaman sharing his body in perfect agreement. Calling Brackett a black-hearted bastard who deserved everything he got. Walking away as Alex decided to see what colour the agent's heart really was. Not looking back when Brackett started to scream.
Not faltering when the screaming stopped.
Blair shuddered and jerked his thoughts back to the present. The strength of his own vicious satisfaction in Alex's bloody distribution of justice was something that he'd have to face eventually, but he didn't have time for that now.
"C'mon, we can talk more once we're on the road again," he promised as he steered Jim towards the door. Hopefully, about something else. But hell, he'd even talk about the weird shit - well, most of it anyway - if it would just keep Jim interested in what was going on. The past days of Jim-the-compliant-zombie had been downright terrifying; Blair had been afraid that the damage was too great, that Jim's retreat from the abuse of his senses couldn't be reversed.
Disturbing as the new scars and extensive bruising were, the physical damage was a fairly minor concern. Jim's captors wouldn't have let any serious injuries go untreated; they couldn't exactly order a new supply of Sentinels from a lab supply company the way that they would order replacement rats or mice, so they hadn't been too likely to waste their current specimen. The sensory damage, however, was a different story.
One of Jim's greatest fears in the early days of their association had been that the senses would drive him to insanity, and, for all his casual dismissal of that fear, Blair had always been uneasily aware of the possibility. Even more so after witnessing Alex's rapid downward spiral into madness. While the researchers probably wouldn't have intended to push Jim beyond the point of recovery - at least, not yet - Blair wasn't at all certain that they would have known where that point lay. So, Jim's growing lucidity over the past twelve hours had been a relief.
The moment when Jim halted just inside the door and commandeered one backpack, hissing in pain as he shrugged it into place, was an even bigger relief. Not just because it was good to be relieved of part of the load, but also because it was another sign of Jim beginning to really act like Jim, his partner and Blessed Protector.
The black jaguar appeared as soon as they stepped out of the room, leading them away from the rundown motel - and from the old sedan they'd arrived in. Blair followed without hesitation, a guiding hand resting lightly against Jim's back in case he zombied out again or his senses decided to act up. As they turned down a narrow alley, Blair glanced back towards the motel. A dark panel van and a couple of sedans were just pulling up in front, black-clad figures spilling out of their doors. Blair bit his lip hard and quickened his pace, his palm pressing against Jim's back in a silent admonition to move a little faster.
They followed the big cat as it led them confidently through a maze of side streets and alleys, finally stopping in front of a rundown used car dealership. A short yip heralded the wolf's appearance from the shadows. The jaguar joined it, and the two spirit guides led them to a back corner of the lot.
A corner where the overhead light was conveniently burnt out.
The jag leapt lightly onto the hood of an old Dodge truck. Sitting by the driver's door, the wolf gave a sharp bark of summons. Blair couldn't quite suppress another shiver. Useful as it was, this mystical shit was still taking some serious getting used to. Incacha had started him down the Shaman's path, but even a spirit-Shaman couldn't cram years of apprenticeship into a mere few weeks. And now, Blair was on his own to figure it all out.
Pulling off the road at a rest stop, hundreds of miles from the facility they'd rescued Jim from, still vaguely aware of Incacha's presence within himself. Slumping, exhausted, in the driver's seat, unable to stay awake any longer even with the aid of caffeine pills. Succumbing to the relentless drag of sleep, despite his worry about Jim's still-unresponsive state and the possibility of pursuit.
Dreaming of Incacha - a spotted jaguar waiting peacefully at the Chopec's side, one of the Shaman's hands resting lightly on its head in benediction. Listening as the spirit-Shaman bid safe journey to himself and his Sentinel. Waking to the realization that Incacha was truly gone and would not be returning, that Alex was dead now too, her soul finally at peace.
Hearing the insistent snarl of a jaguar and warning howl-bark of a wolf. Knowing that it was time to move on again.
Swapping the Jeep's license plate with a vehicle in an airport's long-term parking lot. Ditching the Jeep a day later at a rundown campground when it mysteriously refused to start after the jag took a nap on its hood. Following the wolf to the farm across the road. Using some of Stephen's cash to buy the beat-up old sedan that they'd just abandoned at the motel. Pulling off another license plate snatch a few miles down the road.
As he stepped up to the truck door, Blair blessed his very unconventional upbringing. The skills he'd learned from the ghetto kids while Naomi was busy helping their mothers organize protests against police brutality and racial profiling had come in handy more than once lately, as had other skills that he'd picked up over the years. Both his childhood experiences and those he'd undergone as a student of anthropology had been so useful, in fact, that he'd been experiencing some decidedly unsettling and highly unscientific thoughts about fate and destined paths in life.
Jim gave him an odd look but thankfully didn't protest as Blair switched on a tiny penlight, pulled a few useful items out of a pocket, and set to work. In a matter of moments, he had the locked door open and they were both inside. A few moments more and he had the truck running.
One glance at the gas gauge and Blair was shivering again. This was undoubtedly the only damn vehicle on the lot with a full tank. He'd still have to 'acquire' license plates very shortly but at least he wouldn't need to buy gas right away.
Blair stole a quick glance at his ominously silent partner as he eased the truck into gear and pulled into the alley alongside the dealership. Thankfully, the spark of awareness was not only still there, it was nearing full-fledged lucidity.
"Something you forgot to tell me, Chief?" Jim whispered hoarsely.
Okay, so maybe this wasn't the best of times for Jim to start taking an interest in what was going on. Blair could foresee a discussion of exactly when and where and how he'd become such an expert at jimmying car doors and hot-wiring engines in the none-too-distant future. At least Jim wasn't debating the necessity of such measures so far.
"I'm kinda busy here right now, Jim..." he prevaricated, hastily turning his full attention to navigating sans headlights. A gleam of silvery fur up ahead told him that he'd be following it to the right in a moment. Good thing his spirit guide had a better sense of direction than he did.
Er... or not. The jag joined the wolf and shouldered it across the intersection. Blair turned left on the side street, following the pair.
"Uh huh. Later, then," Jim answered.
"Um, yeah, sure," Blair agreed glibly. With any luck, the occasion for that particular discussion would never arise. None of that stuff was going to matter. The vision, like most he'd experienced so far, had been pretty vague and kind of confusing, but Blair had picked up the definite impression that, wherever this 'road of the gone-before ones' led, his and Jim's wilderness survival skills would be far more useful than their more technological ones once they got there.
How very convenient that they had both spent substantial periods of time living with hunter-gatherer tribes.
Preparing for the rescue. Considering where to find sanctuary for the two of them. Realizing with a sick shock that there would be no lasting safe haven, that they would be forever on the run. Dreaming, seeing future after future where he rescued Jim only to have them both recaptured. Seeing himself used as leverage against Jim, Jim used as leverage against him. Seeing friends, families, innocents used against them both. Watching as Guide and Sentinel were broken or killed.
Waking. Despairing.
Hearing Incacha rebuke him for giving up. Following Incacha to the spirit plane to meet with another Shaman, one of Navajo heritage. Being shown 'the road of the gone-before ones'. Learning that no one could pursue them there - and that none who took the road ever returned. Looking at the path and doubting. Being told sternly, "Trust as you would have your Sentinel trust you."
Resolving to set aside his scientific scepticism, and believe.
Blair had collected a number of legends about places such as the one in his vision while searching for Sentinel lore but - while the topic had interested him - the lure of his Sentinel research had been stronger. Most of the sites he'd heard of previously were overseas and, since he really doubted his ability to get himself and one seriously messed-up Sentinel safely out of the country under the circumstances, he was glad that there was one substantially closer. He'd been a bit concerned about losing his way initially - he didn't have the greatest sense of direction in the first place and the old Shaman's directions had been decidedly cryptic - but he'd soon discovered that was an unnecessary concern.
Admittedly, most of the time Blair had no idea where they were, let alone where they were going, but then he didn't really need to know. He simply had to turn wherever the jag and wolf appeared. Only once had he attempted to pick his own path, passing the turnoff that the animals were standing by. A moment later, he'd nearly driven the Jeep into a ditch as the jag suddenly appeared on its hood, looking straight through the windshield and snarling at him. He'd decided then that maybe it would be a good idea to just follow obediently; the spirit guides apparently knew exactly where they were going.
Blair made one quick stop to obtain a license plate for the truck, then followed the spirit guides onto the highway. They'd been sticking to less well-travelled roads up till now and he wasn't sure whether the change was something to worry about or to be glad about. Either speed was becoming more important than a low profile, or no one was looking for them in the area. Considering what had happened at the motel, he couldn't quite bring himself to believe the second possibility, so he pushed his speed just slightly over the limit - not enough to get pulled over, that was the last damn thing they needed - and held it there. He shifted in the seat, making himself comfortable, then, steering one-handed, dropped his right hand to the seat. His wrist was immediately encircled, long fingers curling to rest against the pulse point, seeking reassurance of his presence.
It was a familiar feeling after the past few days. Even before Jim had shown any real signs of surfacing from his virtual catatonia, he'd instinctively sought out contact with Blair. Blair knew that, at least in part, Jim was using the contact to ground himself, to focus and control his senses. But he suspected that it was also a reminder of the here-and-now. Reassurance that they were together again.
A sort of... security blanket.
An uncontrollable snort of amusement escaped him at the image that brought to mind.
"Care to share, Chief?"
The dry inquiry, so very Jim despite the almost unrecognizably hoarse, strained whisper that voiced it, sent a surge of unreasonably joyous relief through him. "Uh, just my overactive imagination," Blair snickered, shooting a sideways glance at his companion.
Jim raised his eyebrows and tilted his head a fraction in silent invitation. The fingers enclosing Blair's wrist squeezed gently in encouragement.
Blair shook his head and grinned. "Trust me, Ellison, you really don't want to know," he chuckled.
"Sandburg Zone..."
"Aw, man, you know you've missed it..."
The only response was another gentle squeeze of his wrist. Blair twisted his hand within Jim's grasp, lightly gripping Jim's wrist in return. Silence fell for a few minutes. Finally, Jim released his grasp and shifted on the seat, a pained grunt escaping as he tried to get comfortable.
Sneaking an uneasy peek at Jim's obvious discomfort, Blair suggested, "Hey, you think you can manage a body-check yet? I couldn't find anything that justified the risk of a hospital, but I'd feel a hell of a lot better if you can confirm that." He'd had some pretty advanced first aid training for the various field expeditions he'd taken part in over the years before he'd met Jim, and he'd made a point of squeezing in some additional training along with his re-certifications since then, so he did know what he was doing, but he couldn't even begin to match the level of examination that a Sentinel could carry out.
There was no verbal response, but fingers reached for his wrist again, curling around it to rest with the tips pressing lightly against his pulse. "Don't go too deep at first," Blair cautioned softly. "You know the drill. Nice and easy, take it slow. Remember how things are supposed to feel, then look for what's different. Don't let the pain dial drift too much while you're concentrating." He kept up a quiet, steady murmur. It didn't really matter what he said. Jim knew what he was doing; he just used the sound of Blair's voice and the feel of his pulse to ground himself.
A slight hitch in Jim's breath warned Blair that his concentration was slipping. Voice firming from reassurance to command, Blair reminded him, "Check your dials. Keep them around normal. Squeeze my wrist if you need me to pull over and help." Dividing his attention between Jim and the road, Blair started looking for a good spot to pull off if necessary. But Jim's grip remained light and his breathing evened out again, so Blair kept driving and talking.
Finally, Jim gave a careful sigh - long, but not very deep - and released Blair's wrist. "No hospital," he rasped hoarsely. "Strains, deep bruising, nothing critical... everything's healing okay... just need time..."
Relieved, Blair gave a sigh of his own. "Okay," he agreed, grateful that his decision not to risk a hospital or clinic visit had been the right one. Danger of capture aside, conventional painkillers and muscle relaxants tended to do Jim more harm than good. As long as there weren't any major injuries - broken bones to be set, internal damage requiring surgery, bullets to be removed - Jim tended to be better off relying on the pain dial and toughing it out rather than seeking professional medical attention.
Shifting, Jim gave a hiss of discomfort as he raised his left arm to lie along the back of the seat, his hand resting against Blair's shoulder, fingertips just brushing the back of Blair's neck. Blair recognized the move for what it was - an alternate grounding touch that would leave both of his hands free for steering. One more sign that Jim was slowly making his way back to full alertness.
They rode in companionable silence for a while. Blair knew that there were things they should be discussing. Jim needed to be brought up to speed on what was happening, the possibilities open to them, and exactly why Blair believed that there was really only one option worth serious consideration. But that necessitated explaining all the weird shit, and he really, really wasn't looking forward to that. Jim didn't like dealing with that side of the Sentinel thing in the first place, and he was going to be even less happy with most of what Blair had to say.
However, they did have to make some pretty big decisions in the very near future, so he really did need to fill Jim in. Just because he felt that they only had one real option, that didn't mean that Jim would agree with him. And this was way too important for a unilateral decision.
Finally prepared to broach the subject with Jim, Blair shot a quick glance across the cab towards him. The words on the tip of his tongue died unspoken. Neck crooked at an uncomfortable angle, head leaning against the side window, Jim was once again asleep, his limited strength depleted by their recent activities. Unwilling to interrupt his rest, Blair turned his full attention back to the road. Their discussion could wait until Jim woke up on his own.
He hoped.
***
