Disclaimer: Don't own the characters or the song and I'm making absolutely no money on this whatsoever.
Category: Angst, h/c, Holiday related.
Rated PG for a little language.
Note: This takes place early in Jim and Blair's relationship, after "The Rig" but before "Blindman's Bluff".
Fidus Amicus
An angel came down
One night to the earth
A mission from God
To find out the worth
Of everything that
His children had done
Since that winter night
The birth of His son
"It's damn well not worth much of anything," Jim Ellison muttered in reply to the Christmas song that played softly on the stereo.
A cup of coffee in his hand, he stared out the window at the dreary early evening. Snowflakes mixed with rain and ice obscured his view of Cascade, but it wasn't so much the cold on the outside as the cold that came from within him that made his mood as inhospitable as the weather.
He crossed the floor to the couch and sat down, careful of his wounded left arm which was resting in a sling, a gift from the drug dealer he'd arrested the day before. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, trying to find the dial to turn down the pain, but the concentration was lost as horrific images invaded his thoughts.
Jumping to his feet to escape the pictures of death, Jim strode into the kitchen to pour himself another cup of coffee. Maybe he should have gone in to work, but Simon had insisted he take the day off -- Jim had been working almost twenty-four hours a day for nearly a week, ever since Blair had left for the conference. Jim had been determined to find the supplier of the P-Funk -- a crack and PCP mix -- that had killed eleven people. Deaths which had been slow and excruciating.
Hell, he'd seen death more often than he cared to admit, had even become inured to it as much as one man could. But these... Nobody deserved to die in such a hideous fashion.
Unwanted and uninvited images slid through his mind -- the addicts' limbs twisted at odd angles and their hands outstretched forever in abject supplication. Their expressions of agony were forever frozen in Jim's memory. Two of them were kids, ten years old. Those were bad enough, but the one that had really gotten to Jim was the young man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Sandburg. When he came upon the scene and saw the long curly hair, he'd nearly lost it. He'd kept his face impassive, a hand to his mouth to hold back the sickness that rose in his throat. Nobody who saw him would have suspected how raw his nerves were -- the shock had nearly stolen his usual stoic reserve.
The last few nights held dreams about that victim, and in his nightmares, the young man on the floor had been Blair. Jim had been awakened by his own cries, which blended with Blair's anguished screams as the kid had convulsed and died in Jim's arms.
Most thought Detective James Ellison was made of cold steel, nothing penetrating his frigid mask. He liked to portray that front -- it was easier to keep his distance if no one could see the truth.
He smiled bitterly. What would they all think if they knew how deeply this case had affected him? But no one would ever know. He'd never been a man to spill his guts -- hell, that was for those new age "sensitive" men.
Like Blair.
No, not like Sandburg. The kid may wear his emotions on his sleeve, but he was far from weak, an adjective Jim had previously used synonymously with sensitive. It was just that Blair had grown up in an environment filled with love and acceptance. Meeting Naomi Sandburg last month had given him a clearer picture of how his young friend had turned out to be so open and giving. And Blair hadn't had a father who demanded that his sons act like men, who thought hugs were okay in the sports arena but never in the home, and who thought empathy and compassion were character flaws in a man.
Shoving aside the uncomfortable memories -- both of his childhood and the addicts' deaths -- he glanced at the clock. Four fifty-five. He frowned and wondered if Blair would be delayed in getting home after his week-long seminar in Las Vegas. There had been a gathering of anthropologists to discuss the latest findings in their field and Blair had been looking forward to visiting old friends.
After Blair's chance meeting with Maya Carasco and the violence that had accompanied it last week, Jim knew his young friend had needed to get away; away from the police work, away from Jim. From everything. Blair had to reevaluate how things were going in his life and Jim understood that. Jim had figured this past week would be quiet, mainly catching up on paperwork, and that he could get along without Blair for the short amount of time.
Jim hadn't foreseen a shipment of P-Funk coming into Cascade or that there'd be a need to turn the city upside down while trying to find the supplier before an epidemic of drug-related deaths occurred. Of course, some people had thought the addicts were only getting what they deserved. But they hadn't had to witness the victims...
He took a deep breath and glanced around the loft. Everything was in its place -- no dirty socks littering the floor or a jacket tossed carelessly across a chair. Just the way Jim liked it -- neat and clean. Only something was missing -- and Ellison reluctantly admitted to himself what it was: an overactive long-haired graduate student who could get on his nerves as quickly as he could make him want to hug him. This was the longest they'd been apart since Sandburg had tripped into his life nearly six months ago and changed him forever.
Sighing, he pushed away from the counter, his good arm wrapped around his injured one. He'd had pizza delivered last night so he wouldn't have to cook, but tonight he wanted a real meal. For a moment, he considered waiting for Blair to return, but with the snow, it was difficult to say if his flight would be able to land, and then if he'd make it home across the snow and slush-covered streets.
His brow furrowed in concern. Maybe he should call the airline to see what was going on. If the flight hadn't landed yet, he would take the four wheel truck to the airport and pick him up. He found Blair's itinerary on the fridge under a Save the Rain Forest magnet Naomi had left behind. Jim grabbed the schedule, located the airline's phone number, and called them.
A pre-recorded voice answered and he had to listen to it list all the options before he could push the right number. He punched three and got another pre-recorded voice. Growling a curse, Jim rolled his eyes. He hated menu options. Jim wouldn't be surprised if half the people who went on crazy killing sprees had been goaded by menu options. He was tempted himself to do something violent, like kick the ass of the person who invented them.
A faint noise from below made him expand his sentinel hearing toward the street -- car tires crunching over slushy ice, then Blair's voice thanking someone for a ride and advising him to drive careful. A smile crept across Jim's face and he placed the receiver back in its cradle.
Looks like Flight 1456 landed safe and sound.
He leaned against the counter and listened to the familiar footfalls of Blair walking down the hall. It was a surprisingly welcome sound.
Blair inserted his key in the lock and opened the door. He entered, tossed his keys in the basket, and turned to see Jim. An exhilarated smile lit his guileless face. "Hey, man, I thought you'd be at work." His gaze settled on the sling and his grin disappeared, replaced by concern. "What happened? You okay? Did you get shot? I knew I shouldn't have left you alone for so long."
A smile tugged at Jim's lips. He hadn't realized how much he missed that voice and those run-on sentences. "It's nothing. I'm all right."
Blair removed his snow-littered coat and hung it on the rack then impatiently brushed the melting flakes from his long hair. After throwing off his boots, he padded into the kitchen to join Jim. "You sure you're okay? You look pretty pale. When did it happen?"
"Last night. I'm fine, Chief. Don't worry," Jim reassured patiently. If anybody else had started throwing questions at him like a police interrogator, he would've bitten his head off. But this was Sandburg.
Blair took hold of Jim's uninjured arm and led him toward the sofa. "You need to sit down, rest. You look kinda pale. Are you sure you're all right? I bet you haven't eaten yet, have you? I'll make us some dinner, then you'll feel better."
Though Jim would never admit it, he kind of liked Blair's fussing. Nobody had ever fussed over him before -- not his father, not Steven and definitely not Carolyn. And if they had, Jim would have thrown off their worry. But with Blair it was something they did for each other naturally. He didn't like to analyze things, especially his friendship with Sandburg, but simply accepted the growing bond between them. Caring and worrying about one another was becoming second nature, and Jim wondered if it was something related to the Sentinel and Guide thing.
Jim narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Something edible?"
Blair's quicksilver grin flashed across his lips. "I promise."
Jim smiled crookedly and lowered himself to the couch. From his place, he watched Blair move about the kitchen and found his tense muscles relaxing. "How was your trip?"
Blair spared him a glance as he sliced an onion. "Great. You wouldn't believe the theories Dr. Williams has come up with involving..."
Jim closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the couch, allowing Blair's familiar voice to wash across him. He'd missed the kid more than he liked to admit. The hellish week, the horrible deaths, his gunshot wound, all slipped away from his thoughts. The enthusiasm in Sandburg's descriptions made Jim smile to himself -- he hoped Blair never lost his passion and excitement, like Jim had years ago.
Sadness returned to haunt Jim -- he'd never lost a passion for life because he'd never had it. Not like Blair.
Silence caused Jim to open his eyes and he found Blair standing beside him. He hadn't even heard the younger man approach, which told Jim how tired he actually was. Concern was written in the younger man's expressive face. The kid never could hide his feelings.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked quietly.
Jim's stomach clenched but he kept his features impassive. "Nothing to talk about it. A drug dealer got a little violent when I tried to arrest him."
He couldn't tell Blair about the bodies he'd seen or the screams he heard in his nightmares. Jim was a cop. That was all part of a day's work. He didn't want Blair to have to live with the same ugly memories he possessed.
Blair motioned to the stereo. "Why are you listening to Christmas music?"
Because I want to believe in goodwill to man again.
Jim shrugged. "I felt like it."
"But you never listen to it unless I put it on, and then you get this look on your face like it is so not your thing."
"Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf."
"Yeah, right."
Jim recognized that tone. Sandburg knew something was up, but Jim also knew he wouldn't push him.
Blair returned to the kitchen, remaining strangely quiet as he began to cut up raw vegetables.
The silence gave Jim time to think, to remember...
"Tell me more about these findings of Dr. Williams'," Jim prompted, not caring about Dr. Williams or his studies, but needing Blair's voice to distract him, to act as a balm to his troubled thoughts. He needed Blair's voice to be the thread that wove he and his guide together in a tapestry of friendship, loyalty and trust.
Blair flashed him a puzzled glance, and after a moment's hesitation, launched into an explanation of Dr. Williams' results.
Jim's muscles relaxed under Blair's verbal massage. He watched the younger man pull out chicken left over from before he'd left for Las Vegas. Blair opened the blue Tupperware top and sniffed it. It must have been good because he cut that up, too.
When had he given up on color-coding the Tupperware? When Blair had first come to live with him, he insisted they keep their food separate -- red storage containers for Blair, blue for him. But in the days, weeks, and months that passed, the food was no longer his or mine, just as the loft was no longer his, but theirs. The kid had burrowed his way into his life, and more frighteningly, into his heart.
As the oil in the wok heated, Blair set the table. He pulled a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and held it up. "You want some or are you taking painkillers?"
Jim smiled crookedly. "I haven't taken any painkillers yet so I think it's safe."
Blair poured the wine into goblets and carried one to Jim. "Are you having trouble with the dials?"
"A little."
Blair perched on the sofa's armrest, planting his stocking feet on the cushion beside Jim's leg. "Talk to me, Jim. Why can't you turn down the dial?"
Jim looked past his young friend to the window and watched the snow fall, bathed in twilight. "I'm just tired. Some of us had to work this week."
Blair's face reddened. "I should've stayed here with you."
Jim's gaze shot back to Sandburg and he spoke sharply, "I'm not a baby who needs his hand held every minute, Chief."
Hurt flickered through Blair's face, replaced by rare impatience. "Fine. If you don't want to tell me, then don't. I mean, I'm only here to try to help you."
Blair stalked back into the kitchen and Jim opened his mouth to apologize, but the words stuck in his throat. He couldn't tell him how much he'd missed him this week, how much he'd missed his steadying presence. To be that dependent on anyone scared the hell out of James Ellison.
Ten minutes later Blair placed dinner on the table and Jim stood stiffly. Blair took a step toward him to lend a hand, but halted. Jim had made his position clear enough -- he didn't want his help. Blair's fingers curled into tight fists. He thought they'd gotten past this point, but obviously Jim hadn't changed as much as Blair thought. He was too accustomed to pushing everyone away, even those who cared about him.
Jim sat at his usual place and Blair across the table, but the gulf that separated them was much more than two feet. In the beginning, Blair had been more than happy to take the extra step to bridge their differences and work together, but he was tired of making all the concessions. The conference in Las Vegas had shown him how much he'd fallen out of touch with his fellow anthropologists. He'd become a pseudo-cop to follow his sentinel -- a man who had no concept of academia or understood the joy of discovering a new link or a counter-theory to an ancient civilization.
Jim's world was black and white with no room for shades of gray. Why had Blair thought there was a friendship based on trust taking root between them? Because he wanted to believe it. Dr. Burton's studies had hinted at a deeper bond existing between a sentinel and his guide, and Blair was waiting for that link to appear. There'd been a few times when he thought he'd glimpsed it: crossing the maze under Brackett's gun and threats, in Peru when Jim had said he was glad Blair had come with him, Jim's concern when he'd been shot by Zeller, and when Jim had saved him from Lash. There had been something there, something that teased Blair with its fragile presence. Tonight, however, a wall lay between them -- a wall built from bricks made of wariness, mistrust, and defensiveness. Why couldn't Jim tell him what was wrong? Why couldn't he trust Blair enough?
Jim pressed back his empty plate. "Thanks, Chief. That was good."
Blair blinked and glanced down at his own plate which was still full. His appetite had fled.
"Aren't you hungry?" Jim asked and Blair thought he heard a hint of concern.
No, it's only my imagination.
"I ate on the plane," Blair said. He stood and picked up their dishes.
"You hate airline food," Jim said.
"If a person is hungry enough, he'll eat anything," Blair said sharper than he'd intended.
He stacked the dirty dishes in the sink and braced his hands on the counter, leaning against it. A hand on his back startled him and he whirled around, bumping Jim's injured arm.
Jim grimaced and his blue eyes filled with pain.
"Geez, I'm sorry, Jim," Blair said, raising his hands and backing away. He may be a little upset with Jim but he would never hurt him. It would be easier for Blair to shoot himself than harm his friend. "I didn't hear you come up behind me and when you touched me, you scared me. Aw, Jim, I'm really sorry."
"It's okay, Chief," Jim managed to say in between gasps. "I think I'll go sit down."
Blair followed him to the sofa, wanting to help, but afraid he'd only make things worse. "Can you turn down the pain?"
Jim wrapped his good hand around his injured arm, his face pale. "I don't know."
Blair sat on the coffee table directly in front of Jim. "You can do it," he began, keeping his voice calm and smooth as he fell into his guide role. "Breathe in and out. In, out." He placed his hands on Jim's knees, feeling a need to touch him, to have that physical connection. Jim had done it enough to Blair, giving him comfort merely by a quick brush of his hand or a brotherly arm around the shoulders.
Jim leaned his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes. Blair could see the slow, steady rise and fall of his broad chest. "That's right, just relax. Now follow the pain back to where it begins and find the dial."
The deep etches in Jim's face began to smooth out and Blair could tell Jim had finally been able to turn it down. Of course, it hadn't helped that Blair was the one who'd made him hurt so badly.
"How're you doing, Jim?" Blair asked softly, his hands still resting on Jim's knees.
The older man opened his piercing blue eyes, which were free of pain. "Better. Thanks."
Blair drew his hands away and stood awkwardly. "Don't thank me. I was the one who threw you into a nosedive there."
"But you're also the one who brought me back out." Jim studied him a moment, giving Blair the impression there was something going on in his mind, something he was scared to talk about. "I can count on you to bring me back, Chief. Always."
He spoke the last word so quietly, Blair almost missed it. Worry replaced his earlier irritation. What had happened this week to make Jim isolate himself from everyone, including him? Why wouldn't he talk about it?
Blair scrubbed his palms across his thighs and sat down beside Jim on the couch, turning so he leaned against the armrest and faced him.
"Your heartbeat's up, Chief. What's going on?" Jim asked lightly, though worry lurked in his eyes.
"I wish I had your senses so I knew when your heart rate increased, too," Blair said quietly.
"Sorry. Only one sentinel per team."
Blair didn't allow Jim to sidetrack him. "Sometimes I wonder about our relationship."
"A lot of people do, including Simon."
"Are we equal partners here, man? Or are you the one with all the power?"
Jim's lips pressed into a thin line and he turned his gaze to the balcony window. "You don't like how our partnership is going?"
"I didn't say that. I just want to know where I stand."
Jim pushed himself to his feet and wandered into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. Both frightened and a little ticked off, Blair followed him. He watched Jim down the water, then set the glass on the counter.
"Well?" Blair prompted.
"Well what?" Jim shot back.
"Where do I stand with you, Jim? I have to know what our relationship is based on."
"If you don't know by now, maybe you never will," Jim said softly. "I'm going to watch some tv then go to bed. I'd appreciate it if you'd just leave me alone."
Blair's mouth fell open and he stared at Jim's back as the older man turned off the stereo and grabbed the tv remote. After flipping through the channels, Jim settled on a Canadian football game and ignored him. Blair threw his hands in the air.
Fine, if the big guy wants to be left alone, I'll leave him alone. In fact, maybe I should just take off, spend the night in my office, get away for a while.
Blair had planned to live with Jim only a short time after his place was destroyed, but the week had stretched into five months. Maybe they'd each reached their limit of tolerance with the other. He glanced at the window and saw that only snow fell now, large flakes that dipped and skittered past the glass.
"Don't even think about it, Sandburg. You'll end up in a traffic pile-up," Jim said with uncanny insight.
"I hate when you do that," Blair said. He shook his head, realizing he sounded like a spoiled child, but refusing to apologize.
Blair finished tidying the kitchen, the childish part of him wanting to slam the pots and pans, but another part of him knew Jim was already hurting. He didn't want to add to his partner's discomfort. Once he had the kitchen up to the Jim Ellison standards for cleanliness, he picked up his backpack and the bag he'd taken to Las Vegas and retreated to his room. He'd just spend the evening there, away from his surly partner.
He emptied the bag, then stood in his room a moment. Even though Jim was being churlish, it was nice to be home. The television's volume was on low, and knowing Jim was in the living room never failed to make Blair feel safe and protected. He wondered if that was another aspect of the Sentinel/Guide relationship, and jotted down a quick note in his journal to look into it.
He flopped down on his bed and rested his clasped hands on his stomach. He'd been excited to get home -- a first for him. Usually after attending something like this conference, Blair would've hated to go back to his place, but then he'd lived virtually alone since he was sixteen when he'd entered college. He'd had roommates come and go, and he would've traded most of them for Larry, the Barbary ape. But with Jim, it was different.
Flying from Las Vegas to Cascade that afternoon, Blair couldn't wait to see Jim and tell him about the trip. He knew Jim would give him that affectionately tolerant look while Blair would go on and on about new anthropological theories and studies that Jim could've cared less about. But Jim's eyes would twinkle with warmth and Blair would feel like... like he belonged.
When he'd stepped in the door, Blair would've sworn he'd seen his contentment mirrored in Jim's face. Jim had given him a welcoming smile, with a lot of fondness draped around the edges.
Then Blair had asked about his wound and what he'd done that week. That's when Jim had gone stony-faced on him. What the hell had happened? Had he zoned? If he had, wouldn't Jim had told him?
Taking a deep breath, Blair rose and returned to the kitchen. "Can I get-" he broke off at the sight of Jim. He lay on the sofa, his injured arm resting on his chest and his eyes closed. He snored softly. "You always do that to me, man," Blair whispered. "Just when I'm trying to be mad at you, you do something like this."
He tiptoed into his room and retrieved an extra blanket, then carried it into the living room and gently covered Jim with it. He didn't even move. For Jim's heightened senses not to have detected him was unusual. It told Blair how much pain he was experiencing. He'd turned down all of his senses to control it. Blair crossed his arms and stared down at Jim's sleep-slackened features. Everyone at the department thought he was so tough, but Blair had seen the other side of Jim Ellison. In fact, he doubted if anyone saw as much as Jim allowed him to see. He knew Jim had a brother and father, but he rarely saw them or spoke of them. After Carolyn had moved to San Francisco, Jim had seldom talked with her anymore either, and Blair didn't know of any woman Jim had dated more than a few times.
It was as if Jim cut himself off from people on purpose. Why?
Duh, look at what he does for a living, Sandburg. Jim has seen more death and violence than most people ever see in a lifetime. The man has to insulate himself or he goes over the edge. The only problem is you cut off everyone, Jim, including your friends.
Blair brushed his fingers across Jim's smooth brow, the brief touch warming him. "Trust me, Jim, like I trust you."
He returned to his room to get his laptop and another blanket, then came back into the living room. Lowering himself to a chair across from the couch where he could keep an eye on his friend, Blair sat cross-legged with the blanket draped around his shoulders and the laptop balanced on his knees.
An hour later, the football game ended and Blair switched off the tv and turned the stereo on. The Christmas CD which Jim had been listening to when Blair had come home spilled its quiet notes across the loft. Blair adjusted Jim's blanket then returned to his chair to continue writing up his impressions from the conference.
He didn't know how long he'd been working when Jim began to mutter in his sleep. Usually Jim woke himself up when he did that, but this time he only started to move around restlessly. Worried that he might have developed a fever, Blair squatted down beside him and laid the back of his hand against Jim's forehead lightly. He didn't feel hot.
"Blair," Jim suddenly shouted, startling Blair so much the younger man stumbled back, bumping his back against the coffee table and landing on his backside. "Sandburg, damnit, don't. No, this can't be happening." His movements became more frenzied, his words incoherent, but terror underwrote his frantic tone.
Blair grabbed Jim's hand, holding it between his. "C'mon Jim, wake up. I'm right here."
Jim continued to thrash about and Blair was afraid he'd injure his wounded arm further. He laid a hand against Jim's sweat-dampened face. "Wake up, Jim. You're having a nightmare."
"Noooooo." Jim's cry came straight from his depths and Blair's heart jumped into his throat. Jim was the strong one, the one who comforted Blair when he had nightmares about a case they were working on. He wasn't used to having to soothe the seemingly invincible man.
Jim's eyes opened wide and panic clouded them. He sat up too quickly and groaned when he aggravated the wounded arm.
"Take it easy, Jim," Blair soothed, gently rubbing his back.
Jim turned his anxious gaze to Blair. "Chief, you're all right?"
Blair managed a weak smile. "I wasn't the one having the nightmare."
Jim rubbed his sweaty face with his hand. "Damn, I thought with you home it would go away."
Blair's hand stilled. "What're you talking about? What would go away?"
Jim took a deep breath. "You know what would taste good about now? Hot chocolate."
After a moment's hesitation, the younger man took the hint and went into the kitchen. Jim continued to tremble on the inside. Blair OD'ing was definitely a nightmare. He kept his gaze on Sandburg, almost afraid not to or he would find his nightmare was reality and this was the dream.
He glanced down at the blanket gathered across his lap and wrapped loosely around his legs, wondering when he'd gotten it. Blair must have covered him with it after he'd fallen asleep. The tv was off and a Christmas song played quietly on the stereo.
Blair returned with two steaming mugs and handed one to Jim. "Be careful. It's hot."
"Thanks."
Jim took a sip of the chocolate and a wispy memory slipped through his mind -- he and his mother drinking hot chocolate while everybody else slept. Was it real or a dream he'd fabricated as a child to create a perfect mother?
"You ready to talk about it?" Blair asked quietly.
Jim swallowed the fear that tried to block his throat. "I don't know if I can."
"You can tell me anything, Jim. You know that." Blair's voice was gentle, calming.
Did he know that? Jim was coming to accept Blair as an important part of his life, but he wasn't prepared for the vulnerability that came with such closeness. Even his marriage to Carolyn hadn't made him feel so exposed.
"Tell me what you did while I was gone," Blair prompted quietly.
Jim shrugged, forcing a nonchalance at odds with his thundering heart. He studied Blair's expression, his eyes so accepting and sincere. Did he have a right to make him share in Jim's private vision of hell? He wouldn't have to tell him everything, just enough to satisfy his insatiable curiosity.
"A batch of cut crack made it on to the street so I spent the week tracking down the dealer who was running it." Jim tipped his head slightly. "That's it."
Blair shook his head slowly, his blue eyes full of empathy and something else. "Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself? Fill in the blanks, Jim. What was your nightmare about?"
Unable to sit still beneath Sandburg's too-perceptive gaze, Jim set his hot chocolate on the coffee table and stood, the blanket slipping to the floor. He crossed the room to the balcony window. Snowflakes were playing kamikaze against the glass -- Jim could hear each individual thump as it struck. The balcony had an inch layer of white snow, making it appear clean and pure. It was an illusion, just like everything else in Jim's life.
He heard the light footfalls of Blair as the younger man joined him, his presence speaking volumes.
"The drugs killed eleven people before we got it pulled." Blair's quick intake of breath arrowed through Jim, warning him to stop, but he couldn't. The words tumbled out before he could halt their flow. "It didn't just kill them, it made their dying a living hell. Convulsions, loss of bodily functions." He paused, the memories pummeling him like a boxer's fists. "But it was their hands. It's their hands I keep seeing. They looked like they were reaching out for help, but nobody was there to help." His shoulders shuddered. "How could anyone knowingly do that to another human being? What kind of people are out there?" He motioned toward the window. "What the hell kind of world do we live in, Chief?"
He slowly became aware of Blair's hand on his shoulder. "I wish I had an answer for you, Jim, but I don't." He paused and Jim could hear his heart rate increasing slightly. "But it's people like you and Simon and Brown and Taggart who are trying to make this world a better place so the rest of us don't have to see what you see."
Jim laughed bitterly. "Yeah, I've done a good job protecting you from the scum that's out there. Like when Lash grabbed you and Kincaid held you hostage. Oh, and don't forget how you were nearly killed on the Northstar oil rig." He turned to Blair to gaze at the healing cut above his left eye. Reaching out with a shaking hand, he feathered his forefinger across it. "I couldn't stop you from getting this last week."
Blair shook his head his head vehemently. "You rescued me from those men, and you took care of me when that antennae knocked me out. You did everything in your power to take care of me and you did a helluva good job, too, or I wouldn't be standing here now."
"But what about the next time?"
"Is that what your nightmares are about?" Blair asked with too damn much insight.
Jim studied Blair, whose face was somewhat pale, but more than that, it was filled with compassion. The words rose from someplace deep within him, low and intense. "In my nightmare, it's you who's dying of an overdose. You're yelling my name and I want to help, but I can't do anything. Then you scream and I'm yelling because I'm trying to hang onto you, but you're slipping away and there's not a damn thing I can do about it."
The younger man's eyes glistened suspiciously, but he smiled gently. "It was only a dream, Jim. I'm here, I'm safe, and you're not going to get rid of me." He paused and a twinkle came into his dark blue eyes. "You're stuck with me whether you want me around or not."
Jim took a deep, cleansing breath. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm up for this sentinel thing. Protecting a city overrun with dealers and addicts and thieves and killers."
Blair shook his head and laid his hand on Jim's forearm, the warmth of his palm traveling to Jim's chest. "It's not that bad. It's just that you have to work surrounded by bad karma. But the rest of Cascade, the part you don't see, is sheltered because of you. They can go to bed at night and be assured they'll wake up safely in the morning. You give them the security to raise families and do things like go to their kids' soccer games without fear."
Jim swallowed hard. "But what's the cost, Chief? What do I gain?"
"The knowledge that you've done your job -- you've stood watch over your city," Blair replied quietly, but firmly.
Jim studied the resolve on his guide's face -- Sandburg believed in him. He believed Jim could make a difference, yet Jim knew he couldn't do it alone.
Never alone.
"Without you, I wouldn't be able to do that, and I'm not talking only about the sentinel thing." Jim caught and held Blair's blue eyes. "You asked where you stood in this relationship, who had the power." He swallowed hard. "I need you, Chief, more than I've ever needed anyone." Jim turned to the window once more and damned the moisture that filled his eyes. "I need your friendship, and because of that, you hold all the power. And that scares the hell out of me."
"It goes both ways, man," Blair said, his voice husky. He gave Jim's arm a gentle squeeze. "I need you, too, and not because of the sentinel thing."
Startled, Jim realized Blair was right. He swallowed tightly, and slowly, almost against his will, he rested his hand over Blair's, but the rare intimacy didn't feel uncomfortable. It felt... right.
Then he looked out into the cold winter night and welcomed the warmth of the physical and emotional link between sentinel and guide.
Between friends.
~finis~