Part 2 of 'Exile'. The continuing adventure of newly bonded Sentinel & Guide.
Java Head
Blair was pulled from his drugged sleep by a feeling that something was amiss. He lay for a moment, trying to clear his head. He felt heavy and slow. Blinking his eyes to focus his fuzzy vision, he tried to remember where he was. Oh yeah. Jim's house.
Blair listened, but the loft was silent. Blair wasn't immediately alarmed. Maybe Jim was napping or had gone out. After all, it was Blair's job to take care of the Sentinel, not the other way around.
Willing his stiff and sluggish limbs to move, Blair pushed himself into an upright position. Then he saw Jim standing at the kitchen island, dishtowel in one hand, staring into space. Zoned.
Stumbling to his feet, the Guide rushed unsteadily to the Sentinel's side. Catching the edge of the island to regain his balance, he took a deep breath and looked up at the tall man. He had seen zoned Sentinels before and it was very creepy. Jim was breathing, but that was the only sign of life in him. He stared, unblinking into space. The light in his eyes was gone, making them appear almost colorless, dead.
This was more than creepy. This was Blair's own Sentinel, his savior, and seeing him like this scared the boy to death. Reaching up, he touched Jim's face. His skin was still warm. According to what he'd read, this meant the Sentinel hadn't been zoned for long. The longer the zone, the shallower his breathing would become, not allowing enough oxygen to sustain life. In the future, Blair should be able to bring the Sentinel out of a zone by a simple touch and the sound of his voice, but their bond was new. Unsure and untested.
He had to have close contact with Jim's face. The Detective was very tall, and the small teenager came only halfway up to his massive chest, so Blair pulled a kitchen chair in front of Jim and stood on it. He now stood higher than Jim, so he bent over slightly until they were face to face. Placing his hands solid on either side of Jim's face, he spoke in a low voice, nearly whispering, letting his breath drift into the Sentinel's face. Only in the back of his mind was what he'd read. He was operating mostly on gut instinct. Later, he would remember and be awed by it.
"Jim? Sentinel... you need to come back now. Follow my voice and come back to me. I know you can hear me, so here's what I want you to do. I want you to pretend that my voice is a cord, glowing in the dark. You can see it now and so you can follow it and come back home to me. Come on, Jim. I need you to follow the silver cord-"
Blair nearly fell off the chair when the blue eyes suddenly blinked. Lightning fast, the Sentinel's hands grabbed the boy to stop his fall.
"Blair," he breathed. Blair's hands dropped to clutch Jim's shoulders. The strength of the adrenaline rush leaving him, Blair was suddenly faint. Wrapping his arms around the boy, Ellison got him down off the chair and practically carried him to the sofa. Leaning the boy to rest against the back of the cushion, Jim brushed the errant curls off his forehead.
"What happened, Chief?"
"You zoned, Jim. What was it on?"
Jim thought a moment. "I think it was you. The last thing I remember was listening to you breathe. Even in your sleep, you're careful not to breathe too deeply on account of your ribs. You alright?"
Blair nodded. "A little dizzy. My knees feel mushy." Blair's dark blue eyes held Jim's lighter ones. "You scared me."
"I don't think I was out long. How'd you know what to do? I wouldn't think you'd had any training."
"M-mom got me stuff to read on Sentinels and Guides."
"I thought she didn't want you to be a Guide."
Blair dropped his eyes, suddenly afraid. "I'm an empath -- destined to be a Guide."
Jim was confused. "Then why hide? Why run?"
Blair hesitated. Jim had been good and kind to him. So far. But Blair still didn't know the man's personal philosophy on present society's Sentinel/Guide relationships. He lifted his eyes back to the Sentinel's. "It wasn't the bond she was opposed to. It was -- is -- the way Guides are treated by their -- S-Sentinels."
"Ah," Jim nodded in understanding. He looked back at Blair who had again averted his eyes.
"Chief," he commanded softly. "Look at me."
Worried, Blair looked back up.
"One reason I resisted a Guide was for the same reason. I've never been one to accept society's ideas and standards on anything. I don't know what our relationship is going to be, but I am not your master. You are no one's slave. Got it?"
Blair gave a small nod. "Okay, Jim."
There was a moment of silence.
"How are you feeling?" Jim asked.
"Okay, I think. Uh, can I take a shower?"
"Yeah. That'd be okay. We'll need to wrap your fingers to keep them from getting wet."
"Okay. Thanks." Blair started to get up but had stiffened up so badly he was unable to make it without Jim's help.
"Tell you what," Jim said once Blair was on his feet. "You head for the shower and I'll get you something clean to wear and bring it to you." Blair nodded and moved carefully toward the bathroom.
Luckily, Jim had the foresight and presence of mind to purchase several sets of sweats and t-shirts. He now got another set of clean clothes from the dresser in Blair's room.
By the time Jim entered the bathroom, Blair hadn't gotten far. In fact, he'd only managed to peel his socks off. Jim saw a fine sheen of sweat on his face and his breathing was strained. The empath looked up, frustrated and embarrassed. "I can't get my shirt off. My arms--"
"No problem, Chief." Jim bent down in front of him. "Just lean over and put your head down." Blair did as he was instructed. Jim snagged the bottom of the t-shirt and quickly peeled it off. Then, he carefully wrapped a plastic bag around the splinted hand, securing it with a rubber band.
Noticing Blair's labored breathing, he asked, "How you doing?"
"Hurts a little--" Blair gasped. "--be okay in a minute."
Jim glanced doubtfully at the shower head. "You sure you're up to this? Maybe a bath would be--"
"Sentinel, please. I'd really rather take a shower. I'll be careful. I promise."
"Okay, Blair. Can you handle the rest?"
"Yeah. I'll holler if I need you."
Strangely hesitant to leave, Jim tugged at a lank curl. "Can you wash this mop?" he asked, not unkindly.
Blair laid a hand on the side of his head. "It's kind of a mess, isn't it?" He smiled up at Jim. "I'll yell if I need help. Promise."
Jim sighed then stood. "Okay, Chief. You're on your own." Then he left.
Slowly, Blair pushed at the waistband of his sweats, letting them drop and stepping out of them. Next the boxers followed. Then, he leaned over and turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature. When the water was warm enough, he carefully stepped into the tub.
Jim smiled as he listened to Blair's murmurs of pleasure. The hot shower had to feel good on the kid's sore muscles. After awhile, the moans turned to mutters of frustration. Then Blair spouted off a few curses and his heart rate went up. Jim waited.
"Jim?" Blair called tentatively.
Jim stuck his head in the bathroom. "Yeah?"
"I can't wash my hair."
Jim's hand pulled the shower curtain back just enough to reveal Blair's sodden head.
Blair was humiliated. He couldn't even wash himself. He'd done okay 'til he got to his hair. If he had short hair like Jim's he could have handled it, but his own was so long and thick it took a long time to get it clean, and he just couldn't hold his arms up that long. He thought about skipping the shampoo, but it had been too many days since he'd last washed it and he just couldn't stand it another day.
Jim's straight-forward approach saved Blair's pride. He acted like it was no big deal; as though he washed other peoples' hair every day.
Shedding his own shirt, the Sentinel opened the shower curtain halfway and leaned in. "Hope this shampoo suits you." He poured a generous amount into his palm, then massaged it into Blair's curls, careful to avoid the ugly wounds on the boy's face that were caused by the other Sentinel's fingers.
Soon every inch of Blair's scalp and every strand of hair was thoroughly washed. Jim paused to look at his Guide. The teenager had his head tilted back, his eyes closed and mouth slightly open. He had his hands braced against the shower walls, literally holding himself up. Jim realized Blair was practically asleep.
"Hey, Chief," he spoke softly.
Blair jerked and opened his eyes. He looked at Jim and grinned sheepishly. "Guess I'm kinda tired."
"I'd say. Let's get you rinsed. This won't take long."
In five minutes, Blair was standing on the bath mat with a towel around his waist. To Blair's added embarrassment, Jim had insisted on helping him out of the tub. "Can't have you taking a header, Chief. I won't do your concussion any good. I'd like to keep you out of the hospital."
Blair had no wish to return to Cascade General, so he let Jim help him out. Sitting the boy on the toilet lid, Jim carefully removed the rubber band from around his arm and pulled the plastic bag off. Then the Sentinel grabbed a towel and dried his dripping locks. Only then did Jim leave Blair to himself.
Blair sighed after Jim left. The shower had taken most of his strength. Maybe he should have let Jim help him get dressed after all.
He gritted his teeth in resolve. It was just boxers and sweats! Cotton and elastic. No snaps or anything! Old people in nursing homes dressed themselves in sweats. He was not going to call Jim in again. He had taken care of himself for six months! He could do this! Taking a deep breath, he reached for his boxers.
Jim listened intently to his Guide behind the bathroom door. He knew the kid was at the end of his endurance and hoped he wouldn't pass out. Jim practically twitched to go back in and help Blair dress, but the kid desperately needed some semblance of privacy right now. So Jim made some coffee for himself and hot tea for Blair and suffered while he listened to the boy's elevated heartbeat and gasps of pain.
Finally, Blair emerged unsteadily from the bathroom with his sweats on.
Jim held his ground until the boy finally sank down on the sofa. Releasing pent up breath, the Sentinel picked up the shirt he had laid aside and approached Blair. First he handed Blair a handful of pills. "Shoulda given you these before your shower."
Obediently, Blair swallowed his medication. He sat silently while his Sentinel inspected his stomach and ribs. When he was finished, he helped Blair put on a shirt. Blair was surprised as something a lot bigger and warmer than a t-shirt covered his head. Jim smiled at the puzzled look on Blair's face as the empath's head poked through the top of the shirt. "I thought one of my sweatshirts would be warmer than a t-shirt."
As he threaded Blair's arms through the long sleeves, Jim could feel the boy's muscles relax. Jim straightened out a few crooked seams then sat a moment looking at his Guide. The boy reluctantly met his eyes. "What's the matter, Chief?"
Blair dropped his eyes. "I feel like an idiot," he mumbled.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Blair. You're doing great."
"I should have just let you help me get dressed. It was stupid."
Jim shrugged. "It was important for you to do it yourself. Besides, I was listening for you." He got up from his spot. "Come on, now. You need to lie down awhile. That shower felt good, but it's made you groggy."
Blair allowed himself to be guided to lie down on the sofa.
As he fussed with Blair's pillow and blankets, Jim said, "Thought I'd order Chinese for supper later. You like Chinese, Chief?"
Blair smiled and nodded, his eyes getting heavy. "Thank you, Sentinel," he whispered as his eyes slid shut.
Blair woke awhile later to the odor of Chinese broccoli chicken and won ton soup. His stomach rumbled and Blair realized he was healing. It was the first time in days that he'd actually felt hungry.
Blair heard the smile in Jim's voice. "I heard that, Chief. You ready for supper?"
With a little effort, Blair opened his eyes. Jim was at the kitchen table, setting out the food and dishes. The Sentinel turned to look at him. "You up to sitting at the table?"
Blair pushed himself up, biting his lip at the pain in his arms and shoulders. He was aware that Jim was watching him intently.
As Blair was catching his breath, Jim asked, "Blair? We can move to the sofa if you prefer."
"No, please. I'd rather sit up," he answered a little breathlessly.
As he tried to rise shakily to his feet, the Sentinel was suddenly at his side, supporting him. "Take it easy, Sandburg," Jim said a sternly. "This won't last forever. You're gonna get better."
Blair swallowed and nodded meekly as he allowed Jim to walk him to the table.
As they ate, Jim noticed the decline in Blair's mood. All things considered, the kid had been optimistic -- or had been trying to be. But now there seemed to be an emotional dark cloud hanging over him. He refused to look at Jim and merely picked at his food. Jim tried for small talk.
"You're pretty good with those chopsticks." Jim indicated the wooden take-out sticks that came with the meal. "I learned to use them while I was in the Army."
"I learned when I was six. We had friends in Chinatown who had a restaurant," Blair said in a soft voice. "Every Saturday, M-mom w-would--" He swallowed hard and Jim saw the chopsticks begin to tremble. Blair clenched his hands to try to halt the shaking. Jim barely had time to get alarmed or wonder what to do. With a deep breath, Blair seemed to pull himself back under control.
Jim was silent. There seemed to be nothing -- absolutely nothing he could say or do to help Blair at this point. The empath's emotions were an avalanche waiting to happen. His control was teetering on the edge. The crash was inevitable, but Ellison was not going to purposely push it.
Slowly, carefully, Blair picked up his spoon and scooped up some soup. "Th-thank you for supper, S-Sentinel. It's g-good." The wavering voice was little more than a whisper.
The tension hovered in the air like a thin layer of ice. More small talk. Go for trivial.
"Yeah, I figured Chinese would be good for your stomach; easy on the spices." He talked nonchalantly. "Later, when you're stronger, we'll go for pizza; maybe pepperoni--"
Blair's spoon clattered to the floor. Jim looked up to see that the boy had paled almost to a gray shade. Sweat had popped out on his forehead and his breathing was panicked.
Oh, crud.
"--Jim--"
Dropping his own utensil, Jim grabbed Blair and ran to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before the boy began to vomit violently, painfully. Kneeling behind him, Jim threaded an arm under Blair's arm and rested his broad hand against the bruised chest, holding him up. He used his other hand to hold the wild hair back and away from Blair's face.
Blair retched again and again, dry heaves when there was nothing left to throw up. Then Jim pulled him back and he collapsed against the Sentinel's chest, shuddering from pain and exhaustion, tears trickling from his bloodshot eyes. His chest and stomach muscles were in agony, his throat on fire.
Clumsily, keeping one strong arm wrapped around his hurting Guide, Ellison groped blindly above and behind him for a washcloth. Finally laying his hand on one, he was able to turn on the hot water tap and wet the rag just as the water was turning warm. Shutting off the faucet, Jim then gently bathed his Guide's face and neck, murmuring soothing words of comfort.
"It's alright, Chief. It's alright. I've got ya. Just relax and let go. Ssshhhhh. It's alright." He kept it up, talking and bathing for several minutes. Blair gradually quieted as he rested, heavy against his Sentinel.
Looking down, Jim realized that Blair was drifting in and out of a doze.
Good. Give him some relief from the demons in his head.
Blair's violent attack of vomiting could be health related, but Ellison doubted it. It was so sudden, seemingly brought on by emotional upheaval. He'd have to get to the bottom of it, but carefully.
The Sentinel closed his eyes wearily. He wasn't cut out for this. He did his job well, but left the emotional aftermath to others. He had no choice here. This job was his; he knew that and accepted it.
Actually, he did have a choice. He looked down at the young man in his arms. The empath was still trembling, his breathing rough. Jim rested his hand on Blair's abdomen and could feel the stomach muscles cramping. From pain or nausea. Probably both.
Yes, the Sentinel had a choice, but Blair did not. Legally and physically, the Sentinel could sever the bond, reject the Guide. But Ellison knew he could never do such a thing. Instinctively, he tightened his arms around his Guide. He would not abandon this boy.
Jim shifted his hold on Blair and started to rise. Blair gasped, "...J...Jim?"
Having gotten only as far as his knees, Ellison halted. "Hey, Chief. You gonna be sick?"
"Hurts... but not... sick," he whispered. He curled his fingers and got a fistful of Jim's shirt. "...Dizzy... chest..." he wheezed.
"We're gonna move to the living room, Blair. Hold on." Swiftly, Jim stood the rest of the way and carried Blair to the sofa.
The movement made Blair's world spin. He shut his eyes against the nausea.
Jim felt his heartbeat accelerate. "Chief?"
"M'okay. S' passed," he mumbled.
Lifting the sweatshirt, Jim lightly ran his fingers over Blair's ribs and stomach. Blair was breathing hard with pain and exertion, but Jim felt no added damage to his injuries. "Believe it or not, Chief, you're okay. I'm gonna get you some water to rinse your mouth out."
Blair just looked at him in misery. He didn't want to move. Not even to remove the nasty taste from his mouth. When Jim returned with a glass of water and a basin, he let himself be helped into a sitting position. Jim guided him to rinse his mouth out a couple of times then to take a small drink. Exhausted, Blair sank back into the pillows. In spite of his obvious pain, he was out almost immediately.
Jim stood and watched his Guide sleep for a moment. He sighed. It would be easier if the violent bout of vomiting was due to physical injury. Easier to cure; then it would be over. This could be an ongoing problem. Just how deep into the boy's head would he have to go to fix this? If it could be fixed. Not only was his Guide a child, he was traumatized. And trauma could be worked through, with time and patience. Jim would make the time. And, whereas he wasn't normally a patient person, he could be when it suited his purpose. And his purpose now was to help Blair get better.
END
More to come...
Feedback welcome. Kat