Written: 2000
Published: Sensory Overload 6 (2001), available from: www.neonrainbowpress.com
K Hanna Korossy (Anna Kelly)
Hospitals were not clean places. He'd thought so once, before sentinel eyesight provided him a far more detailed look at the floors and walls than he would have ever wanted. Dirt and dust wedged into crevasses and between tiles, ashes from countless agitated cigarette smokers swept into the corners, even flecks of dried blood from waiting patients. Not to mention the smells left behind, of iron and vomit and disease. And fear. The odor of it coated the room with an invisible layer of lingering distress, unperceived by the world at large but nearly overwhelming to an already upset Sentinel.
Jim Ellison wasn't afraid -- of course not. Appendicitis was a cakewalk compared to bullets, druggings, kidnappings, explosions, and every other crisis his partner had managed to stumble into before.
Or that you dragged him into, his mind volunteered without being asked, but he wasn't going to go there, not now. Blair Sandburg was where he was, at Ellison's side, because that was where he wanted to be. And besides, this time it truly hadn't been Jim's or his job's fault. Appendicitis, of all things. The kid gets into trouble without any outside help, too.
It wasn't even an emergency case, and for once, Ellison's training possibly helped his partner instead of endangered him. Sandburg had a tendency to downplay illnesses that could interrupt his schedule, and he'd been ready to dismiss the stomach ache even as it worsened and grew into nausea. If not for Jim's recognizing the signs and pretty much dragging his partner to the hospital, God only knew if the anthropologist would have sought help for himself in time. How can someone who notices when I'm the least bit off be so oblivious to his own well-being? That bothered him about Sandburg, the sometimes complete absence of any apparent survival instinct. Dangerous way to live, Chief, didn't anybody ever teach you that?
Ellison rubbed his jaw tiredly, looking up at the waiting room clock as he did. About a half-hour more until the doctor said he'd probably have word. For once, Jim knew what to expect and when to expect it, unlike past visits to the hospital when little was certain. It didn't help as much as he thought it would. Get a grip, Ellison. Appendicitis is nothing, routine surgery. Yeah, like the kind... uh, what was his name? Hoss Cartwright... Blocker? That was it, the operation Dan Blocker died from. Perhaps serious worry wasn't warranted, but still, even minor surgery had its risks and Jim wouldn't rest truly easy until he knew his partner had come through with flying colors.
The smell of the place was really getting to him. Sitting here worrying about an everyday thing like an appendectomy... when had he grown so soft? When Ellison and his team had gone through training, they'd endured sleep deprivation, pain, exposure to the elements, nearly every hardship the Army could throw at them. He'd done field surgery out in the jungle where gangrene and cholera and poisonous creatures were routine obstacles. An inflamed appendix -- yeah, yeah, all right, a nearly burst appendix -- was kid's stuff.
The detective stood, unable to stay still any longer, and strode across the small room to stare sightlessly at the painting on the wall in front of him. Okay, so he's a civilian, not Ops, not even a cop. That doesn't make him fragile. No, not fragile; there was nothing fragile about Blair Sandburg, civilian or no. Fragile people didn't survive being kidnapped and drugged and terrorized, and still keep coming back for more. Not fragile. Just... irreplaceable.
That was an easier line of thought. Sure, without him, this whole sentinel thing would be a mess. Couldn't do my work, couldn't function... probably couldn't stay sane. He frowned. This wasn't what he wanted to think about, either. Sandburg had said sentinels needed guides. Fine, he had one. That didn't mean they were joined at the hip or something.
But... somewhere along the way, the worry of losing his Guide had become concern for not losing Blair.
Jim shook his head angrily and returned to his seat. It had to be the room affecting him.
"Are you hear waiting for someone?"
Ellison blinked, pulled not unwillingly from introspection by the soft voice next to him. He turned to the seat on his left and the elderly woman seated in it. "I'm sorry?"
"You seem to be waiting on someone, yes?" Her lined, pale face drew into a warm smile.
She reminded Jim of his grandmother Ellison and he found himself nodding. "Yes, ma'am. A friend of mine."
"Is it serious?" she asked, brown eyes unmistakably full of concern. He could smell her breath now, spearminty, briefly blocking out the stench of the room.
Jim shook his head. "Probably not. Appendicitis."
"Oh, that's not too bad." She smiled again, this time reassuring.
"No, ma'am." He knew that, it was just... Ellison banked the thought and politely asked instead, "Are you waiting on someone?"
She nodded, her short, black hair bobbing at the motion. No gray in it; it was the lines of her face -- and the age in her eyes -- that told him she'd seen a lot in her life. "My husband. He's had some heart trouble lately."
"I'm sorry," he lamely replied, feeling as out-of-depth as when he talked to the victims of crimes and accidents. One definite asset of having Sandburg along was that his partner was a whole lot better at dealing with people than he was. Especially emotional people.
"That's all right." She patted his hand, her skin cool and worn smooth. It left her smell on him, blocking out the hospital odors altogether. "He's doing much better now. The doctors here are so wonderful. And Simon and I have had such a good life together. As you get older, the thought of leaving this world becomes much less frightening, you know."
The name of her husband made Jim's eyebrows rise a little in his own private joke, but her words struck a chord. He'd seen more death than most his peers -- maybe that was why the thought didn't personally shock or frighten him much anymore. Not for himself, and yet here he was worried about a routine operation...
The lady was studying him with a knowing look -- almost like she's checking my heartbeat and pupils -- and leaned close, confidingly. "That doesn't mean I don't worry about him, though."
He smiled at that, remembering again the gentle humor of his grandmother. Jim had often regretted that she died before he'd collected many memories of her. "Of course not," he agreed. "I understand."
"Yes," she nodded without hesitation, "I think you do." She patted his hand again, her fingers lingering on his for a moment. "I'm sure your friend will be all right. It's always hard to see one you love hurt."
Jim stared at her dumbly, mouth suddenly dry. One you love? But that wasn't what he--
"Mr. Ellison?"
Another call broke his thoughts; the doctor he'd talked to earlier -- Troy? -- stood at the door in scrubs, looking at him expectantly. Jim couldn't resist a quick check, but the man's vitals indicated no upset or bad news.
He turned back to the lady, who still smiled placidly at him, and he smiled back at her regretfully.
"Uh, excuse me, ma'am, I have to go."
She nodded. "Of course. God be with you both."
Jim was already on his feet. "Uh, thank you." And then, anxious to hear the report on his friend, he hurried out the door after the surgeon.
Sandburg had come through without a hitch, after all. Jim let himself smile about it in private -- just a few times. Really, his Guide had never been in danger at all, but that still didn't quell the light feeling of relief.
They'd kept the grad student in post-op long enough to check his mental faculties and make sure that he had no ill effects from the anesthesia, then put him in a room to fully recover. If there were no unusual reactions, he'd be free to go that evening already. Out-patient surgery, in-and-out in one day. Jim shook his head in wonder. Sandburg had been happy about that, and Ellison wasn't complaining either, except to tease his partner. In truth, Jim was a little relieved that he'd have that familiar heartbeat and scent and chatter back home where it belonged.
For now, they were letting him stay with his partner until Sandburg's head was screwed on straight. He could have told them would be a very long wait. The last time the kid had noticed his friend was there, he'd solemnly informed Jim that there was no mouse in the refrigerator. Ellison had thanked him for that revelation, then told Sandburg to go back to sleep, which he surprisingly did. Well, mice in the fridge was a darn sight better than some of the other junk his roommate kept in there, and made about as much sense as everything else he usually ran on about.
Except the Guide stuff. He sometimes goes off the deep end with it, but I gotta admit, he's usually right. There weren't many people Jim Ellison trusted, and even fewer he would have trusted when he was at his most vulnerable, at the edge of his senses and close to zoning. And yet he regularly ended up doing whatever Sandburg asked with nothing more than a token grumble, the thought of not trusting his Guide no longer even an issue. Probably some of that mystical Sentinel/Guide stuff Sandburg spouts off. But it was more than that, too. Blair Sandburg was turning into a surprisingly decent partner, too, and...
One you love? Like, maybe. Trust -- well, yeah. But love?
Yeah, you'd stay all day at the bedside of any buddy who was having minor surgery.
Well, okay, 'love' wouldn't have been the first word he'd have chosen, but it wasn't exactly inappropriate. As a friend, of course. A best friend who'd somehow become extremely important to his world running smoothly. And for far more reason than just to keep Ellison's senses in check.
"Hey, Jim? How long've you been here?"
The drowsiness did nothing to hide Sandburg's usual curious tone, and Jim found himself grinning as he looked up. "All afternoon, Chief. I didn't have anything better to do than to sit and watch you sleep, so..." He shrugged.
"Simon let you off?"
Jim leaned forward, frowning. "I told you this morning he was giving me the day off to bring you in. You don't remember?"
"Dunno, I'm still a little foggy." Blair sank back into his pillow. "Din't have to wait with me, Jim."
"Yes, I did," Jim answered more seriously than he intended, but forgave himself the slip. Some things -- some people -- were worth it. And Sandburg didn't look like he'd remember anything from that day, anyway.
"Well, 'm glad," Blair ran on, oblivious. "I don' like hospitals. The rugs are dangerous." He glanced around worriedly as if anticipating an attack at any moment.
Jim nodded, straightfaced in deference to his partner's agitation, and patted Sandburg's arm. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on the rugs."
"'S good." His Guide was slipping off again. "'C'n we go home now?"
"Soon. I think you need a little more rest first." Jim made to remove his hand, but Blair roused at that and so he left it there on his Guide's arm. Well, maybe the kid needed grounding. Ellison could remember his own experiences with anesthesia. "Trust me, Chief."
"Mm-hmm." And he certainly seemed to, falling asleep with no further concerns about malicious floor coverings with the Sentinel nearby. After all, their relationship had always been a two-way street, and trust came with love, right?
With a fond smile, Jim Ellison sat back to keep an eye on his Guide until visiting hours for loved ones were over and he could take Sandburg home.
The End