Shadows of the Past
Rated TEEN for language, violence, and angst
Jim woke instantly, his body warm, his guide sprawled over him and snoring, and every sense on alert. Without opening his eyes or giving any other sign, he scanned the room with his hearing, and the distinct sounds of three heartbeats immediately warned him that they had company. For one blind moment he feared Michael sat watching them, a sensation reinforced by the scent of gun oil, but he couldn't detect any trace of the strong soap that clung to Michael. Instead he could smell tobacco and male sweat, or the dried remains of it anyway.
Blair shifted, throwing out an arm so that the blankets over them shifted down, and Jim used the motion as an excuse for a slow, languorous shift—one that allowed him to get his arm under his partner and jam his hand down between the seat and the back of the couch. Gun oil meant gun, and he wanted the cold steel of his own weapon in his hand before he faced an unknown opponent.
"Oh man," Blair whispered, and Jim had to push down an urge to throttle his partner.
"Hands where I can see them," a low voice with a bit of a trembling warble ordered. Blair pushed back the covers and started sitting up, putting the heel of his hand in Jim's chest hard enough that Jim couldn't believably fake sleep any more. Opening his eyes, he turned to see an older man, thin with several days' growth on his face and graying hair cut close.
"You too," the man said as he swung the shotgun toward Jim. Shotgun. It meant that the guy could fire in their general area and take down both him and Blair. Of course, if it was packed for bird, they probably wouldn't die, but Jim couldn't exactly take that risk.
"Hey, if this is your place, we'll just clear out. No harm, no foul, well except for a dirty sheet." Blair offered as he raised his hands to shoulder level. Using Blair's body as cover, Jim pulled out the handgun and slipped it into a fold in the blankets behind Blair before raising his own hands in surrender.
"Who the hell are you?" the man asked. Jim opened his mouth to answer, but Blair beat him to the punch.
"I'm Alec Summers, and this is Jack Kelso, and we normally don't go breaking into houses, but we had some trouble getting off the mountain last night." Jim listened to Blair's heart rate continue with its quick but steady rhythm and he had to give the man credit for obfuscating with the best. Although this actually came closer to outright lying.
"You were up there last night, when the fire started?" the man narrowed his eyes.
"Oh shit, yeah. Woke us up and then this big ass tree fell, and for about two seconds, I thought I was about to do the ashes to ashes thing literally. We lost one of the motorbikes, both tents, and my pack up there somewhere, and I don't think our stuff's going to be recovered any time soon."
"So, that bike in the dry creek bed's yours?" the man asked, a slight Minnesota accent coloring his 'yours'.
"It ran out of gas," Jim offered.
"I noticed. That gear scattered over my lawn yours too?"
"Scattered?" Blair turned toward the door as though he could see through the wood. "Oh man, some animal got into the gear."
"Not much we can do about it now, Alec" Jim answered as he watched the gun that remained trained on them.
"So, you two idiots start that fire?" The man sounded angry now, and Jim flinched as the gun came up a fraction of an inch. At least when he dealt with professionals he could predict their next move, but this situation could get out of hand fast.
"No way," Blair said as he spun back around, temporarily forgetting and putting his hands on his knees before he spotted the gun and raised them again. "We were just camping and this huge explosion woke us up and then the fire just seemed to be like… bam… everywhere at once."
"Damn government. They fly out of Malmstrom or Mountain Home or Dugway. There's not a damn bit of land left where a man can get totally away. One of their planes must have gone down up there, which would explain the way half the mountain burned before anyone could get up there: jet fuel." Jim watched the gun lower just a little, and he lowered his hands slightly. Just a bit of distraction, and he could safely reach his own weapon.
"Man, we were looking for a weekend away from the stress, and this wasn't on the agenda," Blair gave a small laugh and settled back on the couch, sitting right on Jim's handgun. Jim gave Blair his best intimidating glare, feeling the helpless edge of panic pressing in toward him, but Blair only blinked up innocently for a moment before turning his attention back to the man who actually did have the gun in his hands.
"So, fire chased you off?"
"Worse than that. My tent and pack went up when I was trying to wake Jack here," Blair nudged him, and Jim nodded once, acknowledging the name, "and then when we were trying to get down off the mountain, I felt my bike going out from under me on a slope, and I had to ditch it."
"And the fire was so close we were sweating before we could get into the open, sweating too much considering we couldn't save the canteens and the night got cold once we broke free of the smoke and heat," Jim added. "We didn't know when the winds would change and sent the fire back our way, so we kept riding until we both had borderline hypothermia." Jim lied on the last part. The two days they had been on the mountain, the wind had come steadily from one direction. If he had to guess, Jim would say this area had a constant wind pattern, which was why he risked setting the fire in the first place.
"You might have been borderline, I was just plain old hypodermic," Blair interrupted. "I've never been so cold in all my life, and man, I hate cold."
"Well, I suppose you did go for the blankets and water instead of the beer." The shotgun lowered until it pointed at the floor in front of Jim and Blair. "The name's Rob. Rob Cowler." The man didn't hold out his hand, and Jim didn't move off the couch. Despite the man's casual clothing, green checked shirt and worn jeans, and despite his casual attitude, something screamed military, and Jim lowered his hands carefully, wishing he could toss his guide's big ass off the couch and grab the weapon.
"I didn't care about the water or the beer, I just wanted to get warm," Blair offered. "When Jack said that a camping trip would help me unwind, he obviously didn't take into consideration planes falling out of the sky."
"Not really something I expected to happen, Chief."
"Yeah, well next time, I'm taking the trip up to the monastery. This is just too much relaxation for me to take."
"You invited yourself along. I expected a nice, private, quiet hike through the woods," Jim answered, and Rob's arms relaxed.
"Details, man. When I tell mom you nearly got me killed…"
"I got you off the mountain, short stuff," Jim shot back, quickly recognizing Blair's tactics. The more they sniped at each other, the more comfortable Rob got, and the lower the gun barrel tilted.
"Brothers?" Rob asked with a smile.
"Oh please, I'd have to beach my gene pool," Blair said, but he said it with a smile that took the sting out. Jim didn't bother to answer, going instead for his strong suit, the physical. He reached over and bopped Blair on the back of the head hard enough to send his head forward. "Bully," Blair accused him.
"Cousins," Jim answered as he looked back at Rob who now openly smiled.
"Got a brother myself," Rob nodded knowingly. Every training manual Jim had ever read suggested that in a hostage situation, the prisoner should try to make the gunman relate to him. That way, the gunman would hesitate to kill someone with whom he shared some connection. Jim had just never seen anyone establish that bond as fast as Blair had. Five minutes into the conversation, Rob tucked the shotgun under his arm and stood up.
"Anyone for coffee?" he asked.
"Oh man, yes!" Blair enthusiastically replied without getting up from the couch. Jim nudged him with a meaningful look down toward the cushion, but Blair just crossed his arms and stared back.
"Do you have a bathroom?" Jim finally asked.
"Outhouse. Out the front door and to the right."
"Thanks," Jim said as he stood up and felt an irritating twitch at leaving his guide in the room with Rob. However, he couldn't protect his guide without a weapon, so if he couldn't get back the first handgun, he would just have to go search for the second one he recovered from the helicopter—the one he had slipped into the pack.
"Sit tight, Junior." Jim grabbed his shirt and slipped it on before dropping a hand onto Blair's shoulder for a moment, feeling the heat from Blair's body. At least in the short term, they had won. Blair was safe and warm and Jim had at least a few minutes where he didn't expect Section to come bearing down on them. As he opened the door to the cabin, he could hear two or maybe even more planes over the mountain, and a distant rumbling of heavy trucks on some nearby road, the whine of tires across asphalt unmistakable, even though he could barely hear the whine in the distance. Strangely enough, he couldn't hear animals moving through the trees, so either the fire had chased off the local wildlife or he was having trouble with his hearing... again.
Jim looked across the land in front of the cabin, spotting pieces of equipment strewn from one end to another. Some animal had unwound his rope, and it trailed from the tree line all the way to the side of the porch. The silver of a flashlight winked at him from under a bush, and the precious heat shield lay partially opened and torn by small claws. Walking closer, Jim guessed raccoon. Following the trail of ruined equipment, he eventually found the green pack lying on the ground at the foot of the tree.
Feeling a spike of triumph, Jim trotted across the grass and knelt down next the nylon remains, checking for the one inner zipper with the safely catch... where he hidden the second gun from the man who Jim had shot. Pulling the cloth to him, he started twisting the pack back into shape in order to reach the inner pocket.
"Looking for something?" a low, tremulous voice asked.
Jim spun on one knee without standing up and found himself looking up at Rob who leaned against the side of the cabin. Jim cursed his out of control hearing while putting his best non-threatening smile on his face.. the one he used against clueless FBI agents and mourning victims.
"Just checking the damage," Jim answered as he stood and brushed the grass from his pants.
"I pulled this out last night." Rob pulled the handgun from his pocket and tossed it to Jim. Once he caught it, he quickly realized the gun was too light. Tilting it up, he could see that someone had taken out the clip and probably removed the single bullet from the chamber as well.
"Guess I dropped it," Jim casually stuck the weapon in his pocket without commenting on the missing bullets.
"You'd be a fool to come up here without some sort of protection, but I have to think about my own safety. So, I figure I'll give you back the bullets when we reach town."
"Not a problem." Jim eyed the man who still had the shotgun tucked under his arm and had an even stronger feeling that the man was more than just a random hunter. "Just wanted to make sure I didn't leave it laying around out here."
"Yeah." Rob looked at him so closely that Jim could feel his muscles tense. "Outhouse is over there, so join us for breakfast when you're done." Rob waved in the general direction, and Jim glanced over toward the small wood shack without truly taking his eyes off the man. Rob continued to look at him for several seconds before he turned around and headed back into the cabin.
Jim could feel a growing suspicion growing in his gut, but he also trusted Blair to keep the other weapon safe, so after a quick trip to the outhouse, he headed back into the warm cabin, the smell of waffles and coffee greeting him.
"Oh man, Jim, you have to try these," Blair said with childlike enthusiasm around a mouthful of waffles. Jim couldn't contain a smile, even if he did want to throttle his guide, and he noticed that Rob had a similar smile on his own face. Really, Jim figured he shouldn't be surprised at Blair's ability to get into the man's good graces. If Blair could charm Simon into letting him stay over two years after the ride-along pass expired, Blair could charm anyone. Jim amended that thought to almost anyone when he considered Michael's cold stone eyes.
"Two or three?" Rob asked, and Jim looked at the plate of waffles.
"Three please," he asked as he sat at the table, struggling to catch a whiff of gun oil that would tell him whether Blair had the weapon or had abandoned it in the couch. And if it was the latter… Jim gave his partner a withering look.
"The bacon'll be ready in a minute." Rob used a fork to slide three waffles onto a thick ceramic plate before handing it over. Jim took it with a nod of thanks and sat in a chair that put his back to the door and himself between Blair and this do-gooding hunter. "I can pack you some lunches before I drop you off in town. Bad luck, all your ID being in the packs. The bank in town is a little slow, so it may take a while for them to fax the right authorizations to get access to your accounts."
Jim nodded wordlessly, focusing on keeping enough food in his mouth to prevent him from contradicting one of Blair's elaborate lies.
"Rob's going to give us a lift into town. Lucky thing we found a good guy, huh, Jack?" Blair reached over and Jim thought the man wanted to pat his leg. Instead something hard and cold slid out of Blair's shirt sleeve and pressed into his leg.
"Yeah, lucky," Jim said as he took the gun and quickly tucked it into the waist of his heavy pants. Rob turned around with a plate of bacon, and Jim quickly moved his hand up to the table. "Thanks," he offered as he speared several thick slices.
True to his word, Rob stocked them with sandwiches and jerky and bottles of water stuffed into their coat pockets before hustling them out to an old green truck with one chipped white front fender. He quickly clipped the shotgun next to a rifle in the gun rack in the back window. At the passenger side, Jim hesitated, torn between putting himself in the middle and protecting his guide from the nearest threat, namely Rob, and putting himself on the outside where he could shield his partner.
He put out a hand, holding Blair back from the open door, and Blair just stood waiting silently. After a second, Jim slipped into the truck first. Despite all his help, Rob still set off alarms, and Jim wanted himself between Blair and the man. Blair scooted in after him, and without commenting on the moment of indecision on Jim's part, Rob started the truck. With a heavy roar of an oversized engine, the truck rolled over potholes as he drove the narrow track away from the cabin and toward the highway.
"Thanks Rob," Blair offered as the truck pulled to a stop in front of a red-brick bank with a curved wooden sign giving the owner's name. The downtown huddled together with the buildings connected in long rows and a grey asphalt main street wide enough for four cars to pass.
"You bet'cha," he answered shortly, his eyes still on the road. "I figure anyone who pulls the name Jack Kelso out of the air is running from something bigger than some backwoods sheriff.
Jim clenched the weapon he had shifted to his coat pocket, and Blair physically jerked in shock.
"But... I mean..." Blair stuttered, and Jim started sweeping the area for some sign that Rob had tipped someone off. Cars passed them without the drivers paying any attention, and the people on the street wandered without pattern. More importantly, Rob continued to sit with both hands clearly visible on the steering wheel.
"I read Kelso's book, and you two showing up after the government crashed a plane into the mountain... it just seems like a little too much coincidence, especially since 'Jack' there practically screams soldier from every cell."
"He kinda does, doesn't he?" Blair said with a nervous laugh, and Jim pushed back slightly against his partner, silently begging the man to open the door because he wasn't comfortable having this conversation in such an enclosed space. Hell, he wasn't comfortable having this conversation at all.
"Yeah, he does," Rob agreed, his accent temporarily thickening as his eyes dilated despite the fact the light levels hadn't changed. "But you seem a little out of place. Whatever's going on, stick with 'Jack' here because anything bad enough to make him twitchy as a rabbit in a fox den has to be bad."
"Oh man, you have no idea."
"Chief," Jim interrupted him. Blair fell silent and Rob looked over for the first time. Jim recognized the expression--he'd seen it often enough in the mirror. "If they come looking for us," Jim paused, weighing the options, "Just tell them everything. You don't want to go up against these guys and it won't help us in the long run," he finally finished. He got the feeling this man would lie for them, and that was the best reason to not ask it of him.
"If you're sure?"
"Yeah." Jim took several seconds to study his unexpected ally. The man finally nodded. "Chief, we need to get going now." Jim gave Blair a harder push, and this time Blair responded by pulling open the truck door and sliding out. Jim quickly followed, scanning the street with his hearing even as he checked the wind for any scents. It seemed clear, and he went to close the truck door.
"Here," Rob held out the clip he'd removed from the one weapon. Jim reached out took it, surprised at the papery feeling on his fingers. Looking down, a few twenty dollar bills had been folded around the clip.
"Rob," Jim started.
"No. Just take it," Rob insisted, pushing the item to Jim until Jim finally closed his hand around it and backed out of the truck.
"Thanks," he said as he closed the truck door. Rob held up a single hand in farewell and then merged back into the lazy small-town traffic.
"So, where to now?" Blair asked.
"Chicago," Jim answered. Sixty dollars would have to get them half way across the country because Michael would have cut off all access to any of their funds. Hell, he didn't even trust the ten thousand he had hidden in his escape fund. Jim took a deep breath of pine and sawdust and car exhaust and animal droppings. It smelled like an ordinary small town, and Jim could only pray that appearances didn't deceive in this case.
"Okay, I actually meant the 'right now' type of where to," Blair said as he rolled his eyes and gestured up and down the street.
"Train tracks," Jim said distractedly as he searched the air for that subtle scent.
"You can smell tracks?" Blair asked in an awed whisper, following when Jim started walking north in the brisk air.
"I can smell the iron and the faint traces of coal smoke."
"Oh man, this is so cool. I've never seen you like this. Are you having any trouble with the senses up this high?" Blair darted ahead, and Jim had to smile at how Blair could recover with one meal and a good night's sleep.
"The hearing's a little unpredictable," he admitted once they had turned down a virtually deserted street. Not only am I having trouble telling distances, but sometimes I can't hear things close up."
"Far-sighted hearing, which would make it far-hearing I guess." Blair had that distracted tone that suggested he was thinking about a dozen things at once. "It could be a matter of focus... trying too hard to identify threats far out. Do you completely lose the close hearing?"
Jim looked around suspiciously before continuing.
"The close hearing will be set at normal, but I'll still be able to hear insects crawling over the forest floor hundreds of yards away."
"Oh man, two types of hearing. So let's start by assuming that you can control them separately since you have different levels set on each. Okay, focus on the hearing dial. You got it?"
Jim closed his eyes for a half second until he could feel the familiar control in his mind. "Yeah, got it," he said as he opened his eyes before he fell off a curb.
"Okay, I want you to visualize a second circle around the first, like on a car stereo. The main dial controls the close hearing. Where is it set?"
Jim took a second to take a few deep breaths and feel that dial before answering. "Six."
"Great. Now feel at the base of the dial for that second ring. It's set a lot higher. How high is it set?"
Jim stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, frowning as he felt for the second control. He could almost feel the cool plastic of a dial in his fingers as he touched the ridge at the base of the dial. Struggling to get a hold on it, he clenched his fingers in frustration. "We don't have time for this, Sandburg," he finally snapped as he started walking down the street, his long legs covering the ground fast enough that Blair had to trot to keep up.
"Don't worry about it. We'll get it," Blair assured him.
"It's my hearing that's fucked up, there's no 'we' in that."
"Asshole," Blair muttered softly, but a warm hand landed on his back, and Jim slowed slightly as he heard Blair start to breathe heavily. They continued walking like that until a turn in the road brought them face to face with a railroad crossing.
"We're going to have to catch the train here," Jim said as he looked around. A low wood rail fence would give them a place to sit without looking out of place. Heck, in their scruffy coats and heavy boots, they'd hopefully look like a couple of locals. A hard packed dirt road running parallel to the tracks would give them a place to run and grab a handhold. Jim just hoped once they climbed to the top he could find an unlocked latch because he did not want to risk another case of hypothermia.
"It's going to stop here?" Blair asked as he looked around.
"No, but it's where we're going to jump on," Jim said as he walked over and settled in on the wide wood beam that made the top rail of the low fence.
"Oh man, this is such a bad idea," Blair grumbled as he followed Jim across the weedy grass to lean against the fence.
"Yeah, but it's the best option we have," Jim answered as he felt the morning sun warming his back. Blair rested against the fence close enough that Jim could feel his body heat against his right side and feel the vibration in the fence as Blair bounced in nervousness. However Blair didn't comment, and Jim closed his eyes and struggled to grasp that second dial for hearing that he could sense but not yet control. As he worked, the sounds of the forest around him faded in and out: two squirrels chattering angrily, a stream tripping over rocks, a group of kids laughing at the faint sound of a television cartoon from a house somewhere out of sight.
Jim nearly dozed until the sun warmed the top of his head, and Blair relaxed lazily against him, the energy of earlier gone in a half doze as the curly head leaned against his shoulder.
At first the rattling sound didn't register since the regular pattern of it blended into the beating Blair's heart and the ticking of his own watch. Eventually, though, Jim realized that he was hearing the train run the track.
"Junior, wake up. Ride's here," Jim said as he nudged his guide.
"Man, 'bout damn time," Blair grouses as he stretched without moving away. Jim slung an arm over the shorter man's shoulders.
"Every moment of boredom is a good moment," he reminded Blair. Blair became suddenly still, his muscles tightening under Jim's arm, and Jim could have kicked himself for bringing up the subject. Nice.
"Just a bit addicted to the adrenaline, I guess," Blair finally shrugged, and Jim pulled his arm back. Pushing away from the fence, Jim bent over and did a runner's stretch of his legs.
"Better get ready for a dash. We miss, and we're both going to be scraped up," Jim pointed out. Blair plopped down in the middle of the weeds and started stretching his hamstrings.
"I so do not need that right now."
"And our chariot approaches," Jim said as the squat engine now appeared in around the corner. Jim walked over to Blair and held out a hand to help him up. He didn't want the conductor noticing them and calling in for help with two stowaways. Section would pick that call up in about 30 seconds. So, until the engine passed, Jim leaned casually against the fence, one arm around Blair's back as he kept Blair facing away from the train.
Blair tried to squirm around to look, but Jim tightened his grip.
"Hey, watch the goods," Blair complained as Jim pushed him tight to the fence.
"Just keep focused on the trees," Jim said, already smiling at his answer to his guide's next question.
"Why?" Blair asked.
"Because this way the conductor sees a tall good looking guy and a short girl with curly hair," Jim said with a wicked grin. He then omphed heavily as a sharp elbow dug into his stomach.
"I am not a girl!"
"You are from behind," Jim smirked.
"You are so paying for that," Blair threatened, and Jim just smirked even wider. However he also noticed that Blair stayed facing the trees. "Jerk."
"But Sweetheart," Jim started unable to keep his voice from breaking with laughter.
"Oh, that's really nice. I don't even get my own endearment. You call me the same thing you call your truck. I might be able to explain your divorce, Ellison," Blair shot back, but now Jim could hear the laughter in his tone as well. Jim looked toward the train and the engine now turned a bend out of sight so that in front and in back cattle and freight cars stretched the length of the tracks.
"Okay, it's time," Jim said as he released Blair and started moving toward the train. From a distance it seemed to move in slow motion, but up close, the cars went by at a blur.
"Oh shit. There's no way I can make that train," Blair breathed with barely contained panic.
"I'll get on first and help you up."
"Unless it slows--" Blair's voice cut off suddenly, but Jim ignored it as he focused his hearing on something on the very edge of his awareness. A calm voice sent men to the edges of town looking for a green pickup truck. Jim suddenly lost the thread as the train's whistle slammed into his ears and sent him stumbling back.
Blair's hands at his waist steadied him, and he looked down into worried blue eyes. "What is it?"
"Michael," Jim answered simply. He watched as Blair's eyes darkened as the pupils dilated in fear.
"Fuck," he whispered.
"He's looking for Rob, so I don't think he's certain we're here," Jim said.
"But he'll check the trains," Blair said, looking toward the train that came toward them in seeming slow motion.
"We can't stay here. We'll get off as soon as we get enough distance," Jim decided. Blair just nodded slowly, but Jim couldn't tell if that was agreement or shock.
"They're never going to stop, are they?" Blair asked desperately.
"I'll find a way to make them stop," Jim promised. He had no idea how he was going to accomplish that, but he would take the haunted fear out of Blair's eyes if he had to strangle every member of Section to do it. "Right now, let's just catch that train before our time runs out."
Jim watched the fields clip by, the nude stubbled ground broken by thin roads probably used by tractors more than cars. They had passed a few roads, and in the distance he could see lights blinking on the top of square grain elevators and water towers. He could feel a rising need to get off the train. If Section tracked Rob down, they had to suspect this train as the fastest means of escape. Of course, Rob might not be that easy to track, Jim thought as he considered the man's haunted gaze.
"Jim?" Blair asked. Jim leaned a little farther into Blair. He couldn't say the words, so offered the only comfort he could even as he felt Section's noose tightening. "Oh man, we'll be fine," Blair added. Jim looked across the empty field with no cover and the tiny towns in the distance. If Michael tracked them to this train...
"Oh man, you're freaking me out with the quiet."
"It's fine," Jim said as he looked out across the landscape
"Oh yeah, that's believable," Blair said sarcastically. "What's wrong?"
"Just..." Jim waved out toward the landscape. They stood balanced on the connector between two cars, the square car ahead of them blocking the wind and a handhold providing some stability.
"Not many places to hide, huh?" Blair offered as he pushed his hair back out of his face.
"We seem to be heading toward Billings. We can lose ourselves in the city, and he'll have to check every train, every car, every bus to try and find us," Jim answered. Blair struggled to pull his trapped arm out from between his body and the metal handrail. The hand then snaked around Jim's waist, under the coat, and Jim let his eyes fall shut as the motion of the train lulled him.
"Yeah. He'll never find us once we reach Billings," Blair agreed, and neither of them mentioned the miles of empty field between them and that city.
Jim pulled a piece of jerky out of his pocket and chewed it slowly even thought it tasted like sand in his mouth. Eventually they sat in the narrow space, Blair tucked into the corner formed by the side of the car and the handrail and Jim pressed to his side, Blair's arm still around his waist. With nothing more to do but hope, Jim let his senses slide out over the landscape as time became an illusion.
Hours later, the train slowed as the lights of a city appeared over the dark horizon, a glow of lights that created a dome over the land. Jim flinched as the sharp sounds of civilization assaulted him, car horns and screeching tires, and he had never heard a more welcome sound.
"Wake up, Chief. We're here." Blair squirmed a bit as he came awake.
"Billings?" he muttered as he struggled to sit up. Jim put a hand under Blair's arm and helped pull him upright.
"I think so. It's a big city, and there can't be many of those around here."
"Man, I just want to get out of the cold," Blair said, and Jim could feel an exaggerated shiver even as he pulled Blair closer.
"Some tired trucker might offer us a trade: a ride for driving."
"And I'm hoping you're talking about my truck driving abilities because there is no way I'm riding in any truck you're driving," Blair immediately shot back.
Jim didn't answer as leaned around the edge of the boxcar, checking for a safe place to jump as the train started its long braking process, the wheels screeching against the rails. Blair would have to jump blind, and he didn't want to put his partner head first into some sign. Pulling Blair away from the hand rail, he watched as the train stormed toward a field of weeds.
"Get ready," he said, Blair's hair whipping his face as he held his guide close to the edge.
"Oh man, I can't see shit."
"I can," Jim answered and then he shoved Blair from the train, jumping a split second later and rolling as he hit the ground. His skin instantly started to itch as the weeds ripped and tore under him, smearing him with green juice that made hives appear.
"Fuck. I think I sprained my wrist," Blair cursed from a short distance away.
"Better than your ankle, Chief." Jim flinched at his own words, and then pushed himself up from the ground to go over and check on Blair. Crouching down, he put on hand on Blair's shoulder and reached out for the wrist which Blair held to his chest. "Let me see."
"Ow." Blair complained as Jim took the wrist and carefully felt around the joint, each bone and muscle and ligament clear to his sensitive fingers.
"It's a sprain. It's already swelling."
"I think that's what I just said," Blair muttered.
"Well, it's time to hit the road." Jim got a hand under Blair's elbow and helped pull him up to his feet.
"Man, I can hardly wait until Peru. A nice quiet jungle with jungle heat and not a train in sight... or a helicopter or black vans or motorbikes. I think I'm just ready to give up on anything with a motor," Blair said as he flexed his wrist gingerly
"Once we get to Henry Aplaner, we'll be as good as there," Jim promised. Despite Blair's enthusiasm, he couldn't seem to forget what Blair would be leaving behind, like Naomi and his job and a doctorate the man had more than earned after three years of putting up with a cantankerous Sentinel. However, Blair's voice had no deceptive wavering as he talked about South America the same way a child described Christmas. When Jim had walked away from his first family he had never expected to find the type of love his father had denied him, and yet here was Blair walking away from everything without even a complaint.
"I've always wanted to get in depth into a culture, you know, really feel a part of it. I wonder how long it will take for me to learn Chopek?"
"Knowing you, you'll be talking their ears off in no time flat," Jim laughed lightly as he used his hearing to track the unique sounds of a dozen different businesses. Focusing in on the one he wanted, he nodded to the east. "Truck stop's that way," he said as he used a hand on Blair's shoulder to guide the man through the dark.
"Oh man. We are retesting all your senses when we get settled, you know this, right?" Blair asked as he headed across the field following Jim's touch.
"Sure, Chief," Jim answered as he searched the area with his senses.
"Is that 'sure, Chief' in the 'only if you can pin me down' way or the 'I'll whine like a little girl but do it if I have to way'?"
Jim could hear the smile in Blair's tone of voice. "You didn't used to be so suspicious, Chief." Jim had intended his comment to be a joke, but the minute the words came out, he bit his tongue. Maybe the fatigue was catching up with him because he couldn't seem to keep his thought or his tongue away from the very topics he wanted to avoid. Mercifully, Blair didn't answer and they continued across the field silently, their boots crunching the autumn dried grasses and weeds as they walked.
Three fields, two barb wire fences and several scratches later, the two walked into the pools of light formed by the lamps illuminating a field of trucks, many idling, the engines rumbling in a way that made Jim think of a growling animal, or rather several growling animals hunkered down and watching with headlight eyes.
Jim nodded toward a low building of glass and brick before sticking his hands deep in his pockets in an attempt to not manhandle his guide. The type of men who drove big trucks wouldn't approve of that type physical touching, at least not in public. However Jim suspected that like the military, the rules were different in public and in private.
"Any clue about where to start?" Blair whispered as he pulled a rubber band out of a pocket and started pulling at his hair. Jim reached over and plucked a round prickly sticker off Blair's coat.
"Not a clue," he admitted. He tried to focus in on the conversations he could hear around him, but so many people had so many separate conversations, that trying to listen gave him a vague feeling of dizziness.
"Well then, time to let a master work," Blair said with a smile as he brushed the dust from his coat with an exaggerated motion. Giving Jim a quick waggle of his eyebrows, he ambled toward the café with a careless stride.
"Oh great, with your luck we're going to end up catching a ride with a serial killer," Jim complained softly to his partner's back.
"I heard that," Blair shot back over his shoulder before pulling open the glass door with the sign advertising the 2.99 breakfast special.
Despite Jim's fears, it only took Blair an hour to talk his way into the truck of one Curly Anderson who didn't actually have any curls but rather a short cropped crown of hair that circled a huge bald spot. Add in a Kiss t-shirt and a pair of cargo pants with grease on the cuff and Curly looked like an average truck driver. As Blair sweet talked the man with talk of driving a big rig for his uncle, Jim slipped onto a stool a couple of seats down and smelled the air, searching for gun oil or powder or that antiseptic soap that called up memories of government showers.
By the time Blair finished the story of his uncle's truck and the load of pigs, Curly seemed ready to take on a second driver with his recently retired cousin from the Army, and Jim nodded his own approval of Blair's choice. And so, a few hours after dropping off a train, they headed east on the 94, trading Blair's driving skills for an untraceable ride all the way to Chicago. In fact, until Curly turned in his driving log with Blair Sandburg's name and commercial driver's license number, Section had no paperwork at all to follow. Jim figured by the time Section geeks found one log out of hundreds of thousands, they would be Ecuador hiking toward the hills of Peru.
Blair hummed a little triumphant song as he shifted the truck into a higher gear on the open highway, leaning comfortably into the huge wheel, and Jim smiled. With heater running, Curly asleep in the back, and a bag of popcorn perched on the dash, Blair looked as if all was right with his world. Jim let his eyes droop as he dozed to make up for the sleepless night balanced on the back of a train car. With the sound of the wheels clacking over the grooves in the highway, he could almost imagine they were in Sweetheart, heading up to the mountains for some time off from work.
Jim wondered briefly why they hadn't gotten away more often. Things always seemed so urgent, but they'd spent quite a while away from Cascade, and Jim hadn't heard anything about the west coast blowing up. The world hadn't ended, and he was now realizing the world wouldn't end when they reached Peru and he returned to protecting the tribe from poachers and rabid animals and unexpected thunderstorms.
The world wouldn't end if he and Sandburg spent a few long afternoons lying by the side of a river fishing. He remembered the few fishing trips they had managed in their years together, Blair insisting that spear-fishing predated poles and represented the true spirit of the sport. His hair hanging in wet clumps after his attempt to spear a fish sent him off balance in the stream, his arms wind-milling wildly until finally he'd fallen on his ass. Indulging in that memory, Jim allowed himself to drift on the edge of sleep.
"Oh man, something's up," Blair hissed later… much later, and Jim's eyes popped open in time to read the temporary orange signs squatting at the side of the road. "Curly?" Blair called a little louder, and the answering grumble from behind the curtain made it clear that Curly did not want to wake up yet. "Man, we got trouble here," Blair said louder, and a head instantly poked out from between the curtains.
"What?" he asked, still rubbing his eyes as he tried to wake up.
"They're pulling all traffic off to the side."
"Huh." Curly pushed the curtain back and started pulling on a plain white t-shirt as he looked at the signs and the brake lights as two lanes of highway started merging into one. "They have these mandatory pull off's all over Texas and New Mexico. Haven't seen one up here before." Curly absent-minded scratched his crotch, obviously not worried about the detour.
Blair shifted and started braking as they approached the line of cars waiting to pull off the highway as the signs directed them. The line of traffic backed up far enough that the actual way station wasn't even in view yet. "I don't have my license with me." Blair's eyes widened in panic, and Jim knew that the man wasn't worried about a license.
"Oh fuck. But the numbers, they'll clear when I turn in my paperwork?" Curly now pushed up between the two front seats, crouching down to stay at eye level, and Jim could feel the threads of panic at having someone between him and his guide.
"Totally. My license is good, man, but I cannot get a ticket for driving without ID, and I can't get hauled in until they find proof that I'm actually me." Blair's voice now had a higher, strained tone, and Curly scrubbed his face with the same hand that had just used to scratch his crotch.
"When we come to a stop up here, we can switch places. I'll take the next leg of driving." Curly didn't sound happy, but then the man had only gotten a few hours sleep. Jim looked at the morning sun and he realized with a bit of shock that it had only been two and a half days since he pushed Blair out of the helicopter in a bid for freedom, which would make today Thursday. Jim looked at the thin tree cover in the distance. If they had to run, this would be a bad place for it. The truck slowed until it finally shuddered to a stop behind a green station wagon full of children.
"Okay, out of there," Curly said, and Blair put the truck into park and slid over until he crowded close to Jim, and now Jim could smell the fear. Ironically, he couldn't ever smell himself, but he guessed that he smelled just as acrid since he could feel his heart pound in growing panic.
"Stay or go?" Blair asked in a whisper that wouldn't have carried an inch, but Jim heard it anyway. Jim put his hand out on the door handle as Curly settled into the driver's seat and threw the truck back into gear with a little hop forward.
"Man, that log will show I was driving, so maybe I'd better make myself scarce," Blair said with a vague gesture toward the driving log with Blair's name in black block letters.
Curly looked over suspiciously, but Blair shrugged innocently as he rescued his coat with one hand. Without waiting for any more questions, Jim popped the door open. Blair practically climbed over him to get to the outside handrail and jump down to the step. The truck inched forward with the traffic, and Jim closed a strong fist around Blair's arm to keep him steady until the truck stopped again. Then Blair jumped down to the ground and jogged away from the truck. Jim quickly followed, slamming the door closed behind him before hurrying after Blair who stood on the shoulder of the highway.
Shrugging into his coat, Jim started walking toward the distant trees. Hopefully trees meant water. Given enough water, he could forage off the land well enough to support himself and his guide. Mentally checking supplies, Jim counted one sandwich, one bottle of water, two pieces of jerky, two guns with clips, duct tape, matches, a lighter, a small square of plastic sheeting all stuffed into various pockets.
"Do you think it's them?" Blair asked as he followed a step behind.
"Just keep walking, Chief," Jim answered as he sped up slightly. He could hear the whip-whoosh, but that didn't mean anything particularly sinister. A local station could be covering the traffic jam caused by the inspections. Picking up his pace into a steady jog, he extended his hearing until every sound snapped into clear focus at once. Dismissing complaining motorists and whining children, he focused on the one sound he had feared hearing.
While still running, he pulled the second weapon, checking the clip before thrusting it at Blair. He had expected some sort of protest, but Blair took the gun and shoved it deep into a coat pocket. After hearing Michael's voice shouting over the sound of the helicopter blades, Jim reached out and grabbed Blair's arm before he started dashing for the distant trees. They still had a chance if the helicopter continued random sweeps... if it didn't have heat-seeking equipment... if they could find some sort of rock cover that would hide their body heat.
The helicopter turned the sound of the blades changed pitch at the same time they reached the first tree. Jim didn't bother stopping as he continued his headlong dash for deeper cover. Blair breathed like a steam engine, strangled, wet breaths. The land suddenly tilted, and both of them went scrambling down a grassy slope, Blair's body tumbling into his near the bottom, and before they could untangle their limbs, the helicopter passed them overhead. Jim felt a sharp pain rip through his arm.
"Oh fuck," Blair cursed, reaching over and grabbing something. When Blair pulled, Jim clutched his guide and gave a curse of his own. The pain rippled through him, and Blair held out a silver cartridge with a sharp spike on one end and a red ball of fluff on the other.
"Keep going, Chief," Jim pushed Blair away as he felt the sedative start to flow through him. His vision flared, turning the world into a jigsaw puzzle of glowing pieces before everything started going dim. Blair's face shimmered, the light dancing unnaturally over the horror-struck expression. "GO!" Jim yelled.
"Jim!" a strangled call sounded like it was coming from the far end of the tunnel. Jim felt hands at his shoulders, and it was only then that he realized that he was on his knees.
"Damn it, just go," Jim begged, hearing his own words slur. The hands disappeared and Jim prayed that the kid listened to him as he sank into the dark.
Jim woke to something wet sliding across his arm, and he flinched at the touch. In the jump from the train, he had fallen on that arm, and the coat sleeve pushed up so that the bare skin had skidded across the ground, not hard enough to scrape skin, but enough for the broken leaves to irritate his skin. Now something smooth and cool ran across his skin of his arm again. Jim opened his eyes, but the world still had that jigsaw effect where objects glowed in opalescent colors, but now the center of the glow showed empty black.
"Blair?" Jim struggled to say, his tongue thick in his mouth, and his head throbbing in time with his heart. The featureless form said something, but the sound blended into a single distorted noise that reminded Jim of Charlie Brown's teacher from the old cartoons. His vision reminded him of when he and Stephen would scribbled big swatches of color on paper with crayons and then covered the whole page with black, hiding the bright colors. Then he had shown his brother how to use dull tipped scissors to carve a picture, the bright colors showing through. The black figure outlined in those pulsing multicolored lines wandered away for a moment.
When the dark figure returned, it held something cold to Jim's lips. Jim reached out and grabbed the arm, praying that it would be a stranger, that some Section medic tended him because he wanted his guide safely on his way to Chicago. His fingers found a muscled arm, thick with hair. And as he moved his hand down, the wrist was slightly swollen with a mushy feeling to the tissue.
Jim could feel tears heat his nearly useless eyes as his sense told him exactly who now sat next to him on the bed. The hand pushed forward with the glass, and Jim drank some water before the glowing vision dimmed and he fell back toward sleep.
Jim didn't know how much time had passed, but he woke with a hard wall pressing into his right side, and a warm body leaning against his left one. Blindly reaching out, Jim's hand found a head with masses of curls laying on his shoulder. Jim slowly opened his eyes and white walls with a white ceiling replaced the pulsing jigsaw puzzle of earlier.
"Oh man, why the hell didn't you tell me you had an allergic reaction?" Blair demanded as he twisted around and peered intently at Jim's forearm. Jim could feel snakes of panic and dread wind around his heart.
"Why the hell are you here?" he demanded. Blair gave up studying the arm and sighed before pushing himself up so that he was sitting on the edge of Jim's bunk. Someone (probably Blair) had shoved all the pillows from both bunks under his upper body and the sheet from the other bunk lie in a damp heap on the floor. Jim sat up and put a hand on Blair's shoulder.
"What happened?" he asked.
"You were in some sort of shock. I couldn't leave you," Blair said in a voice barely above a whisper, and the snakes around Jim's heart tightened. Blair had given up his freedom, and now neither one of them had a chance.
"There's not a way out of this, is there? Oh man, our goose is cooked." Blair whispered. Jim twisted around so he sat cross legged on the bunk, staring at Blair's back. Since he didn't have any answer that would reassure his partner, he just squeezed Blair's shoulder in the only form of comfort he knew how to offer. False promises wouldn't help, and Blair was too smart to fall for them.
"I'm sorry, Chief. I never should have pulled you into this shit." Jim finally answered.
"No regrets, man. Okay, I regret us coming home that night, but other than that..." Blair's voice trailed off with a strangled sound and Jim could smell the salt. He wanted to tell Blair to go ahead and cry. He wanted to tell Blair that most men would cry when faced with their own death. He wanted to cry himself, but his emotions were strangely distant, as though the snakes had eaten his heart so that the agony of a moment ago had dimmed into a dull, numb ache.
"How..." Blair stopped again, but Jim heard the question anyway.
"They aren't into torture for torture's sake. We don't have anything more to tell them, so they'll make it quick," Jim lied. He hoped that Blair would get a quick death; he prayed for that. However, he had no doubt that the doctors would be more interested in a live Sentinel specimen than in a body to dissect. He just didn't want Blair to think about that now.
Jim tightened his hand on Blair's shoulder, and Blair's muscles slowly sagged, his back curving as his head fell into his hands. Jim could feel the trembling, and he struggled with the knowledge that he had failed one more person in his life. Blair would never get his dissertation or have a family or even see the sun again.
"Chief," Jim started to say, but then he didn't even have the words to apologize for such a huge fuck up.
"Man, I wouldn't trade the last three years for anything," Blair assured him. Blair moved, and Jim let go. He had thought that maybe Blair wanted some space, some small bit of privacy, but instead he scooted back until his back was against the wall, and then he scooted closer until their shoulders touched.
Jim felt that offer of comfort and he knew without a doubt that he didn't deserve it. He took it anyway. Sliding closer to Blair, he wrapped his arms around that solid body that had endured so much to try and protect him.
"Oh man, keep the guilt down, huh?" Blair said with a half laugh, but Jim could smell a hint of salt from unshed tears.
"No problem, Chief," Jim answered as he let his cheek rest on the top of his partner's head. They sat there holding on to each other, and Jim allowed himself to nearly zone on what would probably be the last loving touch he would ever feel in a life that might still be unmercifully long. Blair's fist closed around Jim's shirt, and the salt-smell returned. Jim just held on, his eyes closing as he felt the tremors run through Blair's body even though any sobs were too soft even for Sentinel ears.
Eventually, the door swung open almost silently, but Jim still opened his eyes immediately. Three men stood there in street clothes, guns in their holsters. Michael wasn't one of them, but then again, Michael probably had more important business. Two would-be escapees were just a loose end to tidy up. Blair sat up, his body instantly tight.
"Ellison," one of the men said, and Jim pushed himself forward off the edge of the bunk. For one second Blair's hand clung to his shirt, and he stopped and turned to his partner's pained face.
"Chief," Jim strangled the word and then fell silent. He couldn't say anything else, so that one word would have to do. Jim started standing, and Blair finally let go as Jim walked toward the trio. One of the men pushed Jim face first into the wall, and he didn't fight back despite the fact that the man's stance left him vulnerable for a sweeping kick. It might give Jim some satisfaction to get in one or two last hits, but he had no illusions about the lengths they would go to in order to punish him. He could hear Blair's heart beating, and Jim seriously considered that the man might have a heart attack before anyone got around to killing him.
Jim's hands were shackled and then they pulled him away from the wall. Jim turned and took a final look at Blair sitting on the white bunk with his arms wrapped around his own waist. The open sobs that Blair had held for so long now shook his body as Jim was pulled from the room.
After that Jim didn't notice anything else. He went where they pushed him and stopped when they didn't. They had traveled through any number of corridors before they stopped outside a room where one of the men used a swipe card to open a door. The door opened and Jim started forward before freezing in place. The sight inside that sterile room made him temporarily hesitate, his body stopping even though his mind had already come to terms with this end. In the center of the room, a table with various straps and restraints waited, and the guard had to give him an extra push to get him in the room.
Jim waited as the guard removed the cuffs, the two extra guards taking up positions on either side of the door through which Jim had just come while a door on the far end opened to let in an older gentleman who looked thin enough for Jim to break in half. Unfortunately, he wasn't going to get the chance.
"Take your shirt off please. Stomach down on the table and grab the handholds at the end of the table." The doctor gave his orders and then started opening cabinet drawers and pulling out instruments, ignoring him like the lab specimen he had become. Knowing he had no choice, Jim began unbuttoning his shirt as he struggled with his own growing fear. There wasn't any chair, so when Jim had taken off his shirt, he stood with it in his hand trying to figure out where to put it. One of the guards held out his hand, and Jim surrendered his shirt as he went to lie on the table.
The plastic under his stomach was so cold that Jim felt a tremor go through his body, but complaining hardly seemed worth the effort. Instead he shifted himself until he could grab both handholds and put his head down on the raised portion of the bed. The far door opened to admit a younger man who looked nearly as frail as the doctor, and Jim waited as this second man started tightening the restraints around Jim's body.
The wide straps at his wrists and elbows held his arms above his head and then the man started pulling straps across Jim's back and waist and legs. Jim used the time to control his breathing and dial down his sense of touch. Whatever was going to happen, Jim didn't want to feel it. Instead he focused on the memory of Blair. No matter how much he tried to think of the laughing grad student who had bounced into his life, his brain insisted on summoning the image of Blair lying injured on the ground from another of Michael's practice sessions and Blair sitting on the white bunk in the white room crying. Jim didn't realize that tears were slowly escaping from his own eyes until he smelled the tears from his own body.
A sharp prick in his back told him that the doctor had injected something, and Jim waited for the pain. Instead a cold numbness slowly spread out from the prick. A third medical person came in, a woman this time, pushing a large machine with a screen and computer dials. Jim turned his head the opposite direction so he wouldn't have to watch as they invaded his body.
Strong hands started prodding at his back, and Jim could feel where the local anesthetic started as the sensation of touch totally disappeared. Jim had forgotten to turn down his hearing, so the popping sound of his own skin breaking startled him. Only the tight straps held him still as he quickly searched for control of his hearing as the slick sounds of his flesh and blood assaulted his ears. Jim found the dial just as the instrument found bone, scraping across the surface of Jim's shoulder blade.
Dialing down ruthlessly, Jim grabbed for the other dials as well. He twisted them all so that they were as low as possible. He lay in a half-darkness where sounds existed only at a distance as the doctors worked on his body. His body. Jimmy-boy, time to admit it's not yours any more, he told himself. It's their body, and he was just the mind stuck in it.
"Fascinating. The nerve ganglia are definitely atypical," whispered a voice on the far side of that sensory tunnel. At least someone was enjoying himself. Jim lowered his hearing another notch so that he could only hear a vague buzzing noise as the doctors discussed his atypical body. Jim felt himself starting to float on the lack of input, a strange sort of sleepiness creeping over him without any sensory data coming in. It was almost a zone, but without the focus on one sense, without the link to the world. Jim vaguely wondered if he couldn't trick them out of their guinea pig this way as he drifted away.
With all his senses dialed down, it took Jim a second to register the familiar scent. The grey world where he lived suddenly took on color as a voice drifted in with the scent.
"Oh man, Jim, you gotta follow my voice back. Jim? Man, if you ditch me here, I will so follow you to the next world and kick your Sentinel ass." Guide voice. Angry guide voice. Jim struggled to make sense of the grey world which now started sprouting sharp edges as vision started coming on line.
"Jim. Come on now, you're freaking me out. Come on back. What the hell did you assholes do to him?" Jim assumed the last one was directed at someone else. However, his guide sounded so panicked that he struggled against the grey cotton that wrapped around him, blanketing him from the world.
"Chief?" he muttered through a dry mouth, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.
"Oh shit. Jim. Thank god." Jim could now feel as a warm hand ran up and down his arm. That was his first hint that he had been taken from the operating table. Jim squinted his eyes, seeing first the white of the walls and ceiling and then turning his head to see Blair kneeling next to him, hair pulled back in a ponytail and his glasses on.
"What?" Jim hadn't expected to wake up, but to wake up with Blair still alive and looking more than a little angry--that didn't seem possible.
"You're okay, just bring the dials under control, Jim." Blair's voice had that calm thread that always reached him no matter how far he zoned. However, under that thin veneer of stillness, Jim could hear the anger and fear in the way Blair's voice was a little higher than normal, in the way the syllables came out sharper and more clipped than normal.
"You could have killed him. What the hell were you thinking?" Jim rolled onto his side, his body complaining about the movement. He felt like he'd just done all six weeks of basic training in about five hours.
"His zone was self-inflicted," Madeleine's voice insisted. Jim didn't bother to turn and look at her since the woman only seemed to have the one expression. He really didn't want to see that expression right now. Instead he pushed himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
"Except the surgery wasn't self-inflicted, was it? Did you even tell him what you were doing? Did you let him lie there thinking you were going to cut him up? Did you tell him what you were doing? You assholes." Blair's voice rose to a shout, and Jim let his head fall into his palms as he braced his elbows on his knees. Part of him said that he needed to calm his guide down before Blair totally pissed off people with the power of life and death. Another part of him just focused on getting his senses out of control as his sense of touch reeled out of control.
"He was told just as much as you were," Madeleine answered, and Jim really looked at his partner then. Blair's glasses partially concealed the dark circles under his eyes and his complexion had a pasty tone that Jim had originally missed. Had they operated on Blair? Jim found that thought gave him the focus to push back the pain and control the dials.
"You manipulative sons of bitches," Blair's complexion now started going from pasty to red. "Why would you do that to him?"
Jim opened his mouth to point out that they had tortured Blair the same way, but Blair was already going again.
"What point were you trying to prove? What possible reason could you have?"
A long silence answered Blair, and Jim watched as his partner's fury slowly evaporated into a weariness that made Jim ache to hold Blair and protect him from the world. Of course he was the one who brought this misery into Blair's life, so that irony wasn't lost on him.
"You want us to be grateful?" Blair nearly whispered his sudden realization. That whisper turned into a hoarse shout almost immediately. "Well you can just go fuck yourselves. I refuse to be manipulated into thanking you for not killing me on that table. You can spin this however you want, but you're not giving us back our lives, you fucking stole them." Something desperate and harsh in Blair's voice made Jim look up.
"What's going on?" Jim asked as he sat up.
"They put tracking devices in us," Blair said. Blair had been standing between him and Madeleine, but now his guide sat down next to him on the bunk so that Jim had a clear view of those cold eyes.
Tracking devices. Jim closed his eyes and concentrated. He could feel the tunnel that had been cut into his back, but he couldn't tell if something had been left behind or not; he was too sore. "The devices ensure that we can find you should you be forcibly removed from our control or if you should make a poor choice," Madeline said softly. "Any attempt to remove or alter then would result in a team being sent to immediately retrieve you; however, we are giving you your lives back." Her voice was just so damn pleasant that Jim had to wonder what was up with these people. Michael and Madeline both had this strange politeness that seemed at odds with their murderous natures. "You'll be taken back to your loft. We'll call if we need you."
The words sank into Jim slowly, disbelief turning to horror as he realized what she meant, what Blair had meant.
"I won't be one of your attack dogs," Jim growled, well aware than he could be signing their death warrants with those words; however, he didn't think either he or Blair would survive very long in Michael's world anyway.
"We think of you more as one of our search and rescue dogs," Madeleine corrected him with an expression that almost hinted at a smile. "You are not the first Sentinel in our employ, and we are aware of the emotional limitations of your abilities."
Jim looked over to Blair and saw his own shock mirrored in that face.
"Other Sentinels?" Blair breathed.
"Of course the others were far less reliable and their senses more limited. The companion's influence on a Sentinel's control has been grossly underestimated." Madeline took a step into the room, and Jim felt an overwhelming urge to send the woman slamming into a wall. He wanted to know if she would keep that same expression if she was the one in pain.
"But even with Captain Ellison's improved control, he still is limited by instincts which make him unsuitable for permanent employment. So you are free to return to Cascade with the understanding that if you try and run you will be returned here for further training." Jim curled his fists as the urge to hit Madeline intensified. Blair slipped a hand around his forearm, holding him in place.
"Training," Blair said, his voice making that word a curse and a question and a challenge all at once. Madeleine didn't answer.
"So you're holding the leash," Jim said, and he could feel his resentment for the entire Section eclipse his hatred for Madeline in particular.
"I'll leave you to consider the alternatives while Birkoff arranges transportation." Madeleine walked out of the room, but the heavy door didn't close. Jim sat in numbed shock as he tried to make sense of her words. Before he could, Michael appeared in the open frame.
Jim looked up but didn't talk as Michael stepped into the room.
"Oh man, you people suck," Blair finally announced. Michael actually did smile at that.
"I have been accused of far worse," Michael answered dryly. "If you're needed, I will call for Aiden. If you get the call, go immediately downstairs and wait to be picked up."
"Yeah, that'll go over well with Simon. Hey, we have to go do secret agent stuff, so we're going to disappear for a while," Blair snapped, but Jim didn't blame his guide. Considering what they'd been through, he was just happy Blair wasn't slugging him for dragging him into this mess.
"The commissioner will receive paperwork regarding a federal taskforce for which your services will be required from time to time and the confidentiality required of such a position."
"You've thought of everything," Jim said as he rolled his shoulder, feeling the entry point of the surgeon's knife.
"We're all on leashes," Michael answered, his voice dropping into a slightly lower pitch that made Jim look up sharply, "but considering the amount of interest some parties were beginning to show in your remarkable performance, you may find comfort in the protection of a leash," Michael offered, and Jim only glared in return.
"Classic attempt at getting a victim to identify with the abuser. Man, that is uncool. And manipulative."
"And true," Michael added softly when Blair stopped. "We are not the only ones to suspect we have misunderstood the nature of both Sentinel and their companions or the only ones to have an interest in correcting that misunderstanding." Michael turned from Blair to Jim, and for one second, Jim could swear he saw actual human emotions behind that mask. "There are sharks in the water. Sharks who find your extraordinary control interesting. Who find your… guide… interesting. We can protect you from them." Michael said in a voice that Jim found himself believing. "You help protect Section, and Section will protect you."
"That's the most blatant attempt at manipulating Jim's Sentinel instincts I've ever seen."
"And it's true, Chief," Jim said as he listened to the steady heartbeat of the man in front of him. "We always knew this was a danger, ever since Brackett."
"So we're doing this?" Blair asked incredulously, and in the question, Jim could hear Blair's trusting acceptance of whatever decision Jim made. Considering where Jim's decisions had led them so far, Jim wasn't sure he wanted to make this choice alone. But the discussion to run or go along would have to wait until they weren't in the middle of Section.
"We're doing this," Jim affirmed. Michael gave a short nod.
"Man, I hope you know what you're doing," Blair complained Sentinel-soft.
"Not a clue, Chief. I'm making it up as we go along," Jim admitted as he stood up. Blair stood with him, though.
Michael gestured toward the door, and Jim put his hand on Blair's back as he started for the door. When Blair's hand came to rest on his back in return, Jim thought they just might get through this… whatever "this" turned out to be, just as long as he had his guide. Besides, Michael had already confirmed Section's weakness: they didn't understand the advantage Blair gave to him and to his senses. In this type of game, information was everything, and he would use any tool to keep his guide safe.
"Let's go home," Jim said as he followed Michael out into the hallway, Blair's hand still making a warm spot on his back.