Title: Lessons 
Author: Nancy Taylor 
Author Email: nat1228@comcast.net 
Rating: PG 
Status: Complete 
Series: MIGA # 4
Archive: Yes to CL, WWOMB, Fries 
Author's website: https://www.squidge.org/~nat1228/TSgen.htm

Written: May-July 2000 
Revised and expanded: January, 2002 
Previously published by Agent With Style

Disclaimer: Pet Fly and Paramount own the copyright to The Sentinel 
and its characters. This piece of fan fiction was written solely 
for the love of the characters and to share freely with other fans. 
No profit is being made from the posting of this story.

Episode related: Warriors

Warnings: lyrics

Author's notes: Many thanks to Becky for the use of parts of her
episode transcripts for "Warriors." You made my job much easier.

Thanks also to my intrepid betas: Allison and Heather-Anne, for the
original version, and Heather-Anne and Kimberly for this revised and
expanded version. Couldn't do it without you!

Summary: In a surprising role reversal, Blair learns an important
lesson.


LESSONS 
by Nancy Taylor 
nat1228@comcast.net


//There are reasons and silver linings 
There are lessons, but I don't care 
'Cause I just need a hand that I can hold on to 
When it's darker than death out there//

=====||=====

"Blair?" Jim looked worried as his friend stared past his cooling
breakfast, eyes fixated on nothing. "Blair!" He shook the younger
man's arm, but to no avail. Fear began a slow crawl up his spine.

==|+|==|+|==|+|==

Blair looked around. He was standing in the jungle. He turned slowly,
trying to get his bearings. A movement in the undergrowth behind him
snagged his attention.

//You are back, young shaman.// 

Blair spun around to face the Chopec shaman. "Incacha? What am I doing
here?"

//You must tell me. Why do you come?//

"I - I did not. Not on purpose."

//You are frightened. You have not yet learned control.//

"Control? I can control this?"

//You are in control of your visions. Learn. Your life, and that of
Enqueri, may depend upon it.//

"But how? I cannot control the seizures. Even the medication is not
stopping them anymore!"

//You are in control, young shaman. Learn.//

==|+|==|+|==|+|==

"Blair!"

The anthropologist blinked twice, the light of consciousness slowly
dawning in his eyes. "Jim?"

"What the hell just happened here? You were out for the count, but you
weren't having a seizure."

"I don't know," Blair answered cautiously. "You tell me. What
happened?"

"We were sitting here calmly eating our breakfast when you zoned out.
You were totally gone, and I couldn't get you back."

"How long?"

"No more than about fifteen seconds, but it scared the hell out of
me."

"It probably *was* a seizure, Jim. They call them 'petit mal'. I had
another vision. . . ." Blair confessed.

"God, Blair. When's this going to end?"

Frustration and anger colored the young man's voice. "If I knew, don't
you think I'd tell you?" He slapped his palms loudly on the table as
he stood and stormed across the room to pace in front of the balcony
doors. Finally he stopped, staring through the glass at the bay and
the city. "Incacha told me I could learn to control the visions. By
extrapolation, that means I should be able to consciously control the
seizures as well." He ran a hand through his thick mass of hair and
turned toward Jim. "I just don't know *how*."

Jim walked up behind him, placing his hands on his partner's
shoulders. "If it can be done, we'll figure out how together."

Blair spun around, facing Jim with desperation in his eyes. "What if
these seizures aren't really epilepsy? That's why the medication won't
stop them. Epilepsy is caused by an electrical misfire in the brain.
The Klonopin is supposed to chemically block that misfire. But what if
the seizures are caused by something else? Something beyond what we
understand?"

"Whoa. . . . Slow down, Darwin. It sounds to me like we're getting
into *your* area of expertise. I'm a little out of my depth here."

"No, Jim. No. Burton wrote about sentinels, not guides. I'm flying
blind here, too."

"He must have written something."

"Nothing that's going to be of any help." He turned and walked toward
the couch, falling unceremoniously onto the cushions. With his elbows
braced on his knees, he rested his head in his hands. "I'm scared. I
don't know what to do. Incacha said it was imperative I learn. He said
your life could depend on it."

Jim settled down next to his guide and friend. "You know, when my
sentinel abilities first woke up here in Cascade, I thought I was
going crazy. Everything was so intense. I had no control. I had no
idea what was going on or what I could do about it. Then a cheeky
anthropologist weaseled his way into my life and my heart, and
everything changed." He wrapped an arm around the hunched shoulders
next to him. "You taught me the control, Blair. You saved my sanity.
Maybe it's my turn to return the favor."

Hopeful eyes looked up at Jim from beneath a curtain dark hair. "You
think. . . ?"

"Yeah, I do." Jim's words were rewarded with a tentative smile. "How
about we grab something to eat on the way into work?" He slapped Blair
on the back and rose from his seat. Slowly, and with determined
deliberation, his partner rose and followed him to the door. 

~~oO0Oo~~

"Noooo . . . not here. Not now." The low moan was heard only by
sentinel ears. 

Walking over to where Blair sat at his desk, processing their
paperwork, Jim leaned down to whisper, "What's up, Chief?"

"Head hurts."

Jim immediately felt his body tense. Whenever Blair was that succinct,
it was serious. He pulled the chair back, wrapping his arms around the
pain-wracked anthropologist. He pulled Blair to his feet. "C'mon,
buddy. Just a few steps. You can do it." He half-walked, half-dragged
the smaller man into Simon Banks' office.

"Hey, Simon." Jim stumbled in, depositing his load in the nearest
chair.

"What's going on here, Jim? What's the matter with Blair?" The
Captain's gruff manner did nothing to hide his concern for the young
police observer.

"He's having another migraine attack, sir. I'm afraid it might . . .
you know. . . ."

"You're afraid he's going to have a seizure in front of God and all of
Major Crime?"

"Yeah, something like that," Jim confessed. "Could we use your
office?"

"I suppose you want to be alone."

"Um . . . yes. . . . Please?"

"Hrmph," the Captain grumbled, standing. "Take care of him."

"I will, sir. Thank you." 

With that, Simon Banks left the pair alone in his office.

Blair had curled himself into a tight ball, hands locked behind his
head, pulling his face down into his knees. He rocked slowly back and
forth, wordless moaning escaping through clenched lips.

Jim knelt beside him, carefully prying his fingers apart, then lifting
his head to look into pain-filled eyes. Brushing loose strands of hair
from Blair's face, he tried to still the incessant rocking motions.
"It's okay, Blair," he said in his softest voice. "I'm here. I'm going
to help." He could feel the beginnings of tremors in the shoulders
that he held.

"Blair, listen to me. Listen!" He shook the young man very gently.
"Are you listening?" At Blair's slight nod, he continued. "Let's try
the dial thing. Breathe, Blair. Deep breaths. Like you taught me.
Pretend you're at home with that weird music on you like to use when
you meditate. Can you hear it?"

Blair focused on hearing the music for a few seconds before replying
bleakly, "This isn't going to work." The statement barely escaped
tightly clenched lips. The rocking motions returned with a vengeance.

Jim tightened his grip, holding the young man still. "Yes. It will.
Just concentrate."

"Can't. Hurts."

"I know that, Blair. I know. But you can do this. Do you hear the
music?"

Blair tried again, turning his focus inward until he could finally
hear the soothing melodies playing in his mind. "Yes," he whispered.

"Great. Breathe deeply . . . that's right," he encouraged, as Blair
showed some signs of beginning to relax. "Now, picture the dial. Turn
the pain down."

"Can't. Not a sentinel."

"That doesn't matter. You've got pain. You can do this. Try it for
me?" He tensed as the tremors became a bit stronger. He *had* to get
Blair to listen to him, to cooperate. "The dial, Blair. Can you see
it? Picture it, Blair!" 

The quiet repetition of his name seemed to soak through the pain to
settle somewhere in the higher cognitive areas of Blair's brain.
"Okay." The answer came so softly that even sentinel hearing almost
missed it.

Heartened by his progress, Jim continued. "Turn it down, Blair. Just
like on the stereo when I tell you you're playing that damn jungle
music of yours too loud." He was rewarded with a weak smile. "Good!
Yes! You're doing it, Blair!" He could feel the muscles beneath his
hands slowly begin to relax, the tremors getting weaker until they
finally ceased.

Cautiously, Blair raised his head to smile at Jim as the pounding in
his temples slowly receded. "It worked." His voice was a harsh
whisper.

Jim wrapped strong arms around the smaller man, pulling Blair into his
lap. He buried his face in the long hair, drinking in the precious
scent. "Everything's going to be all right," he sighed. "We've won
Round One."


To be continued in Spirit Walk...