Waking never came easily for Blair, but this time he fought it tooth and nail, desperately needing to stay in the oblivion deep sleep afforded him. The needs of the body couldn't be denied indefinitely, though, and his empty, complaining stomach and too-full bladder finally forced him, mentally kicking and screaming, to full awareness. With it came the memory of where he was and why, and despite his physical needs, he only wanted to return to sleep to hide from those facts.
Instead, he drew on the will to survive that he had inherited from his mother Naomi, and which had been finely honed by his life with his sentinel, and made himself sit up. Almost automatically Blair touched the flint knife in the sheath at the small of his back to make sure it was secure, then pushed his hands down through the layers of cushions until he found the opening to the bolt-hole the creator of this hideaway had installed. All it would take was the tinkle of the bell over the door downstairs, which would clang in the silence of the building like a claxon, a fast dive into the pillows, and he would be gone into the labyrinth of secret tunnels that riddled the building.
Sparing a good thought or twelve to the man responsible, and who had hired him and Jim when they had first adopted the persona of 'corporate troubleshooters,' to cover their work with Sam, Blair stiffly got to his feet and shuffled the few feet to the miniscule bathroom to take care of business. Harold Lundy had taken a modest family fortune and turned it into a huge one in security services, using his own diagnosed schizophrenic paranoia to drive his success. In the end, when he could no longer tell if his fears were reality or his own delusions, Lundy had come to them to have it proved, one way or the other.
It was one of life's little ironies that he had been in danger, from three men within his own company, who had wanted him institutionalized so that they could suck the coffers dry. The stress had been too much for him, and he was currently a resident of the most luxurious mental institute on the West Coast. Lundy had the last laugh, though. All too aware of what his mental disability could do to him, he had set up iron-clad documents on the who, what and how of the management of his affairs. His fortune - including properties like this one, modified to his obsessive need for safety - was secure.
Settling himself back among the cushions, Blair sighed in resignation. *Who would have believed Lundy would have been able to keep himself together as long as he did, let alone find two people to trust as much as he had to trust us to do the job?*
Memory replayed Jim's soft snort of amusement the last time Blair had made that same observation. *Trust you, you mean, Chief. He found us through Simon and my brother, but you're the reason he decided that we could do what he needed.*
His voice was so clear in Blair's thoughts, that for a moment, Blair almost believed that Jim was with him, here in this room, and he half-reached for him. Stopping his hand before it could find the empty air, he clenched it into a fist, and beat it on his thigh. It had become so easy to reach out for Jim because for so long he had been *there.* If not to touch, then he had been within his mind. Though Blair had insisted on experiments to show when the physical distance was too far for them to connect, there hadn't been any fast and sure limit.
*Maybe it's all a matter of will. If I reach, really reach, it doesn't matter where he is,* Blair thought suddenly. *I can't just sit here and do nothing. I refuse to wait, helpless and impotent, like, like….* He gave his leg a final punch. *Like some B-Grade horror movie victim.*
The problem was that he connected to Jim so automatically that doing so deliberately was very much akin to asking a caterpillar which foot it started with when it walked. The net effect was paralyzing because Blair honestly didn't know precisely how he did what he did. Intentionally attempting it only added to his confusion since it couldn't be framed in words, giving him no structure to readily work from. The first few times he had seen from Jim's eyes, consciously heard the subdued rumble of his emotions, one or both of them had been angry or in danger.
*Obviously that's not working this time,* Blair thought miserably, winding strands of his long hair around his fists and pulling, as if the pain could inspire him to another strategy. *I've been worried half out of my mind for hours. If he's not responding to it or my 911 on his beeper, he has to be in immediate danger, which I'd know if emotions were all it took.*
Not giving into his frustration, Blair raked through his memories, looking for anything that could help. *What else puts us in sync with each other when we've lost it for whatever reason? Of course, the main reason that happens is because one of us is mad as hell at the other for whatever, and the next thing after that is making up, and man, you can't get more in step…*
Every thought in his brain whirled into a maelstrom of half-formed ideas, impressions, and emotions, and he hugged himself tightly, hunching over to rock ever-so-slightly because he couldn't pace in the tiny space available. Eventually Blair snatched at the strongest image, shook it hard with meta-physical hands and looked at it directly. *We are never more in tune with each other than when we're making love. Last night, after the few minutes we had to kiss, he was more there to me than he's been since I went back to the loft alone.*
Pensively chewing on that, Blair stretched out an arm to the tiny dorm fridge against the wall with the door in it, and opened it to take out a can of Ensure. Not particularly hungry, he popped the top and started sipping since common sense dictated he eat at some point during the day. Besides, it was looking like he might need the energy. Rolling the can between his palms, he said aloud, as if the sound of the words might make his theory more reasonable, "Physical intimacy aids in creating mental intimacy. Okay, no surprise. Culturally, your lover is supposed to be the person who knows the most about you; it's one way of defining your relationship. Of course, this is going a little farther than your average pillow talk."
Taking a long swallow to empty the can, Blair set it aside and said, "The big question is how do you go about doing that if one of the partners isn't physically present? Pretend he is?" He sat a little straighter, and admitted, "That makes sense, in a way. Sexual fantasies are a mental activity to bolster physical response, so physical feedback to boost mental power could be considered a logical corollary. Oh, hell. What do I have to lose by trying? If nothing else, it's better than just sitting here, and with luck, coming will send me back to sleep for a while longer."
Having made up his mind, Blair took a few minutes to make some preparations and settle himself comfortably in his nest of pillows and blankets, staying fully dressed just in case trouble came to call. Once situated, though, he couldn't summon the right frame of mind to masturbate. Despite his best efforts, his thoughts kept wandering to what might have happened to Jim: where he was, if he was hurt, how to find him if he'd been taken.
"Obviously going to need a little help here," he said to himself in disgust. "Great. I can just imagine Jim's reaction when I tell him one of the standard items we need to stock in our safe houses from now on is porno suitable for a blind man."
In fact, he could almost hear Jim's snicker. "Ever the horn dog, Sandburg," Jim would tease, following it up with a possessive stroke down the length of Blair's zipper. "Just remember I've got dibs on any hard-on you get."
Laughing to himself, Blair absently touched himself the way Jim would have. The man had the most uncanny knack for knowing exactly when a caress would be welcomed, and what would feel best at that moment. Even before they became lovers Jim's pats and taps had never been invasive or overly presumptuous. Tempted as Blair was to chalk that up to sentinel abilities, pure sensuality was a factor, too, in his very well informed opinion. Jim could make him moan in pleasure with a gentle massage to the inside of Blair's wrist or light sweep of fingertips over Blair's cheek.
Blair adjusted himself in his jeans, barely noticing that he did, and squeezed the head of his dick through the cloth. "Feels so good when Jim does that to me," he muttered. "But, man, the way he reacts when I do it to him! Sometimes I can just breathe on him when he's soft, and it's like, instant hard-on. Rather touch him, though. Oh god, oh god, the way his skin feels."
Without thinking, Blair lifted his hand again, as if Jim were kneeling over him, as if to trace the lines of Jim's stomach. It was solid, almost hard, but marvelously soft, too, in a way that silk or satin could never hope to be. He wasn't very hairy until just past his belly button, then there was ultra fine down that gradually became crisp pubic hair. Jim liked being gently scratched there, so delicately it was almost tickling, and Blair loved doing it for him, especially when going down on him.
"Love sucking you," Blair whispered as if Jim would hear, taking himself out of his pants and stroking languidly. "Funny how I'm supposed to think that's so gross, like taking it up the ass. Hell, I did, at one point in my life. I have to tell you, though, the way you feel in my mouth, on my tongue, the taste of you, the scent, it's all a massive turn-on. The only thing better is kissing you."
Shivering in delight, Blair summoned the feel of mobile, gifted lips on his, gliding sweetly, tongue almost but not quite slipping in for deeper contact. It was a kind of teasing that Jim knew drove him crazy, and Blair could all but feel him doing it now, making him desperate for more.
He didn’t get it; just the hint of tiny nips along his jaw to his earlobe. Panting and jacking himself more urgently, Blair threw back his head, surrendering his throat to Jim's tender mauling. As distant and surreal as the sensation was, it was arousing in the extreme, and he spread his legs wide, arching into his hold on himself. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough for climax. At Jim's low growl of frustration, Blair rolled to all fours, clumsily shoving his jeans down past his ass. A ghostly finger probed at Blair's opening, and he bit his lip hard to silence his scream of pleasure.
"Pillow, Chief," Jim whispered in his mind. "Dig those sharp teeth of yours into it, like you're going after one of my nipples through my sweater. That's good, yeah, just like that. Here it comes now - my cock, just for you. Fuck yourself on me, Blair. Fuck yourself."
As insubstantial as it was, the there was no denying the rush of penetration and the way his body opened, throbbing with the joy of being taken. Shouting into his improvised gag, Blair came, pulling roughly on his cock to drain every last bit of pleasure from it. When the last dregs of his seed had dribbled out, he collapsed face first into the cushions, panting harshly and floating in a dreamy euphoria that went above and beyond the usual after glow from sex. From that safe, warm place, he heard voices, extremely distant voices, and the cold, dead hearts that went with them alarmed him enough that he concentrated to decipher their words.
"…coming out of it by now?"
"Not our problem."
"Easy to say that until we deliver a corpse when they specifically said alive and kicking."
Two men were talking, casually, almost disinterestedly. From the resonance, they were in an empty room; a big empty room. At a guess, Blair would say neither was young, though he had no evidence but a growing experience with judging and estimating people by their voices alone. One of them shifted; a big man from feel of the weight vibrating through the floor.
That made him aware that his cheek was pressed into rough, splintery wood, but only in strips. Nothing was between them, making him think of slats of a chair, no, a pallet, like the ones used for stacking heavy things on for lifting by machinery. There was a smell of machinery, too: the heavy, diesel kind. There was another scent underlying it; like fish, but not exactly. No water or traffic nearby that he could hear. He started to turn his head in hopes of learning more, but he couldn't connect with the muscles enough to move, though he could feel every inch of skin.
His (Jim's) arms were handcuffed behind him, but not just cuffs. Rope was around the elbows, forcing his (Jim's) arms all the way back, and then it ran down to his ankles, to immobilize him. No gag, so they weren't worried about him calling out (drugged, Chief, too much), no blindfold from the feel of things either, which meant they didn't care if Jim saw them.
Which meant, which meant…. Icy fear clamped around Blair's heart and he almost catapulted away, but the voices were talking again, and he had to hear them. Had to.
"So what if we do? Best thing that could happen to a freak like him." He hocked up a mouthful of spit and splattered it on Jim's back. "Fucking rat."
"What the Cap's friend has in mind for him is worse than dead, from what I hear," the big man said. "Besides you don't want to tick off a man with high-powered connections like his. Better to have him owe you a few favors, if you catch my drift."
"Point." Footsteps, light and bouncy though the man seemed as heavy as the first, came close and metal prodded at Jim's cheek. "Should we do something, then?"
"Long as he's breathing, naw. Not our fault what shape he's in. They gave us the trank' dart; said it was safe for the freak."
"Maybe he's playin' possum. Should check that, right? After all, they just said alive, not messed up."
"Be my guest," the big man said with a shrug in his tone. "Just don't get carried away."
"Hey! Ellison! You in there?" The gun poked at him harder, but Jim's body wasn't his to command, just visit, apparently, and Blair could only suffer with him as the hard barrel hurt his cheek, raising bruises.
"If he is faking it, it's not like he hasn't been trained to do a good job of it," big man said reflectively. "Rat or not, he was a Ranger. They don't take fairies."
"Just freaks, apparently, though he had to be able to hide that pretty damn good, to make it as far as he did. Even the Cap thought he was a legit cop for a while. Still, you learn a few tricks on the street, too."
With no more warning than that, pain exploded over Blair's ear, slamming him back into blessed warmth and comfort. Content for the moment to stay there, not really hooked into his own body yet, he tried to think about what he had just experienced, but exhaustion was pulling him toward sleep, muddling his mind. The bell over the door to the shop jangled, alarming him enough to try to rouse, but Sam and Al entered, talking to each other, and he reluctantly slid back again, barely aware of his surroundings.
"Oh, God!" Their shock ripped at Blair, and they rushed to him, kneeling on the floor beside him.
Gentle, concerned hands drifted over his body, and Al sat near Blair's head, smoothing his wildly tangled hair away from his face, the fierce anger bubbling in him totally at odds with the care in his voice. "Blair? Blair, what happened? Who did this to you?"
*Did what?* Blair thought blearily. *It's Jim that's being hurt. But I don't know who or where!* He tried to tell Al that, but couldn't get the words to form.
Apparently deciding that Blair was completely unconscious, Al asked Sam harshly, his anger rising higher, "How bad is it? Any clue who did it so we'll know what nozzle to erase from existence?"
"No sign of penetration or ejaculation, except on his front," Sam answered, sounding clinical despite the fear coloring his thoughts. He tugged Blair's clothes back into place, and covered him with the blankets. "Despite appearances, I think this was from self-gratification."
"What?"
From the sound of things, Sam went to get the first aid kit, brain settling into the hum that had always told Blair it was in full gear. "The bruises on his thighs are self-inflicted, to gauge from the size and varying ages of them. We've both seen him do that when he's thinking hard." He swabbed at Blair's mouth, making Blair aware for the first time that it was dully pulsing with faint pain. "He did this, too, from the looks of things." Sam paused, hum increasing. "If I had to guess, I'd say he tried to find Jim using their connection, like we were going to suggest."
"Like this?" Al said, his disbelief a clear chime in Blair's mind. With a wash of humiliation over his nerves, he realized that they had thought he'd been raped.
Sam stopped moving for a moment, becoming almost preternaturally still to Blair's senses. "In another history, Panther was shot, almost died from it. Yet the first thing he did when he could, though he wasn't even remotely physically capable of it yet, was to claim Chief sexually. That and a couple of other things I saw - I think that for them, it was necessary to keep their connection alive and thriving."
"That's why you kept saying it wasn't good for them to be living apart. All right, Blair goes with the flow pretty easily; must have just done what came naturally." Al tugged the covers closer to Blair's shoulders, no trace of sniggering in his tone or actions. "I hate to say this, but maybe we should give him something to pull him out of it. If he learned anything, we need to know it now."
Blair agreed with him whole-heartedly, and did his absolute best to at least moan approvingly. All he managed was a small sound, but that seemed to be enough. Sam peeled back an eyelid to check his pupils, and Blair blinked in reaction, mercifully able to do it again on purpose a split second later.
"Really tired?" Sam asked sympathetically.
Blair blinked again, and produced another noise.
"Hang on, I'll see what I can do about that."
*Hang onto what?* Blair thought, too beat to put any exasperation into it. He tried to pay attention to what was happening, and thankfully Al kept talking to him as if having a full-blown conversation, filling him in on what had happened to Sam.
"The next step," Al said finally, and Blair could smell one of his cigars as he took it out to play with it - a habit that was apparently necessary to his thinking process. "Unless you can give us more to go on, is to get to Simon Banks and let him know what's happening. A phone call isn't the way to go, since he's bugged; too hard to talk around the details. In person is the best idea all around, just in case they're after him, now. Going after all four of us at once in the same place would be too messy and hard to cover up."
"He's pretty high-profile," Sam said doubtfully from near the fridge, making noises that usually went with cooking on the hot plate, though the supplies were too limited for much more than heating water or warming canned soup. "Targeting him directly would be risky for Stiers."
Because they had to understand as much as possible as fast as possible, Blair summoned everything he had and blurted, "Not Stiers. The Shop."
The words triggered an enormous jolt of surprise from both of them, and that was simply too much for Blair's seriously depleted reserves. He dropped into unconsciousness, only to be persuaded back to awareness again by a delicious fragrance under his nose and Sam's persistent coaxing, which seemed to be as much mental as vocal. Instinctively swallowing the hot liquid in his mouth, Blair sighed in relief as the warmth from it spread down into his stomach, taking the chill out of him for the first time in what seemed like forever.
After a few more mouthfuls, he recovered enough to ask, "What is this? It's got more of a kick to it than the strongest whiskey I've ever had."
"Sam, you Goosed him?" Al crowed in delight.
"Al."
"I don't believe it! You said you'd never make that stuff up again. I thought Gooshie was going to cry when he heard that."
"Al!"
Blair laughed, almost seeing Sam's disapproving frown at his mate. "Okay, okay, there has got to be a great story behind this."
"For fun I played around with creating a nutritional supplement for people working in the imaging chamber to allow them to stay for long periods of time, since it wasn't a good environment to bring food contaminants into," Sam explained, his tone not brooking any side comments from Al. "It turned out to provide a bit more of a boost than I intended, and for a while I couldn't think of a good use for it. When I realized how debilitating using your gifts is, I took the time when we were staying with you last year to make some up. I gave it to Jim to put in his first aid kits, after telling him what it could do for you."
"Oookay," Blair said agreeably. "Why 'goose' though?"
"I called it Biorestorative #11," Sam said dismissively. "But the general consensus was that a shot of it made you act like a silly goose, and with typical human perversity, that's what stuck." He must have done something when Al snickered, but whatever it was, neither of them gave Blair a clue, and he chuckled, hoping they were having fun, at least.
"Come on, kid," Al said after a minute, a grin as clear as anything in his voice as he helped him into a sitting position. "The happy feeling wears off pretty quickly, and you'll feel like you just had a three week vacation for the rest of the day. When you crash tonight, though, you're going to go out like a light."
"Wow, worth it, though. Hell of a lot better 'n speed." He moved carefully, but Blair stood without any problem, and on impulse went onto his toes, stretching his arms high over his head and doing his best to turn his spine into a string of barely touching beads. "Oh, that feels good." He dropped back down onto his heels, hands first going to his knife to check it, then to his hair to braid it up out of the way.
Though there was a glimpse of mild exasperation from both of them, all Sam did was ask, "You've tried speed? I thought you were smarter than that."
"I am," Blair said placidly, fingers flying through to the end of his braid. "But sixteen is sixteen, and my mom has an open mind about the proper use of recreational pharmaceuticals, so I gave it a shot. Once, in pure desperation to meet a dozen or so deadlines I'd been loaded with. Let me tell you, it was enough to convince me that natural enthusiasm and optimism is a lot better for you."
He sighed, good mood evaporating completely as the worry for his partner flooded back, and tied off his hair. "You were right, Sam. I did make a deliberate effort to reach Jim mentally, but didn't exactly succeed."
"You said The Shop was involved with Stiers? But we put the kibosh on them." Al said, then added, "Jacket."
Reaching out to take it, Blair told them everything that had happened to him, skipping the details on the technique he had used to reconnect with Jim. From the state they had found him in, they already knew enough to bring a flush to his face if he let himself think about it too much. "I'm only guessing it's something like The Shop, based on what I overheard," he ended as he finished tidying and closing up the room so that Lundy would know that they had used it, as he'd said they could.
"A good one," Al agreed cynically. "One thing about D.C, there's always one more nozzle to step in to take the place of the one just kicked into prison, and another agency who thinks they can do what they want as long as they produce results that make the right people happy."
"And another good person who will do what's right to stop them," Sam added gently.
"He's right," Blair put in quickly. "If it looks like the bad guys out- number us, it's because they get all the press, that's all."
Al made a sound that Blair didn't quite know how to interpret, and he started down the stairs, effectively ending the conversation. With a sympathetic touch to Blair's shoulder, Sam followed him, trusting Blair to be able to navigate in familiar territory on his own. The small show of confidence, along with the reminder of their situation, went a long way toward sobering Blair up, and once they were in the Volvo on the way to the mayor's office, he took out his cell.
"If you're going to call Simon's secretary to get an update on him," Sam said from the back seat, "Don't bother. She's stonewalled me, almost as if she were enjoying it."
"Simon inherited her when he took the position, and doesn't trust her a bit. I doubt she has a clue to what's Simon's trying to do. On the other hand…." A voice picked up on the phone, and Blair changed his tone to one of honest happiness. "Lindsay? Hey, Blair Sandburg. How's life as the Mayor's admin assistant? Don't let him hear you say that. Yeah, I know, it's been too long on this end, too. How's the pregnancy coming along? Really? That's fantastic! You both wanted a girl, right?"
He listened to her merrily bubble along for a few minutes, giving the right responses to her monologue of the details of her ultra-sound and growing tummy, both listening in honest interest and wishing she would reach a point where he could get to the important part of the call. Finally she wound down, and said, "Sorry to keep going on – what can I do for you?"
"Looking for Simon Banks, actually. Is he…." As Blair spoke, he could hear an angry roar of voices, Simon's overriding them all, and changed verbal directions. "Never mind. Has that been going on all day?"
"Didn't even stop for lunch," Lindsay said dryly.
"Can I ask who he's butting heads with?"
"Since the whole building can hear them, I don't know why not. Mayor, District Attorney and his lead A.D.A, and the heads of all the police departments."
Silently chanting, man, oh, man, during her answer, Blair said at the end of it, "Can I ask a huge, enormous, absolutely, swear on my mother's life, necessary favor, Lindsay?"
"Blair," she said slowly, "Is something wrong?"
"Yes, and I can't go into details. All I need you to do is keep Simon and Joel Taggart, Captain of Major Crimes, from leaving if the meeting breaks up before I get there. Please. You can tell Simon I begged you to do it, if necessary, but they have to stay."
Sam leaned forward and whispered, "Tell her to get out as soon as she does. Go home if she can, but at least leave the building."
Having heard that peculiar tenor in Sam's voice too many times to ignore it, Blair repeated the warning word-for-word, then spent several long, anxious minutes soothing Lindsay into doing no more than he had asked. When he finally hung up, he asked sharply, "Sam?"
Sounding soul-weary, Sam said, "I don't know any details; just that she needed to be elsewhere."
The car decelerated as if Al were getting ready to stop, and he said, "I am *never* going to get used to that. You okay?"
"Just the usual. Keep driving; we're almost there."
Blair fidgeted with his cane, wanting to do something to help Sam. Despite his words, he was hurting, though Blair didn't really understand the nature of the pain. It wasn't exactly physical or mental, though it had elements of both, and he had picked up it often enough in the past to worry about it. Al worried, too, he knew, but unless one of them asked for help, Blair didn't feel qualified to offer it. He knew nothing about their existence together outside of Time; only that Sam seemed to carry the brunt of it for both of them for some reason.
To break the uneasiness simmering in the confines of the small car, he said, "Looks like you were right about Simon getting ready to clean up I.A, if you go by the way his meeting with the mayor is going. What I can't figure out is why everybody else is there."
"I'm trying to decide if Stiers' decision to snatch Jim now is good timing or bad," Al said. "Potentially Stiers has a hostage now, or has Banks' star witness on ice or is out of luck because he's passed the best bargaining chip he's got down the food chain of bottom feeders like him. Any way you look at it, we can use the investigation as leverage to find out where he's holding Jim."
Blair muttered, "I'm counting on that."
"Why take us, too?" Sam asked quietly. "That's the part that doesn't make sense to me. The Shop never looked at you this time, Blair; they had no reason to. Even if this version of it has had their eye on Jim since he came back to Cascade, there's nothing to indicate to them, on the surface anyway, that you and Jim are anything more than partners. Al and I have no obvious connection to his gifts at all."
Banging his head on the window beside him, Blair said, "What doesn't make sense is that Stiers shouldn't have agreed to any snatch. He assumes Jim is a double agent for Simon; taking him out would only get Simon in an uproar, the last thing anybody in their right mind would want while under investigation. Somebody, somewhere, is seriously spooked."
"If they are," Sam said with surprising firmness, "It means that Stiers has been hung out to dry. Another thing we can use against him."
"I hate to keep asking, but is it possible Time has something to do with all this? An Evil Leaper?" Despite being half-ashamed of the question, Blair twisted so that he could face Sam, listening with everything he had.
Promptly, unwaveringly, Sam answered, "No Leaper, no right being made Wrong. This is part of what was supposed to be, once I changed Time for the two of you." He waited, apparently to be sure that Blair totally believed his answer, then added unhappily, "In the original Time, Panther and Chief never did learn who discovered that Jim was a sentinel and gave him up to The Shop. And they never came back to Cascade."
Mind racing through what he knew of Jim's past, Blair said, "There were hints of it in his military file. What we didn't 'lose,' we deliberately changed while we were in D.C. My research is long gone, of course. What I published before I partnered with Jim is still out there, and a guy named Brackett once used that, Jim's now-harmless files, and his sudden association with me to hypothesize Jim was a sentinel. Even Brackett had to test his guess first, my work was so circumstantial and theoretical. He died on the way to military prison. There was no evidence to indicate he'd shared his 'discovery' with anyone else, probably holding onto it as an ace in the hole for when he was released. Were we wrong?"
"He didn't," Sam said with absolute surety.
"Stop that," Al cut in before he could add anything else. "Both of you. Blair, I know you can't help quizzing him, but it's not good for Sam to grab the answers." He braked to a squealing stop, anger making his foot heavier than he probably meant it to be. "And when it's you asking, he can't help doing it!"
Dead silence filled the car for a second, then it was broken by Al getting out, furiously slamming the door behind him. "Sam," Blair whispered miserably.
"He's just worried about me," Sam said quietly. "And he's got something on his mind. I don't know what, yet, but it's been eating at him for a while."
Though Sam's voice was calm, his heart was anything but, and Blair was tempted to tell him about the ghost that was troubling Al. "Maybe I can talk to him when things calm down a little," he offered guiltily, not quite lying that he knew more about Al this time than Sam did.
"Please? Or have Jim take a shot at it. I think Al's clumped you in with his daughters' generation, unfair as that might be to you. You could be too young for him to be comfortable with personal confidences."
"Uh, yeah, that and he and Jim just have more in common - military, bad childhood, divorces, that sort of thing." Blair firmly shut his lips over the nervous flow of words, and opened his own door before the slight suspicion coloring Sam could have time to blossom. Al was waiting for them a few feet away, rocking on his feet and smoking. Sam followed Blair out, letting him lead the way, to Blair's mild surprise, since he expected him to act as guide.
While they were waiting for the elevator, Al relented, probably because Sam was glaring at him, and gave Blair a friendly bump with his shoulder. "Shouldn't have blown up at you, kid. Sorry."
"Already forgiven, already forgotten," Blair said instantly. "Given how things are going, it'll be a miracle if that's the only time one of us gets a little out of hand."
The door opened and they got in, Sam whispering a nearly silent 'thank you' near his ear that made Blair determined to get Al to come clean. Secrets of any sort right now were not a good thing, and you didn't have to be a Shaman of the Great City, as Blair jokingly called himself (though Jim was always dead serious when he used the title for him) to know that. The ride up was more companionable, and Blair got off the elevator, already shifting gears on how best to deal with Simon.
He had a chance to clearly hear Joel Taggert's happy call of his name in greeting, and Stiers' just as startled 'what the fuck?' There was a murmur of many other voices, suggesting that the meeting had just let out, and a palpable aura of hatred, fury, frustration, determination, and alarm. At the sound of Blair's name the anxiety turned into highly charged fear, moving almost like an explosion through those closest to him.
"Our goons, Baxter and Trent," Al murmured, just for him. "Not looking too happy."
Someone snarled, "Motherfuckers," and Stiers barked a command that Blair couldn't understand through the rising level of emotion and noise. An accusation followed, and hot shards of rage took over the fear, for the most part, aimed right at him. The pure pain of it drove Blair to his knees, hands clapped over the sides of his head to hold his brains in before they could burst out of his skull. In the midst of total confusion he saw a crystal clear image of a gun being taken from its belt holster, a finger jerking on the trigger out of irrational fury.
"Down, get down!" Blair shouted at the top of his lungs, backing it with a mental shout that hurt as much as the rage did. A gunshot followed a bare second later, and the meaty thud of fists hitting flesh crashed through the hallway, coming from a half-dozen directions, and all carrying a weight of physical pain. The burden of it all was too much for him, and he crumpled completely, instinctively tightening into a fetal position before gratefully falling into nothingness. To his shock, he was caught up in loving strength on that journey, cushioned as unconsciousness claimed everything.
Coming to with a jerk, who the hell cared how much later, Blair had a fleeting impression of powerful arms cradling him and elegant fingers combing through his hair, before the reality of a table under his back sank through. The room was quiet, which only made his headache hurt more and Joel's presence that much more difficult to bear. "Man," he moaned, gingerly turning to his side to curl in on himself again. "With a head like this I deserved to have had a good time before I passed out."
"At least you had a reasonable excuse to miss the nasty clean up of the party," Joel said heartily. "The doctor you were with said to give you this and tell you to just lay still for a while."
"Who was hurt?" Blair said, accepting the pills as they touched his lips. He dry-swallowed them, and gladly took a drink of water from the straw that Joel offered him.
"The A.D.A, Prystupa. What made you think anyone was?" Joel said with what seemed like honest curiosity.
"Cause Sam would be in here taking care of me himself if he weren't busy with another patient," Blair explained.
Sitting heavily, Joel said, "It amazes me that you can do that. Out cold, but the second you come out of it, you're adding it all together, sizing up the situation, and coming up with a joke. Please tell me it's not from too much practice."
"Story of my life," Blair said, deliberately cheerful. He was picking up on an odd undercurrent from Joel, and the last thing he wanted to deal with right now was yet another problem tossed onto his path. "What happened, anyway? To me it was just this enormously muddy blast of confusion. Must have been one serious party."
"To be truthful, I'm not sure myself. It was that insane." Joel took a long, shaky breath, and grabbed one of Blair's hands to hold it between his. "Are you okay? Why'd you collapse? Your doctor didn't seem very surprised. Is there something you haven't been telling us?"
"Whoa, whoa, Joel. Sam's a friend who happens to be a doctor; he's not surprised that I went into overload with all the shouting and confusion because of that. Being blind is *hard,* man, especially when you've got everything cranked up on full like I was at the time." Blair tried to convey reassurance by gripping Joel's hand in return, seriously uncomfortable with the morass of emotion coming from him.
Joel seemed about to say something else, bitterness and anger coming to the forefront, but then it subsided into sullen seething. Instead, with a last pat, he stood. "That how you knew about the gun being pulled? Heard the slide going back? I can't get over a cop being stupid enough to pull his weapon on unarmed civilians in the middle of a room full of more cops. The other captains were stepping all over each other to arrest him, except for Stiers, who kept insisting that the men with you were dangerous criminals."
Blair couldn't stop a snort of laughter. "Right. Like Jim would let anyone he hasn't checked out from top to bottom anywhere near me. Can we say over-protective, boys and girls?"
For some reason that made Joel angrier. "Should have been taking care of you before you were hurt."
Puzzled, Blair said, "He was."
"Yeah, right. It's obvious how good a job he did of it, then."
Blair leaned up on an elbow, resigned to the necessity of getting to the root of whatever was hurting Joel. Before he could speak, Simon slammed through the door, so incandescent with fury that it scorched Blair, even from across the room. Pinching his lips tight over a cry of pain, he dropped back down, throwing his arms over his face. With a muttered expletive, Simon froze in place, and took a deep, deep breath. Blair caught a glimpse of water going down a drain, then Simon's rage subsided to no more than an uncomfortable heat.
Quietly crossing the room, Simon said, "I’m sorry, Blair. Calavicci warned me you were having trouble. Sam said this will help the physical symptoms."
Blessed, blessed warmth was draped over Blair's shoulders and neck, and he shamelessly moaned in relief. "Soon as you've recovered enough," Simon went on, nearly whispering, "I've got hot soup and you're to drink every bit of it. Doctor's orders again."
"Thanks," Blair murmured, huddling into the comfort of both the heating pad and Simon's concern. "Al told you everything?"
"Yes, and I had my own bad news to add." Simon hesitated, most likely because Joel was with them, but apparently decided he should be told as well. "Mayor Henderson is either part of Stiers' corrupt dealings or Stiers has something on him. I gave him the evidence Jim and I collected on I.A., and requested authority to create a special task force to thoroughly investigate with the intent of pressing charges. He told me he would discuss the legal process necessary with the D.A, and asked me to come back today. I came in this morning expecting a private discussion between the three of us and walked in to find Henderson telling the department heads that accusations had been made and they were going to be given a chance to 'clean house and tighten discipline,' I believe his exact words were."
Totally disgusted, Blair said, "Hide evidence or leave the country, you mean." He sighed, rubbing at his temple.
"Simon," Joel said grimly, the next two words loaded with sarcasm, "His Honor didn't give you a chance to make specific charges. Just how good is your proof that Stiers is dirty?"
"Under any other circumstances he'd be under arrest, and trying to plea bargain us down from murder and conspiracy for murder to lesser charges like accessory, tampering with evidence and obstruction of justice." Simon pulled up a chair and thumped down into it. "I know Major Crimes is clean, Joel, but I couldn't bring you in on the investigation while it was unofficial because I had to avoid claims of partiality and bias since I was Captain there."
Trying to sit up, Blair grabbed for Simon's arm. "Did you at least hold Stiers for questioning? We have to find out where his men stashed Jim!" Simon's rage rolled back in, but Blair was braced for it, and bitterly answered his own question. "Guess not. An eye-witness wasn't enough?"
Flatly, despite the emotion scorching him, Simon said sharply, "All Sam saw was two of his men, which doesn't connect Stiers personally, and no one but me would take your statement seriously."
Joel broke in, "What's this about Jim? Why wouldn't one of us listen to Blair? Because he's blind!?"
Dead silence was his answer for several long moments, then Simon said, "This is your call, Sandburg. But we're going to need all the help we can get. In the meantime, lay back down before you topple over."
Obeying only because his head was spinning with too many questions and not enough information to process them all, Blair tried to decide what to tell Joel. With the odd vibes coming off him, it was hard to want to trust him, despite the relaxed, steady friendship they'd shared. Finally, he decided on blunt truth. "I don't know what to say. That a secret, illegal agency inside the federal government arranged for Stiers to kidnap my partner for what he carries in his head? That I know I'm not in X-Files lala land because I spent three years undercover in D.C. with Jim bringing its predecessor down for just that reason? That I'm certain Stiers is involved because I can hear with Jim's ears, see with his eyes when I have to because he's spent so much time sheltering me from the constant, never-ending, ceaseless hammering of other peoples' presence that our minds have bled into each other?"
Aware that he was getting more and more strident, Blair cut himself off with a sharp gesture, and pounded on the table, sparing his bruised thigh. "I'm not insane; Simon can back me up. He's seen us do it often enough. Or Al and Sam can."
"Rear Admiral Al Calavicci and Dr. Samuel Becket," Simon added, doing his own job of shading the truth. "Both supposedly deceased, to work with the government's blessing to clean up messes like Stiers and his friends."
Cursing, Joel got up and started pacing. "That's why the two of you vanished? Why Jim didn't come back to the force?" He stopped, and Blair didn't have to be gifted to feel his stare digging into his skull. "Are your abilities why you became partners? So he could use you to solve cases, and, in exchange, you could get some peace once in while?"
With a laugh that had no humor in it, Blair said, "Yes, yes, no, and no." Slapping away Simon's restraining hand, Blair sat up, wobbled, and slid off the table to stand. "I know that you're not comfortable with me and Jim, but he earned my trust long before all the rest of it happened. He made the changes in my life, in *me* bearable, and I'll be damned if I'm going to cringe into a corner while Jim gets carted off to some secret lab hidden in the middle of nowhere, or killed so Stiers can cover his backside!"
"You're not cringing," Al said firmly from behind Blair, startling him so badly that he nearly fell. Catching him, Al steered him into a chair. "You're following doctor's orders, and if said doctor finds you doing anything but resting, you'll find yourself in a hospital with a nice, husky nurse named Atilla the Nun force feeding you tapioca pudding."
Al's touch spilled laughter and quiet confidence into Blair, and he slumped, meekly accepting a mug of hot soup and the heating pad being draped back over his shoulders. After a long drink that helped warm him, but not as much as Al's reassuring aura, Blair said tiredly, "What now?"
"Questioning Baxter about Jim would be a waste of time," Simon said. "By now Stiers has moved to counter anything useful he might know."
"Follow him when he makes bail?" Joel suggested.
"The problem with having a cop for a suspect is that he's on the lookout for cop tricks and techniques. Smart money says he'll sit tight and wait for his superiors to fix his mess," Simon argued.
"Which they'll probably do by taking him out," Al put in. "It's their usual pattern."
Staring down into his cup as if he could actually see the contents, Blair said, "I could try…."
There were four voices in the chorus of "NO."
Entering the room, Sam knelt beside Blair, long fingers on his throat to take his pulse, sending that same hum of brain-at-work right through him, easing him more than any medicine could. "Did Jim keep files, paper or electronic? There could be something useful in those. Then there's Baxter's partner, Trent. He strikes me as the type to always look out for himself, which could mean he knows more than he's supposed to, more than Stiers might expect.
"In other words, Sandburg," Simon said authoritatively, standing and making noises as if he were getting ready to leave. "We try good old-fashioned police work first. You been out of action so long you've forgotten how to do that?"
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Blair reached into his pocket and took out a key ring. "The files are in the locker on the right of his at the gym. Officially, it's somebody else's but that person doesn't exist, so he doesn't mind Jim using it. Look for the red-tabbed file; it has locations to find physical evidence that Stiers and company have hid."
"I'll pick up those files, Joel, you find Trent, see what he's up to, put a couple of your men on him." Simon bent so that he was face-to-face with Blair. "You go home and rest; I'll make sure that if anybody's watching the loft, it's men I trust. And rest means stretched out on a nice soft mattress with a full stomach, Sandburg. Not pacing, not wandering the streets, talking to snitches and contacts. Not even classes. Understood?"
"Simon," Blair began.
"Don't worry," Al cut in. "He'll rest."
"Good." Simon straightened and his tone turned casual. "You going to be cooking for him, Calavicci?"
With half a laugh, Al said, "Dinner's at eight."
"We'll meet back there, then." Simon left, and Blair shakily stood to do the same, Al's hand under his elbow for support.
Joel stepped in front of him, gingerly putting a hand on his shoulder. "I understand why you kept your secrets, even from me. I always knew there was something special about you, though. I just wish you had found a better way to use your abilities, Blair. You don't belong with the cops, dealing with the kind of violence and cruelty they live with."
He was gone before Blair could think of a response, leaving behind a wake of peculiarity that Blair couldn't unravel. Too confused and worried to deal, he gave in and let Al lead him out, grateful he could at least go home, since Stiers would be too busy and exposed to risk coming after him.
To Al's surprise, Sam maneuvered matters so that Al wound up in the back seat of the Volvo with Blair while he drove. Since Sam had never minded that Al preferred to drive, it mystified him until Blair sighed tiredly, balled up, and went to sleep. Though he had started in a tight scrunch in one corner, he soon drifted sideways until he was half-leaning on Al. Feeling the shivering in the amazingly tense body despite the warm car, Al surrendered to the inevitable and draped an arm over Blair's shoulders, letting himself be used both as a pillow and heat source.
Catching Sam's eye in the rearview, Al said, "He's sleeping too much."
"It's not really sleep, more like shutting down - a defense mechanism," Sam said quietly, his own worry showing clearly in his gaze. "Without Jim he'll either have to recreate unbreakable walls to keep out the rest of humanity, or he'll slip into a permanent coma to escape them. He's too gifted to find a middle ground, the way a very few people do."
Looking down on the head huddled against his shoulder, Al asked, "Was he born telempathic? It didn't develop because of working with a sentinel?"
"No way of knowing which," Sam said. "It's possible we're all born with the ability to some extent or another, and Blair had the extraordinary chance to develop his because of Jim. Just as likely it's a rare genetic trait that was dormant because he was born now, instead of pre-civilized times."
"What's when he was born got to do with what he can do?"
Sam turned enough to smile at Al, carefully because of the split lip, and said, "I thought you hated it when I lectured about 'any of that brain-trust stuff.' Or are you looking to be bored into taking a nap?"
"Sleep? With your driving?" Al snorted, and made a show of settling down to be as comfortable as he could under the circumstances. "Lecture away."
Shaking his head, Sam stopped for a light, thought for a moment to choose his words, then made a turn. "One of Blair's theories is that sentinels were fairly common during humanity's hunter/gatherer stage, which is a reasonable supposition. Natural selection could create humans with sharper senses because of the benefits of being able to see or smell food or enemies at extreme distances, just to name one good use for them. Same for telempathic abilities, shamanistic traits, if you will, in my opinion. Good group dynamics, mutual cooperation and community mental health make all the difference for the survival of small bands, and individuals with specialized abilities to aid and abet those necessities could possibly evolve to meet the need."
"Okay, you've made a case for them to exist then. Why not now?"
"Civilization," Sam said dryly. "Learning to preserve food and to trade specialized labor for specific needs allowed a new way of life: cities, which meant crowds. Neither of which are very good for heightened senses of any kind, if you stop and think about it. Nature may be noisy and smelly in its own right, but humans are designed to deal with that stimulus. What we do to ourselves with noise volume alone is down-right damaging to normal people, never mind someone as sensitive as a sentinel. Same for psychic stimulus. One person, five people, even a building full can become familiar enough to mentally shut them out. Millions of them? No way to even try, so no choice but to wall absolutely everybody out."
Absently Al shrugged Blair into a better position. "Or have somebody block them out. So Jim is Blair's wall, and Blair is Jim's, what? Suit of armor?"
"White noise. In effect, his sensory signature drowns out some of the extra information constantly being thrown at Jim. Jim doesn't have to fight to ignore every little thing, letting him concentrate on what he wants to perceive. The more Blair is with him, providing that refuge, the less tiring and stressful the world is in general, and the more likely he'll survive with his sanity intact."
"Huh." Al stared out the window for a few minutes, turning it all over in his mind. He'd never really thought about what either Jim or Blair could do, despite depending on it more than once to protect Sam. They worked together so naturally and effortlessly, he had sort of just taken it for granted. "How far are they going to be able to go with this? When I first met them, they didn't even know they were connected. Now it looks like distance isn't going to be enough to keep them apart, though it might kill them to cross it."
"I have no idea." Sam spared another look over his shoulder at Al, his unease clear. "When I knew them as Panther and Chief, they were nothing like our Jim and Blair. They had been destroyed, Al, and cobbled back together with luck and love into men that could barely function in the daily world. I have no idea what they could have been without that damage distorting everything about them, and I've never looked to see what Jim and Blair's fate is now, for the usual reasons."
Al shuddered, understanding all too well. Changing what shouldn't be changed had serious consequences, usually paid by the innocents involved. Not knowing what was going to happen to friends and loved ones took away the temptation, along with the pain of not being able to help.
A thought struck him, and he looked down again at the sleeping man/child huddled against him for warmth and protection. "If he's so raw and open without Jim, how can he stand being around any of us, let alone be this close to me?" Al snapped his fingers. "And that's why you wanted to drive; so he wouldn't pick up on the pain from your injuries."
Sighing his admission, Sam said, "Familiarity must help to a degree, unless emotions are running high or pain is involved. He handled Simon and Joel pretty well until they got upset."
*Shield, you can shield.*
Al blinked, sure he had heard someone speak to him, but Sam was busy negotiating a clump of heavy traffic, and Blair hadn't so much as breathed deeply. Dismissing it as his imagination or Sam thinking out loud, he asked, "If some people are born to be telempathic, could others be born with a natural defense against it?"
"Possibly. Humans can use anything for a weapon, even love, so being resistant could be useful, speaking from an evolutionary point of view."
*State of mind, practice at withholding self. Viet Nam. And…*
"Sam," Al started to say, but snapped his mouth shut since it was obvious Sam wasn't hearing any one else add their two cents to their conversation. His mind flashed to his ghost, and he carefully checked out the car from the corner of his eyes, half-expecting to see a shadowy form pooled in the seat beside him.
*While Sam Leaped and you Observed.*
Halfway hoping it was Blair, talking in his sleep or thinking in his sleep or something, Al pushed him away enough to look into his face, but he was definitely out for the count.
*You put Sam first. Shielded him.*
Al slumped back against the car seat, closing his eyes on pain. It was true, but only Sam would know any of it, making it all too likely he was Al's ghost. This wasn't the first time the haunt had spoken to him, either, he realized with a start. When he had been in the shower with Sam, the thing had told him something only Sam could possibly know.
Holding himself very, very still Al listened intently, hoping the ghost would speak again and tell him why he was being haunted.
Though they finished the rest of the trip to 852 Prospect in silence - Sam apparently giving Al quiet and time to think about their conversation and the day's events - he didn't hear another word from the ghost. Blair didn't rouse until they parked, and he came to full awareness only grudgingly as they got out of the car, mumbling apologies for falling asleep in the first place.Once up stairs, Sam suggested a shower to Blair, which he quickly jumped on, vanishing into the bath only minutes later. Sharing an amused look with Sam, Al went into the kitchen to start dinner, giving the food and its preparation all his attention. For a while, at least, he wanted to think about nothing but the simple pleasure of working at a task he enjoyed doing and did well.
Sam wandered through the loft, curiously looking through Blair's Braille books and flipping through the collection of CD's piled near the entertainment center. Thankfully he didn't flip on the TV, and after a brief examination of Blair before he went to his bedroom to meditate, Sam gravitated over to the balcony doors and stared out at the water.
He was still there when Al got to the point where all that was left was letting dinner simmer until ready to serve. For several minutes Al leaned on the kitchen island, unabashedly ogling his lover, admiring his lean length framed by the French doors. Eyes fixed on some distant point, almost but not quite smiling, hands tucked into his back pockets, Sammy was the image of relaxed contemplation. Despite the bruises on his face, it was a pose that brought back many happy memories for Al.
For what had to be the millionth time, Al fell in love with him all over again, but it was as overwhelming and heart wrenching as the very first. A part of him hoped that it would always be like that for him; constantly rediscovering how deep his feelings went. And a part of him worried that he wanted that constant rush, as if he didn't trust what they shared to be good enough for the long haul.
At the moment, it didn't matter, and Al drifted over, absently wishing he wasn't the shorter so that it didn't seem so ridiculous for him to wrap his arms around Sam from behind, snuggling himself against Sam's ass. He had always loved doing that with women, especially since it was a good position for seduction. Not to mention good for a nice double handful of breasts, or for really rowdy sex.
Not that seduction had ever been necessary with Sam where he was concerned. From the start Sam had always been enthusiastic and willing at the drop of a hint, which Al admittedly loved, surprising as it was for Sam to be that eager. He'd always been so reserved, almost prudish, but Al assumed Sam's appetite for him was partly because of the gay guy thing, and partly because all he had ever needed to be uninhibited was to feel truly loved.
Which was exactly what he was, and Al wound an arm around his waist, leaning into him companionably to do his own contemplative staring into the distance. To his delight, Sam came back almost immediately, draping an arm over his. "Looking to work up an appetite, sailor?"
"Think we have time?" Al asked playfully, knowing perfectly well they didn't.
Completely serious, Sam said, "We'll make time." He turned, wrapping Al in a loose embrace, hands drifting enticingly over his back and backside. Though he wasn't erect yet, he pressed close, expertly putting erotic pressure in just the right spot. With a throaty murmur of approval at the growth there, he bent his head, asking for a kiss without words.
It wasn't in him to deny Sam that, not ever, and Al covered his lips with his own, intending to make it light and promissory, mindful of the damage there. Sam opened his mouth to him on a sweet, sweet sigh, and he couldn't help delving deep and thoroughly, not to arouse but to be as close to him as possible. Catching Al's mood, Sam brought up his hands to cradle Al's head, moaning his own appreciation when he did the same. Al lost himself in the tender duel of tongues and satin sweep of lips, unmindful even of his own body and the need awakening in him.
It could have lasted forever as far as he was concerned, but a loud, disgusted curse jerked him out of it, and he broke away from Sam in time to see Joel Taggart stomp away, heading upstairs. Simon was staring at them, both in amusement and aggravation, and Al pulled Sam's head down to the curve of his shoulder to give him a chance to recuperate from his embarrassment. Blandly as possible, Al said, "Weren't you supposed to knock?"
Equally bland, Simon said, "We did. When you didn't answer, we got worried, and I let us in with the key Jim gave me ages ago."
With all the panache of a man who had once been caught in the girls dormitory at the orphanage by Sister Castrate-'em-all, Al said, "I was just saying good night, Dad, I swear."
Simon snorted, but his return comment was lost as Joel stormed back down the stairs, and shouted, "Where's Blair? He's supposed to be safe with you, not out wandering around while you queers mess around with each other."
Instantly coming out of hiding, eyes narrowed and expression saying he was ready to do battle, Sam said, "In the bedroom, meditating. Check in on him if it'll make you feel better, though I can't see why you'd be worried about a fag."
To his credit, Taggart looked abashed and muttered, "I didn't know he was sleeping in his old bedroom again."
"They both sleep there because it's easiest for Blair," Al said shortly.
Eyeing Taggart as if he couldn't quite believe what he heard, Simon said, "Don't go in while you're like this; it'll hurt him. Take a walk around the block and make sure we weren't followed."
Taggart silently obeyed, and Sam let out a frustrated breath as the door shut after him. "Going to go wash up for dinner," he said barely audibly, not waiting for a response from either Simon or Al.
Letting him go because he obviously needed time to compose himself, Al gestured toward the balcony. "Smoke before dinner, Simon?"
Shaking his head, Simon said, "I know I shouldn't apologize for him, but I want to. Taggart's one of the best men I've ever worked with, and he's always had a very fatherly concern for Blair. Add to it some very strong religious beliefs that are in direct conflict with the life Blair's chosen, and he's had to fight to hold his feelings in for a while now."
The door to the bedroom creaked open, and Blair stood in the opening, looking wan and sad. "He's never said anything to me."
"He wouldn't." Simon pushed his glasses up to scrub at his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I only got that much out of him when I found him in the bathroom, silently crying, right after he learned you were blind. He wouldn't add to your problems by letting you know how disappointed he was that you were with Jim, romantically. I think that he hopes that if he can keep your friendship, he'll have a chance to save you, help you realize that you made a mistake and fix it."
Moving like a blind man for the first time since Al had known him, Blair made his way to a stack of cushions and heavily fell into it, automatically dragging a throw over himself. "He belongs to a church that believes diseases and disabilities are punishments, doesn't he?"
Hesitating, Simon awkwardly sat beside him, and finally said, "We've never discussed it, but I think so, yeah."
Al bit down hard on the harsh, hot-blooded words that sprang to his lips. Blair was miserable enough and his opinion of such cruel convictions and the people who held them wouldn't help.
Not unexpectedly Blair said, "Maybe if I try hard enough, I can convince him that I don't need to be saved, and that being blind isn't a punishment, it's a challenge to help me grow and be stronger."
"You're a walking, talking blessing, and he wants to change you," Al said in disgust. Waving away the whole topic, he went into the kitchen to finish dinner. A few minutes later, Sam joined him, giving him a fast squeeze on the shoulder to let him know that he was okay before busying himself with setting the table. He could hear Simon and Blair talking with each other, but in tones so low he couldn't make out individual words. Blair sounded conciliatory, though, and hopeful, no doubt trying to find a way to help Taggart understand and accept a relationship that only an idiot couldn't see was powerful and beautiful.
Muttering Italian imprecations under his breath, Al rattled pots and pans until Sam sighed, leaned on the counter and said sotto voice, "You're only ticked because it wasn't that long ago you believed some of the same things. Like a convert to a religion that's stricter about following dogma than the people born to the faith because they feel they have to prove their convictions."
That stopped Al cold for about three seconds, then he said firmly, "Maybe that's part of it, but a lot if it is just plain old mad that he kicked Blair while he's down. And we're going to make nice with him, anyway, because we need his help."
Chuckling, Sam said, "Think of it as soothing the ruffled feathers of a congressional committee man to get money out of him."
The reminder of more care-free days did the job of cooling Al down, enough that he didn't dump the marinara sauce into Taggart's lap while serving dinner, tempted as he was at the dour look on the man when he came back. It helped that they got down to business as they ate, looking through files and reading them aloud to Blair, hoping to find something they could use to find Jim. As expected, Jim's notes and records were detailed and thorough, covering everything from barely hinted rumors to fully documented cases, and Blair filled in what few gaps there were with the speculation and theories he and Jim had discussed previously. What was left of Al's ire with Taggart died as he grew more and more morose as the extent of I.A.'s corruption and influence became obvious.
Joel lifted a slender file that carefully mapped the involvement of one officer from a small 'favor' done years ago to covering up an I. A. bust that had gone bad. "I know this man. We went through the academy together, rode as partners for two years just before I went into the bomb squad. He's a good man, a good cop."
Without looking up from the small serving of spaghetti he was slowly working his way through, Blair said, "That's Stiers' preferred modus operandi, as far as Jim and I can tell. He targets a decent person and uses that very thing against him like a weapon. It always starts with something small, a bit of help or support that isn't exactly against the regs, that looks and feels right at the time. Next request isn't so small, but still not really a big deal, and still on the right side of the line, and it's good having I.A. owe you a favor."
"And so on and so on until you cross the line without realizing it and can't back out without looking like a fool or going to your captain and telling him you fucked up," Simon said, eyes on his file. "The requests become orders you can't disobey without the whole mess coming out, and the next thing you know you're in too deep to ever get out without serving prison time."
Tossing down the one he held, Joel snapped, "Why? If you need dirty cops, there are always ones looking for the easy way out or who don't mind bending a rule here, telling a lie there. Why corrupt a good one?"
"Would you have believed he was dirty if you hadn't seen the evidence with your own eyes?" Sam asked, tapping the discarded file, compassion showing. "Stiers goes after the decent cops because no one suspects them. He can afford to surround himself with goons in his own department because, for the most part, no one likes or trusts I.A, anyway. But they're not very useful for anything except seriously dirty work for the same reason. You need inside information, inside help, it has to come from what other people will see as untainted sources."
"How long has he been doing this?" Al said, attention more on how withdrawn and silent Blair was than their conversation. "How'd he get his start? It takes some pretty skilled powers of persuasion for that kind of subtle recruitment. That doesn't develop over night."
Simon took out a folder still sealed with 'Confidential' tape along the edge. "This might have some answers. It's Stiers' military records; he put in his twenty before becoming a cop. Jim must have just got it and not had a chance to look through it yet."
"How'd he get sealed military records in the first place?" Joel asked in obvious surprise.
"We've got good connections in D.C.," Blair put in quietly, still not raising his head. "Some of our, ah, troubleshooting was for the government itself. Gratitude isn't always paid in cash."
Joel's expression grew pained, and he let the topic pass, nodding at Simon to let him know he wanted to hear the contents of Stiers' file. Simon read through it quickly, mumbling to himself before snorting and saying aloud, "On paper he looks like a career military man who should have stayed in for life. West Point, fast track for promotion serving on a general's staff. Huh. Became a M.P. and didn't take long to get his own command at a small post. Explains how he moved up the ranks in the police department so fast. Let's see, he moved into 'Green Level Security' posts a few years before retiring. What the hell is that?"
Putting down his fork, Al hastily reached for the file to read for himself. "Green Security is for top secret research centers, special military prisons, things like that," he explained hurriedly. "It's not necessarily an Army post or facility. All the branches of the service contribute personnel on a need to know, needed skills basis."
Finding what he had hoped he wouldn't find, Al put the papers down, and tried for a calm, reasonable tone of voice. "The Shop used Green Level Security, and he did a stint with them just before leaving the Army. Stiers must have been the one to turn information on Jim over to them, probably for a price."
"How did *Stiers* know?" Blair burst out, throwing down his fork, absently wiping away a splatter of sauce from his cheek. "Why would he think they'd be interested in him?"
"Maybe it's time we asked him," Sam said. "Joel, do you have enough to arrest him, based on all this, or at least bring him in for questioning?"
Uncertainty showing, Joel said, "Probably long gone, like Trent. Far as we can tell, he never even went home."
"Stiers has too much invested to take off without a more direct threat than the mayor provided," Simon argued mildly. "Not to mention too arrogant and smug to believe his position is seriously endangered."
"And he's got Jim as a bargaining chip!" Blair got up from the table and went into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
Sam stood and followed him, motioning to Al and the others to stay put. When Joel would have ignored the request, Al stopped him with a sharp look and jabbing finger. "You are not equipped to help right now," he said softly, "much it might disgust you, Sam's the one who can do most good for Blair at the moment."
"A straight man can't possibly understand what he's going through, huh?" Joel said bitterly.
Thankfully it was Simon who took up the battle. "No, you can't understand what it's like to have the other half of your life missing, without a trace to work with, and in the hands of people you know don't care if he lives or not. Sam and Al have been working under the radar, the same way Jim and Blair do, long enough to have a better idea than either of us what they live with on practically a daily basis."
Visibly deflating, Joel turned his head away, and silently began clearing the table. Taking it as a cue that the meal was over, Simon gathered up Jim's files into a tidy pile, staring down at the stack for a few minutes before going into the kitchen to help Joel with the clean up. Al watched them a while to make sure that Joel wasn't going to cause problems, then went out onto the balcony for a cigar, tar and nicotine be damned.
He puffed, not letting the smoke go any further than the end of the cigar, wondering how anybody, even Sam, could really appreciate what Blair was feeling right now. Blind, utterly dependent on others for any possible chance of help for Jim, his heart bleeding out on fear and despair - Al couldn't even imagine what it was like for him, and he'd spent far too long with the same kind of fear and despair when Sam was Leaping alone. Still, Sam had always had a knack for being able to put himself in the other guy's shoes.
Snorting, Al muttered to himself, "Or high heels, or sneakers, or boots or moccasins or…"
From behind him, Sam said, "If you're planning on trying to talk me into cross-dressing to satisfy some perverse fantasy of yours, forget it. I'm never willingly putting on another pair of high heels as long as I live."
Totally dead-pan, Al shot back, "Pity, they make your legs look fantastic." As he'd hoped, Sam laughed. He gave them both a chance to enjoy it, then turned serious and asked, "How's Blair doing?"
"Not good," Sam admitted tiredly, leaning his forearms on the balcony wall and looking out at the city lights in the distance. "Joel is putting a strain on reserves he just doesn't have. So is Simon for that fact, but at least Simon's not all shards and searing edges, or so Blair says. I don't know how much longer he's going to be able to stay halfway between total shutdown and permanent blockout like this."
"So what's next?"
"Simon convinced Joel to at least bring Stiers in for questioning, and he's already made the call. Blair wants to be there for it, watching from the other side of the mirror. I don't know what good it's going to do, but he's insisting. He's also talked them into letting us ride along, too, if we want." Sam straightened, his own fatigue showing for a moment. "I think we should."
"Sounds good to me. We can move on information the police can't legally use." Before Sam could turn to go back inside, Al caught him by the elbow for a fast, feather-light kiss, not giving a damn who was watching. "How are you doing? Those bumps and bruises have got to be giving you grief."
Eyes melting into a softness that reminded Al they had unfinished… business… between them, Sam said, "It's not bad. I'd tell you if it were otherwise." He traced the line of Al's lower lip with a fingertip and added, "I promise."
"I'm going to hold you to that." Already half-hearing the come-back Sam had on the tip of his tongue, Al grinned at him cheekily and led the way inside.
Blair was already waiting at the door, backpack hanging off one shoulder, folded cane in hand, debating with Simon where to keep Jim's files on I.A. "We're all targets, now. We need to make copies and put the originals where Stiers will never think of looking."
"And you don't think my office is secure enough?" Simon said indignantly.
"With that gargoyle at the front desk spying on everything you do, for Stiers for all we know? Duh, Simon."
"Let us hide them," Al put in, hoping his hint wouldn't be too subtle for Blair. "I guarantee they'll never find them, but if Blair needs them, he'll be able to put his hands on them in no Time at all."
"Chain of evidence," Joel said, thankfully sounding as if he were trying to keep his emotions even. "Simon may not be authorized for arrests, but he's a more than credible witness on the stand."
"So you two make the copies and seal the originals in a way to prove that they weren't tampered with before we hide them," Blair said reasonably. "Besides, you'll find the really good stuff with warrants you can get from a judge on reasonable suspicion from the files. Jim never intended to be put on the stand or let his information be all that made the case."
Joel gave in reluctantly, but with good will enough that Blair smiled for the first time that evening. "Thanks, man," he said, and seemingly on impulse, leaned into him for a fast hug. A split second later Blair went very, very still, then he took a deep, audible sniff at Joel's suit jacket. Pulling away in slow motion, staring at him as if he could see the sudden guilt and fear in Joel's expression, he said quietly, desolately, "What have you *done*?"
Erupting into action, Joel shoved Blair away from him to rush for the door, but warned by either intuition or experience, Simon stopped him with a well-placed shoulder and furious command. Joel threw him off, but Al saw the move when it was just bunched muscles, and shoved him from behind so he staggered. Stepping in to pull Blair out of harm's way, Sam grimly blocked Joel's wild flailing, then a real punch as Joel insanely decided he would do anything to get away. There was no way that Al was going to stand for that, and with some satisfaction tackled Joel from behind as Simon did the same from the side.
With the kind of strength usually born from sheer terror, Joel staggered forward a step, roaring and swinging violently in all directions, trying in vain to shake them off. It didn't work, but brought him dangerously close to Blair. Instinctively backing away from the uproar in front of him, Blair stumbled, crying out in warning and bumping into Sam at just the wrong moment. He pushed him into a blow that he would have been able to dodge otherwise, and Sam went down hard, without a single sound.
Enraged at seeing him fall, Al threw fighting fair to the wind and kidney punched Joel, hammering at him until he went to his knees. Knotting his hands together, he aimed at the back of his neck, intended to knock him unconscious, but he never had a chance to land it. Grabbing the sides of Joel's head and holding him immobile, Blair ordered, "Stop this, now!" Gentling his voice considerably, he added, "It isn't helping anything, Joel."
Joel blinked, then crumpled in on himself, hiding his face in his hands.
Instantly turning his attention to Sam, Blair groped until he found his arm, then crouched over him, quickly examining him with sure fingers. Al was beside him in the next heartbeat, leaving Simon to deal with Joel, personally not caring if he arrested him or pushed him off the roof. "Just knocked out," Blair murmured, fingertips hovering over the bruise on the side of his head. "Vitals all good, no sign of concussion."
Sparing a moment to blink at him in confusion - Jim was the medic, not Blair - Al still put his ear on Sam's chest to hear his heart for himself. Sighing in relief, he sat back on his heels and brushed the silver forelock away from Sam's eyes. "For a genius you do some amazingly dumb things, like forgetting to duck."
With a hint of a smile in place, Blair said, "Simon, help us move him please? Just to the pillows in the living room. He should come out of it in a few, but there's no reason to leave him on the cold floor until then."
In short order they had Sam relocated, head in Al's lap, and Blair had towed a barely cognizant Joel over to sit with them, though he revived enough to insist on seating himself a few feet away on a lone cushion. For several long, tense minutes the tableau held, with Simon chewing on an unlit cigar, Al gently stroking Sam's face and hair, eyes on him and nothing else, and Blair just sitting with the expressionless patience of a sphinx.
Eventually Joel cracked, and, head down, gaze fixed on his tightly clenched hands, said, "It never occurred to me that Stiers was dirty; I would have sworn on a stack of Bibles he wasn't on the take."
Impassively, Blair said, "Strictly speaking, he's not. He's in it for the power, not the money, though he's found ways to make a profit. Do you know where he has Jim? I know you've recently been where they held him, at least for a while."
With a sigh that came from the pit of his soul, Joel admitted, "He was already gone when I got there, and I got a song and dance about them not having control of the schedule for delivery. That was probably pre-canned, since Stiers told me before it happened where they were taking him, so I could see for myself that he wasn’t being hurt, only detained. Supposedly they were only going to question him about some super-secret military experiments he had been a part of."
Joel laughed bitterly. "I believed - have for years, now - that Jim had been privy to specialized training and medical enhancements while a Ranger, and was using the results to further his career. That's the line Stiers fed me, anyway, when he first asked me to keep tabs on Jim and let him know if I saw or heard of anything unusual or odd about him. And damn it, Blair, it made so much sense after some of the things I saw him do later.
"Years?" Blair said faintly.
"Since he started in Major Crimes."
Simon grumbled threateningly, earning him a nudge from Blair, though Al thought it was very effective. Joel shrank even further into himself, muttering, "I thought it was harmless enough, at first, since I didn't really believe any of it. In the beginning, Jim seemed just like anybody else."
"I don't understand, even if he had been given unique skills while he was a Ranger, what was wrong with him using it for police work?" Blair said.
Coming off as sullen to Al's ear, Joel said, "Stiers made it sound like treason to use what the government had done for him for personal gain, like he had an unfair advantage over the rest of us that couldn't help but corrupt him sooner or later. Or drive him dangerously insane."
"There's more to it than that, I can tell," Blair said. "You need to own up to all of it, Joel. For your own sake as much as anything else. What changed that you'd be willing to go from casually keeping an eye on someone to turning them over to the kind of government agents who operate out of back rooms?"
As compassionate as Blair's tone was, it was also completely unyielding, and after a moment Joel said angrily. "You started riding with him! He went from a good, occasionally inspired cop to Mr. Cop of the Year, highest solve rate in the whole force, like he'd just been waiting for someone to use as a cover or scapegoat. He'd tell anybody who asked that having someone with your people skills as an ad hoc partner made all the difference, then he treated you like dirt! You did all the paperwork, went into dangerous situations that you weren't trained for, got hurt, got shot for God's sake, and Jim's the one who got all the publicity and prestige."
With an obvious effort Joel brought his voice down from a yell, and finished as rationally and logically as he could, "I thought Stiers was right, and Jim had finally started going bad. What kind of man could use someone like you so callously?" He leaned forward, timidly touching Blair's shoulder. "Could abuse you so carelessly. I heard some of the things he said, saw how he acted. You didn't deserve it, you still don't. You need to be free of him, Blair. Surely someone else can shelter you the way you need, be your guide."
For a moment it seemed to Al like there was a very real possibility that Blair would simply hang his head and weep, and when he only bit his lower lip and took a deep breath, Al wanted to do it for him. Resisting the urge, he waited, already half-expecting Blair to simply forgive Joel and renew his request for help. Instead he brusquely knocked away Joel's hand.
"I need you to get your head out of your ass and your blind beliefs and listen to me, because a man's life depends on you taking a good look at reality and accepting it for what it is. Jim has lost everyone he's loved, or been betrayed by them, starting when his mother walked out on the family when he was a small child. Even his wife, Carolyn, messed around on him, betraying their marriage vows.
"After a while, like any wild thing that's been wounded and caged, he snarled and clawed at everyone to keep them away, keep them from hurting him again. You saw that, but for whatever reason you didn't see me doing my own snarling and clawing back when necessary to earn his respect, so I could help him! I was born to do my best to help anybody, but I wouldn't have put up with Jim if I hadn't believed all the way to the bottom of me that he was worth it!"
Blair stood, and finished much more gently, "You have no idea how much more it was than just 'worth it,' and that saddens me more than knowing you're one more person he trusted who betrayed him."
Standing and turning his back on him, Blair said to Simon, "Will you see what you can do with Stiers? As soon as Sam comes out of it, we're going to where they had Jim to see if we can find anything. If Jim came out of the drugs they used on him at all, he would have found a way to leave signs I can use to track him."
Getting up as well, Simon said, "Stiers isn't the only one who can call in a favor or twist an arm. Besides, by now everyone on the force should know that he's in deep, and be more than willing to get back some of their own, especially if I hint there might be amnesty for those who didn't break the law, just the rules."
"Blair," Joel started miserably.
Quietly, so he wouldn't interrupt Simon and Blair, Al said, "Forget it. He would have forgiven you a dozen ways from Sunday for hurting him, especially if you had his best interests at heart. For hurting Jim you'll have to crawl until your knees bleed, and personally, I think you'd be getting off easy. And before you fall back on your schtick about Blair deserving better than some one you think of as an abuser, better than a gay lifestyle filled with danger, you should remember that no one has ever successfully told Blair Sandburg how to live his life, including his mother and Jim Ellison. Or don't you think that maybe Jim has his doubts about what he's gotten Blair into? Now what's that address we need?"
Looking shell-shocked, Joel gave it to him, then silently followed in Simon's wake as he left. Though he looked back once, as if wishing to say something, anything to Blair that might put him back on their old footing, he didn't, either because he couldn't think of the right words or because Blair steadfastly kept his back turned. Once the door was shut behind him and Simon, Blair slumped, hands in his hair and muttering angrily under his breath.
"If you don't stop beating up on yourself, " Al said mildly, "I'll plant a big wet one on you, right on the mouth, and leave it up to you to explain to Jim why you taste like me."
As he had hoped, Blair jerked upright, then broke into a grin. "Didn't I tell you once that I'd hurl on your shoes if you ever did that? And how's Jim supposed to know what you taste like, anyway? Is there something the two of you haven't been telling me?"
Al guffawed. "Not likely, kid." More seriously he added, "Are you sure you're up to checking this place out? You were beat when we got here."
"Nothing like being majorly pissed to get reenergized." Mood shifting unexpectedly, Blair diffidently touched Sam's brow. "Neither of you told me he was hurt earlier. Trying to help Jim?"
"It's been a busy day; never had a chance to bring it up," Al said truthfully, though it wouldn't have occurred to Sam to mention it, and he wasn't going to add to Blair's troubles, himself. "I wondered when you didn't pick up on his pain on your own, though."
Blair traced the outline of the bruise on Sam's cheek in the air, scarcely millimeters above it. "I thought it was odd that he avoided touching me except when doing his doctor thing, but you're right, I was too out of it to put it together. He's good at concentrating on what's at hand, which would push the hurt far enough away that it wouldn't shout at me."
Encouraged by his ability to sense exactly where the bruise was and by how knowledgeably he'd examined Sam earlier, Al asked, "Shouldn't he be awake by now? You said it was just a bump."
Expression becoming remote, Blair said, "He's Outside of Time. Like you said once, he's part of it now, and it pulls him back if he's not solidly anchored."
Instinctively, Al knotted his fist into Sam's shirt, hanging on tightly, the fingers of his other hand weaving into his hair possessively. Before he could voice his denial, though, Blair blinked back to awareness and smiled in wry sympathy. "Don't worry; he's not going anywhere without you. You're the bedrock he's moored to."
"Damn straight he's not," Al muttered, but his worry eased enough that he loosened his grip a little.
Ignoring the comment, Blair added, "No one is ever really unconscious, you know. He'll hear you if you tell him he needs to come back, and you should do that right away. We're running out of time. Simon has a bull's eye on his back now that he's shown part of his hand to Stiers. We need to break Stiers and his cadre totally before he gets the bright idea that the easiest way to deal with his current problem is with a bullet."
Not feeling the least bit self-conscious, though he knew he should, Al bent over to sigh kisses over Sam's face, whispering that it was time to wake up. Despite Blair's assurances, he couldn't help but think that anyone with that much bemused wonder on their face wouldn't be willing to wake up if they could avoid it.
One minute I was bracing for the pain from the blow I knew I couldn't dodge, and the next I was surrounded by the streaming light of people's lives. Intuitively I identified them as Simon, Joel, and Jim'nBlair and tried to understand what had happened. I hadn't Leaped; that I was sure of. This was more like a dream, though more real and coherent than any I normally had. In a way, it was the reverse of when I went into a string to read it; like I was partially out of the Time where I had been.
It wasn't as tiring as its reverse was, if that was the case. In fact, it was very peaceful, like watching a sunset or listening to the waves at the beach, and for much the same reasons. From this vantage point the lives around me were hypnotically beautiful and vibrant, dancing in subtle shimmers and vivid colors, almost singing to me of joy and happiness, triumph and courage. While I'd always been enchanted by the splendors of this place, I had only been this enraptured by it once before.
Hands over my ears, I stumbled from the Time I had been in, futilely trying to block screams I could still hear in my head. This was my third try at something that had seemed so simple when I first started: stop a hotel fire from killing a dozen people. But even knowing that the fire had been started by a meth lab set up in the basement by the owner's son, I hadn't been able to get physically close enough to keep it from happening, though once I had gone so far as to knock the owner out to get her out of the way. Yet the best, the *best* I had been able to do was save a single life, and keep the wrong person from being blamed.
This time around I hadn't even been even that successful.
Sinking to my knees, I fought down a scream of frustration and pain, the stench of tainted smoke and burnt bodies making me want to gag. I made myself take each breath slowly, counting the seconds for every inhale and exhale so that each took longer than the last. Eventually the Leap faded, leaving only an echo of agony and terror that I could deal with later, and I unfolded until I could see the Lives I had tried to help. Though they weren't the closest cluster nearest to the Enemy, they were distinctly tangled into each other before all of them were absorbed by it.
I had hoped that by undoing the one event that had done so much damage to so many, I could help them all at the same time. *Apparently that's not allowed,* I thought tiredly. *Because there were too many for one Leaper or because the fire itself had to happen for some reason?*
There were no answers, of course. All I ever had to go on were the theories and guesses I came up with on my own, based on experience, both here and when I Leaped. It wasn't enough; it could never be enough. I was one man and there were so many Wrongs that needed to be put right. There had to be a way to accomplish more.
Without meaning to, I glanced in the opposite direction of the Enemy, simultaneously soothed and tempted by that Radiance. It would be so easy to turn and walk until I was absorbed into the peace it promised. Leaps like the last one made it hard not to, sometimes. I always found the will to go on, somehow, and I turned toward the main reason I could.
Though I hadn't dared to look yet to see the changes I had made to Al's life, his string was always close, and I always took more than a little comfort from that. Almost like Al himself, it seemed to exude support and enthusiasm, giving me encouragement when I was ready to give up. Eventually, when I couldn’t take it any more, I was going to touch Al's string as my reward for doing so much for others, and do my best to make Al's life a great one. Then I would surrender to the Light.
In the meantime there was a lot to do and it wasn't going to get done with me sitting around feeling sorry for myself. With a sigh, I got to my feet, eyeing the knot of damaged lives, trying to think of a different way to attack the problem. "Knot," I said out loud, by now inured to the odd resonance of my voice here. "I've been using the Gordian Knot method, trying to slice it apart. Maybe a 'cat's cradle' approach would be better. Find a linchpin, a single life that could be pulled out and free them all."
Just thinking of the concept was enough to clarify the image of the snarled strings, and I visually traced each one, looking for the key to this particular puzzle. Without meaning to, I moved from side to side at varying distances to gain different perspectives, and suddenly realized that there was something different about one of the lives that came close to the fire before abruptly veering away. Curious, I drifted nearer, much nearer than I usually approached the Enemy, for once not paying any attention to the malignancy that poured from it.
Without it overshadowing everything, I could see that what I had considered one life was actually two, so deeply embedded and entwined in each other, they may as well have been one. And that it was beyond beautiful, as if all the special traits that made up other strings had been distilled and condensed into a single pure radiance of extraordinary Life. It had a single voice made of two that combined into a harmony as exquisite as its appearance, speaking of love, devotion and utter trust.
Yet this unique twining was nearly eclipsed into non-existence by its proximity to the Enemy. Confused now, I followed the string, back-tracking toward its beginning, looking for the moment when the two had merged. It was easy to find. I found a discontinuity, an interruption in it, just at the edge of the Enemy that had to be indicative of a truly hideous event, one that should have been sufficient for both lives to be destroyed without a trace. More than a few strings were trapped in that evil moment, though more slid free than I would have thought possible given the extent of the damage that had to have been done.
More intrigued than anything else, I moved past the repugnant stain, not surprised to find the two strings glowing with the sort of vitality that I had learned usually came from people with remarkable lives. They were side by side for only a short period of time, yet it seemed like they strained toward each other over any distance between them, even at the moment of their creation. I put myself between them for a moment, not willing to do more just yet for any reason I could name, and the strings shifted, the first time I had seen that happen, to be together again.
Going back the way I had come, I went past the point where I had noticed how different the string was, halfway expecting it to eventually be taken by the Enemy. It was close, more than once, but in the end, it swerved, returning to the Presence, still as one Life, and more beautiful than ever. I sat, knees up, hands dangling from them, and stared at it for a long, long time.
I would have felt like a murderer if I had.
I looked for and found only a very few other strings that were two lives existing like theirs, which made me even more concerned about whether or not I should tamper with their history. With the exception of old married couples, which grew into each other gradually, all of twined strings were the result of dangerous trauma. Twice, the blending I expected didn't occur because both people died during the threat that could have joined them forever.
Nor were such lives ever easy. The best that could said of them was that they survived all the wrong that was thrown at them, always allowing others to do the same, if not giving them support to break free of it completely. Yet I had to do what I could for all of them, especially Jim and Blair, who out-shone all the rest. If they needed my help, I would give it, and it was Al telling me that over and over that finally broke me free of Time.
End Part Two
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