Title: Mark of the Shaman
Author: Nancy Taylor
Author Email: nat1228@comcast.net
Rating: PG
Status: Complete
Archive: Yes to CL, WWOMB, Fries
Author's website: https://www.squidge.org/~nat1228/TSgen.htm

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

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

Episode related: Warriors

Warnings: lyrics

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

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

Summary: A new explanation for Blair's seizures emerges.

MARK OF THE SHAMAN
by Nancy Taylor
nat1228@comcast.net

You're everything right
When I'm everything wrong

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

"I'm going in, Chief."

"Okay. See you later, Jim." Blair looked up from the journal he was skimming. "I've got a meeting over at the U this morning, but I'll come by and pick you up for lunch."

"Sounds good," Jim replied. "See you at noon."

Blair put down the journal and sank gratefully onto the couch as soon as the door shut behind his partner. He hated lying to Jim. Maybe he should just lie down and let the medication run its course. With luck, he'd feel better by noon.

~~oO0Oo~~

Jim tapped a pencil hypnotically against his desk as he stared sightlessly at the computer monitor. He looked up when a large hand covered his, stopping the incessant noise.

"What gives, Ellison?" Simon looked down with a gentleness that belied the harsh tone of his voice.

Jim looked up at his Captain, knowing the man was sympathetic despite his words. "Blair should have been here by now," he said, worried despite the fact that the grad student frequently missed lunch dates.

"He probably just got hung up in that meeting at the University." Simon studied his detective. "You still worry about the kid, don't you?" Jim nodded. "Then you'd better check up on him. How else am I going to get any work out you?" He sighed expressively and walked back to his office.

Jim picked up the phone, dialing the University. A few moments of conversation confirmed that Blair hadn't been on the campus that morning. Hanging up, he dialed home.

"Hello?" A groggy voice answered the phone.

"Blair? Are you okay? You're late for lunch."

"Geez, Jim! I'm sorry!" The voice on the other end of the line came suddenly awake. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Wait . . . please," Jim pleaded. "Something's wrong. You didn't go into Rainier this morning." The concern in his voice communicated itself to the younger man.

"I was just too tired," Blair confessed. "I felt a headache coming on, so I decided to lie down for a few minutes. The phone woke me. . . ."

"How about I pick something up and bring it home for lunch?"

"Actually, that sounds good," Blair answered gratefully. "Thanks."

Jim hung up, staring at the phone for a few moments. The little putz had lied to him! He never intended to go into the University that morning! He grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

~~oO0Oo~~

"Chief?" Jim walked through the door carrying a large sack from a local Chinese take-out. He set the bag on the kitchen table and looked around the loft. A soft noise coming from the direction of Blair's bedroom caught his attention. The figure that appeared in the doorway was pale and rumpled. "You look like shit!"

"Thanks. Good to see you, too," Blair deadpanned.

Jim walked over to where his friend stood, propped against the doorframe. Taking him by an elbow, he led him over to the table, pulled out a chair and sat him down. "Not a good day?"

"You could say that."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Not especially." Blair slumped in his seat, looking as though simply holding his head up was a chore.

Giving the conversation a brief rest, Jim fetched plates from the cupboards and put some coffee on to brew. Handing Blair a pair of chopsticks, he began opening the little white boxes. "So," he started again, "you're going to tell me about your day." He made it clear by the tone of his voice that he wasn't taking "no" for an answer.

"Just the same old, same old, Jim," Blair sighed. "I felt tired after taking the pill and decided to lie down for a while."

"There's more to it than that," Jim insisted. "You didn't look this bad when I left this morning."

Blair hung his head, staring at his still-empty plate. "Migraines."

He didn't have to say another word. Jim flashed back a little over six weeks to the first migraine attack he'd witnessed in his friend. "God, Blair! Why didn't you say something? I could've stayed home with you."

"You've lost enough of your sick time staying home with me. I'm fine. I'll be okay." He served himself some almond chicken and a little rice and proceeded to push the food around his plate with the chopsticks.

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Yeah . . . no," Blair confessed. He set the chopsticks beside the plate. "I dunno, Jim. My head still hurts."

"Maybe I should take you in to see the doctor?"

"It's just a migraine, Jim." He started to push his chair back in order to get up, but found he was trembling too hard to accomplish the task.

"Like hell it is," Jim commented acidly, rising to stand next to his friend. Just as he reached for Blair's arm to help him up, the seizure started in earnest.

The convulsions pushed the chair back and Blair slid out, unconscious, onto the floor. Once again, Jim found himself rolling Blair onto his side and sitting there helpless as the seizure ran its course. When the shaking finally ceased, he gathered the sleeping man into his arms and carried him back to his bedroom.

He laid Blair on the bed, smoothing hair from his face with a gentle hand. "You awake yet, Blair?" he whispered. "Come on. It's time to wake up. It's okay. You're going to be okay." He kept up the quiet chatter until Blair's eyelids fluttered open.

"You scared me, there." Jim's voice shook. "What happened?"

"Shit!" Blair closed his eyes again, sensitive to the bright light shining through his bedroom door. "Damn!"

"Well, that's all very descriptive, but it doesn't tell me what just happened," Jim said, trying to stay calm and sound reasonable. "You had a seizure. You are taking the Klonopin, aren't you?"

"Yeah. I'm taking the damn Klonopin," Blair spat, unsure whether the anger he felt was directed at Jim or at himself. "Hell . . . you watch me take it three times a day!" He tried sitting up, but a wave of dizziness laid him out flat on his back. "But this . . . this was weird."

"Weird? How?" Jim rolled Blair onto his side and began massaging his back with a comforting, circular motion. He felt some of the tenseness drain from the smaller man's body and saw color return to the pale cheeks.

"I had a vision, or something. . . ."

"A vision? During the seizure?" Jim tried to comprehend, but was failing miserably. "What, exactly, did you see?"

"That was the really weird part," Blair said thoughtfully. "I was in a jungle, and I was running. But I wasn't me. I - I was a wolf."

"A wolf?"

"Yeah. And I heard something in the bushes ahead of me. A black jaguar ran out. We were headed right for each other." Blair paused and turned wide, blue eyes on Jim. "We both leapt at once . . . and merged in this blinding flash of white light. That was it. I woke up after that. Weird, huh?"

Jim looked thoughtful. "You dreamed of the jungle?"

"Yeah," Blair answered cautiously, "So? Any special meaning there?"

"Well, it's just that when I have my visions, I'm usually in the jungle."

"You know, Jim, in some tribal cultures epilepsy is considered the mark of a shaman. Of course, they don't call it epilepsy. They think the person is possessed by spirits. But. . . ."

"These seizures of yours . . . they started up again shortly after Incacha's death, didn't they?"

"Yeah, within a couple of weeks. Man, that is really weird!" Blair fought the post-seizure lethargy as his brain went into overdrive. He snuggled closer into the security of Jim's arms. "I was so worried when he passed on the 'way of the shaman' to me. I didn't feel any different. I didn't know anything more than I had before. I was just feeling my way through trying to help you. But a vision. . . . This is just so weird," he repeated, shaking his head.

"It might all just be a colossal coincidence, you know," Jim reasoned.

"Yeah, maybe."

"Did you ever have a vision before, during a seizure?"

"Not that I can remember. Well, except maybe, last week . . . oops." Blair ducked his head, irrationally hoping the sentinel beside him had not heard that last confession.

"What about last week, Sandburg?" Jim asked, dashing Blair's hopes. He turned on the young man, suddenly very serious. "Have you had other seizures you haven't told me about?" His anger was almost palpable.

"Just a couple," Blair managed to squeak.

"Over the last six weeks you've had two other seizures besides this one . . . while taking your medication? And you didn't tell me?" He clutched Blair's shoulders, shaking him a little more roughly than he'd intended.

The startled man looked at him apprehensively. "They've all been within the last week and a half. I didn't want you taking me back to the hospital. It isn't going to help! I'm taking the medication," Blair argued, his tone pleading for Jim to understand. "Doctor Freeman said there was a possibility of seizures even while taking the meds. This isn't that uncommon."

Jim shook his head. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Help me figure this out?"

"What?"

"The vision. What it means."

"You know I'm not into all that mystical mumbo-jumbo."

"I know what it felt like. . . ." Deep blue eyes locked with their lighter counterparts.

"What did it feel like, Blair?" Jim asked softly.

"Like we'd become one. One soul in two bodies. Bonded. Bound together for life." He paused, assessing the impact of his words on the man sitting next to him. "It felt like not even death could separate us."

Jim looked introspective for a moment, then shook it off. "It's sounding a bit too philosophical for me. . . ."

"Yeah. I told you it was weird."

"You feeling up to eating some of that lunch now?" Jim stood and started for the kitchen. Blair trailed after him, still sensing the presence of the wolf and the panther.

~~oO0Oo~~

"I can't find anything wrong," Doctor Freeman said, looking over the charts of all the tests Blair had just finished being put through once again. "We can up the dosage of the Klonopin, or try another drug."

Blair groaned. "Must we?"

"Seizures are serious business, young man." Dr. Freeman turned a stern eye on his recalcitrant patient. "If you want to keep your driver's license, you have to prove you have them under control. Until you do, you're suspended."

"No. You can't suspend my driver's license!" Blair was aghast. "I've got classes at the U, and I help out at the police department. I need my transportation! I can't depend on Jim to take me everywhere I need to go."

"Well, then . . . we'll increase your dosage. Let's try doubling it to four milligrams, but cutting you down to just twice a day. How does that sound? Then, if that doesn't do it, we'll push you back to three times a day."

"I'm willing to give it a try, I guess." Blair's voice sounded defeated.

The doctor scribbled out two prescriptions, and handed them to his patient. "The first is for the stronger Klonopin," he explained. "The other is a mild stimulant, to help counteract the drowsiness." He held up a hand to stall the protest forming on Blair's lips. "Try it for a week. Let me know how it goes."

"He'll do it, Doc. Don't worry." Jim gave his partner his best no-nonsense stare.

Blair hopped off the exam table, returning the look with daggers. He did not appreciate being treated like a child.

"Thanks, Doc," Jim said as they turned to leave.

"Yeah, thanks," Blair added, an overtone of sarcasm lightly coloring his words.

"Brat," Jim said, once they were safely outside.

"Dictator," Blair replied, one arm firmly circling the waist of the larger man.

They climbed into the truck, and Jim headed back to the loft. The silence between the two men was one of comfortable camaraderie.

~~oO0Oo~~

"He made you Sentinel of the Great City, and me your shaman," Blair argued. "Maybe there's something more to these seizures than just the epilepsy. I've never had a vision before. That's always been your shtick."

"Be reasonable, Blair," Jim answered, trying unsuccessfully to follow his own advice. "You can't really believe that Incacha is the cause of your seizures coming back."

"I didn't say that. All I'm saying is that there might be some connection between the seizures, the vision and me being a shaman." Blair paused, running a hand through his unruly hair. "I never felt comfortable with that designation, you know. Too much pressure, and nothing had changed. Now, something has."

"What? That you're scaring me shitless with these seizures?" Jim exploded. "Incacha can just take back his damn 'way of the shaman' if this is what it means!"

"Jim, calm down. It's okay, really." He placed a reassuring hand on the arm of his sentinel. "Please don't be upset. Something wonderful has happened. I don't quite understand it yet, but I finally feel important."

"You were always important to me," Jim whispered.

To be continued in Lessons...

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