Eye of the Storm by Rushlight ------- Prologue: The night was not night anymore; that was the first thing he noticed. The sky was ablaze with a myriad of silver lights, brilliant against the black backdrop that stood behind them. And that blackness had form to it, and texture, and dimension... As if the night itself had come alive, and grown into something new, something extraordinary. It seemed a place where dreams could become real. This was a place he had been to many times before, at the edge of the jungle where the land met the sky. It was believed to be a place at the juncture of two worlds -- land and sky, earth and air. The delineation between the two was as sharp and unambiguous as that found on the earliest nautical maps, where the sea at the edges of the world fell away into an eternal abyss, marked only by the legend, Here there be monsters. He watched in silent awe as one of the stars detached from that great backdrop of living, breathing night and descended slowly to meet him. He lifted his face to it, feeling somewhat like a child trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue. That was the feeling he got from this place, that kind of innocence, and the thought made him smile slightly. Perhaps, after everything, it wasn't too late for him after all. I dreamed of you, he said, and the fallen star shimmered in fond amusement, hovering like a 2,000-watt speck of brilliance in front of his face. Its light pushed back the darkness that pressed around him, and for a moment he thought he saw another, more familiar, form encased within it. Of course you did, it said to him, and there was laughter in its voice. The comment brought with it a stab of remembered pain, and he looked away, unable to stand the brightness any longer. Around him, darkness and light mingled in dreamy ecstasy, and he thought about how well they complemented each other, how one could not exist without the other. But did I do right? he whispered. There was silence for a long while then, and he froze, waiting for the words that would condemn him. It was no more than he deserved, he knew, but even so, the pain cut deep. And then, with a soft flicker of starfire, the light replied. Go find out. There was no condemnation in the words, for which he was grateful. Only sorrow, and loss, and even that was chased through by an echo of quiet joy. Because he was here, finally, in this place that was end and beginning both. Yes, he said, and he smiled, feeling an echo of that joy shiver through him. He lifted his face to the night once again, letting his eyes sweep over that glorious vista of star-filled sky, and knew that he had at last come home. And then there was nothing but the light. ------- Jim felt a surge of something suspiciously like exhilaration move through him as he gazed down at the man sleeping naked beside him. The morning light that fell in through the clerestory windows was leaden with autumn, but it illuminated Blair's warm skin perfectly, bringing out the auburn and chestnut highlights in the long curls of hair that draped over the backs of his shoulders. It was moments like this that Jim wished he could store away into his memory forever, a mental snapshot that he could pull out whenever he needed it in the future. Blair looked so peaceful, lying here, tousled hair dark against his cheek, head resting lightly on the curve of an arm on top of his pillow. His lips were parted slightly, and they glistened with moisture in the dim light. Jim could hear him breathing, soft and rhythmic, harmony to the steady beating of his heart. There was really no question that Jim would bend down to kiss him. After a moment, Blair's lips began to move under his, and Jim let his tongue trail across that full bottom lip slowly, savoring the taste and texture he found there. With a sigh, he pulled away again, admiring the rising flush in his lover's cheeks. Blair's eyes opened slowly, hazy with sleep. He smiled when he saw Jim looking down at him. "Mmm," he said, and the thick timbre of his voice sent a shiver racing down Jim's spine. "G'morning, lover." He stretched like a cat, and Jim watched appreciatively, unable to resist the temptation to trail a hand across the smooth curve of ribs and skin in front of him. Blair rolled into the touch, leaning into him, and Jim's arms closed around him automatically. Blair's smile as he gazed up at him was impish. "Something on your mind, Jim?" he said lightly, and Jim chastised him with a small bite to the tip of his nose. "It's not nice to tease," he said, enjoying the feel of his lover's heart beating next to his own. He nuzzled down into the riot of untamed curls that spilled over Blair's shoulders and inhaled deeply, drinking in the scent of his mate. Blair's breath hitched, and his hand toyed idly with the short hairs at Jim's nape. "Who's teasing?" he whispered, and that was all it took for Jim to tighten his grip in the hair at the back of his head and kiss him. Blair tasted like dusk, like heat, as his body twined forward around Jim's, molding against him, and while his movements were still languid with the vestiges of sleep, there was no mistaking the intent of the hard heat that burned against Jim's thigh. Jim slid his nails down Blair's back just to feel that lean body buck against him, and he groaned softly in empathy as Blair's arms tightened around him, legs tangling tight around his thighs. "Love you," Blair murmured, and the words became one with the slow, sensual glide of skin against skin as their erections rubbed together, warming him. Jim nuzzled in against Blair's throat and sighed heavily. "Love you, too." Jim began to move a little faster, a little rougher, and Blair matched him for it, moaning slightly as he pressed his teeth against the side of Jim's neck. "God, that feels good," Jim whispered, and Blair bit him again, swiping his tongue across his sweat-slicked skin. "You taste good," Blair said, panting. "Smell good. Oh God, Jim..." God, it felt good to love like this, to be loved like this. Making love to Blair was like being devoured by a force of nature, like being caught up inside of something that was little else but heat and motion and heartfelt, irresistible need. Jim let it build slowly, refusing to hurry. Blair felt so good in his arms, so hot and lithe and deliciously slick where Jim's hands smoothed over his back. Sex sweat. Jim bent to lick at Blair's shoulder, loving the taste of him, the scent of him, the feel of him, and he spent a hazy moment drifting free inside the inexorable rhythm of their bodies, the sensuous slide of skin on skin, listening to the competing cadences of their heartbeats, two broken rhythms racing each other impulsively to collect their prize. Jim bit his lip as Blair made a series of small mewling noises against the side of his throat, his entire body tensing. That was all it took for Jim's body to follow; he felt the slow burn growing at the base of his spine suddenly explode through the center of him, startling a ragged cry out of him as his hips bucked mindlessly against Blair's. Blair clung to him, grounding him through it, and when it was over, Jim collapsed against the pillows, pulling Blair down to lie beside him. Blair's eyes were warm and sated as he gazed up at him, and he smiled, resting his chin on Jim's chest. "I think I need to go back to sleep for another hour now," he said, snuggling further in against Jim's side. As if to prove his point, he yawned hugely. Jim pushed the younger man's hair back away from his face affectionately. "I wish we could." He glanced at the bedside clock and sighed. "But I have to be in to work in an hour. And if I'm not mistaken, you have a meeting with your diss committee at eight-thirty..." "I know, I know." Blair grumbled good-naturedly and dropped a kiss onto Jim's lips, then shoved a pillow against his face as he crawled out of bed. Jim pushed the pillow aside and watched with an indulgent smile as his lover crossed the room toward the stairs. God, the man was beautiful, and there was absolutely no self-consciousness in him at all as he made his way naked down the stairs. If he let himself give in to the temptation to share Blair's shower, they'd never get out the door this morning. Sighing, Jim wiped himself off with an edge of the sheet, then pulled on his shorts and a T-shirt and padded down the stairs to start breakfast. He could already hear the water running down the hall, and the sound brought with it several delightful memories of hot water sliding over hot skin. The image brought an instant flush to his face, and he bit the inside of his cheek as he rinsed out the coffee maker and refilled the filter with fresh Maxwell House. Damn, but he had it bad today. The thought made him chuckle softly. Not that Blair Sandburg wasn't addictive on the best of days, but lately, Jim found himself taking advantage of every moment they had together. Now that the university was in full swing for the fall semester and resources were more readily available, Blair was spending more time on campus researching for his dissertation. It seemed that absence did indeed make the heart grow fonder -- and the body grow hornier. This time, the chuckle turned into an outright laugh. "Something funny?" Blair emerged from the hallway wearing nothing but a towel. His hair was damp around his shoulders, and the thick curls caught the light beautifully, creating a shadowy halo around his face. Jim stared at him for a moment before he was able to find the breath to respond. "Not really." He pushed himself away from the counter and walked around the central island, leaning in for a kiss. Blair's lips were warm and soft under his, even if his expression was puzzled. "I'm just thinking how much I enjoy spending time with you." The dark flicker in Blair's eyes said he was well aware of the direction Jim's thoughts had taken. He laid a hand against Jim's chest and spread his fingers, as if he were trying to soothe the soft rhythm of the heartbeat under his palm. "I know you do." He smiled. "I've just got the one meeting this morning, and then I'm going to spend some much-needed time in the library. I'll be at the station in time for lunch." The promise soothed Jim enough that he was able to let Blair go and take his own shower. The morning ritual was soothing, and as he went about his ablutions, he caught the sharp scent of burnt bagels and raspberry jam. The familiarity of it made him smile affectionately, filling him with warm feelings of health and comfort and home. As he dried himself off with one of the ridiculously expensive Egyptian cotton towels Blair had insisted on buying, he wondered why he felt so damned possessive of the man this morning. It was almost an ache inside of him, giving him the urge to keep constant tabs on him, as if Blair might shrivel up and disappear in a puff of smoke at a moment's notice. It made no sense, but the feeling was there regardless. He was still puzzling over the question as he made his way back out into the main room, knowing what he'd see before he got there. Sure enough, there Blair was, sitting at the table with his glasses perched on the end of his nose, poring over one of his journals and nibbling on the edges of a toasted bagel. A huge cup of coffee sat on the table in front of him, half-finished. The sheer normalcy of the scene brought a smile to Jim's face, and he felt the faint ache inside of him ease somewhat. Blair was here, and he was safe, no matter what his instincts were trying to tell him. Maybe it was just the new fall schedule after all. He got dressed hurriedly and then sat down across the table from Blair, digging hurriedly into his cereal and glancing surreptitiously at Blair as he did so. Blair was totally engrossed in his reading, which was certainly nothing new. But there was a line between his brows that Jim found strangely disconcerting, and the protective instinct flared in him again. "Is everything all right?" he asked, trying not to sound as if he were pushing. It was something Blair had accused him of before. Blair glanced up at him and smiled. "Just tired," he said, and punctuated the statement with a yawn. "I didn't sleep too well last night." "Why not?" Jim frowned, irrationally disturbed by the seemingly innocuous statement. Blair shrugged. "Bad dreams, I think." He turned back to his journal, apparently unconcerned. Jim's frown deepened. "What about?" "I'm not sure." Blair turned a page absently. "I'm not even sure they were really bad dreams at all. Just... weird ones." He glanced up at Jim over the rims of his glasses and grinned wryly. "I'm fine, Jim." Irritated with himself, Jim let the subject drop. He didn't know why he felt so odd this morning. If he kept this up, Blair was going to be irritated with him, too, and that was something he definitely didn't want. So he polished off his Wheaties without another word and then got up to brush his teeth. When he came back into the living room, Blair was still reading serenely. Blair had at least another half an hour before he had to leave for Rainier. Jim reached for his holster on the rack by the front door and shrugged into it absently, still troubled without knowing why. Grabbing his coat, he bent to give Blair a good-bye kiss. Blair smiled up at him, looking utterly beautiful, dark eyes and dark hair and dark sweater combining to give him a deliciously decadent look that Jim found intensely appealing. He growled low in his throat and nipped playfully at the side of the younger man's jaw. Blair laughed, pushing firmly against his chest to propel him toward the door. "Go. Now," he said, but there was deep-rooted pleasure in the words. "Or you're going to be late." Jim grinned at him as he turned to leave. "I'll meet you at the station for lunch," he said as he ducked out the door. It helped immeasurably with his strange sense of restlessness to see Blair in such a good mood, and he let that carry him out when he honestly would have preferred to stay. Even so, the feeling never truly went away. ------- Blair smiled to himself as he finished stuffing his notebooks into his backpack and double-checked to make sure he had his cell phone and keys. Jim was being his endearingly overprotective self this morning, which would have annoyed him at one point in his life. Now, however, it was just another of those traits that made Jim Jim. It was actually kind of flattering in a way, that Jim would consider him territory worthy of being defended. Even against bad dreams. The thought made him chuckle softly with affectionate amusement. He whistled as he made his way down to the parking lot, bypassing the elevator in favor of the stairs. The sun was struggling admirably to shine through the thick screen of clouds that covered the sky, giving the morning light a grainy cast. A cool breeze lifted his hair against his cheek, warning of the winter to come, and Blair pushed the recalcitrant strands behind his ear absently, looking around the lot reflexively before making his way toward his car. Halfway across the parking lot, he stopped. The wind stirred again, rustling a loose page of newspaper at the edge of the street. For some reason, he felt inexplicably exposed suddenly. The feeling was an uncomfortable tightening in the muscles of his back, and he glanced around uneasily, not understanding where it came from. It was disconcerting that there didn't seem to be anyone else out and about this morning. Aside from the occasional car that passed by on the street, he was completely alone. Still, the feeling remained, and it had progressed up to prickle the skin at the back of his neck now. "Get a grip, Blair," he told himself firmly, not liking the uncertain waver he heard in his voice. Hooking the fingers of one hand under the strap of the backpack on his shoulder, he started toward his car again. He was almost there when he was stopped again, this time by a low growling behind him. Tensing, he whirled, his heart pounding. His eyes probed the aisles between the cars for a frantic moment before he allowed himself to relax. "There's nothing there," he said aloud, taking some degree of comfort in the sound of his voice. He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. There was nothing there, he reminded himself. Nothing there at all. Nevertheless, he found himself crouching down to peer into the thick shadows that pooled underneath the cars around him. He waited for another moment, but the growling did not repeat. Blotting damp palms against the front of his jeans, he forced himself to walk the rest of the way to his car without looking back. His fingers were shaking when he fit the key into the lock. He was just tired. Yeah, that was it. He tossed his backpack onto the seat beside him as he slid into the car, feeling immeasurably grateful when the door closed behind him. His hands were still shaking when he gripped the top of the steering wheel. The parking lot of 852 Prospect stretched out before him in silence, not a car out of place. What the hell was wrong with him? One night of bad dreams didn't warrant this kind of paranoia. Feeling vaguely disgusted with himself, Blair threw the car into gear and pulled out onto the street. Some days it just didn't pay to have his brand of imagination. ------- "Ellison! Would you come into my office, please?" Jim looked up warily from the paperwork spread out on his desk, sharing a brief glance with Megan. When Simon actually bothered to be polite, it meant there was trouble brewing. Stifling a sigh, he shuffled the sheaf of papers back into the folder they'd come from and stood to face down the lion in its den. Simon was leaning back in his chair when Jim stepped into his office, rubbing tiredly at his eyes with one hand. His glasses were lying on the desk blotter in front of him. "Sir?" Jim said, closing the door behind him. Simon reached for his glasses and slid them back onto the bridge of his nose. His expression was dark when he met Jim's gaze. "There was a murder last night," he said, "that looks like it may be ritualistic in nature. I want you and the kid to check it out. The call just came in; forensics should be on the scene by the time you get there." "Blair's got an appointment at Rainier this morning." Jim frowned as he accepted the report Simon handed him, flipping open the yellow folder easily. "Forty-six-year-old professor of anthropology," he said, reading aloud. He glanced up at Simon again, feeling a vague stirring of unease. "Wife found him in their home this morning?" Simon nodded, looking grim. "Take Joel with you, then." His tone sharpened. "And try to keep things under wraps. The last thing I need is another damned serial killer running unchecked through my city. This whole thing's going to turn into a media circus if you're not careful." Jim smiled dryly. "Gotcha." He could understand Simon's concern; murders with a ritualistic bent rarely showed up alone. Tucking the folder under his arm, he went out in search of Joel. It didn't take long to drive out to the moderately attractive tract neighborhood where the victim had been found. As Simon had predicted, there were several cars on the scene already, including the coroner and Serena's dark-windowed van. "It's kind of eerie, isn't it?" Joel commented as they made their way up the front drive. Jim glanced at him curiously. "What is?" "I don't know... this." Joel gestured helplessly, and Jim followed his gaze, taking in the neat rows of autumn-hued trees standing sentry along the street, the well-manicured front lawns, the young girl standing on her front porch at the house next-door and gazing at them with wide eyes as they passed by. "Yeah," Jim said at last, tearing his gaze away. "Eerie." It all seemed so normal, as if there hadn't been a violent loss of life somewhere within their midst. The interior of the house was a scene of carefully controlled chaos. Jim's attention was immediately caught by a young woman sobbing desperately where she sat on the couch in the living room, attended by two awkward-looking men in uniform who appeared to be trying to take her statement. She didn't look a day over twenty-one. "Grieving widow?" Jim guessed. Joel frowned. "Looks like it. You want to talk to her?" "Not yet." Jim noticed Serena and made his way over to her. "Hi, Serena," he said, unable to keep the faint note of despondency out of his voice. Murder scenes were not known for their joviality. "Where's the body?" Serena smiled wearily at him in greeting and gestured toward an open door at the other end of the room. "In the den. It looks like he fell asleep at his desk last night. The wife says that's not unusual, but when she found him this morning, he was dead." "Cause of death?" Jim's attention was drawn once again to the widow. She was truly distraught; while domestic partners were usually the first to be suspected in a murder investigation, he had his doubts as to whether it would prove a fruitful line of inquiry in this case. "I don't know." There was a furrowed line between Serena's brows. "A more accurate answer will have to wait until the autopsy, but as of right now, we don't have a clue. No obvious wounds on the body, no forced entry into the residence. All the doors and windows were locked. I'd be tempted to classify it as a suicide, myself, if it weren't for the markings on the body." Joel's frown deepened. "What markings?" Serena's eyebrow rose, and Jim had to bite back a snort of laughter that had very little humor in it. "What do you say we go find out?" he said, and Joel nodded. There were more cops packed into the expansive den, and the air was heavy with murmuring voices and camera flashes and the unmistakable presence of death. One wall of the room was nearly filled with tall windows that looked out over the back yard, and Jim stood for a moment at the threshold of the room, watching the wind shiver through the branches of the trees outside. The victim's name was Pete Sowers. He was still seated in the chair at his cherry wood desk, head and arms sprawled haphazardly across the top as if he truly had just fallen asleep as his wife claimed. His sandy hair looked tousled above the crisp collar of his shirt, but that could easily be his usual late-night dishabille and not the result of a struggle. One hand was cupped palm-up on the desk in front of his face, as if in supplication. Jim approached the body slowly. He could hear Joel's startled gasp behind him, along with a whispered, "What the hell..." It was a sentiment that Jim agreed with wholeheartedly. Every visible inch of Sowers' face and hands was painted in a bizarre tapestry of symbols that were vaguely reminiscent of fancy calligraphy, colored in varying shades of blue and red. Jim crouched down beside the desk, peering at the odd markings curiously. He let his senses explore the scene as much as he dared without Blair beside him, but could detect nothing that would offer a clue to the identity of the murderer. "What do you think?" Joel asked, hovering behind him. "Poison?" "I don't know." Jim narrowed his eyes, shifting his attention to Sowers' hands. There was something almost... elegant... about the markings. Definitely not the work of a madman. Or if it was, it was the sanest madman that Jim had ever seen. "I wish Sandburg were here to take a look at this." "Yeah, me too." Joel leaned over his shoulder to get a closer look. "Looks almost like some kind of language, doesn't it?" It did. The thought made Jim uneasy for some reason, and he thought again of his forebodings from earlier that morning. Abruptly, he pushed away from the edge of the desk and stood, startling Joel into backing hastily away from him. "Come on," he said, more gruffly than he'd intended. "Let's go talk to the wife." Joel gave him an odd look, but didn't comment on his sudden shift of mood. "Sure, Jim," he said, casting one last look at the body before following him out of the room. Jim didn't look back at all. ------- Blair gave a frustrated sigh as he sat down at the table where his notes and books were scattered, having just been reminded of the reasons why he hated microfiche so very passionately. He felt as if he was going to need a new prescription on his glasses from peering at the characters on that dark little screen, and he had absolutely nothing to show for it. Feeling vaguely depressed, he picked up his pencil and crossed off yet another avenue of study on the research notes in front of him. A sudden breath of silence behind him made him raise his head curiously. Around him, the library raged in its usual quiet way, filled with a scattering of students going busily about their work. Some were sprawled across the low couches by the windows, reading, while others moved back and forth from the long aisles of bookshelves to the study tables to the bank of computers that stood against the far wall. Blair let his eyes pass over it all, wondering what had caught his attention. It was virtually identical to the setting he'd seen every other time he'd been here. Shrugging, he turned back to his notes. A few more minutes passed, marked only by the faint scratch of his pencil in his notebook and the low murmur of voices that rose comfortingly around him. But then the feeling hit again, stronger this time, and he threw his pencil down in irritation. "What the fuck," he hissed under his breath, turning to cast his gaze over the room suspiciously. His heartbeat was starting to escalate, although he couldn't have said why. It was like in the parking lot earlier that morning, fear without any explainable cause, and it was starting to get on his nerves. Determinedly, he closed his eyes, trying to gain control of the adrenaline that was suddenly coursing through him. That was when he heard the soft growling again, so close it could have come from right beside him. Startled, he turned to face it, his eyes going wide when he saw a dark shape standing next to him. Feeling his heart begin to pound almost painfully, he lifted his gaze slowly, trying not to see the tall, slim form standing in front of him, the black curls that spilled down over the woman's shoulders, dusky skin, smart clothes, eyes dark in the near-expressionless face... Janet. Oh God, oh Jesus, it was Janet. Janet, who had died when he and Jim were investigating the murder of a representative of Cyclops Oil, long before the dissertation fiasco. Janet, who had risked and then lost her life in an attempt to bring an end to the atrocities being committed in her company's name. Janet, whom he had seen buried over a year ago. With a horrified cry, he sprang away from the table, sending his chair tipping backwards and skittering across the carpeted floor as the light went dim around him. Janet just continued to stand there, watching him, but that was impossible, she couldn't be here, couldn't be standing here, oh God oh God now she was reaching for him what was happening how could this be real and what the hell was he supposed to -- "Blair?" A hand on his arm made him jump back in shock, bumping his hip against the edge of the table painfully. The shock of it shuddered through him, and he cried out sharply, his heartbeat racing. He blinked, feeling disoriented as his vision focused again, and saw one of the kids from the Anthro 101 class he'd taught last year standing in front of him. Tina, his brain supplied for him, right on cue. Her name was Tina. Tina, not Janet, not a ghoul risen from the grave come to get him. Tina was looking at him anxiously, her expression one of mild bewilderment, and that struck him as so inexpressibly funny that he had to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from laughing out loud. He was quite sure that the laughter would have a ring of hysteria to it if he let it escape. "Blair?" she said again, tipping her head to one side quizzically. Her fingers hesitantly reached out to brush over his arm again. "Are you all right?" Blair glanced around uncertainly, looking for any sign of further disturbance and finally allowing himself to relax when he found none. Slowly, he got his breathing back under control, beginning to feel just a little bit foolish. Tina was small, petite, with carrot-orange hair and a lightly freckled nose -- nothing at all like Janet. God, how could he have thought he'd been seeing Janet instead of her? Just where the hell had that come from? "I-I'm sorry." His voice was shaky, and he clutched the edge of the table for a moment to steady himself. He glanced around, feeling the heat of the curious eyes around him for the first time, and blushed heatedly as he bent down to pick up his chair from the floor. "I-I think I've been working too hard. Or something." He forced a small laugh, deliberately turning his back to the gawking stares around him. "You know how it goes." Tina gave a hesitant smile. "Do I ever," she said, and he was suddenly, overwhelmingly grateful to her for letting it go so easily. She stayed for a moment to ensure that he was all right, and after chatting for a short while, she turned to go. As soon as she was out of sight, Blair collapsed back into his chair and rubbed a hand over his mouth distractedly. He was still shaking. Just what the hell was wrong with him? Just what in the hell was going on? He took another few minutes to get his composure back before turning to pack all of his things back into his bag. There was no way he was going to be getting any more studying done this morning. And right now, all he really wanted was to be with Jim. Snatching up his coat and shouldering the strap of his backpack, he left. ------- He was well on his way across town when he pulled out his cell phone to call Jim. Jim answered on the second ring, and there was a steady susurration of traffic noises in the background. "Ellison." Blair almost melted at the sound of the familiar voice. "Hey," he said, forcing a brightness into his voice that he was far from feeling. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything." "No, of course not. Joel and I are just on our way back in from a crime scene." Jim sounded honestly pleased to hear from him. After a moment, however, his voice lowered and he said, "Is everything all right?" Damn those Sentinel senses anyway. Blair sighed, shifting in his seat uneasily. "I'm fine, Jim. I just wanted to let you know that I finished studying a little earlier than I'd anticipated, and I'm on my way to the station." He paused to change lanes before speaking again. "So what's the crime du jour?" he asked, wanting to change the subject. "Murder," Jim replied, and Blair could hear the frustrated growl in his voice. "A weird one. Are you any good at locked-room mysteries, Chief?" Blair laughed, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off of him. Talking to Jim was therapeutic that way. "I don't know. We'll have to see when I get in, I guess." "Yeah, well I can really use your help on this one." The words sent a little frisson of pleasure skittering down Blair's spine. "There's something I want you to take a look at." "Okay, Jim. I should be at the office in just a few minutes." Jim sounded relieved. "I'll meet you there." Feeling immeasurably more cheerful now than he had when he left the library, Blair turned up the radio and hummed along to his favorite songs as he traversed the final few miles to the police station. He pulled into the parking garage and left his car in one of the visitors' slots, noticing that Jim's truck was still absent from his parking spot by the elevators. Apparently Blair had made it here first. "Hi, Blair," Rhonda greeted him as he stepped into the bullpen. Blair smiled and waved at her as he slipped past the knot of detectives standing by the door and made his way toward Jim's desk. He took great pleasure in sitting down in Jim's chair and leaning back with his feet propped up on a half-open drawer, tossing his backpack down on the floor beside him. This kind of casual assault on the furniture was something Jim would never allow if he were here, and there was a certain illicit pleasure in getting away with it now. The thought made Blair grin slightly as he caught Rafe's amused glance from across the room. Wadding up a smudged sheet of copy paper, Blair tossed it toward the wastebasket beside the desk and cheered inwardly when it went in without brushing the rim. God, he was tired. And he really could not wait to see Jim. He just felt so strange today, the brief panic attack in the library notwithstanding. When he heard the low growling again, it almost made him fall out of the chair. Shit. The sound made him break out into an almost instantaneous sweat, and he pushed his hair back away from his face slowly, deliberately not turning around. Tensing, he eased his feet down to the floor, refusing to give in to the slow-crawling horror that was beginning to burrow its way under his skin. What the fuck was going on, anyway? It didn't make any sense, and he'd be damned if he was going to let whatever this was get control of him again. Clinging to his anger as if it were a shield, Blair swung around in the chair and rose to his feet. His eyes probed the shadows that stretched between the desks anxiously, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. The growl sounded again, deeper this time, more insistent, and he moved toward it, ignoring the way the hairs were standing up along the back of his neck. It felt odd, tracking a noise he wasn't even sure he really heard. He kept his head down as he walked, looking into each shadowed nook and cranny among the desks and tables, lifting his head to gaze out across the empty office occasionally, seeing nothing. And was that right? Hadn't this place been bustling with activity just a moment ago? The thought made him feel suddenly cold inside, and he spun slowly, feeling panic grip him. He was completely alone here, and there were far more shadows than he remembered, dark, blue-tinged shadows that played tricks with his vision and left him panting when he tried to wrestle a grip on his emotions. Just what the fuck was going on here... The growl sounded again, closer this time, and he whirled to face it. His heart was racing, and it took him a moment to notice the small shape tucked away at the edge of the room, watching him. It was a fox. Its fur was pale silver shaded over black, like moonlight on water, and he spent a moment just drinking it in, feeling a sense of unreality move through him. The animal's hackles were raised, small teeth bared, tiny black eyes gleaming almost blue in the shadows. Blair stepped toward the creature warily. The only sounds in the room were those of the fox's low growling and his rapidly pounding heart. "I don't understand," he said softly, and it struck him as strange that it didn't seem at all peculiar to talk to the animal in this way. Everything felt unreal suddenly, or too real, and he didn't understand any of it. "Please, help me understand." He extended one hand slowly. Without warning, the fox darted forward and bit into the fleshy part of his hand. Blair fell back with a cry, more startled than pained by the attack. Those teeth were small, but they were needle-sharp, and he looked down at his hand dazedly, watching the blood well up from the neat semicircle of puncture wounds there. He held his wrist tenderly, sliding a thumb over the wound, smearing the blood there, feeling dazed. He didn't know what was happening, didn't understand what was going on, and then a hand touched his shoulder and he whirled to face it, heart pounding, and... And it was Jim. Blair blinked, overwhelmed by the suddenly bright lights in the room, by the bustle of activity around him. Jim was holding onto his arms, supporting him. "Are you all right?" Jim asked, looking concerned. Joel was peering over Jim's shoulder at him, looking equally worried. Blair was still clutching his wrist. He glanced down and saw that there was no wound on his hand, no blood, nothing. He flexed his fingers tentatively and glanced back at the corner of the room. The fox was gone. "Blair?" Jim said again, sounding scared now. His fingers were almost painfully tight around Blair's arms. That was enough to snap Blair back into focus. He looked up again, seeing the concern shining in Jim's eyes. "I-I'm fine, Jim." Now that was certainly no way to ease Jim's fears. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "I'm fine. Really. I just feel a little dizzy --" Jim's frown only deepened at these words. Holding up a hand to forestall any further explanation, he sent Joel away with a few hastily murmured words of reassurance. Then he guided Blair gently back to his desk and eased him down into the chair, ignoring the concerned looks being cast in their direction. "Sit down," he said curtly, but there was hidden affection in the words. "Before you fall down." Blair obeyed, still feeling shaky, and watched as Jim went to fetch him a cup of water from the dispenser near the door. The line of tension between the older man's shoulders was unmistakable, and Blair sighed deeply, rubbing at his eyes. "Here." Jim's voice had softened considerably in the intervening moments since he'd gone to fetch the water, and Blair glanced up at him gratefully, pleased that his hand wasn't shaking when he reached for the cup that Jim handed to him. He took a long sip, his eyes going half-lidded as he savored the coolness of it. "Thanks." "You mind telling me what that was all about?" Jim was leaning his hip against the edge of the desk now, arms crossed over his chest. Despite the bravado, he looked deeply concerned; nothing unnerved him quite so much as seeing his usually self-assured partner come undone. Blair ignored the question for a moment while he considered how to answer, taking another sip of his water. "I don't know, man," he said, shifting his gaze away uncomfortably. He shook his head, not wanting to talk about it. "It's just... weird." He was desperately afraid that Jim wouldn't let him ride along today if he thought there was anything wrong with him. And Jim had said that he needed his help. It looked as if Jim was going to press him further, but just then Joel appeared again, his normally boyish face looking haggard. "We've got another one, Jim," he said, and his eyes were as serious as Blair ever remembered seeing them. "Same MO. The cleaning lady at the residence just called it in; it looks as if he was killed earlier this morning." For some reason, his gaze shifted to Blair when he said it. Jim didn't say anything for a moment, but Blair could see the muscle in his jaw working. Feeling suddenly frustrated, he pushed to his feet and met Jim's gaze squarely. "I'm fine," he said firmly, which wasn't an out-and-out lie. Not really. Because he did seem to be fine now, even if he hadn't been a few moments ago. "And I'm coming with you. You said you needed my help on this one, remember?" Apparently Jim did remember, because the stubborn set of his jaw relaxed slightly, and he nodded. "Okay. But I want you to take it easy if you start feeling sick again." The look in his eyes said clearly that they would discuss this later. In detail. Blair acquiesced without protest, and Jim touched him lightly on the small of the back as they left the room. Such a casually protective gesture, it might have been missed by most. But Blair noticed, and it warmed him. It made some of his own fears dissipate, and he leaned against Jim's side discreetly as they waited for the elevator to arrive. The look that Jim favored him with then was filled with concern and affection, and it was almost enough to make Blair forget that he might be losing his mind. He smiled, wishing he had the nerve to steal a kiss. Then the elevator dinged as the door slid open, and it was a relief to turn his thoughts away from his own problems as he concentrated on the business at hand. ------- Dr. Thomas Eisner was chair of the sociology department at Rainier. He resided on the outskirts of the city in an old, colonial-style house that would have looked out of place anywhere on the west coast aside from Cascade, Washington. As it was, the structure blended in with a kind of rustic charm that was not entirely manufactured, shouting in its understated way about the wealth and good taste of its erstwhile owner. The body was lying on an upstairs bed, fully clothed with its hands folded serenely over its chest. Vacant eyes were open and staring up at the ceiling -- doll eyes, Blair couldn't help but think -- and the face was framed by a thick mane of silvery dark hair. The face and hands of the corpse were adorned with an intricate array of swirling designs, painted in garish blue and red. Blair thought that there was something indescribably horrible about the sight of him. Disregarding the jarring presence of the colored markings on the body, Eisner looked almost disturbingly normal. As if he were going to stand up at any moment and go about his business. Swallowing thickly, Blair stepped closer to the edge of the bed. He was well-used to ignoring the presence of the forensics team and crime scene photographers that swarmed around any murder scene, but it was still difficult to cross the room unimpeded by the crush of bodies diligently combing the room for clues. He really wanted to get a closer look at the figures scrawled on the corpse's face and hands; he had a feeling this was the reason Jim had wanted him here. As soon as he recognized what he was looking at, he sucked in his breath, feeling intrigued and unpleasantly surprised. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, "Jim, these are shamanic symbols." Instantly, Jim was at his side. "What do you mean?" he said, his brow furrowing. He glanced down at the corpse irritably, as if he were holding it personally to blame for all of their current woes. Blair shook his head. "I'm not sure. But these aren't just random scribblings. They have meaning, if you want to call it that." "What kind of meaning?" "I don't know." He bit at his lower lip in frustration. "I'm not exactly fluent in shamanic lore, even if I have been paying it special attention for the past few years. I'm going to have to do some studying." He glanced up at Jim curiously. "Who was the victim this morning?" Jim hesitated, then said, "Pete Sowers." Blair could feel his eyebrows trying to climb toward his hairline. "In the cultural anthro department?" He frowned, feeling a twinge of uneasiness move through him. His eyes slid back toward Eisner's corpse. "I think I'm detecting a pattern here, Jim." "Yeah." Jim didn't sound at all happy about it. Blair looked up at him again. "Well, how about it, then?" he said, lowering his voice. "Are those fabulous senses of yours picking up anything unusual?" Jim's gaze went unfocused for a moment as he swept over the scene, and Blair touched his arm lightly to ground him without even having to think about it. After a few moments, Jim shook his head in frustration. "No, nothing." Blair couldn't help the faint tug of disappointment he felt. "Which means that either we're dealing with a ghost, or someone who's just very good at covering his tracks." He expected to at least get a smile out of it, but Jim's expression remained grim. "There's something strange about these murders, Chief -- I mean, beyond the obvious. I've had a really bad feeling all morning." His hand moved to rest protectively on Blair's shoulder, and Blair leaned into it, letting the tacit comfort seep into him. "Yeah, me too." Blair refused to admit just how deep his bad feelings had run. He turned back to the body again, his eyes drawn irresistibly to the colored markings on Eisner's face and hands. And wondered why the sight of them should make him feel so very cold. ------- The afternoon light was trapped behind a thick screen of grey clouds when they met with Simon to go over the facts of the case. Despite every intention to keep the media unaware of the situation, the van for KCDE News had been on the scene when Jim and Blair left. Jim had avoided them like the plague, even as he wondered just where the hell they found their sources. The conference room seemed uncomfortably large for just the three of them today, but Jim didn't allow it to visibly bother him as he slid the open file folder on the case across the table toward Simon. "The autopsy on Sowers failed to reveal a cause of death," he said, rather pleased that none of the frustration he felt was seeping through into his voice. Blair was a warm and familiar presence at his side. "We're still waiting on Eisner. Both crime scenes have been swept through by forensics, but they couldn't find anything on the bodies or at the scenes to help identify the perpetrator." He paused, biting back a surge of irritation at this next confession. "And neither could I. Whoever this guy is, he's good, Simon. There were no signs of forced entry into the residences found. In the first victim's case, the house was sealed up tight when the murder was committed, although there was a spare key hidden outside that could account for it. No prints on the key, except for Sowers and his wife. That doesn't have to mean anything, though -- there were no fingerprints inside, either. Chances are, our killer was smart enough to wear gloves." Simon gave him a dark look. "So what you're saying is, we have absolutely no clue what happened to those two men." Jim hesitated only slightly. "That's about the size of it, sir." Simon harrumphed, seemingly unimpressed by this assessment. "What about the markings that were found on the bodies?" "Forensics has classified the substance used as an oil-based pigment with primarily natural extracts. The ingredients to make it could be found just about anywhere in the world." And now a twinge of disappointment did show up in Jim's voice; he'd been hoping that this, at least, would give them some clue as to their anonymous murderer's identity. Blair leaned forward across the table then, pointing at the glossy crime scene photos that Simon had laid out in front of them. "The most telling thing is the markings themselves," he said, either not seeing or else completely ignoring the impending thunderstorm in Simon's expression. "These are symbols used in the ritual traditions of Africa, mainly in Tanzania. Basically what it amounts to is a... a sort of ritual dishonoring of the enemy. So that anyone who comes across the body will know that the poor guy had committed some great atrocity that brought the tribe's spiritual warriors down in force against him." Simon stared at him blankly. "Spiritual warriors?" "Yeah." Blair was really warming to his subject now; he leaned forward in his chair, eyes intent as he shaped the words with sharp gestures of his hands. "They're fairly common in a number of different cultures around the world. Holy men, medicine men, spiritual guidance counselors... Whatever you want to call them, it's their duty to look after the spiritual health of the tribe. You know, making visits to the spirit plane, defending the tribe from spiritual attack, that sort of thing." "You mean shamans." Simon didn't look at all happy with this explanation. Blair nodded, seeming somewhat uncomfortable at the appellation. "Uh, yeah," he said, shifting his gaze away. Simon frowned, sharing a glance with Jim. "So what does that mean, exactly?" "We're not sure." Jim sighed heavily. "But one thing we've found out is that both Sowers and Eisner were on the same expedition to Africa this past summer." "Africa." Jim could practically see the wheels turning as Simon mulled this over in light of what Blair had just told them. After a moment, Simon leaned back in his chair, eyeing him thoughtfully. "So who else was on this expedition?" Jim pulled a folded piece of notebook paper out of the inner pocket of his coat and slid it across the table, having anticipated the question in advance. "Blair was able to look into the university records and find out for us. Apparently there were eight team members from Rainier, along with several support personnel native to the region they were visiting. They came back from the trip with a very lucrative cache of new artifacts, which are presently being stored at the Natural History Museum. Right now they're taking bids from around the country for several of the pieces, for quite an impressive sum." Simon picked up the paper and glanced briefly over the list of names Jim had scrawled there. "I don't suppose we know where any of these people are at the moment?" "Well, that's the really odd thing," Jim said. "Three of them left the university towards the end of the summer, and we're still trying to figure out where they might have gone. The others are all signed on at Rainier for the fall semester." "One of them, Mike Townsend, is a friend of mine from my undergraduate days," Blair added, shifting uneasily in his seat. "He's a TA at the university, and he'll be teaching a class later this afternoon. I'm hoping he'll be willing to talk to me, if there is something going on that we should know about." He sounded uncomfortable with the thought that his friend might be involved in anything less than completely lawful. "Yeah, well just make sure you keep an open mind about it." Simon leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes underneath his glasses, sighing tiredly. "And try to keep the media presence under control. I'm still waiting for the call from the Commissioner tonight when he sees Eisner's body being loaded into the coroner's van on the five o'clock news." Jim was grateful when Simon finally let them go. He didn't enjoy having his investigations raked over the coals at the best of times, but he was resigned to having his every movement held under scrutiny in high profile cases such as this one. There was one thing still bothering him, however. "Blair," he said, catching up to the younger man at the elevator after he stopped to drop off the case file at Rhonda's desk. Blair looked unusually harried, although Jim might not even have noticed if he didn't know him so very well. "Yeah?" Blair didn't meet his eyes as he stepped into the elevator, dancing lightly to avoid the crush of bodies that were making their way out. That immediately set off a whole clamor of warning bells in Jim's mind. "Would you mind telling me what that was all about back there?" "What do you mean?" Damn, but Blair could be a cagey son of a bitch when he wanted to be. Jim found himself grinding his teeth and made a conscious effort to stop it. Fortunately, they were the only ones in the elevator as he pushed the button for the basement level. "I mean that as soon as Simon mentioned shamans, you completely shut down back there." He studied the other man's profile carefully, keeping track of the slight increase in respiration, the elevation in heartbeat, the faint sheen of sweat that sprang up underneath his hairline. "What's going on, Blair?" Blair glanced at him ruefully, obviously realizing that it was a lost cause to attempt to hide from Sentinel senses. "It's nothing, Jim, really. I've just been having kind of a weird day." He chuckled slightly, apparently amused at his own reaction. "Simon mentioned shamans, and it got me thinking of Incacha. That's all." Jim eyed him suspiciously, not sure whether to take the explanation at face value or not. Blair was more than capable of spinning a line of very impressive bullshit when he felt the occasion warranted it. He thought about the brief panic attack he'd witnessed in the bullpen earlier that morning. Why would Blair lie to him if there was something seriously troubling him? Was he afraid that Jim wouldn't let him help out on the case if he felt there was something wrong with him? It was a valid concern, Jim had to admit. There was no way in hell he'd allow Blair to participate in this investigation if he knew it was troubling him more than normal. The thought made Jim uneasy, but there was really nothing to be done about it now. He needed Blair to help interview Mike Townsend; if there was any chance that the guy would open up more with his old college buddy than with an official police presence, they had to take it. But that didn't mean he had to like it. With a dark look, he let Blair know in no uncertain terms that they would be discussing this later. Blair only smiled at him and leaned in for a brief kiss before the elevator doors slid open. Blair was perhaps the only person in the entire world that Jim was unable to intimidate. Stifling an indulgent grin, Jim followed him out into the parking garage. No matter the prevailing circumstances, he had to admit that he was very glad to have Blair here with him. -------

SVS2-01: Eye of the Storm by Rushlight, Part 1