He would never know whether it was the low rumble of a great beast, or a flash of movement as familiar to him as his own hands that caught his attention. But Blair looked up from putting his pack in his car and turned toward the motion in time to see Jim turn a corner and go out of sight. Puzzled, since he knew his partner was desk-bound after yesterday's shooting, he hurried after him, breaking into a trot when he saw Jim was already at the other end of the block.
"Hey, wait up!" he panted. Oddly, the sentinel didn't slow or respond to his words, but kept to his course and disappeared around the next corner. "Jim, hold on, man. I just want to know what's up!"
Blair was worried now; the other man had given no sign of having heard him and that wasn't like the big cop at all. Putting on a burst of speed, he made the turn as Jim went up a walkway and entered a small brown stone building. Sparing a glance at the sign in front, Aveth Chesed Synagogue, Blair crashed through the door, then frantically struggled to put on his brakes while simultaneously changing direction to prevent slamming into the people on the other side.
Everyone turned a curious and surprised eye to Blair as he entered, though no one seemed alarmed at his sudden appearance. But there wasn’t the slightest indication by the group that Ellison had preceded him, nor was there any sign of the familiar form amidst the strangers.
Blair stood uncertainly shifting from foot to foot, feeling foolish for a moment. Maybe it hadn't been Jim; he hadn't seen the man's face, after all. No, he contradicted himself the next second; it had to be Jim. He would know that gait, that body language anywhere. But what to do next, and before the occupants of the room called the cops? Making up his mind, Blair fumbled in the box next to the door for a skullcap, put it on his head, then pinned the smile of a harmless visitor on his face.
Before he could approach anyone, a man left the group and held out his hand. "Rabbi Moshe Feldman. Can I help you?"
Blair took it, and his smile grew genuine. The rabbi was practically the same height as himself; after all the time spent with Jim and Simon, it felt good to be eye to eye with someone. The rabbi's head was covered with short, dark, tight curls that might be confused for kinky. His swarthy complexion, eyes to match, and wry smile gave him the look of the stereotypical scholarly Jew, but something about the confidence in the way the man held himself told Blair that it was far from all the young rabbi was.
Feeling instantly simpatico, he returned the introduction. "Blair Sandburg. I'm sorry to interrupt, but I thought I saw my friend come in here, and I was trying to catch up."
Looking puzzled, Rabbi Feldman swept a hand out. "No one has come inside for at least 5 minutes or so, which is unfortunate. We were hoping for someone to show so we could have a minyan."
Restlessly, Blair looked around again. "I could have sworn... about 6'2", bright blue eyes, great shape? Wearing a blue cable-knit sweater and black cords..." He trailed off, suddenly remembering the tan polo shirt and light jacket Jim had worn to work that morning. In fact, he couldn't remember ever seeing a sweater like that in Jim's wardrobe. He *would* have remembered it, if only to be able to borrow it; it looked decadently warm. "Never mind. My mistake. I was quite a ways down the block; it could have been another building. I'm really sorry I came crashing in like that."
"Oh, It's quite all right. In fact, now that you're here... would you mind staying for a few minutes? We only needed the tenth man for our services; Mr. Bloomberg over there would like to say kaddish today."
Blair knew the prayer for the dead could not be said unless there were 10 adult Jews present, but he hesitated in giving his answer. He hadn't been to temple in a long time.
Sensing his reluctance, the rabbi went on. "Mr. Bloomberg,” and he nodded to a very elderly man sitting alone in one corner, leaning on the glass wall to the courtyard, already wrapped in his prayer shawl. “Lost Mrs. Bloomberg last week after over 60 years together, including surviving Auschwitz. Yesterday was the last day of shiva, and all their children and grandchildren have gone home."
Mr. Bloomberg looked lost and alone, and Blair couldn't help but step forward. Besides, he didn't have anywhere he had to be anytime soon. "My Hebrew is a bit rusty. You'll have to bear with me."
"Gladly." Rabbi Feldman led the way into the chapel, introducing Blair as he went.
Later, after the others had begun to drift towards home, dinner, and life in general, Blair hung around. He found the young rabbi to be charismatic and charming, and saying as much, he went on, "...Your congregation is lucky to have someone so concerned about them. Mr. Bloomberg looked a 100% better when he left."
"Ah, Blair. That was neither I nor my compassion for his circumstances. That was the work of prayer; the sound of voices known and unknown, reminding him of *why* he should go on without her. Few things have as much power as that of the human voice to bind us to life and its joys."
They spoke a while longer, but that part of the conversation stuck in his mind. In part because it was so true, and in part, because of Jim. How does a sentinel react to the sounds of emotion in human speech, he wondered? Can he hear more, feel more in response? It was such a subjective question, Blair knew he couldn't really design a test for it, nor did he think Jim would stand for him trying. He grinned suddenly. His partner wouldn't even put up with him asking, probably. Still he couldn't help but mull over the possibilities all the way back to the station.
Coming into the bullpen, he quickly spotted Jim at his desk, wearing the clothes he remembered from the morning. A word with his friend assured him that Jim hadn't left all day long, and Blair chalked up the whole incident to mistaken identity.
He would have forgotten it, too, but for several days after, he kept hearing the rabbi saying, "Few things have as much power as that of the human voice to bind us to life and its joys." The words haunted him to the point that they began to interfere with his work both at the university and the station, then with his sleep. Finally, one evening while Jim was on a date, exasperated with himself for laying there tossing and turning when he was so tired he thought he could sleep through a lecture – one he was giving - he got up and dressed. Throwing on a jacket he took off on foot, determined to wear himself out so that he could at least *rest.*
After a cold snap, Cascade was enjoying warm weather, and the evening was so calm and peaceful that Blair walked longer than he meant, totally lost in his own thoughts. When the ache in his calves penetrated his absorption, he sat on a picnic table, rubbing at them, looking around. Fog had come in, blanketing the park, adding to the peacefulness. Admiring the softening effect it had, not only on sounds, but also on the landscape itself, he sat cross-legged, controlling his breathing and enjoying the effect. Everything looked so different: ethereal, mystical.
Idly he wished he had company with whom to share his thoughts and he half reached for his cell phone. Before he could take it out, he caught sight of Jim across the way, standing at the edge of a clearing, looking at him. He bounced up, waving, and headed for his partner glad for whatever had sent his roomie out in search of him. Hopefully he'd brought the truck and would save Blair a *long* walk home.
Before he had moved 10 feet, Jim turned and walked into the mist, a dark shadow flitting past as Blair lost sight of him. "What the hell?" he thought, stopping, hurt flickering across his face. Then, crossing his arms over his chest, he clutched his own upper arms, trying to fight off the shiver that seemed for the moment to take control of him. He closed his eyes, no longer sure it was Jim he'd seen, and tried to recall the fog-wrapped figure clearly.
He opened his eyes again and, there, barely visible in the uncertain light, was a man with his back to him, wearing a blue cable knit sweater and black corduroy pants. He half-turned towards Blair, obviously waiting for him. There was no mistaking Jim's profile, and not wanting to feel spooked, Blair obeyed the silent command and went after him.
They had gone less than a hundred feet when Blair lost sight of his companion in the gloom and mist. Moving to where he thought he'd seen him last, he called Jim's name several times, panic rising along with each word. Not only was he alone, but his surroundings were completely unfamiliar, and he had no idea of the way back. The fog crept around the trees, diffusing, dimming what little light there was so that he couldn't tell which direction it came from. He turned in place, telling himself he'd been lost before; he knew what to do. At worst he'd spend a chilly night waiting for the sun to come up and burn the fog off so he could orient himself.
With a last frantic cry of "Jim! Man, where are you?" he shut his eyes and concentrated on calming himself.
He nearly jumped out of his clothes when a hand closed over his elbow, and a woman's voice asked matter-of-factly, "Why do you expect to find him here? As far as I know we're the only ones around."
Almost falling, Blair whirled to face her and saw a middle-aged woman who had her graying blonde hair piled haphazardly up on her head. Dressed in a silver and blue running suit, she was waiting for his reply expectantly, head tilted as if listening intently. Her stance was reminiscent of Jim, and he looked more closely at the faded gray of her eyes and the cane she carried. "He was here a minute ago," he told her, automatically modulating his voice to a level he knew the sentinel found comfortable, and which he thought a blind person might find pleasant, too.
"I haven't heard anyone but you, though goodness knows you've been raising enough of a ruckus for two," she told him tartly.
"I.. think, maybe he's playing some kind of joke on me. You know, letting me think I'm lost in this fog so he can pop out and ask me why I'm so worried, " Blair obfuscated quickly. "Then he could be a smart ass and tell me that I'm only 20 feet from the road or our house or something."
She raised one eyebrow and offered her arm. Blair took it gently, not sure of her intent. "You live with someone who thinks doing that is *funny*? I'd recommend a new roommate. But, as the case would be, you are nowhere near anything except my favorite spot on the shore. One of the trees there has grown out over the water in such a shape it makes an almost perfect seat." She began walking briskly, forcing Blair to tighten his grip or lose it.
"Cool! Where..." He began as he matched his step to hers.
"And I am not taking you there. Would the main road through the park suffice?"
"Yes, I..."
"Good. I don't have all night to spend on escorting silly young men through the fog - though mind you, if you were a little older I think we could find better things to do. You have a very pleasant voice."
"Thank you. How do you..."
"I'm Catherine, by the way. Yes, I am blind, I was born that way, I can tell approximately how old you are by your voice and speech patterns, and I can think of no reason not to be out in the dark. For me it's just as dangerous in the day. Aren't you going to tell me your name?"
"Blair." He said, and waited, smiling down at her as they walked.
They walked in silence for several steps before she said, "Not very talkative, are you? Never mind, that shows how sensible you are, despite being lost."
"It's the fog," Blair told her, "makes everything look different." At a sudden thought, he added, "and sounds different, too. How do you navigate with all the noises muffled and distorted?"
"Oh," she said off-handedly, raising her cane so that Blair could see it, "I feel my way. My feet know the path by themselves; all I have to do is tell them to get going." She leaned closer, saying confidentially, "Frankly, I pity sighted people at times. Seems to me what they see must be terribly confusing, otherwise why do they have to concentrate so much *on* sight, you know? Five perfectly good senses and most can't tell you anything about the other four except what a baby could pick up on."
Turning that thought over in his mind, Blair opened his mouth to ask her if she thought she felt things *differently* from other people, when they came to a complete stop.
"Here you go; this is Hempstead road. That way" and she pointed her cane to the left, "takes you deeper into the park. I don't believe you should go that way, given your track record for the night. That way," and she pointed to the right, "will take you downtown if you pretend to have a modicum of sense and stay on the road."
On impulse Blair bent and brushed a delicate kiss over her cheek. "Thank you. Not just for getting me back on track, but being the most charming lady I've ever taken an evening walk with."
She smacked at him, but wore a pleased smile. "I knew there were better things we could have been doing in the fog! No, go on and get home, and dry off. You're getting drenched."
Before he could reply she stepped back into the concealing vapors and faded away. "Remember, if what you see doesn't make sense, *feel* your way."
Reaching for her, Blair took a step forward, but found only the cold touch of the mist. He waited a second, sure he would be able to hear her steps, but could only make out the drip of moisture and distant traffic noises. With a last, amused shake of his head, he started off, carefully choosing to go to his right.
He arrived at the loft, soaked to the skin, but feeling energized despite the long trek. Coming up the stairs he ran into Jim - still dressed in his suit from the date. "Been swimming, Sandburg?" his partner grinned at him.
Hanging back for Jim to let them into the loft, Blair grinned back. "Bet I had more fun than you, or you wouldn't be back so early."
Making a rueful face, the other man admitted, "Lara is beautiful, talented and intelligent. She's also a modern dance groupie. Twenty minutes into the show, I knew it was going to be an early evening. All I could think of to say about the performance was that it looked ... painful."
Laughing, Blair followed him inside, trying to shake off some of the moisture clinging to him before he crossed the threshold. "Me, I wish the evening could have lasted longer; met this impressive lady."
At the half-smile and raised eyebrows that Jim sent his way as encouragement, he launched into a description of his meeting with Catherine as he went into the bathroom, stripping as he did. For reasons he didn't think too hard about, he skipped how he'd gotten lost and simply emphasized her feisty, self-confident character.
He came out shrugging into the robe Jim had handed him through the door and finishing with her comment on how confusing sight must be. "It kinda made me think about you, you know?"
"No kidding. Well, it's a good point," Jim agreed, giving him a bottle as he sat on the couch. "The first thing you learn as a cop is how unreliable an eye witness really is because of how easy it is for the human eye to be fooled."
"Not yours?" Blair questioned.
He shrugged, lolling back and closing his eyes. "Much as I hate to put the notion in your head, partner, we've never tested how I see 'optical illusions.' Or if I do."
Fingers gliding in the dew on his beer, Blair took a breath and verbally dove in. "Maybe I'm the one who should be tested. I didn't mention this before, but, Jim, I went off the main road and got lost in the fog because ... I thought I saw you." Lazily lifting an eyelid, Jim waited silently for Blair to continue, and he did, unable to meet even that partial regard.
"I mean, I knew you had a date, but it's not like you don't come home early from them sometimes, like tonight. And there's always the possibility we had gotten an emergency call from the department, or from Simon, or God knows who."
"And I knew you were in the park because...?" Jim asked, his tone quiet and accepting.
"I didn't think about that at the time," he admitted honestly. "You have this habit of turning up when I need you. Granted it's generally something more important than wanting a ride home, like having a psychopath on my heels, but I guess part of me expects you to be around."
Turning his head, Jim studied him for a second, his eyes unreadable, then they warmed, as Blair only rarely saw them, into windows of a gentle and caring soul. "You know that works both ways, right, Chief? If I was at Hell's door, I think I'd turn around and find you standing there, ready with a hundred different ideas on what to do."
Caught off-guard by the unexpected confession, Blair only had a chance to shoot his roomie a double take before Jim stood, obviously ready to go up to bed. Patting him once on the shoulder, he said, "They say everyone has his identical twin; maybe you saw mine. Or someone who resembled me enough that you could mistake him at a distance."
"Especially under those circumstances - dark and foggy." Giving way gracefully to the sentinel's logic, Blair let the night's conversation go and wished his friend a good night.
***
The next appearance of Jim's doppelganger three days later didn't shake Blair as much, probably because he had been expecting it on some level. Quickly he finished his conversation with the curator responsible for the artifact he wanted to study and headed toward the vision of his partner. Still dressed in a blue sweater, the alternate Jim was leaning patiently on an archway where two black granite panthers stood guard. As soon as Blair was in motion, it straightened, looked at him directly, and went over the threshold.
As Blair stepped across himself, he looked up and down the hallway to see where it was, spotted the pseudo-Jim waiting in another doorway, and went that way automatically. The process repeated itself several times, his steps echoing loudly in hallways that seemed to go on forever as he followed the silent figure. Eventually it led him to a part of the museum under construction, clearly vanishing this time as it stepped through the door to the solarium.
Doing what was expected, Blair entered as well, finding a huge, brightly-lit room. It was filled with real plants, massive artificial ones, plastic and fabric bugs, stone and metal sculptures, and laughing children. Dotted here and there were grown-ups dressed in museum uniforms or business suits, and he remembered the museum employees and their families were getting a sneak preview of the new wing. Most adults were helping the youngsters explore, but some were cautiously playing themselves, their hidden delight sneaking out at the corners of their mouths.
Laughing himself at the sight of three small ones climbing over a 'spider's web' suspended over a overstuffed 'vegetable garden' mattress, complete with a large, fuzzy, friendly-looking Charlotte, Blair approached one of the watchers. He knew Beth from school, but didn’t say anything as he waited for her to finish helping a toddler through a tunnel coming out of the side of a tree. Once her attention was available, he grinned widely and said, "Hi - need another hand?"
Beth smiled up at him, apparently remembering him as well. "Hi, Blair. Nawww, we're doing fine here. Just letting the families of the staff beta test the new tactile playroom."
Watching a 6 year old solemnly fold herself in the petals of a fabric flower, announcing to her nearby mom that she was going to wake up a fairy, he told her, "I'd say it's a big hit. Man, this is a *fantastic* place for a kid's imagination."
"Not just kids. Go on." She gave him a gentle shove before helping another child out of the tunnel. "Have fun. It encourages the other adults to see their own age group playing." She spared him a quirky grin. "That is, if they don't mistake you for one of the kids!"
"Which one of us is wearing bib overalls, here?" he shot back, already wandering over to where shoes, jackets, and other unnecessary items were supposed to go.
"Who said *I* was a grown-up?" she answered, sounding a tiny bit prim. Then she grinned and dived down the tunnel.
Several hours later, after every one had gone and the room was closed, Blair relaxed on his perch, admiring the solarium again. Sitting on top of a huge replica of the Alice in Wonderland statue from Central Park, Blair leaned back against the metal Alice's shoulder and wondered if there was some way that he could talk Jim into trying this place out. Practically everything in here was meant to be touched, petted, rubbed, crawled over, under, or on. Even the flooring was deliciously soft and springy, a treat for all the bare feet.
Though he knew the big cop would emphatically deny it, he was sure Jim would find the playscape as interesting as any child would, and could probably take as much from it. Maybe if he masked it as a test... Or he could just drag him in here and refuse to let him out until he'd walked from one end to the other. The thought made him grin; Jim wouldn't be able to overcome the temptation to check out a *few* things.
"Now there's a grin the Cheshire Cat would be proud of." Beth said, climbing up to Alice's other shoulder, long, black braid swinging as she did.
"Just thinking how great this exhibit is." Blair told her, letting his legs start to swing a little. "Adults are usually pretty standoffish about trying stuff out like this, but this one sucked them right in."
"Probably because touch is the most basic of all human communication. It's literally the first thing we know about our world, and one we need the most."
Turning thoughtful, Blair ran a single finger over one of Alice's metal curls. //Why is part of you haunting me, Jim? What does it have to do with your senses? The rabbi taught me about sound, Catherine sight, now Beth about touch - nothing I didn't know, already, but why is important for me to be reminded?// "Why," he murmured softly, out loud.
"Beg pardon?"
"Why did the board,” Blair improvised quickly, “Give you such a hard time about this? You're their early-childhood specialist, if I remember correctly; you obviously," and he waved both hands to indicate the play garden and conjour the laughter that had filled it earlier, "knew what you were doing."
"It's very high upkeep, but worth every bit of it, I think. Just took some doing to convince them of that.” She sighed. “I just wish I could have added some other sensory stuff - like scent. Smells are so fundamental to childhood; that's why certain ones make us nostalgic."
“Actually it's because they reach us on such a primitive level. There are some studies," Blair agreed absently, “that indicate they’re as important as touch.” Already his mind was with his partner, worrying, worrying.
***
Leaving the museum a short time later, Blair made a beeline for the station, not sure how he was going to tell Jim about seeing the double again, but positive he needed to. Fortunately, it was a quiet day in the department, and he had plenty of time to think. Sitting beside his partner's desk doing university paper work while Jim did the same for the PD, he periodically looked up from his laptop to stare at the sentinel.
Mentally trying to compare what was in front of him and his memory of the apparition he'd followed in the museum, he finally blurted, "It's not a lookalike, Jim, it *is* you."
Without taking his eyes off his work, Jim shot back, "I know it's me, Sandburg. I wouldn't be so lucky as to have a clone or identical robot that I could shove this part of the job off on."
Tapping his friend on the forearm lightly to get his undivided attention, Blair corrected. "Actually I think it's your spirit. Or maybe your animal guide wearing your face, like you've seen it do in your dreams."
That brought Jim's head up with a snap. "You saw 'me' again? Where?"
Filling him in quickly, Blair reiterated, "Do you really think I could mistake somebody else for you in broad daylight 10 yards away? And it's not just the face; it's the way he walks, the way he holds himself, everything!"
"And you think it's my animal guide?" Jim asked thoughtfully, and Blair released a mental breath he didn't know he was holding.
"Unless you have another idea?" he countered half-hopefully.
"None. But usually when I see him, it usually means something is up with my senses. I've been 100% in that department."
"Well," Blair started hesitantly, looking back down at his papers, "It's like he's trying to tell me something about them or maybe teach me."
To his unexpected relief, Jim nodded slowly. "Could be. You're the one person I trust to understand this sentinel thing, what it can do to me."
"Whoa!" Blair sat back, blinking. "Careful there, Ellison, you might actually admit I'm useful to have around!"
Jim gave a shout of laughter, straightening and grabbing a tennis ball from a desk drawer to lob at him. "Can't have that. You could get the idea you should get paid or something."
"Speaking of which..."
"Watch it, Chief! Anything you say will get back to Simon."
"...you'd better get back to work." he finished smugly.
"Ha, Sandburg, ha." Dutifully Jim bent his head back to his task, but suddenly looked up and pinned the younger man with a glare. "One thing; maybe you shouldn't be so willing to go where ever this double wants you to go. For starters, it could be some sort of a trick."
"Jim," Blair tried to break in and reassure his friend again of how sure he was of his observations.
"And I'm not the nicest of people." Dead serious again, Jim pointed his pen at himself. "I'd like to think I'd never willingly abuse your trust, but we've already seen how much of an asshole I can be when it comes to this sentinel business." He grimaced, his face and posture sad and regretful.
"Jim," Blair tried to put in again, for different reasons this time, but the other man was determined not to let him.
"Anyway, be careful." Shutting Blair out stubbornly, Jim turned his face to his desk and pretended there was nothing else to say.
Stifling a well-used sigh, wondering when they were ever going to resolve the lingering guilt between them because of Alex Barnes, Blair let him get away with it. This wasn't the time or place for that particular confrontation, inevitable though it was. Shelving both that and his haunt, he went back to work.
***
The next day he was caught completely off guard by an animal's warning growl, and pulled himself up short to stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Looking up from the book he had been skimming as he walked, he saw Jim, wearing the now familiar sweater, standing only a few feet away.
Reflexively he reached toward the ghost of his partner – it’s face was so serious and pale - but it swung away before Blair could finish his gesture. He needed no prompting to run after it, but, somehow, no matter how fast he went, it stayed just beyond arm's length. The chase began to take on the surreal quality of a dream, with everything around him becoming wavery and unreal, sounds became distorted and strange to his ears. Shoving the perceptions away, positive he was awake and that keeping up was important, Blair ran until the double simply walked into a crowd of people and disappeared.
By now Blair knew that the Houdini act meant this was their destination, and stopped, bending over his knees to pant and catch his breath. For once, that activity was actually nice - the air here was filled with a dozen different aromas, only some of which he could immediately identify. Once he could stand without gasping, he checked for the source and almost immediately saw the banner stretching over the gate to the Cascade Botanical Gardens: "Taste of Cascade."
Placards on several easels scattered around explained that many of the local restaurants, bakeries, and other eateries had gathered in the pavilion to show off their best wares. For a nominal price a customer could have a bite of shrimp, fresh baked breads, assorted pastas, frajitas, eclairs, or anyone of a hundred other delicacies. Blair had seen the event advertised, and had thought of bringing Jim down, as much of because it sounded like fun as because of the practice it would give his partner in sorting out various scents.
Happily wondering what sort of person would come to teach him this time, Blair dug into his pocket and joined the line. Several restaurants he had been meaning to try were listed, and he spent several hours working his way through the booths. Eventually, satiated and sleepy, he took a plate of assorted miniature pastries and broke away from the mass of people, searching for a quiet nook in the gardens themselves.
Under a carefully tended Mimosa tree, between the rose gardens and the colonial herb garden, he found an invitingly plush patch of moss and settled down. Leaning back against the trunk, feeling the languor of warm afternoon sun, he nodded off, still absently wondering whom he was supposed to meet.
"Sandburg, a lizard couldn't look more at home basking himself there."
At the sound of his friend’s voice, Blair's eyes popped open and he gawked up at his roommate. It was definitely Jim, his Jim, squatting down next to him, holding out a bottle of water. Taking it to give himself time to collect his thoughts, Blair nodded at the exposed badge. "Don't tell me: the Mayor is attending this little soiree, last minute decision, and insisted that Major Crimes was the only team suitable for crowd control." He drank thirstily, only then realizing how dry he had become.
Helping himself to one of Blair's pastries, Jim shrugged non-committally. "For once, I can't complain. Can't remember the last time I pulled a duty I liked this much." He took a deep, appreciative breath, then sat beside him, popping the food in his mouth.
"I'm behind that. This has to beat garbage dumps and crime scenes all to hell, for scent." Jim nodded, took another pastry. Eyeing the few remaining, Blair added, "You're not going to leave me a one of those, are you?"
A little sheepishly he snatched back his hand. Almost as if in apology for eating so many, he offered, "It's more than that. Taste and scent are about the only senses that I can *enjoy* without fiddling with the dials. Turning them down isn't hard, and now that I *can,* it's almost automatic to adjust to what I'm eating. Except for the extremes." He lay back on the moss, stretching out as well, and yawning.
Blair said reflectively, watching the leaves over head bounce and shiver, "Well, that's adaptive for survival. If all your food tasted bad or was too strong for you, you'd starve to death."
"Whatever," Jim said sleepily, though there was an alertness about him that told Blair he was still on duty, mentally. "It's small, maybe, but it's the one pleasure I get from this sentinel thing that doesn't have a price tag of some sort on it."
"Price tag?"
"You know, " Jim said dismissively, as if it were self-evident.
Wanting to ask more questions, but reluctant to disturb the rare moment of peace for Jim, Blair tumbled the statement around in his head, seeing if he could connect it to the other things he had been picking up over the past week.
"By the way what brings you down here? I thought you were heading to the library to do research the rest of the day," Jim asked casually.
"You did." Out of the corner of his eye he saw his friend roll his head toward him. "Or more accurately, your doppelganger."
"Chief..."
"Oh, come on, Jim. What's it going to do to me in the middle of the day in a crowd of people that couldn't have been easier in the middle of the night in a fog filled park?" Blair said flatly. "I still don't know what it's up to, but all five senses have been covered now, so I don't really think it's going to show up again. It's up to me to figure out how it's all connected."
Jim looked as if he wanted to argue, but went back to lazing instead. After a while, he mused out loud, "Could my spirit guide just be trying to, I don't know, introduce itself to you? You know, show you my senses strengths and weaknesses, maybe so you can help better?"
"Weaknesses?" Blair countered doubtfully.
"Sound is too absorbing, sight too confusing, touch can be overwhelming, taste and smell too easily assaulted - you know *about* zones, Chief, and help me with them without even realizing, I think. But you don't *know* zones, if you catch my drift. Maybe part of me thinks you should, if you're going to keep on helping me in that department."
"Don't ever doubt it," Blair admonished mildly, then immediately back tracked conversationally so Jim wouldn't have time to feel uncomfortable with the statement. "That makes a lot of sense, man, except for the fact that I've *liked* all the visits. Liked the people I've met, liked the sensory experience. Even getting lost wasn't bad; just annoying until Catherine guided me out."
"Hey, just hypothesizing here." Waving a hand negligently in the air, he went on, "After all, it's happening to you..." Before he could finish the statement, he sat bolt upright, head tilted to listen. Mentally changing gears himself, Blair sat up readying himself for whatever came next. In the back of his mind, though, he dropped the whole conversation in a box labeled, 'To Be Continued.'
*****
Tying his hair back, Blair came out of his bedroom the next morning and froze in place. Standing at the balcony doors was the doppelganger, looking out over the water as he'd seen Jim done a thousand times. It turned, and smiled, lifting a cup of coffee...
....and Blair gasped, suddenly feeling as if the room were too small.
"Something wrong, Chief?" Jim asked, coming forward, setting aside the cup as he did. "Chief?"
"Nice sweater," Blair croaked, not sure what else to say.
Looking down at the blue cable knit, he shrugged. "A belated birthday gift from Stephen, hand made in Ireland. Just came in the mail yesterday." Abstractedly he rubbed a hand over his chest, commenting, "Softest one I've ever owned, I think." He pinned his partner with a look and finished, "Though hardly worth having a heart attack over."
"Ah, no," Blair managed to stutter, not sure whether or not to tell Jim why he'd reacted so strongly. Instead he asked, "What do you have going on for the day?"
Frowning at him for not answering his oblique question, Jim let him get away with it anyway. "Got a new angle to try on the Janson homicide. They gave it to Major Crimes because the boys in Homicide thought it might be because of his’s union connections on the wharves that did it. Strikes have been a big problem, and he was one of the key union reps."
Going into the kitchen rather than stare at his friend, Blair quickly poured his own cup of coffee, determinedly keeping his eyes down. "Wait a minute man, you didn't buy that from the first, as I recall. Something about him brokering a deal that he liked and was trying to sell every one else on it?"
"Couldn't get any of the players to talk to me, though." Jim reminded him. "Not about the deal, anyway. But yesterday his secretary said something about a problem with his brother-in-law, Torrenson. A *personal* one. Did some more checking and there was no love lost between the two."
"You think the brother-in-law did it?" Blair asked curiously.
"Feels right to me. Going to question the sister, then Torrenson’s wife. If what they have to say confirms my hunch, I'm going to talk to him personally. Already know he's going to be at a construction site where he's the foreman until the end of the day, so picking him up won't be any problem."
"Want some company?" Blair offered, hoping his friend would take him up without a debate.
Jim looked at him oddly, but nodded his head. "Sure, if you want. Probably going to be boring, though."
"I don't think so," Blair said shortly and dumped out his half-drunk coffee. Going to the door to get his pack and jacket, he added, "Given your people skills sometimes, these ride-alongs aren't any where near as uneventful as my mom would like."
Joining him, Jim shook his head. "Can't lay on the blame on me, partner. Half the time you wind up being at the heart of the situation without even trying."
"Only because I'm usually bending myself way out of shape making up for your brilliant diplomatic moves," Blair shot back, opening the door.
The two of them bickered good-naturedly all the way to the truck and halfway to their first stop. But it was too forced on Blair's part, and he'd gotten out of the habit of socially babbling around Jim. He hardly ever needed to, and being quiet in the big man's company was always so easy.
Usually, anyway. Today he kept giving other man sidelong glances, almost expecting him to vanish where he sat. To make matters worse, after the first stop, the doppelganger did appear in a way. Blair would peek at Jim and see two of him, one pale and ghostly imposed over the other. It would do whatever Jim was doing with only its empty eye sockets and insubstantial form to assure Blair that he didn't need new glasses.
Eventually Jim noticed the looks, and, if the sharp gaze he ran over his friend was any indication, something else, too. Growing irritated, but apparently trying to control it for Blair's sake, he went about his business, only occasionally snapping at his partner.
The last stop turned up the kind of information Jim had been looking for. An inconsistency in the brother-in-law's alibi, along with a confession from Torrenson’s sister that the dead man had been abusing her was all Jim needed to bring in Torrenson for questioning. They got back into the truck, and the dread growing inside Blair finally got to be too much. "Let the uniforms pick him up, Jim," he blurted before the other man started the Ford. "I have a bad feeling about this, and if you make a Star Wars crack, I'll eat garlic bread in the truck every day for a week."
Jim blinked, jaw clenching, his irritation colliding head on with Blair's worry. "Are you trying to tell me how to do my job, Sandburg?" he barked.
"No," he shot back flatly. "I'm trying to do the job you expect of me. Your dopple has been riding with us since Mr. Jenson's house, you're wearing the exact same clothes this time around, and this guy has a *lot* to lose if he's a murderer. Come on, give me a break here, and *listen* to me for a change."
Though he looked about ready to grind rock with his teeth, his partner stared out through the windshield, obviously doing as asked. Bit by bit Jim calmed himself, and at last twisted in his seat to face Blair directly. "Look, Chief, every story I've ever heard about prophecy, every time travel tale worth reading or watching, is usually based on one thing. By trying *not* to make something happen, you can actually cause it to. And none of the things my dopple did were *warnings;* you said yourself they were more like lessons.
"If something is going to happen, I honestly don't think I *can* walk away from it to avoid it. And, to be very blunt, if Torrenson *is* the cause of anything going wrong today, I'd rather be the target than an officer who's married, or fresh out of the academy with his whole life in front of him."
"They made the choice to be cops," Blair pointed out gently. "It's not your job to step in front of a bullet just because you think they have more to live for. Your life is as valuable."
The grin Jim gave him was rueful. "To me, too. But I don't ask another man to take my risks for me *because* he deserves his life too."
"I'm not going to be able to argue you out of this, am I?" Blair said tiredly.
"I'm sorry. I *will* be as careful as possible, I promise."
"Wear the kevlar, then?" Blair barely didn't beg.
"If you'll stay safely behind me if Torrenson does start. Deal?" Jim offered, turning the key in the ignition.
"Deal." It wasn't what he wanted, but Jim was right. The visitations had not been warnings, and with both of them on guard, they were in a better position to deal with the unexpected than someone going in cold. Not bothering to hide either his sigh or his concern, Blair fretted all the way to the Torrenson's job site, keeping himself calm by pure force of will.
He trailed after Jim as his partner questioned nearby workers for their foreman's location, then snagged a hard hat for both of them as they sought a path through the materials and temporary barriers inside the new building. They found Torrenson on the second level, walking the beams of a bare floor while he verbally guided an electrician through the blueprints for wiring. The slender, nearly feminine looking man glanced up as Jim and Blair made their way over the beams, saw the badge dangling from Jim's belt, and drew a gun.
Jim spotted the motion in time to hop from one beam to another, taking out his own gun as he did. Reflexively Blair dived down into the sub flooring when his partner moved, phone out and the speed dial for dispatch hit before he landed. Shouting the necessary information into the phone, he tried to keep an eye on the action above him without getting shot in the process.
Both Jim and Torrenson jumped from spot to spot using the support beams as cover. Torrenson obviously cared more about shooting a cop than getting away, though Jim wasn't making it easy for him. Jim fired only often enough to keep the gunman focused on him, letting by-standers get away and allowing time for back up to arrive. Either Torrenson realized that or he got frustrated at his moving target; shouting angrily he tried to rush his opponent. Under any other circumstances, Jim could have stood his ground and simply picked his shot, but the electrician who had been pinned by the gunfire chose that moment to prairie dog up. Seeing him and that he was directly in Torrenson's path, Jim ran away at a diagonal to draw the other man off.
Attention split between bullets, maneuvering and Torrenson, Jim didn't realize that the plywood casually dropped over two beams had no support. He stepped on it and it gave, dropping him to the sub-flooring with a crash. A few feet away when it happened, Blair saw Jim's gun brush over an open junction box, hitting the breakers, and causing an electrical arc that spanned from the gun to a drill inches from where his partner landed.
Scuttling under beams, dismissing Torrenson from his mind except as a potential problem, Blair darted for his fallen friend, slamming the safety switch on the side of the box into the off position. He barely had time to do more than scoop up his partner's gun when a trail of fiery pain ripped along his head and dumped him into unconsciousness.
***
The woman's voice that called him out of his darkness was soft, vaguely familiar, and very insistent. Blair opened his eyes reluctantly, not sure why he'd rather stay out, blinking them against the harsh glare of overhead fluorescent lights. At the same time smell kicked in, and memory told him all too clearly where he was. "Oh, man. The ER *again*!"
"We should just give you and your partner permanent beds here," the same woman's voice said wryly.
Warily turning his head, Blair met the nurse's eyes and managed a part of a smile. "Hey, Carol. We're not that bad, are we?"
"Sandburg, how many other partners do we know by name around here?" She shot back.
"I'm supposed to know?" Blair grumbled, hand going up to where his head hurt abominably. "Rafe and Brown, at least."
"Oh, yeah," Carol purred. Then briskly she became all nurse. "How's the head? Could you sit up if you had to?"
Without answering, Blair levered himself up, trying not to loose his lunch onto her shoes. "What happened anyway?"
"According to the EMT's, a shot meant for Ellison skimmed over the top of your skull before hitting his kevlar." Carol had one arm around him, professionally steadying him until his head stopped whirling. "Didn't even have to dress it, but it was so close you must have one hell of a headache. By the way, the officers that answered your back up call dropped the shooter - he's upstairs in the O.R."
"Wow. How long have I been out, anyway? And where's Jim? Talking to his captain?" Blair kept his head down, scooting closer to the edge of the hospital bed. When she didn't answer him right away, he shot straight up, meeting her worried eyes despite the pain threatening to knock him over. "He's okay, right? You said the shot hit the kevlar! He's all right?"
"It wasn't the bullets - though his ribs are cracked in a couple of places. It was the electrical shock. Blair, his heart stopped twice on the way here, and he stopped breathing. We've got a steady rhythm for him now, and he's awake. Sort of. Look, it'll be easier for you to understand if you see for yourself, and he's been calling for you nearly nonstop since he opened his eyes."
"Man, man, man, man," Blair muttered, hearing a growl of a wounded cat and seeing the pale, pale face of the doppelganger a few feet away. With Carol's help he got to his feet and staggered toward a secluded room at the far end of the E.R. Jim was in a bed held down by restraints although at the moment he was perfectly still. Fists clenched, muscles in his bare arms and chest standing out in tense relief, eyes screwed shut, he mumbled what was barely discernable as 'Chief' over and over.
Without thinking, Blair looked for the light switch and slapped it, leaving the only hall light to illuminate the room. He stepped inside, speaking softly but clearly, "Hey, don't wear it out, Jim. I'm here, man. I'm here." There was no immediate response from the man on the bed, but Blair crossed the room to stand by his partner, putting his hand on Jim's wrist just above the leather restraint.
"Why's he tied down?" Blair asked still using a quiet voice. "Did he get violent?"
"Not really, just kept trying to take out the I.V. and jerking away from the doctors. You know they need the I.V. to get the drugs into him faster, and that was especially important with his heart stopping. Why'd you do that, anyway? Turn off the lights?"
"Ah, Jim gets these really killer migraines sometimes," Blair told her, half truthfully. "And he's always really, really light and sound sensitive when that happens. The way his eyes are scrunched is similar, so I thought that maybe that was part of the problem. And I wasn't questioning the procedures, Carol. I Just wanted to know, cause Jim's usually fairly co-operative. For a cop."
"For a cop," she smiled. She considered, then admitted reluctantly, "Well, it does seem to be helping."
Jim had fallen silent, twisting his head in the general direction of the conversation but not acknowledging them other wise. Seeing that, Blair undid the strap on the wrist he held. "Look, you know that I have medical power of attorney for him; I'll take responsibility for this, okay? Have you ever heard of electric shock doing this before? Giving the victim a headache that drives his senses crazy?"
"No, not really. But I'm not a doctor; I don't know much about it. But we don't understand why electricity affects people the way it does when it goes through the brain, which it did in this case, unfortunately. A killer migraine is as possible as anything else, I guess." Carol looked at Jim uneasily, but he had only curled in on himself, putting his hands over his ears as he did. "Look, why don't I get a doctor in here and you talk to him? At least maybe you can get him upstairs where it's quieter."
"Thanks, I really appreciate it,” Blair said sincerely, moving to stand by Jim's head. "Do you think you could get me my cell? I need to get in touch with Simon Banks before he gets down here."
"Can do." Carol gave a small wave and left before Blair could even return the gesture. Putting her out of mind, he bent over gingerly, his own ears ringing from his headache, and murmured as quietly as he could. "It's okay, partner. This must be why the double was haunting me; I know what to do. Hang in there. Hang in there.”
Simon arrived less than half an hour later, and by then Jim had been moved upstairs. At Blair's insistence they had a private room as far away from the wards and nurse's station as possible. It had taken some doing, but he'd also convinced the staff to leave the two of them pretty much alone, except for necessary checks.
"Jesus, Sandburg, are you planning on moving the entire loft in here?!" At Simon's half amused, half outraged remark, Blair stopped reading aloud from his book, marked his place with a finger, and smiled up at the huge man as he pushed through the door, loaded down with the box of things Blair had asked him to bring from home.
"Hi to you, too, Simon," Blair said from his spot on the bed, sitting cross-legged next to his partner. "I told you, man, that electrical shock fried Jim's nervous system. All of his senses are all over the place. We need that stuff to help him recover."
"How is this," Simon indicated the contents in general, "supposed to help?"
Sliding off the bed, Blair began to unpack, putting things in place as he did. "Simon, he's seeing - sometimes, sort of, and hearing, sometimes, sort of. His sense of touch flickers in and out, and he hasn't been able to hold things together mentally long enough to let me know how scent and taste are doing." Blair set up both the white sound generator and his CD player, putting one of Jim's favorites into the machine without thinking.
"His dials are *fried*. We have to help him recalibrate and hang onto his sanity while he does." Taking out the lamps from Jim's bedroom, Blair set them up, replacing the harsh fluorescent with the softer light Jim would associate from his home. "We talk to him or read so that our voices are a steady lifeline that he can reach for when he's swamped with info from his other senses. We pat his shoulder or hold his hand for the same reason." He took out the sheets and pillow, grinning up at Simon suddenly. "We use his own bedding and dress him in the his favorite sweats for the familiar feel and smell of them.”
Resigned, Simon stopped staring at the too still man on the bed and began helping with the unpacking. "So your candles and home cooking for familiar scents and tastes. That just about covers it all, Sandburg." He was silent for as long as it took to dress Jim and change the bed, and then he asked tentatively, "How long do you think it'll take?"
"It takes however long it takes," Blair said firmly, settling himself back on the bed in his earlier position. "I understand if you and the other guys don't want to give a hand; I can do this by myself. He knows my voice and my touch best anyway."
Apparently reading the stubbornness he was projecting, Simon dropped the subject and picked up one of the books from the loft. "And listen to him complain about your reading selections non-stop for *days* when he comes out of it? I don't think so." Checking the spine, Simon amended, "Okay, maybe not. I didn't know you were a Kerovac fan."
"I'm not, Jim is. If I read 'Interdisciplinary Methods of Nonverbal Communication of Indigenous Australian Tribes', he'd tune me out. Sort of defeats the purpose, you know?"
Chuckling, Simon pulled up a chair and made shooing motions at Blair. "Go get some rest, kid. You took a knock on the head, too. I'll call if you're needed and you know that."
With that reminder, Blair's headache gave an extra pained thump, and he rubbed his forehead. "That doesn't sound like a half-bad idea," he admitted ruefully. "I asked them to bring a cot; think I'll go see where it is, then stretch out a while. The lights and noise won't bother me while you keep Jim company."
"That's *not* what I meant, Blair. Go home. Eat. Sleep. I'll call." Simon ordered.
Blair regarded his sleeping friend, thought about his aching head and the long haul ahead of him. Reluctantly, he started to scoot off the bed, an agreement for Banks already on his lips. "I think..."
His head shot up and his spine straightened as the low growl of an animal yanked his attention to the doorway. In it stood Jim's doppelganger, looking more like a man-shaped mist than the sentinel. Only the colors of its apparel and the terrifying holes where eyes belonged marked it as the copy that Blair had seen so many times before. Another growl echoed around the room, and he glanced quickly at Banks to see if he had noticed.
The police captain was still in his chair, waiting for him to finish his statement, regarding Blair a bit quizzically.
Without any other warning, the spirit flowed across the room, coalescing and condensing into first the suggestion of a panther, then into a solid, real looking animal that was flying across the room in mid-pounce. Though it came no where near Blair, with an icy shiver he *felt* it plunge into Jim. As it did his partner's hand suddenly curled around Blair's ankle, claiming it with careful force.
Replaying the visitations in his mind’s eye, Blair realized for the first time that during each one the doppleganger had been moving closer and closer to him, literally bringing him closer and closer to his friend and partner. And each time he had talked with Jim about the appearance, he had had shared unexpected confidences, bringing sentinel and shaman closer, as well.
Feeling rather than hearing the relaxed purr of both man and jaguar, Blair finished, “…. That I’m right where I need to be.”
finis