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Jim first felt the warmth around him, the warmth of Blair's arms, he soon realized, and relaxed back into the support. He sighed and reluctantly opened his eyes.
They were standing on a bridge. He'd been focusing his sight on a freighter far out to sea. And, once again, he'd fallen into the seductive lure, the sentinel siren song of focus, convergence, concentration, and, ultimately, a kind of peace he'd never discovered before.
Before Blair.
Because before Blair, the focus led to headaches, muscle spasms, outbursts of anger, and the silence of Jim's fears. Now that Blair was with him, he could relax into the zones, knowing Blair would catch him.
Jim took another deep breath and rolled his shoulders. Blair's hands fell away from him, and he turned to smile at his partner. "Thanks," he murmured, and then turned his attention once again to the freighter and their suspect.
He felt Blair's hand rest against his shoulder, and let his sight stretch across the miles.
Jim realized Blair was patting his face, murmuring his mantra, "Come back, Jim. Follow my voice. Come on now. Simon's waiting." He opened his eyes and saw Blair's face relax into a smile of relief. "Hey," he said.
"Hey," Jim replied, falling back into the moment. They were in the forensics lab, studying a blood sample taken from the dumpster where the most recent body had been found. But there was something else, something oddly sweet, that Jim had focused too deeply on. He still didn't know what it was, but he knew his Guide would help him figure it out.
"Get it?" Simon asked.
Jim shook his head. "I will, Captain," he promised, and Blair nodded solemnly.
The next day, in the morning while Jim was fresh, he and Blair started working through the chemicals stored in the lab. They cracked open a window, probably illegally, so Jim could catch fresh air in between each sampling, and turned on an oscillating fan to help clear the fumes from his head. Still, it was hard work, and by ten he had a splitting headache. Blair gave him aspirin and kept working him, though. He felt a bit like a dog in training; no option but to obey his master's voice.
He studied Blair while they took a break, standing next to the open window, breathing in the scent of the rain-soaked earth, oil from the streets, diesel fumes from a generator running on a construction site two blocks west, and the faint smell of roses from a flower shop a few blocks north. Blair was idly flirting with the techs, Tom and Ida, while he studied the list of chemicals left to sample and kept an eye on Jim's well-being. He smiled at Jim, that wide-eyed, brilliant smile that simply wowed him. Wow.
"Okay, Jim," Blair instructed, easily falling back into his professorial manner. "Let's start again. I have ten more for you to try. Sniff each one at a distance of six inches, then take a deep breath of fresh air. Try to describe the scent so I can chart it, and try to remember the scent. Okay?"
Jim nodded. Of course it was okay. Blair held out a small vial and Jim took a tentative sniff, wrinkling his nose. "That's it." He looked at Blair. "What is that? That's what was with the blood."
"MTBE."
"What the hell is it doing in the blood?"
"Well, it isn't necessarily in the blood because it was in the body. It could have been mixed, uh, post-mortem."
Jim nodded. Of course. "And the freighter was taking automobiles to Japan."
"And their gas tanks would have this additive in them."
Well. Now what? What to do with this information? Jim slapped Blair on the shoulder. "Let's take an early lunch, go to the park. Get some air."
Again, Jim woke to warmth. He felt protected, cuddled in someone's arms. Blair's, he realized, and then understood he'd zoned again. He sighed heavily and moved away. Reluctantly moved away, he admitted to himself.
He turned his head. Blair was crouched at his side; he'd apparently fallen to the ground. In the park. Great. He'd been lying in another man's arms in the fucking park. He looked around furtively, but it was raining. No one had seen them.
"Sorry," he said, and cleared his throat.
"S'okay, man. But what were you focusing on?"
Jim thought back. They'd been talking about the case, one Homicide had dumped on them. He shook his head.
"Come on, Jim. There had to be *something*."
"I don't know, Sandburg, okay? Sorry."
Blair studied him, reminding Jim of the bad days, when he'd been just a research subject, some long-term project Blair had adopted with his usual enthusiasm. He liked being Blair's partner better, although he would never ever admit it to Blair. He felt too much guilt for how that had come about.
Finally, Blair stood up and stretched, then reached down to help Jim to his feet. "Places to go, things to do," he said mildly. Jim understood that Blair had forgiven him for being rude but that the subject would be discussed, at length, at a more appropriate time. He nodded and followed Blair to the pickup.
Simon stopped by Blair's desk and motioned for him to follow him to his office. Jim was in court and would be there most of the day; they were supposed to meet for lunch.
"Sit down," Simon instructed, as he collapsed into his chair. Leaning back, he studied Blair thoughtfully. "Been a long time since we first met, Sandburg."
"Yes, sir."
"Lotta shit's come downstream since those days."
"Yes, sir."
"You still helping Jim with this sentinel thing?"
"I try to."
Simon rocked forward, putting his hands on his desk. "What's wrong with him, Blair? He's zoning more than ever these days, isn't he." It wasn't a question.
Blair looked out the window, at the grey and dismal day outside. He nodded.
"Why?"
A shrug.
"Sandburg," Simon growled. "Talk to me. Talk to your supervisor. Talk to Jim's friend."
Blair finally looked at Simon. "I don't know. I've noticed it, too. He should be getting better, Simon, I mean Captain."
Simon waved a careless hand. "Right now, we're talking as friends. But if this keeps up, we'll be talking as captain to detective, you understand? Fix him, Sandburg. Whatever's wrong, fix it." He glared at Blair, and then pulled a cigar out of the large humidor on his desktop. Blair recognized that as a dismissal and left.
Back at his own desk, he stared into space. He thought he knew what was wrong, why Jim was zoning ever more frequently, but he couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe the implications. Jesus.
He jumped when his cell phone rang. It was Jim. Court was out for a few hours; they'd have lunch at the Green Turtle.
Jim sat watching the Sunday night news by himself, just like he'd done everything by himself, all weekend. He didn't know what Blair's deal was, but something was definitely up. Blair had been hibernating in his room day and night, ever since his zone-out in the park. That night, he'd come home late, with a couple of notebooks stuffed full of folders and papers.
He had joined Jim for dinner but afterwards had gone straight to his room, saying he'd gotten some new research materials and was going to read through them. And for the rest of the weekend that was pretty much what he'd done, staying in his room, venturing out only for snacks and bathroom breaks. As far as Jim could tell, he hadn't even been sleeping much.
Without Blair's company, the weekend had been different from what Jim was used to. He'd gone to the gym both days, and to REI, and had even gone to a movie by himself, something he hadn't done in ages. And he'd caught up on laundry, big time. Every sheet and towel in the place was either on a bed or hanging freshly in the bathroom, or folded and put away. He hadn't known what else to do. Now, sitting slouched on the couch watching the news, he found himself looking forward to the work week, when Blair would have to spend time with him.
Around eleven-twenty Blair emerged from his room and came over to stand behind the sofa, directly behind where Jim was sitting, placing his hands on top of Jim's shoulders. "Hey," he said.
Jim twisted his neck around, trying to look at Blair. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing's wrong. Don't freak out," Blair responded, letting go of Jim's shoulders and reaching down to lace his fingers together below Jim's throat. Jim tensed, but then relaxed after a few moments when Blair didn't make any more sudden movements. When Blair spoke again his voice was low and persuasive, almost but not quite like his guide voice. "Listen. This week I want to do an experiment."
"Some kind of test?" Jim asked.
""No. Not really like a test. You won't be measured. There's just some stuff I want to try." He separated his hands and pressed them down against the front of Jim's shoulders. "It's touchy-feely stuff. You think you can handle it?" he asked, giving Jim a little shake.
"Well . . . what's the experiment for?"
"I can't tell you any more Jim, 'cause it would invalidate the experiment." He folded his hands together again over Jim's breastbone, and pulled him back so that his head was pressed against Blair's belly. "What do you think? Are you up for it?"
"How long will it last?"
"About a week."
"All week?"
"Not all the time."
"Will I know when it's happening?"
"Oh, yeah, I think so," Blair laughed.
Jim considered . . .
He was still thinking about it in the morning, standing in the kitchen making coffee and toast and wondering what was taking Blair so long to get ready. He gave Blair five more minutes while he skimmed through most of the front section of the paper, but then Blair still hadn't made an appearance so he launched into step one of his late-Blair procedures. "Sandburg! It's seven forty-five. Get a move on!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming. Shit!" Blair came out of his room with his backpack in one hand and a high-top tennis shoe in the other, mate to the one already laced up on his left foot. He set his pack on the bar and bent over to pull on the shoe, then hopped one-legged over to the table, tugging all the while on the tongue to get it into position before bracing his foot against a chair and doing up the laces.
From the kitchen, Jim watched the entire performance, shaking his head. "Don't have an accident there, Chief. And get your foot off the chair."
"It's just wood, Jim. The chair's not gonna get hurt." Blair stood straight and checked his watch. "Oh, man. Come here," he said, walking toward Jim.
"What?"
Blair grabbed Jim's sleeve and started to pull him close. "Put down the coffee, man. Just come here."
Jim set his cup on the counter and suddenly there was Blair pressed up against him, arms wrapped around him, holding him tight. Not knowing what to do, he just stood there, hands in the air, assuming this was part of the experiment but uncertain of the role he was expected to play. "We're gonna be late, Chief," he said, just to say something.
"It's okay. This is important. Put your arms around me."
He shifted his feet, and slowly brought his arms down to wrap them across Blair's back. He had maybe fifteen seconds to contemplate what Blair might be trying to accomplish through this embrace, plus another second or two, no more, to decide that he would bear it, whatever it was, before Blair started speaking.
"I have to go down to forensics this morning, and I know you're going to the DA's office, to give a deposition. Do you wanna meet for lunch?"
The practical words startled him. There was Blair, attached to Jim like an octopus and resting his forehead on Jim's shoulder, talking about such mundane things as his schedule for the day. It took him a bit to formulate an answer, but finally he found his voice. "Uh, let's play it by ear. If it works out, I wanna try that new Mongolian barbecue place."
"Okay," said Blair, lifting his head off the one shoulder and laying it on the other. He moved his arms slightly, pulling Jim nearer. "So I guess you'll be a total bear when you get home tonight."
Right now, holding Blair, that didn't seem like a possibility. "Maybe not," he said.
"I mean, 'cause you hate giving depositions, right?"
"Yeah. I guess." But really, right now, he didn't hate anything. All seemed right with the world.
Suddenly Blair pulled back and looked him in the eye, leaving his hands at Jim's waist. Wearing a rueful expression, Blair said, "We gotta go. We really *are* late, now. Come on."
As Blair gathered up his bags and keys, Jim had a sudden urge to kiss him. He fought it down.
So the experiment was like this, then.
Fix him, Simon had said, Blair thought as he stared at Jim. He sat motionless on the couch, staring out the balcony doors, at the miraculous sunset glowing on the horizon. The colors almost tranced Blair out; he could only imagine what sentinel vision was seeing. Pink, rose, apricot, even a pale green, filling the sky.
He looked back at Jim. This time, he didn't touch him, just sat on the coffee table blocking his vision of the sky. "Hey, Jim," he said in his guide's voice, the special one that had come naturally to him, as naturally as breathing. "Come on back, okay? I'm right here waiting for you. I've got spinach puffs baking in the oven; can you smell them? Mmmm, come and get 'em." Blair felt like an idiot.
"Jim. Jim!" He was getting pissed. "Goddammit, Jim, just knock it off! Jim! Fuck you, Jim! Do you really think I don't know what you're doing? Knock it off! Stop it!" He was almost shrieking, panting with his efforts. Jim sat there, eyes blank, chest barely moving.
Well, he had a pretty good idea what would work. Blair leaned forward and put his hands on Jim's shoulders, gently shaking them. "Hey, hey," he whispered, and Jim returned, Blair could see it, he *returned* and his eyes focused on Blair and he smiled.
"Hey," he said back. "What smells so good?"
Blair let him go and sighed. "I'll get you a plate. Just sit there, and for god's sake, don't look at the sunset."
"Why not? Oh, shit; did I zone again?" Jim's face pulled into a frown. "Jesus, Sandburg. I," but he stopped talking and looked away.
"Tell me about it," Blair murmured as he headed into the kitchen.
Jim was washing up while Blair, who had done the cooking, was in his room with the doors closed. He came out just as Jim was finishing, and the expression on his face made Jim take note. Blair looked . . . hesitant.
"What were you doing in there?" Jim asked.
"Just reading." Blair came into the kitchen, and dug a bag of cashews out of the cupboard.
"You still hungry, Chief? You just ate."
"Yeah. Let's watch tv," Blair suggested.
"Watch tv?" Jim repeated.
"Yeah," said Blair, moving to the couch. "Come sit with me."
Jim shook his head, bemused. The way Blair said it, it sounded like they were going to watch tv with a purpose. "What's on?" he asked.
"I don't know," said Blair, munching on cashews. "We'll find out." He picked up the remote and began flicking through the channels. "Come sit with me," he said again.
He was up to something; Jim could see that. His heart rate was mildly elevated, and his temperature had dropped a little, all of which meant he was nervous. The next phase of the experiment must be forthcoming.
Jim went over to the couch and sat down beside Blair, promising himself he'd behave. He'd had fair warning; he'd signed up for this. And this first phase of the experiment hadn't been so bad. He supposed he could handle whatever Blair had in mind now.
Blair had settled for a sitcom. Jim sat beside him stiffly, and watched it. Presently he said, "I don't know any of these people. I used to watch tv a lot, but I haven't in ages."
"When did you stop?" Blair asked.
Years ago, he thought to himself. I stopped when you moved in. Suddenly, I had better things to do than lie on the couch and watch tv all evening. But he didn't say this to Blair. It wasn't that important, really, but at the moment if felt like it would have been a confession of sorts. He didn't want it to affect the experiment.
They watched the show, neither saying anything, and after about ten minutes Blair scooted back into his corner and turned sideways to face Jim, bringing one leg up onto the cushion. Jim glanced at him, and Blair caught his eye and reached out to take Jim's upper arms, folding his fingers around them gently. He began pulling Jim forward with both hands. Jim shrank back a little. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.
Blair placed his hands on Jim's shoulders and took a deep breath. "I want you to be comfortable, but I want you to hold on to me while we watch tv. We'll just . . . lie here together for a while." When Jim didn't say anything, he added, "It'll be okay. Come on."
Blair drew Jim into his lap, and Jim went there, settling himself with the side of his face pressed against Blair's chest, and one arm around Blair's waist. It was weird, and there was no way he could watch tv like this, with Blair's nearness pounding against his senses like waves upon a shore. But he could pretend.
He was beginning to wonder what he'd do when the experiment was over.
It was later than usual when Jim got home that night, and he had to struggle to get the door open. He had his gym bag, for one thing, plus a bag of groceries he'd picked up. As he fumbled through his keys at the door to the loft he could hear Blair inside, sitting on the sofa watching tv, flicking through the channels. He could even hear Blair taking his feet off the coffee table as he turned the knob.
When the cat's away, he smiled to himself. Still, he thought it odd that Blair should be sitting around watching tv. He wasn't normally much of a tv watcher.
Once inside, Jim set Blair's book on the kitchen counter. "Hey, Chief. J'eat yet?"
"Yeah, I gave up on you around seven. Didn't know how late you'd be. I left it out for you though. I made stir-fry. There's still rice in the pan."
"Okay," said Jim, from halfway up the steps.
Upstairs, he remembered the way he'd been with Blair, the night before, and decided to change clothes. Jeans were nice, but sweats were better, for cuddling on the couch. If cuddling was the right term for it -- maybe Blair had another word. An academic word.
The touchy-feeliness of Blair's experiments had been escalating, and he wondered what would happen tonight. What could come next, after last night?
He wondered about the experiment as he changed clothes. It disturbed him that he enjoyed it so much. No, enjoyed wasn't the right word. Needed it. Blair was definitely on to something. Jim stood by his bed, looking down at his roommate. He wanted to go downstairs, to find out what would happen next, but he feared it as well. He sighed, and started down. It wasn't that bad.
This time they were in public and a lot of people saw. Blair looked at Jim as he lay unmoving on the marble floor of the bank, surrounded by cops and customers and bank employees and even the bank vice president. Everyone had frozen for a moment when he'd fallen heavily to the floor, a felled redwood. Blair had tried to catch him, but he was no match for Jim, and they'd both gone down. Blair had bumped his knee on the unforgiving floor, but at least he'd kept Jim from cracking his skull on it. Although he deserved a good crack, Blair thought resentfully, rubbing his knee.
Now all hell had broken loose. "Medic! Medic," some uniform was yelling. There was a ring of people watching Blair and Jim; they seemed to be more interesting than the robbery had been.
Blair knelt at his friend's side. He knew what to do, he was just a little embarrassed to do it in front of so many people. He put his hands on Jim's face, one on each cheek, and bent his own head down. "Jim. Jim. Wake up, buddy. Got an audience this time. I'm not going to cuddle you here, so you might as well wake up. Come on, Jim."
But Jim lay there, sleeping beauty in repose. Silent and unmoving and beautiful and so fucking frustrating to Blair. The paramedics were coming in the doors and Blair knew he had only a few seconds more. He lay down next to Jim and put his arms around him. "Please wake up, James. Please."
"You need to move away, sir," the paramedic said, but Jim's eyes fluttered opened and he took a deep breath.
"Oh, man," he said, and sat up suddenly, knocking Blair sideways.
Blair, wincing from his swollen knee, stood up. "Get up, Jim," he said sternly, and watch Jim's face redden as he realized what had happened.
"No, please, sir; we need to check you out." But Jim brushed them off like gnats. He knew what was wrong, Blair thought resentfully as he watched Jim hurry outside. The first paramedic looked up at Blair, who shrugged.
"He does that sometimes."
"He needs to get checked out," the paramedic said again. "It could be epilepsy." Blair nodded and thanked her, then followed Jim outside, pushing his way through the crowd.
Jim was talking to Simon, as if nothing had happened. Simon glanced up at Blair and did a double-take.
"You okay?"
"No. Get in the truck. We need to talk." Jim stared at him, blushing again, then looked at Simon, who waved him off.
"Again?"
"Yeah."
"You know why?"
"I think I do."
"Can you make it stop? 'Cause I'm telling you, Blair. Word's getting around. Something's going to happen."
Blair nodded and followed Jim, who was standing near the truck, arms folded, looking simultaneously embarrassed and angry.
"Get in the truck," he said again. After a few seconds, Jim obeyed, slamming the door behind him.
"Don't embarrass me in public," he started to say, but Blair interrupted him.
"Embarrass *you*! So it's fine to embarrass me? Do you know what you're doing, Jim? Do you know how often you're doing it?"
Jim stared at him, the anger running off him like rain off a window. He is a window to me, Blair thought, as he saw understanding fill Jim in place of the anger. Jim blushed furiously and looked away.
They sat in silence for almost a minute. A long minute. Blair was breathing as heavily as if he'd been running. He took a deep breath, trying to center himself.
"I'm serious, Jim," he finally said. Jim still wouldn't meet his eyes. He seemed to be staring at the odometer. "This has to stop. They're going to take you off active duty if it happens again." This was a slight exaggeration, but Blair felt justified in using it as a weapon.
Jim nodded, still silent.
"Do you know what's going on?"
After a few seconds, Jim nodded. "I think so," he said, barely audibly.
Blair sighed and rolled his head back, trying to relax his neck muscles. "Okay. I think I know what to do about this. But you need to go along with me, Jim. Will you do as I say?"
Jim finally glanced at him, almost shyly. He nodded. "You need to step up the experiment."
"Yeah. Yeah. Okay, let's go home and get started. Simon will understand." Jim obediently started the truck and pulled out of the parking lot.
"You hungry?"
Jim nodded.
"I'll tell you what. Since you're being so cooperative, stop at Wonderburger."
Jim didn't take his eyes off the road, but he smiled.
The burgers eaten and the wrappers disposed of, Blair had Jim lie on the couch, his feet hanging off one end. Then Blair sat next to his hips. Jim scooted deep into the couch, but Blair followed him, so they were still touching.
When Jim settled down and stopped pulling away, Blair leaned forward and put his hands on Jim's shoulders. Jim's face reflected the concern he was feeling, but Blair was implacable. He stayed in that position again until Jim became accustomed to it. Or perhaps resigned to it. He had promised.
Then Blair leaned even farther forward, until their chests and stomachs were touching. He turned his head so they lay cheek to cheek. He felt Jim jerk back, gulping, but Blair simply relaxed more deeply into the embrace. After a few seconds, he felt Jim's hands come around his back. He hugged Jim more tightly, and Jim followed suit.
He felt the muscle tension leave Jim's body. Jim shifted into Blair's body, into the warmth and comfort he offered his friend. Jim's arms tightened almost too much.
After several minutes had passed, Blair said, "Do you know why I'm doing this?"
Jim hesitated several seconds before answering. "I need it," he said softly.
"That's right. That's why you're zoning so much. You need me more and more, and you think that zoning's the only way you can get me."
Another long silence, and then Jim asked, "Isn't it?"
Blair pulled back slightly, just enough to look Jim in the face. He was completely resting his weight against Jim's body. "No. You can have this whenever you want. You don't even have to ask. Like Nike says, just do it."
Jim closed his eyes and Blair felt his breath catch. "You can't mean that."
"Why not?"
"It's sick." Jim's voice was too loud. But he didn't pull away from Blair.
"Maybe. I don't know. I've studied a lot of cultures, Jim, and I have to tell you that you don't find many as weird about touching as the US is. If we lived almost anywhere else in the world, nobody would think this was sick."
"We live here, though."
"We live in our own place, Jim, a place where there are sentinels and guides and territorial imperatives and a need to protect. I think that's a sign you should read. We're not sick. We're different."
Jim studied him, his lips thin with some emotion Blair couldn't readily identify. Fear? Distress? Disgust? Impulsively, he ran a gentle finger across those lips and was delighted by Jim's look of pleased surprise.
He left his finger there, across those lips, lightly stroking them. Jim slightly opened his mouth and Blair put his finger inside, feeling the sharp teeth, the warm tongue. He pulled it out and put it in his own mouth, thinking: This is Jim. This is my Jim.
"What are we going to do, Blair? Isn't the experiment working?"
Blair put his head back down next to Jim's and cuddled up to him. He felt good to Blair, firm and strong. Comforting. And yet here Blair was, comforting Jim. Strengthening him.
"Yeah. It is. So we're gonna do this, Jim. Every day. That's why you're zoning. You weren't getting touched enough."
"I touch you all the time."
"Yeah, but you touch me like you're getting away with something. Like you're the only one involved. When you touch me, I don't get to touch you back. You back away at that point. That's where you draw the line. And I don't think that's best for you. I think you need more than that."
"Blair," Jim's voice sounded strangled with misery. "I need you so much."
"I know. I'm sorry. I knew and I didn't do anything. It's my fault. I'll take care of you now, Jim. Just relax. It's not so bad, is it? Isn't this better than zoning?"
Jim patted Blair's back awkwardly, then pulled him in even tighter. "Yeah," he agreed, and now he sounded sleepy. Blair twisted on the couch until he was lying next to and half on Jim.
"Go to sleep, Jim," he instructed in his guide's voice, and felt Jim drift off.
He lay there, next to Jim, guarding his sentinel. He thought about who he was, about what a guide was, what a guide's responsibilities were. He thought about Jim, trying so hard to be a good cop and a good person, struggling with the onslaught of his senses.
I can do this, he decided, snuggling against Jim's broad chest. It's who I am. It's what I looked for all those years, all those long, lonely years spent in libraries and museums. Breathing all that dust and mold, spending the night in my carrel in the library, being laughed at by other students and by my teachers. I finally found it, he thought. I'll do what I have to to keep it.
Jim stirred in his sleep, murmuring softly. "Chief," he said, "oh, Chief."
Blair thought he heard the rest of his life in those words. Nothing happens by chance, he thought just before he, too, fell into sleep.
Nothing happens by chance.
Ecclesiastes 4:13
Better to be a poor and a wise child than an old and foolish king, who will no more be admonished.