Hallucinations
 

Peace and relaxation. Camping in a forest near an old abandoned mill, breathing in the natural scents, nights around the campfire, fishing, just the two of them...

Yeah, right. Jim tilted his head as he heard excited voices. "I thought you said that mill was abandoned?" he pointed across the clearing to a battered, dilapidated old building, paint peeling off rotten wood.

"It is," Blair turned, a chock of wood in his hand. "What is it, Jim? What're you picking up?"

"Voices." Jim got to his feet. "Someone's in there."

"Could be backpackers," Blair suggested, dropping the wood and standing next to his Sentinel. "Me and Naomi used to do it all the time if we couldn't get the money for a room. Just pick an old building and sack out for the night. No harm done."

Jim shook his head. He was picking up more noises now, tinny, like a broadcast. "You and Naomi ever take a TV with you?" Blair shook his head. "I'm going in for a quick recce. You stay here."

"Right." Blair scuffed his feet in the dirt. "You want me to, uh, call for backup?" he needled, a grin on his face. They'd left both their cellphones back in Cascade, and the truck was in the nearby town, three hours walk away. "You know, rub two sticks together and send out smoke signals?"

"Smartass." Jim slipped inside, pausing a moment to allow his eyes to adjust from the dim dusk light of outside to the darkness inside the building. He heard a slight scuffle to his right and swung his head around to it, stumbling back and throwing his hands up as a flash of bright light assaulted his eyes. Something heavy connected with his face, and he fell into darkness.

Blair kicked some more dirt, then fished his watch from his pocket, squinting at the LCD figures in the rapidly falling darkness. Too long, way too long. "Jim?" He moved slightly closer to the open door. Dammit, he knew he should have gone in! He was supposed to be the Sentinel's backup, fat lot of good he was backing up from outside. "Jim?"

He was about to go in when he felt a steady pressure at his back. "Move and I'll blow your spine in two."

Oh, shit.

Their captor, man with long dark, greasy hair that looked like it had never seen a comb in its existence strutted proudly in front of the two cells that held Sentinel and Guide, waving his shotgun through the air. "Man, I caught them snooping around outside. See the big one?" he pointed to where Jim was an unconscious lump, lying where he had thrown him. "One flash in the eyes with the light and I belted him with the stock. He doesn't look so big now. The other one -" he pointed it at Blair now " - he was just sitting there like a fucking rabbit, waiting for someone to blow his head off!"

"Shit." His companion, a broad footballer type, ran his hand through his short blond hair. "What the fuck did you bring them back HERE for, dumbass? Do I look like I'm running a tourist resort??"

The greaser shrugged and stood in front of Jim's cell with his shotgun raised. "What the hell do I do then? Kill 'em?"

"No, don't kill him yet." A crafty look entered the blond's eyes. "We can use 'em. Remember that batch of stuff I made up and we tweaked for a street?"

"Yeah,"

"Looks like we just got ourselves a couple guinea pigs volunteering to try it out. C'mon let's set the stuff up. We can dump the bodies when its good."

"You sure man?" the greaser asked nervously. "I mean, what if someone comes looking for these guys?"

His companion shrugged. "Who cares? Just a coupla campers, lost in the mountains. Happens all the time. By the time we've done with them, the spring runoff'll dump them somewhere in the Pacific." He hooked an arm around the greaser's shoulders. "Come on, we gotta test it anyways," he started to lead the other man out of the room. "Ain't no good selling the shit if the people who buy it aren't around for another shot.."

Blair bit back a moan as he heard the words. Why the hell couldn't they ever go somewhere nice without running into bad guys? Was it written somewhere in the Sentinel/Guide Codex? 'Thou shalt not have one enjoyable time off.' Although he had to admit that being locked in a cage for some impromptu drug tests was a new one.

No way. Anthropologist not biologist as he'd said to Jim once. Time to do a roadrunner. "Jim?" he shifted close to the bars both cells shared, reaching through to paw lightly at the Sentinel's shoulder. "Jim? You there buddy? come on Jim, wakey wakey, we gotta get out of here before they turned us in to chemical soup. That's it Big Guy, up and at 'em, I got a nice big plate of eggs waiting downstairs for you..." he kept shaking his partner lightly, patting his face and encouraging him as the larger man slowly struggled towards consciousness.

Jim rolled over and groaned, pupils contracting to mere pinpricks as his senses adjusted to the harsh lighting inside the room. "Sandburg?"

"Yeah, it's me," Blair tried to help Jim to a sitting position, but gave up as the bars hampered his movements. Jim dragged himself upright, one hand coming up to rub at his head.

"What happened?"

"We got whacked by bad guys," Blair reached through the bars again and gently brushed Jim's hands aside, inspecting the bruise for himself. "Ow. Bet that hurts," he said in commiseration. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Two." Jim blinked and took in his surroundings.

"Jim," Blair tugged on his shoulder. "Jim man, we have got to get out of here. I heard the two guys talking, greasy and blondie and they're planning on using us as some sort of whacked out science experiment." He shook the bars between them meaningfully. "I have no desire to end my days looking like a reject from the Sgt. Pepper album, ok?"

Jim shook his head and started testing bars. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"They said they've got some new street drug they whipped up. They don't know if it's safe or not, so they're gonna use us to find out." Blair mirrored his partner's actions, jiggling the vertical bars of his cell. They were all firmly welded in place. "I'm stuck here. You?"

"Same." Jim used his eyesight to focus in on the bolts holding the support bars to the roof looking for any weaknesses they could use. None. Looking downward, he inspected the locks. Simple slide bolts, held out of reach from the inside, but easily accessible from the outside. "I don't think-" he cut himself off, motioning for Blair to get back a scant second before the other two men entered the room.

"Ok, who's up first for the feelgood juice?" the blond sniggered. "Beefcake or hippie?" he moved closer to Jim and Blair pushed himself up against the bars at the front of his cell.

"Leave him alone!" he yelled, voice spurred by fear. If they gave that stuff to Jim, there was no telling what could happen.

The blond stopped in front of Sandburg, studying him. "What, you wanna use it instead?"

Blair swallowed. You and your big mouth... But it was better this way, he realised. It had to be him. If something happened, Jim could take care of him, he could work through it. If they tested drugs on Jim with his senses... He shuddered, then slammed the palm of his hand against the bars. "You think you can take me?" he asked, trying to sound tough.

"Dunno." The blond produced a gun from the waistband of his pants and pointed it at Jim. "But I reckon I can blow him away if you give me any shit."

"Don't do it Sandburg," Jim growled, pacing his cell like a caged panther.

Blair bit his lip. What choice did he have? It was either him or Jim, and he trusted the Sentinel a lot more than he did himself to get them out of this mess. He took a step back as the door to his cage swung inwards, debating plans of action. If he could somehow take out the greaser reaching for him and then...

As if reading his thoughts, the blond cocked his gun and took a step to the side, keeping his weapon trained on the Sentinel. "Don't think about it hairy. One wrong step and your partner's head's gonna look like a pizza after a night on the town."

"Ok, ok. Jeez, chill out, will ya?" Blair was led into the outer room. A single chair stood there, next to a table, restraints dangling from it like an electric chair. With a single backwards glance at his Sentinel, Blair was shoved into the chair and strapped in, his brain trying to formulate escape plans even as the restraints were fastened over his legs and torso. He couldn't think of any, the gun never wavering from his partner, the man holding it more than ready to use it. His gaze flicked back to window, just above the cells across the room as his arms were fastened to the chair, palms up, cold metal touching his bicep as his left sleeve was cut away, leaving his arm bared. It was still snowing, but now the first streaks of dawn were beginning to lighten the sky.

Wincing a little at the sudden sting of a needle in his arm, Blair swallowed slowly and wondered briefly if he would live to see another day.

Strapped to the chair, Blair felt the coolness in his vein as the liquid slowly slid into his bloodstream. Nothing happened, and he raised his head, aiming a hopeful smile at his partner. Maybe it didn't work? His smile faded a little as the cell seemed to slide away from him, further and further until Jim looked like a tiny little speck a universe away.

Head twisting frantically, Blair recoiled as best he could tied down when the room suddenly began to bulge around him, dank dripping rock tearing through the rotting wood, twisting into nightmare shapes. Gigantic gnarled faces, with bottomless pits for eyes and grinning mouths bristling with razor-edged fangs burst out at him from the heaving walls of the cave, saliva dripping from hungry mouths as they circled him, taunting him. The loathsome, oozing liquid fell on his trapped body and formed into strands of molten rock, thin as cobwebs, enveloping him like a cocoon.

Suddenly free, Blair tore at the strands, their fine edges slashing his palms and making his blood flow freely to drip down and puddle into his lap as more strands crept around him. Flailing wildly, he toppled from the chair and fell hard on the undulating floor, covering his face and screaming as the rock reared up in waves and folded him, engulfing him like a giant hungry maw...

Blair was silent, eyes staring sightlessly in front of him, wide with horror, pupils two giant black pools in his pasty white face. The silence, the stillness frightened Jim even more than the screams had, even more than the frantic thrashing that had shredded the skin on Blair's wrists and ankles as he fought to flee a daemon only he could see.

Jim's own hands were bruised and bloody from where he had slammed them again and again against the metal separating him from his partner, pulling at the bars, scrabbling at the welded hinges, searching for any weakness in his metal cage. At least the movements had told him his partner was still alive, the hoarse screams torn from a raw throat constant reminders of the drug-induced agony he was trapped in.

But now, the anthropologist just sat there, staring ahead at nothing, only the quick shallow breaths and too-fast heart, racing out of control let the Sentinel know he was alive. Otherwise, the other man was a corpse, skin pale and bloodless, face blank and devoid of everything.

The greaser shifted nervously from foot to foot. "Jesus. I think we killed him," he said, voice soft with awe.

The blond pressed two fingers deeply into the flesh of Blair's throat. "Nah, he's not dead. I think we short-circuited him or something though. The drug musta been too strong. No biggie, we can cut the dose down when we sell it." He jabbed his fingers towards Blair's eyes, laughing when there was no response. "Man, the guy's not even on this planet!" He turned to his partner. "Dump him back in the cell. The last thing we need to do is clean up if he shits in the chair."

With a nod, the greaser reached forwards and fumbled with the restraints, the other man keeping back with his gun trained on the unresponsive grad student. Blair sagged forward as the straps around his torso were removed, then toppled limply from the chair as the others were undone, falling bonelessly on the larger man.

"Aw shit," the dark-haired man squirmed out from under the catatonic body, then hawked and spat on the floor, grabbing Blair's wrists and hauling him up to drape him over one broad shoulder. "Come on pal," he slapped one buttock firmly. "We got a nice cell waiting for ya."

Jim watched their approach with the eyes of a hunter, calculating weaknesses, angles of attack, eyes fixed on the limp form of his Guide. He was mesmerised by the way the long mahogany curls swayed with each movement, shifting in his cell as the door to the cage next to his was opened. He was waiting for his turn. Hoping, praying for it, all he needed was five seconds to take out both of them, leaving them as two dying sacks of cells while he went to his partner.

"Shit!" The dark-haired man jerked back as Blair suddenly exploded into a flurry of motion, his whole body thrashing and struggling against the arms holding him. He hurriedly shoved the struggling form into the empty cell and slammed the door shut, locking it and watching as the anthropologist's legs folded beneath him, leaving him twisting and shaking on the floor. "The guy's fucking nuts!" He shifted a little closer out of morbid fascination, only to dance back with naked fear on his face as Jim slammed his body against the bars at the front of his cell, snarling. "Uh, I dunno if we can use this guy," he inclined his head nervously towards the enraged Sentinel. "He's like one of those fucking apes at the zoo."

The blond walked over and studied Jim appraisingly. "No problem. We just see how the stuff works out on his partner, then waste 'em both. Don't need to get in the cage to use a shotgun." He laughed mechanically as he raised a imaginary gun to his shoulder, aimed it at Jim, mimed pulling the trigger and jerked back with the recoil. "Boom."

Blair fought to stay afloat in the icy sea that suddenly burst around him. The waves threw him spread-eagled into the icy wind, and then dropped him like a stone into freezing green chasms which closed over him. Stinging fingers of saltwater and his own sodden gale- whipped hair lashed at his face and blinded him. The wind tore the breath from his lungs and drove it shrieking over his head to vanish into the raging storm as vast creatures thrashed around him, threatening to crush him between their dark flanks as he sank, the water changing around him from green to blue to a deep dark black as his empty lungs screamed for air, his mouth opening of its own volition and inhaling only water, the liquid filling his chest and burning his throat as he sank even deeper...

Jim slammed his hands against the bars once again, helpless tears pouring down his face and threatening to choke him, a dark mirror to his partner's distress as Blair thrashed helplessly on the cold concrete floor, gasping and choking for breath, head thrown back, his fingers coming up to claw his throat and leaving little crimson trails as nails broke through taut flesh.

"Man, that must have been some good shit we cooked up," the blond observed, watching the struggles dispassionately. "The guy's really tripping out on it."

"Wanna try some?"

"Do I look stupid?" the blond uttered a sharp bark of a laugh. "I only make it and sell it. I don't use it." He slapped his partner on the back. "C'mon. They got a good fight going on TV."

Jim watched the two men leave the room, every iota of his being screaming, burning, promising revenge even if he had to hunt them down himself. And he would, to the ends of the earth, although he knew their last dying breaths choked out pleadingly as his hands closed around their throats would do nothing to destroy the anger coursing through his veins.

His attention snapped back as Blair's body trembled under a final, brutal convulsion then shuddered into stillness, laughing blue eyes flat and lifeless, staring up at nothing from a face streaked with tears and dirt.

"Blair?" On his knees by the side of his cell, Jim strained his arms to the limit through the bars, and finally his fingers brushed soft wool. Tugging gently, he pulled his partner's limp arm towards him and squeezed his hand. "Hold on, buddy," he whispered helplessly as Blair shuddered once again, the motion rocking his entire body, dark blue eyes staring mindlessly through the ceiling. "Hold on." He wasn't even sure if Blair could hear him, locked away in his own private hell, the physical bars between them nothing when compared to the gulf separating their minds. Usually Jim could reach him, a kindred soul to Blair even when he had been lost on Golden. But now...

Jim slumped to a sitting position, leaning his head against the bars, feeling the cool metal press against his flesh as he closed his eyes, anything to avoid that blank, lost gaze. Still holding that clammy hand in his, he gave another squeeze, holding it like a lifeline between them. "Just hold on..."

Blair didn't hear his partner's entreaties, couldn't respond if he had, lying motionless on a vast plain of scorching sand and cracked, old dried earth, his whole body paralysed. The sun beat down on him, scorching him, and he felt his skin splitting and cracking under the assault, peeling away like the layers of an onion, leaving shrieking agony in their wake. He tried to call out, his dry, cracked throat producing nothing but guttural croaking sounds that floated out into the endless heat, twisting and turning into surreal shapes as they left his mouth. The giant sun above him pressed closer, until it filled his entire world. He felt his eyes drying and shrivelling in their sockets, and gasped for air as his lungs filled with gritty sand, rising up from his chest to spill from his mouth as it stretched in a silent scream, muffling any and all sounds as the sand spread further, wrapping around him and hardening like clay, transforming him into a mummified sand sculpture, lying rigid in the endless desert.

Blair's body was shaking now, fine tremors coursing his body more and more violently, expanding faster and stronger to the verge of full-blown convulsions, then shuddering back down to shivers. Senses focused on the choppy breaths and racing heart, Jim pushed his other hand through the bars, grabbing hold of the ankle of Blair's jeans and pulling his partner closer to him, cringing and whispering almost silent apologies as the unresponsive body scraped across the floor towards him.

When his Guide was close enough, he reached across the spasming body get a grip on Blair's left hip, rolling him onto his side in a recovery position. Shrugging out of his shirt, he folded it and pushed it gently between one pale cheek and the harsh concrete, lifting Blair's head as carefully and lovingly as if his own child, then settling it back down on the soft surface.

Fumbling down, he took Blair's hand again, his other hand coming up to push sweat-soaked curls away from the other man's face, hoping his touch could somehow soothe his partner as he convulsed again. "It's ok Chief," he crooned, gently stroking his partner's shoulders, hoping to quell the shivering. "It's ok..."

The white-hot sand began to move underneath him, each individual grain prickling and burning like thousands of razor-sharp needles as they jostled and clustered. Weakly Blair tried to brush them away with limbs as heavy as lead, but the more he struggled, the thicker they swarmed over his body. The whole desert was alive, millions of creeping, biting insects gathering around him as he dragged himself to his feet, clawing at the mass of stinging bodies that covered him in a steadily growing layer.

His blind, shrivelled eyes were prised out of their sockets by the crawling bodies, and the burning pincers attacked the empty hollows, burrowing through to his brain. He tried to scream, and choked on the wave of shiny black forms that erupted from his throat in a never- ending stream.

"Blair!" Jim captured the flailing hands in his, holding them to his partner's chest with one hand while the other kept up the soothing strokes. "It's ok, Chief," he whispered, some of his own fear beginning to creep into his voice as Blair opened his mouth around a deep scream. "It's not real, none of it's real," he said desperately, his hand moving faster now, just barely skimming over the shaking shoulders as the shared agony threatened to take over.

Blair's breath came in harsh grunts, his sneakered feet pounding against the floor in a staccato, no discernible rhythm as his entire body twisted and writhed against a phantom touch only he could feel. He screamed again, every fibre of his being fighting against Jim until he collapsed once more, shaking weakly, his heart hammering away to the limits of its strength, air whistling though panic-tight lungs. "No..." it was a barely audible moan, primal terror torn deep from a soul shrieking in the torments of Tartarus. "Nooooooo.....Jim, please...no...please.."

The soft whimpered pleas were tearing at his heart. Jim wanted them stop, wanted it all to stop, wanted his partner back, his friend, his Guide, not this whimpering shivering ball of agony his body had been twisted into. His hands moved faster now, no real intent, roaming over the tormented body as best he could through the bars dividing them.

The whimpers rose into harsh screams "Jim, PLEASE!!" It all quickly became too much and the Sentinel turned, grabbing the bars beside him for support as he slammed both feet against the cage with the strength of the desperate and damned, seeing the metal bow and twist under his assault, but not really registering the fact, quickly turning back as Blair cried out again.

The anthropologist was on his back now, the crude mag light taped to the wall of the outer room shining cruelly in his face. His hands were still crossed on his chest where Jim had held them, fingers making small spasmodic movements, as if wanting to block out the light, but unable to gather the strength to compete even that small task.

With a flash of explosive light he could see again. The walls and floor of the crevasse were swarming with ants, giant ants with glowing red eyes advancing in a seething mass from all sides. The air was filled with the clicking of their antennae as they approached. He stomped on them again and again, thousands of little black bodies crunching under his boots, but more kept coming, crawling over his feet, up his jeans, dropping from the ceiling to land on his head, creeping through his hair and into his ears, over his mouth and up his nose, growing larger and larger. His body bristled with ants, and was quickly stripped of all flesh, becoming a grinning skeleton, splintering and collapsing under the weight of millions and millions of ravenous creatures.

Spurred on by the agonised cries, Jim slammed his feet against the door again and again, the metal creaking and bowing under the repeated blows, until it finally screeched and collapsed outwards. He didn't need Sentinel senses to hear the started bellow from another room to the right.

"WHAT THE FUCK?"

Jim grabbed the heavy chair his partner had been strapped to, feeling every muscle ripple through his arms and along his back as he swung it upwards, smashing the light. Darkness fell, and with it came silence, punctuated only by the hurried stumbling and mutters from their captors, the light, shivery breaths from his partner still trapped in his cell.

Sentinel senses expanded and bloomed, the darkness of the night easily pierced by enhanced eyes. The moon shone fat and full past the scudding clouds and Jim felt a dull sort of detachment as the first footsteps entered the room.

It had only been one day...

He kicked the gun from the greaser in one smooth movement, twisting gracefully to slam barred knuckles into the soft cartilage of the blond man's throat as he entered after his companion.

Twenty-four hours...

Hearing the crunch of bone as his blow struck home, he turned back to the dark haired man, not bothering to confirm the kill as he deflected a clumsy, terrified blow and locked his hands around the other man's throat, thumbs pressing in.

The greaser's eyes rolled back in his head, throat chocking out guttural sounds as his hands came up futilely to batter against the strength draining him of life. "Don't..kill..me..." it was a wheezing gasp, so silent the Sentinel almost missed it. "...antidote..."

Abruptly Jim's hands unlocked, letting the smaller man fall to the floor. "What," he growled.

The other man made a show of grabbing his throat and gasping, but Jim was in no mood for games. Winding the greasy hair around his fist he hauled the other man up. "What?"

"Antidote." The greaser was nodding his head madly like a marionette from Punchinello. "It wasn't supposed to be a designer at first, Rick made it as a poison for the CIA type stuff, only he couldn't get it to sell so he tweaked a bit and figured he could sell it on the streets." The words tumbled crazily from his lips as he looked at the ceiling the floor, anywhere but Jim's maddened face. He caught sight of his late partner's corpse, face purple from his last choking attempt at breath and swallowed.

"Where?" Jim shook him like a rat.

The greaser attempted to be crafty. "That's the thing, ain't it? You know, you let me live, and I'll tell you, right?"

"Wrong." Jim balled up a fist and drove it into the other man's stomach. Air exploded from his lungs in a whoosh as he doubled over, then Jim hauled him back up, shaking him again. "WHERE?"

"Back room..." the greaser wheezed. "Fridge...green bottle..."

"How much?"

"I don't know, Rick never told me, he just stuffed it in there as a security, I don't know, really, please don't hit me again..." the greaser was crying now, snot and tears flowing down his face. With a disgusted grunt, Jim slammed his head into the table, then let the unconscious form fall to the floor.

"Fine."

There was nothing. He stood nowhere, seeing nothing. Darkness cascaded around him, slipping over his body like a fine black oil, filling his ears and eyes and nose, coating his body, shutting him off from anything and everything. There was no light, no sound, no smell, no touch, no taste. Just a growing pile of darkness, filling up the space around him, creeping up his body and dissolving his clothes, pouring down his throat to grip his lungs in a dark torpor, infiltrating the very blood in his veins to seep into his heart, the giant muscle straining to pump the thickness and failing as it too shuddered into stillness. The darkness replaced the air in his lungs, crept into his brain and deadened the neurons, leaving only a single faint spark of consciousness, forever trapped in a dead body, no memory, cut off from everything but the knowledge of its own existence, and the horrible nothing that was its world.

Jim's world narrowed down to his hands and the silver bolt they were sliding aside, the creaking metal door he wrenched open, the cold concrete that flashed past his vision until it encountered the twisted body of his Guide. A cold shudder of dread flashed through the Sentinel as he registered the closed eyes, the weak shudders, the formerly frantic heartbeat now slow and sluggish, as if struggling to complete the task it was assigned to.

He gathered the pale form in his arms, cradling his partner to his chest, hoping somehow he could warm the desperately chilled figure as he hurried through into the light filled room. A TV chattered idly to itself in front of an empty couch littered with beer cans and bags of chips as he kicked open a far door, finding a bedroom with a mildewy old mattress.

Sweeping the rank sheets aside, he laid Blair gently down on the soft surface, dipping one hand to brush the sweat-soaked curls back from the strained face before straightening and reaching out with his senses, following the electric sputter and buzz of the fridge to what was once the foreman's office, wrenching the door open and throwing aside beercans and leftover pizzas to land around him in a pile as his hands finally closed around a tiny vial of green liquid. Snatching a handful of wrapped syringes from the top of the fridge, he cast about frantically for a phone, something to call for help.

No phone. No car. He heard Blair's heartbeat speed up again, straining under the stress, the familiar beat alarmingly irregular. No time.

Hurrying back into the bedroom, he knelt beside the bed, one hand reaching out to take a gentle hold of the arms clenched around the pale, shivering figure and spread one out, palm up on the mattress. Ripping the cover off a syringe with his teeth he hesitated, then plunged the needle into the vial as Blair shuddered, body locked into immobility by the dark dreams that played with his mind and danced with his psyche. How much to use? Would it even work? One look at his partner's pale face told him he had to at least try.

Jim filled the syringe up to precisely the same point as the original drug that had been injected into his partner. He had noted it from across the room, trapped helplessly in his cage ten feet away, Sentinel eyesight easily registering the tiny black numbers imprinted on the side of the glass. He watched hypnotised as the liquid quietly filled the tiny glass barrel. Was it a cure or death? Did he even have a choice?

Carefully putting the vial down on the floor, he reached out, one large hand partially encircling Blair's right arm, thumb pressing down to bring up a vein. Jim pressed the needle against Blair's arm, then pushed it in, injecting him with the antidote, shuddering a little at the memories as the liquid flowed silently into cold, pale flesh. When the hypodermic was empty, he threw it aside, then sat on the edge of the bed, gathering Blair's limp form into his arms, holding him close.

"Don't you quit on me, Chief," he whispered fiercely, silent tears streaming from his eyes. "You hear me? Don't you dare quit on me."

It was different now. Dark, but undark. Opaque and stifling, but he could see now, feel, the sensations almost unbearable to his sensory-starved mind and he sobbed in relief, running his hands over his own body, touching his face, hungrily feeding on each touch. His eyes searched desperately for the tiniest sliver of light, finding none as the Undark seemed to press closer in on him.

He was lying on his back, legs stretched out, on something soft and silky, something that slipped and played between his fingers and against his naked body as he moved. He tentatively raised his leg, higher and higher until that same slippery substance met his toes. Some kind of cover over his feet, over his head, over his body, all over him, an unyielding firmness under the soft material, like some kind of wood. He pushed against it with his foot, but the wood covering him remained firmly in place, no give to it. He pushed harder, then harder, both of his feet pushing against the surface, using all the strength he had left. But whatever it was that was keeping him in the Undark refused to move.

He slid his hands over it, rough edges on his nails catching in the material as he explored, raising both legs to push again, to no avail. His hands spread out on the surface above him, to the edges of the cover, encountering finely stitched seams, them more of the same material on either side of him, close to his body. Too close. He pressed out with his palms on either side, strong walls scant inches from his body. His nerves began to sing out in alarm as he considered the dimensions of his prison. Not enough space. Too narrow. Something solid over his head and on either side of his body, trapping him in a cloying trench.

Not enough room, not enough space, not enough air...

Dragging in ragged gulps, Blair shifted down until the soles of his feet met another surface, the once-soothing material feeling unnaturally chilled against his bare skin. Shifting himself back up, sliding easily on the ice-cold surface, he felt another wall press his curls to the top of his head. He did it over and over again, hands skittering over the surface above him, mind skittering away from a horrendous thought as he searched desperately for an exit he knew HAD TO BE THERE.

Jim dipped the torn piece of his shirt into the pan of water again and stroked it over his partner's forehead, down one fevered cheek to glide across the sweaty neck and chest. Refolding the material, he dipped it in again, then started from the other side, feeling the stubble from his partner's unshaven jaw, and the inferno raging underneath. The unnatural chill was gone now, and Blair was on fire, heat pouring from his body in a never-ending stream, catching in the droplets of sweat that beaded his face and chest to trail down onto the mattress beneath him. Fine tremors coursed through his body, head tossing restlessly as his arms came up aimlessly to push at something. Slender fingers spread over empty air, the tips flexing and searching for something, exploring.

Jim captured the wandering hands, laying them back down on his partner's chest. "It's ok, Chief," he soothed softly. "You're ok, it's not real, you're safe now..." his voice was almost hoarse from the constant reassurances and entreaties, but if that was what it took, then the Sentinel would talk himself entirely out of voice if he had to.

Blair moved his head closer to the soft voice, then jerked on the bed, startling the Sentinel into silence. For a moment, Jim feared the worst, his hand flying to Blair's chest, searching for a heartbeat. To his surprise, it was a bit stronger than before, but still too fast, rapid, panicky breaths spilling from the slightly parted lips. "It's ok, Blair, shh..."

Blair's breath caught in his throat, the chilled air tearing at his lungs as he realised his prison. He was trapped in a long, narrow wooden box, with an unyielding lid. No light, no doors, no windows, no escape. He pressed his palms to the surface above his head, raising his feet to push again, suddenly registering that the material under his palms, around his body felt like satin...

A sudden image flashed in to his mind. Janet, lying in a long narrow wooden box, the curved lid raised so that everyone could see her face one last time, lying there, unmoving, on folds of rippled...white...satin...

Blair opened his mouth, screaming and screaming as his voice rebounded off the soft smooth cold walls to ring in his ears, head tossing crazily from side to side, legs thrashing frantically, feet slamming over and over against the lid of his prison, hands digging and clawing, tearing great shreds of satin away to land against his face and choke him as his nails broke away and his fingers bled against the dark wood imprisoning him. His breathing became choked and rapid, no air left for screaming, his horrified wails dampened down to agonized moans as his air supply dwindled down to nothing, leaving him gasping and inhaling only the Undark....

Blair exploded into violent spasms, arms and legs flailing and kicking into the empty air as scream after scream erupted from his throat. His hands came up, clawing and clutching weakly at his throat as he thrashed, choking hacks of breath being snatched.

Jim was thrown back by the violence of the assault, then quickly returned, his hands holding Blair's shoulders down. Normally, he would be hard put to restrain his sturdy partner, but the fever and the drugs battling through the anthropologist's bloodstream sapped his strength, the hysterical struggles slowly dampening down to unnatural stillness once more as Blair's hands fell limply to his sides, dragging in a final, straining wheeze and letting it fall from his lips.

"Blair?!" Jim rocked forward, senses reaching out. A weak heartbeat touched his ears, but there was no breathing from the suddenly still chest.

"Dammit Sandburg, DON'T YOU DO THIS!" Jim tilted the anthropologists' head back, pinching his nose shut and sealing his mouth over the flaccid lips as he began mouth to mouth. His mind was swimming with recriminations. He should have left the mill alone. He should have gotten Blair to go into town and call for backup. He should have taken the drug, he should have escaped sooner, he should never have pushed more chemicals into his Guide's bloodstream...

He'd blown it. Every single goddamn step on the way he'd fucked up and now Blair was paying the price. "Stay with me, buddy," he blew another pocket of air into Blair's lungs, watching his chest rise and fall. "You stay with me!"

The water was around him again, swirling past his feet and pushing him up and down, turning him helplessly in its grip until he had no sense of direction at all. He choked on it, a liquid acid that seeped through his open mouth and burned down his throat to dissolve his lungs inside his body.

There was a sudden pressure in front of him, then there was air, blessed air and he gulped at it, wanting more but when he went for another breath there was only water. Then the air was back again, a steady pressure blowing into his ragged lungs, oxygen spreading from his chest, infusing his blood, carrying it through to every inch of his body. It was like a magical elixir, strength suddenly returning to his tired limbs and he struck out, kicking against the cloying water surrounding him, making his way upwards inch by inch, his hair draping slick against his shoulders with each upward stroke, then drifting around him in obscure seaweed patterns as he rested.

There was a fervent mumbling above him, a deep steady sound, one he knew, one he should know, if only he could think but there was no time for thinking as the air came again and he clawed his way up the cliff face. He was only inches away, and then suddenly he exploded into the air and recognised the sound as a voice, and the voice as Jim.

Ellison bent down for another breath, and then suddenly there was a tongue snaking from the other man's mouth into his, lips locking tight against his own, and then Jim was pushed backwards, barely managing to stay upright as he suddenly had 155 pounds of weeping, clinging anthropologist in his lap.

"JimJimJimJim" Blair broke the kiss and clung to him desperately, his legs straddling his partner as frantic hands clutched at Jim's shoulders, his arms, his back, his neck. "Don't leave me Jim, don't make me go back, I 'm not dead but I thought I was Jimjimjim I called for you but I couldn't find you and the ants came and crawled and ate me and the sand burnt me and choked me but the sea couldn't and the monsters smashed and the beetles stung..."

Jim wrapped his arms reflexively around the shaking bundle, then squeezed tighter, holding Blair's head to his shoulder as he rocked gently. "It's ok," he whispered into one ear, his hands drawing little circles up and down the Grad student's back. "It's ok, shh, you're safe now, you're safe now..." His heart pounded in time to the steady beat at his chest, not with fear but elation as Blair pushed himself even closer.

"JimJimJim" Blair chanted through chattering teeth, clinging to his partner, wrapping his legs around his waist as he grabbed the other man's face between his hands and showered it with desperate little kisses. "Jim be real please be real, you feel real, don't bury me I'm not dead, please I'm not dead please..." he began to sob, helplessly, and Jim felt tears running down his own face in response.

"It's ok, shh, let it out, Chief, let it out, I'm here, I'm here..." Jim murmured mindless little reassurances as he held his partner in a tight hug, almost crushing, fingers stroking through the sweat soaked hair as Blair eventually hiccoughed into silence. Soon the anthropologist's head began to feel heavy against his tear-soaked chest, and the arms around his shoulders loosened, then drooped. Jim kept track of the steady heartbeat as it slowed, then gently leaned forward to rest his Guide on the mattress, shifting to a seat at the side.

Blue eyes flickered open, panic stricken as he moved, then a hand darted out to clutch at his knee. "Don't go, Jim, please," Blair's breath started to come in quick gasps and he looked around at the bed, up at the ceiling. "Jim, don't close the lid, don't bury me, please, I'm not dead."

"Shh.." Jim tenderly stroked back a few errant curls from the flushed forehead. "It's ok, Chief, it's just a bed, see? Just a bed, you can sleep, I'm not going anywhere." Blair swallowed and nodded his head jerkily, then laid back and closed his eyes, his breathing easing into a slower and slower cadence.

Drifting on the very edge of sleep, Blair suddenly jerked awake, clutching at his Sentinel reflexively before panicked blue eyes flew open, shooting to Jim's face, making sure he was still there. Shaking a little, he nodded dazedly to himself, confirming his partner's presence before settling down again, breathing evening out and slowing as his body relaxed. On the verge of sleep once more, his eyes jerked open again, locking on Jim's face as he clutched at the strong body beside him.

This happened again and again, the grad student drifting the very edge of a healing sleep only to be snatched back by the residual fear of his hallucinations, until Jim took Blair in his arms and lowered himself onto the narrow bed beside his partner. The mildew from the mattress tore at his nose, the awkward position leaving him knowing that he'd have hell to pay with his back the next morning, but it was all forgotten as Blair stole two small hands forward to cling to his shirt, tugging himself closer into the safety and shelter the Sentinel's strong body offered.

"Don't leave me, Jim," he whispered pleadingly, silent tears tracking unnoticed down his face. Tugging himself even closer, he rested his forehead against Jim's chest, the tears soaking through the material as his hands crept downwards, around his partner's waist, holding tightly. "Don't leave me."

Jim tightened the arm around Blair shoulders and brought them into full contact, resting his chin on top of the smaller man's head as he held him gently. "I won't leave you."

"Promise?" it was a hesitant little whisper, slipping from a form fighting the exhaustion seeping on the edges of his mind.

Jim kissed the top of Blair's head. "I promise."

And Blair finally relaxed into sleep, curled up next to his Sentinel, no longer alone, safe and looked after.

All Content Copyright © 2001 Taleya Joinson
Last modified: November 12, 2010