The Best Laid Plans of Sentinels and Guides
 

Blair wasn't sure what happened.

One minute he and Jim were bumping across the rough track through the forest, looking forward to a nice camping trip, having a mock serious discussion about the virtues of spear fishing vs fly fishing, and then....

"Look out!"

The truck swerved wildly and then Jim was pressing Blair back in his seat with one arm while the anthropologist frantically covered his head with both arms and then they slammed into a tree.

Blair cautiously uncoiled himself.  For once, it looked like he was unharmed.  "Jim," he turned, a smile breaking over his face.  "I think - JIM!"

His partner was slumped over the steering wheel, bright red trails of blood oozing from his forehead.

"Oh man," Blair tore open his door and hared around the back of the truck, pulling open the driver's side. "Jim?  Jim?" He eased his partner back in the car seat and lightly patted his face.  "Come on, Jim, wake up.."

There was a faint groan and a flickering of the blue eyes.  "That's it buddy," Blair encouraged.  "Wakey, wakey..." keeping the soothing pattern of words up, he hunted for any side of returning consciousness.

Finally Jim's eyes opened fully and he blinked twice.  "Hello."
 
"Hello."  Blair didn't like the vacant look in his partner's eyes. "How many fingers?"  he demanded, holding up a hand.

Jim squinted at him, then grinned.  "One...two...three...four!"

Blair grimaced.  "Funny Jim, I know you think I'm treating you like a kid, but work with me, ok?  Now are you hurt anywhere else?"

Jim shook his head and Blair helped him out of the truck, tugging a sleeping bag from the back and spreading it out on the hard ground.  "Jim, I want you to sit here until I get that cleaned up, ok?"  He tried out his sternest gaze - he knew what Jim could be like. To his surprise, Jim just nodded slightly and sat there patiently.

Worried now, Blair grabbed the first aid kit out of the truck and bolted back. Kneeling by his friend, he opened the case and started taking out supplies.  "Jim?  Jim?  Talk to me here." Blair said nervously, cleaning out the scrape.

Jim licked his lips slightly to moisten them before speaking. "My head hurts."

"Ok, ok, good," Blair looked relieved as he wound a bandage snugly around his partner's head. "Well, I'm fixing that up now.  Are you sure you're ok?  Are your senses mucking up?"

"No."

"Ooookay." Jim's just being his usual, talkative self. Blair turned to view the truck. It didn't look too bad actually, a few dints here and there, a punctured tire.  Jim always carried a spare in the back, so that wasn't a problem.  Crossing his fingers, Blair turned the key.  No response.

With a muttered curse and a worried look to his partner was still sitting on the ground, Blair climbed out of the truck and stared at the mass of engine parts.  "Man, I knew I should have taken shop," he said softly as he reached in.  "But noooooo, I had to go in that pottery class with the cute brunette, what was her name?  Sandra."  It looked pretty straightforward.  That octopus thingie - distributor - was supposed to be connected here and here and here and.. "Oh I hope this works..." Blair banged the bonnet back down and got behind the wheel.  "Good thoughts, huh Jim?"

Jim shook his head and pointed silently towards the back of the truck.  Blair stuck his head out of the side of the car and followed his gaze to where gasoline was seeping out of the broken tank.

"Oh man." Blair tapped the gas register with a knuckle.  The needle wavered for a minute before slipping determinedly down to empty.  "Dammit!"  he thumped his hands on dashboard before getting out of the truck.  "You know, Jim, you could have mentioned that earlier you know.  I mean, this is all probably a big joke to you, but being stuck out here is not a prospect I exactly relish..." he trailed off when he noticed his friend was huddled away from him, and were there...tears?

"Jim?" concerned, Blair knelt by the Sentinel, automatically dropping into Guide mode. "Jim? Are you ok?"

He reached out and Jim flinched away at his touch.  "Don't hit me!  I'm sorry!"

Blair rocked back on his heels as if he'd been slapped.  "Hit you?  Jim, man, you know I would never...."  Jim was shaking his head.  "What is it?"

"I don't know you," Jim sobbed.  "I want my mom."

Oh, shit.

"Is this your tent?" Jim asked, prodding a peg with his foot.

Blair shook his head as he stowed the sleeping bags inside.  "No, this is your tent. Mine had a hole, remember?"  he gently stressed the word 'remember,' hoping somehow it could spark something.

"Really?" Jim poked his head inside the tent looking around wide-eyed.  "Mine?  All mine?"

"Yeah," said Blair softly, "All yours."  He was close to crying himself.  It had taken him three hours to convince child-Jim he wasn't going to hurt him, and his partner's older counterpart wasn't showing any signs of returning soon.  Maybe this is a subconscious thing he mused, I mean, with that Brinkley case, Jim was pretty stressed, combined with that blow on his head...maybe this is a way of dealing with stress?  Just going back and forgetting it ever happened?  he judged Jim's mental age to be somewhere around five.  Scratch that.  There's no way he was THAT stressed.  I just have to look after him until my Jim's ready to come back.  Just like babysitting. Blair snorted suddenly. Yeah, like babysitting a five year old who could break my neck roughhousing.

"Blair?" Jim's soft voice broke into his reverie.

"Yeah?  What's up, man?"

"I'm hungry."  Jim said tentatively  "And thirsty too.  Can I please have something to drink?"

"Sure."  Blair rummaged in his pack.  "What'll it be, Big Guy?"

"Juice, please."

"Juice it is."  Blair pulled out one of his own packs of juice and popped the straw, punching it through the foil seal and handing it to his partner. "There you go."

"Thank you." Jim said politely before sucking noisily on the straw.  Blair had to fight back another lot of tears. Jesus, what kind of childhood did Jim have? He had a pretty fair idea. Please this, thank you that, wait until you're spoken to or you'll get a smack.

Night was falling, so he started a fire, watching the cheery flames lick up at the wood he'd collected.

Jim drew closer as Blair poked the coals with a stick, almost snuggling up to the side of the younger man and Blair threw an arm around his shoulder, holding him close, surprised at how natural the motion felt.

Dinner was simple, scrambled eggs from a package - which Blair privately thought tasted like cardboard. Jim hadn't minded, eating every mouthful neatly, nicely, politely, until Blair wanted to scream.

His plate finally clean, the Sentinel stood and looked around in childlike confusion.

"What's up?" Blair mumbled around a mouthful of bread roll.

"What do I do with the dishes?"

"Oh, " Blair wiped his hands on his jeans and turned, missing the slightly jealous look Jim shot him.  "Here," he fluffed out a plastic bag with aplomb "Put them in here, I'll clean them tomorrow."

Jim hesitated, then shyly offered, "I can do them now, if you like. I'm big enough to do dishes, dad said."

Blair flapped his fingers "Don't worry about it.  You gotta get your sleep, Big Guy, we're going on a long walk tomorrow."

"Walk tomorrow?" queried Jim. "In the forest?"  Blair nodded and Jim's lower lip started to tremble.  "I don't like the woods.  I got lost and my dad wouldn't find me and I was cold an.." abruptly he broke off and burst into tears.

"Hey," Blair suddenly found himself with a lapful of Jim. "It's ok, Jim. It's ok," he soothed, holding the other man tightly.

"I don't want to get lost," Jim sobbed, twining a hand in Blair's jacket.  "I was lost and everything was too loud and smelly and I could see everything and..."

"Shhh," Blair rubbed his hands along Jim's back, rocking the larger man slightly.  His mind was working overdrive. Lost in the forest, Sentinel senses coming online for the first time must have been an incredibly frightening experience for the young Jim Ellison. Still, it went a long way to explaining why he was so reluctant to accept his senses....

"Daddy said I was a freak."  The soft confession shook him out of his reverie.

"What?"

At Blair's startled exclamation, Jim focused his eyes firmly on the ground.  "Dad said I was a freak 'cos I could see stuff and everything.  He said the government would come and take me away and I'd never see mommy again or anything."

Blair shook his head.  "That is BULLSHIT!" he shouted angrily.

Jim stiffened in his arms and tried to jerk away.  "I'm sorry," he babbled.

"Hey," Blair held Jim tighter in his arms until the trembling subsided.  "Jim," he began quietly, "Your dad was wrong.  And he was wrong to tell you that."

"So...I'm not a freak?" Jim asked hopefully.

"No." Blair said firmly, putting every inch of conviction he could in to the words.  "You are not a freak."

All the tension flooded out of Jim's body and he rested his head trustingly on Blair's chest.  "Good." He said simply, then his mouth stretched in a huge yawn.

"Sounds like someone needs some sleep," grinned Blair.

"I'm not sleepy" Jim yawned again.

"Suuure," Blair tugged the other man's sleeve and gently pushed him towards the tent.   "Humour me, would you?"  Putting the fire out, they both settled into their bags, tent flap sealed tight against the incoming cold.   Despite his protests, Jim was asleep within seconds of hitting the sack.

Blair spread his own sleeping bag out before settling in.  If something happened to Jim in the middle of the night, he wanted to be able to get there fast, not struggle through piles of fleece and parasilk.  He worried briefly about Jim sleeping on his concussion, then decided to forget it.  Out here there wasn't much he could do anyway, and Jim seemed normal enough

Well, apart from the obvious He thought idly as sleep came for him.

Blair jerked awake to the sound of crying.  He stared numbly at the roof of the tent for a moment, trying to force his tired brain into telling him what the hell was going on.

"Blair?" Memory flooded back and he gasped.  Turning his head he saw Jim seated cross-legged nearby, tears tracking down his face as he chewed a knuckle.

"Hey Jim, Blair said softly.  "What's up?"

"I'm cold."  Jim answered, shivering for emphasis.

Translate that as 'scared' He'd seen Jim wear nothing but boxers in weather that would have made any self-respecting person sew hot water bottles into their clothing.  Blair smiled and patted the side of his spread out sleeping bag. "Come here, big guy."  Hell, Jim had done it often enough for him...

Jim nodded solemnly, then suddenly smiled and ducked underneath the sleeping bag, curling up close.  Blair smiled fondly and ruffled a hand through the short hair.

"Story?" asked Jim sleepily, drawing warmth from the other man.

"Sure.  What story do you want to hear?  Goldilocks and the three bears?"

Jim shook his head. "Don't like bears."

"Snow White and the Seven Dwarves?" Blair suggested.

Jim snorted. "That's for girls," he said scornfully.

"Ok," Blair thought for a moment. "How about 'The Otter's Friendship?"

Jim blinked owlishly up at him.  "Don't know that one."

"Oh, it's an old tale from the Seneca Indians."

"Indians?" Jim sat up excitedly in his sleeping bag.  "Real Indians?  Like Cowboys and Indians?"

Blair smiled, Jim's enthusiasm was infectious. "Yup."

"Cool!"

"Ok," Blair made sure the sleeping bag was tucked snugly around them both before beginning.

"The snow fell unceasingly for many months in the time of the Long Sleep....."

Jim watched wide-eyed as Blair wove his tale, but soon began to lose his battle with sleep.  Blair was just telling his partner about the animals springing from Dadahwat's pouch as Skagedi opened it when he heard a soft snore.

Grinning, Blair looked down to where Jim was curled up against him.  He let his voice trail off into silence, and Jim grunted slightly, moving closer.

Blair carefully stroked his hand across his partner's forehead until the other man settled into a deeper sleep.  Then he wriggled down further into the sleeping bag, feeling more than a little tired himself.  He curled up on his side and Jim spooned up sleepily behind him.  One hand crept around his chest to splay over the beating heart as the big burly detective snorted happily into his hair.

"Love you, Blair."

Blair smiled and twisted his head around to plant a kiss on the short hair nestled at his back.  "Love you too, Big Guy."

"OH I like Martha's Muffin's 'cos they're toasTY!
  And they taste so good with JAM!
  OH I like Martha's Muffin's 'cos they're toasTIEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

What the...? Blair tried to bury his head under the sleeping bag.  "Jim, man, you wanna keep it down?" he muttered.  Why the hell is he singing muffin songs anyway?

Then he remembered.

Shit! Blair tossed the sleeping bag off and went in search of Jim.

"Jim?" he stuck his head out of the tent.  No sign of his errant partner. "Jim?  Buddy?"

"I'm over here!" Jim sang back from a knot of trees.  "I'm making pee against the tree!"  He laughed delightedly at himself.  "I made a poem!"

"You sure did, buddy."  Blair retreated back to the campsite and started pulling things out.  "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Muffins." Jim said definitively, coming out of the trees, hitching up his pants.  "With lots of jam and cream."

Blair grimaced.  "Sorry, no muffins."

"No muffins?" repeated Jim mournfully.

"Nope.  I've got some breakfast bars, though, and some more juice.  We were supposed to have fish, but ummm, we didn't go fishing." He handed Jim a wrapped bar.  Jim struggled with the wrapper for a few seconds before giving his partner a pleading look.  With a sigh, Blair took the bar back and unwrapped it.

"Thank you." Jim munched contentedly for a moment before venturing another question.  "Blair?  Why didn't we go fishing?  I've never been fishing before."

"You bumped your head, remember?" Blair wondered how long this was going to last.  When was Jim going to go back to normal?  What if he didn't? Don't think that.  "How does it feel?"

Jim touched the bandage across his head.  "Sore.  But I'm getting better, I promise!"

"It's ok, Jim." Blair reassured, reaching out to touch his friends arm.  "You had me worried there for a moment, Big Guy."

"Worried?" Jim asked shyly "About me?"

"Of course," Blair was surprised. He trailed his fingers lightly across the dark hairs of his partners' forearm, then took Jim's hand in his.  "You're my friend."

Jim thought about it for a moment, looking down at their clasped hands. "Wow."

"Gnnrgh."

Blair stopped and turned around, surprised that Jim had fallen so far behind.  Once he'd overcome his fear of the forest, Jim had easily kept up with the smaller man, the mental difference apparently not affecting his stamina.  "Jim?  What's up, man?"

"'m itchy" Jim squirmed in his pants.  "I've been itchy since I went for a pee."

"Did you shake it off?" Blair asked. Am I actually having this conversation?

Jim snorted.  "Of course I did.  I even wiped with a big leaf."

Big Leaf?? Blair suddenly had a sneaking suspicion. "Jim, can you tell me what this leaf looked like?"

"It was green, and pointy and.." and Jim continued his description in innocent tones, Blair's suspicion was confirmed and he started to laugh.  "What?"

Blair shook his head, still laughing.  "Jim, man, no wonder you're itching.  You wiped with poison ivy!"

"Poison?!" Jim fairly shrieked.  "Poison!  I don't want poison, Blair.  I don't want to die!"

"It's ok, Jim.  It's just a name." Blair soothed the frightened man.  "It's not really poison.  Just makes you itchy." He rifled through his pack, then turned, a big bottle of calamine lotion in his hand.  "Here.  Put some of this on it."

Jim took the bottle dubiously.  "Where?"

"On your..." Blair pantomimed and Jim's eyes widened. "Go on," the anthropologist urged.

"Mommy said I'm not allowed to touch myself down there." Jim said quietly, studying the ground.

Blair shook his head. Jeez, what kind of Nazis did Jim have for parents?  "Trust me, Jim," he said gently. "It's ok to do it if you have poison ivy."

Jim hesitated, then burst out: "But mommy said - "

"You wanna keep itching?" Blair challenged.

"no," came the soft reply.

"Then put it on!  It's ok, Jim," Blair turned his back.  "I won't watch."

Then was silence for a few minutes, then a small voice.  "Blair?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you do it for me?"

Startled, Blair turned.  Jim was seated on the grass looking up at him mournfully.  Oh Goddess, not the eyes!

"Please?"

Blair sighed and took the bottle.  "Ok, Jim. ~you owe me big for this one~" he muttered under his breath.

"Fatty, Fatty, two by four..."

"Jim," warned Blair, taking a breather. The Sentinel had been singing for the past three hours as they trekked through the woods, and the songs had gotten bawdier and more infantile with each passing minute.

"sorry."

Blair sighed and turned. He was going to have to have a serious talk with Jim about his self-esteem. "Jim, I -" Suddenly the ground disappeared beneath his feet.  With a startled yelp, Blair fell a heart stopping distance before jerking to a halt.

"Blair?  Blair!"  He opened his eyes at Jim's frightened cries and looked up.  Hooked by his backpack on a tree root.  He breathed a sigh of relief.  "It's ok, Jim," he soothed.  "I'm here, I'm ok."  The root creaked ominously and he reached up to grab it with both hands.  A pair of frightened blue eyes peeked over at him ad Blair tried to smile reassuringly, all the while judging distances.  Gymnastics had never really been his strong point, but hell, what choice did he have?

Blair gripped the root tighter and started to swing, trying to get enough momentum up to swing his feet onto firm ground. His heels scrabbled tantalisingly against the bank, before breaking loose.  The root creaked even more, showering him with dirt and pebbles as he tried again.  "Jim!"  he yelled, trying not to look down  "I need help!"

Jim reached out, then shied back, clamping his hands over his ears.  "Loud," he hissed.  "Hurts."

"Dammit Jim!  Now is not the time for your senses to go fruit loops, ok?"  Blair bawled as one hand slipped free.

It was happening too fast.  The tree root was starting to break, and some part of him knew he was only making it worse by twisting around.  But there was no one telling him to stop, no strong arms to pull him up...  He was gonna die and Jim would be left alone, helpless and frightened... "I swear Jim, if you don't give me your hand all you're gonna have left is one giant Guide pancake!"

He saw something clear behind his partner's eyes, then Jim lunged forward, one muscled arm reaching out desperately.  "SANDBURG!"

But he was too late, and the last thing Blair could think was how funny it was that Jim sounded almost normal again....

It was only supposed to be a stupid camping trip! his mind jabbered at him while he looped the rope around a nearby tree and shrugged into his pack.  None of this was supposed to happen!

"None of this is ever supposed to happen." Jim whispered as he stepped backwards off the cliff.  The rope burned his gloveless hands as he payed it out, backing slowly down towards his partner, but he ignored the pain, shelving it to the side, to the back.  It wasn't important.

Sandburg still hadn't stirred by the time Jim jumped lightly down by his side.  Hesitantly, the Sentinel wiped his bleeding hands on his pants and stretched out his senses, searching for and finding a steady heartbeat, breathing out a heartfelt thanks as his hands gently roamed for injuries.

Blair swam slowly back into consciousness. "Sandburg?  Blair?  Can you hear me?"

Yeah, I can hear you, but I'm not opening my eyes.  I'm dead, and if I can hear your voice, that means you're dead too, and pardon me, but a dead Jim Ellison is not something I think I could handle at the moment.  Nice to find you got your proper age back, though

"Come on buddy, I know you're in there." Warm hands were tapping at his face.

Warm?  Blair risked opening his eyes.  The first thing he became aware of was pain.  Lots and lots of it.  "AAARGH!"  He made an abortive effort to sit up, only to be caught by strong arms when he fell back down.

"Easy buddy," Jim smiled reassuringly at him.  "Looks like you broke your leg there, Chief."

"No, really?"  Blair asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.  His leg felt like it was on fire.  He watched with narrowed eyes as Jim hunted for two flat pieces of wood, then competently splinted and bandaged his leg, then moved to check out other assorted scrapes and bruises from his tumble down the cliff.  "What happened?" he ventured.

Jim froze, hand movements petering out into stillness.  "I...I don't know," he confessed, hands worrying at the side of a sterilised wipe.  "I was hoping you could tell me."

Blair closed his eyes briefly, trying to marshal his thoughts.  "Uhhh, we lost the truck a couple days ago," he started cautiously, unsure as to how much to tell his partner.  "You banged your head pretty bad - I couldn't get much sense outta you for a while. "  Understatement of the year, Sandburg.

Jim reached up and briefly touched the bandage circling his head.  "You did this?"  Blair nodded.  "Good job," the detective congratulated.  "Then what?"

Blair suspected that Jim wasn't really listening, he just wanted Blair to distract himself while he did horribly sadistic things with alcohol based wipes to the scrape on his forehead. "Umm, we were walking a trail up along the top -" he pointed upwards, then quickly looked away. "-Then, I don't know what happened.  It was like a mini avalanche or something, and the next thing I knew,  I was hanging off this tiny little tree root by my backpack."

Jim nodded.  "Then?"

Then everything went insane, you were crying, I was trying to get back up and panicking too much to realise that I was gonna kill myself.  "I fell," he finished weakly, hissing as Jim smeared antibiotic cream on his forehead.  "Ow, watch what you're doing Jim, that stuff smarts."

Ignoring his complaints, Jim fixed a bandage over the scrape, then patted him gently on the shoulder. "You'll be ok, Chief," he reassured, hoping to hell the panic that was just beginning to subside within him wasn't coming out in his voice.  Reaching up, he tugged twice on the rope, letting it slither down.

"Uh, Jim..." Blair said tentatively.  Please don't tell me he's going nuts again, 'cos I do not think that I could handle that at the moment...  "How are we going to get back up?"

Jim smiled at him.  "We're not going back up."

Oh man...

Jim's smile broadened.  "Take a look down, Chief."

Blair warily tilted his head to the side, wincing at the pounding in his head. They were on a ledge.

Above a path.

A real path, with dirt tracks and markers and blessed pieces of litter.  Blair had never been so happy to see a twisties wrapper in his life.

Jim put a hand on his shoulder.  "Chief?" he asked softly, "You think you can make it down?"

Blair nodded, biting his lip at the pain he knew was coming. "Yeah," He shifted on the ledge, scrunching his eyes shut as the pain in his leg burst into life again.  Then strong arms were helping him turn, helping him come down.  The instant he touched the path, Blair's leg buckled under his weight and he clung to Jim, pressing his forehead against the other man's shirt, waiting for the dizziness and pain to subside.  He felt Jim's hands rubbing his back, easing him to sit down on a handy rock.

"You ok, Chief?"

He nodded dazedly, not even sure if his head had even moved.  The fear and worry and exhaustion of the past week crashed down on him and he felt himself falling forward.  But it was ok, some part of his mind registered.  His Jim was back.  Jim was here to catch him, Jim was here to wrap his jacket around him and pillow Blair's head in his lap, Jim was here to take control and just let him rest.......
 

"Welcome back, Chief."

Blair sighed and stared up at the white hospital ceiling.  Bed.  Blankets.  Pillows.  Normal Jim.  Take me now, while, I'm happy.  "Water?" he queried, pushing himself up.  Jim helped him into a sitting position, fluffing up a few pillows to support his back before turning to the carafe by the bed.

"Here." Jim proffered a cup and Blair took it.  Sipping at the cool water carefully, he sent a questioning gaze over the rim.

"Nothing major," Jim replied to the unspoken question, playing with the edge of the blanket.  "You broke your left leg - clean break, no infection, and a slight concussion.  Lucky really, you could have been killed. You sure scared the shit outta me." And a half  Suddenly 'waking up' to find his unconscious Guide sprawled below him was a scene straight out of his wore nightmares.

"Jim...." Blair put the cup on the nightstand and just sat there for a moment, holding his partner's hand.

After a moment, Jim stirred. "Brought you some magazines," he offered, reaching for the pile stacked by his chair. "Fresh outta 'giggler', I'm afraid," he teased lightly.  "Best I could do was National Geographic."

"Thanks," Blair plucked one off the top.  "How's the poison ivy?" he asked idly, flipping through the pages.

Jim froze.  "Fine.  Stopped itching, if that's what you're asking."  I'm still not sure how I got it... He vaguely remembered something about.....muffins?

"Good."  Blair leaned back, resisting the urge to scratch his cast. An evil grin crossed his face as he contemplated the myriad of ways to torture his Sentinel.  "I wasn't sure if I put that pink goop on properly."

Jim blushed a brilliant shade of red.  "ou put that....on my...." he trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

"Well, yeah, Jim. I mean, you were in no condition to do it yourself, man."  Blair took a sip of his water, hoping to drown the threatening laughter.

"You mean you..."

"Relax, would ya?  You'd do the same for me, 'Big Guy'"

Jim blushed an even deeper red at the nickname, and this time Blair couldn't stop the laughter from bubbling out.

Things were back to normal.

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