WARNINGS: If you were content with S2p2, then you may want to give this a pass. If you don't think Blair had reason to get angry, then you definitely want to give this a pass. Trust me on this. It has not been beta read, and represents my opinions alone.
Disclaimer: This is an amateur work of fiction, written purely for fun, and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights associated with the television production, "The Sentinel".
The Rest of Forever
A Sentinel, Too Epilogue
by ysone
His mind was made up by the time the plane landed in Cascade. The decision hadn't been easy, but in his heart, he knew it was right.
As Jim, Simon and Megan headed for the luggage carousel, Blair shifted his backpack and slowed to a stop. Jim continued on for several steps before realizing that the young man was no longer with him. He turned and saw Blair just standing there, his blue eyes dark with indefinable emotion.
"Sandburg, you coming?"
Blair shook his head, gesturing to his backpack. "I don't have any luggage. This is all I brought." He held his breath as Jim's gaze swept over him, knowing the Sentinel could easily detect his racing heart...if he tried. Blair wasn't sure anymore that Jim would make that effort.
Finally, Jim nodded. "Yeah, you look exhausted." He gestured to a row of seats nearby. "Why don't you wait here while we claim our baggage?"
Blair took as deep a breath as he could manage around the tightness in his chest and forced himself to meet Jim's eye. He ignored Simon and Megan as they looked on. "I'm going to go ahead and catch a taxi, Jim. I'm beat."
Jim's eyes narrowed. "Taxi? Sandburg, what are you talking about? I've got my truck. We won't be that long. Just have a seat here and wait, then we'll head home."
"It's out of your way," Blair said softly. He really did not want to have this scene here, especially with an audience.
As though reading his mind, Megan whispered something in Simon's ear and the two moved off, giving the men a small measure of privacy.
"What?"
"My place," Blair explained, "it's out of your way, so I'll just grab a taxi."
"Your place...?" Jim shook his head as though to clear his hearing. "Sandburg, I thought I made myself clear at the hospital. I assumed you'd be moved back into the loft by now."
Blair stared at Jim in unfeigned surprise. "You really thought I'd take that little joke about owing you back rent as an invitation to move back in? I'm sorry, Jim, my reading-between-the-lines days are history. I'm tired of trying to decipher hidden meanings in your macho displays."
Jim's frown deepened. "I thought you understood that I wanted you to come back home. You seemed okay with it at the time."
"I laughed at your joke, Jim. Though I have to admit, I didn't really find it terribly funny that you chose that moment to remind me that I owe you money." He shifted the weight of the backpack, hoping to relieve some of the pressure on his chest. He was still too sore from the resuscitation efforts and his recent...adventure...in Mexico. He felt like hell, and he just wanted to go home and sleep.
Jim rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Look, Chief, I'm not real big on all that emotional crap. You know that. I just thought you understood what I was getting at. I didn't want to have to come right out and say it."
"Say what, Jim? 'I'm sorry for kicking you out?' 'I'm sorry for accusing you of betrayal?' 'I'm sorry for telling you to throw away your life's work because I'd already gotten all I could from you and didn't need you anymore?' You couldn't say any of those things, Jim? How about your basic, 'I'm sorry, Chief.' That way I could have applied it to any or all of the above."
Jim took a step, closing the gap between them. Blair resisted the urge to back away. He kept his gaze locked on Jim's face, struggling to keep his emotions in check. His exhaustion and physical pain made it a losing battle.
"Sandburg...Blair, you know that I am--"
"Don't!" Blair interrupted, his voice louder than he had anticipated. Lower, he said, "Don't, Jim. Don't apologize now, because it really would have little value under the circumstances. You know, I thought that being murdered was the worst thing that could happen to me." His voice dropped to a Sentinel soft whisper. "I was wrong. Not even close. Nor was it getting kicked out of the only stable home I've ever known, or being accused of betrayal and breach of trust by my best friend, or losing what I'd worked toward my whole life because you decided it wasn't important. It wasn't even watching you, my supposed best friend and Blessed Protector, go tongue dancing with the woman that murdered me. None of that even comes close to the pain of finally learning my place in this grand production called life and finding that place is no where near where I thought it was."
"Your place is with me," Jim said, as though it was obvious. "At my side."
Blair shook his head sadly. "I thought so once. But face it, Jim, you don't need me. Hell, you made that perfectly clear to everyone over the past few weeks. You threw me out of your home, then threw me out of your life. You took off for Mexico without me. When I did follow you, foolishly thinking a guide might give you an advantage against another sentinel, you ditched me at the first opportunity and went to the temple alone." A sad smile crossed Blair's face. "Jim, how did you know someone was in your hotel room?"
"What?" The abrupt change of subject threw Jim.
"When you burst into your hotel room, gun drawn, and found Megan and me there, how did you know someone was in the room?"
"I...heard a heartbeat." Confusion colored his response.
"But you didn't recognize it as mine," Blair concluded. "Why is that? You used to."
"I was...confused...."
"That should tell you something," Blair pointed out. "Even Incacha knows you don't need me anymore, Jim. And he's one that named me your shaman in the first place." Hefting his backpack once more to his shoulder, Blair took a step backward in preparation to leave. "If that doesn't show me my place, then I'd have to be pretty dense. Take care, Jim."
"Blair, wait!" Jim stepped forward, grabbing Blair's arm tightly. "We need to talk about this. Please, just come back to the loft with me and let's work this out."
"Let go of me, Jim." Blair's voice was low, restrained anger making it tremble.
Jim released his arm but didn't move away. "Blair, please, don't leave it like this. I thought...I thought we had put this behind us."
"Because you decided so? Typical. I gotta go, Jim. See you around." He turned and headed away as quickly as dignity allowed.
Stunned to speechlessness, Jim just stood and stared after Blair until the young man was swallowed up by a crowd disembarking from a nearby gate. Slowly, he became aware of a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to find Simon watching him, concern creasing the dark face.
Jim's eyes moved further, meeting Megan's. "You knew," he grounded out, accusation darkening his tone.
"That Sandy hadn't moved back to your place? I suppose I had to, seeing as how I'm the one that was left to carry him home from the hospital."
Jim closed his mouth on the reply that sprang to his lips. His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth hurt. He glanced back the way Blair had gone. "Where?"
"Where what, Jim?" Simon asked, dropping his hand from Jim's shoulder.
Ignoring Simon, Jim swung his gaze again to Megan. "Where is he staying?"
Hesitating only briefly, she shook her head. "Give him time, Jim. He's exhausted and hurting right now, physically and emotionally, and he needs time to gather himself. He probably didn't mean half of what he said."
"Conner's right, Jim," Simon put in. "It's been a rough couple of weeks for us all, Sandburg especially. Give it a little time. He'll come around."
The door swung open to reveal a young man, shirtless and barefoot, but grinning widely.
"Blair! Hey, man, thought you were out of town. Forget your key?" His words were almost drowned out by the heavy metal music blaring in the background.
Blair tiredly returned the smile as he pushed past the young man. The strong odor of alcohol hung heavily in the air. "Hey, Travis. Keys're in the bottom of my pack. I'm just too beat the dig for 'em. Sorry."
"No problem, man. I was debating getting up and getting another beer, anyhow." Travis pushed the door shut and followed Blair into the house. "You look like shit, Blair. Rough trip?"
Blair shook his head. He did not want to get into this with Travis right now. All he wanted was his bed. And a dozen or so blankets. How could it be so damned cold in June? "Trip was fine, just long. I'm gonna crash. You think maybe you could lower the music a bit?"
"No problem," Travis assured him, heading instead in the opposite direction, presumably to the kitchen for that beer. Blair debated heading for the back of the house to adjust the music himself, but quickly changed his mind when muffled giggles drifted his way from the room in question. Travis obviously had company, and the fact that there were several different voices, both male and female, coming his way warned Blair he really did not want to know what was going on back there.
Instead, he followed Travis through the kitchen and headed for the stairs that led down to the basement.
"Hey, man, want a beer? You look like you could use it."
"Can't. Meds," Blair explained economically as he pulled the basement door closed behind him. He didn't bother with the light at the top of the stairway, knowing it was probably still burned out. He made his way down in the darkness by keeping his hand on the stone wall for guidance.
At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped and took a breath, wincing as his chest protested the deep movement. Damn. How long does it take for bruised ribs to heal, anyway? Probably a whole lot less time if you followed medical advice and didn't go running off to the jungle on the trail of a mad Sentinel.
Blair angrily pushed the thoughts from his mind, refusing to dwell on the past few days while he was this tired and hurting this much. Deal with it later, he told himself, when you've had a chance to get some distance.
He released his hold on the wall and made his way to the right by memory, counting the steps. On six, he turned back to the left and counted three more, then reached forward, feeling for the lamp he knew was there. Finding it, he ran his hand down the base to the cord, then down a bit further to the switch. Harsh light from the shade-less fixture filled the immediate area and he closed his eyes briefly against the glare.
Once he had adjusted his vision, he moved further into his small corner of living area in the overcrowded basement. Travis and his friends used most of the space for storage, but Blair had managed to clear enough room in a back corner to accommodate his bed and his most essential belongings. He even had managed to construct a makeshift desk from a couple of large cartons spanned by a bit of unused sheetrock he'd found under the stairs. A sturdy wooden crate, upended, served as a chair. It wasn't fancy, but it served his purpose. Blair wasn't about to complain. He had lived in much worse and was just grateful that Travis had offered the space rent free. It gave him a chance to get back on his feet financially.
Blair tossed his backpack to the side and made straight for the bed, stretching out gingerly, He didn't even bother to pull off his shoes. Damn. Wasn't it cold just a few minutes ago? Now he was sweating. Travis must have the heat wide open. Tiredly, Blair reminded himself that there was no heat down here, but the thought was forgotten as he drifted into a restless sleep.
The cramping in his legs increased, but Jim just dialed his sense of touch down a bit more rather than shift his weight off of them. Just as he had been for hours, he was sitting on the stairs, his back against the cold brick wall. It wasn't as if there was no where else to sit. The furniture had all been returned to its proper place before he left for Mexico. The loft was complete again. At least the part Jim could see from where he sat. There were still obvious omissions. A bare spot on the wall where there had once been a print of an ancient tribal warrior; vacant places on a bookshelf here and there where there had once been texts explaining various tribal customs or ancient rituals; clear areas in the pantry and refrigerator where there had once been strange, but enticing foods and teas. And beyond the closed french doors below, a barren room, devoid of the life that had once filled it. The loft felt as empty to Jim at this moment as it had when it had been completely bereft of furnishings. Maybe more so. Because now he recognized the loss.
And you have no one to blame but yourself.
He had thrown away the best part of his life as casually as he would have thrown out yesterday's newspaper. He had been blessed to experience something that few in this world ever even glimpsed: true, unconditional friendship. Blair Sandburg had taken a heart made of stone and in the course of the past three years, with practically no conscious effort at all, had carved away the rock, leaving a living, beating, human heart in its place. No one who knew James Ellison pre-Blair Sandburg would have believed it possible. No one but the lucky few who were witness to the transformation.
And how did you repay him?
Jim refused to list the accusations against him. Sandburg had done that well enough earlier, in the airport. And there was only one of the many listed offenses Jim could truthfully deny. Only one that he would deny with his dying breath. He needed Blair -- as a Sentinel, as a detective, but most of all, as a human being.
He had had it all. He had destroyed it. He had no one to blame but himself.
Jim pulled his truck to a stop before a one-story brick house and checked the number on the mailbox. It matched the one on the paper in his hand. He did a quick scan of the house and surrounding area. A bit run down, showing definite signs of neglect. The yard hadn't been mowed in much too long, and cats plundered through overflowing trash cans against the side of the house. Blair's Volvo sat in the oil-spotted driveway, flanked by a motorcycle on one side and a very conspicuous, late model sports car on the other.
Focusing on his hearing, Jim attempted to locate Blair within the house. Several moments later, with a growl of frustration, he gave up, exiting the truck and heading for the front door. His senses just didn't want to cooperate tonight, something Jim attributed to exhaustion and jet lag, though a nagging voice in the back of his mind warned that it was much more than that.
At the door, he hesitated, suddenly unsure of his actions. When he had finally broken down and called Conner to demand Blair's address, a confrontation with his Guide had seemed the most logical move. They needed to talk, and despite Megan's insistence that Blair needed more time before Jim confronted him, Jim's instincts told him to find his Guide now. Convincing the woman to give him Blair's location had been a struggle, but she had finally given in. Probably out of self defense, Jim decided, knowing she had to be as exhausted as he was after the long flight.
Before he could question himself further, Jim knocked. He waited several long minutes, then knocked again, loudly.
"Keep your pants on, man!" someone inside shouted. After another moment, the door opened to reveal a half-dressed, long-haired man around Blair's age. Jim winced at the loud music emanating from somewhere deep within the home. Red-rimmed eyes from beneath the unruly blond hair struggled to focus on Jim, narrowing when they finally did. "Whoa, cop, right? Nothing but booze here, strictly legal, and I'm in the privacy of my own house. So, what can I do you for, officer, sir?"
Jim clenched his jaw at the sarcastic tone, even as he dialed down his sense of smell to counteract the overwhelming odor of alcohol surrounding the man. "I'm looking for Blair Sandburg."
The young man raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? So?"
"Does he live here?"
"You got a warrant?"
Jim took a calming breath, resisting the urge to slam the guy against the wall and shake the information from him. "I'm a friend. I just want to talk to him."
The man openly studied Jim. "I don't think so, man. Blair and you? I can't see it."
"Can you just tell him I'm here?"
"No can do, Marshall Dillon. Dude's out for the count."
"He's what?"
"You wanna take notes here, Kojak? Taking a siesta, snoozin', observing the screensaver on the back of his eyelids. And there's a big 'Do Not Disturb' sign hanging 'round his neck."
"Look," Jim said, making an effort to control his frustration, "Sandburg and I are friends. We were roommates. I need to talk to him tonight." He hesitated only briefly before adding, "Please?"
The young man stared at him for so long that Jim was beginning to consider pulling his shield and forcing his way in. Finally, the guy shrugged and stepped back. "Whatever, man. Dude can't be sleepin' through this noise anyhow."
Jim pushed by him, entering the house. A quick glance told him it wasn't any better maintained inside than out.
"Through the kitchen and down the stairs to the basement," the young man pointed the way, then disappeared down the hall.
Jim followed the directions and found the stairs. He flicked the switch up and down a couple of times before determining that the light didn't work, but a soft glow from below beckoned him down. At the foot of the stairs, he stopped, surprised. It was a storage space, crammed to almost overflowing with boxes, crates and miscellaneous clutter. Against one wall was a washer and dryer. Against the opposite wall, in a corner sectioned off by more boxes, was a small, relatively clear space, containing a bed and a makeshift desk.
And stretched across the bed, still fully dressed, was Blair.
Jim maneuvered around the clutter and approached the corner, simultaneously reaching out with his senses to monitor the sleeping young man. It wasn't until his attempt failed that he even realized what he was doing. Panic quickened his steps until he was standing beside the bed, leaning over Blair. It was only the shallow rise and fall of the young man's chest that removed the knot of terror from Jim's heart. Blair was merely sleeping. But that brought with it another realization. His senses were completely off-line now.
Assured that Blair was okay, Jim glanced around the "room". Several of Blair's boxes, boxes that Jim himself had packed, were scattered about the area. None had been unpacked, but several were open, their contents spilling out the top, as though someone had been rummaging through them, looking for something. The floor above his head vibrated with the bass of the music upstairs. Blair had to be exhausted to sleep through that noise.
A small lamp sat on the makeshift desk, its bare bulb valiantly attempting to disseminate the gloom of the basement. But it did nothing to dispel the damp chill of the air. This couldn't be good for Blair, Jim reasoned. His lungs were still struggling to recover from...from the drowning. But another voice spoke, reminding him that it wasn't any worse than traipsing through the jungle in the rain, sleeping on the cold, damp ground, mere days after getting out of the hospital.
Jim leaned over Blair again, listening to his breathing. It was heavy, congested. With alarm, Jim lightly brushed his fingertips across Sandburg's brow, startled at the heat he encountered. Blair stirred briefly at the contact, then settled back into a deep sleep.
Damn! The kid was sick. Why hadn't Jim noticed that earlier?
Jim grabbed the thin blanket laying across the foot of the bed and spread it over Blair, resisting the urge to tuck it under him. He then pulled a sturdy wooden crate that Blair had obviously been using as a chair closer to the bed and sat down, prepared to wait until Blair awoke. He wasn't leaving here until they talked, no matter what the outcome.
Jim wasn't sure what alerted him. There hadn't been an audible change in Blair's breathing, or at least he didn't think there had. His senses were still not cooperating, but the young man's congested struggles for air were obvious even without Sentinel hearing. Jim had been unconsciously focused on the rasping sound for almost thirty minutes when he suddenly sat up straighter, straining to hear what his normally sensitive ears refused to amplify.
Something was wrong. He knew that without the benefit of his senses. Moving quickly to Blair's side, he listened again. The rasping breaths had grown harsher but were alarmingly slow. Jim hesitated only a moment before reaching out to touch the kid's forehead again.
Jesus! The kid was burning up, his temperature much higher now that it had been just thirty minutes ago. Jim sat on the side of the bed and gently shook a thin shoulder.
"Sandburg!"
When there was no response, Jim shook him harder, then lightly slapped the side of Blair's face. Still nothing.
"God, no! Not again!" Jim tried once more, his heart in his throat, before grabbing his cell phone and punching in 911.
"Pleural effusion."
Jim blinked at the doctor's pronouncement, not understanding in the least what that meant in English.
The doctor, noticing Jim's confusion, explained briefly. "Pleurisy is an inflammation of the pleura, the membrane that encloses the lung and lines the inside of the chest. Pleural effusion is what we call it when fluid develops at the site of inflammation between the two membrane layers, which is what we're dealing with here. The condition can caused by any of a number of things, but I think we both know the culprit here, Detective. Unfortunately, it's gone untreated so long that we're looking at complications. There has been some leakage of fluid, causing lung compression and impaired breathing. Nothing that we can't treat, though we'll have to watch for pneumonia. Considering his recent trauma, I want to keep him here for a day or two, let him build up some strength, then his personal doctor can monitor him at home."
Home being the loft, Jim decided, not that damp dungeon below the flake.
"Can I see him?"
"We'll be moving him to a room in a bit. As soon as he's settled, I'll have someone take you up."
"Never again, Chief," Jim whispered to the sleeping man on the hospital bed. "I need you where I can keep an eye on you. I know I gave up that right when I kicked you out. I know I can't expect you to forgive and forget just yet, even though I guess that's exactly what I was expecting. That's another reason I need you around. I need someone to keep me straight, especially with myself. I'm just going to have to convince you of that."
He stopped talking when one of the night nurses entered the room. She smiled at Jim and moved to Blair's side, quickly and silently running through her routine checks. Jim waited until she was gone, then scooted his chair closer to the bed. He crossed his arms on the mattress by Blair's side and rested his head on them.
So many mistakes, so many lost chances. So many misunderstandings.
Jim felt more alone at this moment than he ever had in his life. More than when Carolyn left him; then he was relieved to have the tension gone. More than when his helicopter crashed in Peru, leaving him the sole survivor; then he'd had his mission to focus on. More even than when he kicked Blair out; then he'd had his anger, irrational as it was, to fill the empty places. Now there was nothing. And he didn't know what to do about it. He didn't know where to even begin to fix this. All he knew was that he had to try.
The pain in his chest had eased enough that breathing wasn't such a struggle anymore. Blair remained as still as he could, afraid of shattering that illusion. Slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes.
"Shit!"
Unless Travis had redecorated very recently, Blair was no longer in the basement. The deep green canopy of leaves that stretched into dark blue sky had definitely not been above his bed when he had fallen asleep. Gingerly, Blair rolled his head to the side.
"Shit!" He repeated.
He instantly recognized his surroundings and didn't even bother to question how he had gotten here.
Rolling his head to look back at the sky, he shouted, "What the hell right do you have to bring me here?"
Predictably, there was no answer.
"Do you hear me? I don't want to be here!"
"I don't think you have any choice, Chief."
Blair jerked to a sitting position. "What the hell are you doing in my vision?" he snapped at the figure seated on the ground a few yards away.
"I didn't have a choice, either," Jim stated calmly.
Blair climbed hastily to his feet. "I'm not going to do this, Jim. You just tell that to your spirit animal or Incacha or whoever is in charge around here. I'm out of here, man." With that he spun around and headed for the trees.
"Blair! Wait!"
Blair ignored the plea, focusing solely on the sanctuary of the jungle before him.
"Blair, please..."
The desperation in the tone tugged at Blair's heart, and he found his step faltering.
"We're here for a reason. Please, Chief, let's not waste this chance. It may be our last."
Blair stopped, letting his head drop forward till his chin rested on his chest.
"Can't we at least talk here, in neutral territory?"
"Neutral territory?" He spun around to face Jim, who had risen and stepped closer. "This is your territory, Jim. Your vision plane."
"No, not just mine. It's yours, too. You've been here before."
Had he? Yes, once... "At the fountain..."
A small smile worked at the corners of Jim's mouth. "This is where our spirits merged, where yours was reborn."
"I remember." Blair's tone was hushed as the seriousness of this vision hit home. "So, why are we here?"
Jim shrugged. "I don't know."
"You're the expert here, man. Shouldn't there be someone around to lay some great spiritual enlightenment on us?" He couldn't quite keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
"It doesn't always work like that. Sometimes, it's just me." He turned his head, his eyes scanning the trees. "Although, the panther is usually here."
"So, what do we do?"
Jim sat back down. "We might as well get comfortable while we wait."
"Wait for what?"
Again, Jim shrugged. "For whatever, or whoever, we're supposed to wait for."
Blair began pacing around the clearing. "Don't think I don't know what's going on here."
"Maybe you should tell me," Jim suggested. "Because I haven't got a clue."
"That won't work with me, Jim," Blair said with a short bark of laughter. "I know you too well. You and your damned spirit guide set this up to try to force me to talk to you."
He risked a glance in Jim's direction, not surprised to find the ice blue gaze focused on him. He looked away quickly.
"If I had known how to do it, I probably would have," Jim confessed quietly.
Blair clamped his mouth shut and continued his pacing. After a few minutes, Jim spoke again.
"I went to see you tonight. I was hoping we could talk."
Blair stopped and met Jim's gaze. "You came to Travis' house?"
"Is that his name? Not the greatest of accommodations, Chief."
"Beggars can't be choosy," Blair snapped back. "So...I'm asleep, then?"
"You're in the hospital."
"What? What happened?"
"Pleurisy. The doctor says its not too serious, though they are watching for pneumonia. They gave you something to help you sleep. I guess I feel asleep, too."
Blair looked away, rubbing absently at his chest. "Damn. My chest hurt, but I thought it was just the bruising from the CPR." He sighed, then looked back at Jim. "This really sucks, man. I do not want to be here like this. Pretty damned sneaky, if you ask me, slipping up on a guy while he's sick in the hospital. Can't you just tell..." he waved his hands around, encompassing the whole area, "...whoever is in charge here to just send us back? We can talk some other time, when I'm more...recovered."
"I don't have any control over the things that happen here, Chief."
With an exasperated sigh, Blair sank down on the ground facing Jim. "So, we just have to stay here until we come to some kind of an agreement? Man, that is so lame! It sounds like something Simon would do, lock us in a room until we make up. I hate this!"
"Why are you angry, Shaman?"
The voice startled both men to their feet, but no one was in the clearing.
"I don't want to be here!" Blair shouted, not sure where to direct his words.
"Why are you angry?"
"He'll keep asking until he gets the right answer," Jim informed Blair.
Blair shot him a caustic look.
"Why are you angry?"
"I'm not angry," Blair finally said, his tone much calmer. "I'm...hurt."
The question didn't repeat, and Blair breathed a sigh of relief.
"Because I kicked you out?" Jim asked, tentatively, as though afraid of the answer.
"That's only a small part of it, Jim." Blair's voice had dropped to a whisper. "The things you said and did while feeling the effects of Alex's foray into your territory did hurt me, Jim. But I think that if it had ended there, we could have worked through it. But the things that happened in Mexico, man...I just can't get past that."
"I know I made mistakes with Alex. I don't know how to explain what I was going through--"
"She killed me, Jim! Murdered me!" Blair's voice rose with his anger. "Do you know how it felt to watch you go to her, time and again? Protecting her. It may have been some kind of Sentinel instinct, but God, Jim! Couldn't you have tried to fight it?"
"I..." Jim faltered, his mouth moving, but no words coming out.
"You left me tied up while you went to her, Jim. Can you even try to imagine how that made me feel? You put her first, instinct or not, and you never apologized for it. Is the instinct still there? Do you still feel a connection to her, Jim?"
Before Jim could answer, Blair continued. "Please say yes, Jim. Because if I don't have that to blame for your attitude toward me, then I have to accept that you really don't care about me, and I think that would be more than I can bear."
"No, Blair, I don't still feel a connection to her. That ended when I saw her mind destroyed. I do care about you, Blair. God! How could you think I don't? I'm not even a complete person without you. You're my right arm, my anchor to sanity, a part of my soul. I just...I thought..."
"You thought you could just tell yourself everything is all right and that would make it so."
"No..." Jim sighed wearily and rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Yes. That's exactly what I thought. I wanted to go back to the way it was before. I wanted the last month to have never happened. I couldn't bear the thought of all the pain I've caused you. I may not have had much control over what I was saying and doing, but that doesn't mean I wasn't completely aware it. Every word I spoke to you, every hateful, disgusting word, stabbed into my heart. I saw what I was doing to you, saw the pain I was causing you, but I couldn't stop. Every time I close my eyes, I see the look on your face when I kicked you out, when I told you I couldn't trust you, when you found Alex and me on the beach. And it stabs into my heart all over again. I know it's not much of a comfort for you now, but I will have to live with those memories for the rest of my life. And if you leave, if we can't work this out and this is really the end, then I will have to live with the knowledge that I alone am responsible."
Blair was silent, letting the softly spoken confession sink in and take root. Was it enough? Was it sufficient that Jim really did regret what had happened? Did he believe him?
"You know, the first time we met here, you killed me."
Jim's face drained of color. "What?"
"In your dream...you shot me in the heart with your crossbow."
"How did you...? You had the same dream?"
Blair creased his brow in confusion. "You told me about it."
Jim was shaking his head. "No, Blair, I never told you about that dream. I meant to, but I never did."
"No, you told me, Jim." Blair heard the tremble of fear in his voice. Jim had told him about the dream. He had to have. Because if he hadn't...then that meant... "No!"
"Blair, at the beach, when you found me with Alex, how did you know to follow me? You were asleep when I left the church."
Startled by the question, Blair sputtered, "I...just...I woke up and just knew I had to follow you...I knew you needed me." He stared at Jim in stunned surprise. At the time, he hadn't even questioned what made him wake up just as Jim was leaving. He just knew that Jim was in trouble. That the Sentinel needed him. And he'd been right. But Blair had never questioned that knowledge.
"Before I left the church, I had a vision of Alex and me on the beach. That's what drew me to her." Jim stepped closer to Blair. "I think somehow you shared that vision. You were there, you knew what was about to happen, and you knew you had to stop it."
"No, I didn't have the vision," Blair denied weakly. He didn't. He would remember that, wouldn't he?
"That explains why Alex wasn't surprised to see you alive. Somehow, she sensed you in the vision. She knew."
"No..."
"And again, in the jungle, when I left to go after her alone...you shared the vision of Incacha, too, didn't you? You knew he told me to leave you behind."
"You told me..."
"No, Chief, I didn't."
Blair shook his head, trying to deny what he knew in his heart to be true. He had shared the visions. The evidence was too strong. Why didn't he remember?
"Incacha told you to go alone, Jim." Regardless of whether or not he had witnessed the exchange between Jim and his former Shaman, Blair was certain of one thing. "Even he knew you didn't need me anymore."
Jim quickly closed the gap between them, and before Blair could react, he grasped Blair's shoulders tightly. "No! You're wrong! It's because he knows how desperately I do need you that he warned me to leave you behind. He knew that I couldn't risk losing you to Alex again. He knew that your survival was imperative to my survival. That's why he told me to leave you behind. Believe that, Blair, if you don't believe anything else I've said here.
"When I was in the tank, all I saw was death. The darkness was so overwhelming that I felt like I was losing myself to it. Incacha told me that the darkness would flee from the light, but that light must shine from within. Suddenly, you were there with me. It was your spirit that drove away the darkness. Not Incacha, Blair. It was you. If it hadn't been for your spirit there with me at that moment, the darkness would have driven me mad."
"As it did Alex in the end."
"Yeah." Jim loosened his hold on Blair's shoulders, but didn't release him completely. "That was the difference, Chief. You said it yourself, she lost her way. But she lost her way because she didn't have a light to guide her through the darkness." Jim's voice dropped to a whisper. "The difference was, I had you."
Blair closed his eyes against the raw heartache on Jim's face. He had never seen Jim so emotionally open, so readable, and it was almost painful to witness. This time he, Blair, was the one causing the pain, and that thought struck an unspeakable agony through him. But the agony was escorted by ecstasy. He pushed away the last of his doubts and let the relief and joy of Jim's declaration fill him.
Jim needed him.
"I know it's a little late for an apology, Blair," Jim continued, "and I can't expect you to forgive me when I can't even forgive myself, but please tell me we can try again."
Blair opened his eyes, taking in Jim's worried expression for a long, silent moment. "I guess if we want to get out of here in this lifetime, I don't have a choice." A small smile curled the corners of his mouth at the words.
Jim's mouth dropped open, as though that was the last thing he had expected to hear, and the very thing he had most hoped for.
"Or maybe," Blair went on, "we can pretend to disagree for a little longer. I don't think it would be so bad to hang around here until my body does a little healing. I'm about sick of hospitals."
Jim let out a laugh of pure joy and pulled the younger man to him. "Yeah, but you haven't seen your nurse yet. She could draw my blood anytime."
"Hey, she's my nurse. I've got first dibs, man."
Blair felt Jim pull him closer, practically suffocating him against his chest. He had no intentions of complaining.
Jim opened his eyes and straightened slowly. The memory of the vision swirled still through his sleep fogged brain. Looking up, he found dark blue eyes fixed apprehensively on him.
"Did..." Jim hesitated, afraid to ask. "Did that really happen?"
The apprehension faded, quickly replaced by relief. "Yeah, I guess so." Blair's voice was low and hoarse, but music to Sentinel ears.
Jim grinned broadly as he became aware of his Guide's life signs once again dancing triumphantly through his senses. Everything was online.
"So," Jim started, "are we good?"
"No," Blair said, smiling to take the sting from his answer. "But I think we will be."