Part two

Even his fingernails hurt.

Blair ignored the way his eyeballs and lids grated as he blinked. He pushed the blanket off his chest. Something putrid had crawled into his mouth and rotted. To his total disgust, he realized it was his tongue.

In the blessed silence of the room, he could hear his empty gut bubble with acid. A delicate scent had awoken him: eggs with cheese and... mushrooms?

He looked around. High ceilings. Not a detox cell. That was a plus.

Yesterday's memories hit all at once, making his head pound. He'd spent his last bit of cash on whisky and tried to crawl inside the bottle. Some big Neanderthal throwback with a badge had busted him. Blair definitely remembered being handcuffed.

But his wrists were free now. What had happened?

"You up for some breakfast and a shower before we talk?"

Sitting up too fast, Blair dropped his face into his hands and did his best to keep his brain from exploding out his eye sockets.

"Here."

A strong hand captured one wrist and pressed two capsules into his palm. A clinking sound, like a water glass on a coaster, caused Blair to look up...

And up.

And up.

The guy was a skyscraper.

"Hell, man. How's the weather up there?" Blair mumbled before sucking the pills into his mouth. His hand shook as he reached for the water. He gulped and returned the half empty glass to the coffee table, missing the coaster completely. Ignoring his captor's crooked smile, Blair rose on unsteady legs. "Since this ain't a cop shop, I'm not under arrest. I'm - like - gone, man."

Blair was halfway toward a big, green door bearing a stupid looking bird poster when his Good Samaritan spoke, "Don't you want to learn how to control your senses?"

Turning nearly caused him to fall on his ass. Blair managed to salvage what little self respect he owned and stay upright. "Who... why do you care?" God, talking hurt. Everything hurt. Except... Blair looked around, taking in the brick walls and the upper loft and gourmet-equipped kitchen. "How's this place so quiet?"

The man lifted his chin knowingly and offered a superior smile. "White generator noise machine. You like it?"

Blair nibbled on his lower lip. He did. He liked the missing voices. The silence wrapped him in a soothing void. Pure sanctuary. He couldn't see them. They couldn't see him. He shouldn't be hearing their itty-bitty lives in his head. How? This cop knew how. He made the voices go away.

Blair remembered another thing from last night: he'd begged this cop to help him. And the guy had agreed.

"Who are you?" Blair asked. His gaze followed as the tall guy walked into the kitchen.

"My name is James Ellison. I work for Cascade Police." Ellison pulled out a pan from the oven and placed it on a hot pad in the center of the table.

Fragrant steam rose and Blair had to lock his knees to keep from pouncing. The quiche was the first dish he'd cared to eat in the last several days. Sheer willpower kept him from moving.

"Come on, Sandburg. No harm in eating some of this while I explain." Jim was putting out more food: croissants, butter, jam, orange juice. Oh, god, the guy had cantaloupe.

Feet starting forward on their own accord, Blair neared the table. Forgetting his pride and suspicions, he eased into a chair. His fist trembled as he picked up a fork. Smelled good. Everything smelled so good. So, would taste deliver the cruel blow this time? Blair broke off a piece of quiche. He used both hands to guide the bite into his mouth.

Oh god, heaven on a fork. Each flavor was pure. Blair shoved food into his mouth. This stuff was incredible! Cheeks bulging, he reached for another roll. Jim caught his arm.

"Slow down or you're gonna be sick, Chief."

"So'ee," Blair mumbled, head bowed and face hot. He splayed his hands flat on either side of his plate and chewed.

"Okay," Jim said, sitting down across the table with just a cup of coffee in his hands. "I'm going to assume none of what I explained to you last night stuck, so I'll start from the top."

Blair nodded and swallowed before reaching for another helping of fruit. Perhaps this guy was worth listening to.

"There's more towels under the cabinet," Jim called from the other side of the door.

Blair leaned his forehead on the bathroom door. Breakfast was threatening to erupt. Staggering over to the toilet, he dropped on the closed lid and thought back over what Ellison had told him.

A tribal watchman.

Blair shook his head. How could someone that looked sane be so crazy? He was supposed to believe all this freaky stuff was due to a dormant gene that suddenly woke up? No way in hell. Blair needed to turn it off.

First things first. He'd grab a shower, borrow the clean clothes this Ellison guy had handed him and split.

Twenty minutes and three shampoos later, he felt human again. In fact, Blair was starting to realize that getting drunk last night was probably high on his list of stupid moves. He really did owe this guy for helping him get his head on straight. Blair dressed in baggy sweat pants and a warm sweater that looked like someone had shrunk in the wash. The socks were thick and expensive. Strangely enough, the cloth didn't make his skin itch. Not finding a comb, he used his fingers to push the wet strands back.

It was time to open the door and figure out a way to politely thank this guy and split.

Blair plastered a smile on his face and turned the knob.

"Hey, look man. I know I ow-" Blair froze in mid-step.

"Blair," Jim said from his perch on the edge of the now clean kitchen table. "This is Simon Banks. Simon, this is the guy I told you about this morning, Blair Sandburg."

Simon stepped forward as if to shake hands, but caught the way the kid seemed to shrink and edge back. He was like a wild colt, skittish as hell, Jim noticed. What must Simon be thinking? Blair was clean, but the rash on his neck, wrists and back of his hands was hard to ignore. This was going to be harder than Jim had first thought.

"What are you saying about me?" Blair demanded.

"Nothing," Jim said, holding out his palms. "Simon is my boss. I was just explaining how we met last night."

"Ellison doesn't take in too many strays," Simon joked. "And I've never known him to take a vacation day, so I thought I'm come by to make sure everything is okay."

"It's fine," Blair snapped back. "Because I'm leaving. I'll try and mail you some bread to cover your expenses. I'm not a bum, in spite of what you think." He edged sideways as he spoke, working toward the door.

Jim moved to block the way. "I don't want your money, Blair. I just want to help you."

"What is it with you?" Blair shot back, his attention ping-ponging between the two older men before him. "And don't give me anymore crap about tribal lore. I'm not buying. I'm starting to think you guys aren't real cops."

"Of course we're cops!" Simon reached for his shield.

Before Jim could move, the kid eyes bulged in fear, fixed upon the gun tucked in his boss's belt. Blair bolted for the back door.

"Wait!" Jim didn't want this to turn into a battle of strength, but there was no way he was going to let Blair run out. Lightening fast, the deadbolt was slid back and the back door slammed against the wall. Knocking over a defenseless kitchen chair in his way, Jim raced after him, out the door, down the back hall leading to the stairs. On the third landing, he jumped over the potted fern and wooden stand that the kid had tipped in passing. He could hear Blair's stocking feet pound the stairs.

It was raining outside. The morning air condensed his breath into tiny clouds. Jim paused in the alley. Which way? Had Jack not been murdered, he would be here to take lead. Then again, had Jack been here, Jim wouldn't be chasing after another sentinel.

"Hey! Watch it, punk!"

The shout came from his left. Jim ran to the corner. The busy street leading down to the bay was slick with rain. A city utility truck was barreling down the hill, its horn blaring. Blair stood frozen in the middle of the road. He was crouched in obvious pain with both hands over his ears.

"Sandburg!" Jim launched out into the street. He wasn't going to make it!

Hitting the youth mid-waist, Jim twisted the kid off his feet and flung him aside. Jim hit the asphalt on his shoulder and rolled. The front tire brushed his ass as it passed by. A few seconds later, a light hand landed on his shoulder.

"A-are you okay?"

Jim rolled over onto his back and let the rain bathe his face. Blair's frightened gaze looked back, his wet hair dripping. The near outcome of the situation made Jim want to surge up and shake the nineteen year-old into his teeth rattled, but he forced himself to keep his panic hidden. "I'm fine. You?"

Maybe it was the calm manner in which he answered or perhaps just the incident itself, but the kid's expression went from fear to open awe. "You... you just saved my life. I saw the whole thing. The voices came back as soon as I stepped out of your-"

"Hey! What the hell is your problem!"

Two hundred and sixty pounds of pissed off utility service employee surged up the hill, fists clinched in rage. Jim pushed off the ground and struggled to his feet, ignoring protesting and bruised muscles as he stepped between the driver and Blair. "Cascade police. Shall we guess your speed coming down that hill, Pal?"

The driver paused uncertainly, then jabbing a finger in the air, he snapped back, "That idiot was just standing in the road. Just standing. He could have been killed!"

"You've got one minute to get back in your truck and drive away. This time, keep it under the speed limit. Neighborhoods are twenty-five. You'll find the number on the gauge before the thirty."

Waiting until the guy had spun around and stomped back to his truck, Jim turned back to Blair.

"Shit," the other man whispered. "You're serious about watching my back."

"I am." Jim took the kid's arm, checked the street and hustled him back into the alley.

Blair allowed himself to be herded. "Shit."

"You found him," Simon said as they neared the rear entrance to the stairwell - which was good, because Jim didn't have the key and the door had locked automatically behind him.

Feeling the arm in his grasp tighten and try to pull away, Jim realized he'd get nowhere with an audience. "Simon, Blair and I need to go over some things. I'll call you later today."

"You sure?"

They were standing at the bottom of the stairwell. Blair was starting to squirm like a fish on a hook, tugging against Jim's hold. Reluctantly - trust had to start sometime - Jim let him go. "I'm sure. We're fine."

"Okay, Jim." Simon gave Blair a measured look. "I'll talk to you later." He nodded to Blair and left through a side access to the ground floor lobby.

"How does he figure in to all of this?" Blair asked.

"He's... well, he's my boss. He knew about Jack and me. I didn't tell him anything about you."

Blair licked his lip, eyes flicking to the door Simon had just disappeared through. "But you want to."

Jim shrugged. "Other than Jack, he's one of my closest friends, Sandburg."

"Jack." Just having the kid say the name drove a dagger through Jim's gut. "He was the one you helped before."

"Right," Jim answered crisply. He nodded up the stairs. "Let's finish this in the loft."

It seemed to be a deciding moment for the younger man. Blair crossed his arms, his chin dropping to his chest as he stared at the dirty, wet pair of borrowed socks on his feet. Jim couldn't begin to imagine what thoughts were knocking around in that long-haired head. He hoped the lure of a perceived safe haven would win him over.

It did.

Blair sighed, shrugged and plodded up the stairs.

The cop closed the back the door behind him. Blair watched, wondering if he'd lock it. He didn't. In fact, Ellison went to the front door and removed the chain from the slide.

"You're not a prisoner, Sandburg."

"Where is this Jack-guy now?" Blair blurted out.

Jim answered with a curt, "Dead." He pointed down at Blair's feet. "Take those off before you leave wet footprints all over my hardwood floor."

Yeah, he'd tracked in a soppy line of sock prints. "Sorry, man." Blair stripped them off and stood uncertain where to put them. When Ellison nodded at the bathroom, Blair remembered the dirty clothes hamper he'd seen while taking his shower.

Jim was fixing two cups of coffee when Blair returned from the small room. He took the offered coffee cup and sipped. Too sweet. Seeing the reaction, Jim took the mug back and switched it with the other. This time it tasted perfect, just a hint of sugar and real cream. Jim nodded to himself, like he was taking mental notes or something as he dumped out the first mug and poured another coffee, black this time, and took a sip.

"Here's the deal..." Jim started, leading the way over to the sofa.

Blair wasn't so willing to move away from the Jack issue. "How'd he die?"

Again the big guy tensed, then posed his face to remain indifferent. "I screwed up."

"How?"

"I didn't... I forgot my job for a night and wasn't there when he needed me. He was murdered."

What did that mean? Blair didn't do violence. He was raised to follow the path of peace. What was he doing even talking to this guy? Naomi would have a freaking cow if she...

But she wasn't, was she?

They talked all morning, mostly Blair talked about his senses suddenly became enhanced after a recent extended camping trip. Jim couldn't get the kid to talk about his family at all. He did mention he was in college. Apparently the guy was some child genius or something; he started Rainer when he was only sixteen.

Now the guy was curled into a tight ball, arms wrapped around shins. He sat sideways on the sofa, looking exhausted. "I just don't understand how anybody could have a normal life with this sentinel virus you're talking about, man."

Leaning forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped as if in prayer, Jim gently corrected him. "Blair, it's not a sickness. It's a gift." He hurried on when that caused the other man to shake his head in disagreement. "Hear me out, okay? Jack had a great life. His senses helped him do his job. You can control them with practice. I can help you. I've studied this all my adult life."

Closing his eyes, Blair dropped his forehead to his knees. "I want to believe you."

"You can," Jim said. "I swear, you can."

Blair lifted his head to pin Jim with a suspicious look. "What do you get out it?"

There was the ten million dollar question. How was he supposed to explain this to a nineteen year old kid? "Let me ask you this: what do you want to be when you... after you graduate?" Jim nearly said `grow up'. That would go over like a lead balloon.

"I'm getting a PHD in earth science. We're-" Blair blushed. "I mean, I'm an environmental activist."

"Okay," Jim said. He would need to rethink his theory on the sentinel's ingrained sense of protection to the tribe. Perhaps it included the land as well. "Okay then, just like you know you're called to save the rainforest, or whatever, I'm meant to guide a sentinel."

"Like a seeing eye dog or something?"

The kid wasn't slamming him. Jim could see he was really curious. "More like a fitness trainer."

Blair scratched one of the red welts on his arm. "Fitness..." He winced as a droplet of blood swelled up. "I think I need a shrink, not a fitness coach."

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