Chapter Text
The ramshackle hut was dark but the inhabitants didn't care. In fact the dark made it easier to face their fears and hide the evidence of what had gone on before...in the light.
"It's nearly time for you to go," she said, her high-pitched voice revealing her age but the words full of maturity. She felt the arms close around her tighter in defiance of her statement but she didn't protest. The safety she felt in his embrace weakened her will and she struggled to find the strength to let him go.
"Why do you always send me away?" he asked the small figure, wondering if this was what it would feel like to have a child of his own. To feel so much, so quickly for someone else.
"Because you don't belong here. I should be strong enough to handle this on my own. I shouldn't call to you."
"You shouldn't ask for help?" His finger brushed lightly across the bruise that mottled her cheek. "As if I am providing any," he added bitterly.
"Tell that to your shirt which has dried my tears and your heart which had absorbed my pain. You have helped me survive this with dignity. Remember that when you need to."
His heart skipped a beat. "Why will I need to remember that?"
She closed her eyes, knowing that he wouldn't understand but it wouldn't be fair not to warn him. "Tomorrow night will be our last time together...like this anyway."
"You're going to send me away for good?" He didn't like the sound of that. Not that he believed he was helping her, but at least he could pretend...at least he knew she wasn't alone.
"Tomorrow, they will kill me."
"No!" He crushed her so tightly she could barely breathe, but she didn't say anything, merely reveling in the comfort his presence provided. "Please," he pleaded. "Let me help you."
She placed a hand on his chest and felt the heartbeat she would continue to sense as she spent her final day on earth. Then she gently reached up and waved her hand across his eyes. "Forget," she said softly and sent him on his way.
Then blinking back tears, she faced her new companions--the shadows.
*****
Detective Jim Ellison woke with a start. Not again, he thought as he pulled the damp sheets from his body. For the past four days he had awakened drenched in his own sweat, his body full of tension, and sporting a headache that refused to respond to the standard over-the-counter stuff. Worse than the headache was the feeling of helplessness that seemed to have taken up residence in his chest.
Helpless was not a word generally associated with Jim Ellison. He was over six feet tall and kept his body in perfectly fit condition. He was a former Army Ranger captain, had worked covert ops a time or two and was now a fairly successful Major Crimes detective for the Cascade, Washington Police Department. All the training, from Army to cop, had made him one lethal man who excelled in rescuing fair damsels, saving the day for various Cascade residents, and yes, on one occasion, he had even gotten a cat down from a tree. Some people wanted to call him a hero, but Jim figured he was just doing his job; after all, wasn't he the Sentinel of the Great City?
He smiled sadly as he remembered the day he had been given that title. On that day a cherished friend had died trying to mete out justice in the only way he knew. He had felt helpless on that day too, but he'd had a reason for the feeling and with the help of an even dearer friend, he had put the impotence aside and completed the task of dispensing justice. It was the least he could do for the man who had nurtured his Sentinel talents even before he was aware of them.
A Sentinel, according to his limited knowledge, was a person with genetically enhanced senses. In olden, more tribal days, these individuals had used the senses to watch out for their people, to make sure the bad guys were caught and put away. Just like modern-day cops, except there wasn't a rule book they had to follow and death was usually more immediate than a ten-year wait on death row, Jim thought with a dry chuckle, as he padded downstairs to the bathroom. Oh, to have been born a century earlier.
He stripped out of the T-shirt and boxers that smelled of sweat and fear, then stood beneath the shower and let the hot water sluice away the stains of another bad night. What's the matter with me, he thought, unused to the lack of control he was exhibiting. He knew he wasn't experiencing ordinary night terrors. Because of his work, he had suffered them before, knew the symptoms--the covers clawed from the bed as if they were strangling vines, the eyes gummed shut from shed tears, the throat raw from screams that the unconscious couldn't hold back. But that wasn't the case this time. If not for the sweat stains, his bed would appear unslept in. His eyes were bloodshot but dry. And if he had emitted screams or mere groans, his roommate would have been at his side when he awakened.
Blair Sandburg was zealous when it came to the care of his friend, partner, and roommate. He believed Jim's welfare was his personal responsibility. Jim tolerated the attitude because it was one he shared in reverse. Blair was an anthropology grad student at Cascade's Rainier University. He was doing his dissertation on Sentinels and was the resident expert-- literally. Jim had asked him to move in because of that knowledge, but he'd made him feel welcome, let him know the loft was his home because now they were friends...No, more than that. They were brothers, connected at a level Jim hadn't realized was even possible to reach.
Blair had become his Guide, a companion to the Sentinel whose job was to watch the Sentinel's back and take care of him. The Guide was a necessary accessory for the Sentinel because he was prone to zoning, which meant if he focused too hard on one of his senses he could find himself losing contact with reality. The Guide then became either his anchor or his lifeline back to the real world. Because he needed his Guide especially when he was on the job, Jim had confessed his special talents to his captain, Simon Banks. It had helped that Simon was also a friend and together, they had gotten Blair the credentials to be a police observer and had integrated him so well into the department that now Jim and Blair were more likely to get puzzled stares when apart than together.
Just thinking about Blair caused Jim to focus his senses on his partner and he could tell he was nearing waking. He quickly finished his morning routine and left the bathroom, wanting to make it up to his room before Blair could begin with the questions his friend always seemed to have. However, he didn't make it.
"Morning, Jim," Blair called from the doorway of his downstairs bedroom. He'd heard the shower stop and knew his roommate would be passing by.
"Morning, Chief," Jim said obligingly as he checked the towel around his waist to keep from meeting Blair's searching eyes.
"It happened again, didn't it?" Blair accused softly and Jim reluctantly raised his head.
"Yeah."
"We need to find out what causing this," Blair replied, tousling his long dark curls in frustration. "Whether it's physical or mental, we have to make it stop. Although you appear to be sleeping soundly, you're not. You're exhausted and tense. That's not good, Jim."
"I know." As a former medic, Jim was aware there could be an underlying physical condition responsible for what he was going through, but he suspected the answer wasn't that simple. But before he got into that with Blair, there was something else he needed to ask. "What did you mean by 'you appear to be sleeping soundly'?"
Blair's eyes were the ones to break contact. "I watched you for a few minutes last night."
"You what?" Jim was uncomfortable with the thought, even though they had watched each other sleep before--usually during and immediately following a hospital stay.
"You didn't even know I was there, did you?" Blair asked before Jim could tell him he was being overprotective.
A ridge formed along Jim's jawline, signaling tension as he realized what his partner was saying. As a Sentinel, he should have known Blair was there. "I didn't react?"
Blair shook his head. "You were so still, I almost woke you up just to make sure you were okay. But your breathing seemed even and I convinced myself you were just sleeping soundly because of the lack of sleep the nights before. But that wasn't it, was it?" His roommate was silent. "You still have a headache?"
Jim grimaced. "I've had it so long, I'm hardly aware of it."
Blair forced Jim's blue eyes to look into his. "How long are we going to dance around this, Jim?" In the past year or so, Jim's heightened five senses had increased by one. This particular sense allowed the dead to contact him. So far, the ghosts had all been brutally murdered as children and the Sentinel had been the conduit they used to deal with their killers. Whenever the ghosts made contact with Jim, he experienced severe headaches. The last time it had happened, he hadn't even been able to keep food on his stomach.
Jim shrugged, not wanting to consider the possibility that a ghost was contacting him in his sleep. He had sort of resigned himself to being a Sentinel; he had the gifts and they helped him with his job as a Major Crimes detective. Anyway, every time he tried to reject his destiny, something awful came up and he would need the enhancements. So he gave up trying to be normal. But this ghost shit was something else. Blair made the hypersenses seem like a mere genetic fluke. However, talking to ghosts couldn't be blamed on an aberrant allele. No. This was up there (or was it down there) with psychic hotlines and the yearly predictions in the National Enquirer. "If I am having spooky conversations while I sleep, I don't remember them, Chief."
"Yet, they haunt you all day." He had deliberately chosen the word and was prepared to see the walls his roommate quickly slammed into place.
"I have a job to go to. If you're coming in with me today, you better get a move on." With that, Jim stalked to his room.
The silence continued between them as they entered the Major Crimes bullpen at the downtown police headquarters. Captain Simon Banks watched them as they settled at Jim's desk and knew that whatever situation the two had been involved in most of the week, had not resolved itself. He hated prying into their business; he had been uncomfortable learning about Jim's status as a Sentinel and this latest psychic activity hadn't endeared itself to him either.
Before, when things like this happened, he would mumble something that was supposed to be understanding and send them away--camping, fishing, someplace away from him while they figured out what was wrong and how to fix it. But now he was their Watcher. He looked out for the Sentinel and Guide, protecting them from minor enemies like bureaucracy with creative paperwork and from major ones with prompt backup. All in all, he considered his role minor in the Sentinel realm but it was a responsibility he never ignored.
With a sigh, he went to his door and called them into his office. "Same ol' crappy night?" he asked as they plopped into the chairs in front of his desk.
"Yes, sir," his detective replied sullenly.
"And you're sure a visit to the department shrink wouldn't help?" He trusted Jim and Blair to make that decision. They had visited the psychologist before when circumstances had bordered on the extreme and had found her helpful.
Blair shook his head. "Jim can't remember anything. I've even tried hypnosis and you know he's goes under better for me than anyone else."
"Well, something has to be done. You don't look like you can handle much more, Jim," Simon said with the honesty of a real friend.
"I won't screw up on the job, Simon."
"Hell, I know that, Jim. I'm not worrying about you and the job. I'm just worried about you. The last time something like this happened, I had to scoop both of you up at the airport and pour you into my car. I don't want that to happen again. You two got a plan?"
"I want to monitor his sleep tonight," Blair said.
"I thought you did that last night," Jim replied edgily.
Blair rolled his eyes, refusing to rise to the bait. Jim deserved to be crabby. "I want to get an idea of the timeframe. Does whatever it is occur as soon as you fall asleep or maybe at a particular hour during the night, that sort of thing."
Jim shook his head. "Not tonight. You have that date with Tiffany, remember?"
"I'll just have to cancel."
"No, Chief," Jim argued. He put up his hand for silence when Blair would have protested. "Listen to me, Blair, please. When we find out what all this is about, I'm pretty certain things are going to get...intense. There won't be time for Tiffanies, or smiles, or laughter. Enjoy yourself tonight. And remember it over the next few days, okay?"
"Jim, are you sure?" Blair asked as he stood at the door of the loft much later, his keys jangling nervously in one hand.
"Sandburg, if you don't leave now, Tiffany is going to think you're standing her up and from what you've told me, I don't think she's the type you want mad at you," Jim pointed out from his position on the sofa.
Blair grimaced. That Tiffany had one hell of a temper was commonly known around Rainier University. But there was something about her that had guys vying for a date with her. After several unsuccessful tries, he'd finally made it on the "good enough" list. Still..."Jim, this feels really, really, wrong."
"I've never had such a long warning or anticipation before, Chief. We can't be sure of what's going on. But it's been going on for several days now. Whatever it is, it probably won't come to a head tonight."
Blair nodded and reluctantly left, only later discovering how wrong his partner had been.