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This is a sequel to "To Protect and Obey", so it would be very helpful to read that story first, or otherwise you'll be going...WHAT!!?? every few minutes. This is most definitly a Jim angst story, with a some Jim owies, and even a few Blair owies. Take it in Blair fans, because I don't often hurt Blair. I find it way to easy. Maybe its my "cop" instincts, but Blair screams "victim", and that is just too easy to do. This is rated R for violence and disturbing imagary. Parental Discretion is advised(Man I always wanted to say that.) Learning to Live Prologue Detetective Jim Ellison sat crosslegged on his bed in the upstairs bedroom of his loft that he shared with his Guide and partner, Blair Sandburg, staring in apt fascination at the large combat knife in his right hand. Moving his wrist ever so slightly he watched the light from the skylight refract along the razor sharp edge. He was alone at the loft; Sandburg was at an afternoon class. Jim slowly lowered the blade until the edge layed against the skin of his right thigh. Pressing down with minumum amount of pressure, Jim moved the sharp edge in a horizontal line across his thigh leaving a trail of blood that oozed from the wound. The sharp scent of blood filled his nostrils, and Jim's sentinel vision zoomed in on the fresh cut, seeing the smooth edges of the torn skin, the depth of the wound, and the redness of the blood. He could feel the pain from the wound, his pain dial up to the equivalent of a seven on a scale from one to ten. He embraced the pain, nearly zoning on it, as he cleaned the blade with a khaki colored handkerchief. When the blade was clean he slid it securely into its sheathe and placed it beneath his pillow. Beside him on the bed was an open First Aid Kit. He cleaned and bandaged the wound, noting the three other half healed wounds that decorated his thigh. Smiling, he used butterfly bandages on the cut, then slipped into a pair of grey sweatpants hiding the proof of his self mutilation from Guide eyes. Still in pain, Jim secured the first Aid Kit, hiding it beneathe his bed. Laying his head on his pillow, Jim Ellison closed his eyes knowing that the nightmares that awaited him in sleep would dull the physical pain. Chapter One Three weeks earlier... Blair Sandburg opened the door to the loft, and allowed his friend, and Sentinel to slowly walk into their home. Jim limped slightly, hunched over from the near intense pain of broken ribs, and bruised muscles. He moved slowly to the couch, where he layed down on his side, blue eyes staring off into the distance, seeing nothing, and everything at the same time. Blair watched his partner carefully. It had been nearly a week since Jim had been placed in the hospital after his rescue from the FAAT members who had kidnapped him six weeks before that. Only three times since then had Ellison broken down and cried in Blair's arms. Since the last time, Jim had been oddly silent. When pain would lance through his body, Jim would only grimace and bear it, toning down the dials as neccessary. Blair was beginning to worry about his partner's mental stability. Aparently so did Simon, because he had ordered that Jim would not come back to work until he had seen either the Department psychologists, or a regular one until that psychologist considered him fit for duty. So far Jim had yet to discuss it, and Blair knew that Jim was going to avoid it for as long as possible. Jim was still physically hurting, and Blair knew that it would be awhile before Jim would try to get back to work. Blair went into the kitchen and began to gather the ingrediants to make lasagna. Every so often he would glance at Jim on the couch. After ten minutes he noticed Jim had fallen asleep. Blair placed the pan of lasagna in the preheated oven, then walked quietly over to the couch.He unfolded an afghan, and laid it gently over his sleeping partner. He stood and watched Jim for a minute, noticing the flicker of his eyelids that indicated REM sleep. Hoping that it wasn't a nightmare, Blair took out some papers from his backpack and began grading the term papers he had assigned his Anthro 101 class. A few minutes later, Jim began to whimper in his sleep. Blair didn't hear his friend at first, but eventually the whimpering became louder. Alarmed, Blair set down the papers, and kneeled down beside the couch. He saw tears coming from Jim's tightly closed eyes. Grasping Jim's shoulder, Blair shook his friend while saying, "Jim, Jim wake up, man, its just a dream." Jim woke up quickly at Blair's prodding. His heart was beating fast in his ears, and he was breathing heavily. The nightmare had gripped him firmly, and Jim could still feel it at the edges of his vision. "Jim, are you alright?" Blair asked worridly. Jim looked at Blair, fear and pain filling his blue eyes, then suddenly was masked. Blair was not fooled. When Jim refused to talk about it, Blair decided to leave him alone until he felt ready to talk. He stood up and checked on the lasagna, which was nearly ready. Jim watched Blair head back into the kitchen, then closed his eyes. His ribs were killing him, and even with the pain dialed down they were still uncomfortable. He hurt elsewhere, and felt extremely uncomfortable even thinking about those hurts. Best to ignore them, and what they represented. He still couldn't go to sleep without Jack or Hank popping up in them. His senses would cloud together and he would reexperience everything over and over again. Simon had come and taken Jim's gun, or Jim would have seriously have considered using it on himself. Not that he would ever admit that to Blair, knowing that the young anthropologist was frightened enough for him as it was. Jim hated the feeling of helplessness, and fear that seemed to have a permanent place in his gut. He hated the nightmares that had plagued him at the hospital, but the worst was the one he had just had. He had been dreaming that he was back at the FAAT camp, tied like a dog to a tree by a makeshift collar and rope. Even though he was on his knees with Hank's dick up his ass, all he could see were the two bodies swinging from a tree by ropes around their necks. Jim could see Blair's beautiful locks blowing in the wind, as the face stared ahead, blue eyes cold and dead. It had been his Guide's fear that had brought Jim back to himself in time to save his partner and his Captain from death. He had payed the price for saving them, but he would willingly surrender himself to a thousand Hanks to save his Guide. It wasn't the rapes he had endured in the camp after saving Simon and Blair that haunted him so. For two weeks he had been a prisoner of the FAAT members in their cabin hidden deep within the Cascade Mountains. Jim couldn't recall all the faces, but he remembered the hands on his body, the dicks shoved up his ass daily, or sometimes in his mouth. The salty taste of semen, the smell of his own blood. The feel of that blood running down his thighs. The scents, sights, sounds, taste, and the feel of everything crowded in together, heightened by the gift or curse of his Sentinel abilities. Jim realised that gun was looking more and more appealing. So deep in thought the Sentinel was, that when his Guide set down a plate heaped with lasagna on the coffee table, that he jumped startled by the loud clank of the plate hitting wood. "Easy, Jim. Its just me." Blair said in his soothing guide voice when he saw Jim jump as if startled. I'm going to have walk on eggshells around here for awhile,Blair thought. Jim visibly relaxed at the sound of Blair's voice, and watched the young shaman sit down on the floor beside the couch. "Come on Jim, you gotta eat." Blair said as he filled up the fork he was holding with the lasagna and held it to Jim. Jim rolled his eyes,"Chief, I'm not a child, I can feed myself." "Yeah, well then sit up and eat." Blair said laying the loaded fork back down in the plate. Jim sighed and moved slowly to a sitting position ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs. Knowing Blair, Jim suspected the guide would feed him if he didn't do it himself. Jim reached over to the plate to get the fork, but another sharp pain in his side had him wincing. Blair quickly picked up the plate and moved to sit beside Jim on the couch. "Here, you don't need to be leaning over." He sat the plate in Jim's lap, and the sentinel took up the fork scooping up some of the lasagna and placing the bite in his mouth. Blair's lasagna was always good, but after a so long without real food, it was ambrosia. He ate the plate of lasagna while Blair fixed himself a plate. Blair sat beside the sentinel while they ate, neither one saying anything. When dinner was done, Blair took the plates to the sink and rinsed them off placing them in the dishwasher. "Do you want to sleep on the couch or your bed?" Blair asked Jim as he walked back into the livingroom. "My bed, Chief. I'll sleep better."Jim answered. Blair helped him stand up and then walk upstair to Jim's bedroom. Blair helped Jim out of his sweatpants and shirt ignoring the fading marks that indicated the torture Jim had endured. Once his clothes were off and Jim was in nothing but his blue boxers, Blair helped the sentinel lie down in the large bed, then covered him up with the thin blue coverlet. "Thanks for being here for me, Chief." Jim said suddenly. "Always, Jim." Blair replied laying a hand on Jim's shoulder in a comforting gesture. Jim did not flinch away at the touch. A deep instinct told his body that this was his guide not one of his tormentors. Blair smiled, and Jim smiled back. Closing his eyes, he listened as Blair left the room going down the stairs. He explored with his hearing and located Blair's heartbeat. He listened to the gentle thumping allowing it to lull him into sleep. Hands grabbed his arms and pulled him roughly to the ground. He heard the crack of leather and felt a belt fall across his bare back. He refused to cry out as the belt continued to rain blows across his bare back and buttocks. Someone put out a lit cigar on his shoulder and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. A pair of callused hands explored down his back to his buttocks. The hands gripped his butt cheeks and spread them apart. Fingers invaded inside his body, as laughter filled his ears. The scent of sweat and sex filled his nostrils. As fingers explored inside his anus, someone else's hands gripped his head and lifted. Orders to open his mouth filled his ears, and a sharp blow to his back from a belt came when he didn't obey. The order was repeated, and he obeyed, closing his eyes tightly, though tears leaked through. He felt the warm penis enter his mouth at the same moment that he felt another penis enter his anus. He choked on the large penis as it was forced down his thoat and the scent of sweat and semen overwhelmed him... Jim woke up and vomited. He continued to heave until his stomach was empty. Blair came racing up the stairs to find Jim in his bed covered in vomit whimpering and crying as his body shook from reaction. Fighting the urge to vomit himself, Blair walked forward and grasped Jim's shoulders all the while talking to him in a low tone."Its alright, Jim. I'm here, buddy. I'm right here." He stroked Jim's head and shoulders as he talked and Jim cried on his shoulders. When Jim stopped shaking, Blair pulled Jim back from him, "Come on, Jim. Let's get you cleaned up." The stench of vomit was almost overwhelming to the sentinel, and he allowed Blair to help him down the stairs to the bathroom. Blair looked at how unsteady Jim was on his feet, and sat the sentinel down on the covered toilet seat while he filled the bathtub up with water. Jim sat staring straight ahead focusing on nothing in particular. His blue eyes looked lost, and Blair prayed that Jim would not go back to that state he had been in when they had found him. When the tub was filled, Blair helped Jim out of his boxers and into the bathtub. As the sentinel sat quietly in the tub, the water up to his stomach, Blair used a washrag and gently cleaned the vomit from Jim's body. Jim said nothing, not even flinching away from Blair when Blair would touch one of the healing wounds on his body. Blair talked in a his soothing tone about inconsequental things knowing that the words didn't matter only the tone. When Jim was clean, Blair helped him out of the tub, and dryed him off with one of the soft cotton towels, then wrapped the towel around the sentinel's waist and guided him to the couch. He helped Jim lay on the couch, and covered him with an afghan. Blair then went upstairs and stripped Jim's bed of the vomit covered sheets and blankets placing them into a trash bag. He took the bag to the basement and started them in the washer. He came back and found Jim on the floor his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs rocking back and forth whimpering deep in his throat. Immediatly Blair went to the sentinel wrapping his arms around Jim's shoulders and talking again in that soothing tone until Jim stopped whimpering and rocking. Blair knew that his leaving Jim alone, even for a few mintues is what caused Jim to act in the manner Blair had found him in. When Jim was calm, Blair led the Sentinel to his room laying the big detective on his bed. Blair's scent was all over the bed and pillow and the sentinel seemed to find comfort from it. Blair sat beside Jim stroking the detective's head until he fell asleep. Blair sighed, and stood up pausing to watch if the sentinel would react. When Jim didn't, Blair then went to put the sheets into the dryer. When he came back there was no repeat performance, but he could hear Jim whimpering in his sleep. Blair decided as he watched the sentinel fight the demons in his dreams, and layed down on the bed beside his sentinel one arm over Jim's chest. Blair lay on his side as the sentinel lay on his back, and Blair fell asleep listening to his sentinel breath. Morning came, and Blair found himself laying on his back with Jim's head resting on his chest ear pressed above Blair's heart. The Sentinel was still asleep, and Blair wondered if he would disturb the sentinel if he tried to get up. With the way Jim's arm was over Blair's chest and the detective's body was pressed up against him, Blair felt that he would. So he lay quietly, listening to Jim breath, staring up at the ceiling, and praying to God he hadn't talked to since he was a small child to help him save his sentinel. Hours later, Jim was back on the couch, with Blair in the kitchen fixing breakfast. The TV was on, but Jim didn't appear to interested in the infomercial that was playing. Every now and then Blair would glance over at Jim watching for any signs that Jim had zoned. When the silence became to much, he would ask Jim if he wanted eggs, or toast, or coffee. Anything to break the silence that seemed to permeate the room, suffocating the young anthropologist. Jim would answer in short one word sentences, "yes", "no", or merely with a shrug of his broad shoulders. When breakfast was made, Blair sat down next to Jim, and handed the sentinel a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and vegetarian sausage. Jim ate methodically, not even bothering to taste what he put in his mouth. Most of his senses were dialed back to normal levels, normal for a regular human, not a sentinel. His sense of taste and smell was dialed back to nearly nonexistance in an attempt to protect himself from becoming nauseous by the taste of his food and the smells settling in the loft. Blair began to speak about inconsequental things, his classes, some tribe out in the middle of nowhere, or some ritual performed by some unpronounceable tribe. Jim didn't listen to the words only the tone, because as Blair spoke, his tone was that of his soothing "guide" voice as Jim called. Not quite a monotone, but nothing like his normal exitable chatter. When Blair spoke in his Guide tone, Jim felt as if he was falling into a trance were only the sound of Blair's voice could follow him. They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Blair stood up and opened it admitting Simon Banks into the loft. Clenched between the captain's teeth was an unlit cigar. "Hey, Simon." Blair said as he shut the door behind the big captain. Banks looked over at JIm seated on the couch eating his breakfast. He looked at Blair. "How is he?" Banks asked concerned. "His hearing is just great." Jim answered. Simon looked nonplussed. "Your just a laugh riot, Jim." "A regular Groucho Marx." Jim answered back. Blair shook his head. "I'm going downstairs to get your sheets, Jim. Do you need anything before I go." Blair asked. "I'm fine, Chief." Blair nodded, "I'll be right back." With that Blair went down to the basement. Simon looked at Jim, "Sheet?" He asked. "Had a little trouble last night. No big deal." Simon wondered what little trouble would have Blair washing sheets in the middle of the night. He looked at Jim, who had set down his plate and was leaning back in the couch. Blair came back in with the sheets folded in his hands and went upstairs to place them on his bed. Simon followed. As they placed the sheets on Jim's bed, Simon decided that he didn't care if Sentinel ears heard him. "What happened?" Simon asked. "I'm not sure. I guess he had some kind of nightmare. I heard him retching, and came up to find he'd vomited in his bed. I gotta tell you it took all my willpower not to throw up, too." "How long are you going to keep this up Blair, before you force him to get some help." "I don't want to force him. He needs to decide on his own. He needs to decide that the nightmares are not going to just go away." "Sandburg, Jim is as stubborn as rock. He is not going to ask for help from anyone, especially not a psychiatrists. Has he even once asked you for help?" Blair had to shake his head at that. Simon sighed. "Just think about it Sandburg. I'll have Rafe and Brown come by later and see if you need anything. Are you going to go back to class?" Blair shook his head, "Not for awhile. Not until Jim's a bit better and can move around more. There's no need to send Rafe and Brown by." "Humor me, Sandburg." They finished making the bed, and came downstairs to find Jim curled upon the couch fast asleep. Wondering how much Jim had heard, Simon left after telling Blair to call if he needed anything. Looking at the time, Blair woke Jim up handing the sentinel a glass of water and his antibiotics. Several of his wounds had become infected, and Jim had also gotten stomach worms from eating raw meat. The doctors had given Jim some medicine that had killed the worms as well as the eggs. Blair had been relieved when the STD tests had come back negative, but Jim still had to have the AIDS test done again in another six months. Jim swallowed the pills, then layed back down on the couch. Blair placed an afghan over Jim, then took the dishes back into the kitchen, and cleaned them. It wasn't long before Jim fell back to sleep, and after a quick clean Blair took out some of his school books, and graded his student's essays. Blair was thrust out of his thoughts by a knock on the door. Blair looked at his watch and saw that he had been working for five hours. He looked over at Jim and saw the sentinel was awakening. Blair stood up and opened the door. "Hey, Hairboy!" Brown said ruffling Blair's hair smiling. Behind him Rafe came in as well. "What are you two doing." Blair asked inviting the detectives in. Jim just kind of stared at them not saying anything. "Simon told us to drop by and see if you needed anything. A break from Jim, maybe." Rafe said amusingly. "Yeah, how about a break from my mom." Jim said indicating Sandburg. "OH ha ha, Jim. " Blair answered rolling his eyes. Blair had noticed that when others were around Jim tried to be his normal self acting as if nothing was wrong except being layed up by a few broken ribs. Blair wasn't fooled. Jim slowly stood up feeling the need to go to the bathroom. As he walked he began to feel lightheaded and the room went black. Suddenly hands touch him, too familiar hands, and Jim roared like an angry cat and lashed out with his right fist catching Rafe in the jaw. Brown caught his partner, lowering the unconscious detective to the floor. Jim continued to lash out, caught in a flashback, unable to see friends, only foes. Blair tried to calm Jim down, and only succeeded in getting an elbow in the mouth. Wiping away blood with the back of his hand, he saw Henry trying to take down the enraged detective. "Be careful, don't hurt him!" Blair screamed. On the ground, the sentinel stopped fighting, and remained huddled in a fetal position, Brown's hands holding Jim down by his shoulders. Jim was hurting too much to continue to fight and he waited for his captors to begin their usuall torment, but suddenly a familiar voice echoed in his enhanced ears. The voice was soothing, as was the hand that replaced the other one's on his shoulders. A few minutes later, Blair's voice finally registered in Jim's mind, and he allowed his guide to bring him back into reality. Opening his eyes, Jim saw Blair. The kid's bottom lip was split, and seeped with blood. He reached up and touch Blair's lip using his enhanced touch to see how much damage there really was. Blair let him, knowing that Jim needed to do it. A groan brought Jim's attention to Rafe, who was being helped into a sitting position by his partner. Memory flooded back, and Jim realised what he had done. "Oh, God, I'm sorry Rafe, Blair. I didn't mean to hurt you." "Hey, Jim its alright man, I understand. Just remind me never to piss you off again. You pack quite a punch." Rafe said with a laugh. "Come on, partner, I'm going to take you to the hospital. But I'm sure you're alright, Jim only hit your head." Brown said jokingly, and Rafe laughed again. "Jim, are you alright? Your ribs weren't damaged some more where they? Maybe I'd better take you to the ER just to be sure." Blair helped Jim stand up as he spoke. "No, Chief. No hospitals. I'm fine. My ribs aren't any more damaged than they already were." Blair tried to help Jim to the couch, but Jim remembered his earlier need, and tried to head to the bathroom. Blair let him, as Jim seemed able to move himself. Inside the bathroom, it took all of Jim's willpower not to vomit. He had hurt Rafe, but worst of all he had hurt Blair. Why didn't they just kill me.Jim thought. His tormentors were dead, but they still haunted him. Still continued to hurt him, and Jim didn't think he could last any longer. After finishing his business, Jim walked slowly back to the couch. Blair hovered around him, but Jim didn't mind. Blair's presence helped him to remember that his guide was still alive. He tried not to look at the busted lip, but he could still smell his guide's blood. Laying down on the couch, Jim tried to dial down the pain of his ribs. The pain was still there, but manageable. Blair covered Jim with an afghan, and went back to grading papers, trying to be quiet and unobtrusive. It wasn't long before Jim fell back to sleep. Four days later... "Jim are you sure?" Blair asked. "Yes, go, Chief. I'll be fine. I'll just be sleeping. I promise I'll take the damn antibiotics, okay. Just go. You've been away from class to long. They are going to fire you or something." Blair was hesitant. There had been no more incidents since Jim had hit Rafe. If Jim was having any nightmares, he wasn't telling Blair about them. The good news was that Jim had agreed to go to therapy and said he was looking into some places. Blair had taken it as a positive sign that Jim wasn't going to try and deal with everything on his own. "Alright, but if you need anything, call me. I have my cell phone with me, okay." "Yes, mom." Jim said rolling his eyes. Blair just shook his head and left. Jim went upstairs, and laid down on his bed. His ribs were healing nicely, and though there was pain Jim was finding a strange solace in the pain. Nightmares still plagued him, but he no longer screamed or cried out. Instead, he would dial of his sense of touch and allow the pain from the ribs and wounds to wash away the fear, if only for a little while. The pain gave him something to concentrate on besides the despair and fear that attempted to overwhelm him. Closing his eyes, Jim tried to relax, and allow sleep to claim him. The nighmare woke him with a gasp. He sat up in his bed, and glanced over at the clock. He had only been asleep for an hour. Shivering, Jim tried to dial up the pain, trying to ignore the remembered feel of hands on his body. The pain wasn't enough. He couldn't concentrate on anything but the feel of hands on his ass cheeks, spreading them apart. The humiliation that threatened to destroy him. Choking back bile, Jim stood and went to his closet. Inside an old foot locker, Jim found his combat knife. Pulling the knife from its sheath, Jim tested the edge and found it dull. The automatic motions of oiling the sharpening stone, and running the blade across it helped to make him forget if only for awhile. As he sharpened the knife, Jim could hear Blair's radio. As he sharpened the knife the song's words flooded over him, and Jim couldn't stop the tears that fell from his face. Waiting for the feeling to subside. Paranoid, I melt into myself. They say I'm to reach inside and find the broken part of my machinery. Psychoanalyze the chapters on the path to my darkest day. Searching for the answers, al I see is DAMAGE through the haze. Picking up the pieces of my life with no direction for re-assembly. the one that lays beside me is sharing scars of my broken yesterdays Will tomorrow find me hypnotised? Crying? Mother Mary in control Domineering stranglehold Sowing destructive seeds for the scavengers to feed. Driving the nail into my head, memory flows like a river. with the one that lays beside me. I'm healing scars from my childhood memories. Tomorrow finally found me I'm hypnotised, I'm trying... to understand the chapters of the path from my darkest day. Searching for the answers but there's DAMAGE! As the last words of the song faded away, Jim took the knife and layed it across his thigh below the line of his boxers, and pressed deeply. Blood welled up, and pain blossomed, his sense of touch high as the sentinel cut into his own flesh. Tears splashed down upon his plaid boxers, tears of pain, anger, frustration, and hopelessness. Present Time Morning came, and Jim woke when the light pouring through the skylight touched his face. With his hearing, he listened to Blair moving around downstairs. Smells idicated that Blair was making breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast filled his notrils, and his stomach growled. Sitting up, Jim pushed down his sweats, and checked the wound he had made the night before. There was no sign of infection, nor had it bled any through the night. He winced in embarrassment at the cuts on his thigh, but the embarrassment wasn't enough to make him stop doing it. Deep inside, he knew that it was wrong, but somethign kept him from listening to that voice for very long. Pulling his sweats back up, Jim walked downstairs. After three weeks his ribs had healed enough for him to move around more without a lot of pain. The other wounds had healed as well, and Jim no longer felt any pain that would remind him of what he had endured. He didn't need the pain to remind him, his nightmares were a constant reminder in of themsleves. Blair smiled when Jim came downstairs. "Morning, Jim." Blair said as he moved the bacon from the pan onto a paper towel. Though Blair normally didn't fry bacon, every now and then he would indulge his sentinel. And Jim loved the taste of fried bacon. "Morning, Chief." Jim answered back as he walked into the bathroom to complete his morning ritual. The shower turned on, as Blair continued to scramble the eggs. when Jim walked out of the shower, he was wearing a different pair of sweats, and nothing else. Drying his hair on a towel, Jim tossed it in the hamper, then walked over to the bar. Blair handed the sentinel a cup of stronge coffee, and placed a plate in front of him. "Thanks, Chief." Jim said, then took a sip of the coffee. He then dug into the food, while across from him Sandburg nibbled on his own. "Do you want me to drop you off at Dr. Loneson's office?" Blair asked. Jim shook his head, "No. I can't take myself there Sandburg, thanks anyway." Blair nodded, not surprised. Jim didn't want anyone to go with him, nor drop him off or pick him up at the doctors. He said it took enough courage to go there himself, he didn't need to feel even more embarrassed by having someone with him. "I have classes this morning, a meeting with my advisor this afternoon, and two classes I have to teach. How about we meet for lunch?" "Sounds fine." Jim said. "How about that Chinese place you like?" Jim nodded around a mouthful of eggs. Swallowing he said, "Fine with me." Blair nodded. Pulling into the parking lot at Rainier University, Blair locked the Volvo and walked into his office. After leaving his stuff locked inside, Blair went to his morning classes. as he only paid half attention to his instructor, Blair thought about Jim. The sentinel had been going to therapy every morning now for two weeks. The nightmares were still there, though Jim tried to hide that fact from his guide. He had told Blair that the therapy was helping, but refused to talk about it. He never said much about the doctor, only that he trusted her. Which was good. Jim had a hard time trusting people. Blair had the feeling though that Jim was hiding soemthing, but Blair couldn't put his finger on it. In his office, Blair rummaged through his notes. It was another hour before he had to meet Jim for lunch, and Blair wanted to get some work done. His phone rang. "Sandburg." Blair said. "Mr. Sandburg, this is Dr. Loneson. I tried to reach you at your home, but no one was answering. I then remembered that you gave me your number to your office just in case." "Is something wrong?" Blair's tomach was slowly winding its way into one big knot. "Mr. Ellison missed his last five appointments, calling and canceling them. Today, he hasn't shown up, nor did he call to cancel. Mr. Sandburg, you are listed as his next of kin. I think you should try and get Mr. Ellison to continue therapy." Blair made the appropriate responses, telling her that he would, thanking her for the call, but his mind was on something else. He hung up the reciever, and jumped when he heard a deep throated whine. Looking over in the corner, Blair saw a grey wolf. The wolf looked up at him with amber yellow eyes, then threw its head back emitting a mournful howl that stirred the hairs on the back of Sandburg's neck. JIM! his mind screamed. Jumping up, Blair raced to his Volvo, and sped through the streets of Cascade over to Prospect. Taking the steps two at a time, Blair fished his keys from his pocket, and unlocked the door. He ran into the loft and looked around desperatly. The place had been spotlessly cleaned, but Blair didn't care about that. Pulling out his cell phone, Blair raced up the stairs, and stopped ead in his tracks at the top. Laying in his bed was Jim. His face was pale, and his breathing shallow. Blair looked at the cause. Jim's wrists had been cut up the arterial vein, and dark red blood stained the wrists and sheets around them. Dialing 911, Blair called for an ambulance giving them the appropraite information while he grabbed a shirt to try and staunch the wounds, and slow the bleeding. Blair heard a groan and looked up at Jim's pale blue eyes. "I'm sorry, Chief, " Jim began weakly in a barely heard whisper, "I just couldn't handle it anymore." With that his eyes closed, and Jim slipped into unconsiousness. The paramedics raced up into the room, and Blair watched them help his partner. He didn't notice when Simon Banks placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come one, Blair. I'll drive you to the hopsital." Simon said as they watched the paramedics take Jim out on a stretcher to the waiting ambulance. Blair looked at the bed, at the large combat knife that Jim had used because he didn't have access to a gun. Why had the sentinel slit his wrists, and not his throat. Did Jim feel he deserved a long lingering death, or was it just a cry for help, and Jim really didn't want to die. "Come on, Blair. Blair are you with me." Simon said worridly. "Why?" Blair whispered as tears fell down his face. "Only Jim can answer that one, Blair." Simon said as he guided the anthropoogist out to his car. they drove to the hospital in silence, and sat in the waiting room awaiting the news. "Sometime later, a doctor walked into the room removing his mask. Blair and Simon stood at his approach. "Are you here for Detective Ellison?" the doctor asked. "Yes. How is he?" Simon asked. "He's lost a lot of blood, but he'll survive. He's being moved to the psychiatric ward since this was a blatant suicide attempt. We'll be keeping him for the prescribed 72 hours. After that an evaluation will no doubt determine that he will need to be kept longer for his own safety." "Can we see him?" Blair asked. "Are you Blair Sandburg?" "Yes." You are listed as his next of kin. The doctor assigned to him will no doubt want to talk to you. I'll make the arrangements so that you can see him." With that the doctor turned and left. Sometime later, Blair sat in Jim's room looking over at his unconscious sentinel. Blair had brought in Jim's therapist, Dr. Loneson to work with the psychiatrist that was assigned to Jim. "Blair, " Dr. Loneson said, "We need to talk about Jim's condition." Blair nodded. "Okay. How can we make him better?" "WE can't make him better, we can only guide him in making himself better. Jim couldn't admit to me or anyone that he needed help, and it brought him to this. Now he needs to accept our help before he can get any better. Blair, the report says that Jim had some new wounds on his thigh. I believe he was doing that to himself." "Why?" Blair asked shocked. "Perhaps he felt he needed to punish himself, or he needed to feel physical pain to help him feel alive. Either way, it became a prelude to suicide. Blair, he will not be going home after the seventy-two hours. In fact, he will need to go to a long term care facility where he can get the help he needs." Blair nodded. He knew this would happen. God, why didn't I see this coming. I knew there was something wrong. I should have made him talk to me. I'm his guide! Blair thought angrily at himself. The doctor's left, and Blair took his sentinel's hand in his his. "Jim. Jim, buddy, you're going to get better. Its going to get better. You just have to hang in there. I know its hard, I know you're hurting, but you have to hang in there. I'll be with you and I'll help you. I will be your Blessed Protector, now. And I will not fail again, I promise." "You didn't fail, Chief. I did." Jim said. Blair looked at Jim, who was looking at him with his pale blue eyes. "I s..should have told you, b..but I was too e..e..embarrassed to admit........that I need help." Jim stumbled through the words, but they were said. Blair squeezed Jim's hands as tears flooded into his eyes. "I'll help you, Jim. All you ever had to do was ask." Jim's eyes shined with unshed tears. Five Months later Blair walked into the Cascade Psychiatric facilty, and said his greetings to the nurses he knew. He went directly to Dr. Henderson's office. Dr. Loneson had recommended Dr. Henderson as well as the faciltiy, and Blair had agreed along with Jim, even though the doctor's had said that Jim was not competent to decide about his care. Dr. Henderson smiled at Blair as he entered her office. "I guess your excited about today, Blair." She said. "You know it." The doctor's had finally decided that Jim was no longer a danger to himself, and that as long as he continued to go to therapy, he could go home. Jim had agreed to more therapy. Dr. Henderson said that as they progressed, Jim would need less and less sessions, until finally he wouldn't need them at all, except for maybe when he felt he needed it. "Well, except for the therapy sessions in the morning, and afternoons, Jim should be well on his way to getting back to work." "How long before he can go back?" "From his progress, I should say he will be ready for desk duty in about a month, and back on regular duty in two or three months." "I'm sure he will be happy to here that." Luckily, Jim had been put on a medical leave of absence, and Jim's insurance was footing most of the bills. "Well, let's go see if Jim is ready." With that Dr. Henderson stood up and Blair followed her into Jim's room. In the room, Jim stood staring out the window. He was wearing the clothes that Blair had brought him the day before. He turned around when he heard them come inside the room. Smiling Jim said, "Hey, Chief. Come to spring me?" "You bet! I've got the getaway car waiting in the parking lot, and a hostage just in case." Blair indicated Dr. Henderson. "If its the Volvo, then I think I'm better off walking away from here." "Hey, no insulting my classic, vintage..." "Reject from a junkyard?" Jim suggested. "Hey, I'm insulted on behalf of my car. She is very sensitive." Jim laughed. It felt good to laugh, when it seemed all he done lately was cry. "You know, me and my car could just leave you here..." Blair threatened smiling. "No! I love your car! I love your vintage, classic reject from a junkyard, just don't leave me here, okay." Jim pleaded smiling, his pale blue eyes full of humor. "Alright, but no messing with the radio." Dr. Henderson had Blair sign the release forms, and Jim was sprung. The therapy sessions were schedualed, and only then did Jim and Blair leave the facility. Jim got into Blair's Volvo, as Blair placed himself in the driver's seat. "Bet it feels good to be going home." Blair said. "Yeah, it does, Chief." A moment of silence passed. "Thanks for being there for me. I'm sorry I hid everything from you, and that I tried to..." He trailed off. He couldn't say it. "No thanks needed, Jim. We are friends, and you are my sentinel. You take care of the tribe, and I take care of you. Its that simple. And I forgive you, Jim. But don't you ever, ever do that again. Got it?" "Got it, Chief." Jim said with a smile, as Blair pulled the car out of the parking lot and headed for home. Jim leaned back in his seat and relaxed. His heart felt lighter now that
he had recieved forgiveness for his stupidity. The nightmares had dwindled
done, and the faces of his tormentors no longer haunted him. He was still a
little shaky around other males, but the doctor said that eventually it would
pass. He no longer looked back. The past was exactly were it belonged, and
now Jim would follow his Guide to the future and what ever it might bring. As
he leaned back the radio began a song, and Jim listened to the words as they
drove home. When I fell from grace I never realised how deep the flood was around me. A man whose life was toil was like a kettle left to boil, and the water left these scars on me. I know now who I am. If only for awhile. I recognize the changes. I feel like I did before the magic wore thin and the 'babtism of stains' began they used to say I was nowhere, man, heading down was my destiny. But yesterday, I swear, that was someone else not me. Here I stand at the crossroads edge, afraid to reach out for eternity. One step, when I look down, I see someone else not me. Looking back and I see someone else all my life they said I was going down, but I'm still standing, stronger, proud. And today, I know there's so much more I can be. from where I stand at the crossroads edge there's a path leading out to sea. And from somewhere deep in my mind, sirens sing out loud songs of doubt as only they know how. But one glance back reminds, and I see someone else not me. I keep looking back at someone else...me? THE END Its finished, thank god! AUTHOR'S NOTE: The songs "Damaged" and "Someone Else" belong to Queensryche, and are featured in their album, "Promised Land". Comments and Feedback Welcome!mailto:Stormwolf2000@hotmail.com |