Mountain Pass
by: Lady Ra
Rated NC-17
email:Lady Ra
PAIRING: J/B
EPISODE SPOILERS: None
DISCLAIMER: It all belongs to whoever the heck owns Sentinel. And that's not me. Except when I go off my meds, then I'm sure they belong to me. Don't they?
SUMMARY: After catching the Switchman, Jim takes a leave of absence from work and goes to the mountains. He meets Blair up there who's doing some recovery work of his own.
NOTES: This story goes AU pretty early on in Switchman (the pilot). Same bat-time and same bat channel, well sort of, anyway. I just threw everyone in a big salad bowl, got out my salad tongs and gave them a good toss.
WARNING: Lots of Sentinel-Guide destiny energy being thrown around in this story, so if that squicks ya, move along, these aren't the droids you're looking for.
DISTRIBUTION: Prospect 852, and my Sentinel home site: http://www.dwordslist.net/LadyRaIndex.html. Thanks to Dword for keeping such good care of all my stories.
FEEDBACK: Absolutely. In fact I insist on it. No, I'm begging you for it. Damn, where are those drugs?
THANKS: Thanks to my vunderbar betas. My stories are always so much better for their hard work. And thanks to the authors of Switchman, Paul DeMeo and Danny Bilso, cuz I snitched a couple lines of dialogue, (even though I took great liberties with them and mixed them up with lines of my own) and thanks to Becky's Sentinel Transcripts site.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Jim saw the bomb and let out a yell. "Clear the building. Now! Move it!" He followed the rest of the officers at a dead run as they raced out of the abandoned building. As he cleared the door, the building erupted into a huge ball of flame.
Rolling to a stand Jim heard a motor turn over and, focusing in on the sound, saw a motorcycle fly out of a hidden panel in the ground. He lunged after the bike and jumped on the back. The rider turned around and Jim was startled by his reflection in the plastic visor. He could see a cascade of progressively smaller versions of himself and for a moment he could feel himself getting sucked in, following the path of his reflections as if there was something essential at the end of the trail. Everything began to go gray.
Gritting his teeth, sweating with the effort, Jim grimly held on to the rider and his consciousness. After a few seconds he was back in control, and it was only the work of another minute to force the bike down and subdue the rider. After the cuffs were placed, Jim yanked off the rider's helmet and his eyebrows rose in surprise when he realized it was a woman. "Who the hell are you?"
She hissed at him, "Veronica Sarris. Sound familiar? You let him die. You let them all die."
Jim shook his head in dismay, his heart still raw with the remembered death of his unit, Sarris dying in his arms. "No."
"You left me alone."
"Your father was my friend. I never hurt him. I tried to save his life, Veronica, you've got to believe me."
Her eyes grew dark with fury. "All I know is he left with you, and you came back alone, alive and a hero. Just answer me this: where is my father now? Why should you be alive when he's dead? Why should anyone be alive if he's dead?"
Jim stared down at her, sick at heart for her, for her dad, for himself. "And you think killing other people will bring him back? You think this is something he'd condone? Your father believed in peace, Veronica. He fought for it. I don't know what the hell you think you're doing, but don't think for a minute this does him any honor."
She kicked out with her leg, trying to connect with Jim's kneecap, but he saw it coming and got out of the way. Hearing footsteps, he looked up to see Simon and several other officers heading his way.
"Jim?"
"Right here, Simon. Here's your switchman."
Simon moved to stand next to Jim and looked down at the woman. She scowled at him and put up a sullen resistance as two of the officers pulled her to her feet. Simon watched silently as the woman was taken away, then lit a cigar and gestured toward her retreating back. "You want to tell me who she is?"
Jim let out a long sigh, running a hand down his face. "She's the daughter of one of my men who died on that last mission in Peru. She blames me for his death."
Simon shook his head. "Jesus, spare me from women out for revenge."
Jim's lips tightened. "Simon, I need a leave of absence."
"Are you nuts?"
Even though they were well out of sight, and should have been out of hearing range, Jim could hear the officers putting Veronica in one of the squad cars. As the door slammed, the sound seemed to pierce his ear drums. The headache that had been pestering him for several hours blossomed with a vengeance and it reminded Jim that something was happening to him beyond his understanding. "I don't know. Maybe. I ran a blood test to see if I'd been drugged, but I'm clean."
"Hey, slow down. What drugs?"
Jim leaned against a tree. The weariness consuming him left him needing the support to keep standing. "How else can I explain what's happening to me? I almost screwed this up because I had some sort of acid trip when I was on the back of that bike."
Simon made a dismissive gesture, his cigar smoke making leisurely spirals in the air. "Look, you were stressed, okay? You smelled some fumes, maybe, got dizzy. Cut yourself some slack, Jim. You caught her. You caught her and now she can't go and blow up any more people out of some twisted need for revenge. I call that a good day's work."
"It doesn't matter. I almost lost it, and next time I might. I'm losing control of my senses, Simon. I don't know how else to describe it. It's scaring the hell out of me."
Simon stared at him with widened eyes which then narrowed. "So let me get this straight. This is all about you being scared?"
Jim slowly sank down until he was sitting on his heels. He picked up a dead leaf and began to rip it into pieces. "Yep."
"With everything you've been through in your life, this is scaring you? I don't get it, Jim. This doesn't even sound like you."
Standing, brushing invisible detritus off his butt and the back of his thighs, Jim grimaced. He could feel stuff on his hands, like those invisible spider webs that attacked first thing in the morning. His fingers felt sticky. "All I know is that I can't do my job this way. So either you grant me a leave or I'll take one."
Simon scowled at him. "I don't like being pushed against a wall this way."
"I don't like it either. But I don't have a choice. I'm not safe out there and I have to figure out what's wrong now before it gets worse."
"Jim."
"I mean it. I'll hand in my gun and badge right now if that's what it takes." His hands started to feel itchy and he tried to rub whatever was on them off on his shirt. Suddenly he could hear the deafening concert of crickets all around him. On top of that, it sounded as if there were a million birds all chirping and cawing at each other, a thousand different rustles as the wind made its way through the grasses and leaves. It felt like a tornado.
Simon was not happy. "Fuck."
All Jim wanted to do was shut it off. Shut out the light that felt as if it was burning his retinas, scrub off the sticky residue on his hands that he was sure was eating his skin off, rinse out his mouth of the taste of Simon's cigar that made him feel like he'd eaten an ashtray. It was too much. He began to hand his gun to his boss, reaching for his badge.
Simon backed a step away. "I don't want those. Damn it, you're the best detective I've got."
Jim hated begging, but he didn't have a choice. "Then let me go. Let me take some time. You'll lose me either way. But maybe this way, I can come back."
"You're not really giving me a choice, here. Damn. Take what time you need. You just better be planning on coming back."
Feeling a tremendous sense of relief, Jim replaced his gun in his back holster. "There's nothing I want more. Believe me."
Simon gestured back to the main entrance. "You need a ride?"
Jim shook his head, ignoring the pains shooting down his neck into his shoulders at the movement. What he needed was to be alone. "No, I've got my truck."
Simon nodded and after flashing Jim a sad smile, turned and walked away.
Jim sank down to his haunches again, clasping his head in his hands, willing all the sensations bombarding him to go away. He tried to picture himself somewhere calming, someplace that always made him feel better. Everything in him cried out for the mountains. Slowly rising, walking as carefully as he could to keep down the vibrations shooting up his legs, he headed for his truck.
*****
The senses came and went. There were moments when they seemed completely normal, and then, suddenly, inexplicably, his senses would go off the wall. It still scared him, but at least Jim could relax up here, knowing that no one was depending on him to keep them alive. He could lie there in his tent, and wait for the torture to pass.
He'd started timing how often it started, as if he were in labor. He tried to figure out what stimulated them, tried to think of ways to get them back in control. So far he hadn't found rhyme or reason for what was happening and he was deeply frustrated.
It had been days since he'd had a good night's sleep and that was also wearing on his body. Despite his hopes, his mountain retreat was doing little to restore his equilibrium. Finally, exhaustion caught up with him, and he was able to drop off into a deep sleep.
Then, in the dark of night, in the middle of his first bout of real sleep, he heard someone cough.
Jim lay there, growing more annoyed by the minute as he listened to the cough. Just when it started to get quiet, and he could feel himself starting to fall back under, it started up again. His jaw clenched as a few more hacks made their way to his tent, from wherever this invader lay.
Finally he couldn't stand it anymore. He flung himself out of his sleeping bag and grabbed his backpack. Thrusting down into its depths, he blindly began searching. His fingers made contact with his intended goal and with a quiet sound of victory he pulled out his hand, now holding four Vick's cough drops.
Pulling on a pair of jeans, toeing into a pair of moccasins, he grabbed a flashlight and unzipped the tent, stepping outside into the darkness. It was blessedly silent for a moment. Silent except for the myriad of night sounds, crickets, frogs, and the slight scurrying of small creatures in the underbrush. Those sounds belonged, unlike the unwelcome coughing. Relieved that, for the moment, his senses were behaving, Jim blew out a long breath, soaking in the solace of nature.
The cough started again and the hackles on his neck rose. No one was supposed to be here interrupting his silent reverie, disrupting his desperate need for some elusive peace and quiet. He focused on the unwelcome sound and discerned the approximate source. With a determined stride he headed that way.
It didn't take him long until he saw the small tent. He was somewhat chagrined he hadn't noticed it earlier and it told him that he needed this respite even more than he thought. With all his training no one should have been able to settle within a mile of him without his knowledge. Not bothering to hide the sound of his approach--no need with the camouflage of coughing covering every noise--he arrived at the tent and crouched down.
"Hey."
There was a small choked sound as the coughing came to an abrupt halt. The silence that followed was filled with caution.
He tried again. "Hey."
Again there was no response. He could almost feel the nervousness of the inhabitant of the tent, could sense its owner running through options.
Jim was willing to try one more time before he completely gave in to his temper. "I have some cough drops."
Finally a voice. "Just leave them. Thanks." There was a small aborted cough.
His brow lifted. The voice startled him. It was husky, and rich, like honey. It worked its way into his ears and made its way leisurely down his spine. He thought for a moment about acceding to the cougher's demand, but then Jim knew he needed to see him. If asked for the reason why, Jim wasn't sure he could provide one, but it was essential that he see the face attached to that voice. He lied. "They're not wrapped. They'll get dirty if I just lay them down."
There was a considered silence and then he heard some rustling within. After a moment he could tell the cougher had moved closer to the front of the tent and Jim waited for the man within to unzip the flap. Instead, a hand snaked out, palm open, silently entreating.
He took a moment to look at the hand. It was a normal looking hand, large knuckles, calloused fingertips. Clearly a hand used to working. It was, Jim decided, a hand you could depend on. He shook his head in disgust, trying to clear away his mental blathering. There was no doubt that he needed this leave of absence. It wasn't only his senses that were on the fritz.
Rather than leaving the cough drops at the requested destination, Jim crouched down, hands on the zipper. Despite the fact that it made his goal easier he felt a flash of anger that the guy had left himself so unprotected when the zipper easily opened, unimpeded by any security measures.
Jim heard the man let out a gasp and saw the tent tremble as he withdrew into the back of the tent. The anger flashed through him again. "Didn't anyone ever teach you to tape the zipper shut when you're camping?" He let out a disgusted noise. "Especially if you're alone in the middle of nowhere? Didn't you ever see Deliverance?"
A shoe bounced off his head.
"Get out of here." The voice was still husky but was now laden with a layer of fear.
Jim could tell now that the huskiness was due to a cold. He wondered what the cougher's voice would sound like normally. Then he wondered why the hell he was wondering that.
The voice spoke again. "Don't come any closer."
"Or what? You going to hit me with the other shoe?" He rolled his eyes. "Don't you even have a baseball bat with you?"
The silence that met his question answered it. "Jesus, don't you know that there are all sorts of people out there who would take serious advantage of this situation?" Jim had put quite a number of them behind bars. He wasn't quite sure why he was so put out at this man's foolhardiness. It really wasn't any of his business.
The voice was still fearful but was now tinged with sarcasm. "You mean someone may try to force their way into my tent, uninvited?"
A retort ready to go on his tongue, he shone the flashlight into the tent and his mouth went dry. The sensation that had trickled its way down his spine when he'd heard the rich voice, now spread through him like a brushfire. Shoulder length hair framed the stranger's face, wild with curls that reflected back a myriad of colors from red to dark brown as the light shone across it. Despite the dim light, Jim could clearly see the huge blue eyes as they captured him in their gaze
He looked like a kid, but he was clearly a man. The hairy chest was a dead give-a-way. As Jim's eyes wandered down the man's torso, it was entirely possible the man was naked. Only the sleeping bag wrapped firmly around him, as if it might protect his virtue, kept it a mystery. One hand was tightly clasped around the second shoe; the second was under his pillow. Jim felt a sudden urge--one that completely disconcerted him--to hold on to the kid, to protect him from anything that might harm him.
Completely flummoxed by the inexplicable urge, Jim frowned and decided to take the offensive. "What the hell are you doing out here in the first place?"
The cougher's eyes flashed in response. "That's none of your business. I can go where I want."
"Yeah, well, I came here to get some peace and quiet and your coughing is keeping me up."
"Then you go somewhere else. The last time I checked this was a free country. This is public property."
"No one comes up here at this time of year."
The kid's eyes were flashing. "You're here."
Jim had to admire the fact that the cougher wouldn't back down, but then his jaw tightened. He was here to relax, to find a little stillness and control before throwing himself back in the fray. He most definitely did not come up here to get acquainted with some stranger.
A rhythmic sound captured his attention and Jim concentrated on it; it took him a minute to realize it was a heartbeat. He focused on his own body and could tell it wasn't his. His eyes widened as he figured out that it was the other man's heartbeat. All of a sudden, Jim could smell him, could smell his shampoo and the rich tang of sweat, and some other odor that Jim couldn't identify, but guessed was part of the man's natural smell. Jim liked it. He sniffed deeply and could feel his salivary glands respond.
Jim closed his eyes for a second, trying to find some control. This was new, having his senses respond like this to another person, and the fact that it was a man just made it weirder. When Jim looked up again he saw that the kid was watching him closely, but that the shoe had been lowered to his lap. For some reason Jim found himself grinning.
The kid started a new coughing jag. As the cough rendered him speechless, he put out his hand again, with a touch of imperiousness. Without a thought, Jim obeyed and placed the cough drops in the younger man's hand. As the kid realized they were individually wrapped he flashed Jim a disgruntled glare but unwrapped one and popped in it his mouth. The coolness of the mentholated drop eased the cough immediately. Pulling up his knees, the young man rested his head for a moment, as if suddenly consumed by weariness.
The motion wrenched Jim's heart. He looked so tired. So alone. Internal danger flares went up and Jim started to emotionally pull back. This was not something he needed, not now. He couldn't afford to be responsible for someone. This was why he was a hundred miles from the nearest town, hoping to find himself completely alone, to be free of any sort of responsibility other than what it took to survive. "Now maybe you'll stop that damn coughing and in the morning you can pack up your stuff and get out of here."
Jim watched as the kid lifted his head and squared his shoulders. "I'll stay here as long as I damn well please. Go away and leave me alone."
Jim clenched his teeth. "I came up here to be alone."
"So did I."
"Why the hell did you have to come right here and get sick?" Jim wondered if the universe was out to get him.
"Excuse the hell out of me, buddy. I can get sick anywhere I fucking please. Just deal with it, and in the morning you can go that way," the young man pointed to the left, "and I'll go that way." He pointed in the opposite direction. "And we'll never have to see each other again."
For some reason, Jim didn't like that idea at all. Not even a little bit. He was beginning to wish he'd brought some liquor with him. Maybe a good drunk would help snap everything back to normal and he'd be home in his loft, everything the way it was, and he wouldn't be here besieged by contradictory feelings about an exasperating man who was in his territory. "Fine."
"Fine."
There didn't seem to be anything else to say. Or do. Nothing that made any sense, in any case, so Jim backed out of the tent and stood. He hung his head when he realized that he didn't really want to go back to his tent. He wanted to stay here. Jim decided he was definitely losing it. There was no other excuse for the way his brain and body were acting.
Before he could walk even two steps away, Jim heard some scrabbling behind him and he turned to see the guy sticking his head out of the tent. Jim waited quietly to see what the kid was going to say.
The young man opened up his hand, revealing the remaining three cough drops. "Hey, man, thanks for these. It was, I mean, I know I was bothering you, but it was still a, well, a nice thing to do. I really appreciate it." He flashed a smile up at Jim.
Jim couldn't help but smile back. "Okay." He made as if to walk away, but then turned back again. "Get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."
"I thought the point of all of this was to not see me tomorrow."
Jim gazed down on the kid, the riot of curls outlining his face. "Get some sleep."
The young man stared up at him, studying him carefully under the moonlight, and then he nodded. "You'll be close by?"
Jim pointed off into the distance, ridiculously pleased at the thought that his presence was possibly reassuring. "My tent's about 300 yards that way."
The kid raised his eyebrows. "Man, you heard me that far? I must have been coughing up my kneecaps." As if to emphasize his point, he started to cough again.
Jim didn't like the way the kid's lungs sounded and didn't want to leave him here alone. What he should do is pack the kid up and take him to the closest hospital. Suddenly annoyed again at how his solitude had been interrupted, Jim pointed to the open hand still displaying the cough drops. "That's all I have. Make them last. I want to get some sleep tonight."
Jim winced at the flash of hurt in the wide eyes. He could almost watch the kid shut down and it made him feel like a heel.
The kid rallied. "Well, thanks again. Good night." With that, he crawled back into his tent, trying to suppress his cough.
Waffling as to whether to stay or go, Jim softly cursed the night air around him. Finally, when no further noise came from the tent, other than a cough being muffled in fabric, Jim turned and went back to his tent.
After slipping off his shoes, Jim crawled into his tent and sat on his sleeping bag. The sounds began to press in and he covered his ears with his hands. It made little difference. Without conscious awareness of what he was doing, Jim found himself sifting through the myriad of noises to find one specific sound. It wasn't until he found it that he realized what he'd done. It was the kid's heartbeat.
Jim let the sound surround him, let it creep under his skin, let it regulate his own heartbeat. He could still hear the kid cough, could hear him toss and turn, but the heartbeat was like a buffer, like white noise, making everything else bearable.
Even while a part of him thought it was impossible, that there was no way he was actually hearing someone's heart beat over 300 yards away, Jim held on tight to the syncopated rhythm. Undressing down to his boxers, he slipped into his sleeping bag, and drifted off to sleep.
*****
The first thing Jim tuned into when he woke up was the kid's heartbeat. The sound of it made him frown. It was faster than it had been yesterday. Listening harder, Jim was amazed he could actually hear the congestion in the guy's chest, could hear the labored breathing.
Jim dropped his head down with a thunk. "Great." The kid was sicker. No way was Jim going to be able to just walk away. He lay there for a few minutes as he monitored all his inner voices. There was still a small one that was screaming at him to pack up his gear and go. Another was demanding that he go to the other man's tent and take care of him. Now. Do anything that was necessary to keep him alive. That voice was almost panicked.
Another voice was curious as to why the kid was here, what his name was, what he did for a living. His cop voice was wondering if he was on the lam, thinking that maybe he should search the kid's tent. And a final voice, a tiny one that Jim was trying to ignore as best he could, wanted him to go and wrap his arms around the guy and never let him go.
Jim did a review. That was four in favor of seeing the kid again, and one for scramming. Resigned to his fate, at least for the moment, Jim shimmied into his clothes and then stepped outside his tent. After tying the laces of his boots, Jim found the nearest convenient tree and peed.
He brushed his teeth and then, deciding he couldn't put it off any longer, especially as the kid was coughing even worse now than he was last night, Jim headed back to the kid's tent.
The closer he got, the more Jim could hear him wheeze. In between the wheezes were coughs, and an occasional muttered curse. In several languages, if Jim's ears could be trusted, and Jim was pretty sure his ears could be trusted.
It dawned on him that his senses were sort of behaving. Not acting normally, not by any stretch of the imagination, but they weren't spiking all over the place. And the headache that had been his constant companion for days was almost gone.
Jim made no effort to hide his approach. As he got nearer, Jim could tell the kid could hear someone coming. What he didn't understand was why the kid's heart started racing. He could hear the kid digging in his backpack, saying, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."
Jim frowned, wondering why the kid was freaking. He yelled out. "Hey, it's me."
He could hear the kid's heart spike and then settle back down. Heard a muttered, "Thank God. Relax. Take a deep breath." And apparently the deep breath was a bad idea because it started a painful coughing jag.
Jim jogged the rest of the way to the tent and, crouching down, poked his head in. He realized with some annoyance that the kid hadn't even zipped the tent shut. "You all right?"
The kid looked at him with such a face of misery that Jim entered the tent to see how he could help. He sat down on the foot of the sleeping bag so he could keep his booted feet outside the tent. "You don't sound very good."
Even in the midst of his coughing, the kid sent him a small grin. Finally he got it under control. "I'm out of cough drops."
Jim grinned back at him. "Me, too." He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder, to the great outdoors. "We need to get you to a doctor. That cough sounds bad."
The kid actually withdrew toward the back of the tent, his eyes wide with anxiety. "No, no hospitals."
Jim's eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion and smelled something in the air that he decided was the odor of fear. "Why not?"
All he got for that question was a stubborn look. "None of your business, man."
Then Jim saw it, sitting on top of his backpack. A gun. A sour disappointment ripped through Jim as he realized that the kid must be on the lam. Jim grabbed for the gun and when the kid saw what he was doing, he made his own lunge, but Jim was faster. Holding the gun aloft, Jim scowled at him. "You got a permit for this?"
That stopped the kid in his tracks, a look of confusion spreading over his face. Clearly, that hadn't been what he'd expected to hear. He pursed his lips as he considered Jim. Finally he spoke. "Actually, I do."
That surprised Jim. "You do?"
The kid nodded. "Yeah, I'm a cop." He held out his hand. "Can I have my gun back, please?"
Jim frowned. "You're a cop?" No way was this kid a cop.
"Well, actually, not really a cop cop."
Jim put the gun out of reach so the kid would have to crawl over him to get to it. "Uh huh."
"I'm a forensics anthropologist. I work with the Seattle PD." He began digging through his backpack and finally withdrew a small black leather folder. Snapping it open, he held it up for Jim's inspection.
Jim took a good look at it. It was a Seattle Police Department ID. The kid's name was Blair Sandburg and, according to his ID, he was a freaking Ph.D. "Dr. Blair Sandburg, I presume?" Jim handed him back his gun.
Coughing, Blair nodded. He took his gun, snapped the ID shut, and placed both inside his backpack.
Jim fished out his own ID and handed it to Blair.
Blair let out a short laugh. "You're a cop, too?" He glanced closer. "A detective?"
Jim nodded. "So, you want to tell me why you don't want to go see a doctor?"
"Not really, no."
"Not good enough."
Blair let out a sigh. "Look, man. I appreciate your concern. But I'm not your responsibility. And short of tying me up and throwing me over your shoulder, I'm not going anywhere for a while." To emphasize his point, Blair doubled up with another cough. He lifted bleary eyes to Jim. "So, why don't you go do what you wanted to do when you came up here, and let me go back to sleep for a while."
Ignoring the voice that was in total agreement, Jim shook his head. "Can't do that, Chief."
"Why the hell not?"
"Because you're sick. Are you even listening to yourself? Your lungs are filling up, your cough is getting worse, you're having trouble breathing, your heart is already racing trying to compensate and it can't do that forever. You need some medicine."
Blair drew his legs up and dropped his forehead to his knees. Then, he snapped his head back up and looked at Jim with horrified eyes. "What? What did you say?"
Jim was afraid the kid was going to stroke; his heart was hammering loud enough for Jim to hear it even without the benefit of his new hearing. "What the hell is the matter?"
"What did you mean when you said you could hear my heart racing?"
Jim pointed at Blair's chest, where his t-shirt was practically vibrating in time to Blair's pounding heart. "I hardly need to hear it to know you're heading toward a heart attack."
Blair put his hand on his chest, over his heart. He shook his head. "Before. You said my heart was trying to compensate. How could you hear that?"
Jim watched as Blair's eyes darted to his gun, and wondered what the fuck was going on. He had no idea how to answer the question because he didn't want Blair to think he was crazy. Jim swore silently to himself for being stupid enough to say that shit out loud. "Nothing, I didn't mean anything by it."
This time Blair went for his gun. He snicked the safety off and pointed it at Jim. "What the fuck did you mean? Can you hear my heart? Are all your senses enhanced?"
Jim's eyes opened wide at the last question, wondering how the kid had known to ask that. He put up a hand. "Okay, hold it right there, Kemosabe. Put down the gun."
"No way in hell. I've already had one of your kind try to kill me. I don't intend to let it happen again."
"One of my kind? What the fuck does that mean?" Even though he had no idea what Blair was talking about, he still felt deeply offended.
"A Sentinel."
"A what?"
Jim took advantage of another spate of coughing to disarm Blair. He tucked the gun out of reach. "Can we start this conversation over again? Have I done you any harm? Why would you think I was going to kill you?"
"I didn't think she'd end up trying to kill me either, but she did. Actually, she succeeded. I mean, the paramedics were able to revive me, but I was dead when they found me."
Jim found the idea of this man's death too painful to entertain. "Who the fuck is this 'she'? And what did she do to you?"
Blair put a hand to the back of his head as if to demonstrate. "She whacked me with her gun and then threw me in a fountain and drowned me." He started coughing again.
Jim cocked his head to the side, listening to Blair's harsh breathing. "When did this happen?"
"Two days ago."
Jim's jaw dropped and his eyes widened. "Shouldn't you still be in the hospital? Why the hell are you traipsing around in the middle of nowhere?"
"If I stayed in the hospital, she'd find me. And she wouldn't care who she had to hurt to kill me. I had to get out of there." He blew out a long breath which ended on a cough. "I can't stay here much longer either; she'll track me down eventually."
"You're just gonna hide from her?" Jim didn't think that was a good plan.
"Just 'til I feel better, man. If I go up against her now, she'll win, and I really don't feel like dying again." He held out his hand. "Let me have my gun back."
Jim shook his head. "No."
Blair's eyes narrowed. "Give it back."
"No. Listen to me. I don't know why this bitch was trying to kill you, or who or what you think I am, but the die's already cast. Either I'm a bad guy, in which case you're screwed because right now I could take you blindfolded and with both hands tied behind my back, or I'm a good guy, in which case you can calm down and let me help."
Blair dropped his hand in surrender. "I don't fucking believe this." He lay down and curled up into a ball.
A part of Jim wanted to curl up behind him and hold him tightly. A wiser voice figured that would be all the kid would need to decide Jim wasn't such a good guy. Especially after his crack about the movie Deliverance last night. "Do you have any supplies?"
Blair pointed to the backpack. "Everything I brought's in there."
Jim dragged it closer and began to unpack it. Some clothes, two bottles of water, six granola bars, a baggie of trail mix, and a bruised banana. At the bottom, accounting for the weight of the bag, were six books, a journal, a candle, a book of matches, and a box of ammunition. Jim sighed. "How, exactly, were you planning on feeding yourself?"
"Jim. It is Jim, right?" Jim nodded. "Look, I didn't really have time to think this all through. I just grabbed some stuff and ran. Besides, I had more food; I just ate it already."
Jim watched as Blair closed his eyes and curled up tighter. "I'm gonna go get my stuff and bring it closer. I'll be back in a little while."
Blair nodded but didn't say anything.
Jim decided that was better than being given the finger and after sticking Blair's gun back in his backpack, in one easy motion he was out of the tent and standing. Striding quickly, he covered the distance rapidly. He broke camp, got all his gear settled on his back, and then returned to Blair's tent. In minutes, he had his tent set up again and a fire pit cleared.
He scavenged for some wood and got a fire going. Jim had planned to hunt for his meals but he didn't want to take the time right now. He still had quite a few MREs with him and they'd suffice for a few meals. Placing a portable grill over the flames, he adjusted the legs until it was steady.
While he heated up some water, Jim went through his own pack, looking for the first aid kit he knew was in there. Finally he found it pulled out some aspirin and an antihistamine. It wasn't enough, but it might help take the edge off.
He entered the tent and found Blair still curled up and shivering. Jim placed his hand on the kid's forehead and could feel the heat. He touched Blair's shoulder lightly. "Hey, wake up."
Blair opened his eyes, his exhaustion showing in the dull eyes.
"Come on, sit up. I've got some aspirin for you. You got any drug allergies?"
Blair shook his head and sat up, even though the movement got him coughing again.
Jim knew he should be on antibiotics; he'd probably been getting them at the hospital. But until Jim knew more about the woman who had tried to kill Blair, Jim didn't feel he could simply disregard the kid's concerns. "Here, take these."
Blair obediently took the pills and swallowed them.
"Drink the rest of that bottle. You need to stay hydrated."
Blair flashed him a disgruntled look but did as he was told. Jim was relieved that, at least for the moment, Blair had decided he was one of the good guys.