DISCLAIMER: The Sentinel and its characters are the property of Paramount Studios and Pet Fly Productions. These stories are offered for the enjoyment of the fans. No money has exchanged hands.
Acceptable Men by Jael Lyn
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"How are you feeling, Jim?" Sandburg poked at the fire. "Are you ready for some killer smores?"
"Smores? What is this, Girl Scouts?"
"I assume that's a yes."
"Of course it's a yes, Darwin. I hope you brought lots of chocolate. And quit playing mother hen." Jim accepted the whittled stick from his partner and positioned his marshmallow over the flames.
Blair watched in amusement. "I swear. Can't you do anything without perfect precision? It's a smore. You mash the stuff together and eat."
Jim sniffed. "I like mine toasty. It's not my fault you just burn yours and then blow it out." He rotated his stick with exaggerated concentration. "Show a little patience."
"Well, you just keep it up, Chef-of-the-Wilderness." As predicted, Blair was blowing out some rather spectacular flames on his marshmallow before it dropped off his stick. "While you mess around with toasty, I'll just eat your share." As he squished his chocolate and graham cracker together, white gooey marshmallow oozed over his fingers. He quickly gobbled up the sticky mess before it had a chance to drip away.
Jim laughed, enjoying the moment. Blair could be such a little kid. He envied his friend's bright enthusiasm. "Don't even think about touching my share. I know how much I'm due."
"Oh, sure, your laser eyes have calculated the correct portions. Speaking of laser eyes, how are your senses? Seriously."
Blair had asked twice. Jim couldn't really avoid answering again. "Actually, pretty good. My hearing quit spiking after we got out of the car. Even my Pendleton isn't bothering me." As darkness had gathered around their camp, he had shrugged into his favorite wool shirt, only to discard it just as quickly. Now, a few hours later, the familiar plaid wasn't like sandpaper on his skin. "I feel bad you did all the driving today. I really crashed on you."
"I didn't mind. The sleep did you good. Your color looks better already. Besides, I got a chance to play all the music that normally would give you a headache."
"I can imagine. Still, eleven hours is still a long haul." He looked around their roadside campground. "I'm glad we decided to spend the night here. We can make a good start tomorrow." He pulled his marshmallow out of the fire. "It'll be nice to just stretch out by the truck and watch the stars. We can throw the space blanket over the sleeping bags if you start to get cold. Now hand over that chocolate."
After eating, they talked quietly, watching the stars wheel over their heads. Pleasantly stuffed and finally sleepy, they banked the fire and climbed into their sleeping bags. At Blair's insistence, Jim described what he was seeing and feeling. His guide had been correct. Not only were his senses settling in to a more normal pattern, but they actually showed a few signs of sharpening. The pauses between comments gradually became longer, and Jim finally realized his partner had slipped into sleep. Knowing Blair would be freezing by morning, Jim pulled the space blanket over him. The back of his hand brushed against the fabric of the sleeping back. He felt at the irritated spot with his other hand and detected a small bump. Must be a mosquito bite. He hated mosquito bites! They were the kind of thing that slipped into his senses and drove him crazy. Talk about no justice in the world. Usually Sandburg was the mosquito banquet, and he hadn't slapped at one all night. With the surrounding forest sounds as a soothing backdrop, for the first time in weeks Jim followed Blair into slumber without a hitch.
Act II
"Sandburg, are we going to hike today, or are you just going to hibernate in that sleeping bag? I can just hear the trip summary now. We had a great time while Sandburg slept for five days fifty feet from the road." He couldn't help but laugh as one blue eye peeked out around the folds of the sleeping bag. In true Sandburg fashion, his friend had burrowed into the covers as the night wore on.
"Is there coffee? Is it warm outside?"
"Come on, you slug. It's warm by the fire, and I have some breakfast ready, complete with coffee." Jim took another healthy bite of eggs. He stifled a laugh as Blair stumbled in his direction. "Sit over here. There's a spot in the sun, and you can finish waking up." He handed Blair a metal mug, which he quickly used as a hand warmer.
Blair sipped gratefully. "You're up early. If you tell me you've already built a cabin or something this morning, I'll have to kill you."
"I got plenty of sleep yesterday. You can rest easy, the only productive thing I've done this morning was breakfast. I spent the rest of the time watching the sunrise." Jim nudged his friend's plate. "Eat your eggs before they get cold."
Between forkfuls, Blair didn't miss the chance to quiz his sentinel. "Did you take the chance to work on your relaxation and breathing? Are your senses better?"
Jim paused. As much as he wanted to answer truthfully, he hated to let his guide know how much information he had withheld. To speak frankly of improvement was to let Blair know how bad things had gotten. "Well, my sense of taste is better."
"What was wrong with taste? You never said anything." Blair's reproachful gaze was true to expectation.
"I didn't say anything because I really didn't put it together. I just thought I'd lost my appetite, as unlikely as that may sound. I guess I mean that things taste pretty normal. I mean, eggs taste like eggs and coffee tastes like coffee."
"I'm not going to pursue this because I'm really grateful for the hot breakfast, but I want you to promise me that while we're on this trip you're going to tell me exactly what is happening. I don't know all the answers, but I can't help you if I have incomplete information. Do I have your word?"
"You have my word. Let's hit the trail. I picked out what looks like a great lunch spot from the map."
"You? What about what I have planned?"
"Sandburg, drink some more of that coffee. I give you credit for having a brilliant idea as far as planning this trip, but you can't read a map to save your life. Trust me on this one."
By mid-morning Blair had to admit that Jim knew what he was talking about. He'd divided their trip into roughly equal sections, none too terribly long. When his ex-ranger hiking partner asked if he'd noticed the elevation changes, he was reduced to shuffling his feet in the dirt and completing an in-depth study of the eggs on his plate. Jim had just laughed and pointed out that considering the time frame, his planning had been exemplary. He'd carefully retraced their route on the map, noting the locations of the really steep sections that would be more comfortable at a slower pace. As they slogged their way up yet another rocky climb, Blair was grateful for the revised schedule.
Blair considered himself to be in pretty good shape. He was certainly a far cry from the days when he spent hours tied to a desk, grading papers or planning lectures. The Academy had stringent fitness requirements, but they were nothing compared to the Jim Ellison Rules of Police Partnership. As much as he hated the workouts, Blair was well aware that Jim had only his overall safety in mind. Now, as the elevation and the trail severity increased, Blair worked hard to keep pace. He looked ahead, where Jim was seated on some large rocks at the trail's crest. At least Jim didn't seem irritated by an occasional wait.
Blair was ready to go into full teasing mode when he realized Jim was holding his perch with unnatural stillness. He bounded the last twenty yards at what passed for a dead run -- Jim was completely zoned. Blair slowed the headlong rush to shed his pack and forced himself to soften his approach. Jim was gazing off into the distance. Blair had no way of knowing what sense was causing the problem. Nothing seemed particularly obvious. When Jim didn't respond to his name, Blair laid both hands on his thighs, exerting gentle pressure. He was about to resort to a firm shake when Jim blinked and mumbled a few words. He focused on Blair's face, and started.
"Damn. Another one." He closed his eyes and rubbed angrily at his forehead. "I guess it was too much to hope for a one-day cure, huh?"
"Have any idea what set you off?" Blair joined him on the sun-warmed boulder.
"Not exactly. I sat down and was trying to follow the trail through that stand of trees. All of a sudden everything got really loud, and I could hear your boots on the rocks like a bass drum. I must have tried to dial back and overshot."
"Headache?"
"Yeah. A pretty bad one, actually."
"Well, let's take a break. You want sun or shade?"
"Shade. The sun's too bright right now." Blair's eyes reflected his gratitude for that small admission.
"Shade it is. How about that grassy spot about halfway down? You can figure out how much farther we're going to walk today and I'll rustle up some lunch."
As they munched their way through some fresh fruit and energy bars, Jim spread out their map and re-examined their route. To his surprise and Blair's grateful sigh, most of their climbing was finished. Jim didn't want to admit it, but he was far more tired than he should have been. He refolded the map and took another slice of orange. Getting upright now seemed more effort than it was worth.
"How tired are you, Jim?"
Jim jumped. Blair's question startled him, and he hadn't realized he was drifting. "Caught me, huh? I used to be a lot better at this."
"Better at what? Playing superman? Hiding how you feel, physically or emotionally? I thought I had your word on honesty."
"You do have my word." Jim stopped to take another long drink from his water bottle. "Maybe I'm just not as aware as I should be." Blair leaned back. He obviously wasn't letting Jim off the hook. "Okay, I'm a lot more tired than I should be. We've only done five or six miles."
"Well, try to remember you're not starting from a normal baseline here. A little extra sleep isn't going to erase weeks of accumulated fatigue and stress. My theory is that your degraded physical state is what's kicking off your senses. If that's true, I should have been watching for a sensory episode. In this case, that zone out was probably more my fault than yours." As Jim started to protest, he brushed him off. "I'm serious. I'm your guide. This is my role in the partnership. I should be able to anticipate an obvious problem, like checking the labels on stuff we buy or watching how we spice our cooking. You've always trusted me to do this. It's as important for you to listen to me now as it was for me to listen to you when I was the tag-along police observer."
"That's stupid, Sandburg. This isn't your fault. I just need to pay more attention."
"NO!" Blair stood up and turned away from Jim, facing out over the trail. After a few seconds he sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap." Despite the apology, the set of his shoulders still radiated tension. When he turned back, he clearly took a moment to get just the right words. "We didn't start this all those years ago as equal partners. I might have had the academic information, but we were doing police work and you were the boss. You were older, it was your loft, yadda yadda yadda. Thing is, conditions have changed, but we're still doing things the same old way, or maybe reverting back to older patterns."
Blair seemed to relax a bit and sat down again, facing Jim squarely. "I want you to think about this. Maybe the reason you've let the job run you to the brink of exhaustion is that you won't let me fulfill my half of the partnership. You've been running a lot of interference for me lately, sort of excusing me from stuff I would normally do." Jim started to protest, but Blair waved him off. "Why go in early without me? How many times in the last two months have you run off to do something solo? Admit it Jim, it's stuff that we used to do together. I'm not the observer anymore, and you're not Jim Ellison, the don't-give-me-a-partner loner. I'm a full-fledged detective, but you keep trying to do my job as well as yours. I'm sure you mean well, but it's too much. Your body and your senses are telling you that." Blair gathered up their water filter and both water bottles. "I don't want to talk about this anymore right now. I probably shouldn't have blurted things out like that, but I'm kind of frustrated. I'm going to refill these. I want you to rest while I walk ahead to the creek. You can meet me at the bottom in about ten minutes."
The remainder of their first day's hike went without further incident. That night they set up camp on the edge of a small meadow. Another nearby creek provided water that they filtered to replace what they had used. Blair noticed that Jim was downing their water at a record pace. Jim commented once on how dry he felt rather than being truly thirsty. Blair attributed it to senses gone haywire. Fortunately it wasn't a problem. The filter was multi-use and there was plenty of creek water along their route. After their meal, Blair coaxed Jim into letting him run some tests, just to monitor his sensory functions.
"We'll start out simple. Just close your eyes and tell me what you hear."
"We did stuff like this the first week I knew you, Sandburg. What are we doing? Going back to sensory kindergarten?"
"Sort of. I need to get a benchmark so I can figure out where you are right now. Come on, Jim. No sour milk or anything like that. Just close your eyes, relax and listen." Over the next ten minutes they repeated this most basic of tests with touch and sight. Both men quickly realized that Jim's senses were far below par. That much was obvious even without the fancy equipment of a university laboratory.
"That was great, Jim. Just relax and let's enjoy our evening. We'll try again tomorrow."
Jim accepted his fate with grace and stretched. He felt strangely achy. A simple hike shouldn't be this much trouble. "What? No notes?"
"I don't have to take notes. I'm not publishing. I can just keep track informally and do it in my head. No more scribbling in a million notebooks. Come help me with the tent."
Jim decided not to mention that in some weird, subconscious way he kind of missed those notebooks.
Blair was awakened by the groans of his tent-mate. His eyes popped open and he pushed up on an elbow. He listened as Jim thrashed around and groaned. He located a flashlight and flipped it on. "What's wrong? You okay, Jim?"
Jim was rolling his head from side to side in obvious discomfort. "I must be getting old. How pathetic. We hike -- what? -- twelve miles and I hurt all over. Do we have any aspirin?" He did a double-take as Sandburg hustled out of his mummy bag. "Take it easy, Sandburg. It's nothing serious."
Blair ignored him and quickly dug out their kit for medical emergencies. "There's a water bottle right behind your head. Here." Blair handed over two aspirin tablets. "Take these. Tell me exactly what you're feeling. Is this a sensory thing?"
"Relax, Sandburg. This is an embarrassment thing." Jim sat up to swallow. "I'm an ex-Ranger. I should be able to do ten of those hikes under hostile fire carrying a rifle. Instead I ache like a truck ran over me. How could I be this out of shape?"
Blair shook his head. "Give me a break. You're not out of shape. This has got to be your senses. Check touch. Is that unusually sensitive?"
"No. Really Sandburg, I'm just stiff. No tests at this hour of the night. Just let me work this kink out of my neck and I'll be fine." Blair was still sitting up, staring at him. Jim appreciated the concern, but enough was enough. "Turn off the light and go back to sleep, Chief. It's way too early to get up." Jim lay back down, trying to ease into a comfortable position. "Thanks for the aspirin. If it makes you feel better, you can be the first one up and make the coffee."
"I don't like it, Jim. There are too many possibilities...."
"All of which will wait until morning. Turn off your brain when you hit the light, Chief." Jim's last glimpse of Blair's face told him how futile that suggestion was.
After breakfast, a leisurely half-day hike brought them to a small creek that bounced furiously over huge boulders of gray granite rock. Switching into shorts, they ate lunch sunning on the rocks while dangling their feet in the water. The dark granite had absorbed the heat of the autumn sun and made the temperature seem warmer than it actually was.
Since they had no real time schedule, they lingered, enjoying the sun and each other's company. It shocked Jim to realize how long it had been since they'd shared an afternoon like this. The time that stretched out from the release of Sandburg's dissertation to the academy to the present seemed like one long frenzy. No wonder his senses had finally rebelled. And Sandburg? He worried about Sandburg all the time. What had his friend been processing in silence while they both allowed the day-to-day routine to absorb them? Was he really stifling Sandburg? Was he holding him back by not allowing their individual roles to mature? He didn't like that possibility. Maybe it was time to turn the focus.
Blair had moved off, digging through the vegetation that lined the streambed. If he didn't get him out of there soon they would be eating some weird root for dinner or drinking twig and bark tea. He chucked a pinecone at Blair, hitting him squarely in the butt. The poor guy jumped a foot and returned the favor. He came splashing back across the creek with a murderous gleam in his eye.
Jim held up his hands in mock surrender. "I apologize! I'm guilty! I didn't mean it!"
"Didn't mean it? You scared me half to death." Blair scrambled back up on the rock besides Jim. "What did you do that for? I was busy. All kinds of interesting plants grow in this area."
"I knew it. Count it as self-defense. God knows what you'd try to add to our dinner." He absently rubbed the tiny red knot on the back of his hand. "Besides, I was bored without you here to talk to."
"Well, that's a first. You're sicker than I thought." Blair retrieved his socks. "You're right, we should get going. This was fun." He stopped when he noticed Jim wasn't moving. "Is something wrong?"
"Blair, do you like being a cop? I mean, really like it? To the point that you don't miss the University?"
Blair put down the socks and stared at his friend. "Jim, is there any particular reason you would ask me that right now?"
"I don't know. It just popped out. I withdraw the question."
Blair crossed his legs and settled into a more comfortable position. "If it's all the same to you, I'll answer. It's just that the timing intrigues me. It occurs to me that this flurry of 'help Sandburg do his job' just happens to coincide with when I would be starting a new year at Rainier. Something tells me this is not random chance."
"Am I supposed to answer?"
"Maybe not. Maybe you can't answer. My guess is that you're still not sure I'm going to stick this out. Am I right?"
Jim's silence wasn't exactly a surprise. "Then I'll answer your original question, Jim. I LIKE being your partner. Part of the job still freaks me out, but yes, I like it." Blair sighed. That was the easy part. "As far as the University goes, I miss the teaching most. I try to be philosophical about it. A university isn't the only place to teach. Once I get more settled, there are community outreach classes that need volunteers, or maybe someday I'll teach at the academy." He chuckled. "Wouldn't that pin a few ears back? Maybe you could be my co-instructor. You could write your own class. How about 'High Speed Chases Made Simple'? Or 'Know Your Insurance Rates'?"
"Ha Ha. Very funny. Nice try, Sandburg. You almost got me off track. What about the anthropology? You spent most of your life preparing, and now it's just gone." Jim had lowered his eyes and seemed uncomfortable. Ah, ha! thought Blair. Now we really get to it.
"Jim, what I need you to understand is that the whole time I've been with you I've done anthropology, and not just when I was writing my diss. Everything you know becomes part of what you do. Some great anthropological studies have been completed by people who were doing other things -- missionaries, travelers, traders -- you name it. I didn't stop doing anthropology just because my nameplate isn't above a door at Rainier. I don't get paid for anthropology per se, but it will always be part of me, and I will always be an anthropologist." He shifted to face Jim directly. "Answer me something, would you still be a sentinel if you weren't a cop?"
"Sure. You've always said that I'll always be a sentinel. I guess I see your point, though. It's just -- you should be publishing papers and speaking at conferences -- sharing what you know and being recognized for it."
"Those are just the trappings, Jim. It's fun to go to a conference and have everyone pay attention to you, or be completely involved in some academic question, or be the lecturer who fascinates the class. But I have to tell you, it's as intellectually engaging to put together the pieces of a crime, to devise an interrogation strategy or anticipate what some criminal is going to do before he hurts someone. Anthropology is the study of group behavior and so is police work. It's the same principle, just a different form."
"You'd be a phenomenal profiler if you were inclined."
"And maybe I will, or maybe we'll do it together, as a team. Jim, maybe it's time we both faced up to the changes in our lives instead of running so fast. Ask yourself that. Is that what we've been doing? Just keep moving so you don't have to look too close? Or are you just trying to keep me from looking too close? If that's the case, look where it's gotten us." His partner seemed to be drifting. "Jim?" To his relief, Jim's head came back up.
"I'd like to think about that. What you said about always being an anthropologist? I'd like to believe that's really true."
"Take your time, Jim. I think you'll agree in the long run. Come on. Let's walk."
They hiked steadily throughout the remainder of the day. The last short section was one of the toughest of their planned route. They were steadily gaining altitude. Some sections of the trail were closer to rock climbing. Blair's concern grew as the day progressed. Jim seemed to be pushing. He'd only nibbled at lunch, and didn't seem interested in taking a break. This didn't exactly fit the rest and relaxation program Blair had in mind. Well, if he won't stop for himself, I know he'll stop for me, thought Blair.
"Hey, Jim," he called up the slope. "Hold up at that big rock. I need to take a break here." Jim waved in response. By the time Blair clambered up the last thirty feet, Jim had his pack off and was greedily sucking at his water bottle. "Thirsty again?" Blair asked as he shrugged off his pack.
"It's weird. I don't think I'm dehydrated, and it's not that warm, but my mouth just feels like cotton."
Blair dug into his pack. "Here, let's split an apple. See if that helps." He used his knife to carve the apple into slices and handed a generous one to Jim. He was heartily enjoying the sweet crunchy fruit when he noticed Jim had quit after a couple of bites. "What's the deal, Jim? Doesn't it taste good? Are your tastebuds off?"
"You're hovering, Sandburg."
"Am not," he replied with a grin. "Remember why we're here."
"It's not taste. I just don't feel like eating. My stomach's upset or something."
Over an apple? Jim, the man with a cast-iron stomach? Without comment, Blair dug out a few saltines. "Nibble on a couple of these -- see if it helps. You of all people know better than to exercise this hard without eating."
A few bites of cracker seemed to help. They spent the rest of their break in good-natured argument over their current position. Blair didn't budge until the remains of the apple had finally gone down his friend's throat.
Their target was a small high mountain lake. Blair insisted on taking the lead, figuring he could control and slow the pace more easily from the front. He gave an inward sigh of relief when he finally saw the blue jewel nestled within the trees. Maybe he could get Jim to really relax. A late afternoon breeze ruffled the surface, and it sparkled in the slanting sun. Jim was just a few steps behind, and came up beside him. Upon catching sight of the lake, he seemed to waver and lose his balance. Blair barely got a hand on him before Jim toppled over.
"Whoa. Sit down." He steered Jim to a nearby log. "What happened there? Shit, was it the light? I didn't think about the glare off the lake."
Jim shook his head. "Don't think so. I didn't notice a spike or anything. Maybe it's just the altitude or something. We haven't camped this high in a long time." Jim righted himself. "Beautiful spot, Sandburg. Let's camp over on that point." He was off down the trail without another word.
Jim set up their tent with his usual efficiency, but Blair kept a watchful eye on him. Blair had really expected some significant improvement by now. So many oddball things were going on he couldn't decide if Jim was improving. Realizing Jim was on edge, Blair was careful to give him some space. He wandered off, exploring the lakeshore with his usual curiosity. He was delighted to find huckleberries in the nearby woods to go with those he'd managed to collect along the trail. It was late in the season to find them and they'd make a great addition to their evening meal.
He was relieved when Jim ate reasonably. They chatted amiably through the meal. Blair entertained Jim with anecdotes from some recent reading on the Lewis and Clark Expedition. Hard to believe the party had nearly starved to death crossing this region nearly two hundred years ago. Despite Jim's apparent recovery from his afternoon mishap, Blair was still concerned. Together they went through the same low-level tests they'd completed the previous evening. The results were a pleasant surprise. Certainly not up to Jim's usual standards, but improved, nonetheless.
"Hey, Jim. You did a lot better with hearing today. Is it my imagination, or is your control better, too?"
"That was my impression. I think you had the right prescription, Chief." He shifted uncomfortably. "Could you get me some more aspirin? It wasn't bad while we were moving, but now I ache all over. Talk about embarrassing. We're playing cards tonight, aren't we?"
Between the two of them, they seemed to know every card game in the world. They switched from one game to the next, alternately gloating and grousing. Blair was taken by complete surprise when Jim flung down his cards and stumbled off toward the underbrush. By the time Blair got to his side, Jim was on his knees, vomiting repeatedly. Blair dropped down beside him, rubbing between his shoulder blades, helpless as the heaves continued to come. Jim finally settled back on his heels, winded and shaken.
"Geez, Jim. What was that? How long have you been feeling nauseated?"
"Don't know. Came on pretty quick."
"I'll say. Come on, move away from this spot. The smell must be killing you."
"Don't bother. I can't smell anything. I need some water, Sandburg."
Unwilling to leave him alone even for a few moments, Blair took Jim's elbow, steered him back toward their campsite, got him seated and semi-comfortable. "Stay put. I'll get something to clean up with and some water."
It took some time, but Jim gradually rinsed his mouth, cleaned up and managed a few swallows of water. In the meantime, Blair heated some herbal tea on the camp stove. "Try this," he said, handing Jim the mug. "It might help settle your stomach." As Jim sipped cautiously, he tried to question his friend without upsetting him. "Was this bothering you all day?"
"No. I promise, I would have told you. That was our agreement. I just wasn't hungry earlier. I was a little dizzy when we came up the last ridge."
Blair frowned. "I wish I could figure this out. We've been careful to filter all the water. The berries I gathered were ones you've eaten before, and I ate them, too. Somehow I don't think it's related to your senses, which was our original concern."
"Maybe I just picked up a touch of the flu before we left Cascade. We both agreed I was run down. Well, don't worry about it, Sandburg. I'm not dying here." Blair noticed Jim was rubbing at the back of his hand again.
"It must just be your week for bad karma," he teased. "Usually I'm the one covered with mosquitoes, but this time, you're the one with the bite. You want some lotion?"
"Couldn't hurt," Jim answered between sips of tea.
To Blair's dismay, the lotion was the least of their worries. By the time he returned, the mug of tea lay discarded in the dirt. Jim was on his knees, vomiting over and over again.
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