Note: This is the seventh story in my 'Right Now, In Cascade' series, aka my 'Teen Sentinel' series ('Chiefly,' 'Sunday at the Camp,' 'Tumble,' 'From the Rather Orderly Files of Mr. William T. Ellison,' 'The Other Side,' and 'Baby Steps'). But I'm now several years behind, and not every story is going to be about the kids, so - take you pick. I think about it as 'Chiefly and its sequels.'
This story takes place near the end of 'From the Rather Orderly Files of Mr. William T. Ellison.'
It's old-skool TS smarm, sorry.
Where the Love Is
by Helen W.
During 'From the Rather Orderly Files of Mr. William T. Ellison'…
"Jason likes certainty. He needs certainty. So that's what I give him," Jason heard Jonathan plead to Mr. Ellison from outside the den. Not that Jonathan was trying to sound beggie, Jason knew. He was trying to use his bossing-the-adults voice.
For once, it wasn't working. "He needs understanding, friendship, and someone watching his back. He doesn't need a puppet master," replied Mr. Ellison, sounding a lot like his son, Officer Jim.
Stop it, stop it, stop it! Jason willed with all his might.
"You don't understand," said Jonathan. "You don't know him like I do."
"You came here for answers, that's my best one," said Mr. Ellison.
The door to the den opened, and for a moment Jason was afraid all three of them were going to come in - Jonathan, Mr. Ellison, and Ms. Wong. But only Jonathan sat down on the sofa.
"I'm sorry," said Jonathan. "You don't need me running out on you like that."
Jason wanted to tell him that Mr. Ellison was crazy, had no idea what he was talking about, but he couldn't, not with their host standing in the doorway. Instead he took a deep breath, and risked, "You don't think you have to be, be perfect around me, do you? I'm messed up, but Mr. Ellison is right, you don't have to hide a-anything from me."
He stopped. Words had been easy to get out when he'd been staying at Dr. Blair's camp, but had started to fail him again at the Dawson School. "I, I'm awfully hard to hide stuff from anyway."
At last Mr. Ellison and Ms. Wong left. As they closed the door behind them Jonathan seemed to lose a war with his features; suddenly he looked shattered.
"Come on, Jon, look at me! I'm fine!" said Jason.
He raised his hand to Jonathan's shoulder, then jerked it back with a cry before he even fully registered the pain. Where was it coming from?
Jonathan was now pressed against the far arm of the sofa. "I'm sorry!" he said, "I'll leave…"
"Don't be an idiot," said Jason. He put his hand on Jonathan's shoulder again, but this time more slowly, so that his read of Jonathan wouldn't be as intense. "It's your knee," he said, "Your…" And then he had to think for a moment, because telling left from right was hard. "Your left knee.
God, if my knee hurt like that…"
Jason moved to perch on the edge of the sofa as Jonathan, keeping his eyes fixed on Jason, turned and stretched his left leg out. Jason pulled up the leg of Jonathan's sweat pants, then put his hands around the hurting knee. Yes, it was blindingly obvious what was wrong… "Stay still!" he ordered, then went to Mr. Ellison's desk and opened the top side drawer, the place everyone kept their packing tape if they had any. Sure enough, there was a roll; Jason tore off two 8"-long pieces, then returned and placed the strips there and there and, yeah, that was much better, but he'd goofed a little - he needed another couple of pieces to keep them in place. He got two more pieces and placed them across the first two; perfect.
As he finished pressing the final strip into place he turned and grinned at Jonathan. "Now if you can just keep your leg in this position for a week this should heal fine," he laughed. "Since that's not going to happen, we'll figure out something else tomorrow."
He'd expected Jonathan to look surprised - he could feel a growing sense of astonishment, of course. He didn't expect the open-mouthed gape, the swell of something beneath where Jason's hand rested on Jonathan's shin.
"How did you do that?" Jonathan asked.
"I'm a sentinel, stupid."
"I'm pretty sure Officer Jim can't do anything like that."
"Really?" Jason had assumed he could.
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure. What else can you tell, just by touching me?"
"Before, not much. Your knee pain was pretty much drowning everything out. Now…" Jason turned his hand over and slid his knuckles up the left side of Jonathan's body, ending just below his ear. "I don't understand. You feel… happy? But something else…"
"Is this why you don't touch people?"
Jason nodded. "Of course. I never know what to expect. Plus, Dr. Blair says it's rude."
"Dr. Blair knows you can do - God, Jason, I don't even know what to call it!"
"Well, he says it's rude to listen to people whispering, and this is kind of the same thing."
"No," said Jonathan, "I don't think this is the same thing at all."
Jason could feel something bubbling out of Jonathan, even though they weren't even touching now. That was pretty unusual. In any other situation, with any other person, Jason would have backed off, maybe even run, because he'd learned really young that if he could read someone this strongly without touching them, what came next was not good. But this was Jonathan, who would never hurt him, he was pretty sure. He slowly curled his hand around Jonathan's arm…
A wave of warmth washed over him, and another, and another, and another, and there wasn't enough air, but he couldn't let go because he just couldn't turn away from the feeling, stop listening to the words silently rolling through Jonathan: Jason, Jason, how can you not know how astounding you are, how good, how unique, oh Jason! Why is life so hard for you? How can I help you? Why did I let them hurt you? Why did I leave you vulnerable? Oh, Jason!
Jason, heaving in all the air he could, gasped, "Stop it!" But something was wrong with his eyes, so he lowered his head until it contacted Jonathan's chest.
The feeling was as strong as ever, but was now accompanied by the other threads of life which ran through Jonathan. The separate parts of his heart working in perfect rhythm. Clear lungs emptying and filling. The small turbulences of blood. And, going deeper, the tiny workings that Jason didn't names for; and through it all the humm of what was Jonathan, part brain, maybe, but part not.
And it came to Jason that Jonathan was not conscious of any of it. What he spent time and effort trying, and usually failing, to get into balance, Jonathan just did.
Jason let his head rest more fully against Jonathan's chest, let the rest of his body follow, and wrapped his arms around his friend. Jonathan's thoughts had altered, changing from sentences to lone words to the warm waves he'd first felt, but Jason could slice through it now, gradually let the processes of his body slide to match Jonathan's.
Was he doing too much too quickly? But he didn't know how to choose what to change, what to let go of, first. All at once would have to do.
Beneath him, he felt the knowledge that something was happening go through Jonathan. "Jase? Are you all right?" he asked.
Jason nodded but didn't raise his head; he didn't want to break the connection, to stop feeling the waves.
The waves, the waves, what did the waves mean? Letting his body continue to map itself to Jonathan, Jason followed the waves upstream. The thrum got fuller - and he it came to him. He was feeling love.
He sat up then, keeping his hands on Jonathan, his hip pressed against Jonathan's sideways on the sofa. "I found where the love is," he said.
"Jase…"
And suddenly the rest of the world seemed unbearably cold. Why had he never felt this from anyone else? Was he so broken? So bad? "Oh, Jase," Jonathan said, and Jason let himself be pulled back down, shifted so that it was Jonathan holding him now.
He pressed his face into Jonathan's shoulder and started to cry.
"At last," said Jonathan, and Jason felt a sense of resolution; Jonathan had been waiting for a collapse. Jason didn't have the strength, or even the words, to tell him he wasn't quite right - it wasn't the cruelty of the Dawson School, the almost-dying, which did this - it was love that was letting him feel the grief he kept inside.
The warm waves continued as he sobbed now, until he knew no more.
* * * THE END * * *
Liked it? Hated it? I'd love to know, here or at helenw at murphnet dot org.