Lifeline
He couldn't take it any more.
Ever since Peru, he felt completely out of control; like he was going mad. He was hearing things, conversations, arguments, heartbeats and breathing, that weren't there; seeing things that he shouldn't be able to see; smelling things that weren't close to him, like the ocean, flowers, cleaning chemicals; clothes that were comfortable last week were scratchy this week, he was having his hair cut more often than normal because he felt prickles on his ears from his hair being too long.
He'd spent hours and hours of his time researching via the internet and putting through confidential inquiries to libraries and other facilities. He had even gone so far as to try unconventional methods of medicine and contacting those on the medical fringe of society, looking for a cure for whatever madness had latched onto him.
The last doctor he spoke with suggested that he check himself into a psychiatric hospital and fearful of having someone commit him against his will, he isolated himself in his apartment.
Three days after that appointment, his friend and boss, Captain Simon Banks of the Major Crime department of the Cascade Police Department, found his best detective sitting, nude, on the hardwood floor in the middle of his living room in his apartment, trembling, face wet with tears, contemplating eating a bullet.
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Knowing the detective was at home because his truck was still parked outside and he didn't leave the apartment these days unless he had to, Simon let himself into the loft with the spare key Jim had given him. Lately Jim hadn't been going anywhere unless Simon or another trusted friend could drive and accompany him.
The first thing Simon noticed upon entering was how dark and cool the place seemed to be. Moving forward, he was just about to call Jim's name when he saw his friend, a flash of the moon's light on the distinctive shape of his detective's gun, in his hand.
Simon hesitated for only a moment and then slowly and calmly made his way towards his distraught friend. The detective didn't seem to register the Captain's presence, continuing to move the gun slightly back and forth looking almost hypnotized by the light playing on the weapon's surface.
"Jim," Simon said softly.
Getting no response, Simon crept forward a few more feet and sat on his haunches a foot from the large, nude presence of Jim Ellison.
Jim seemed to come out of his contemplation and gave a short glance to his boss.
"I … " Jim started, his voice shaky and he sighed, putting the Sig Sauer back to his lips.
"Jim… please… don't do this," Simon coaxed gently.
Shaking his head, the detective spoke haltingly, not use to putting his feelings into words, "Captain… I've been through and put up with a lot of shit in my life… I've seen and done things that have made me physically sick… and made me question my own humanity…. But I've always been able to… control some aspect of it, to get me through it, to do the job or what was expected of me."
The gun never wavering from the area of his mouth, the tears drying on his face, the trembling still apparent, Jim, not one to show any weakness to anyone, looked to his Captain with fear, uncertainty and hopelessness in his eyes, continued, "But this… There isn't any way to control this… whatever it is. I'm totally at its mercy. It comes and goes when it wants with no compassion to what it's doing to me. I can't live like this, Simon. I can't work like this. I can't find anyone who knows what's going on and there doesn't seem to be any way to stop it or to control it."
"Jim, listen to me. I know this is really difficult for you; I can't pretend to understand what is going on with you or why this is happening but killing yourself isn't the answer here. There's got to be someone out there who knows something about what's happening with you, we just have to find them."
Before his detective could speak, Banks held both hands up and continued.
"You were saying that the worst things to deal with are the hearing and seeing stuff, right?" Waiting for Jim to nod his head, he again continued, "And you said that something like this started in Peru, that it calmed down somewhat while you were there and only started becoming a problem again when you came back to the States?"
Still holding the Sig Sauer close, Jim once again nodded. He was shivering in the cool loft apartment now, goose bumps on his arms and legs and Simon stood up, grabbed the throw that was on the couch and wrapped it around his friends' shoulders.
"Ok, so maybe getting you someplace a bit more isolated from the city would give you some relief. I was thinking of taking you up to a friend of mine's cabin; it's a couple of hours outside the city, really comfy, electricity by generator, indoor plumping, no phone and most of all, very quiet."
He looked at his detective, waiting for his answer.
Jim took in a large, shuddering breath and looked at his Captain. "What if it doesn't work?"
Simon sighed, "Would you at least give it a try? If it doesn't work… we'll tackle that if we need to."
Jim took in another large breath and exhaled slowly. Closing his eyes, he nodded lightly, the trembling hand holding his gun lowered.
Simon took the weapon and put it on the floor behind him and then rested both his hands on Jim's shoulders.
"We'll get you through this, my friend, I promise."
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Two days later, Simon came home to the sounds of his son watching TV, the smells of something good from the kitchen permeating the air of the house.
"Hey, Daryl."
"Hi, Dad."
After talking a bit about each other's day, they set the table and started to eat dinner.
"Oh, before I forget, Dad. Didn't you say something about Jim having some problems with his hearing and seeing and stuff?"
Simon's brow wrinkled, "Yeah, I did."
"Well, there's this guy on campus who's trying for his doctorate. Something to do with tribal guardians which have 'heightened senses' and I thought, well… hearing and seeing are senses and maybe this guy can help. He just got back from being in Peru for six months."
"Really? How did you find out about this?"
"The anthropology professor was telling us that his TA is going to be on vacation and his friend, Blair Sandburg, another Teaching Assistant, was going to be the one grading our essays and to make sure that we typed them because Mr. Sandburg has dyslexia and it's much easier for him to not have to go through hand written stuff."
Simon nodded his head. "You ready for that essay?"
Daryl chuckled. "Yeah, it's not a big one but I should be able to finish it before the deadline."
"This Mr. Sandburg… do you think he's going to be on campus tomorrow?"
"Probably."
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The next morning found Simon Banks standing outside a door marked with 'Artifact Storage, Room 3' with 'Blair Sandburg' written in neat penmanship on a sheet of paper under it. At the acknowledgement from within, Simon opened the door to come into the overcrowded and disorganized space of … some left over hippie?
To say Simon Banks was unimpressed? disappointed? frustrated? Any of those terms would have been a serious understatement.
"Uh… excuse me, but I was looking for Blair Sandburg." Hoping that maybe the person in front of him wasn't who he was looking for.
The young man had shoulder length, curly brown hair that seemed completely unruly and he was wearing a loud blue vest. Staring at his computer monitor and moving to the rhythm of some type of native drum music, he laughed.
"You're looking at him. How may I help you?" Blair held one hand out to Simon while taking off the glasses that perched on his nose with the other.
The Captain, extending his hand and trying not to roll his eyes or show his distaste, introduced himself.
Blair nodded, motioning for Simon to take a seat, and asked, "As I said, how can I help you?"
"What do you know about 'heightened senses'?" Simon cut right to the point. If he was going to waste his time, he was going to waste as little of it as possible.
Chuckling slightly at the directness of the question, Blair blinked and looked at his visitor. "You don't seem the type of person who'd be interested in anthropological research or discussions, Captain. Is there something in particular you're looking for?"
Without blinking, Simon replied, "Yes. What do you know about 'heightened senses'?" He asked again.
Blair snorted a little and nodded.
Getting up, Blair grabbed for a large open book near his bookshelf. "Ok, let me just show you something here. This is a monograph by Sir Richard Burton, the explorer, not the actor. It's over a hundred years old.
"Anyway, the idea goes something like this – in all tribal cultures every village had what Burton named a Sentinel. Now this was someone who patrolled the border; not a scout, more like a watchman.
"You see, this Sentinel would watch for approaching enemies, changes in the weather, movement of game. Tribe survival depended on it. A Sentinel is chosen because of a genetic advantage; a sensory awareness that can be developed beyond normal humans or, 'heightened senses,' if you wish. Now, these senses are honed by solitary time spent in the wild.
"At first Burton's monograph was disputed, now it's basically forgotten. But, I mean, there are certain manifestations today of maybe one or two hyperactive senses, like taste and smell, people who work for coffee and perfume companies.
"As a scientist, I'd have to explain it as, if any Sentinel existed today, they'd probably be considered a behavioral throwback to a pre-civilized breed of man."
Simon took a huge breath, trying not to laugh.
"Look, you came here asking for information and I'm giving it to you, man. I've got hundreds and hundreds of documented cases here of one or two hyperactive senses but not one single subject with all five. Now, perhaps Sentinels don't exist in modern day societies, but they did in the past."
Warmed up to his subject, the man was actually bouncing on his heels. "I mean, you, as a cop, have gotta see what a person with those abilities could offer to crime fighting in this day and age. The guy would be a walking, talking crime lab. He could process information from a crime scene within a matter of minutes or hours instead of waiting days for the results of a lab.
"Hell, he could smell bombs and illegal substances probably better than those K9s you guys are so proud of. And despite what I think, what if the military had access to a Sentinel?"
Simon tried to put his disbelief on a back burner and contemplate what the young man told him. After a moment he looked into the blue eyes of the grad student.
"What did you find in Peru?"
Blair looked at the African-American, who was at least a good foot taller than he, in front of him. Shaking his head, "Uh uh. You asked your question, now it's my turn."
Watching the Captain carefully, Sandburg asked, "Why are you so interested in all this for? And don't try and bluff you're way outta this, man, 'cause I'd know. This isn't just some passing interest you have."
When Simon didn't say anything, Blair went on.
"My guess is that you know someone and they're having problems, right?" He watched the black man carefully.
"He's having difficulty with hearing, probably with hearing things that aren't fairly close to him. He's probably going naked as well because clothes are irritating him too much. He's trying to cut down on stimulation so he may even be wearing ear plugs and wearing sunglasses. He's sensing stuff he has no control over and it's driving him crazy. I'm willing to bet he has a lot of allergic reactions also?"
Simon folded his arms across his chest preparing to do battle. "Hypothetically speaking, let's say you're right and that I *do* know someone in that condition. What of it?"
Blair smiled and laughed having noticed the dilation of the Captain's pupils. "You say that so calmly, man. It's obvious that you *do* know someone exactly like that and you're trying to find someone to help him understand what he is and how to control what's happening with him.
"And I'm gonna tell you, you won't find anyone else in the world who can. I'm the only Sentinel expert you've got, Captain, so what's it going to take for you to trust me and to take me to your friend?"
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On the drive up, Simon had filled Sandburg in on what Jim had been going through and, after a great deal of thought, he also told Blair about the night of the suicide attempt.
The young grad student wasted no time in documenting everything Simon told him. As Simon drove, Sandburg spent the time writing everything into a large spiral bound notebook, asking questions and getting as much of a drug, medical and life history of the detective as the captain could provide.
Simon had told Blair that under no circumstances was Jim to be used as a guinea pig. Any research that was used to help Jim was not to be used in any way, shape or form outside of that and was to be kept strictly confidential. After asking more about this "partner" that Burton's monograph spoke of, Simon came to the conclusion that if Jim needed further assistance, they would need to find a way of keeping Blair at Jim's side until that wasn't an issue anymore.
It was also decided that, since Jim didn't know anything about the grad student, Simon would go into the cabin and talk with him before asking Blair to join them.
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Simon entered the cabin and called Jim's name. Not getting an answer, he looked in the front area of the cabin and then headed to the back where the two bedrooms were. As he came into the sitting area that they shared, he saw Jim curled up in a nude fetal ball, rocking himself lightly, his eyes tightly shut, one hand slung over them and the other wrapped around his knees, pulling them closer to his chest.
"Jim!"
Ellison flinched and moaned at the sound that felt like a clap of thunder to his ears and tried to hide his ears without moving his hands.
"I'll be right back, Jim." Simon whispered. Turning around, he ran down the hall and out the front door, yelling for Sandburg.
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Blair had come to the back of the cabin as quietly as possible after hearing Simon explain what he'd seen and sat down as close to the detective as possible without actually touching him.
Jim, sensing someone close, voice brittle with emotion, "Please... I don't care if you have to kill me to do it, just make it go away." The last part was said through a choked sob.
Blair felt as if he were sitting near a wounded animal instead of former Covert Ops, Army Ranger Captain and a somewhat retired cop. Slowly, he found himself saying soothing nonsense words to the distraught and hurting detective while lightly caressing the older man's arm. Once Blair was sure that Jim was not quite so on edge, he began talking to him.
"Hi Jim, my name's Blair. Simon found me and told me what you've been dealing with and I'm here to help you, ok?" At the older man's hesitant nod, Blair continued caressing his arm and soothingly asked him what was happening.
"Eyes… too bright… hurts."
Blair nodded to himself.
Continuing in his soft voice, Blair told the Sentinel that together they could fix that. "I need you to concentrate on my voice, Jim. Can you do that?"
The older man nodded and Blair smiled gently, now moving his stroking to Jim's face, softly caressing the cheek closest to him, leaving Jim's hand over his eyes while placing his other hand over Jim's, helping to give the man further relief.
"We need to give you something to use as a normal point of reference, something that you can focus on whenever you feel out of control ok? Listen to my voice… listen to my heartbeat and my breathing… concentrate on what I feel like, what I smell like. Just relax and concentrate on all those points of reference. Take your time… we have all the time in the world, Jim." Blair continued caressing the man's cheek, moving through his hair, down his shoulder and arm and then starting over again.
Feeling the tension leaving Jim's body, Blair continued.
"Your senses are spiking right now and that's what's causing the pain you're going through. Listen to my voice; I'm not going to let anything hurt you; just relax, breathe… I want you to listen, cast your hearing out and listen to what's going on around us, inside and outside. Catalogue all those different sounds and, one by one, tune them out. Can you do that?"
Jim had cocked his head to one side, like he was listening to something very intently.
"How… am I crazy?" Came the soft question.
"No, Jim, you are most certainly not crazy. What you are experiencing is a genetic advantage. It's perfectly normal for *you* to hear what you are hearing, to see, taste, smell and otherwise sense things that others cannot. As soon as you're feeling better, I'll explain everything to you, but right now I want to concentrate on making you feel better. Can you wait until then?"
Jim nodded without hesitation.
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All his life, Jim had been a controlled ball of emotions, thoughts and feelings, constantly censoring himself in order to appear to be perfect. The perfect son; the perfect military man; the perfect cop; the perfect detective… the perfect failure. His life was full of masks.
He was so perfect at wearing those masks that he wasn't even sure who the real Jim Ellison was anymore.
When this stuff started with his senses going haywire, he endeavored to continue to control the uncontrollable. But as they got more and more out of control, Jim's second nature insecurities kicked in and he lost it, continuing in an ever spinning downward spiral into depression, anger and fear, perhaps even madness.
Simon had talked him into getting away from the city and at first, the idea seemed to work, but this morning he had woken up to what seemed unusually bright lights. He'd turned to the nightstand thinking that he'd possibly fallen asleep with the lamp on. But it was off. He got up, trying to close the blinds of the room, but it was so painful and tears blurred his sight. He tried to get out of the bedroom, but the light from the sitting area and the second bedroom had overwhelmed him. Jim had stumbled against something and collapsed on the floor; his eyes couldn't seem to forget the brightness and he'd curled in on himself, throwing a hand over his eyes and wrapping the other around his legs.
Jim had lain there for who knows how long before Simon shouted at him.
And then… something happened.
Someone, with a voice that called to his very soul, started talking to him; caressing his skin with one smooth hand while the voice soothed and comforted him. The voice, guiding him out of the storm that was his life for uncounted months, years, gave him utter peace and safety; the first time perhaps since before his mother had abandoned him and certainly since Peru.
This man, Blair, gave him back some control over the world that had become suddenly so maddening and uncontrollable. He gave him a place of comfort and safety that Jim hadn't known he had craved, wanted… *needed* until it was given to him.
Blair's voice became Jim's lifeline back to sanity and he eagerly grabbed for the young man with both hands and held on to him as tightly as possible.
As his sight cleared, Blair came into view. To Jim, it didn't matter what this man looked like; the gratitude he felt to this individual overrode everything else. As he enveloped the man in a bear hug of mixed emotions, a few hard won tears leaking from his eyes, he was barely able to get a couple of repeated "thank you's" passed his constricted throat muscles and over into one of Blair's ears, half buried in chestnut curls.
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Simon was sitting on the floor a few feet from the two men on the bedroom floor. Not making a sound, he watched as the young grad student calmed his friend, soothing him with his voice and his gentle caressing. He continued to watch as Blair taught Jim how to control his various senses with "dials" like on a stereo and how to find the "normal" level of his senses.
As Blair brought each individual sense to the normal baseline level, Simon could see the tension leave his friend's body. Soon, Jim was able to take his hand away from his eyes and then open them. Simon was incredibly surprised to see Jim rise up from the floor and envelope the startled young man into a bear hug.
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A couple of months later…
"Chief! You ready yet?" Jim Ellison called to his partner as he came up to his desk in the bullpen from Simon's office.
"Yeah, just give me a minute to finish this report."
"Jim. He's an observer, not your personal and private office help."
"Hey, he's good with words. You've always told me that I needed to be more precise and concise in my report writing."
Simon Banks gave his best detective a smirk. "Keyword: YOU."
Jim rolled his eyes and grabbed Blair's jacket from the coat tree beside the desk and tossed it to his partner as he came around the desk.
"Let's go, Sandburg." Smiling, he put his hand on his partner's shoulder.
Some dialogue taken directly from The Sentinel pilot and some inspired from Blair's meeting with Krycek of Akilah's Obligation series.