Disclaimer: I do not own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).
Note: This story was originally written in the around 2006, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.
Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf?
By EvergreenDreamweaver
Blair Sandburg was doing his best to saunter nonchalantly across the parking lot at the Cascade Police Academy, but inwardly he was bouncing, skipping, performing high-fives with himself, leaping into the air and clicking his heels – all of which made a casual stroll very difficult to maintain, despite his best efforts.
Eighty-eight percent accurate! he exulted. He patted a pocket which contained a very precious document. Eighty-eight percent! Eighty-eight percent in the firearms test – and it wasn't even scheduled to BE a test, just a practice session. I've done it. I'm officially a part of the Cascade PD! A cop for real – and pretty soon I'll OFFICIALLY be Jim's permanent partner! WHOOOOO-HOO!
Restraining the urge to emit that last gleeful shriek aloud, Sandburg unlocked his car and got in. He started the motor and made sure the windows were tightly rolled up – and then he unleashed the triumphant yell he'd been suppressing. "YES! Yes, yes, yes! I can do this – I can! I DID! ALL RIIIIIIIIIGHT! Wait'll I tell Jim!" He punched the air triumphantly.
He laughed with unbridled joy at his own antics and put the Volvo into gear. This was definitely going to have to be shared with Detective Jim Ellison – immediately! He accelerated towards the street – and abruptly slammed on the brakes, gasping with shock as a large, furry canine appeared in front of the vehicle, seemingly out of nowhere.
"What the...?"
Surely it was a stray dog – someone's pet Husky, running loose? It couldn't be what he'd thought it was at first glance – a large gray wolf? Sandburg squeezed his eyes tightly shut for a moment, then cautiously opened them.
There was nothing there – no dog, Husky or otherwise.
Blair sank back into his seat, summoning just enough presence of mind to take the car out of gear and apply the emergency brake. Then he dropped his head back and closed his eyes again, breathing heavily. This is insane! It was a dog – it had to be a dog! It WASN'T that...that wolf! It can't have been the wolf!
It can't have been MY wolf – not now!
He slitted his eyes open a crack and looked again. No wolf.
A car beeped courteously behind him, requesting that he move on through the gate, and he automatically responded to the signal, easing his car out into the traffic. He headed for the police precinct downtown, driving on auto-pilot.
By the time he reached his destination, Blair was feeling much calmer. He had nearly convinced himself that what he had seen in the police academy parking lot was merely someone's wandering pet, and that somehow the animal had escaped without his seeing where it had gone. He was very thankful that he had managed to stop in time to avoid striking it; running down someone's beloved puppy was so not something he wanted to do!
He drove into the underground parking garage and found a place to park near Ellison's familiar blue-and-white Ford pickup truck. Good, Jim's here – gotta get upstairs and tell him the news! He'll be so surprised! He turned off the engine, got out – and froze.
Sprawled atop the hood of a nearby low-slung sports car was that same furry gray-and-white form, ears pricked high and jaws slightly open in a toothy canine grin. It made no move to approach the unnerved Blair, just lay there, tongue lolling out, completely at ease and unafraid.
It's a DOG! Sandburg's mind screamed at him, totally disregarding the fact that Blair knew perfectly well what a wolf looked like – especially this particular wolf. Or that dogs didn't, as a rule, hang around in the police department's underground parking garage. It's a dog, Blair, and it's someone's lost pet and it's a total coincidence that you saw another one out at the academy and you aren't going crazy and just because the last time you saw it you were dea—
He clamped down on that runaway thought and shut his eyes tightly again, keeping them closed while he resolutely counted. Thirteen...fourteen...fifteen. He opened his eyes and squinted at the little sports car. The hood was devoid of any and all life forms...or hallucinations.
Jim...gotta find Jim...gotta talk to Jim. Slowly, Blair began to walk towards the elevator, consciously trying to settle his ragged breathing into a more normal pattern. Jim Ellison, his no-nonsense, practical roommate and almost-official detective partner, would surely have some sort of rational explanation for this. Right? Right, the little voice in his head answered him smartly. Good old down-to-earth Jim – the Sentinel with the five super-senses, who sees and talks to ghosts, and has his own black jaguar spirit guide. He's the one that's going to tell you you're just imagining you're seeing things? Whatta crock of—
He mentally smacked the little voice upside the head and banished it to the furthest recesses of his mind. He was so busy punishing it for its impertinence that he nearly missed getting off on the 6th floor.
"Hey, Sandburg – isn't this your stop?"
Blair looked up, startled. "Oh – yeah, thanks." Stop drifting! You're here to tell Jim the great news about the firearms test! And then later you can tell him about...what you imagined. He shuffled out of the elevator and turned towards the Major Crimes Unit door.
And stopped dead in his tracks, for at the far end of the hall sat a bushy-tailed gray wolf, grinning cheerily at him.
##########
Jim Ellison sat at his desk, moodily leafing through a file folder. Damn, but he missed having Sandburg around! It wasn't that he couldn't do his job without the other man present; he could. He'd learned – from Blair – how to keep his senses under strict control when he needed to, for the most part, and was able to dial them up or down at will; he didn't need Blair Sandburg constantly at his side holding his hand to function. But he knew that he was ten times – Hell, probably way more than that! – more effective in his job when his Guide was there. And Blair was a damned good cop in his own right, Sentinel issues aside. Jim was anxious to have his long-time observer become his official partner on the force; he didn't like having Blair unable or unwilling to drop in at the precinct whenever he wanted to, and he knew Sandburg was trying to keep a fairly low profile until he was wearing that detective's gold shield.
Glumly, Ellison read through a report, changing a word here, correcting a typo there, and wishing that Blair had been around to write it in the first place. He wondered what his roommate was doing for lunch – was it a day when Sandburg casually sauntered into Major Crimes, seeing who might be available to join him? He consulted his desk calendar, but it offered no answer to his question. He couldn't remember whether Blair had said, at breakfast, what his plans were for the day.
Before he could ask Connor if she expected Blair in, the man in question breezed into the bullpen. Jim became aware of him in several different ways all at once: he glimpsed Blair's entrance out of the corner of his eye, his roommate's familiar scent washed over the him, and the cadence of his voice as he said hello to Rhonda impinged upon Ellison's abruptly-sharper hearing. Keeping his gaze on his desk, Jim fought the urge to jump up and hug his Guide in welcome. Jesus, Ellison, you'd think you hadn't seen him for a week, instead of a few hours! What's with you? Bad case of Blessed Protector-itis?
"Hey." Blair sank into the chair tacitly accepted as his, across the desk from Jim.
"Hey yourself," Jim grunted, barely acknowledging Sandburg's presence, but smiling down at his report. Then he frowned slightly. There was something unusual about Blair's fragrance – traces of...gunpowder? Yep, gunpowder. And gun oil. Therefore... "How was the firing range?"
"How'd you know—" Blair broke off as Jim tapped his nose without even looking up. "Man, that is so cool, ya know?" he continued in a lower tone. "I love how you can do that!"
Jim let his smile widen. Even after four years, Blair was still flatteringly awed by Sentinel abilities. "So...how'd you do at practice today?" he reiterated.
The reply was slow in coming.
"Sandburg? What'd you score?" Jim looked up now, and met Blair's amused sea-blue eyes.
"You sure you want to know?" Blair hedged.
"Stop stalling; it can't have been that bad!" Ellison teased. "Can it?" He was suddenly worried; Blair had been averaging between 75 and 80% in the practice sessions Jim had been at, not bad, but not high enough yet, and he knew his friend had been getting worried about not being able to raise his score.
"All right, you asked for it." Blair took a deep breath. "Eighty-eight."
For a moment Jim thought his hearing had gone on the fritz. Blair couldn't have said...could he? "What did you say?"
His partner began to laugh. "I said: eighty-eight! I passed!"
Ellison's jaw dropped momentarily, then a huge amazed grin spread over his face. "You QUALIFIED?"
"Yep!" Sandburg's blinding smile seemed to light up the whole room.
"But you weren't scheduled—"
"I know, but Commander Pearson was there and said why didn't I try it; if I didn't pass, no big deal, just consider it another practice session, and if I did, he was there to sign the papers...You are looking, partner, at OFFICER Blair Sandbur—OOOF!" The words were stifled as Jim, who had leaped to his feet and rounded the desk, caught his Guide up in a massive bear hug and whirled him around, narrowly missing smacking him into the coat tree and a chair!
"What the—" Henri Brown looked up from his paperwork, grinning as he watched the usually taciturn and reserved Jim Ellison spinning about and whooping like a maniac.
"He got 88% on the firearms test! He's qualified!" Ellison shouted triumphantly, and set the crimson-faced Sandburg back on his feet.
"All RIGHT, Hairboy! Way to go!" Brown crossed the intervening space to exchange high-fives with Sandburg.
The rest of the Major Crimes' detectives gathered, seemingly like magic, as the news spread, and Blair felt almost overwhelmed by their jubilant reactions, dizzied from being spun and hugged, sore from having his back and shoulders slapped, deafened by the whoops of delight, especially Megan's strident "COOOO-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" and something that sounded horrendously like a pack of coyotes on the hunt! He covered his ears and saw Jim wincing even as he laughed.
"Dingo howl," Connor informed her cringing colleagues smugly.
Captain Simon Banks emerged from his office, scowling at the pandemonium in the bullpen. "What the Sam Hill is going on out here?" he bellowed over the uproar.
"Sandburg qualified firearms! Eighty-eight percent! He's ours!" Rafe yelled, for once oblivious of his formidable captain's ire. "It's official!"
Sandburg extricated himself from Taggart's grasp and pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He held it out to Simon with a happy smile. "I believe this is something you need to see...Captain."
Simon took the paper and unfolded it while the rest of the Major Crimes detectives watched avidly. "Well, well." He cleared his throat officiously, scanning the paper. "Seems to be an official notice – something about one Blair Sandburg, police cadet, having passed all the tests and is therefore now Officer Sandburg – with the understanding that this status will shortly be changed to Detective Second Class Sandburg, assigned to Major Crimes, yadda, yadda, yadda..."
Banks tried hard to repress his grin, but failed miserably in the attempt. He felt like he'd been in a holding pattern for many long weeks, waiting for this day. "Congratulations, Sandburg," he said gruffly, and held out his hand. Blair took it, and Simon gripped hard for a moment, then pulled the smaller man into a one-armed embrace, murmuring for Blair's ears only: "Welcome home, son." Looking over Sandburg's head, he saw Jim Ellison's blue eyes glittering with moisture – and knew the Sentinel had heard him as well.
When the tumult finally died, the police officers returned to their various jobs, and Blair was once again seated in his usual chair – Simon had made a half-promise about squeezing in another desk in Jim's corner, before heading back to his office – Ellison looked at his partner with unalloyed pleasure. "Celebratory lunch, Chief? Whaddya say? Just us? Or the whole horde?"
"I could eat." Blair was flushed and happy – and to Jim's keen gaze, his eyes were suspiciously bright. "And...just us, man. Please."
"Suits me, Junior. What are you in the mood for?"
Sandburg laughed softly. "Champagne and caviar! No, I'm kidding, Jim, I'm kidding! Anything is fine. You choose."
Ellison eyed him suspiciously. "You want me to choose? What, no stipulations about 'no Wonderburger,' 'no Taco Bell™, no—"
"No stipulations, man. No lectures today. Please, you pick. I can't seem to think right now!"
Jim thought fast – he wanted someplace that Blair really liked; this was deserving of a celebration! "In that case, let's go to Foxman's." I just hope they've got those croissant turkey sandwiches again...
"Foxman's?" Blair blinked and to his partner's confusion and absolute dismay, suddenly looked deflated. "This is a dream, then," he whispered. "You wouldn't choose that place for lunch in real life. So...I'm dreaming it. And that means that I dreamed the firearms test, too...I didn't really qualify—"
"Oh, for the luvva..." Ellison slapped a hand down on the desk. "NO! It's not a dream, Sandburg. I thought you'd be pleased about going there, that's why I picked it!"
Blair was still muttering to himself. "...dreamed the other, too, though; that's good, that's a good thing. Knew that wasn't real..."
"Sandburg!" Jim hissed the name across the desk, and grabbed his partner's wrist, trying to snare Blair's attention. "Shut up a minute and listen to me! You aren't dreaming. You did qualify. I did say I'd go to Foxman's for lunch; I like their sandwiches, you dimwit! And what are you talking about, 'dreamed the other?' What other?"
Sandburg stared at him, eyes slightly glazed. "You'd really go to Foxman's?"
"Yes, Einstein, I'll really go to Foxman's. I want a turkey croissant sandwich and onion rings."
"Have a chocolate milkshake too, pal – go all out! So...I did qualify and I brought Simon a letter?" Sandburg still looked a little doubtful.
"I read it myself, buddy. And if you don't trust these eyes, what do you trust?"
Blair blinked again, his eyelashes fluttering nervously. "In that case – if I'm not dreaming all this...Jim – can I ask you a question?"
"It isn't about lunch still, is it?" Ellison heaved a long-suffering sigh and began to stack up his paperwork. He was beginning to think that lunch was going to turn out to be nonexistent today.
"No, not lunch...Jim, do I look like I'm going crazy?"
Jim flicked a swift glance at him. "No more so than usual."
"Not funny, man. I'm not kidding. Answer me: do I look like I'm going crazy?"
Caught by the sudden worry in Sandburg's voice, Jim sat back frowning, and studied him carefully. "No, Chief, you don't look like you're going crazy. What's this about, anyway?" Secretly, he wondered if the stress of the past few weeks, and reaction to the sudden realization that he was now an accredited police officer had driven Blair temporarily off the rails. "Wait a minute – has somebody said something to you? If you're getting hassled—"
"No, no, no one's said anything to me." Sandburg glanced surreptitiously around, and then ducked his head. "I'll explain...but not here," he whispered, Sentinel-soft.
Curious-er and curious-er! "Okay..." Jim said slowly. "Then let's go to lunch."
If he'd thought leaving the bullpen would improve his partner's frame of mind, Jim found he was sadly mistaken. As soon as they gained the hallway, Blair seemed to be trying to look in all directions at once, and he scuttled into the elevator as if pursued by demons.
"Good Lord, Sandburg, what's up with you? You act like you expect the Sunrise Patriots to jump out of a storage closet or something!" Ellison punched the button for the garage level.
"Almost rather that..." his partner mumbled under his breath.
"What?"
"Rather see Kincaid than..." More mumbling – and Blair knew exactly how unintelligible to make his words so that Jim couldn't decipher them, whether he could hear them or not!
Ellison opened his mouth...and then shut it. We'll talk about it over lunch, he promised himself, and ushered Blair out of the elevator with an arm firmly about his shoulders.
The parking garage was deserted save for themselves, but Blair cast suspicious glances into corners as they walked to Jim's truck – and Ellison was again struck by the worrisome thought that Blair had been threatened by someone. Someone here at the precinct.
"Chief – are you sure somebody—"
Blair didn't need the question finished; he knew what Jim was asking. "I swear, nobody's said anything – at least, not to me. It's okay, man; you don't have to go punch anybody out, or anything! I have a gun and I know how to use it, after all!" He grinned teasingly and settled comfortably into the passenger seat of the pickup, although he still glanced around the parking garage with unusual sharpness.
Jim took his place behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition. It was true. Blair did have a gun – selected with the greatest care by the two of them, four weeks ago – and according to that letter he'd handed Simon, he knew how to use it! Not that he was supposed to use it on fellow officers, but..."Okay, partner – whatever you say."
Blair waited until they'd found a comfortably padded booth near the front windows and gotten their lunches before he broached the topic he'd both wanted and dreaded to bring up. Jim had been very forbearing about it, but he deserved to know why Blair was so jittery. Besides, he desperately wanted his Sentinel's advice!
"Jim...remember I asked you if I looked like I was going crazy?"
"Distinctly," Ellison mumbled around a bite of flaky croissant, turkey and Swiss cheese. "The answer's still the same: no more than usual. So why'd you ask?"
Sandburg chewed chef's salad with great concentration. "Spirit guide," he murmured at last. "I saw it."
Jim's eyes widened almost comically. "You saw the panther?" he hissed. Instinctively, he glanced around, as if he half-expected to see the impressive black jungle cat lurking under one of the restaurant tables.
"No, man." Blair shook his head. "I saw the wolf!"
Ellison gazed at his partner consideringly. Maybe Sandburg was going crazy, after all! He didn't look crazy, but... "Maybe you just thought it was a wolf," he suggested at last. "Maybe it was a dog—"
"That's what I told myself," Blair said, "the first time."
"Meaning you've seen it more than once?"
"Three times today," Sandburg admitted. "In the parking lot at the academy, in the parking garage at the precinct, and in the hallway outside Major Crimes."
Jim mulled over that in silence while he chewed on his sandwich. "No panther," he reiterated – just making sure. Not that he minded if Blair saw his spirit guide, of course...! He just didn't want the dratted animal hanging around causing trouble!
"No panther," Blair assured him.
"Did it seem...threatening?"
"No – it seemed more like – like it was laughing at me!" Blair said, with dawning surprise. He'd been too unnerved to realize it before; that animal was enjoying itself immensely!
"Hmmm." Jim thought about his own spirit guide, the ferocious black jaguar. Its sightings usually seemed to mean warnings of some sort, or it wanted to lead him somewhere. It definitely did not laugh at him! No sense of humor whatsoever. "Maybe it just...just wants to be...friendly? Get acquainted, sort of?" he hazarded. "You were pleased when mine showed up," he reminded his Guide.
"Friendly?" Blair echoed. "Jim, maybe you've forgotten, but I think I have a right to be a little nervous, here! Yours sorta brings you messages and warnings. The only other time I've seen mine...man...I was – you know – dead!"
Ellison winced sharply and put up a restraining hand. "Don't!" he snapped, then controlled himself with an effort, and continued in a much milder tone: "Don't remind me, Chief...please."
"Sorry...I'm sorry. I'm just – spooked, ya know?"
"I know."
"Why would it suddenly show up? Friendly or not!" Blair poked at his salad, looking distressed. "Man, I thought things were going okay – were going right – and now...What if it's trying to tell me I'm not supposed to be a cop, or something?"
"Hey." Jim reached across the table to still the nervous movements. While he was there, he snitched a couple strips of ham out of Blair's salad, for good measure. "Things are going just fine, partner. You are a cop, whether the wolf likes it or not. And whatever reason it has for showing up, we'll deal with it. Together, Chief, got it?" He filched a piece of cheese.
Blair gave him a shaky smile. "Got it. Stop eating my salad."
"Then you eat it. And stop worrying." Jim squeezed his wrist and released it.
"Easier said than done, my friend. Easier said than done."
##########
The next few days went by in a blur for Blair. He ricocheted among conflicting emotions: relieved elation that he'd achieved his goal of earning that gold shield, and an incredible sense of pride the first time he walked into the Major Crimes bullpen with it clipped to his belt; nervous anticipation about actually being a police officer, and the constant apprehension that every time he looked around he'd find a large gray wolf – which no one else seemed to see, naturally! – placidly observing him!
It didn't seem to show up when Jim was around, much to Blair's consternation. He was well aware that no one else could see it, but he'd figured Jim would be able to. He'd seen it before, after all, and could see that jaguar! But for whatever reason, the wolf remained elusive whenever Ellison was nearby. Probably because Jim SHOT him the last time! that same, familiar nasty little voice in the back of his mind sneered a reminder. Why would he come out and play with someone who took him – you – out with a crossbow?
SHUT UP!
Blair sank down at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands. So far this week, that blasted wolf had trotted down Prospect in front of the Volvo when Blair was returning from picking up groceries. He'd seen it lying in the corner of the loft, peacefully asleep, when he got up the previous morning. And just a few minutes ago he'd spotted it sitting on the balcony, contemplating the barbecue grill with great interest.
What am I gonna do? I can't be an effective police officer – an effective partner for Jim – if I'm hallucinating wolves all the time! He glared out the glass doors. "Go away! Just go away!"
The wolf turned its head and gave him a reproachful look – and then moved sideways, so that he could no longer see it. Blair sternly resisted the urge to whimper – or howl! – in total frustration.
The noise of a key turning in the door lock caught his attention, and he watched Jim come in from his workout session at the gym.
"Hey, Chief." Ellison removed his holster and hung it up. He had evidently showered at the gym, as he was neatly dressed and his short dark hair looked damp.
"Hi." Blair regarded his roommate gloomily. He knew without doubt that if he asked Jim to go look out on the balcony, the wolf would be gone.
"Everything okay?" Jim moved over to the table, his eyes searching Sandburg's face.
Blair make a vague circular gesture. "Same old same old. Nobody here but us psychos."
"Showed up again, huh?" Ellison sat down, moving the chair so he could put a commiserating hand on his roommate's shoulder.
"Just now." Blair jerked his head towards the glass doors. "I think it wants to barbecue."
Jim was everlastingly grateful for his military training and ingrained stoicism at that moment, for he desperately wanted to laugh. He was sympathetic to Blair's plight; he understood, he really did – after all, didn't he have that pesky jaguar around, himself? But this thing with Blair and the wolf – assuming it really was a spirit guide and the poor guy hadn't gone off down a rabbit hole with Alice – well, it just struck Jim as being awfully funny! It hadn't been funny at first; he'd been worried, remembering all too well the horrible prior events when the creature manifested itself. But now – the way the wolf kept hanging around and basically teasing Sandburg...well, sympathetic or not, Jim's sense of humor was kicking in.
When he thought he could speak without breaking into ill-advised chortles, Jim said carefully, "Have you tried meditating? Self-induced trance? Maybe you could communicate with it better...?"
"I haven't tried," Sandburg admitted, somewhat shamefacedly. "I know, I know, I should – when it was you, I was all gung-ho about it, how you should be open to it...I'm really sorry; it's damn scary, and I realize that now." He shook his head. "I don't wanna go into that damn blue jungle, man!"
"How about if I stayed here with you while you tried – monitored you?"
Hesitantly, Sandburg looked up, his eyes wide. "You'd do that? Man, I...that means a lot, Jim." He sighed. "I guess I'd better."
"Let's try it after dinner, then," Ellison suggested. "I don't think you'd better go into it on an empty stomach."
##########
Despite Blair having practiced meditation techniques for most of his life, thanks to Naomi's influence, Jim was much the better subject, as far as falling into trance state, and he knew he'd have to be careful not to slide in after his partner while he was supposed to be spotting him. Most of his journeys into 'that damn blue jungle' had been in dreams, not hypnotic trances, and he wasn't sure what might trigger it.
After supper, while Blair was setting up the circle of white meditation candles, Jim contemplated what he might do to ensure that he didn't accidentally zone. He finally settled on holding a thumbtack in one hand, where he could occasionally press it into his palm, and got out a stick of cinnamon, which he tucked in his shirt pocket. With touch and scent to metaphorically kick his senses, he hoped that hearing and sight – affected by Sandburg's recordings of soft, eerie tribal chants and the mellow candlelight – could cope.
"Okay..." Blair's voice was just the tiniest bit quavery as he sank into a cross-legged position on the floor in front of the couch. Jim sat down on the couch just to his left, and immediately reached to put a steadying hand on his shoulder.
"You sure you're okay with this?"
"No...but I don't see a whole lot of alternatives, man. I suppose I could buy him a collar and a leash, and we stock up on Purina Wolf Chow..."
"Maybe he could work with the K-9 unit." Smiling, Jim slid his hand from Blair's shoulder to rest against his neck, and squeezed lightly. "It'll be fine, Chief. Just relax and go with it."
Blair twisted around to eye the Sentinel suspiciously. "Who are you and what did you do with my partner? 'Relax and go with it?' Isn't that my line?"
"Twerp." Jim tugged gently on his ponytail. "Ready?"
"As I'll ever be." Focusing on the candles, he took a deep breath.
##########
From Jim's descriptions, Blair recognized the bluish-hued jungle which surrounded him. It was warm and humid, and he could hear cries of birds. He was standing at the edge of a clearing, and he half-expected to see the black jaguar, but no such animal appeared. In fact, no animal at all was in evidence. Blair looked down at himself; he seemed to be the same as always: clothes, shoes, appropriate number of arms and legs...Tentatively, he took a step forward, moving through the tangled undergrowth.
A crashing noise in the bushes startled him, and he instinctively retreated, as a familiar pointed snout poked out at him. With a pleased-sounding little bark of recognition, the gray wolf leaped lightly into the clearing and stood staring at him.
"Uh...hi." Even in his dream-state, Blair was chagrined at the lame greeting. That's it, Blair, impress the nice wolf with your conversational abilities!
But the animal didn't seem to care; it merely gazed at him with luminous blue-gold eyes [Were they blue or gold? They seemed to change as the light hit them.], and issued another, more peremptory bark. And then, as Sandburg stared in awe, the wolf's form shifted and changed – and a Chopec warrior stood there in its place. Not Incacha, no...but dressed similarly, and adorned with some painted tribal markings. He stared at Blair impassively for a few seconds, then spoke – and although Blair recognized the words as being Quechua, he also 'heard' them in his head – in English.
"You have come." About time! was implied by the tone.
"I have." His voice cracked just the slightest bit; Blair cleared his throat carefully. "Why have you been following me? Why did you seek me out?"
The warrior smiled slightly. "You are my responsibility," he replied. "I wished to become...acquainted."
My God, Jim was right! Just a friendly, drop-in-and-say-howdy! flashed through Sandburg's mind. "Are you going to stay around all the time?"
"No." There was a twinkle in the warrior's eyes.
"Are you – do you know Jim's jaguar?"
"Very well." The twinkle deepened.
"Are you supposed to...guide me somewhere?"
"Some time, perhaps. Not now."
Gee, could you get any more cryptic? What do you WANT, anyway? Why are you here? The questions tumbled through Blair's mind. But the warrior was still speaking:
"Young shaman, you are worried. What is it you fear?"
YOU! was his first response, although he didn't really fear the wolf any more; its presence was more an annoyance than a threat now. Although Blair had pondered this question more than once, after hearing Jim describe his visions and dreams, he'd never come up with what he felt was a satisfactory answer. But now he found himself replying without hesitation:
"Failing Jim."
"You will not fail him," the warrior said calmly.
" I could – I have bef—"
"When?" the other interrupted. "When have you failed him? When have you truly failed him?"
"Well, I..I..." Sandburg tried to think. They weren't talking burning the toast, here, or falling asleep on stakeout, or not staying in the truck when he'd been told to. This guy – wolf – was meaning really failing Jim, when it counted. He'd always tried to do his best for Jim, even when he hadn't much idea what was needed – somehow they seemed to muddle through; even though he made mistakes, or Jim made mistakes, their intentions were good...even the disasters with Alex and his dissertation...
"You have not failed him in the past," the warrior intoned, "and there is no reason to think you will fail him in the future."
"Are you saying that I'm really qualified – to be his partner...and Guide?"
Again that slight smile. "I do not have to tell you this; you already know it in your heart. You are now both shaman and warrior; your path is clear."
"I can be both?"
The warrior nodded placidly.
"You said – I was your responsibility?" Another protector? he wondered.
"True...but that does not mean I will always be here to aid you," the figure warned him. "And now I must go. Good hunting, warrior!" Another shimmer in the air, and the Chopec warrior was once more the wolf. It had the same mischievous twinkle in its eyes – which were blue now, Blair noted. With an impudent flick of its bushy tail, it turned and disappeared into the jungle.
"Wait! Come back, I have more questions—"
##########
"Sandburg? C'mon, Chief...time to come back now. Come on, come back to me – wake up, Blair, breathe for me; c'mon, take a breath, buddy, please."
The familiar worried voice seemed to be coming from a great distance, or echoing down a long tunnel. Wishing to comply with the requests, Blair tried to take a deep breath – and found himself coughing harshly, breath coming in uneven gasps, his mouth and throat dry as dust.
"Easy now...sip this." Warm fingers were on his cheek, then something chilly and hard was pressed against his lips, and Blair automatically gulped the offered water. "There you go...slow down, Chief, not so fast."
Sandburg opened his eyes. He was back in the loft. The meditation candles still burned on the coffee table; he was still on the floor next to the couch, but now Jim was kneeling beside him, supporting his head with one hand and holding a glass of water in the other.
"W-wow..." Sandburg coughed some more, then sagged back against the couch. "How long...?" he croaked.
The Sentinel look grim. "Almost two hours. I knew something was happening; your mouth moved a few times like you were talking to someone – but your breathing went wonky just now, and I got worried and pulled you out. Drink some more water," he prodded, and held the glass out again.
"It only seemed like a few minutes," Blair marveled, sipping the cool liquid gratefully. Now that he looked at Jim, grim wasn't exactly the best description – or perhaps not the only description. Underneath the tough façade, Ellison looked terrified, and his next words proved it.
"Don't scare me like that again," Jim growled. Then, taking in the fact that Blair's breathing had evened out, he was no longer coughing, and he was quietly sipping the water, he added, in a gentler tone: "Did you find out anything?"
"Yeah...that you were right."
Jim elevated an eyebrow. "Well, there's a novel idea. What was I right about?"
"It wanted to get acquainted." Blair frowned a little. "Like your jaguar, it morphed into a guy. A Chopec warrior. He said..." He paused, uncertain exactly how to explain. "He said I was his responsibility. But I didn't get the feeling he was going to hang around like a guard dog, or anything like that. And he said that I was both shaman and warrior now...And said I...hadn't – wouldn't – fail you," he finished, flushing.
"I could've told you that," Ellison observed.
"Maybe you could've, Jim – but you didn't." Now it was Jim's turn to flush uncomfortably. "Besides, it packs more of a punch when someone who goes wolf-y in front of you, tells you."
"Or panther-y," Jim conceded. Satisfied that Blair was recovering, he got to his feet and offered a hand. "Come on, time for all good detectives – rookie or otherwise – to get to bed. You may think you sat there quietly all evening, but you look pooped."
"In that case, I look better than I feel." Blair took the extended hand and let Jim pull him up. Please don't let Simon call tonight with a case, he prayed to whatever deity might be listening and agreeable, and shambled off to his room, yawning. For the first time in a week, he didn't look around to see if a shadowy lupine form lurked in the corner.
##########
Blair got his wish; no one disturbed their rest with telephone calls. When he awoke he checked for the wolf, but it didn't seem to be in residence this morning. There was no sign of it as they drove to work. He wondered if he would be seeing it again.
As they pulled into the parking garage, Jim sneezed – and then sneezed again.
"Uh-oh." Blair eyed his partner warily. "Are you getting a cold?"
"I'm fine," Ellison growled – and sneezed.
Blair frowned. "Allergy season, then?" he hazarded. A monosyllabic grunt was his only response. "You okay?" he persisted.
"My nose is stuffed up," Jim admitted, then grinned. "Probably allergic to wolf fur," he teased; Blair stuck out his tongue in response. "Can't smell a thing. Otherwise I'm fine. Fine, Chief, get it?"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Say, this might be handy if we have any nasty callouts today. For once, you can do the Dumpster diving!"
"You wish," Ellison retorted. "That, my little guppy, is why there are junior partners in these detective-partner relationships. To do the Dumpster diving and the tree climbing and the report writing, and—"
"Enough! I get the point, man! And I am so not climbing any more trees!"
Jim chuckled, Blair laughed and whapped him with the back of one hand, and they made their way up to Major Crimes in complete accord.
The morning passed in what some might have called boring tedium; Ellison and Sandburg called it relaxing peace and quiet, and thanked their lucky stars; the only thing that marred it was Jim's intermittent bouts of sneezing. Until...
"Ellison, Sandburg, my office!"
The two rose and made their way into Captain Banks' office, and stood in front of his desk, side by side, nearly at parade rest. Banks eyed them warily; he was used to this from Ellison – but Sandburg? What was the man up to?
"There was a domestic disturbance call early this morning – routine patrol, but the officers got the feeling that there might be something more going on in that house than just a husband-and-wife argument – drugs being the most likely. Both of them were booked on assault – he slapped her around; broke her nose and gave her a black eye; she stabbed him with a meat fork in retaliation. They were screaming abuse at each other all the while they were being booked. I'd like you two to go out and check the house over."
Ellison nodded and took the file folder Simon extended. "We're on it, sir." He turned to go, shepherding Blair in front of him.
Sandburg, who had been concentrating on being totally professional, just for kicks – sometimes it was so much fun to play with Simon's head! – had one parting comment: "A meat fork? Yowch. That's just...nasty!" Without another word, he followed his partner from the room, leaving a bemused captain staring after them.
"You got that right," Ellison commented as they gathered up jackets, cell phones and other paraphernalia preparatory to going out on the call. "A meat fork...yuck." He shuddered a little. Domestic disturbance calls were among the most disliked police calls, with good reason. All too often they turned ugly, with the police officers being the ones getting hurt, as a fighting couple joined forces against the cops. Domestics and routine traffic stops – those were the really dangerous ones.
##########
"You still stuffed up?" Blair inquired as Jim piloted the pickup toward their destination. "Can you breathe okay?"
"Breathing through my mouth," Jim grudgingly admitted. "And yeah. Can't smell a damn thing. Even dialing up."
Sandburg shook his head. "I must have something at home that would help—"
"Listen, I'm not swallowing any of your twig-and-root concoctions," Ellison countered, "so just forget it." He cast about hastily for a change of subject. "See the wolf today?"
"No. Not so far. Think that means anything?"
"Yeah, it means he stayed home to play with the barbecue grill," Jim muttered, and made an abrupt right-hand turn. "Ainsworth and 41st, right?"
"Mm-hmm. 4155." Blair peered at house numbers, then pointed out the front window. "There. The green one." He surveyed the street somberly. "Depressing sort of neighborhood, isn't it?"
"Classic place for domestic squabbles," Ellison commented. "And drugs."
Jim pulled the truck past the house in question, parking in front of a residence two doors down the block. They got out and walked back towards 4155, giving it a slow visual inspection. Nothing jumped out as being unusual; it was small, two-story, and merely looked rundown and squalid.
Blair frowned a little as they did a quick circuit of the house's exterior; he thought he could smell something odd in the air, just the slightest whiff of something – but whatever it was, wasn't strong enough for him to identify, and there was no use in asking his partner. Of all times for Jim's sense of smell to be completely shut down! he thought in exasperation.
They'd gotten the keys from the uniforms who'd made the initial arrest, and Jim swung them lightly from one finger as they approached the front door.
"Where you want to start?" he asked, inserting a key into the lock. "Upstairs? Or see if there's a basement?" The lock clicked, and Jim turned the knob and pushed the door open.
A nauseating acrid stench swept over them, strong enough for even Jim's diminished faculties to discern. "Gas!" Blair choked out, nearly overwhelmed by the noxious fumes.
"Move it! Run!" Jim gasped, and grabbed his partner's shoulder, whirling him around. However the house had come to be filled with gas, there was no chance to investigate it now. The tiniest spark – perhaps even the change in air currents from opening the door – could ignite it.
Both men turned and ran as fast as they could, Jim gripping Blair's arm tightly and dragging him along, as his longer legs covered more ground – but they knew that there was, in all probability, not enough time to get clear before the inevitable explosion.
Blair turned his head for a quick look back at the house – and saw out of the corner of his eye what resembled a furry gray cannonball hurtling over the ground toward them. At the same time, he heard a harsh snarl, and looked in the opposite direction; to his total amazement he caught sight of a black feline shape streaking at them from the other side!
The next instant something hit him hard in the back, propelling him forward faster than he could run. Jim yelled something, his grasp on Blair's arm loosened, and Blair felt himself shoved hard again – just as a thunderous explosion issued from the house. Flames shot skyward with a whooshing roar. Heat washed over them, the shockwave hit them, and the two men were hurled into the air, flung violently toward the house across the street.
If they had hit the pavement, they would undoubtedly have been killed by the impact, or at the very least, severely injured. There was no time to prepare for landing, not even time to try to tuck and roll. But a kind Providence had given that particular neighbor across the street a penchant for landscaping.
Blair landed directly on top of a four-foot, nicely trimmed privet hedge, bounced once and slid into a large rhododendron bush. From there he tumbled gracelessly onto a thick layer of freshly-spread bark dust, and lay stunned, flat on his back.
Jim, being heavier, hadn't soared quite as high into the air as his partner. He hit the privet hedge squarely and plunged through headfirst – although he managed to shield his face with his hands – then dropped to the ground and rolled several times, coming to rest on the grass only an arm's length from his Guide. He lay there, an unmoving crumpled heap.
The echoes from the explosion died away, only to be replaced by the blare of security systems and car alarms activating all over the neighborhood. The fire, consuming what was left of the house, crackled and snapped in a gruesome parody of cheer.
A sound pierced through the racket made by the alarms: the sharp, yipping bark of a wolf crying a warning. It was joined a moment later by the rough coughing roar of a large jungle cat, and two lithe forms materialized near the unconscious Sentinel and Guide. The wolf nudged Blair anxiously, continuing to whimper; the black jaguar stood over Jim and emitted throaty, angry-sounding growls – and then, as Blair stirred, they both abruptly disappeared from sight.
"Jim?" Blair opened his eyes, then moved his head slightly, turning it to seek his partner. "Jim? Jim? Oh God, Jim, are you okay?" He attempted to sit up, only to fall limply back. "Jim?" he repeated plaintively. "Answer me!" A few seconds later he was rewarded by a groan and Jim's slurred tones:
"Umff...ow...San'bur'? Chief?"
"Thank God," Blair sighed. "Are you hurt?" He tried again to raise himself as far as his elbows, this time with a little more success, and peered over at the other man.
"Nothing...perm'nent," came the muffled reply, and Ellison gingerly uncurled himself and leaned on one arm. "Ow," he repeated. Falling on top of a holstered revolver was definitely painful. He was going to have a massive bruise on his back from that one. "You okay?"
Sandburg eased himself flat once more. "I feel like I just got sacked by the whole Oakland Raider defensive line," he groaned, "but other than that, I guess I'm in one piece."
"Should call it in," Ellison mumbled, and fished in his jacket pocket for his cell phone. When he pulled it out, however, it was obvious that the little instrument was damaged beyond repair. "Broken," he decided, after staring at it a few moments, and dropped it on the ground. "Shouldn't fall on 'em," he added ruefully.
"Somebody else'll call it in," Blair said. "Doesn't have to be us." He waved a hand, vaguely indicating the quantity of alarms still going off in the neighborhood, and a few curious residents who were either peering out windows or had emerged to stand on front porches and stare at the conflagration. "They'll call to...complain. Noise."
"No rush anyway. We're not really hurt, and no one can get in there until it cools off. But Simon'll try calling," Jim sounded a little more coherent now. "He'll be worried. He knew where we were going."
"He could call my cell," Blair offered. "They always call you. I might as well not even have one." He stared up at the sky contemplatively. In the back of his mind were the opening lines of a children's book he'd loved as a toddler. Naomi had read it to him again and again and again. I sat by the lake and looked at the sky...and as I looked, a fly went by. He thought that lying here and looking at the sky might be a nice thing to do for awhile. It sounded very...restful. Peaceful, even. If the car alarms would just hush...
"I call your cell," Jim argued, interrupting his attempt at tranquility.
"You're with me. Why would you call my cell?" With a groan, Blair gave up on serenity, pushed himself to his feet and turned around to look at the smoldering ruins of the house across the street. "My God," he whispered, awestruck by the devastation.
Jim sat up and turned around too, then struggled to stand. "Any other day, I'd have smelled the gas."
"Uh-huh." Sandburg was silent for a space of time, then sneaked a cautious look at his partner. "Jim?"
"Hmmm?"
"When we were running...did you see—"
"Uh-huh."
"And did you feel—"
"Uh-huh."
"I didn't imagine it, then? They shoved us away from...?"
"Mmm-hmmm."
"I guess that might explain a few of our more unlikely escapes in the past, huh?"
"Maybe."
"Do you think they—"
The Sentinel sighed wearily. "Chief, let's not discuss it right now."
"But we—"
"I don't want to talk about it, Sandburg."
"But if they—"
"Sandburg..." Ellison's tone was currently in the Distant Early Warning stage.
Blair knew from long experience that pushing Jim further right now would infuriate him, something he definitely did not wish to do. He settled for silently saying 'Thank you very much!' inside his mind, directing the thought equally at both spirit animals.
"Okay..." Moving slowly and carefully, Blair eased himself over the privet hedge, now mashed flat in places and with a large, jagged hole near the top, where Jim had plunged through. The property owner was not going to be happy with the Cascade police force, that was for sure. Once across, he sat down again on the curb, still staring in fascination at the destruction.
Jim struggled through the foliage and sat down beside him. He draped a comforting arm about Blair's shoulders.
"You doing okay?"
"Yeah...Jim?"
"Hmm?"
"They saved our lives. They did."
"I know. But I don't really feel like discussing it now, Chief."
"But..."
"Not. Now."
"Later?"
Knowing he was probably going to regret it, Jim heaved a martyred sigh and answered the only way he could. "Yeah, Chief. Later."
And then he simply closed his eyes and listened as the emergency vehicles' sirens signaled their rapid approach.
The End