Fire and Ice
IceBear
I was a child prodigy – college at 16; masters degree by 20. But sometimes I'm just plain stupid. And for a man who prides himself on his people studying skills – after all I spent the better part of my life as an anthropologist – missing the mark by so much really hurts the ego.And what was it exactly that Blair Sandburg, smart guy, missed?
I doubt I'd be pondering this question, if it weren't for the fact I'm sitting in a very uncomfortable chair in the hospital – not that they have any other kind – at 4:15 in the morning worried sick that the person in the bed - my roommate, my partner, my best friend, my lover, my Sentinel, my Jim - may not wake up.
Jim is a complex soul. People look at him and make certain assumptions – big man, well muscled, serious, handsome, at least according to the comments women tend to leave in his wake – and figure he's a dumb jock. And if they find out he's a cop and an ex-Army Ranger, they figure he's a dumb, dangerous jock. Nothing could be further from the truth. The man can quote the poets and philosophers, and work his way through a truck engine or a high society function with equal ease and grace.
He's also kind, compassionate, smart, tough, gentle and hysterically funny in the right company. He is a walking contradiction. I didn't get that at first. I still cringe when I recall the day - very early on in our relationship - I suggested he was an unfeeling s.o.b. who checked his 'humanity at the door.' Boy was I ever wrong. After all, this is the man who handcuffed himself to a helicopter because some deranged lunatic had taken me hostage – and he'd known me for less then a week! This is also the man who offered to share his deepest secret with the world so I could live my dream. Oh yeah, then there was the time he brought me back to life…
Earlier today – actually I guess it would be two days ago now – we were on our way home from an endless stakeout when Jim heard something. Those Sentinel ears are a pain in my butt at times – he's overworked and exhausted, and we both some serious sack time - but that won't stop him from trying to help.So we end up in a really dark, dank alley, and there's a guy – a brute to be more precise – he must be 6'5" at least and about 285 pounds. I mean he made Jim look small, that's how damn big he was. And he had a young girl – maybe 17-18 – cornered, and was trying to hurt her. I called for back up, and pulled my gun – WHOA - there's something I never expected Naomi Sandburg's little boy to say - and backed up my partner.
Jim whispered that backup was close – and he stepped into the open and identified us as Cascade PD. All the guy did was tell us to get lost. The girl squeaked for help, and Jim restated the need for the man to move. Given the tone with which the directive was given, any semi-sane person would have raised their arms and assumed the position. But not this genius, nope, he pulls a knife – it wasn't a machete exactly but it was about as close as I've come to one here in the wilds of Cascade. Jim flashed me a look – and I swear I could see ice - cold, hard and deadly - in those eyes, before he turned all his attention on the creep.
I moved closer so I could grab the girl, and the creep did something totally stupid – he lunged at me with the knife. Well that sent my partner into BP overdrive, he growled – if I hadn't been so focused on the girl, I would have looked around for that big panther that claims Jim as his own – and moved faster then even I've ever seen him. I grabbed the girl, and pulled her behind me. Jim and the goon grappled for several minutes – they were too entwined to risk a shot – and finally the idiot went down. I thought that would get me breathing again. As our backup flooded the alley and took the girl and perp, I moved to my partner, who leaned against the brick wall. It was only when I got closer that I saw the blood – Jim's blood – and he started to slip bonelessly to the ground. I leapt forward, and cradled him in my arms to control the descent.
I couldn't breathe. God, I never thought I'd breathe again until the body I was holding took a shuddering breath. And if Jim was going to breathe, so was I. I yelled for an ambulance, and began the search for the source of the blood. The goddamn hole was on his left side, and depending on how deep – and the way he was gushing blood it was deep – we were looking at serious internal damage.
So I clamped a hand over the wound, desperate to keep more of the blood in his body then on the ground, and did what I do best. I started talking. I told that no good, mule headed, anal retentive roommate of mine that he was not pulling this crap on me. It was his night to cook, and his turn to clean the bathroom tomorrow. There was simply no way I was letting him out of either obligation. He made the rules and the g.d. schedule, and had told me more times then I could count that no waivers would be granted. I was going to hold him to that same, high Ellison standard he was always pushing at me.
The ride to the hospital was a little too surreal, even for me. The EMTs couldn't stop the blood any better then I could, and the heart monitor just made me cringe as it surged and then slowed and then surged again. The ER wasn't much better. At least in the ambulance, I could hold his hand. Being separated scared me. I knew he'd fight to hold on. Jim is a survivor. But to not be able to be with him, to provide encouragement with my words and my touch, I felt like I wasn't doing my job. A Sentinel needs his Guide, and never more so then when he's hurt.
Lots of medical jargon and three hours of emergency surgery later, I was allowed to sit with my partner again. And I've been sitting here for about 36 hours now. Why I feel compelled to relive the nightmare from the alley is beyond me. It will come to me when I close my eyes, and I will wake screaming for Jim, and he will pull me close and hold me, whispering soft reassurances as he strokes my hair. At least he will if…not going there, man. He has no option but to get better. His City and his Guide need him. Enough said on that subject.
Clearly, I need cheerier thoughts. Where was I going with this anyway? Ah yes, the complex contradiction that is Jim Ellison. Who would have guessed those long years ago when we first met that we would become partners in every sense of the word? It didn't shock anybody more then me – well except maybe Jim.
The man was raised to believe that emotion was to be avoided at all cost -- any show of emotion was a sign of weakness. His mother left when he was just a child, and he grew up in a cold, unfeeling, angry, hard household. The Army pretty much offered positive reinforcement to the William Ellison school of manhood. And his only real effort to connect was a disaster. His ex-wife is a pretty cold fish, and she did nothing but seal the deal by proving feelings only bring pain. Then for good measure, throw in the re-emergence of his Sentinel abilities – he thought he was losing his mind – where just being around people physically hurt because of the smorgasbord of smells and sounds – and why he didn't retreat into the north woods remains somewhat of a mystery.
Maybe it was all our work together to make him feel better; to prove using his gifts could make him feel good, that led us down the path we're on. Or maybe it was simply that we were meant to be – I prefer this idea. It wasn't easy, and I don't think I've ever met anyone who had walls as high and thick as Jim's. But once I figured out they'd been built solely for self-preservation, I found a way to knock them down. Jim claims I simply slipped between them, and the way he smiles at me whenever he says that warms me to my core.
I think it was five nights ago now, the last time we were in bed together and both awake. I was reading an anthropology journal when he came up after completing the nightly rounds of his territory. He asked me about the article while he undressed, and slipped silently into the bed beside me. If I hadn't been watching him – I mean that man is seriously mouth watering to look at – I wouldn't have known he was there. At least not until his body heat hit mine. The guy is a freaking human furnace. I have never met anyone who throws off as much body heat as Jim. It's handy, as I hate being cold. I mean I really hate it. And with that man wrapped around my body, I am never, ever cold. It's like taking a trip to the tropics without needing a passport.
And that is exactly what he did. He eased over to my side of the bed, and pulled me to him. He brushed a tender kiss across the top of my hair, and then his hands began to move. If I hadn't seen the panther myself, I would swear the octopus was his spirit animal because his hands and their long and slender fingers were everywhere at once. And when one of them found the nipple ring, I jumped. This made him smile, a rather feral smile to be precise, and his mouth began following the path his hands had cleared. By the time he had mapped my body down to the hip bones; he looked up and caught my gaze. His eyes were all black – I think he channels the whole 'cat' thing – and I fell in lust. I mean that one look told me that I was going to be ravished, completely and thoroughly; that I was going to pant and beg and swear and scream; and that I would be a helpless dishrag by the time he was finished. My body temperature must have gone up 10 degrees just from the look. The man is like fire – hot and all consuming.
Never let it be said that James Ellison is not a man of his word – or his gaze in this case – because I swear to every deity I know I've never come so hard, nor so many times, in one night. And when our bodies refused to continue to function, he gently washed my chest and stomach with a warm washcloth, took the wet spot, and pulled me back to his chest. He whispered his love, and sealed it with a tender kiss. I hoarsely recited my own love – because my voice had not recovered from all that screaming – and went to sleep feeling safe, secure and loved.
Well, I'm not feeling too damn safe right now. If something happens to him, I will never feel safe or secure again. I just wish he would open those eyes, and tell me everything would be alright. Please, Jim, just look at me, so I know you're okay.
Can't afford to be maudlin – even like this he probably still monitors my heart beat and I would bet he can smell my fear. So where was I going with all this. The complexities of Jim's soul… I'm not sure complex is even the right word. And I, I am the only one, who has been granted the privilege of seeing that soul and all its wonder. Some days the words pushy, stubborn, thickheaded and compulsive come to mind, but they don't do justice to the Sentinel of the Great City – my Sentinel. Being a Sentinel means Jim is genetically engineered to protect the tribe. And he's damn good at it. Maybe that's why I have such a hard time figuring out how to describe him – in his role as Blessed Protector, he is ice – cold, rough, hard, and deadly. But when he's just Jim, when he's my best friend and my lover, and we're tucked into our bed, and he's looking into my eyes, he is fire.
Its 5:25 a.m. now, and I can see just the hint of the new day through the blinds. Jim loves sunrise. He sees colors the rest of us can't even imagine. Well, big guy, you're going to miss sunrise if you don't open those baby blues pretty quick. You know I hate facing the sunrise alone – mostly because it means I've been up all night or woke from a nightmare while you're at work. Don't make me face this one alone, please Jim, please.
Oh man, was that movement or am I just seeing things because I'm beyond exhausted. No…there it was again. Okay big guy, I'm right here. Wake up and tell me you missed me. Oh my god, his eyes are open. Thank you, thank you, thank you. He's giving me that look – the one that says 'Sandburg, what the hell are you doing sitting in that uncomfortable chair at this hour.'
I think I'm giving him my goofiest smile, because he's smiling back. I reach a hand out to his cheek, and he leans into it and my world is back on its axis. My Jim is back with me. And that means I will have many more years to ponder the complex man who owns my soul.