Title:Five Senses
Author:JustJeanette
FandomsThe Sentinel, Due South
Genre:Drama, Angst, Slash, Pre-Slash, Case-Based
Pairing(s):Established J/B, pre-slash/Slash Fraser/RayK
Summary:Crossover: Due South x Sentinel. A serial killer has come to Chicago. Two Detectives from Cascade follow him and find more than they were expecting. PostTSbBS. Cop!Blair
Rating:FRAO for Violence and crime detail.
Version1.0
Chapter 3Taking the easy way out, and hopefully avoiding the need for any long winded explanations, Fraser walked around the desk and into the closet leaving three stunned men to follow or not. The animals all followed Fraser.
"Does this mean we get to come out of the closet?" Ray jested in a poor attempt to cover up his nervousness.
"Well, first we'll have to go into the closet." So saying, Blair led the way all the while hoping that it wasn't going to be that easy. He had enough trouble getting Jim to meditate as it was and the very idea that simply walking into a closet would grant you entry to the spirit plane was almost anathema to him. Where was the spiritual journey, the knowledge of self? The sweat hut? The psychedelic herbs?
"It is about time you brought him in here Son. I've been yammering in the Yank's ear for ages, but he just hasn't been listening." The older man, that Blair had last seen standing on the gantry back at O'Hare, now stood in the middle of a rustic, snow-bound cabin and seemed perfectly content to cause consternation to all present.
"Excuse me?!" Benton yelped whilst Ray commented, "Damn, and here I though it was the left-over pizza."
"Just who the hell are you?" Jim's first reaction to the 'spectre' had been to pull his gun.
"Robert Fraser, RCMP, retired."
"Not retired enough." Benton wasn't taking his father's presence very well, or the fact that everyone could now see him. The older man ruffled the furs of various animals, which were quite content to mill around him.
"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Ray looked at the 'man' purporting to be Fraser's father.
"Well, yes. But don't let that worry you, Yank." Bob Fraser spoke to Ray before he turned his attention back to the Cascade detectives, "Had to keep an eye on this one. Couldn't let him run about with only a wolf as a Guide."
Hackles raised as Diefenbaker stalked away from the dead Mountie, obviously unhappy as Bob's comments.
Bob just looked at the arctic wolf. "You couldn't always be with Benton."
"Would someone just please explain just what the hell is going on?" Ray finally lost what little of his temper he had left after the day he had just had.
Bob turned to face the 'Yank' on whom his son's life would soon depend and for once didn't wander off into the cryptic sorts of comments that Benton was used to hearing from his deceased parent. "Benton is a Sentinel without a Guide and as such he cannot function to properly protect Chicago. You have the potential to be his Guide, but my son isn't very good at relying on other people and so the two of you need a bit of extra help to form the bond."
"Protect Chicago? I would have thought he'd be the Sentinel of Inuvik." Blair couldn't quite workout how a Canadian Mountie could be the Sentinel of an American city.
"Why should he be Sentinel of Inuvik, or some other small tribal area of Canada? The world is a very different place to what your Richard Burton inhabited and the Sentinels have evolved as the world has changed. Didn't your Sentinel guard the jungles of Peru before he returned to Cascade?" Bob Fraser smiled at the gob-smacked expression on the long-haired Guide.
"Benton helps protect his home by protecting Chicago," Bob continued, completely ignoring the fact that Fraser was in the room, directing the rest of his comments back to Ray. "You need to understand that Benton has had to cope most of his life with the fact that if he lost control of his senses he could very well end up dead, zoning whilst on patrol in the back end of the Northern Territories is a recipe for hypothermia, so my son has learnt to make do and not ask for help.
Now, whilst I'm certain at an instinctive level Benton has recognised the Guide in you, he has no idea how to reach out and accept that bond. The Shaman here should be able to help with that."
"So you mean Fraser kind of knows he needs my help but he can't ask for it?" Ray realised, even as he asked, that it was a stupid question. Fraser had gone up against Warfield alone rather than ask the other detectives to risk their lives or reputations.
"Solid, reliable, but just a bit dense. That is my Son for you."
Ray had to agree that a truer set of words had never been spoken. For all of Fraser's book-learning, he was rather clueless when it came to inter-personal relationships. "So how do we go about this bonding?"
"You really want to be my Guide?" Fraser actually sounded like he didn't believe his ears.
Blair, with a naturally high level of empathy, had to forcibly hold his instinctive reaction in check. The older Fraser had made passing mention to 'abandonment issues' but the young Shaman could see that they weren't passing issues and even now the Mountie seemed to expect that he was to be disappointed. That feeling was backed up by the next words out of Fraser's mouth.
"You won't be able to leave, have your own separate life, if you become my Guide. It is the nature of the bond that spiritually the two become one so that if one leaves the other dies."
"But you said earlier that it wasn't a sex thing."
"Is the bond between police partners a sex thing?"
"Then what is your problem, Fraser? You think I'll just up and leave you?"
"No, I don't think you would 'up and leave' as you put it, Ray. But think about it, it is about the fact that you could not leave. What happens if you find someone to love again like you loved Stella? If she were to move to Florida to run a bowling alley you would want to go with her, but if you were my Guide you could not." Fraser' face actually coloured very slightly at that last statement; a sure sign to Ray (who held a PhD in reading Fraser) that he wasn't telling the whole truth.
"Fraser?" The interrogative eyebrow indicating that the truth would be appreciated.
"All right. You could go Ray," Fraser sighed, "but I would die."
"And me?" Ray realised later that the shocked tone probably didn't help his chances of getting Fraser to accept the bond but the idea that such a link might have mortal consequences startled him too much.
"No, you wouldn't die. Guides can outlive their Sentinels, though admittedly very few choose to, but a Sentinel has never outlived their Guide. Once the bond is set a Sentinel depends on it. If it is taken away, a Sentinel dies from Sensory overload."
Jim and Blair looked at each other. Luckily, they had already subconsciously accepted the depth of their commitment to each other otherwise they might have been more than a little uncomfortable with the direction the conversation playing out in front of them was taking. Still, both were learning a lot more about the Sentinel-Guide bond than they had expected. To learn all this whilst witnessing the depth of pain in Fraser's eyes was almost too much to bear; as one they moved to take Fraser into a tight embrace, Ray joining them a fraction of a second later.
Fraser stiffened and didn't relax into the embrace.
"Fraser, it will be all right." The Shaman in Blair spoke, low and melodious, as Blair reached up and touched the tight frown line that ran between Fraser's eyes.
"Come on, Fraser. Let me in, buddy. Let me help you." Ray tightened his hold on his friend, then, because it was in Ray's nature to threaten as a sign of caring Ray squeezed Fraser even tighter and commented. "Else I'll have to kick you in the head and hold you down while I help you."
The utter normality of being threatened with a head kicking worked where the embraces hadn't. Fraser relaxed.
"Ray, would you be my Guide?"
"Remember Fraser, we're a duet. The old one-two punch." Ray shrugged, and then grinned at the stunned look on Fraser's face.
"Finally." Bob Fraser muttered from where he was still watching the whole saga unfold.
"So what do we do now?" Ray looked at Blair, instinctively knowing that the younger detective had a role to play in this.
"Well, hopefully one of you doesn't have die for this to work." Blair still had a few issues himself about what had been needed before Jim had finally accepted the bond that existed between them. Seeing the look of horror on Fraser's face Blair rushed to reassure. "We had some trouble with a rogue Sentinel. She tried to remove me from the equation and to cut a long story short she drowned me. Jim, using the link between Sentinel and Guide, managed to bring me back. The Sentinel-Guide bond set at that moment, before then I was able to help him control his senses but now I guide him fully."
Ray looked confused but Fraser obviously understood the distinction.
"For Jim and me, well, we had to take that dive together. I'm not quite sure what you symbolic journey needs to be but there is one."
Staring out the cabin's window, Blair suddenly had a clear idea of the journey the men had to take. "You need to climb that Mountain."
"Fraser? You ready to take a trip with me?"
Instead of answering, Fraser started to gather together mukluks, snow shoes, pitons and ropes. When he had all the necessary gear together Fraser approached Ray, almost as a supplicant would approach the king, and placed his Stetson on Ray's head.
'Pitter, patter, let's get at her,' was Ray's only comment as he allowed Fraser to help him into the clothing necessary to survive a Canadian winter.
- - - - - - - - -
Blair watched as the two men walked out into the Canadian wilderness. When they were finally out of sight he turned to face the spectre of Benton Fraser's father. "You implied that I would be needed here in my role as a Shaman but Benton and Ray could have worked all that out with Jim and I being here."
"You will be needed yet young Shaman. You see, conquering the Mountain will only set half of the bond; it will allow the Yank to finally realise that he can trust my son with his life but Benton is so used to repressing his abilities it is going to take more than climbing that Mountain to get him to consciously accept the bond.
You see, Benton expects to be abandoned, and as he knows exactly what happens to a Sentinel who has lost his Guide he is almost programmed to reject the bond rather than risk what he will see as eventual suicide."
"Why does he expect to be abandoned?" Jim was more than a little curious about that. After all, abandonment as an issue was something he had had to deal with early in his life and it hadn't affected his ability to accept the bond he had with Blair. Repressing his skills in an attempt to fit in with everyone else and not be seen as a freak he could understand but…
It seemed that the elder Fraser was aware of more than just his son's history. "Your mother might have left you at a young age Detective Ellison but your father, whatever his faults, did not leave you. I made a great many mistakes with my son, not the least of which was leaving him in the care of my parents after his mother died. They were not equipped to deal with Benton appropriately and I rarely there, always preferred the hunt.
When Benton finally tracked down the man who murdered me the RCMP abandoned him, sending him to Chicago until the 'heat died down'; that was nearly four years ago. The femme fatal of his life abandoned him to his fate three years ago and has not been seen since. His first partner in Chicago had to leave to go deep undercover. Benton now simply expects people to leave him."
The raw pain in Bob Fraser's eyes was the only thing that stopped Blair from snarling at the man. "What is it with modern day Sentinel parents? Do they take lessons on how to total stuff someone up? Man, and here I thought Jim had problems. And you want me to just up and fix things?" Blair was not a happy Shaman and it showed.
Bob Fraser looked abashed. "You don't have enough time to fix things."
"Then what do you want, Man? Should I just wave my magic wand and hey-presto there is the bond?"
"If you want to stop the killing, yes."
"What!!!!!" Strangely enough Jim voice was louder than Blair's.
"No way, man." Blair continued on, "That is so not right. A Shaman is a healer and forcing something on someone is not the way to go about healing them."
"So if Detective Ellison were to lock himself in a prison cell for fear that he might commit homicide under the influence of some drug and you had the cure you wouldn't let him out and administer it?" As far as Bob Fraser was concerned now was not the time to play nice so along with the scenario he drew out for the Shaman he allowed his aura to take on a golden glow.
"Oh Man that is so unfair." Blair saw the glow and got the message. "So you think Benton's deliberately locking himself away so he doesn't commit suicide by abandonment? What is too say that your son isn't right?"
"Because the Yank isn't going anywhere, at least not unless pushed; very hard. Seems he has feeling for my son…." The ghost actually looked embarrassed. "The Yank doesn't have problems with committing, that one has problems with letting go."
"And if Benton doesn't want the bond?"
"Then you don't know my son very well."
- - - - - - - - -
Jim Ellison was bored.
Bored and heading fast towards pissed off.
Fraser and Vecchio had disappeared out into the oblivion over what felt like four hours ago but might have been less (or more) as time didn't move quite the same way in the spirit world as it did on the material plane. The sky, the amount Jim could see through the small window that looked out onto artic tundra, had turned progressively darker and stormier as clouds had moved in. Yet, the two men he waited for showed no signed of returning. Even with his senses stretched to the full, Jim had been unable to detect anything past the door to the alpine shack that he, his partner, and the ghost waited in; an alpine shack that didn't have a fridge, beer or even a deck of cards with which to pass the time. He'd have been tempted to lie down and catch some sleep (old army habit dying hard and all, you caught sleep when you could) but the only bed was currently occupied by two wolves, a panther and a Serval, none of whom showed any intention to move in the near future.
"Just how long do you think they are going to be?" Jim groused to the room in general and his partner in particular; his partner who, unlike him, appeared to be in seventh heaven as Bob Fraser (deceased) regaled the young Shaman with tales of attempting to guiding his obstinate son.
"Possibly another two or three hours," the ghost commented. "The Yank has depths that will take a while to plumb. Stubborn, yes that is the word I would use to describe him."
"What?" Blair's internal radar suddenly pinged loud and clear. The ghost knew something and he, Blair, had a feeling that he wasn't going to like it when he found out what that was. "Plumb what depths?"
Jim, looking on, was suddenly glad that he was bored and therefore not actively involved in the conversation between Blair and Fraser's father. If he had been involved then he might have been on the receiving end of the glare that his partner was currently levelling at the ghost. It was kind of funny to see someone who was already dead suddenly look like death warmed over… Funny that was until he noticed the ghost really did look like death warmed over and was looking worse by the second as Blair continued to glare at him.
"Blair," stepping between his angry partner and the ghost seemed the most expedient option, "I think you're killing the ghost here." Jim realised how correct he'd was when the ghostly figure behind him actually murmured his thanks. It seemed pissing off a shaman, at least on the spirit plane, was not conducive to a long after life if you were a ghost.
"And I think he's trying to kill Kowalski."
"Not kill exactly." Robert Fraser, never really known for tact, suddenly decided that maybe it was time to learn some; it was bad enough with the Shaman giving him the death glare, particularly as it could actually kill off his immortal soul if the Shaman decided to push the issue, but adding the glare the Sentinel's glare to the mix made him a decidedly uncomfortable spectral presence. "Benton cares for that Yank but unless he really sees him in mortal danger my son is unlikely to act on any of his feelings. I bought him up to be a strong man and …"
"What is it with parents of Sentinels?" Blair interrupted, loudly and very angrily. "Do you all take courses on psychological abuse of young Sentinels or something? Strong men, our sons have to be strong men! Strong men don't feel! Strong men need to see those they care about nearly dead before they'll even acknowledge they care." Blair was on a roll and quite frankly didn't care who knew. God's it took him actually dying before Jim had finally accepted the depths of his feelings for the young Guide; would Kowalski have to go through that as well?
"Sublimate, repress, develop Temporomandibular Joint (TMJ) Syndrome, anything but relax and go with the flow. Man I am so glad I don't know who my father is."
"Blair," a touch to his should brought the young man out of his funk, though it didn't stop Blair sending one last death glare at the ghost. Blair might say he was glad he had no idea who his father was but the words didn't fool the Sentinel. Drawing his partner into a tight embrace Jim dropped his head to plant a gentle kiss on the top of his mate's head; his left hand gently massaging his Guide's lower back as he tried to soothe the hurts that the younger man carried.
"It's ok, man." Blair sought to reassure his Sentinel, burrowing into the taller man's chest. "I just don't like the idea of anyone going through what we went through just to get past some stubborn ideas about what a makes a real man."
Any further discussion was shelved as the nest of spirit animals erupted in a tangle of fur, teeth and limbs. The Serval, smallest of the animals and therefore the most flexible, was leaping out the marginally open window that looked out over icy tundra a fraction ahead of two wolves and a panther, who, not fitting through the window utilised various laws of physics pertaining to weight, force and the breaking point of hinges to escape from the building. Two humans, and one very annoyed ghost, stared out through the opening left by the mass exit of spiritual guides.
"You thing we should follow them?" Jim looked at his partner whilst ignoring Bob Fraser who was currently ranting about the lack of consideration shown his home by all and sundry, but most especially weighty four-legged beasts.
"Jim, you're used to surviving in a jungle environment. That doesn't look like a jungle environment out there." Blair took to pointing out the inhospitable landscape outside. "Following those guys might prove to be dangerous."
"Or we could take my sled." The ghost commented as his rhetoric about inconsiderate spirit animals wound down. "In fact, it might be a good thing all things considered."
"Because?" Jim was impressed; he'd never heard Blair infuse such venom into his voice before, usually Blair was the calm one, it was Jim that tended to react strongly.
"Fraser is dying," the ghost commented, whilst turning a whiter shade of pale. Luckily, for said ghost continued survival, the comment was voiced so softly that only the sentinel in the room heard him.
"What!" Of course Jim's reaction kind of put paid to Robert Fraser's attempt to avoid annoying the shaman any further. "Fraser is dying?"
- - - - - - - - -
Time is a funny thing, even Stephan Hawkins (genius that he is) will admit that. Time on the spirit plane took the notion of Newtonian time and then more, or less, ignored it, though it didn't quite follow Leibniz's definition either. Here, on the spirit plane, time moved as it wanted to, slow, fast, through space or about it. Either way, it seemed like hours before Robert Fraser's sled skidded to a halt at the base Felding's arête, the thin, almost knife-like, ridge of rock rising over 1000 meters above them.
Jim, his eye sight definitely the strongest, was scanning the rocky ridges even before the sled had stopped moving. Four hundred meters above them he could just make out the form of Kowalski, who appeared to be trying to hang onto something that was down in a crevice in the rock; instinct told the tall detective that what the blond held onto was the Mountie. "We need to get up there, fast."
But fast wasn't going to happen in this lifetime. Robert Fraser's sled was well equipped but even the best equipment wasn't going to magically levitate up to where Kowalski lay.
"Any ideas, Chief?" Jim looked at Blair hoping that the younger man would pull a rabbit out of the proverbial.
"Festina lente."
"Huh?"
"Hasten Slowly. You know, make haste slowly." Blair explained the cryptic comment. "Racing up and putting yourself in danger isn't going to help anyone, Jim. Now let me think for a minute."
"I don't think we've got a minute here, Chief. I can only just make out Fraser's heart beat up there."
"What else can you see? Can you smell anything? Hear anything?" Blair needed more information, particularly where the spirit guides were. The oft ignored shamanistic side of his nature was making itself heard but the suggestion relied on more information than he currently had.
"Kowalski, he's threatening to kick Ben's head in if Ben doesn't stay with him. He's also ordering the spirit guides to get closer to Ben, keep him warm. Fraser's breathing is pretty shallow." The shallow sound of Fraser's breathing triggered off a sense memory of Blair in hospital after the Golden episode causing him to shivering minutely. Still, getting caught up in sense memories wasn't going to help now. Ruthlessly pushing the memory away Jim focused on his sense of smell, "I can smell blood, too much to be a simple cut."
"Piggy-back your sight onto your sense of smell," Blair advised quietly; the young man had noticed Jim's reactions as the larger detective had recited what his ears were reporting and, with accuracy born of true intimacy, had guessed at what had caused the big man to shy away from sound. "Now what else can you see?"
"Fraser looks like he's broken his leg." Jim sight followed the scent trail like a bloodhound after a fox. "The leg is definitely broken; a compound fracture. He may also be concussed; I can a nasty gash on the right side of Fraser's head. He's in shock, barely breathing, and if he isn't hypothermic it is only because he's currently wrapped in over 100 pounds of fur-covered flesh."
While Jim had been concentrating on finding out what the state of play was Robert Fraser had been methodically unpacking static and dynamic rope, ascenders, biners, swing side pullies, ice-tools, crampons, and a first aid kit. The pile of equipment necessary to affect an alpine rescue, sans helicopter, whilst impressive would be relatively easy for the three men to handle, however two of the men didn't realise at this point that only one of them would be scaling the arête.
"Are we going to need anything else?" Jim asked the ghost.
"Just a miracle or two," the ghost said sadly. The description Jim had given of his son's plight finally sinking in past the layers of oblivious self-centeredness that characterised Robert Fraser, RCMP, deceased. It seemed his plan to get his son to accept the Yank as his guide was going to backfire spectacularly, not only spectacularly, but fatally.
"And some quiet." Blair's non sequitur took both men by surprise. The ghost stared open mouthed at the young detective; Jim just raised one eyebrow in a rather eloquent fashion as if to say 'explain, please.'
"Fraser's physical plight a manifestation of a larger set of spiritual hurts." Blair's rarely used Shamanistic nature had clued the younger detective into what was going on high on the slopes of Felding's arête and it wasn't physical ills.
Looking at the two confused men Blair was tempted to roll his eyes but time was against them, so, instead he reached inside himself and then pointed a finger at Robert Fraser, in the manner of one pointing the bone. "You, Robert Fraser, deceased, need to help physically rescue you son. Take the minimum rescue equipment you will need remembering that you will have Ray Kowalski's help getting your son down the arête. Please note, Benton expects to be abandoned again; maybe you can help Kowalski to convince your son that it won't happen."
"And what do you want me to do, Chief?" Jim asked, ceding control of the rescue operation to Blair without comment.
"I need you to ground me. I'm going to try a Shaman healing on Ben and I need to try now." Blair couldn't explain the urgent feeling that pervaded his soul but he knew that if he didn't start now then they would lose the Mountie regardless of what the Elder Fraser and the Chicago detective did.
"Ok, Chief. How?"
"Hold me, Jim. Make sure that I don't fall over." So saying, Blair began to breathe slowly; a deep, measured cadence that deepened even further when Jim move to stand behind the Shaman, placing his hands at Blair's waist. As Blair's breathe slowed to a rate that even the Sentinel was hard pressed to sense the world began to warp and twist about them. The snow beneath their feet melted away to reveal barren soil, hard packed as though stomped upon be a thousand feet. The slopes of Felding's arête faded into the mists, the chill air moving back as a fire pit formed on the ground in front of the two detectives. The mist that surrounded them began to thicken and solidify, forming onto a caribou hide covered sweat lodge; the blazing fire now dancing merrily in the hut's centre. As the air warmed the scents of Labrador tea, Spruce, and Wester Red Cedar filled the lodge.
The artic furs that both men wore melted away as the air temperature rose. Jim stiffened as he felt invisible hands daub paint about his torso, arms, legs and face; without looking he knew that he was decked out as befitted a warrior of the Chopec, clothed in loin cloth, and the red and black paints of Peru. The panther motif was drawn so lifelike that Jim almost felt as though the beast was poised to jump from his chest.
Blair's transformation was even more stunning. The trappings of civilisation were gone, replaced by the trappings of ancient power; the Shaman, full of power, now stood in front of the Sentinel. Blair was draped in the supplest of caribou hide robes; the wolf motif was the only motif that decorated the robes. Blair held in his right hand a qilaut, an Inuit drum, of caribou skin with seal skin around the handle, his left hand held a katutarq (drumstick) carved out of a single piece of wood Peruvian Heartwood. Though Jim could not see it, Blair was naked beneath the robe, his youthful body daubed with charcoal, and cinnabar derived red paint of Peru; a stylised wolf watching the world.
As Blair's trance deepened the world shifted once more.
Benton Fraser, naked, except for a simple loin cloth, appeared on the other side of the fire pit. The hurts the Jim had described earlier clearly visible.
Blair began to sing.
As the song rose in power Blair began to drum, the beat echoing Benton's heart.
As the power of the drum took hold of the Mountie, Blair began to dance. Swaying slowly at first, Blair gained momentum. Suddenly Blair stepped away from his Sentinel and like a dervish whirled, whipped, stepped and danced around fallen man, Benton Fraser; the dance spoke of love, healing, a safe harbour to call home, the dance called out across the spirit plane to Ray Kowalski and leant the Chicago detective the strength needed to break through the walls that surrounded Benton's heart.
Up on the arête's slopes, watched by the ghost of Robert Fraser, Ray Kowalski instinctively grabbed the power offered and pulled Benton Fraser spirit to him. Benton's spirit answered and, before either man was consciously aware of the fact, Sentinel and Guide bonded.