FYI the essay topic in the previous chapter is an actual one from the common form of the college application from the 2014 application year. I even did the wordcount. Because I'm a nerd.
Enjoy!
"My candle burns at both ends," Blair recited miserably. "Figures."
He was sitting on the curb wrapped in an ambulance blanket. Around him, emergency services swarmed, the fire department having just about gotten the sudden fire under control and the cops – of which there appeared to be a suspiciously large number – taking statements. Blair had already given his along with Joel to the first cops on scene, after which he had given an almighty cough, alarming Joel who only too well remembered the previous fall and his near death. That had meant a paramedic checking him out completely and forcing the blanket on him.
"We were in the car!" Blair protested to nobody in particular. "If the car didn't get more than some mild shrapnel and a little bit of soot, what exactly do you expect to find in my eye with that little penlight of doom?" The nearest paramedic, one Blair had had cause to meet once too many times while on cases with Jim, glanced back at him and shrugged apologetically.
Then there was a familiar screech of wheels and a slamming door. "Sandburg!"
"Jim, I'm fine!" Blair yelled, getting to his feet and dropping the blanket in a heap.
Undeterred, his Sentinel strode through the chaos straight to his Guide. His nose wrinkled with the scent of soot and ash and burnt wood and stone all over Blair's clothes. He put a hand on his partner's shoulder, reflexively cataloging him with all available senses. Blair's heart-rate was a little elevated, but normal, his temperature seemed fine, and Jim couldn't smell any blood or burned flesh on him. There was a hitch in his respiration he didn't like, though.
"We need to get you away from the smoke," Jim declared. He began to pull on Blair's arm.
"Oh, come on man! Nothing happened!" Blair tried hard not to look at anybody. Even after years, Blair had never quite gotten over his embarrassment when Jim went all mother hen on him in front of everybody. "There are definite drawbacks to this Blessed Protector thing," he muttered lowly.
"I heard that," Jim returned.
"Of course you did." Blair set his feet and met his Sentinel's gaze. "Seriously. Jim. I'm okay." He held out his arms. "We were all the way across the street inside Joel's ride. Neither of us got a scratch."
"He's right, Jim," Joel said as he joined them. "We're okay. Just some kind of freak thing."
"They think it was deliberate?" Jim asked, tipping his head to the fire inspectors at one side. They wouldn't go in until the last of the fire had been put out and it was declared safe, but they were already making notes.
"Nah," Joel shook his head. "Looks like a gas leak."
"How can you tell?" Blair asked curiously.
"They started using foam," Joel gestured. "That means there was something like an accelerant at work so they needed to deal with the chemicals behind it first."
"So it could be arson," Jim said darkly.
Joel shrugged. "Maybe. But a gas leak is a lot more likely. Anyway, even if it is arson, it's not our case." His gaze sharpened. "Jim, there's no way this had anything to do with Blair and me. You know that."
Jim had to acknowledge that he was probably right. There would have been no way for someone to know in advance that Joel would be driving this particular road, nor that Blair would be with him. Maybe it was just a gas leak. Maybe it was arson. But it probably wasn't personal either way.
"I'm sorry, Blair," Joel was saying as Jim came out of his reflections. "If I hadn't stopped…"
"Not a big deal," Blair offered with a smile. "Just life in the Sandburg Zone, right?" He elbowed his partner playfully.
Jim felt some of the frisson of tension that had knotted up inside him from the moment he'd gotten the call that his partner was involved in a fire finally begin to ease. Blair was here, he was safe, he was unhurt, and even that rattle in his lungs from smoke inhalation would probably clear up on its own. He made himself smile and ruffle Blair's hair. "Something like that. Come on, Chief. I still owe you dinner."
"Yes you do!" Blair grinned. He turned to Joel. "Thanks for trying to give me a ride, man. I still appreciate it."
"Like I said, anytime, Blair." Then Joel's look grew solemn. "Remember that you're a good friend, and you can always count on me."
Blair nodded and let Jim lead him away. He was oddly grateful to the unexpected fire – it had spared him trying to answer Joel. By the time they reached the truck and Blair climbed in, already missing Joel's much softer seats, he was ready to let the freak coincidence pass without another thought.
But he had a feeling he couldn't so easily avoid talking to Joel next time.
"What was that thing about candles you were saying?" Jim broke into his thoughts.
"What?" Blair had to regroup to remember. "Oh, that. It's a poem by Edna St Vincent Millay." He closed his eyes and recited the verse from memory.
My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
It gives a lovely light!
"Is that what's happening?" Jim asked, voice oddly soft.
Blair blinked. "What's happening?"
"You," Jim said. "Burning your candle at both ends until you're all used up. Maybe all this stuff is just too much."
Oh, great, Blair thought to himself. Attack of the mother hen – the return. "Look, I admit I've been out of it lately, but I'm fine. Really!"
Jim glanced across at his friend and considered. He didn't need Sentinel sight to know Blair had looked better than he did now, not including the soot from the fire. Jim wasn't sure exactly where the feeling to wrap his Guide up and make him feel better came from, and he was having trouble resisting it.
What he said was, "Well, maybe you should take it easy for a few days. Cut back somewhere."
"Cut back where?" Blair demanded. "Classes just started, so I can't back out of teaching now. And you know why I can't let up on my work for SELF."
"Yeah, but I don't need you at the station all the time right now," Jim answered. "There's no cases going on that I can't handle the old-fashioned way without being a Sentinel. Honestly, Chief, if I need you, there isn't a lot right now that you couldn't do from the SELF office. And you'd have more time for everything else."
Blair couldn't come up with a good logical argument to the contrary, and right then he had a pretty good reason to avoid Joel anyway. So he nodded. "Okay. I'll take a week or so and hunker down at SELF with schoolwork. But you gotta promise to call me in if you need me. No running off without backup, Guide backup to be specific."
Jim smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it, Sandburg."
-==OOO==-
There was an unusual lull at the Quest compound.
"Downright unsettling," Race said, looking up from the paper he was reading. "I can count on one hand the number of times those three have been around the house for more than a week without getting into some kind of mess – and I don't mean their rooms."
"They're busy preparing for a new kind of adventure," Benton smiled. "You should be proud of their diligence."
"Oh, I am," Race affirmed easily, "but I also know better. I'm just waiting for the shoe to drop."
"Don't borrow trouble," Benton shook his head. "You don't want that shoe to come as a rejection letter."
Race grimaced. Over the summer, Jessie, Jonny, and Hadji had taken it into their heads to apply for admission to Rainier University the following spring. Race and Benton had both spoken to them – at length – about whether that was the right decision. After all, they would miss out on their last spring as seniors in high school, including all the things seniors usually did from prom to parties. But they had argued eloquently that they wanted and needed to be in Cascade sooner than later, that SELF was already coming together rapidly and Jim and Blair would need help, that Hadji wasn't a regular student anyway, that none of them cared about prom or parties, and that they were all but able to graduate anyway and didn't want to waste time stuck in the wrong classroom. In the face of such ardent and practiced reason, both fathers had surrendered.
It meant, however, now that they had successfully applied to Rainier, they were filling their days with all the tests that were normally offered in the spring to assign placement, as well as doing some independent studies to round out their credits. It was only mid-September, but the three had practically moved into their favorite library, working single-mindedly on their tasks. Even Jonny's exuberance had been totally tempered by his dedication to going with Jessie and Hadji to Cascade in the spring. But then, they all knew that if any one of the three failed to complete their requirements and gain admission, none of them could go.
It was just one more law of the universe. Gravity works, Jonny is responsible for feeding Bandit, energy cannot be created or destroyed, nobody interrupts Hadji while he's meditating unless it's an emergency, entropy always increases, girl jokes are forbidden or Jessie will counterattack, all chemical processes are by necessity reversible, breakfast in the Quest house is an un-missable sacrament. And Jessie, Jonny, and Hadji stay together. They had their own friends and their own interests, and they had gone on trips without one another before, and that was all fine. But for the big moves, the life-changing decisions, there would be no parting them.
That was the reason all three were so dedicated – not one could stand to hold the other two back.
Benton rubbed a hand over his eyes and pushed away from the computer he'd been staring at all day. Race raised an eyebrow, but Benton shook his head. The scientist moved to sit on the couch beside his best friend, reaching to the small drawer in the coffee table and drawing out a white noise generator. Ignoring Race's surprise, he flicked it on.
"I thought those were only for emergencies," Race commented. "In case Jonny was being overwhelmed."
"I think you were the one who taught me to use whatever came to hand in the art of self-defense," Benton said wryly. "I'm simply following your instructions."
"Self-defense? What's going on, Doc?"
"There's good news and bad news," Benton sat back. "The good news is that I think I've found the first Sentinels that could really use SELF's intervention."
Race waited. Sounded to him like the dropping shoe was on in five.
"The bad news," Benton let out a breath, "is that they're in Fokino, Russia."
"Benton," Race sighed, "pretend I don't know the name of every city on the planet like you do for a minute and tell me why that's bad."
"Fokino is a closed city. It's forbidden for tourists to enter without permits, and it's heavily guarded at all times because it's the base for the Russian pacific fleet. The whole city is like a fortress, even though it's a city with its own economy and everything. You can't get in or out without the government knowing your every move."
Benton rubbed his forehead again. "But it's also one of the places Russia sends its Sentinels after they've passed their prime. Between what I've learned from my own research and my connections, I'd say there are several dozen Sentinels there, most still active servicemen and servicewomen, but no longer able to be deployed in high-stress environments such as other closed cities that house nuclear weapons bases."
"If it's so closed, how would we even expect to get there?" Race wanted to know.
"Well, there's a nearby island that's technically part of the city but open to tourists. I'm pretty sure we could get there without any trouble. And because it's a port city, we also have a good chance of being able to help people leave if they choose to come with us, and after that it's just logistics to get them to Cascade."
"It still sounds like breaking into a gulag and trying to get a few people past the guards without becoming inmates ourselves," Race said archly.
"That's why I turned that on," Benton gestured at the white noise generator. "It's the kind of adventure there's no way those kids wouldn't try to come with us. But it's too dangerous. If we get accused of trying to help active soldiers defect and escape with us, even with all the back-room dealing I've been working on, we could face a death sentence. There's no way we're bringing the kids in on that."
"I agree," Race nodded. "But this sounds like you've decided you're going to stick your neck out on this one."
"I think I have."
Race counted to ten in his mind. Then he did it again in Spanish. Then again in Japanese. Then, with knowing foreboding, once more in Russian. Finally he said, "Are you absolutely sure you know what you're doing?"
"Honestly?" Benton looked at Race with a small smile. "No. But what I do know is that those soldiers have been hobbled for their whole lives and are just one bad zone-out away from being bought and sold, maybe into forced labor or worse. This is exactly the reason we founded SELF and got the DHS involved. They are people who deserve a choice. And I have one to offer them. Besides, I should have enough influence to keep us from prison. I think."
Race pinched the bridge of his nose. "Now I remember where Jonny gets that stubborn do-gooder streak of his."
"I won't ask you to come with me, Race," Benton said. "I know it's going to be dangerous."
"Yes it's going to be dangerous, which is exactly why I am coming with you!" Race snapped. "There's no way I'm letting you go anywhere near there without backup. Not on something like this. If I have to bring in the entire Pacific branch of the Navy to get us out, you better bet I'll do it!"
"Thanks, Race," Benton smiled tiredly.
"So how are you going to keep those kids from coming with us?" he wanted to know.
"Easy," Benton shrugged, but his friend could see the worry and stress already building in the tight lines of his shoulders. "We give them enough truth to convince them, and not quite enough to worry them. It won't be the first time."
"No, it won't," Race agreed, shaking his head fondly.
That evening at dinner, Benton announced that he had been asked to meet a contact in eastern Russia to talk about SELF, and the meeting would take place in an extremely remote location to ensure their safety. As he played up the lack of technology and the insistence that he bring no computers with him, Race had to fight not to give away the game; the kids were absolutely torn between wanting to go with him and not wanting to be unable to continue their studies. But the more Benton droned on about the logistics, the more the kids seemed to back down. It sure didn't sound like the kind of thing they would really need to be there for, and with their schoolwork, well…
When Benton suggested that the three could take a break from studying while they were gone, just for one weekend, to camp out in the woods, they folded like a house of cards.
Game, set, and match, Benton, Race thought to himself. Looks like we're heading to Fokino.
-==OOO==-
A familiar beep at his hip caused Jim to look up from the paperwork he'd been trying to process, though he mainly felt like cursing at all reports, computers, and maybe even pencils just to be safe. He'd been spoiled by having Blair around to help him navigate the so-called modern improvements with his ease with computers and his lightning-quick typing speed.
Speaking of modern improvements, Jim thought with a small smile, digging the phone from his pocket.
It was a satellite phone unlike any other he'd ever seen, designed and built specifically by Benton Quest to work as a phone, a miniature computer, and a host of other gadgets all in one. Unlike the bulky thing Jim had used before, this was a sleek, small device with only the barest ridges that indicated buttons. The whole family had them, and they had extended one each as a gift to Jim and Blair. "After all," Jonny had grinned, "we're kind of like cousins!"
Jim ran a few fingers over the screen, the phone recognizing him by fingerprint and revealing the message that had been sent.
Progress being made. Situation stable.—Race
Jim nodded to himself. When he had learned about Benton's plan to go to Russia and try to "liberate" some Sentinels – active, military Sentinels – Jim had not been pleased. The only part of the plan he had approved of was keeping the kids out of it. His respect for the trio hadn't diminished any, but what Sandburg would have called his protective instincts had grown hugely. The situation felt okay to him, but he still didn't want them anywhere near it. Or Sandburg himself, for that matter; Blair had only agreed to be left behind because Jim had pointed out that Benton absolutely needed somebody to hold down the SELF fort while he was away.
But every twelve hours, like clockwork, Race or Benton had promised to message them both to confirm that they were all right, and thus far they hadn't missed yet. It reminded Jim a little uncomfortably of his promise with Blair in Borneo only a few months prior – and how that had ended. But this time, like then, the only thing Jim could do was focus on his job and, if things went south, be ready to hop on a plane.
And he was.
"Hi Jim!" came a cheerful voice.
Jim slid the phone out of sight and smiled up at his most frequent visitor these days. "Hi Daryl. How's it going today?"
"It's fine," Daryl smiled. "Dad said you might need some help with your paperwork?"
"Oh, he did, did he?" Jim raised an eyebrow and turned to glare into Simon's office. The stalwart Captain Banks found something incredibly fascinating on the surface of his desk to stare at intently.
"Yeah! I bet Blair did most of your typing, huh?" Daryl didn't quite snicker at the ire being directed at his father. "I'm not bad at a keyboard. And I need something to do for the afternoon. Besides, nobody's shown me this part, yet."
"Daryl, if you are so ready to start learning about paperwork, I am more than happy to relinquish the hot seat to you," Jim said gallantly, rolling his chair backwards and pulling the one at Sandburg's desk forward. He slid into position at his partner's place, smiling anew at the fact that Blair finally had a real desk of his own, right next to Jim. It was a little small and cramped, and as often as not they ended up bumping their chairs into one another, but it meant a lot to them both that Simon had made sure the deal struck with the Mayor and Police Commissioner had included treating Sandburg like a full consultant, complete with his own space.
Something caught Jim's attention and he looked back up to Simon's office. Extending his hearing, he was just in time to hear Simon's order. "Bore him, Jim. Bore him to death if you have to."
Jim sketched Simon a small salute while Daryl looked over the forms on the screen. Daryl had won an internship for two months at the Cascade PD. Simon was less than pleased – he still wanted his son to get what he called a "real education" by attending college and not follow him down the dangerous path of a police officer. The unwritten rule that had passed around the building on Daryl's first day had been short and simple: make the kid loath police work.
So far, it didn't seem to be working.
Dedicating himself to his captain's cause, Jim began describing the tedious nature of the reports he was trying to complete, the level of detail required, the multiple copies and sign-offs and approvals. And if he was secretly pleased that Daryl showed the same kind of interested curiosity Jim's partner had on his first round, well, Simon didn't need to know about that.
-==OOO==-
The week of quiet – minus the argument with Jim about whether or not Blair should go with Benton and Race to try to help Russian Sentinels; that had not been quiet at all – had gone a huge way towards restoring some of Blair's energy. It really wasn't the police work that bothered him so, not after so many years. It was dealing with being at the police station, and all the rumors and funny looks and half-lies he had to deal with.
On the positive side, Blair had gotten an absolute ton of writing done whenever he wasn't helping Jim with the latest case or talking to students or teaching – the manuscript he was personally calling "The Care and Feeding of Sentinels" even though it was at least as much about Guides as it was about Sentinels – had come a long way in just a few days of work. Blair had his dissertation, of course, but this was sort of his "next step" book that covered everything from what he had learned from Jaga in Borneo to his evolving understanding of his own role in Jim's life. It was imperative that Blair get enough of his ideas down into a useful format before SELF started gaining traction – and Sentinels – in the wider world.
He was just finishing up his first draft of a section on spirit animals when the phone rang. Glancing at the number displayed by Caller ID, he grinned. He picked up the phone with a flourish.
"Doctor Sandburg's office, Blair speaking. How may I direct your call?" he spoke with arch humor.
"You never tire of that, do you, my friend?" returned the warm, proper voice of Hadji Quest.
"Aw, I got over being called 'doctor' the first time one of Jim's suspects tried to get me to look at a gross lesion on his…never mind," Blair coughed. "But I love having the office."
A quiet snort was the only evidence of Hadji's laugh.
"So, what's going on?" Blair continued. A pause on the line drew a drop of ice into his stomach. "What's wrong?"
"It's Jonny," Hadji said lowly. "His senses are…unreliable."
"How so?"
"They seem to come and go, with greater emphasis on the 'go.' He might pass three hours with nothing beyond normal human range and only a few minutes of Sentinel abilities." Hadji's tone was controlled and calm, if a little tense, but Blair knew him better than that. He knew how to listen for the cracks in the younger man's ever-present serenity, and from what he could hear, any other person would be shaking apart.
"How long has it been happening?" Blair asked, truly alarmed now.
"We went camping, just us and Jessie, over the weekend. It started there and it hasn't stopped yet." Given that today was Tuesday, that didn't sound good.
"How soon can you get to Cascade?" Blair was already reaching for his computer and shooting an SOS email to Jim. With Benton and Race out of the country, the kids literally had nowhere else to go for help, not that Blair would have wanted them turning anywhere but to their Sentinel-Guide friends.
"We're in the airport now catching a connection in a few minutes," Hadji replied. "We should arrive in approximately four hours. I hope you can forgive our presumption but…"
"But nothing!" Blair cut him off. "I won't even give you the lecture about how your dad set up this Foundation specifically to deal with this sort of thing. We're friends, aren't we? You and me and Jim and Jonny and Jessie and Benton and Race?"
"I am certainly honored to think so." There was a touch of warm relief leaking through Hadji's tension.
"Then it's not a presumption to ask for help from the people you trust. I ask your dad for stuff all the time. And even if I didn't, Jim has some kind of protective complex about you guys. Get here as soon as you can. We'll meet you at the airport."
"Thank you, Blair." Hadji let out a long, soft breath. "Between Jonny and myself, I do not know who is more worried, or who is more relieved."
"See you in a few," Blair promised.
As soon as the phone clicked, he was dialing Jim.
"Ellison."
"Jim, did you see my email?"
"I just sat down. What's going on, Chief?"
"Jonny and Hadji are on their way. Something's happening to Jonny's senses and they need help. Hadji didn't say anything, but you're not the only one with good ears. He's totally freaked out."
There was a short pause before Jim answered, his tone firm. "I'll tell Simon. I just have to finish up the last reports on the drug bust and I should be in the clear for a little while – Rafe can take any new cases that come in. How soon will they be here?"
"Four hours." Blair felt his heart, which had begun pounding the instant he realized something was really wrong with his friends, start to calm. "I said we'd meet them at the airport."
"That'll give me plenty of time to finish up here. I'll swing by the loft to switch out the truck and meet you at your office when I'm done."
Blair nodded, though even a Sentinel couldn't see that through the phone. "I'll grab my notes. The lodge is empty right now, so we'll have all the space we need."
"Call me if anything changes," Jim said curtly. He hung up a moment later.
Blair began sweeping through the office pulling notebooks and bound journals and copies from their places and jamming them into his bag. There were hours before he'd need to be ready to go, but the movement gave him something to do to dispel his anxiousness. He could almost see Jim staring at his computer screen as though it had made a mess on his carpets, typing as fast as he could with unusual force. Though Jim had been practical and detached through every word of their conversation, after five years Blair knew his partner like he knew himself. Jim responded to stress by approaching a problem with focus and cool logic, but that wasn't what was inside him.
He might never let it show, but Jim was just as worried about their young friends as Blair was.
