I don't own this.

Edited: 26Mar19

Chapter 12

The next day passed by in a whirl of tension for Jim, yet agonizingly slow at the same time. If Sandburg had been jumpy the day before, Jim was equally nervous on the following. Sitting at his desk he felt like he was waiting for his proverbial execution, probably similar to how Sandburg felt the previous afternoon, he briefly thought. The difference was, Jim knew how to hide it. Years of military training and bearing, then working as a cop, not to mention the past couple weeks of working with Sandburg, had given him the discipline to mask his feelings, and cover up his uncertainties. To anyone else watching him he looked no different than on any other day.

Jim's gaze slid over to his unwanted partner sitting at the end of his desk. Sandburg, however, still looked on edge. He wasn't anywhere near as bad as he was the day before, right after that disastrous lunch break, but he was still visibly tense and acting out of character. His heart beat noticeably faster than normal as it thudded in the background of Jim's hearing.

Jim suppressed a sigh as he turned back to the report he was writing. Part of him felt bad for the kid. Sandburg wasn't use to this type of existence, being constantly in hiding and under the stress of discovery. Still, the academic had tried his best since making their deal and Jim couldn't deny that Sandburg had kept up his end of the bargain by not going directly to the authorities. He'd meant to give Sandburg some pointers on how to blend in and not draw attention to himself last night, but the news of Dr. Hedrick set off his already short temper and that was the end of anything productive for the night. He spent the rest of his time in his room trying to get everything back under control.

Jim flinched as someone dropped something heavy on the floor. Well, mostly under control he amended to himself. Behind him, Sandburg shifted, leaning in toward Jim but holding back from closing the distance. Jim ignored the Guide and focus on the unfinished report in front of him. Stress always made it difficult to control his senses and now he was going to the extra effort of suppressing them again for good measure. Well, trying to suppress them, Jim thought with a roll of his eyes, something which was proving to be next to impossible at the moment. The only success he had at the moment was the onset of one very large headache.

Stretching the tense muscles in his neck, Jim resisted the urge to roll his shoulders. He needed a lunch break, they both did, a very long lunch break in a quiet, secluded place. Unfortunately, it was still at least an hour till lunch and he had paperwork. Between avoiding Sandburg outside of the office and the intense paranoia that distracted him at work, the past few weeks had felt like some of the least productive Jim had ever had. The resulting pile of back work crowded out the little elbow room on his desk, something very unusual for him. If he didn't get it cleared up soon, someone could notice and then any lectures he gave to Sandburg about keeping his head down and not attracting attention would be null and void. The last thing he needed right now was a sarcastic Guide with the opportunity to throw words back in Jim's face.

Glancing back to Sandburg, Jim watched Sandburg shift in his seat again as he jotted down a few notes and returned to observing the interactions of the department. To Jim it looked more like gazing off into space. Perhaps, he could kill two birds with one stone. Jim grabbed one of the finished case reports waiting for filing and dropped it down in front of the Guide without ceremony. Sandburg startled at the sudden noise.

"Review that," Jim said, and turned back to the computer screen to work on another.

Sandburg stared for a moment in confusion at the file before looking back to Jim. "I thought I wasn't supposed to be involved with real police work," he said, a sarcastic bite to his words, "After all, I'm just an observer."

"You're not doing any policing," Jim said, "you're reviewing for grammatical errors and general composition, a glorified spell check. Besides, I thought that to observe you wanted to see all aspects of the police world. Now, check all."

Sandburg grumbled a few choice words under his breath that Jim deliberately tuned out before opening the file and starting to read. Jim smiled to himself as Sandburg, despite his protests, slowly became immersed in reading the case file. Jim could hear the other man relax and nervous heartrate slow as he delved into the case and its outcome. The absence of nervous energy behind him let Jim focus a little more.

The following hour passed by much more swiftly and before Jim knew it a wrist watch beeped somewhere down the hall prompting him to look at the clock. It was half past eleven. Half of the desks in the room were empty confirming the approaching lunch hour. Locking out his computer and dropping his files into a security drawer, Jim cleared his desk from the morning's work. He rummaged around for the extra large bottle of aspirin he kept in his desk. Jim swallowed down a few tablets before turning to Sandburg.

"C'mon," Jim said, giving Sandburg a light smack on his shoulder to get his attention, "We're going."

Sandburg turned and blinked at him in the same uncomprehending way as he looked at the case file. "Going?" he repeated, "With you?…To lunch?" he added.

Jim rolled his eyes. "Yes, pack up your things and don't make a scene," he said, taking the file back and depositing it with the rest in the security drawer. He locked the drawer and stuffed the keys into his pocket.

Standing, Jim grabbed his truck keys and headed for the elevators. The floor was nearly deserted now as most left for a much needed break. A few stayed behind, tapping away at keyboards and scribbling into files, but none of them gave notice as Sandburg eagerly hurried after Jim to the elevators.

"Where are we going?" Sandburg asked as soon as the doors closed, puppy like enthusiasm overshadowing any lingering confusion.

Jim closed his eyes a moment and took a deep breath. He had a feeling he was going to regret this. Spending more time than necessary with Sandburg would only encourage unnecessary attachment on either or both of their parts when the time came for them to part ways, but it was the best solution he had to their current problem. Sandburg needed to learn how to control himself more if they were going to get by under the radar and the sooner the better. That meant lessons in how to keep a secret 101.

"We're going someplace quiet," Jim said, "We both need a break and I want to talk to you about a few things."

"What sort of things?" Sandburg's curiosity was almost bursting out of his skin.

Jim didn't answer, he just stared at the numbers ticking down to the parking garage, already regretting his decision.

"It must be your senses, right?" Sandburg continued, ignoring Jim's continued silence. The man was an empath, he had to know how Jim felt right now, right? He was annoying Jim on purpose. "Have they been giving you trouble? You know stress can severely affect controlling and managing senses."

For a moment, Jim could only stare at him in surprise at the honest concern in the Guide's tone. "I can handle those," Jim said, looking back to the dropping numbers, "I've been doing it for some time now. I'll explain on the way."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, letting in the cooler air of the parking garage. Jim stepped out and headed straight for his truck. Sandburg was right at his heels, barely restrained questions at the tip of his tongue. There were a few others in the garage, standing around talking before heading out for lunch. No one seemed to notice them leaving together and Jim made sure to keep his expression on the just-aggravated side of blank. It was easy with Sandburg bouncing along next to him. If anyone did take note that he was leaving with his Guide partner perhaps they would think he was doing it unwillingly and for police business. He had barely climbed into the truck cab and shut the door when the questions started anew.

"So we're going someplace quiet? Is this the same place you go to whenever you disappear for lunch? Do you go there to help you balance your senses?" Blair asked, putting things together before Jim could comment either way.

"Yes," Jim sighed, sounding world weary already though their field trip had only just begun. "It's one of the places I go, but I don't expect to have to tell you that you are not to repeat any of this to anyone, right? No matter how much back up research, theorizing, or venting you may want to do. Am I correct?" Jim's voice took on harder tone.

Sandburg waved the thought away. "Oh no, don't worry, Jim, I won't tell anyone about this. I thought we already made that clear."

"Just wanted to be sure," Jim threw out a skeptical glance as he started the truck and backed out of the space. He paused as he pulled out into traffic and maneuvered through the lanes. "We're going someplace quiet so I can give you some advice about staying below the radar and drawing less attention."

"Oh," Blair said, disappointment creeping into his voice, "so this isn't about your senses. Are you sure this isn't about your senses? I thought I saw you wincing a few times this morning, so don't bother denying that they're giving you some trouble."

"Well, I needed to get out of there, too," Jim admitted, "way too loud, but the main thing is to minimize any collateral damage from this Hedrick incident. You need to learn to control yourself."

Sandburg snorted. "Oh that's rich," he said, recovering from his disappointment, "The Sentinel telling the Guide he needs to learn self control."

"If the shoe fits," Jim replied, "From what I've seen so far, you've got next to no capacity for keeping secrets."

"I can keep secrets!" Sandburg said, voice rising in insult, "You have to keep confidentiality of any individuals you work with in anthropology, unless they agree to let their identities be revealed. Then, there's always keeping research and projects quiet. You wouldn't believe how many academics out there will steal your work if given them the chance."

Jim cut in with a wave of his hand before a full-blown rant on integrity and ethics in academia could begin. "I'm not talking about keeping information out of the public eye or quiet between friends. I'm talking about keeping it secret, to the point where no one else even realizes it's out there, or if they do, they think you don't know it and aren't involved." Jim pulled off the main roads and started heading into a rundown residential area. The truck jostled over several potholes.

"This is starting to feel like super spy stuff," Sandburg said, a hint of relish and trepidation battling in his voice.

"Oh please," Jim rolled his eyes, already feeling better from just getting away from the crowded department. "My life is not a film noir nor spy movie. Going overboard with this will attract just as much attention as spouting your mouth off to every professor in the area." Jim pulled the truck to a stop and threw it into park before shutting it down.

"It was one guy, and I didn't even give him any details!" Sandburg countered, before finally taking note where they were, "Uh, Jim? You sure this is the right place? I thought cops didn't really show their faces in this part of town."

"That's after dark, Sandburg, and the other end of the street." Jim unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the truck. He paused before closing the door to look back at Sandburg.

The Guide hadn't moved to get out of the cab yet, staring instead at the abandoned park with clear misgivings on his face. Jim really couldn't blame him. The park looked far from welcoming, overgrown with vines and tall grass, it was a testament to the forgotten neighborhood where it sat. He rarely saw people there, and when he did it was usually some bedraggled kid cutting through to get to the other side. Even the drug dealers seemed to have forgotten its existence, or perhaps the wholly natural appearance of the small area put them off as they preferred to conduct their business in the more urban areas of abandonment. Though, every once in a while, Jim caught the hint of other Sentinels were using the same park to calm their senses.

Either way, Jim found this park to be one of the most secluded and peaceful nearby and probably his favorite. The vegetation had all over grown, leaving broad, if stunted trees, thick vines, wide bushes, and tall grass. An old swing set and slide sat in the center of the park, rusted and mostly broken from years of abandonment. The quiet neighborhood and thick over growth conspired to insulate the small area from what little traffic and noise did wind its way through from the center of Cascade. For Jim, the small, rundown compound was like an oasis and he always felt better after taking a lunch break here to even out his senses, though he couldn't come too often for fear of someone noticing.

Jim glanced back at Sandburg who still hadn't gotten out of the truck. "You're wasting our lunch break," he said before locking and closing his door with a dull thump.

Sandburg shrugged and followed suit, getting out of the truck and locking his door. Jim led the way through an old gate, propped open and fixed in place by vines, rust, and dirt. As they passed through, Jim pointed out one glossy, dark green vine saying, "Don't touch that. It's poison ivy."

"I know what poison ivy looks like," Sandburg grumbled from behind him, though he moved to avoid brushing against the reaching vine. "I do go out in the woods, you know."

"Really," Jim said for once with surprise and absolutely no sarcasm, "I thought you academics liked to bury yourselves under books and papers in some dusty library or office."

"That's theorists," Sandburg corrected, "If you want to excel at anthropology, you usually have to do extensive field work, go out, live with the natives, get to know their environments. Plus, I do a lot of camping."

"Huh," Jim said, mostly to himself, not bothering to hide his surprise. He stopped and turned to face Sandburg when he reached an ancient metal picnic table. He wouldn't have pictured Sandburg as the outdoorsy type, but he put the information aside, returning to their former topic. "It doesn't matter if you only told one guy, it doesn't even matter that you didn't give him any details. It's the fact that you told someone who you're not absolutely sure of and without consulting me."

Sandburg tried to break in with a protest, but Jim cut him off with a raised hand.

"I know the first time you talked to him was before you started blackmailing me."

"Before we came to an understanding," Sandburg corrected with an eye roll.

"Whatever you want to call it," Jim continued with emphasis, "You should have told me right away about talking to this doctor if for no other reason than to give me a heads up of who might know or suspect."

"I told you," Sandburg said, "I didn't give him any specifics. I told him it was just background research for a theory."

Jim shook his head, Sandburg still wasn't getting it. "I don't care that you didn't give him any details. People don't need every bit of information to start filling in the holes and making conclusions on their own. Sometimes being deliberately vague can even cause more suspicion, not less. It makes you look like you've got something to hide."

Jim knew he was lecturing but couldn't help it. His frustration bubbled to the surface again and threatened to turn to anger. He took a few deep breaths before continuing. "You have to get your emotions under control. Get your head screwed on straight. I don't care if the world is falling apart around your ears, you still put on the act that everything is fine. Then, the next time this Dr. Hedrick shows up for a chat find a way to put him off the trail. Have a nice long talk with him, work with his position about Sentinels not being able to survive on their own. He's already got the belief in place. It's easier to convince people of something they already believe anyway so it shouldn't be too hard. Then, while you're at it, make sure you have a good excuse for why you're not living wherever you lived before you invaded my house. Say they're fumigating, a sick friend, something as to why you would leave for several weeks. Make up a friend that no one else knows and say you're crashing with them. Don't say a hotel. That's too easy to check up on."

"You're sounding paranoid." Sandburg grumbled as he dropped down on a stained and pot-marked stone bench.

"You're not paranoid if they're really after you," Jim countered, the bulk of his temper and frustration running out of steam, "and I think that point was proven by the poor bastard who got caught a few days ago. This may not mean that much to you, but I have my freedom on the line and I'm not going to be exposed because some nosy academic didn't know how to play James Bond for a few weeks. Besides, I'd like to switch places with you and see how you feel about the whole thing."

"Fine, fine," Sandburg threw up his hands, "I'll just pretend I'm dodging the bill collectors again, like in my freshman and sophomore years of college."

"That would definitely be a step up from your performance now," Jim agreed, nodding. He looked down at his watch and grimaced as he realized they only had half an hour left. "Ok, so go over to your side and work on calming your nerves down, I'm not going to bring you back to the office unless you can prove you're going to act in a normal manner."

"Well, what are you going to be doing?" Sandburg asked, clearly annoyed at being treated like a child.

Jim glared at him, "I'm going to go to my side and get my senses under control for the rest of the day. And no, you can't help," he cut Sandburg off before the other man could do more than open his mouth.

Jim moved off without another word, determined to make his senses even out in the remaining half an hour before he became just as much of a liability as he was accusing Sandburg. The whole process took much less time than it normally did, though Jim refused to acknowledge the help he found in Sandburg's steadying heart beat across the park. He shot a parting glare at the panther lounging on the picnic table. They had enough time to grab some takeout then it was back to the office where hopefully things would go better this time around.

XXXXX

A week went by and Blair had to admit it wasn't as bad as he feared it would be. The next week went even better. In fact, he would say that it was going quite well. Jim had been suspicious of his capability to get himself under control and watched him like a hawk the first few days, but days passed and still there was no word from Dr. Hedrick or any of Jim's fellow detectives. Blair liked to think it was his superior acting skills to pretend nothing had happened, but he had a feeling Jim's distracting him with case files helped a lot.

Jim realized very quickly after that first file how handy it was having a second pair of eyes to look over his work. He dropped files into Blair's lap faster than Blair could go through them. At first, it was just proofing for grammatical and spelling errors of finished reports before filing them away, but it quickly evolved as Blair found he couldn't keep his nose out of the still active reports. He just couldn't go back to sitting there watching people do paper work. In all honesty, observing police detectives wasn't turning out to be quite as exciting as he thought it would be. Except for the one time he left the office and trying to figure Jim out, it was mainly paper work. Though, he probably should have seen that coming.

Picking another file up after finishing the closed cases, Blair scanned through the report while Jim was preoccupied glancing under his desk. Jim had been doing that a lot in the past couple of days muttering under his breath about over-grown house cats. Blair didn't know what the man was talking about, but decided to leave it for the moment. He didn't want to antagonize the man too much now he was finally getting off of Jim's bad side and looking through files he shouldn't be was enough for one day.

Blair glanced through the file, quickly getting his bearings in the increasingly familiar format. As he read through the case. Jim straighten and glance over at him.

"That one's not finished," Jim said, moving to take the folder back as Blair pulled it out of the way.

"I know. I'm just checking it over," Blair said as Jim rolled his eyes and turned back to his desk. Encouraged by still having possession of the file, Blair continued on, "Did you check into the other motives on this than just the three hundred bucks stolen?"

Jim stilled a moment before slowly turning in his chair to face Blair. "Why would you say that, Chief?" he asked a distinct cautionary note in his tone, leaning back with his arms crossed, a masked expression on his face.

The pose didn't seem very inviting to Blair, but he continued on anyway. "The house had several dead bolts on the door, bars on the lower story windows, and a pretty mean dog in the yard. Doesn't that seem like a little much for your average home security?"

"It's one of the more dangerous areas of town," Jim countered, "robberies in that neighborhood are common. Half the houses on the street have bars on their first story windows and numerous deadbolts on the doors."

Blair shrugged looking back down into the folder with a frown. "It just seems like an awful lot of trouble robbing this guy's house for a lousy three hundred bucks. There could be other motives involved, revenge or maybe the guy had more than the money in his house."

Jim stared at him for several minutes before reaching behind and picking up another active case file. "What do you think of that one?" he asked as he dropped it in Blair's lap.

Blair stared at it a moment before looking back to Jim. "Isn't this policing?" he asked, sarcasm appearing in his own voice.

"No, this is 'consulting,'" Jim said before turning back to his desk. "You're not allowed to do policing. When you're done with that one feel free to move to the others and make note of anything out of place you might notice."

"So you're giving it a fancy name and letting me do it anyway?" Blair asked, slightly disgusted with the duplicity of it as he eyed the stack of open case folders on Jim's desk.

"That's the name of the game, Chief. Don't complain, you finally got what you wanted, a real life look into the lives of police detectives."

"Not sure I want it anymore," Blair mumbled as he cracked open another, thicker file.

After that, Jim didn't seem to mind Blair looking through the files. In fact, as soon as Blair finished one file he found another dropped in its place.

"I'm not your personal secretary, you know," Blair grumbled after returning from a break to find another stack of folders in his seat.

"You know that phrase about being careful about what you wish for?" Jim answered, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Most of this is back work I didn't get through because I was avoiding you, so it's partly your fault anyway." There was no malice in it, though.

"That's great logic," Blair breathed.

"I heard that," Jim shot over his shoulder as he opened his own case file.

"Good." Blair kept his head bent over the file but his mouth quirked up in a grin.

Things were getting better. Jim was warming up. He still wouldn't let Blair help with his senses but he stopped fighting Blair coming with him on lunch breaks and throwing him frustrated glances after hours at the apartment. A true testament to Jim's improving attitude to the whole arrangement was his willingness to let Blair out of his sight and go back to the apartment on his own. Jim even gave Blair spare key.

Apartment key tucked safely in his pocket and back pack slung over his shoulder, Blair adjusted his grip on the bus hand rail as he bumped his way back to the loft. He couldn't help but smile as Jim's last comment ran through his head again. "If you're cooking dinner tonight remember, none of that hippie grass you brought for lunch that first week."

Two weeks ago Jim wouldn't even let him stand in the living room without strict supervision. Now, almost two weeks later Jim was letting him go back to cook dinner on his own, without worrying that Blair would look through his stuff or divert to some GSC office and spill his guts about the secret life of Sentinels in hiding. The thought was warming and more than a little encouraging.

Perhaps, Blair thought as he exited the bus and turned the corner for their building, he was getting through the impossibly thick barriers Jim had built around himself. The more he got to know Jim and the more he saw how well Jim managed his senses, the more Blair reconsidered the established balance between Guides and Sentinels. True, there were some areas that Jim needed help with, even if he didn't want to admit it, but Blair could see that with the right training a Sentinel didn't need to be so completely dependent on their Guide as was generally accepted. Blair's own training and the training from the GSC focused on the importance of a Sentinel having a Guide as a matter of course and for even the smallest sensory issues. Still, here was evidence that the role of a Guide was more for the bigger challenges rather than the daily annoyances.

Opening the door and starting up the stairs, the smile dropped into a thoughtful frown as Blair reconsidered the subject. When Blair first started their agreement, Blair partly intended to convince Jim that he was better off getting a Guide and Blair still thought that was largely true. Jim needed a Guide, but only for the occasions like that the hostage situation or for the more intense crime scenes. The more he saw how Jim could coped the more he realized how detrimental having too controlling a Guide could be. Without pushing himself and opening himself to potentially harmful situations, Jim would never have developed the control he had. A Guide's tendency was always to protect their Sentinel, to steer them from harmful and uncomfortable situations. Now it seemed more than likely that instead of helping their Sentinels, Guides as a group were making their Sentinels over-dependent and over-sensitive.

From a strictly academic approach, the concept was fascinating. Blair already had a paper planned out in his head. From a personal perspective, it was disturbing in the extreme and only led to even more frightening conclusion. Blair paused on the on the landing as he continued on that train to its logical conclusion. One of the observations in the drop in Sentinel numbers was the shortened life expectancy. Sentinels died at a younger age now than they had a hundred years ago. Many people believed the cause stemmed from the multitude of chemicals in modern society. However, if Guides were essentially training their Sentinels to be more sensitive, or in plain words weaker, then they were essentially helping cause the premature deaths of their own Sentinels. Looked at the blunt way, Guides were killing the Sentinels.

The though filled Blair with dread. The irony that it was the controlling ways of Guides and society at large that were destroying Sentinels, either weakening their resistance or driving them into hiding was not lost on Blair. He bit back a bitter laugh as he resumed his climb up the stairs. What Guides needed to do to fix the problem was exactly what their title said, guide not control. It would be a difficult thing to convince everyone else of that, though. He didn't have any evidence to back it up. Proving it would mean studies over years to show the connection and that was assuming he could find underground Sentinels and convince them to participate in the first place.

Still, Blair couldn't see the situation continuing for much longer. Things had to change before they deteriorated irrevocably. He didn't know how, but he resolved that somehow he'd find a way to bring the problem to light without endangering Jim. It would be tricky, taking time and tact, and he would have to talk about it to Jim before he did anything. He wasn't even sure how to start but he'd find a way.

Resolution made, Blair ran up the last few steps. Pulling out the key and thinking about dinner, it wasn't until he had the door open that he realized he wasn't alone.

"Hello Blair," the voice was instantly recognizable, but Blair refused to believe it until he turned and came face to face with Dr. Hedrick.

TBC…