New
Arrivals
Author-Vision
Titles
Mind Field
by Vision
Summary: Epilogue to Rogue.
Dedicated to my friend, Cheri Allen.
Disclaimer: Canon characters do not belong to me. They are the property of Pet Fly and Paramount. I don't make any money etc. etc. Vision sends Becky a big thank you for all of her work.
3:42 a.m.
Blair squinted as he tried to make out the numbers on the clock. He could hear Jim fussing about in the kitchen, doing his level best not to disturb his partner. Blair swung his legs off the bed and listened to the familiar patter of his roommate making yet another cup of tea. Four nights in a row, Blair thought as he shuffled his way into the living room. "Hey, Jim. This is starting to become a habit."
Removing the kettle from the burner, Jim's cheeks took on a slight shade of red. "Sorry, Chief. Why don't you go back to bed? I'm fine, really."
"Right." Blair yawned as he plunked down on the sofa and turned his body to face his partner. "So, just for my own records, how many nights are we going to go through this? Ten? Twelve? Or should I just wait until one of us falls over or falls asleep at the wheel?"
The irritation in Blair's voice was clearly evident. There was no way that he was going to get out of this one. Blair had seen through the Ellison façade many times before, and this time was no different. "Look, Chief, I'm having trouble sleeping. It's no big deal."
"Then you won't mind answering a few simple questions then, will you?"
Jim dropped the tea bags into the teapot, focusing his attention on anything but his partner's eyes. Since when had James Ellison ever found it hard to lie to someone? He had spent half his life lying to people, lying to himself for that matter, and yet lying to Blair was somehow... different. His childhood had been one big lie masterfully crafted so that even he believed in its validity. The military was yet another group of untruths, constantly being asked to manipulate others into believing false truths. His marriage to Carolyn had started out honest enough, but after closer examination, he was sure that that too had been tainted by deception. So, why was it that one curly-haired anthropologist was able to break the cycle?
The light touch on Jim's arm brought him back to the present. "Question one. Explain to me why you zoned on a teapot."
Jim shifted his eyes to his partner and then back to the task at hand Filling the mugs, Jim slowly began adding milk and sugar to the liquid. "I'm just a little off balance, that's all."
"Next question. Why, Jim?"
Jim picked up the spoon beside him and placed it in one of the mugs. The soft tinkling sound of the spoon against the ceramic cup drowned out his mumbled reply.
"In case you haven't noticed, Jim, you're the one with the Sentinel hearing, not me."
Placing the spoon on the counter, Jim shifted uneasily under the weight of Blair's gaze. "I said, it's the bridge."
"Bridge? What bridge?"
Handing Blair a mug, Jim pushed past his partner and headed towards the couch. Blair followed close at his heels, not wanting to miss one word of what his Sentinel was about to say. Placing the cup of tea on the coffee table, Jim spent the next few moments rearranging the already perfectly arranged pillows on the couch. More Ellison stalling tactics, Blair mused as he situated himself on the opposite couch. Blair was only too familiar with his partner's ability to disarm any conversation regarding himself or his past. It would take an army to diffuse this situation, or better yet, one very patient Guide.
Jim finally settled himself on the couch and curled his hands around the cup of steaming liquid. He kept the mug close to his face, using it as a shield against the approaching onslaught of questions. "The bridge that we had to cross with Brackett."
Blair leaned in closer, tightly gripping his own cup in his hands. "You mean the one with the mines on it? The one you zoned out on? Why would you be thinking about that?"
Pressing the mug to his face, Jim sipped at the warm liquid. For a split second he followed the trail of warmth as it flowed down his throat to his stomach. The tea left a soothing and yet bitingly bitter taste at the back of his throat. "I could have killed you. I could have killed all of us. One wrong move..."
The lines in Blair's brow deepened as he tried to find the right words to reassure his partner. There was more to this conversation than a mere brush with danger. How many times had he and Jim been faced with difficult situations? There were too many to count. "This has nothing to do with the bridge, does it, Jim? What is it you're not telling me?"
"I'm just saying that I'm not always gonna pick the right square, you know?"
Blair watched as Jim placed the cup on the table and began absently picking at threads in the couch material. "Okay, so you pick the wrong square. What do you think my chances would have been on that bridge if you weren't there?"
"I don't know."
"I'd have died, Jim. I wouldn't have made it ten feet."
Snatching at the afghan on the back of the couch, Jim draped it across his body. "Maybe."
Blair stood up and placed his mug on the coffee table, using it as an excuse to move in closer to his partner. Kneeling in front of the table, Blair kept his eyes on his obviously uncomfortable roommate. "You were concentrating too hard on one of your senses. Why are you beating yourself up about this?"
Jim traced a finger over the woven fibers of the blanket. "I didn't zone because of my senses, "
The admission caught Blair off guard, and he forced himself not to plunge ahead with the umpteen questions that filtered into his mind. Jim was obviously in pain and from past experience, and Blair knew better than to forge ahead without thinking. Filing the questions away for future reference, Blair asked the question that was uppermost in his mind. "What did you zone on Jim?"
For a moment Blair thought he had chosen the wrong words. Jim tossed the blanket aside and moved to stand beside the balcony doors. Unconsciously Blair kicked himself for coming on too strong. Just when he was about to re-phrase his words, Jim voice punctured the silence.
"There was this mission, it was just supposed to be one of those basic training type deals. In and out operation, no big deal. There was this kid, Paul. He was eighteen. One of those 'join the army and see the world' type kids. Anyway, there was this field, totally rigged with mines. I told him to wait for me, I left him behind some brush, while I went back to get the rest of the unit. I wasn't gone more than two minutes. When I got back, he was gone. I gave him a direct order, and the kid just took off. I spotted him a few yards away, right in the middle of the field. Lord knows how he even made it that far. He had this big smile on his face, told me he could handle it. He said that there was a pattern to it two steps left, one right, three left..." Jim's voice trailed off as the sights and sounds exploded in his memory.
"Oh god, Jim. I'm so sorry."
Jim glanced over his shoulder at Blair. The anthropologist sat staring up at him, concern written all over his face. His eyes shone in the dim light of the loft, coaxing Jim to continue his story. Turning back to the flickering lights of the city, Jim inhaled deeply, hoping the fresh air would somehow keep his voice from faltering.
"I went in after him. The kid was right. Two left, one right, three left. I made it within fifteen feet of him before I stopped. I told him to come back, that there were other ways of testing the field. I can remember hearing this faint humming sound. With every breath it seemed to get louder and louder. Pretty soon I could barely stand the pain. I guess I must have lost my balance or something. I can remember feeling a hand, it was his hand on my shoulder. All I wanted to do was get out of there. Anyway, last thing I remember I was being tossed through the air. Debris was flying everywhere, I could smell the sulphur and the powder on my skin. I could taste the damn dirt on the ground. Worst of all, I could see that look on his face. I'll never forget it. It was that look, the look that people get just before they die."
Blair placed a hand on the coffee table to steady himself. "He shouldn't have gone in there, Jim. You said it yourself -- you gave him a direct order."
Jim turned, his voice shaking as he looked down at his friend. "How many times have I asked you to wait in the truck? You never listen either."
Blair stood and moved towards Jim, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not a soldier, Jim; I'm your friend. I trust in your ability; moreover, I trust in you. If I get blown up in some mine field, so be it. I make my own choices, you got that? I'm your Guide and my place is beside you."
Jim smiled slightly, gripping the hand on his shoulder tightly. "Thanks."
Returning the smile, Blair gave Jim's shoulder another quick squeeze before releasing his grip. "Now, Detective Ellison, I'm ordering you to get some sleep. There are worse things than being trapped with you in a mine field."
"Really? And what would those things be, Chief?"
"Being trapped with you and Simon in a mine field. Now that's a nightmare."
Jim chuckled softly as he padded towards his upstairs bedroom. "Goodnight Chief."
"Goodnight Jim."
*****************************
Blair crawled under the covers and drew them up to his chin. Turning on his side, he looked at the numbers on his bedside clock. 4:48 a.m. Closing his eyes Blair snuggled down deeper into the cocoon of blankets. The soft snoring from the room upstairs lulled him to sleep.
~The End~