Disclaimer: Not
mine. No money being made here…. Just
having fun!
Warnings/Notes: Spoilers for S2 and TsbyBS. Sequel to Wages of Sin. This will make no sense at all if you don’t
read that one first. Crossover with my
original characters. Rated somewhere
between PG-13 and R for violence and language.
Thanks to my wonderful
betas, Susn, Lorri, Catherin, and Debbie.
And to everyone who reads my stories and encourages me to keep writing!
Jesse
Riviera stared at the wall across from him.
He hated waiting. Mainly because
waiting gave a person too much time to think.
He listened to the intercom system page yet another doctor to the ER and
thought about everything that had happened.
Kit had left him behind when he took Blair to see Jim Ellison and Jess
still wanted to strangle him for it.
Blair had been so angry when he—when he what? He did not even know what to call it, but Blair had been in a
catatonic state since they had rescued him from the military compound where he
and Jim Ellison had been held. Then he
was just "back" and pissed off.
Jesse had had to get a damn cab, and by the time he got there, it was all
over. Not that he would have wanted to
witness what Kit had described to him.
He would have just liked to have been there to support his friend. He had gotten there just in time to see
Blair come out of 852 Prospect and collapse on the sidewalk. Pete and Kit were right behind him, and it
was decided that maybe Blair needed to get checked out by a doctor. Blair had a different opinion, but Pete
overruled him. They had come to a
compromise when Blair said that he would see his doctor and no one else. So now, they waited. Kit was pacing, and Pete was on the pay
phone. Jess had no idea who he was
talking to, but his boss looked concerned.
Dr.
Orenda Milap frowned as she examined her patient. "Well," she said finally, "you're malnourished and
suffering from exhaustion. You look
like you've been through a meat grinder, but your x-rays are fine, and I don't
see any sign of internal injury. There
are several drugs in your system, one of which I can't identify, which are
probably adding to the feelings of fatigue you're experiencing. When they get out of your system, you should
feel a little better." She shook
her head. "What am I going to do
with you, Blair? Sweetpea, you need to
find a less dangerous line of work."
Blair
gave her a sad smile then lowered his eyes to the floor once more.
"Want
to tell me why Jim's not with you and who those people are out there in the
waiting room?"
"Not
really, Orenda. They're friends,
though. I don't feel like talking about
it."
Orenda
sighed. "Okay. Well, you're going to be sore from the
bruises. I want you go home and—" She did not miss the wince at the word
home. "And sleep, a lot. And eat.
You've lost a lot of weight. You
were thin to start with. Now you look
like one of those starving girls we see in magazines and on fashion
runways. Look at me." He did not raise his head. "Blair Sandburg, look at me." He did.
"I don't know what's happened because you won't tell me, but I do
know that it had to be pretty traumatic.
That man out there, the slick one, he gives me some pathetic story about
line of duty, and I saw the press conference, but I know a smoke screen when I
see one. The fact that Jim is not here
and you don't want him here worries me."
"I'm
okay, Orenda. Thanks for coming in to
check on me. Sorry I called you at
home."
She
rolled her eyes. "Trying to change
the subject? Okay, I'll leave it
alone. But I need to see you in a
week."
"I
won't be here in a week, Orenda."
"And
just where will you be?" Orenda
placed her hands on her hips and gave him her best withering gaze.
"Probably
D.C. I've taken a new job with the guy
out there, the one you called the slick one." There was almost a smile on Blair's face.
"Oh
dear."
"I'll
be okay."
"You'd
better be. I think I need to have a
talk with that young man before you leave here with him."
Her
young patient did smile then. "I
promise to be careful."
"Yes,
you always do promise to be careful and then you end up right back here mere
weeks later. Blair, who is that
man?"
"He's
a friend, Orenda, I swear."
"You
wait here," she ordered. She
stalked out of the exam room, and she could hear him calling her name, but she
ignored him. She walked out to the
waiting room and headed straight for the men that had come in with Blair. They all stood.
"How's
Blair?" one of them asked.
"He'll
be all right with a lot of rest and some good food. Now, I have a few questions.
Who are you?"
The
slick one smiled at her and offered his hand.
"I'm Peter Devereaux. This
is Kit Chase and Jesse Riviera."
He indicated the two men with him in turn. Orenda did not accept his hand. He simply raised it to his short dark hair and ruffled it,
blushing a little as he did.
"Orenda
is an Indian name, right?"
Orenda
turned to glower at Kit Chase.
"Yes. It is."
He
smiled at her and she gave him the same look that she gave Blair whenever he
tried a little misdirection to placate her.
He had the grace to look properly scolded. "Thought so."
"Look,
Blair is a favorite patient of mine. I
understand that he is leaving town with you.
Just what is this new job he's taking with you?"
"We're
a private investigation and security consultation firm in D.C. Blair is going to be our new—" the man
paused, "researcher."
"Right." She narrowed her eyes at him. She was not as stupid as he obviously
thought she was. Not by a long shot.
"I
can give you one of our cards." He
started digging in his coat pocket.
"No,
that's quite all right." She
turned back to Kit Chase. "You
take care of him."
He
blinked, but then nodded. "Yes,
ma'am."
"Fine. I'll go sign his release." She was still not happy, but it was out of
her hands.
"What
was that about?" Pete asked Kit when the tiny doctor was gone.
"She's
a medicine woman."
"Kinda
got that, Kit. Doctor being the title
in front of her name and all."
"Stop
being dense, Pete. You know what I'm
talking about."
"Great,
you're getting weird again."
Kit
only laughed at him.
Fifteen
minutes later, they were leaving the hospital.
Blair was silent as they drove to the airport. Pete tried several times to engage him in conversation, but he would
only nod or shake his head. Finally,
after a signal from Kit to give up, he stopped and concentrated on his
driving. Once at the airport, Pete
turned in the rental car and picked up the tickets he had purchased while
waiting for Blair at the hospital. Now,
they only had to relax in one of the airport's many little restaurants and wait
for their boarding call. They sat down
and a waitress came over. Kit ordered
vegetable plates for himself and Blair, who did not seem inclined to talk to
anyone. Jesse ordered a cheeseburger
and Pete ordered a double vodka straight up.
Kit gave him a sharp look, which he promptly ignored. He needed that vodka. He had a lot of thinking to do.
He
did not regret offering Blair a job. He
had no doubt that the man would be an asset to his company once he had some
time to recover physically and emotionally from everything that had happened to
him, but he wondered if Blair would be happy in his new job. He took in the sad, sullen man across the
table from him and sighed.
Then
there was the problem of Jim Ellison.
Jim was a mess. Pete felt
partially responsible. After all, Jim's
best friend was leaving town with him rather than trying to salvage their
friendship. Yet, he still did not
regret the job offer. Okay, that one
was going in circles. Moving on to his
next problem.
Last
but certainly not least, the more Pete thought about everything that had
happened, the more convinced he was that their problems were not over. Ron MacNamara was not the suicidal type. The man had been afraid. He had told Pete that he was not at the top
of the ladder. Ron had said that
someone else was calling the shots and Pete had seen fear in his eyes. He had ignored that fear at the time. Ron was a coward in his best moments after
all. But looking back, Pete had to
wonder if he had dismissed it too quickly.
Thing was, he now knew that the Pentagon and the CIA were unaware of
some key points of the whole mess. All
of that added up to a third party involved, which meant anyone from a foreign
government to any number of terrorist groups.
He had called Banks while they waited in the hospital and told the man
of his suspicions. Banks assured him he
would pass the information on to Jim.
In the meantime, they were all in danger and they had no idea from who
or where. Yes, he needed that
vodka. In fact, he might need the whole
bottle.
There
were too many people, way too many people and not enough air. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his
breathing. Someone touched him and
something hit the table in front of him.
He jumped and his eyes flew open.
The waitress had already moved away.
He looked down at the vegetable plate she had plopped in front of him
and suddenly felt very ill.
"Bathroom,"
he choked out before he stumbled away from the table. There were too many people in his way! He shoved his way through them despite the fact that they seemed
to try to keep him from his destination.
He slid as he rounded the corner, slamming into the door of the men's
room and nearly falling through it. He
barely made it to the stall before the gagging started. Unfortunately, there was not much on his
stomach to vomit and he spent several agonizing minutes gagging and choking on
the dry heaves. He fell back onto the
cold tile and a wet towel appeared in front of his face. He looked up to see the shaman standing over
him. Kit was his name, he had
learned. Blair tried to smile, but he
knew his attempt was not very successful.
Kit knelt beside him and grasped his shoulder. "Sorry," Blair whispered.
Kit
shook his head. "No reason to
be. Okay now?"
"I
think so."
The
man stood and offered Blair a hand. He
accepted it and let Kit do most of the work to pull him up. It was then that he caught a glimpse of
himself in the mirrors. He let go of
Kit's hand and moved toward his reflection.
One hand rose of its own accord to touch what was left of his hair. It was stupid. He had known that the hair was gone. He could tell, after all.
This was the first time he had really had to look at it though. His chest hurt as he grasped one short curl
and pulled it out straight to look at the length. The man in the mirror looked as if he was about to cry, but Blair
ordered him not to; it was only hair.
Do not be so stupid, he ordered.
It does not matter, he told the stranger reflected back at him through
the glass. He almost had his reflection
convinced when Kit spoke.
"I'm
sorry I wasn't there to stop them."
He
was shaking suddenly and his knees felt weak.
"Damn it! Just hair, damn
it! It doesn't matter!" But his face was wet. "It's not important! It's over!
All over! Get over it!" he
screamed at the man in the mirror. But
the man in the mirror was not listening.
He had to make him listen. He
would make him listen. Then there was
glass everywhere and he was on the floor with Kit practically wrapped around
him.
"Let
it go," the man whispered. "I
know it hurts, but you have to let it go, Blair. You can't move on until you do.
You've faced it. Now, you have
to let it go."
"Everything
okay?" Pete was in the doorway and
Blair tried to turn his head away. His
new boss was going to fire him for being nuts if he did not manage to pull himself
together. Then where would he go?
Kit
answered for him. "He's okay. Mirror's seen better days, but Blair will be
just fine."
"Then
I'll just find somebody and pay for the mirror." Pete disappeared.
"Great. I'm sorry.
Bet he's rethinking that job offer."
Kit
laughed. "Nah, it's okay. He's used to it. Hell, he's made a few messes of his own from time to time."
"What
is wrong with me?!" Now he was
whining, and he hated that.
"You're
just having a run of really bad days.
It'll get better."
"It's
over with Jim. God, that hurts, just to
say it, you know? He was my best
friend! The best friend I ever
had. Man, what does that say about my
life?"
Kit
finally let him go. "You can't
dwell on that." Once again, Kit
helped him up.
"I
miss him already. Is that crazy?"
"No."
"But
I can't go back. I can't. Not now."
"Maybe
later?"
"No. How could I ever trust him again?"
"That's
a question only you can answer."
"I
know."
"Can
you eat something now?"
Blair
shrugged. "Maybe." Kit motioned for him to lead the way out of
the bathroom. He was nearly knocked
down by a frantic man as he opened the door, however.
"Sir! Are you all right? I am so sorry about the state of the bathroom. I can assure you that we do try to maintain
a safe environment. I can not apologize
enough for your accident."
Blair
was confused. He looked back at Kit who
was barely containing his laughter, then looked past the strange man to see
Pete put a finger to his lips as a sign for him to go along with the
story. Blair glared at him. Oddly enough, Peter Devereaux managed to
look both pleased with himself and sheepishly guilty at the same time.
"I'm
fine, sir. Don't worry about it."
"Are
you sure there's nothing I can get for you?
An ice pack? Do you need to see
a doctor?"
"I'm
fine, really. Accidents happen,"
Blair told him.
"If
you're sure?"
"Absolutely."
The
man looked visibly relieved.
"Again, sir, I'm very sorry.
I will have someone in here immediately to clean this room." He hurried away then.
"Let
me guess. You didn't have to pay for
that mirror," Kit accused.
"Hey,
I offered!"
"Yes,
I'm sure you did." Kit shook his head.
"That
was so wrong." Blair frowned.
"Great,
I've hired myself yet another conscience," Pete moaned as he gently pulled
Blair out of the bathroom by his jacket.
"Let's go, Dudley Do-Right.
Let's eat and get the hell out of Dodge."
"Just
how many drinks did you have while we were gone, Pete?" Kit asked as they
made their way back to the table.
"A
few, Mom."
Blair
almost smiled but just as the corners of his mouth started to give in to the
impulse, a stray thought chased it away.
He had walked away from his sentinel.
What would Jim do now?
"Dr.
Rose, I must say that I am sorely disappointed in your lack of
progress." Robert listened to the
man on the other end of the phone line.
"Mr.
Baker, I assure you that I am doing my best for your organization here, but I
am without a true guide for Alex."
"And
the Jew is your only choice? Surely,
you can come up with someone else."
"I
hate to tell you this, but Blair Sandburg is the only true, natural guide that
I am aware of. We have covered this
before. I realize where your
organization stands regarding minorities, but if you want a fully functional
sentinel then we need Sandburg. At
least until we are able to identify other guides."
"Then
go find him. I don't care how, but you
get Barnes operational. Or get me
Ellison. At least he's not some wild
nutcase."
"I
would still need Sandburg." Robert
rubbed his forehead. Why had he gotten
involved with this man and his militant organization? Oh yes, money, a lot of money.
Still, it hardly seemed worth the risk and aggravation now as he tried
to make the man look past his prejudices to accept what was necessary.
"Then
do it, man, before I decide that you've become a liability and find someone who
can get me results. Need I remind you
what happened to our friend, Ron?"
"No,
sir." One step forward, two steps
back, Rose thought to himself. He had
finally gotten through to the man, on one hand. On the other hand, the man was threatening to kill him. Or rather have him killed. He would never do his own dirty work.
"How
is the other part of our venture going?"
"I
can report some progress there, Mr. Baker." For all the good it would do in the short run. Right now, he needed a guide.
"Good.
If this works, Rose, the Freedom
Coalition will have the means to secure a better future for all real
Americans. You have to do whatever is
necessary to make sure it works."
"Yes,
sir, I understand. I just have to find
Blair Sandburg. He has apparently left
Cascade."
"Find
Ellison. Take him and Sandburg will
come to you, right? They are friends,
are they not?"
"They
were, Mr. Baker, but in our attempt to separate Sandburg from Ellison, we may
have destroyed that."
"You
are giving me excuses, Rose. I hate
excuses." The man hung up on him.
Robert
sighed. "Fanatic," he
muttered. He did not happen to share
the views of the Freedom Coalition, but Baker had been willing to fund his
research. All of his research. The discovery of Alex Barnes had changed
everything, as far as Robert was concerned.
They could have more than one sentinel to study. With two sentinels, one male and one female,
there was the potential to breed more sentinels. With all that Blair Sandburg had learned, they could find or
create more guides. Holloway had been
Max's idea, the old man still believing that the Army would be the sole
benefactor of their work, but that had played right into Robert's hands. Sandburg would be needed to salvage
Barnes.
Yet,
when he presented his ideas, his government had been less than receptive. They refused to sanction Robert's
acquisition of Barnes and had wanted to pull the plug on the entire operation,
but MacNamara had made arrangements for him to continue his work. Robert was thankful for those select few
that had things they had to hide and yet strings that they could pull. He should have asked why MacNamara was so
willing to help, but at the time, he had not cared. Ron then brought in the Freedom Coalition and Baker's money to fund
what the government would not. Still,
he had not cared. Senile Max Adler and
the very soldiers that guarded Robert's research were none the wiser to the
real work that was going on. He had
free reign and all the money he could want.
At one time, that had been enough.
Now, he was not so sure. After
all, he could make more money if he could manage to get rid of the Freedom
Coalition and go freelance with Alex once Sandburg got her functioning
again. That had been one of his
original desires. Problem was, he was
firmly in the grasp of Baker and the Coalition, and Baker would kill him before
he would let Robert walk away. He
rubbed his aching temples and sighed.
It would be complicated, but he would find a way.