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.