Work Text:
Blair flipped the switch on the white noise generator slowly, hoping to minimize the click that might disturb Jim's sleep. He had waited two hours after they went to their respective rooms, consciously controlling his breathing to avoid giving his plans away. His stomach twisted in the same anxiety that had plagued him since the return from Sierra Verde, since he had utterly failed to provide the guidance and insight that Jim had needed during the debacle with Alex Barnes. Careful and quiet, Blair pulled on shoes and laced them up before picking up the backpack waiting at the end of the bed and slipping out the back door to the fire escape. He mentally crossed his fingers that the white noise would keep Jim from noticing. Blair knew that even in sleep the Sentinel never fully relinquished his sentry duties.
The chill night air pinched at his lungs, but Blair concentrated on silencing his tread down the metal stairs. When he reached the bottom, he glanced back up, half-fearing, half-hoping to see Jim watching him from the balcony, but only the blank moon stared back. The rational part of his brain argued that he needed to be curled up in bed, once again trying to put together words that would mend the fracture that occurred when he so utterly failed to be the guide Jim needed. But the rational quickly got overridden by the remembrance of the dismissive gesture and Jim's turned back on the beach when Blair couldn't provide reason or assurances for the draw that Alex had exerted over the normally controlled Jim Ellison.
"I'm fucking up, Incacha," Blair whispered into the wind. "You trusted me with him, and I'm fucking it all up." He hitched the backpack higher on his shoulder and jogged to where the Volvo was parked against the curb. Ignoring the desire to slam the car door as he got in, he leaned forward for a brief moment, resting his head on the steering wheel. "I'm not a shaman." The words tumbled out, giving voice to the despair that he had been immersed in for too long, built on the fear of failure that had ignited the moment that Incacha had laid that blood-spattered hand on his arm.
He drew in a deep breath and held it before exhaling slowly. This was not the way to start off. He might not be a shaman, might never have had any visions of his own, but he could keep trying, work harder to become what Jim needed him to be. Forcing himself to move, Blair started the car and began the familiar drive.
The trilling of the phone jolted Jim from sleep. He glanced at the clock as he reached for the extension on the bedside table. 4:30 AM
"Ellison," he snapped.
"Jim? Jim, it's Suzanne Tomaki, from Rainier."
"Suzanne?" Jim rubbed his face and tried to focus. "What is it?"
"It's Blair. I think you need to get down here."
"Blair?" Jim reached out with his hearing, sitting up as he realized that the familiar heartbeat was missing. "What happened?"
"Nothing has happened exactly, but I'm concerned about him. He's been meditating," her voice turned the word over disbelievingly, "for nearly three hours out in the cold. I know people can get caught up in prayer, but it's just too cold for anyone to be out here for that length of time."
"He's meditating on campus?" Bewildered, Jim reached for the jeans and sweatshirt that he had draped over the back of the chair by the bed, attempting to dress while not losing his grip on the phone.
"That's what he said he was doing. A couple different guards stopped to check on him during their campus rounds, and that's what he said. He's been polite and just seemed a bit spacey they said, but he's not doing any harm, so they've let him be. But, Jim, it's been hours now, and when I tried to convince him that he needed to go home, he refused. I can't leave him out there in the cold, but I don't want to have to bring him in by force."
"I'm on my way. Where is he?"
"He's in front of Hargrove Hall," her voice faltered, "by the fountain."
"I'll be there in ten minutes. Keep an eye on him for me until then."
"I will."
Jim disconnected and finished dressing as he pounded down the stairs. He yanked open the door to Blair's room and sighted the white noise generator immediately. With a growl, he flipped the generator off and glanced around the room to see if anything else might be missing. But only Blair and the ubiquitous backpack were gone. That meant Blair was planning on coming back. The fact did little to soothe Jim's angry distress at having his friend sneak out in the middle of the night.
Shoes on and keys in hand, he barreled down the stairs and out to the truck. He forced back images of Blair lying cold and still on the ground next to the fountain as he muttered imprecations against idiot guides risking exposure instead of being safe and warm at home.
Jim nodded in passing at Suzanne as he got out of the truck and stalked toward the flickering candle and shadowed figure at the edge of the fountain. He recognized Blair's meditation pose, legs curled beneath him with hands resting on his knees. Even from across the quad, Jim could see the shivers that wrecked the attempt at stillness. Instead of the peace he generally associated with Blair's meditation, Jim sensed a wretched desperation, and as he got closer, he dialed up his hearing to catch the murmurs that fell haltingly from blue-tinged lips.
"Not for me. For the city. For your Sentinel. Help me find the way. Not for me. For the city. For your Sentinel. Help me find the way." A particularly strong shudder wracked Blair's body, and despair threaded through his voice. "Please Incacha. Not for me. For the city. For your Sentinel. Help me find the way."
The desperation in that wavering plea for Incacha cracked at the walls Jim had built up. He recognized that there had been distance between them, fueled by his own guilt for not resisting Alex and for being less than forthcoming about his visions and experiences with the temple. His anger at his loss of control had gotten directed at Blair when he couldn't direct it at Alex, and here in the darkness of the cold college campus, he recognized that Blair had taken that anger as confirmation of his own failure as a guide.
With quick, silent steps, Jim reached the edge of the fountain and crouched down, his hand pausing millimeters from Blair's cold cheek. He took in the dark circles under Blair's eyes, the stubbled and hollow cheeks, the dew-drenched clothing, the pale lips that whispered over and again that cry for help. His heart hurt watching his guide melt down, hopeless and lost.
"Hey, chief." Jim settled his hand on Blair's shoulder as he spoke. Sadness clenched at him as he realized that this was the first voluntary touch he had offered since the temple in Sierra Verde. He squeezed a little tighter as he recognized how much he had missed that casual grounding touching of his friend, his guide.
Blair startled back, eyes flying open. He checked himself before falling over as his stiff muscles screamed. "J...Jim? Hey, man, wh...what are you d...doing here?" He knew his attempt at nonchalance was undermined by the strong shivers that the cold sent through him.
Jim stared impassively, automatically noting the elevated heart rate and stiff movements. "C'mon, partner. It's time to come home." He watched the shutters come down over expressive blue eyes as Blair leaned forward to blow out the candle. Without words, he reached out to help Blair to his feet when he tottered on numb limbs.
Blair gathered his backpack, holding the candle upright to keep the melted wax from dripping as it cooled. He avoided Jim's gaze, berating himself for screwing up once again. He should have known that coming to campus would end up backfiring, but this was the only place he had ever experienced a vision, and he had hoped, rather unrealistically he supposed, that some vestige of that mysticism might remain here for him. Instead, it got him caught out by the campus police and dragged Jim from bed to collect him.
With one arm around Blair's damp shoulders, steadying him, Jim led them back to his truck. "We'll get your car tomorrow."
"No, that's okay, man. I don't want you to have to go out of your way. I'm fine to drive."
"Get in the truck, Sandburg." Jim yanked open the passenger door.
Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Blair nodded. He clambered in and pulled his jacket closer around him against the bone-deep shivers as he tried to prepare himself for harsh words explaining in no small amount of detail how stupid it was for him to be sitting for hours out on the cold, wet ground in the middle of the night. Huddled in the corner of the cab, he leaned his forehead against the window. Jim started the truck and cranked up the heater before turning the truck back toward the loft.
In the face of Jim's continued stoicism, Blair grew increasingly anxious, and as the door to the loft closed behind them, he turned, "Jim, man..."
"Warm shower and dry clothes, Chief. Then we'll talk." Jim stepped into the kitchen after hanging up his jacket.
Blair stared after him, but recognizing the dismissal, moved to follow orders as he began to compose an innocuous explanation for the night's activities. Somehow, he didn't think that he wanted to be reminding Jim that his guide didn't have the shamanistic props needed when the shit hit the fan. His place already felt too tenuous to endure that kind of truth.
Warmed by the shower and armored in sweat pants and two layers of shirts, Blair stepped hesitantly toward the tea steaming in the mug on the table, keeping a wary eye on Jim's stiff back by the balcony windows.
"I fucked up, Sandburg. With Alex. And I should have apologized for that before."
Blair choked on his tea, bringing on a series of deep, wracking coughs that had Jim across the room, carefully taking the mug and leading Blair over to the couch.
He watched Blair compose himself, running his hands over his face and back through his unruly curls.
"Breathe, chief."
Blair stared down at his hands clenched tightly against his knees, struggling to find the equilibrium that continued to elude him. Anger and guilt warred within him as he searched for safe words, but what tumbled out was anything but. "It was like I didn't matter. You took off after her, and nothing I could do was enough to help. She fucking killed me, man, and you still protected her."
Jim flinched, but remained silent, knowing Blair needed the space to talk.
"And all I could think was that if I really was a shaman, I would know what to do, you know? Incacha, he could have been the guide you needed, but you got stuck here with me, and I didn't have the answers you needed." Tears choked his voice and the shudders that swept through him were no longer from the cold. "You walked away. I couldn't be what you needed, and you walked away."
"But you never did, Blair." Jim reached out and cupped Blair's cheek, unable to resist the need to touch, to reconnect with, his guide. He tipped Blair's face up to meet his eyes. "You've been my guide since I walked into that crowded closet and found a neo-hippy witch-doctor punk who taught me what a Sentinel is." He swallowed hard and rubbed his thumb over the smooth-shaven skin, enjoying the drag of the warm skin. "I don't need some mystical guru who talks to spirits. I need my guide. I need you."
"You mean that?" Blair stared, searching for lies and finding only pained truth.
"Yeah, Blair, I mean that. No more apologies for being what I need, okay?" He pulled Blair closer, needing to feel the warmth and strength in that smaller frame, unable to suppress a smile as Blair's arms clenched tight around him. After long weeks of estrangement, it was like coming home. "But you go out risking your health like that again, and we're gonna have a problem."
"Duly noted," Blair watery chuckle sounded against Jim's neck. They maintained their hold on one another, reconnecting, finding their way back to their path together as the tea cooled slowly on the table beside them.