A Different Way of Seeing Read online

  He breathed in the moist, humid air, and breathed out the coldness deep within him.

  The water swirled around his head, an equally warm hand brushing lightly against his face. Stroking through his hair. Soothing. Calming. Easing the hurt.

  He didn't have to think. That was the best part. He just floated in limbo, relaxed, safe.

  Words hovered over the surface, rolling toward him...and then away...like tidal waters pulled by the moon. He would almost have their meaning, and then they would elude his grasp, trickling through his fingers, only to return again and tease at him.

  "Almost done here, Chief. That's it."

  Jim's voice. Jim's hands.

  "You're doing good. I'm just going to rinse you off."

  The water was nice. Warm and cradling. Flowing over his head like a baptismal blessing. Like oil.

  There was a tune that fluttered through his memory and was gone.

  Water ran down his skin as it drained away, pulling the pain with it. The towel was nice, too. Gently patting a body that felt too bruised to move. Cocooning him. Lifting him.

  And then he was sitting up, still breathing in the steam. Feeling the condensation like dew on his cheeks.

  He hummed under his breath, trying to catch the tune. Grandfather's song.

  Something on his face. It smelled nice. On his beard.

  The song was about a beard.

  How did that go? His grandfather used to sing it to him. He could hear the scarred baritone voice rising like incense to the heavens, aloft on the breeze. First loudly to God in Hebrew and then softly for him in English, the small child entranced in the courts of the synagogue. Behold, how good and how pleasant it is...

  That was it. He had it now. The words were coming back to him, over the years. Behold how good and how pleasant it is, for brothers to dwell together in unity...

  He hummed it again, feeling the vibration in his chest, hearing the echo in the small room.

  Behold how good and how pleasant it is

  For brothers to dwell together in unity!

  It is like precious oil upon the head,

  Coming down upon the beard,

  Even Aaron's beard,

  Coming down upon the edge of his robes.

  Grandfather used to sing it to him.

  He breathed out slowly, letting the memory settle around him. Three months of treasured memories living in his grandparents' house. Walking through the streets, holding tight to his grandfather's hand, watching the two long curls bounce as his grandfather talked to him. His own hair was short then, a tangle of soft curls framing his five-year-old face. Grandfather's hair was shorter than his, except for the curls that were long, dancing as he walked through the streets in his long black coat.

  His chin was lifted and he felt the gentle scrape against his throat, and he stilled the tune until it was done and a soft damp towel wiped his face and neck. Then he was standing. Something went over his head, so quickly that he didn't have time to feel suffocated. Soft, loose clothing, his hands and arms maneuvered into sleeves. His feet were lifted, first one and then the other. More clothing pulled on by hands that were comforting and a voice that was calming.

  The tune came back and he hummed it again as he was lifted, carried, and then lowered gently to his bed. A quilt covered him as he floated in his memories, anchoring him, keeping him safe.

  Behold how good and how pleasant it is...

  * * *

  Ellison sat on the side of Sandburg's bed watching him sleep and, finally, as midnight approached, he felt the calm that had descended on his partner move to cover him as well.

  Not the homecoming he had planned. They were supposed to have returned to the loft, spent some time relaxing, had some dinner -- maybe they would have sat out on the balcony and talked about what was happening with Sandburg's sight. He had a rather awkward speech prepared to give to the younger man, something about how good it was to have him home at last and how he would do everything in his power to make sure he would never get to the point where he would treat Blair so unfairly again. He was going to make sure the kid understood him.

  Instead, he found himself struggling to strip the sweat-damp clothes from his partner and then immerse a shivering, muscle-knotted Guide into a hot bath, trying to ease the painful cramps that had twisted Blair into a hunched-up ball. But it had served just as well. As the heat worked its magic, Sandburg had gradually relaxed. Ellison had then surprised himself as he went on to ritualistically cleanse away the telltale reminders of Sandburg's near-drowning and hospital stay -- and the memory of another Sentinel who had come far too close to his Guide. He had gently scrubbed around the bruised skin erasing the bandage marks, shampooed and rinsed hair, shaved the coarse beard.

  And in so doing, he had healed something within himself and within his partner.

  At least, for a while.

  He stood and stretched, his gaze once again finding the young man curled so relaxed beneath the quilt. There had been no indication from his partner that his sight had returned. In fact, Sandburg's eyes had been closed the entire evening, drifting in and out of consciousness and awareness. Occasionally he would hum, smiling to himself, and Jim would smile in response, not knowing what had prompted the tune but knowing it had pleased Blair.

  Ellison reluctantly left the bedroom and mounted the stairs to his loft room. The bed accepted his weight, and with an exhausted sigh, he rolled over and went to sleep.

  Morning found him downstairs, making coffee, waiting. Sandburg had slept through the night undisturbed, hardly moving from the position Ellison had left him in. At four minutes to eight o'clock, he heard the creak of the futon bed, soft muttering about socks for cold feet, then Sandburg stumbled out of his room to collapse at the counter.

  And look up at him and smile. "Hey, Jim."

  "Can you see?"

  "Good morning, Jim. How you doing, man? You appear to be a little tired," Blair said, eyes sparkling at the emphasis.

  "You can see." He held out a cup of coffee, nodding happily as it was taken from his hand. "So, is it Cascade or Peru?"

  "Cascade," Blair said, his smile fading slightly. "With just a touch of the jungle," he added, his face reflecting the resignation. "I'm not complaining. It beats the alternative." He took a sip of the hot coffee, then placed the mug on the counter. "I'm going to have a shower."

  "There's lots of hot water; take your time. I'll have breakfast ready when you get out," he said, taking the eggs from the fridge.

  "Thanks. I'll be quick." Blair walked into the bathroom, then a moment later came back out, a hesitant smile on his face. "Uh...Jim...Did you--?"

  "Give you a bath last night? Yup."

  Blair gave a choked laugh, his eyes widening. "No shit?" He disappeared back into the bathroom, only to reappear again, tugging at Jim's long-sleeved T-shirt that he just realized he was wearing. "Uh...thanks. I guess I needed it, huh?"

  Jim cracked the eggs into a bowl. "Yeah." We both did. He didn't look up, though, concentrating on beating the eggs. "There's a load of your clothes in the dryer, and another in the washer. Now get in the shower. I may not be so gentle if I have to do it again."

  Hands raised in mock surrender, Blair went back into the bathroom.

  Fifteen minutes later, curls still dripping occasionally onto the table, his Guide quickly consumed the simple breakfast and reluctantly followed it with the antibiotics he was still ordered to take. "Are we going to the station today?"

  "I don't know. We shouldn't rush things. I barely convinced the doctor to let you go." Jim took their dishes and lowered them into the soapy water in the sink. "Are you up to it?"

  "Yeah. I think so. For the morning, at least. I'd like to see everyone. Say thank you for their help and stuff."

  "Okay." Leaving the dishes to soak, Jim poured them both some more coffee, and they moved to the couches in the living room. "Let's talk about your sight."

  Blair nodded, swallowing his nervousness. "It seems to be okay now. I
can still see both images, but Cascade is stronger."

  "Do you know why you went blind last night?"

  "As the Borg say, 'Resistance is futile'."

  "What?" Jim asked, not getting the reference.

  Blair shrugged, not meeting the older man's eyes. "I think I'm being shown something about my attitudes. I'm being taught something."

  "About what?"

  "About what it means to be a Guide. Your Guide."

  "You were doing fine before, Chief."

  "I don't think so, man. I think...I think someone or something is trying to hurry us along. Maybe something is going to happen. I think we were on the right course, but we -- I -- got a little sidetracked and I'm being shown where I was missing out. Sort of putting me back online."

  "We're both being put back online. This is a two-way partnership."

  "Yeah. I thought at first that maybe whenever we're together, I'm going to be able to hear and see normally. And whenever we're apart, I'll see the jungle. But it hasn't always worked that way. It's not consistent. I spoke to Simon when you weren't there. It was hard to see him, but I could make him out. So it might have just as much to do with attitude as proximity. Maybe it's when I'm being your Guide, I can see. When I'm resisting, I can't see properly. The more I resist, the less I can see."

  Jim waited until Blair looked at him. "That's a harsh sentence."

  "Maybe. And we won't even get into why this is happening and who is causing it, okay? I really don't want to find out that my psyche came up with this all on my own."

  "I dreamed it, too, remember."

  "Then I'll blame you," Blair said, his smile cutting through the remark. "So, I guess I'll just try and be a good little Guide, do whatever you want, and follow you around all day and stay out of trouble."

  "Blair, I--"

  "I'm sorry, that didn't sound right. This is my problem, Jim, not yours, so I'm going to have to..." He trailed off, then nodded slightly. "But it's not, is it? It's not just my problem. I think in terms of me and you, when I should be thinking us."

  Jim stared at him, his jaw clenched. "Did it happen again?"

  "Just a flicker. Enough to remind me. Like a piano teacher telling you to sit up straight." Blair smiled. "It's okay."

  "You're very accepting of all this. I wouldn't be."

  "It's not like I have a lot of choice in the matter, is it? Not if I want to do this right. And I want to, Jim."

  "I still don't like it. I don't like feeling manipulated."

  "Then don't think of it that way." Blair raised a hand, stopping his retort. "Listen, you and I, we don't know a lot about this Sentinel thing. Really, we don't. I know a few bits and pieces, but we've got no other Sentinels and Guides around to talk to about what is normal and what isn't. Just this guy who pops up in your dreams. Maybe we really are being taught something. Something that will fix whatever is wrong. Meanwhile...I think we should do our best to continue as normal. Unless you...well, hear otherwise."

  "You really are feeling better this morning?" Jim asked, softly.

  "Yeah," Blair nodded. "I'm not sure what all happened last night, but for a short time there, I felt such incredible peace, man." He glanced up at Jim, as though checking to see if he was listening. "I remembered my grandfather."

  "You've never mentioned your grandfather before."

  "I don't remember why, but I went to live with Naomi's parents for a few months when I was about five. Her father was tall and fierce-looking, with dark eyes and he wore a long Hasidic coat. He had the curls, the whole bit. I adored him and he adored me. We just sorta clicked. I went everywhere with him. I think I laughed more during those few months than I did for the next ten years. It was cool, too, because I remember Naomi coming back to get me, and my grandfather hugging her and my grandmother crying. I think something healed in their home that day. Which was good because he died the next summer."

  "You were humming to yourself."

  "Right. Yeah. The song. Grandfather used to sing this song to me. I was remembering it. About how good and pleasant it is for brothers to live together in unity. How blessed. And that's what I was feeling then. That we were connected again. The carrier hum was in place."

  "It was," Jim said. "I felt it, too."

  "I wish it were back," Blair said, meeting his eyes sadly. "I feel okay right now, but not like last night."

  "If it happened once, it can happen again." They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Jim stood to go. "Do we tell Simon about your sight?"

  Blair accepted his help in getting up from the couch. "Why don't we see how it goes? Would that be okay? I mean, he already knows there's something wrong with me, but why don't we see how this morning goes, and then talk to him in the afternoon?"

  "You'll tell me how you're feeling? You'll lie down when you need to?"

  "I promise," Blair replied, seriously. "We'll take it slow. Besides, I have this phobia of the dark...."

  * * *

  9:30 a.m.

  It was a little overwhelming, coming to the station, but Blair was seeing the double image and could navigate around the bullpen unassisted, so he soon relaxed and enjoyed watching the tribal people milling around him smiling, transforming into familiar faces as they approached the desk to talk. The babble of voices in the bullpen (all nonsense phrases as far as Blair could tell -- it didn't sound like any language he'd heard before) became clear when the speaker came near and spoke to either him or Jim, so he relaxed further and scooted his chair as close to Jim's as he could.

  By ten o'clock, the novelty of his return had worn off and Major Crimes had gone back to work, leaving Jim at the computer and Blair sitting beside him, basically twiddling his thumbs. "Now what?" he mumbled to himself.

  "Now we get some work done. I've pulled up Alex's file here--" Ellison handed him something. "And here's a folder with all the information I ran on her earlier."

  Blair glanced down to the pile of bark in his hand. "Uh, Jim..."

  Ellison looked over to him. "Can you see it?"

  "No. Well, I know you handed me a file folder, but that's all speculative since I'm looking at tree bark shavings." He tried, but couldn't keep the slight tremble from his voice. There wasn't even a double image now. Just the jungle. Trees and vines and tangled underbrush. Why? What had he done wrong now? He was with Jim, wasn't he?

  Ellison took the file from his hands, then stood and led him to what must be the break room and gently pushed him onto a tree stump/chair, crouching down before him. The Sentinel waited until he met the man's eyes, and then asked, "Any ideas on what we can do? Is there anything I can do?"

  "I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing wrong." His eyes threatened tears, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

  "Maybe it's not you. It could just as easily be me." Ellison placed his hands on Sandburg's knees, keeping the contact, but it didn't help Blair's sight any. The jungle remained. "You said it hasn't been consistent, remember?"

  "I don't know. I can't figure it out." He took a deep breath, exhaling it rather shakily. "You didn't happen to have another dream, did you? I could use a bit more information for this one."

  "Sorry, Chief. No dream. But I'm here, okay? You know I'm here."

  "Yeah." Sniff. "Thanks." Another sniff, but at least he was keeping himself together. "That was nice coming in and seeing everyone," Blair said, changing the topic.

  "They were all concerned about you," Jim said, his fist lightly tapping Blair's knee.

  "And you. They were looking at you just as much as they were looking at me."

  "It's just this damned huge smile on my face," Ellison said, grinning. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're here. I'm overwhelmed sometimes that you're alive and sitting here and we have another chance to set things right. That you're here with me."

  Blair smiled back, feeling something release inside his chest. He almost gasped at the sensation, at the weight that no longer pressed against him. At the emotion born within him. Last night had been Peace. Thi
s was Joy. He laughed, hearing the delight in it. "I'm glad to be here, Jim. Really."

  "And if we have to go now and take you home, we will. You tell me what you want to do."

  Blair thought about it for a minute, but couldn't come up with any brilliant ideas or solutions. "Why don't we just see what happens for a while. Maybe I'll try to chart when my sight comes and goes, so we know what the parameters are to this."

  "Sounds good." Ellison stood, the hand moving from Sandburg's knee and while the jungle remained full force, it was overlaid now by the shadowy image of the break room. "Want anything while we're here?"

  Well, it was a start. But wasn't it supposed to happen the other way? Sandburg sighed, his head hurting. "Some tea. Thanks. I'm not up to trying to boil water yet. I'd probably start a fire and burn the place down."

  "Regular or spearmint?"

  "The mint would be nice." He closed his eyes and listened as Jim put the kettle on, got out a mug, and took a tea bag from the box in the cupboard. "Where do you think she is?"

  "I don't know. Simon thinks she might be in Columbia."

  "Can you feel her around here?"

  "No. Not even that...tension...I was feeling for the last few weeks."

  "That's good." Eyes still closed, Blair ran his hands over the round table top, stopping when he found a pen someone had left behind. "What about her apartment? Did anyone check it?"

  "Brown did. I've got the report on my desk."

  "Anything there?"

  "I haven't actually read it yet. I'm sure Simon would have said something, though. He would have called me at the hospital or at the loft."

  "Yeah." Blair fingered the pen, clicking the end. "Jim, I wasn't trying to ditch you or anything. I wouldn't have been her Guide. I was just trying to help her."

  "I know." Ellison unplugged the kettle and filled the mug with boiling water. "I didn't understand it then, though. I couldn't think. It was like the most intense jealousy I had ever felt. I saw her in your office, going through your things. I knew you had been with her." He took a spoon and took out the tea bag, dropping it into the garbage can. "I could smell her on you. You stank of her. Not the scent of a woman but the mark of another Sentinel."