Shadows of the Past, Part 3
Jan. 28th, 2006 09:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lit_galSee me spamming? I have a huge project due, but I've got it 2/3rds done, and I need a break. So I give you...
Shadows of the Past (Sentinel)
Chapter Three
All previous parts
Still in that fuzzy, gray place that existed between asleep and awake, Jim heard the footsteps stop outside their cell door, and he opened his eyes immediately. At some time during the past few hours, Blair had tried to get up to go to the other bunk, and Jim had held tighter. They'd had a silent fight until Blair had given up, slumping down in Jim's embrace and now Jim woke with Blair curled against his stomach, Blair's head resting on his shoulder, and his drool leaving a damp patch on his t-shirt.
The lock on the door made an unusual whiny beep and then the door started creeping open with the sound of metal sliding against metal.
"Rise and shine, Junior," Jim said as he shook Blair's shoulder. Blair just shifted, throwing an arm around Jim's waist. "Come on, Chief. We have visitors." This time his words caused a single bloodshot eye to open and the arm retreated from Jim's waist.
"Huh?"
"Always the morning person," Jim said as he pushed the tangled mane of hair out of Blair's face. "Someone's here," Jim added, and that got the second eye open as Blair started struggling up.
"I'm awake," he insisted in a voice still slurred with sleep.
Jim opened his mouth to point out that Blair never woke up without frightening amounts of caffeine, but the door swung open and Michael walked in. Jim was surprised to see the man alone, but then Michael had already proved he could take Jim and that was before the torture and hunger and lack of sleep had left Jim feeling significantly under par. It had also been when Jim was still in peak form and well armed, so Jim didn't have any illusions about his chances of success now.
"Follow me," Michael said in that soft voice that was at odds with the man's deadly nature. Blair looked to Jim, and Jim could only shrug as he stood to follow. The lack of guards and shackles and weapons made him feel like he should do something even though common sense told him he'd fail.
"So, where exactly are we following to?" Blair asked as Jim made sure to keep his guide behind his own body as they followed into the corridor. Michael didn't answer, and Blair started to dart forward. Picturing Blair trying to tug at the man or get in front of him, Jim reached out and grabbed his guide's shoulder rather than have Blair slammed against some wall.
"Shower and then breakfast before training," Michael finally said as he stopped at a door, slipping a swipe card into a slot before pushing the door open. Inside Jim could see an empty locker room, and he could feel Blair's muscles tense under his hand. He understood Blair's reluctance. For whatever reason, Blair normally hid under layers of clothing and even slept in a t-shirt, but communal showering was a way of life for soldiers and prisoners, so Jim needed to stop the objection before Blair could make enough fuss to attract a pair of guards who would strip and forcibly wash him.
"We are starting to smell a little ripe," Jim said with a wrinkle of his nose as he pushed on Blair's shoulder to get him moving.
"Oh man, are you having trouble with your sense of smell?" Blair immediately asked as Jim's misdirection successfully sidetracked him.
"Just dialing down to avoid the sour smell," Jim said truthfully. The smell of Blair's sweat--and his own-- was tainted with the sharp bitterness of fear and a medicinal sweetness left behind by the injections.
"We'll need fresh clothes then," Blair told Michael even as Jim pushed him through to the room. Michael didn't answer, but Jim had no doubt that either the agent or the microphones that monitored them would pick up the request.
"Man, now that you mention it, even I can smell myself. I should have suggested at least washing up in the sink. This really is kinda bad."
"No problem, Chief," Jim answered as he pulled the shirt over his head. He ignored Michael, and after a couple of seconds, Blair followed his lead. He didn't mention that the need to hold Blair had overridden every other need so that Jim had twitched even the one time Blair had gotten up to pee, and he hadn't relaxed until his guide was in his arms again. This would be a whole new chapter in Blair's dissertation, and he really didn't want to explain his sudden and unexpected need to have Blair close.
Once he started stripping, Blair finished as quickly as possible, grabbing a towel and darting through the archway to the shower room where Michael's eyes couldn't easily see him from the sink area. Jim followed, his sudden possessiveness forcing him into keeping his guide in sight. As Blair turned the water on in the communal shower area, his hairy back caught individual drops of water from the spray so that Sentinel vision could see a rainbow of water-jewels clinging to his back before he stepped under the full spray which washed away the optical illusion of jewels along with the smell of fear and medicine.
Jim tore himself away from the near-zone and went to a shower nozzle on the opposite wall.
"So, how screwed are we?" Blair barely whispered as he washed his hair with soap out of an unmarked bottle.
"Screwed enough that I have no doubt they're recording every word," Jim answered in a normal tone of voice. Blair looked at him sharply, and Jim could see the alarm and confusion in that expression.
"What are they..." Blair stopped.
"They have a job for me, and you're leverage."
"Oh man, I am so sorry," Blair offered as he turned, his upper body clothed in the scummy cheap soap that all institutions seemed to use. The scent already reminded him of every army base where he'd ever lived.
"Not your fault, Chief," Jim insisted without saying whose fault it really was. He assumed Blair had already figured that out. Instead he focused on cleaning the stink of fear and Madeleine's drug off his own skin, carefully bottling the guilt so that he could take it out later when he wasn't quite as worried about things like getting them out of this alive. Unfortunately, he had no idea how he was going to do that.
Jim listened as Blair mumbled too softly for even him to hear, and only then did he realize that the sounds of the washcloth sliding over Blair's skin had stopped. Blair had finished and now stood under the spray of hot water, waiting. As quickly as possible, Jim finished up and grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist as he went out to face Michael.
As he expected, the man stood waiting, leaning against the white tile of the outer bathroom area. The four sinks sitting on their silver pipes lined up in military precision under four perfectly square mirrors across from four stall doors painted in an off-white that looked nearly gray after all the stark white Jim had seen in the last few hours.
Michael gestured toward a rack where someone had draped white cotton clothing over the rod. Jim grabbed the entire pile, sorting out the smaller items and passing them over to Blair who shrugged into them without even fully drying off. By the time Jim pulled the white sweats over his Section-issued cotton briefs, Blair had dressed and was glaring at Michael. For his part, Michael continued to stand statue still and silent.
"Razors?" Jim asked without much hope as he pulled on his shirt and felt the fibers snagging on his morning stubble. To his surprise Michael walked to a narrow tall cupboard and used the pass card to unlock it before holding out an electric razor. Jim took it and held it out for Blair.
"Man, when I finish, that thing isn't going to be sharp enough to shave peach fuzz," Blair said with a smile as he ran a hand over his own thick dark stubble. "You go ahead first." The whole time Blair kept his arms crossed over his stomach, and the gesture revealed all the fear Blair kept out of his steady voice and resolute face. Without a word, Jim flicked it on and shaved, feeling each hair pulled and sliced. He used the sensation to reset his dial for touch until he could only feel the vibrations of the machine and not the painful tugs. When he finished, he handed over the electric shaver to Blair as he turned to Michael.
"What sort of training is on the schedule?" Jim asked as though he were talking to some army buddy. He didn't expect the familiarity to make Michael lower his guard completely; however, if he could get the man to see him as a fellow soldier, he might get a sliver of advantage or a flicker of hesitation on the trigger. It could prove to be the difference between life or death.
"You need to qualify on weapons and hand to hand. Some simulation scenarios. Training with our equipment and support personnel." Michael spoke in fragments, a distracted expression on his face as though the question had interrupted some important internal conversation. Jim seriously hoped that part of that conversation included guilt over kidnapping innocent anthropologists.
"How long's the ramp up?" Jim asked, referring to the period of time he had to develop the skills specific to whatever mission they had in mind.
"One week. Birkhoff has the details." Michael still sounded polite, but the tone made it clear that he was through talking. Jim swallowed his questions, and gathered Blair to his side with a single hand under the man's upper arm, pulling him close. Rationally Jim knew that Blair was just as vulnerable standing next to him, but emotionally he couldn't deny the need to put himself between his guide and this world, a world which Blair had no way of understanding.
Blair surrendered the shaver, and Michael locked it away before leaving the bathroom, leaving Jim and Blair to follow, the bathroom door clicking shut behind them. The soap had washed away the sour stink of old terror, but Jim could still smell wisps of fear from Blair as they walked the sharply antiseptic hallways. Silence broken only by the echo of their footsteps off the concrete finally gave way to the sounds of life. After getting off one elevator, Jim could hear the clicking of a woman's high heels against the concrete and smell the earthy musk of someone who had walked though the hallway recently after working up a sweat. His senses had never been this sharp, but then he had never been in so much danger and needed them so badly.
As the hallway ended in a large octagon of a room, Jim tightened his grip on Blair's arm as he followed Michael around two huddled groups whose dirt smudged faces and grass stained black outfits smelled of car exhaust and gunpowder. From the tight faces, he guessed their mission hadn't gone well.
Jim remembered all those years before when his team had been captured. He'd been walking point through a stand of trees made brittle by drought, following a gash in the earth that would have been a creek in better years. Because he was walking point, he scanned the ground carefully, well aware that both sides of this ugly civil war had mined the country side. But there were always signs, an unusual mound of earth, a strangely symmetrical pile of rocks, a tangle of tree limbs that didn't match the way the dried stream had deposited other debris.
He checked his map. They were an hour from the target, an international spokesman taken hostage by a group that claimed to represent the people but really represented the bank accounts of a small group of men. Still a lieutenant, Jim's job was to provide cover for the demolitions expert and rescue team following with the rest of the team.
A sudden burst of gunfire sent him flying to the ground as he pulled up his weapon and thumbed off the safety in one smooth motion. The trees remained silent, not even a bird moving as the forest fell silent. Jim pushed himself up on one knee as he searched for some sign. If it had been Jones getting twitchy on the trigger finger, Captain Horne would have already called the all-clear, but the radio remained eerily silent.
Even though he wanted to rush back to his team, Jim moved cautiously through the forest, remaining in each new hiding place for long minutes as he circled back. Sliding from the shadow of a dead tree to the side of a boulder tilting drunkenly, he spotted a patch where the dead green color didn't quite match the landscape. Jim focused until the patch moved, and he could make out a shoulder and the side of a painted face.
Jim crept silently through the deep shadows, keeping low to the ground until he was within yards of the silent guard. As the man had knelt up to try and look north, Jim leapt, his gun held out as a battering ram as he ruthlessly slammed the man's head into the solid trunk of a green giant. Jim didn't even have time to check the man for weapons before his own head exploded with and lights that existed only in his own mind blinded him.
When Jim blinked his way back to consciousness, he found himself tied hand and foot with plastic straps that dug into his skin. He glanced around without fully opening his eyes as he tried to figure out who had captured him. Michael stood over him, and Jim remained as silent as possible as he hoped for a chance to free himself.
"He hit me," a deep voice complained. Jim finally opened his eyes as a heavy boot slammed into his side hard enough to make his stomach cramp as he twisted in his bonds.
"You were warned," answered that calm voice and French accent that Jim had learned to fear over the next few hours. At first Jim thought the man meant him, but then he looked up to see Michael aim a small handgun at the head of his attacker, a man dressed like Michael with a bandage on the side of his face. Jim flinched as Michael pulled the trigger before the man had a chance to even fully turn, his skull fragmented as bits of bone and blood and brain exploded across the landscape and across Jim's team members who were tied nearby.
"Oh man, that's gonna break if you don't chill out," a voice interrupted his memory, and Jim found that he had involuntarily tightened his grip on Blair's arm as he followed Michael through an arch that led to another hallway. Jim wondered whether everyone who failed faced the same cold judgment Michael had shown that nameless soldier. He wondered whether he and Blair would face the same.
"Sorry," Jim offered as he let go of Blair's arm, slipped his arm over Blair's shoulders as he resisted the irrational urge to give Blair a nuggie. "We're going to be okay, Chief," Jim added. From the incredulous look Blair gave him out of the side of his eyes, he knew Blair doubted him, but Jim just tightened his arm around Blair's shoulders in silent promise. At the very least he was going to make sure Blair was alright no matter what he had to sacrifice.
Shadows of the Past (Sentinel)
Chapter Three
All previous parts
Still in that fuzzy, gray place that existed between asleep and awake, Jim heard the footsteps stop outside their cell door, and he opened his eyes immediately. At some time during the past few hours, Blair had tried to get up to go to the other bunk, and Jim had held tighter. They'd had a silent fight until Blair had given up, slumping down in Jim's embrace and now Jim woke with Blair curled against his stomach, Blair's head resting on his shoulder, and his drool leaving a damp patch on his t-shirt.
The lock on the door made an unusual whiny beep and then the door started creeping open with the sound of metal sliding against metal.
"Rise and shine, Junior," Jim said as he shook Blair's shoulder. Blair just shifted, throwing an arm around Jim's waist. "Come on, Chief. We have visitors." This time his words caused a single bloodshot eye to open and the arm retreated from Jim's waist.
"Huh?"
"Always the morning person," Jim said as he pushed the tangled mane of hair out of Blair's face. "Someone's here," Jim added, and that got the second eye open as Blair started struggling up.
"I'm awake," he insisted in a voice still slurred with sleep.
Jim opened his mouth to point out that Blair never woke up without frightening amounts of caffeine, but the door swung open and Michael walked in. Jim was surprised to see the man alone, but then Michael had already proved he could take Jim and that was before the torture and hunger and lack of sleep had left Jim feeling significantly under par. It had also been when Jim was still in peak form and well armed, so Jim didn't have any illusions about his chances of success now.
"Follow me," Michael said in that soft voice that was at odds with the man's deadly nature. Blair looked to Jim, and Jim could only shrug as he stood to follow. The lack of guards and shackles and weapons made him feel like he should do something even though common sense told him he'd fail.
"So, where exactly are we following to?" Blair asked as Jim made sure to keep his guide behind his own body as they followed into the corridor. Michael didn't answer, and Blair started to dart forward. Picturing Blair trying to tug at the man or get in front of him, Jim reached out and grabbed his guide's shoulder rather than have Blair slammed against some wall.
"Shower and then breakfast before training," Michael finally said as he stopped at a door, slipping a swipe card into a slot before pushing the door open. Inside Jim could see an empty locker room, and he could feel Blair's muscles tense under his hand. He understood Blair's reluctance. For whatever reason, Blair normally hid under layers of clothing and even slept in a t-shirt, but communal showering was a way of life for soldiers and prisoners, so Jim needed to stop the objection before Blair could make enough fuss to attract a pair of guards who would strip and forcibly wash him.
"We are starting to smell a little ripe," Jim said with a wrinkle of his nose as he pushed on Blair's shoulder to get him moving.
"Oh man, are you having trouble with your sense of smell?" Blair immediately asked as Jim's misdirection successfully sidetracked him.
"Just dialing down to avoid the sour smell," Jim said truthfully. The smell of Blair's sweat--and his own-- was tainted with the sharp bitterness of fear and a medicinal sweetness left behind by the injections.
"We'll need fresh clothes then," Blair told Michael even as Jim pushed him through to the room. Michael didn't answer, but Jim had no doubt that either the agent or the microphones that monitored them would pick up the request.
"Man, now that you mention it, even I can smell myself. I should have suggested at least washing up in the sink. This really is kinda bad."
"No problem, Chief," Jim answered as he pulled the shirt over his head. He ignored Michael, and after a couple of seconds, Blair followed his lead. He didn't mention that the need to hold Blair had overridden every other need so that Jim had twitched even the one time Blair had gotten up to pee, and he hadn't relaxed until his guide was in his arms again. This would be a whole new chapter in Blair's dissertation, and he really didn't want to explain his sudden and unexpected need to have Blair close.
Once he started stripping, Blair finished as quickly as possible, grabbing a towel and darting through the archway to the shower room where Michael's eyes couldn't easily see him from the sink area. Jim followed, his sudden possessiveness forcing him into keeping his guide in sight. As Blair turned the water on in the communal shower area, his hairy back caught individual drops of water from the spray so that Sentinel vision could see a rainbow of water-jewels clinging to his back before he stepped under the full spray which washed away the optical illusion of jewels along with the smell of fear and medicine.
Jim tore himself away from the near-zone and went to a shower nozzle on the opposite wall.
"So, how screwed are we?" Blair barely whispered as he washed his hair with soap out of an unmarked bottle.
"Screwed enough that I have no doubt they're recording every word," Jim answered in a normal tone of voice. Blair looked at him sharply, and Jim could see the alarm and confusion in that expression.
"What are they..." Blair stopped.
"They have a job for me, and you're leverage."
"Oh man, I am so sorry," Blair offered as he turned, his upper body clothed in the scummy cheap soap that all institutions seemed to use. The scent already reminded him of every army base where he'd ever lived.
"Not your fault, Chief," Jim insisted without saying whose fault it really was. He assumed Blair had already figured that out. Instead he focused on cleaning the stink of fear and Madeleine's drug off his own skin, carefully bottling the guilt so that he could take it out later when he wasn't quite as worried about things like getting them out of this alive. Unfortunately, he had no idea how he was going to do that.
Jim listened as Blair mumbled too softly for even him to hear, and only then did he realize that the sounds of the washcloth sliding over Blair's skin had stopped. Blair had finished and now stood under the spray of hot water, waiting. As quickly as possible, Jim finished up and grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist as he went out to face Michael.
As he expected, the man stood waiting, leaning against the white tile of the outer bathroom area. The four sinks sitting on their silver pipes lined up in military precision under four perfectly square mirrors across from four stall doors painted in an off-white that looked nearly gray after all the stark white Jim had seen in the last few hours.
Michael gestured toward a rack where someone had draped white cotton clothing over the rod. Jim grabbed the entire pile, sorting out the smaller items and passing them over to Blair who shrugged into them without even fully drying off. By the time Jim pulled the white sweats over his Section-issued cotton briefs, Blair had dressed and was glaring at Michael. For his part, Michael continued to stand statue still and silent.
"Razors?" Jim asked without much hope as he pulled on his shirt and felt the fibers snagging on his morning stubble. To his surprise Michael walked to a narrow tall cupboard and used the pass card to unlock it before holding out an electric razor. Jim took it and held it out for Blair.
"Man, when I finish, that thing isn't going to be sharp enough to shave peach fuzz," Blair said with a smile as he ran a hand over his own thick dark stubble. "You go ahead first." The whole time Blair kept his arms crossed over his stomach, and the gesture revealed all the fear Blair kept out of his steady voice and resolute face. Without a word, Jim flicked it on and shaved, feeling each hair pulled and sliced. He used the sensation to reset his dial for touch until he could only feel the vibrations of the machine and not the painful tugs. When he finished, he handed over the electric shaver to Blair as he turned to Michael.
"What sort of training is on the schedule?" Jim asked as though he were talking to some army buddy. He didn't expect the familiarity to make Michael lower his guard completely; however, if he could get the man to see him as a fellow soldier, he might get a sliver of advantage or a flicker of hesitation on the trigger. It could prove to be the difference between life or death.
"You need to qualify on weapons and hand to hand. Some simulation scenarios. Training with our equipment and support personnel." Michael spoke in fragments, a distracted expression on his face as though the question had interrupted some important internal conversation. Jim seriously hoped that part of that conversation included guilt over kidnapping innocent anthropologists.
"How long's the ramp up?" Jim asked, referring to the period of time he had to develop the skills specific to whatever mission they had in mind.
"One week. Birkhoff has the details." Michael still sounded polite, but the tone made it clear that he was through talking. Jim swallowed his questions, and gathered Blair to his side with a single hand under the man's upper arm, pulling him close. Rationally Jim knew that Blair was just as vulnerable standing next to him, but emotionally he couldn't deny the need to put himself between his guide and this world, a world which Blair had no way of understanding.
Blair surrendered the shaver, and Michael locked it away before leaving the bathroom, leaving Jim and Blair to follow, the bathroom door clicking shut behind them. The soap had washed away the sour stink of old terror, but Jim could still smell wisps of fear from Blair as they walked the sharply antiseptic hallways. Silence broken only by the echo of their footsteps off the concrete finally gave way to the sounds of life. After getting off one elevator, Jim could hear the clicking of a woman's high heels against the concrete and smell the earthy musk of someone who had walked though the hallway recently after working up a sweat. His senses had never been this sharp, but then he had never been in so much danger and needed them so badly.
As the hallway ended in a large octagon of a room, Jim tightened his grip on Blair's arm as he followed Michael around two huddled groups whose dirt smudged faces and grass stained black outfits smelled of car exhaust and gunpowder. From the tight faces, he guessed their mission hadn't gone well.
Jim remembered all those years before when his team had been captured. He'd been walking point through a stand of trees made brittle by drought, following a gash in the earth that would have been a creek in better years. Because he was walking point, he scanned the ground carefully, well aware that both sides of this ugly civil war had mined the country side. But there were always signs, an unusual mound of earth, a strangely symmetrical pile of rocks, a tangle of tree limbs that didn't match the way the dried stream had deposited other debris.
He checked his map. They were an hour from the target, an international spokesman taken hostage by a group that claimed to represent the people but really represented the bank accounts of a small group of men. Still a lieutenant, Jim's job was to provide cover for the demolitions expert and rescue team following with the rest of the team.
A sudden burst of gunfire sent him flying to the ground as he pulled up his weapon and thumbed off the safety in one smooth motion. The trees remained silent, not even a bird moving as the forest fell silent. Jim pushed himself up on one knee as he searched for some sign. If it had been Jones getting twitchy on the trigger finger, Captain Horne would have already called the all-clear, but the radio remained eerily silent.
Even though he wanted to rush back to his team, Jim moved cautiously through the forest, remaining in each new hiding place for long minutes as he circled back. Sliding from the shadow of a dead tree to the side of a boulder tilting drunkenly, he spotted a patch where the dead green color didn't quite match the landscape. Jim focused until the patch moved, and he could make out a shoulder and the side of a painted face.
Jim crept silently through the deep shadows, keeping low to the ground until he was within yards of the silent guard. As the man had knelt up to try and look north, Jim leapt, his gun held out as a battering ram as he ruthlessly slammed the man's head into the solid trunk of a green giant. Jim didn't even have time to check the man for weapons before his own head exploded with and lights that existed only in his own mind blinded him.
When Jim blinked his way back to consciousness, he found himself tied hand and foot with plastic straps that dug into his skin. He glanced around without fully opening his eyes as he tried to figure out who had captured him. Michael stood over him, and Jim remained as silent as possible as he hoped for a chance to free himself.
"He hit me," a deep voice complained. Jim finally opened his eyes as a heavy boot slammed into his side hard enough to make his stomach cramp as he twisted in his bonds.
"You were warned," answered that calm voice and French accent that Jim had learned to fear over the next few hours. At first Jim thought the man meant him, but then he looked up to see Michael aim a small handgun at the head of his attacker, a man dressed like Michael with a bandage on the side of his face. Jim flinched as Michael pulled the trigger before the man had a chance to even fully turn, his skull fragmented as bits of bone and blood and brain exploded across the landscape and across Jim's team members who were tied nearby.
"Oh man, that's gonna break if you don't chill out," a voice interrupted his memory, and Jim found that he had involuntarily tightened his grip on Blair's arm as he followed Michael through an arch that led to another hallway. Jim wondered whether everyone who failed faced the same cold judgment Michael had shown that nameless soldier. He wondered whether he and Blair would face the same.
"Sorry," Jim offered as he let go of Blair's arm, slipped his arm over Blair's shoulders as he resisted the irrational urge to give Blair a nuggie. "We're going to be okay, Chief," Jim added. From the incredulous look Blair gave him out of the side of his eyes, he knew Blair doubted him, but Jim just tightened his arm around Blair's shoulders in silent promise. At the very least he was going to make sure Blair was alright no matter what he had to sacrifice.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 04:23 am (UTC)I'm all over this chapter - I love how Jim is obsessively keeping Blair close - and I'm intrigued by the flash-back to his first meeting with Michael. Good uses of the senses, too.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 03:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 04:27 am (UTC)The anxiety is really building (mine certainly is!) . . . you've got me eager to know what happens next, and that's the first requirement of suspense writing, so good on ya!
no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 03:40 pm (UTC)However, I had to stop and torture the boys a bit. And I'm glad I have the suspense up here. They really are in trouble.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 04:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 03:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 06:11 am (UTC)So glad to see another chapter so soon!
Julia, really impressed also with the view of Blair just standing under the shower
no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 03:42 pm (UTC)And you like nekkid Blair, huh?? Me too!
no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 08:48 am (UTC)Thanks for sharing - I'm glad that I've got back on LJ in time to read this.
:-)
no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 03:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 03:49 pm (UTC)Michael and Madeleine's clinical detachment towards the pain and discomfort they inflict on Jim and Blair, makes them truly scary opponents.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 03:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 08:58 am (UTC)Lovely! ::bites fingernails::
no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 03:44 pm (UTC)Love the icon ;-)
no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 01:19 pm (UTC)Love Jim's compulsive need to keep Blair close, makes me wonder if the intention is to send both on the mission,after all the Sentinel needs his Guide or whether they'll keep Blair as collateral to ensure Jim succeeds and comes back.
I'll just lurk over here in the corner waiting for part 4.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 03:47 pm (UTC)And Section is very aware of Sentinel/Guide relationships (especially after Jim and Blair spilled their guts), so I'm sure they are going to use that to their advantage in some way.
yeah..another chapter!
Date: 2006-01-29 08:22 pm (UTC)Anyway..loving it. :)
Re: yeah..another chapter!
Date: 2006-01-30 12:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-30 02:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-30 04:32 am (UTC)I'm so glad you're enjoying this. It's a dark and scary place, but I am enjoying being here.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-31 01:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-31 01:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-31 12:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-01 05:12 am (UTC)Anyway, I'm at litgal1 @gmail.com AND litgal1 @yahoo.com
no subject
Date: 2006-02-01 07:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-04 06:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-04 06:56 pm (UTC)