Power Play 6

[lit_gal]

"Okay, relax and focus on smell," Blair's voice instructed, and Jim tried to ignore the sound of Wilke's pen scratching over paper. "Starting from the time Hanes approached, describe the smells."

Wilke stopped, and in the blessed silence, Jim allowed himself to drift away from his other senses as he focused on the memory. "Scotch," he said as he isolated the sharp alcohol scent that he hadn't even noticed under the other odors. "Exhaust fumes, like from a truck." Wilke started scratching again, and Jim cracked an eye open to look at the man as he sat scribbling notes as he sat on the edge of one of Simon's chairs.

"Will you knock it off, already?! Man, *I* can't hear myself think with you doing that, and I'm not a Sentinel," Blair exploded. Wilke froze, his pen hovering over the page of his notebook as he looked up with wide, surprised eyes.

"I'm just taking notes," he defended himself.

"Take 'em quieter then," Blair grumbled, and Jim could see color rising to Blair's face. His guide didn't like losing his temper, and Blair's body temperature inched up in response to his own embarrassment.

"Okay, truck exhaust," Blair said as he focused on Jim again. Wilke sat still with a stunned expression, and Jim struggled to not smile. "Focus on that smell."

Jim closed his eyes and tried to find the memory, but the ghost scent of rotting animals and drugged sweat and piss overwhelmed him. With a grunt of disgust, he sat up and rubbed a hand over his short beard. It itched.

"Bad?" Blair asked, moving from the chair in front of Jim to the couch next to him. Jim relaxed as strong fingers rubbed his neck, and then the scratching started from the other side of the room.

"That's it," Blair burst out as he jumped up and started toward Wilke. "Out. Out out out. Get out," he ordered. Wilke scrambled out of his chair and hurried for the door, nearly colliding with Simon as the captain opened the door to his own office.

"Wilke," Simon growled as the man barely avoided hitting him and ducked around Simon to retreat to Blair's desk where he had appropriated a corner and a drawer.

"Oh man, that guy is getting on my last nerve," Blair complained as he returned to the couch and threw himself down so hard that Jim could feel the springs pop and recoil.

"That hasn't been hard lately," Simon pointed out as he closed the door and headed for his chair. Jim listened as Blair's heart rate quickened before the man took a few deep, meditative breaths and pushed his long curls back out of his face. "Anything new?" Simon asked as he quickly scanned the papers from his in-box.

"Maybe if that toad had…"

"Exhaust fumes from a truck, too intense to just be from the street, but who knows if that means anything," Jim interrupted his partner. Simon looked up.

"Should I be worried about you two?" he asked.

"Why?" Blair asked, his heart rate speeding again.

"Because you're acting as touchy as my wife during her ninth month of pregnancy. It wasn't pleasant then, and I'm not liking it any more now," Simon pointed out.

"Oh man, I'm just… I don't like having Wilke here," Blair finally finished. Jim watched the worry lines form at the side of Blair's eyes, and he reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Chief, after you sent Cohn packing, Wilke isn't going to start trouble."

"Oh man, I know that, but I just can't get… you know… balanced." Blair held his hands out in front of him and mimicked the motion of tilting scales.

"Get your balance because I don't want you on the streets if you're going to go snapping at everyone," Simon ordered.

"Yeah, right, like I'd be allowed on the streets anyway," Blair muttered so soft that only Jim heard the words; however, from Simon's expression the man had caught the tone.

"Sandburg, if you have a problem, spit it out." That tone would have sent any other member of the department running to insist everything was fine, but Blair set his jaw and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I should be with Jim," he insisted.

"Sandburg, we've talked about this," Simon said in the tone he usually reserved for his son… and usually used when he was reaching the limits of his patience.

"No way should Jim be in there alone with so many smells and sounds assaulting him. What if he zones?"

"And what, exactly, would be your cover? A Deadhead who fell off the truck during the Grateful Dead's last tour through here?"

"Oh man, this is… this is so patriarchal and stereotypical that it's not even funny. Just because I don't fit into your preconceived little box of masculinity, you think I can't take care of myself."

Simon looked over to Jim in confusion, but he could only shrug his shoulders. He had no idea why Blair seemed so short tempered lately. Simon sighed. "Kid, I think most of the men in this building would have trouble taking care of themselves with this crowd."

"See?!" Blair practically yelled. "Kid! I'm a kid to you! And if it's that dangerous, I should be there to back Jim up. If he zones, no *way* are they going to miss that he's a Sentinel."

"Chief, I'm being careful to not use the senses too much. Your exercises when I get back are working wonders, so I don't even try to focus on the senses on site."

"Man, you are not helping."

"If you think I'm going to help you talk your way into this assignment, you need to think again," Jim said. Blair turned and glared at him.

"Sandburg, Jim's been doing this for a long…"

"Not when he's been on line, he hasn't," Blair said. Jim could see the muscles in Blair's face twitch as the man fought against showing the strong emotions he could so often feel running just under Blair's skin. Even though Blair showed the world all his outgoing enthusiasm, he buried his darker emotions so that Jim could only sense them in the twinge of a muscle or the skipping beat of his heart.

"Blair," he said softly.

"Whatever, man," Blair insisted as he pushed up and headed for the door. Jim watched for a half second as Blair pulled the door open and headed into the bull pen. Then he got to his feet and chased after his guide, his long legs closing the distance just as Blair reached the doors to the hall.

"Back off," Blair grunted as he pulled his arm free of Jim's grip, or at least tried to. Seeing far too many eyes on them, Jim pushed Blair out the door and to the left, past Personnel and the men's room to the end where a glowing sign announced the emergency stairs.

"Knock it off. Let go," Blair complained and squirmed, but Jim ignored that as he trapped his guide in the corner of the hall with his own body.

"What the hell has been eating you for the last three days?" Jim demanded. Blair looked up mulishly and pushed against his chest hard enough that Jim had to brace himself and push back as they engaged in a silent war. Eventually, Blair gave up and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. The sight of that neck curved out made Jim swallow and struggle against a need to grab his guide and bond until he drove every bit of tension out of Blair's body. Instead he reached up and tugged a curl.

"Talk to me, Chief."

"Man, it's nothing."

"Obviously not. Come on, what's running through that pea brain of yours, Darwin?" Jim smiled as Blair cracked open one eye and tilted his head down enough to glare.

"Man. I just feel so damn helpless," he eventually admitted. Jim could feel Blair sag against the wall, and he tucked his hand in behind Blair's neck and pulled his guide close.

"Chief, these memory exercises are helping me recall information I didn't even know I had, and, without you, don't forget that I'd still be in Oak Groves. You're helping."

"I know. I know I'm being unreasonable. Shit, I really need to meditate and find my center again." Blair leaned forward, and Jim opened his arms for his guide, ignoring the hurried footsteps as officers passed the opening to the hall and then rushed by, pretending to not see the two men embracing.

"Not like you have a monopoly on unreasonable," Jim admitted. "But this assignment is no place for a civilian."

"Man, this is bad on my ego; you know that, don't you?" Blair asked into his shirt, and Jim threaded his fingers through Blair's hair, not sure whether he was trying to soothe Blair or himself.

"You want to go beat up some perp down in South-town this weekend?" Jim asked. Blair answered with a punch to his side just hard enough to make him grunt. Then Blair pulled back, and Jim turned all his senses to cataloguing his guide. He looked tired. Even his smell was slightly sour. "You okay, Chief?"

"Yeah, yeah," Blair answered, and then his heart started pounding faster. Jim opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but Blair pushed past him, fury barely contained inside a tense body.

"Two words, Wilke, 'Fuck' and 'Off'," Blair started down the hallway toward Wilke who stood, notebook in hand, and Jim grabbed Blair's arm, reeling his guide back and grabbing his shoulders. Blair struggled, his back tight with anger and his face promising murder, but Jim held on as Wilke backed up and disappeared through the door to Major Crimes. "Man, I hate that guy," Blair complained as he finally stopped fighting.

"Chief, what the hell is wrong with you?" Jim asked as he felt Blair's body slowly relax.

"Nothing. I've got to go to the bathroom," Blair said as he pulled toward the bathroom. Jim held on for a second. "I think I can handle this one on my own," Blair said with a thin laugh as he pulled himself free. Jim watched as Blair disappeared behind the door, and then he turned to look toward the bull pen where Wilke had disappeared. Making a decision, he strode down the hall and into the bull pen, focusing in on Wilke who stood near the file cabinets at the back of the room.

"What did you say to him?" Jim demanded as he navigated the room without looking away from the USSP guide. Blair had been happy before Wilke and Cohn showed up, and it didn't take a rocket science to figure out that the current short-tempered and stressed version of Blair showed up at the same time the USSP guides had. Wilke pressed back into the cabinets for a moment, before stepping forward with a mulish expression of his own.

"I haven't said anything to upset Mr. Sandburg."

"Bullshit," Jim said as he stepped forward into Wilke's space. "You've done or said something, and I want to know what." Jim watched as Wilke's eyes dilated in fear and guilt.

"If Mr. Sandburg has a problem with me, Captain Ellison, it's not because of anything I've done."

Jim moved forward, stopping only when his chest touched Wilke, making the man's heart race even though he kept a calm expression. "Detective…. Detective Ellison, and funny enough, I don't believe you."

"Jim?" Rafe's voice called from behind, but Jim continued to stare down at the USSP guide with his starched brown uniform and green patch and shined shoes. He was everything Jim hated about the guides: controlled and controlling and arrogant enough to think they could do anything. "Jim," Rafe called louder.

"Detective Ellison," Wilke said, emphasizing the first word, "I haven't done anything to Mr. Sandburg other than observe his interactions with you."

"And it's time you stopped doing that," Jim said, his jaw aching as he fought the urge to shake the man until he confessed to doing something to upset Blair.

"I'm here officially as part of—"

Jim stopped the man's words by grabbing the guide by the shirt and slamming him into the filing cabinets hard enough to make the wall rattle.

"Jim!" Rafe's hand closed over Jim's forearm, pulling at him, and Jim allowed himself to be pulled away, the stench of Wilke's fear strong in his nose. "Back off," Rafe insisted as he got between the two men. Jim just continued to glare at Wilke.

"You stay away from Blair… clear your shit out of his desk, and keep your distance," Jim threatened, pointing his finger with stabbing motions that made it very clear he'd really rather just take a punch.

"Ellison," Simon's bellow interrupted any Wilke-beating fantasies.

"Sir?" Jim turned his back on Wilke, not wanting to even look at the man any more.

Simon looked from Wilke to Jim and back several times until Blair came through the bull pen doors, the wood doors clacking shut behind him. Simon then glanced that direction before making up his mind. "Jim needs to check out a few locations; Rafe, you drive Blair and stay in close contact in case Jim needs back up or his guide. Wilke, get out of my bull pen," Simon ordered before turning and retreating to his office.

"I miss something?" Blair asked in confusion, but Jim just snagged his guide's backpack on his way past their desks, pushing Blair ahead of him to get his guide away from Wilke. "Guys?" Blair asked again.

"You're riding with me, Hairboy," Rafe said as he followed the two of them out to the elevators.

"Oh man, what'd I miss?" Blair asked with more enthusiasm than Jim had heard for days. If it took roughing up a few USSP guides to bring back Blair's usually bouncing mood and drive the tension out of his guide's body, Jim was more than willing to provide the fists.

"Nothing interesting, Chief," Jim said as he herded Blair onto the elevator.

"You are such a liar," Blair accused him as the door closed. Rafe snorted his agreement.

Comments

[lit-gal.livejournal.com]

I'm so glad! I really like these two trying to make their way through the world.

[betagoddess.livejournal.com]

Me too? Just wondering, will there be more soon??? No, no! I'm NOT nagging. Just wondering! As is so often my wont. *g*

[lit-gal.livejournal.com]

I sure hope so. I've had some serious writer's block lately. But the case seems to be moving now, and I have a rough idea about what will happen in the next chapter.

[betagoddess.livejournal.com]

Good to know. I'm hoping to see as much of it as I can before going away for ten weeks this summer. =>}