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IV. Fluctuation- a state of continual change or variation in an irregular way
Nikita's Apartment
To say Nikita was surprised to find Madeline at her door was an understatement. Since Operations' return, Michael and Jim seemed to have come to some understanding, but she and Madeline had yet to get back to the comfortable place they used to be. Jim claimed women were just more stubborn than men, more inclined to carry a grudge. Jim knew a lot about many things; women just didn't happen to be one of them.
"May I come in, Nikita?"
Nikita politely offered her something to drink. "What does the Section want with me on my day off?" she asked as she heated water for tea.
Madeline cleared her throat. "I'm not here on Section business, Nikita. I have a personal favor to ask of you." Nikita eyebrows climbed to her hairline. "I know we have had our differences this past year and the center of those differences is why I'm here."
Nikita looked up quickly. "You're here about Jim? What's the matter?"
"Today is the anniversary of his death."
"Which means it is also the anniversary of Blair Sandburg's death," Nikita completed, understanding the significance immediately.
"Jim is very good at hiding the things that matter the most to him. Sometimes, however, I catch him offguard and there is such a look of sadness in his eyes." Nikita nodded. She knew the look Madeline was describing. "Help him through this day, Nikita. He confides in you."
"Not nearly as much as you think he does," she muttered.
"Any would be more than he does with me." Madeline turned to the tall blonde with a pleading look. "I don't care what it takes, what you have to do. Seduce him, sleep with him, it doesn't matter to me, Nikita. Just make sure he's alive at the end of this day. Please."
"Madeline?" Nikita walked over to the woman and put her hand on her shoulder. "You actually care for him, don't you?"
Madeline nodded. "Shocks you, doesn't it? It was a surprise to me as well. I'm still not quite comfortable with the concept. Jim vows to help me come to terms with it. But in order to do that, he needs to survive the day."
"I'll do whatever I can, Madeline. But that won't include sleeping with him. Surely you know he wouldn't betray you like that?" Actually I wouldn't betray you like that. It was then Nikita realized she and Madeline had remained friends all along.
Madeline shrugged. "Ah, that's a matter of faith and I'm still shaky with that one too. I've studied it in others, have used it against them successfully. However, I've gained new insight from this end of the emotion."
"I'm proud of you, Madeline." Before the older woman could move away, Nikita drew her into a hug.
Section One: Jim's Quarters
Without knocking, Nikita stood in front of Jim's door and waited for admittance. She knew he knew she was there. He always knew.
As she patiently waited for him to figure out she wasn't going to leave, she looked around the narrow halls. Jim could have had his own apartment months ago when he was granted Operative status, but he had decided to stay at Section. Nikita knew it had something to do with his past, but he wouldn't talk about it. Today, however, he wouldn't have a choice.
"Come in, Nikita." She walked in, hating the starkness of the room. Birkoff, who also stayed at Section, had decorated his room to match his personality--high-tech toys, framed animation cels, etc. Jim had apparently decided minimalism would be his guiding force. There was the bed, a leather recliner, and bookshelves covering each wall. Aside from the desk and drawers built into the area, that was it. If it wasn't for the books, one would think the room was waiting for a renter. "What brings you to the Section today?" he asked from his position on the side of the bed.
"You do." He didn't comment. "Did you really expect me to leave when you didn't invite me in?"
"No," he said softly. "Why are you here? Or do I already know? By the way, who did you bribe to turn off the surveillance in here?"
She wasn't sure Madeline had done as she'd asked or not. The older woman cared for Jim, but she was still Section. "How do you know we're not being monitored?"
"The equipment hums. It stopped five minutes before you came to my door. The quiet is quite soothing. I could have been sleeping, you know."
"You don't sleep, remember?" The first mission they had gone on as husband and wife had lasted three days. The first night she thought he was being vigilant, the second night she knew something was wrong. So he had reluctantly told her of the dreams and his avoidance of sleep. "Tell me about him, Jim. Tell me about Blair Sandburg."
"Why?" he asked tiredly.
"Because I want to know. Because today, you need to tell someone." She settled into the recliner and waited.
So he told her the story from its beginning. Blair Sandburg had been an anthropology grad student doing his dissertation on people with heightened senses. A nurse friend had contacted him when Jim showed up at the hospital complaining of hearing things (this was slightly abridged since Nikita wasn't aware of his other heightened senses). Their initial meetings hadn't gone very well, but when Blair had helped him capture a bomber, things started to click. A few weeks later, Blair's apartment had blown up and he moved into Jim's spare room. From there a friendship had been born. "He was a brother to me, Nikita. Troublesome and trouble-prone, but always there for me when I needed him."
"It seems you make a habit of collecting siblings," she said with a sad smile.
"I guess I do, sis. But not before Sandburg came into my life. I was a loner back then. One of the reasons my wife divorced me, I guess."
"She was a fool."
He liked the quick way she defended him. "No. I wasn't a whole person when I was with her. She was right to go find someone who was."
"What happened that last day, Jim? What happened a year ago?"
Jim leapt nervously from the bed. "I don't know. We had extradited a prisoner to Spokane and were on our way back to Cascade. Blair had wanted to visit an Indian reservation to pick up something for a colleague of his at the university. We got off the main road and headed into the mountains. Suddenly we were being followed. The car knocked us off the road. The Jeep flipped and apparently I fell out. Blair didn't. He was pinned in the Jeep when it went over the cliff and fell into the river."
"Did they ever discover who killed him?"
Jim threw up his hands. "I don't know. I never checked. Blair was dead. My life, that life, was over."
"Was his body recovered?"
"Damn it, Nikita! I told you I never checked anything. I didn't want to know the details. I still don't want them. As a good Section operative, I'm supposed to forget my past. That's what I've done!"
She left the recliner and stood in front of him, taking his hands into hers. "If you had forgotten, you'd be able to sleep."
Nikita shivered as she looked into his blue eyes. They seemed even more haunted than usual. "Did I tell you the dreams have changed? I guess the Spirit Guide gave up. It's Blair himself who calls for me now. I know his voice. You would think that after a year, I would start to forget things like that... the sound of his voice, the smell of his shampoo, the expressiveness of his hands... But it's all there in the dreams, Nikita. He accuses me of leaving him, of abandoning him like so many others have in his life. I yell at him, tell him that it's all beyond my control. But he doesn't understand. He never understands."
Jim looked at their joined hands. "Why does it haunt me so, Nikita? Why isn't my friend at rest, at peace? How did I fail him?" Tears wet the backs of their hands and he realized they were his own. That only made more fall.
She wrapped her arms around him, gently rocking him as he finally let go of the grief. After a long while, he gave a final shudder and moved away. Unable to face her, he reached for the box of tissues beside his bed, but she beat him to it and with a small smile she mopped his face for him.
Snatching a tissue, he did the same for her. "What good has come of this, Nikita? Now instead of one sad person, there are two."
"Which means it is now your duty to cheer me up," she said, examining her eyes in the mirror. "Good thing I always have a pair of sunglasses handy. Grab yourself a pair and let's go."
"Where?" he asked warily, opening a drawer for a pair of shades.
"We'll know when we get there."
Momar's Midway Carnival
The promise of a 100-horse carousel caught Nikita's eye. Jim went along because she gave him no choice. So he turned all his senses to their minimum levels and "happily" paid for hand stamps which gave them all-day rides.
"You didn't tell me you were a carnival junkie," Jim muttered as they exited the House of Terrors. Apparently they had never seen Birkoff when the computers went down. Now that was a terror.
"I didn't know I was," Nikita admitted, leading him to the Tilt-A-Whirl line. "This is the first one I've ever been to."
"How did you make it through adolescence without going to one?"
She shrugged. "Mama would never give the money to go. She said there were better things to spend it on. Which meant that either her latest boyfriend had hit her up for a loan or had just plain stolen from her."
Jim threw his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. Sometimes, looking at the confident, intelligent woman she was now, it was easy to forget Nikita's background. Eventually, her mother had chosen her latest boyfriend over her daughter and kicked her out into the streets. Jim could still remember his anger when she told him that Michael had shown her the photo of her funeral and her mother hadn't even attended.
Five rides later, Jim had had enough. His stomach was feeling queasy and there was the stirring of a headache behind his left ear. Not wanting to disappoint her too much, he decided he would win her a stuffed animal-- at least the ground would be stable beneath him. The baseball throwing game was of course rigged, but nothing a Sentinel couldn't compensate for. With a minimum number of tosses, Nikita was the proud owner of a five-foot tall purple teddy bear.
"I think I'm in love, Jim," she said as he hefted the monstrosity into her arms.
"I can't wait until Michael sees his replacement, sis," he replied with a grin. The grin quickly faded, however, as an odd-pitched whine assaulted his ears.
"Jim?" Nikita questioned in concern as he grew pale. A hand went to his stomach and she reached out to him. He shook her off, then put both hands over his ears. Just as she realized he must be hearing something she couldn't, the carnival plunged into darkness, the rides grinding to a halt. For about fifteen seconds there was a complete and eerie silence as the crowd hushed in startlement and fear. Then panic set in and the noise escalated to match. Thankfully, at the same time power was restored and a stampede averted.
Nikita saw that in the darkness Jim had been driven to his knees by the pain. Prying his hands away from his ears, she replaced them with a pair of industrial strength earplugs. Then she kneeled beside him, gently shaking his shoulders as she tried to convince him it was safe to inhabit the world again. She breathed a sigh of relief when his eyes opened.
"Jim, can you hear me?" she asked frantically as he just stared blankly at her. Then she remembered the earplugs and reached to remove them.
"No," he said. "I can hear you with them in." That proved to her the power of his hearing more than anything else. She had tried the earplugs herself when she bought them a few days after he had agreed to let her be his guide. She hadn't been able to hear a thing. "Get me out of here," he pleaded.
She nodded and pulled him to his feet. He looked slightly green and she knew the garish lighting wasn't totally to blame. As she took his hand, she noticed his skin was slightly clammy and his breathing ragged. Whatever had happened, it had knocked him for one large loop. "Hang on, Jim. We're not far from the exit."
"Don't forget your bear."
She rolled her eyes, but obediently crammed the thing awkwardly beneath one arm and kept her other wrapped supportively around Jim's waist. Only when she had both her passengers tucked safely in the car, did she dare relax. "Are you still in pain?" she asked worriedly.
"It's fading."
Which meant yes. "Do you need medical assistance?"
"No."
"Then I'll take you back to my place until you recover. Madeline would have my head if I took you back in this condition."
"Are we talking conspiracy here?" he questioned as he sat back in the seat. He found he managed the pain better if he didn't have to listen to his own head rattle. So he would keep Nikita talking for a while. Besides, he was curious about her and Madeline.
"She appeared at my apartment this morning, asking me to help you through this day. She really cares for you, you know."
"I know. You and her are the only ones who have trouble with the concept."
"Well, I finally got it through my thick head today. She's still a little doubtful, though."
"Not surprising. The people who've been in Section One for a long time are an odd lot." She looked at him as if to say, You're just now figuring that out? "Put them in a building and yell, 'bomb,' and they won't blink an eye. Yell the word 'care' and they'll trip over each other as they try to escape. Is that the way we're going to end up?"
"Scared of our own hearts? I hope not. I've worked hard, perhaps too hard at times, to convince certain ones that there's a better way. However, it's been much easier since help arrived. Thanks, Jim." She stole a glance at him as she waited for a light to change. He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "You're hurting," she stated. "Tell me what to do."
"Listening to you helps," he said.
"Then I'll talk, but not you."
She kept a soft running monologue going as she helped him into her apartment and ordered him to bed. He protested saying the sofa was good enough for him, but she knew it was too short for her and he definitely would not be comfortable. Finally, she showed him what kind of brat his "sister" could be and he ended up in the bed after downing three aspirin.
Making him as comfortable as possible, she spent the next three hours as quiet as she was in mission mode. In fact she'd taken the silence so close to heart that she literally jumped when someone knocked on the door. After a quick look through the peephole, she hustled Michael through the door and motioned for him to be quiet.
"Jim has a headache," she whispered in reply to his questioning eyebrows. Michael looked around the apartment. "He's in the bedroom. With a cold compress on his forehead," she added when she saw what conclusion he'd jumped to. A matter of faith was what Madeline had called it. Michael had apparently taken after his mentor.
"A migraine?" He had also witnessed the sims chamber mishaps. "We have a briefing. Do you think he is able?"
She shrugged. "Why didn't you call?"
"I tried. Both your cell phones and the one here."
Nikita frowned. "I unplugged the one here so Jim wouldn't be disturbed. But both of us checked our cell phones earlier." She reached into the jacket she had worn to the carnival and pulled out the phone. To her dismay and confusion, it was off. "I don't understand."
"That's not all," Jim said as he walked slowly into the room. "Check your watch, Nikita. Hello, Michael. I will be attending the briefing."
"My watch has stopped," Nikita said sharply, then apologized as Jim winced. "This is the time that the incident occurred at the carnival, isn't it?"
"What incident?" Michael asked quickly.
They explained the blackout. "The place was dead for maybe fifteen seconds, then all power came back online," Nikita concluded. "Except for our watches and more than likely, our cell phones."
"The Section just received intel that a terrorist group has gotten its hands on a device that can blackout a large urban area. Back-up systems are no protection. All computers will be affected. Birkoff assures us that in fifteen seconds, billions of dollars can be transferred to specific accounts and it would take years to track it down. Loss of security systems is also a concern. Theft of nuclear materials, infiltration of Level I facilities, the planting of explosive devices are also possibilities. A source claimed a test of this nullifying device was run today."
Jim looked at his watch. "Sounds as if your source knows what he's talking about."
Michael nodded. "We need to get to Section."
Section One: Briefing Room
"Michael is not the Section's errand boy," Operations declared as the three of them entered and took seats around the floating projection screen where all pertinent information was downloaded for visual assimulation. "His valuable time was wasted tracking down the two of you."
"I did not have to track them. They were at Nikita's apartment."
Operations glanced at Madeline, then Nikita, and finally Jim. "You certainly get around," he commented with a smirk.
"The loss of communications was not their fault," Michael continued. "We feel it is directly related to the suspected test of the nullifying device."
Operations quickly reverted to all business. "Report."
When Jim and Nikita finished, Operations pointed to the screen. "This appears to be the sector hit. We are monitoring all frequencies for any reports of erratic electrical behavior as well as computer failures. If we add in your carnival..." he keyed in a few instructions, "then the area almost doubles. We have yet to identify the nature of the device--"
"It emits an ultrasonic sound wave," Jim stated. "Probably originating somewhere here in the northwestern corner of the outlined sector," he added, pointing to the area highlighted on the screen.
"Are you always so certain of things you know nothing about?" Operations snarled, dismissing Jim's "knowledge". Damn, he was getting tired of the man. Sure, he was a hell of an operative, but quite frankly, he was too good. Intuition told him that the Section's beloved Jim was hiding something and he was the only one not too charmed to see it. Jim was nearly at Michael's level, but Michael's training had been specialized and overseen by Operations himself. And look at the way both Madeline and Nikita fawned over him. Even Michael seemed less reticent around him.
But maybe, he thought with satisfaction, Jim had overplayed his hand this time. This premature identification of the properties of the device had to be a blunder, the first the man had ever made. Just as Operations was deciding how to push Jim further, Birkoff raced in.
"Preliminary testing concludes the disabling agent is a high-frequency sound wave," Birkoff said excitedly, not noticing the instant reactions of the others. "If that's the case, then its origin is approximately here." He pointed to the same spot Jim had.
Operations exploded. "'If'? 'Approximately'? Get out, Birkoff! And don't come back until you have facts!" The computer expert was stunned, but obediently obeyed his superior.
"That was uncalled for," Madeline chided.
"What's uncalled for is your unnatural trust of loverboy here!" Operations yelled. "The Madeline of old would already have him in interrogation, demanding that he tell her how the hell he knows so much about an unknown device!"
Madeline turned to Jim. "I'm sure he has a viable explanation." Her eyes challenged him not to make a liar out of her.
"I heard it," he said simply.
"You mean you had prior intel?" Madeline questioned.
"No. I mean I heard the wave."
Operations laughed. "Did you forget what ultrasonic means, Jim? Beyond human capacity for hearing."
"Normal human hearing," Jim clarified calmly.
Operations snorted derisively. "You trying to tell us you have bionic hearing, Jim boy? We all have access to the Sci-fi Channel, you know."
"There's nothing mechanical about my hearing."
Operations looked toward Madeline for support, certain he would see pained disbelief on her face. Instead, he saw a look of intense analyzing. Surely she wasn't buying into this load of crap, was she? God, the man must be one talented stud.
Madeline's first reaction had been sadness. Jim didn't lie except when he was on a mission, but he should have been able to come up with a better one than super hearing. Then she had caught the look of panic on Nikita's face and suddenly, the idea didn't seem so contrived. "Nikita?" she questioned softly.
The blonde looked at Jim. He smiled and nodded. "It's okay, Nikita. We knew we couldn't keep silent forever."
Nikita fidgeted uncomfortably. Jim didn't know how ruthless Section could be. They would use him, destroy him, then find a new toy without batting a lash. But in this, Jim was her boss and she had to obey. "Jim is a Sentinel, which means he was genetically predisposed to have one or more of his senses enhanced. In him, it is his hearing."
Operations started to comment, but Madeline quieted him with a raise of her hand. "How do you know this, Nikita?"
The younger woman sighed. "Because I've been helping him."
Madeline nodded, then looked at Michael. "And you?"
"I was not informed," Michael said. "But I have had suspicions. In training and in field work, there have been discrepancies which this information seems to clear up."
She didn't like being in the dark. "Why wasn't the Section informed of your ability, Jim?"
Madeline said the Section, but Jim knew she was hurt she hadn't been told. "Section would have wanted to exploit my ability without taking into consideration the danger involved."
"Danger?"
Nikita answered. "Jim's heightened sense needs two people to control it. Blair Sandburg, his police partner who was killed with Jim was also his Guide. He gave Jim focus."
"I don't understand," Michael said.
"Jim concentrates to hear. If he concentrates too hard, he falls into a trancelike state and cannot respond to outside stimuli. For instance, he will not react to people shooting at him or any other danger. The guide's job is to keep him from the trance, help him direct his hearing, and protect his back."
"You said you'd been helping him?" Madeline questioned.
Nikita shrugged. "I'm his new guide. But I'm not too good at it."
"Is your failure the reason he looked like death warmed over when he arrived here tonight?"
"Nikita took good care of me today, Maddie," Jim hastened to explain when he saw the look of guilt in Nikita's eyes. "What happened is not her fault. The intense wave fried my circuits. The overload would have occurred with or without a guide. In fact, the results would have been worse if she hadn't been there."
Operations couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Am I the only sane one here? What kind of contamination occurred at the Section while I was away? Something has apparently eaten at your brains if you're buying this superman shit."
"Why would he tell such an obvious, and easily proven, lie?" Madeline asked logically.
"How the hell should I know? Maybe he's delusional."
Jim had had enough. "So how do you want to do this, sir? Who's going to leave? Me or you?" he asked.
"What?"
"Do you want me to leave and then tell you what you were saying or would you like to be the one to leave, go somewhere far enough away that I couldn't possibly hear you?"
Operations thought about it. "Madeline and I will leave. Nikita and Michael will stay with you. Keep an eye on him, Michael. Also, check him for listening devices." Operations grabbed Madeline's arm and dragged her away.
Jim stood and raised his arms. "Search away, Michael."
"Unnecessary. I know you heard me through Nikita's comset at the warehouse that day. You also heard what was happening at the Anderson Estate. It stands to reason you heard the device."
Jim smiled. "See, sis? Sometimes you just have to trust in your friends."
"Sis?" Michael asked sharply.
"Yeah. Jim and I sort of adopted each other. Can you hear them, Jim?" she asked as she stood behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders.
"Yeah."
Suddenly she felt the muscles knot under her hands. "What's wrong?" He shook his head, but she noticed his jaw tense up, signaling anger. "What's happening?" she questioned again.
He refused to answer. "They're on their way back," he said a short while later.
Madeline entered first and looked at the three for confirmation. Jim ignored her as Operations came in. In a move that startled them all, especially Nikita who up to a second ago had been resting her hands on his shoulders, Jim came out of his chair and pinned Operations against the wall. Stunned or maybe merely curious, no one moved to interfere.
"I heard every word of your conversation, you son of a bitch," Jim growled angrily. "And because I'm not only a gentleman, but a decent human being as well, I won't repeat what you said. But if I ever hear you talk to Maddie or any other woman like that again, it will be the last thing you ever say. Because you can have me canceled but I'll damn well make sure you get to hell first. Understand?" He released the man and took his seat.
Operations adjusted his jacket and moved to the control panel. After that display he had no doubt that Jim had heard every word he'd said. Now it was time to move on. "Since we know what the device does, how do we stop it?" he asked as if there hadn't been an interruption in the briefing.
"First order of business is to locate it," Michael said.
"I think I may be able to help with that," Jim volunteered. "If the device is used again, I should be able to lead you to it before the wave becomes catastrophic."
"What do you mean, Jim?" Madeline asked. She was still debating whether to chastise him for manhandling Operations or kiss him for defending her honor. Her honor. She hadn't even realized she still had any. Until Jim.
"The generation of the wave is a long process. I think my body was aware of it before the blackout. Depending on how soon I'm aware of it happening, we should be able to go mobile and track the source."
"How much time are we talking?"
Jim shrugged. "Nikita, I'm going to need your help. I need to go back in time to the carnival."
"How far back?" Nikita asked, dimming the lights of the briefing room.
"You're going to administer hypnosis, Nikita?" Madeline asked worriedly. She had no doubt the operative could master the technique with training, but it was dangerous in the hands of a novice.
"Not really, Madeline. I'm just going to send Jim into a light trance to help his memory. Where do you want to start, Jim?"
"I was already feeling unsettled when we exited the Galaxy ride, so we need to start before then." He tried to remember the order of events but Nikita had been determined to ride everything. He remembered laughing on the Zipper, so it had to be afterwards. "Maybe the Tunnel of Love?" he guessed, so focused on his own thoughts that he failed to notice the reactions of the others in the room. Operations groaned, wondering how Jim managed to juggle two such demanding women. Madeline focused on Jim being alive. She herself had told Nikita to do whatever was necessary to achieve that result. Michael felt a sharp twinge of jealousy then remembered they considered themselves siblings. The jealousy faded but he still had to admit to himself that he had felt it.
Nikita relaxed Jim until he could determine when the wave first affected him. When they discovered that point, it was calculated that he'd felt the touch of the device at least an hour before the real destruction began.
"According to the intel, the city is the target," Michael said. "We'll station teams in all sectors and we'll move on Jim's orders."
"I think we're forgetting something here," Nikita pointed out uneasily.
"And that is?" Michael questioned.
"Jim could die." No one made a sound. "You didn't see the pain he was in when that thing struck and it was centered miles away from the carnival. Now you expect him to guide you until he's on top of it. It will kill him."
"We will do our best to protect him, Nikita," Madeline said. "Starting by assigning you to stay at his side until this is over."
"That's not good enough," she started to protest as she rose to her feet.
"Nikita."
Everyone stared when Nikita sat meekly in her chair as soon as Jim said her name. Rather than make a nasty remark, after all he had been warned, Operations dismissed the briefing and everyone went off to make plans. Nikita left Jim in discussion with Michael and went to see Madeline in her office.
"I made you a promise today that I would save him. I can't make that promise in this case," Nikita said as she sat in the leather chair facing Madeline's desk.
"I would never ask that of you, Nikita," Madeline said gently. "Chances are taken with each mission. You know that and so does Jim. He may not have chosen this life, but his past was his own and even then, he took chances everyday." Nikita nodded. Jim was a man of action; Section life had changed nothing for him. "I am curious though," Madeline continued. "We've all grown quite used to your soliloquies on the heartlessness of the Section. Why did you stop your discussion of us putting Jim in danger?"
Nikita gnawed at a fingernail, until she noticed Madeline's glare. "There's more to this Sentinel and guide stuff than just hearing, Madeline. Ever since I've been working with Jim I've noticed that he can say something in a certain way and I am bound to obey him. No question. No hesitation. He orders and I do whatever as soon as possible."
"You think it can be bottled?" Madeline teased.
"I don't know but I have noticed he doesn't seem to get any backtalk from the team when we're on a mission. And he's not even the mission leader."
"Does he usurp your control?"
"No, never. But he's a natural authority figure and everyone reacts to that. I think that's one of the reasons he does so well undercover. With Michael, you are instantly aware he is not a person to mess with. He oozes danger and strangely enough, that attracts instead of repels." She was talking from personal experience. "With Jim, it's a power thing. You see him and you know he is in charge. Before you did your magic, Madeline, he came off as a cop. Now his appearance says boss, not officer."
"I'm proud of you, Nikita. Your observation skills are getting stronger every day. When this is over, I have some literature for you to read."
"When this is over... I don't know what Jim's death will do to me, Madeline. I know that with Michael's death, I will not be the same person," she admitted and Madeline nodded, because Nikita had actually admitted to nothing. A sign of a good operative. "I have not known Jim as long, but he has become the older brother I never had, my ally here in the Section, my partner in the field, and as I mentioned before, my Sentinel. I will react to his death."
"Then make sure he doesn't die." Madeline reached into her desk drawer and drew out a slender case, handing it to Nikita. The younger woman opened it to reveal a syringe. "It will knock him out instantly. Use it if it will save his life."
"And if the mission isn't complete?"
"That's your call, Nikita. And his."
Section One
After all the worries, the mission was anticlimatic. Two days after he had revealed his secret to the Section, Jim felt the beginning of the nullifying wave. Although he was in considerable pain, he provided coordinates to Michael until they were practically on top of the device. And he refused to let Nikita medicate him. It was only after the device had been stopped and it and the team were on their way back to Section that he allowed her to give him a half dose.
Groggily he made it through debriefing and headed to his quarters. Nikita, having been on edge for the past two days decided to stay at her quarters at Section too. As she settled into the room she'd had since recruit days, she said a silent thank you to whoever looked out for sentinels and guides.
Her gratitude was premature.
Just as she debated whether to waste energy undressing or just fall atop the bed, there came a sound like gunfire. With no hesitation, she picked up her weapon and headed into the hall. Every other operative was there as well, with guns ready. "Michael, what's going on?" she asked as he came down the hallway flanked by a security team.
"We don't know. Go back to your rooms!" he ordered. Everyone obeyed except Nikita.
"Where is the origin of the disturbance?" she asked, joining him and his phalanx.
For a moment she was afraid he wasn't going to answer, merely send her back to her room. Then he looked at her, allowing her to see what was in his eyes. "No," she said softly. The sounds had come from Jim's quarters. And Michael thought he'd committed suicide. "You're wrong, Michael." She hurried to the familiar quarters, entering ahead of him.
Jim lay on the floor, gun in hand, and she ran over to him. It was then that she saw no blood and knew she was right. She also noticed something else.
"Firecrackers," Michael said, examining the evidence that had caught his eye immediately upon entering. "Jim set off firecrackers?"
"Call Medlab now, Michael! Jim's not breathing!"
Section One: Medlab
An hour later, Michael and Madeline stood in the doorway of the stark Medlab room and watched as the respirator breathed for Jim. Nikita sat at his side, holding his hand, and keeping up a steady stream of encouraging words. But Jim didn't react.
"Report," Madeline commanded.
"He was in a weakened condition. The loudness of the firecrackers at such close quarters apparently caused an overload. The Medlab physicians can't find anything medically wrong, but he is unresponsive."
She nodded. "Nikita and Jim both warned us this could happen. But what I want to know is why? Where did the fireworks come from? It is against Section policy to possess, much less set off, an explosive device within Section property."
"Surveillance revealed a recruit named Jeremy is responsible. He sneaked into Jim's quarters and wired the fireworks to go off when Jim went to bed. When questioned, he responded that he was getting back at Jim because of the cancellation of the recruit Eddie. He thought only to frighten Jim, show him how vulnerable he was."
"Where is Jeremy now?"
"He is being detained."
"His first mission is scheduled for the end of the week?"
"Yes."
"See that he makes it. And, Michael, he will not survive."
Michael nodded.
Section One: Birkoff's Quarters
"Birkoff, it's me, Nikita."
He immediately opened the door, hastily donning his glasses, revealing that he'd been asleep. "Hi, Nikita. I heard about Jim. I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?"
She threw her arms around his bony shoulders. "I knew I was right coming to you."
He awkwardly returned the hug. "What do you want me to do?"
"Help me find a dead man."
V. Deviation- a noticeable or marked departure from the norm
Orrin Hatch University-- Utah
Anthony Simmons saw a familiar figure weaving along the sidewalk and pulled up to the curb. Professor Blake Scott was an alcoholic, but a nice one. He was never loud or aggressive and he didn't smell. His full beard and the ponytail that stretched to past the middle of his back were always neat and clean. He was phenomenal in the classroom, blitzed or not, and his students had taken it upon themselves to look out for their teacher, since it was obvious he couldn't, or wouldn't, do it himself.
"Need a lift home, Professor Scott?"
The man stopped and peered at him with bloodshot blue eyes. "You already have an 'A' in anthropology, Tony. No need for brownie points."
That was something else about the professor; he knew everyone in class by name, despite his condition. Faith, Tony's psych major girlfriend, said that the professor had to be a new drunk because his health was still good. The professor had been the topic of discussion at her last study group and they'd concluded he was depressed due to some recent catastrophic event in his life-- a loss of major proportions, perhaps the death of a family member or loved one. Tony had asked if it were merely a depression, why hadn't some shrink prescribed him some Prozac and cured him. With a disdainful look, Faith had informed him that sometimes even chemicals couldn't help.
"Hop on in, prof. I pass your building anyway." Everyone knew where he lived and a select few even had keys to his apartment since he was losing his all the time.
Blake Scott climbed out of the car and waved to the friendly student who waited until he saw the professor had his keys before driving off. Well, it seemed Blake Scott's students just adored him, he thought as he searched the kitchen for whatever bottle he had stashed there. Lucky Blake Scott.
God, he was starting to hate that name. If he had it all to do over again, he'd request a different one. Hell, it he had it all to do over again, he'd rather drop dead. This slow dying crap sucked. First he'd tried cocaine, figuring that was the best method of non-intentional suicide, but years of living with, and living as, a cop wasn't as easily dismissed as his old life. So he'd gone the legal drug route--good old alcohol. However, death was considerably long in coming and he was just about ready to go in for the psychiatric exam the college had been threatening him with. The doctor would prescribe medication and he'd overdose. A nice, non-messy ending.
And the doctor would prescribe something because while Blake Scott was merely an alcoholic, Blair Sandburg was stark raving mad. That was evidenced by his agreement to go along with this Blake Scott bullshit. But when he had awakened in the Department of Defense facility and was told Jim Ellison was dead, nothing else had been real to him. According to Colonel Dennis McAfee, they had tried to save Jim too but his injuries were too severe. When Blair had asked why, the colonel had admitted that they knew about Jim's sentinel abilities and were hoping the two of them would agree to help them with their own sentinel project in return for the medical care they had received.
Now Blair had worked with government entities before with mixed results and he'd heard some stories from Jim that had made his skin crawl. So he read between the lines, and the lies, and concluded that the DOD had set the whole thing up and something had gone wrong. Right then and there, if he had been sane, he would have gotten the hell out. But no, he decided to buy their little scenario, and let the people in Cascade think he'd died with Jim. Cascade held too many memories for him and besides, if the government did have their hands on some sentinels, he owed it to Jim to help them.
What he had come to find out, though, was that the government wasn't finding sentinels, they were making them. And the guinea pigs were the students of Orrin Hatch. The mandatory psych courses had mandatory labs and what went on in those labs was brainwashing of the highest order. Although a few students achieved some degree of enhancement of their senses, it was nothing in relation to that of a genetic sentinel.
He poured himself a finger of whiskey, then increased it threefold because he had missed breakfast and lunch, and dinner was only an hour away. Nothing like three squares a day, he thought bitterly.
Moving a stack of papers from some ugly green chair, he plopped down and sipped the only regular sustenance he had. He'd found being an alcoholic was easy. All you had to do was drink. No meeting in a back alley to score. No keeping it hidden. No wondering if what he'd bought was good quality. The ABC store was just a block down the street and the only question asked was cash or charge. And wasn't it nice that alcohol had a board which kept a close eye on quality. Who could ask for a better addiction?
Except for the fact he didn't think he was addicted. His body had yet to crave the stuff. He drunk because it was convenient, because it held the memories and the nightmares at bay. Man, he was pathetic. Millions of people attended AA meetings everyday, yet he couldn't even manage to get that right.
Maybe he needed to cultivate some ne'er-do-well friends. Those always seemed to drive a person to ruin. But then that would mean he would have to make friends and he just didn't have the desire. When he was traveling with his mom, a quintessential flower child, he'd made friends right and left, as he went from town to town and country to country. But then he'd met Jim Ellison and well, he never looked at friendship quite the same again. Comparing Jim to his former friends was like comparing a kite to a plane: both flew but the kite only in fair weather; the plane could soar above the storm. Somewhere along the way, he'd lost his taste for kites.
Blair heard a sound at the door but didn't bother to look around. More than likely it was one of his, no, make that Blake Scott's students, checking up on him. For all he knew, the doorbell could have been pealing for a while. He didn't pay any attention to it. No one was coming to the door that he wanted to see.
A woman stood before him and for a moment he thought he had succeeded, that a blond angel had come to bear him away. Then he remembered he probably wouldn't be going the way of angels. However, he knew she wasn't one of his students. She was more mature and a lot better looking. "If you're a thief, take what you want. If you're a murderer, go on and get it over with. If you're just a figment of my imagination, I'm going to write down the name of what I'm drinking and buy stock in it," he said as she continued to stare.
"Blair Sandburg?"
Definitely a figment of his imagination. "He died with Jim Ellison."
"Jim Ellison didn't die."
"I drink to keep you phantoms away. Be a dear and get with the program," he sneered as he lifted his glass.
Before his lips could touch it, she wrested it from his hand. "I am not a phantom," she said quietly. "I'm a friend of Jim's and he needs your help."
"I don't believe you," he said simply.
"'Trust me, Chief.' Isn't that what he always asked of you?"
"Go away!" Blair sobbed, putting his hands over his eyes. "Please, leave me alone."
She pried his hands away. "No! Jim needs you too much. Look at me, Blair!" He stared into her blue eyes and could have sworn she was real. She easily read his thoughts. "Yes, I'm real. Which means what I say could be true."
"Jim's alive?" he asked hesitantly.
"Yes. For a while anyway. But he needs his Guide."
That convinced him more than anything. Who else but Jim could have told this woman about his Guide; the DOD certainly wouldn't spread the news around. How had this miracle occurred? Never mind. He could find out the details later. She said Jim needed his Guide. That could mean only one thing. "What happened? A big zone out?"
Nikita gave a sigh of relief. Finally, she was reaching him. For a while she wondered if she and Birkoff had made a mistake in their research. Keying in on the word "sentinel", they had backtraced every request for information on the internet. And that had been the easy part. "Yes. I'm afraid he will die if he doesn't come out of it soon."
Blair stood. "Well, what are you waiting for? Take me to him."
"It's not that easy. For one thing, when you leave here you can never come back."
Blair rolled his eyes. "Tell me something that means a damn to me."
Nikita tried again. It wouldn't be fair not to give him a clear picture... and a choice. That was why she hadn't been very forthcoming with the Section. For all they knew, she was in her apartment, recuperating from hours of sitting by Jim's bed. "Jim has become a... member of a covert organization."
"Cool. I'm sure he does the job well." Why was she stalling when Jim's life was on the line?
"If I take you to him, you will become a member as well. You will obey their rules, live your life as they see fit. You will lose all choice, all free will."
"But I'll be with Jim?"
She nodded. If this man could save Jim then Nikita was sure Madeline would move heaven and, much more likely, hell to see they stayed together. "Yes, you'll be with Jim."
"Then the rest doesn't matter. Let's go."
Nikita indicated the glass she'd taken from his hand. "These people aren't tolerant when it comes to excess."
Blair shrugged. "Not a problem." If he was wrong and he was addicted, he'd just have to get over it. Jim would help.
Nikita gave up. "Isn't there anything you want to pack?"
Blair smacked himself in the head and hurried to the bedroom. He returned a moment later with an armful of notebooks. "My sentinel notes," he explained as he dumped the contents of Blake Scott's leather satchel and filled the bag with something that mattered. The case felt unnatural in his hand; as soon as he had a chance, he'd buy himself a backpack. He started for the door.
"Is that all you're taking?" Nikita asked patiently. The sad old drunk whom she knew was just slightly older than she was, was now an overeager teen who needed to be reminded to grab his lunch on the way out. If this was his reaction, what would Jim's be? She couldn't wait to find out.
Bright blue eyes met hers. "You have everything else I need."
With that statement she understood just how close Jim and this man had been. Her pathetic attempts at taking his place must have made Jim cringe. "I'm sorry to ask you to do this, but I need you to scribble a brief suicide note. I'll take care of the details."
He grinned. "Killing Blake Scott will be a pleasure. By the way, will I get a new name at this place?"
"You get to keep one of your names. So which will it be--Blair or Sandburg?"
"Will I be yelled at a lot?"
"Quite possibly," she said, thinking of Operations.
"Then you better make it Sandburg. Yelling it seems to give people a lot of pleasure," he said with an impish grin.
After dashing off the suicide note, he followed Nikita out of the building and never looked back.
VI. Reformation- the state of being made better by the correction of faults or evils
Section One: Medlab
Sandburg stood in the doorway of Jim's room and zoned. He saw the familiar form lying in the bed and everything else just faded from his reality. Jim was alive. Nothing else had meaning. Nothing else was worth noting. Not the ventilator, nor the heart monitor, nor the woman who had been holding Jim's hand until they entered. Jim was alive, Jim was alive, Jim was alive... The joyous refrain sang over and over again in his head... and his heart.
"Sandburg?"
He looked at the woman who had wrought this miracle, who had brought him together again with his Sentinel, and tears spilled from his eyes. "You weren't lying," he said brokenly.
Nikita was taken aback. Listening to the man as they traveled to the Section, she had worried he was too open, too expressive to survive in the dark, closed world she inhabited. He'd been overly friendly and the only thing he'd asked of her was a razor, a pair of scissors, and a particular brand of shampoo. She hadn't once suspected he thought she may be lying, that he was terrified she was lying. Apparently he didn't have to be coached in hiding his real feelings; he was already a master. "No, I wasn't lying," she said gently. "Go to him."
He passed the woman, barely noting the auburn of her hair, as he sat on the corner of the bed. He winced as he heard the noise of the machinery. It had to be driving Jim literally out of his mind. "This stuff has to go," he said, reaching for Jim's hand. It was warm, the nails short and even. Just the way Jim always kept them. How often he had pictured these hands, hands that had meant safety, security, and love. "Jim," he whispered. "I'm here. Alive, well, and with you. Believe in what your senses are telling you, man."
"What stuff, Sandburg?" Nikita asked, drawing nearer with Madeline at her side.
He waved his free hand. "The equipment. The monitors, the ventilator, all of it has to go."
"It's keeping him alive," Madeline pointed out.
"It's keeping him in the state he's in," Sandburg argued, stroking the hand he held. "Jim, this machine is making you lazy and you know that's against house rules. You can breathe on your own, can't you?" Fingers twitched against his. He smiled. "Remove it now."
"Nikita, what is going on?" Madeline asked, curious about the strange man who had the audacity to give her orders.
"This is the late Dr. Blair Sandburg, Jim's Guide. Listen to him, Madeline. He's the only one who can help Jim now."
"I wondered what was so important that you would leave the Section while Jim was so ill," Madeline said, looking earnestly at the man who could, and probably would, take Jim away from her. But then, Jim had already been taken away, hadn't he? She went to the door and called out a request.
A team of technicians entered the room. One of the doctors had the nerve to question Madeline but she quickly put him in his place. "We're ready to take out the tube," a woman announced.
Sandburg nodded and gripped Jim's hand. "Listen to me, Jim. They're going to be removing that tube stuck in your throat and you're going to feel like you're choking, but you're not. I wouldn't let that happen to you. If you start to panic, just listen to my heartbeat. Know that I am here with you. Breathe in with me and hold it."
The tube was removed, the airway suctioned, and Jim breathed on his own. "You're doing fine, big guy," Sandburg said with relief, raising the head of the bed to help Jim breathe easier. "Nikita, you and your friend can dim the lights on your way out."
Madeline started to protest, but gave in to Nikita's urging. She knew she could monitor the situation from her office. However, Nikita said Jim could hear the surveillance equipment. If his Guide thought it best to remove noise from his surroundings... As she left and turned off surveillance, she realized she was learning to trust. Damn. She better not let Operations know.
Sandburg felt the tension easing in Jim, but still he did not regain consciousness. "Ah, Jim. I know the feeling. You don't want to wake up because you suspect this is all a wonderful dream. But I'm real and you know it. Feel the warmth coming from my body, smell my shampoo, listen to the heartbeat you know as well as you know your own. I'm real, Jim, and whole for the first time in over a year." He closed his eyes, giving Jim time to realize the truth of his words.
When he opened his eyes again, they stared into deeply focused blue ones. He smiled as Jim reached out tentatively, brushing his hand against his Guide's face. "Chief?" he said hesitantly.
"Yeah, it's me, Jim." He was glad he'd took the time to get rid of the beard and trim his hair. Jim would have known him despite any disguise, but the visual cues made acceptance easier.
"How...how did you find me?"
"I didn't. Your friend, Nikita, found me. She said she had planned to tell you she had suspicions about my death, but a mission came up and then you wound up here."
Jim tried to fill in the dark spots in his mind. He'd successfully fought off the effects of the nullifying device, hadn't he? Or had he had a delayed reaction? "I zoned?" he asked, looking around the room.
"Yeah. Nearly a week ago. Some idiot set off firecrackers near your bed. I said I'd kill him, but she said that had already been taken care of."
Jim nodded. The recruits had gotten their revenge after all. Well, he wasn't going to feel a bit guilty over the cancellation. Cancellation? He gripped his friend's forearms tightly. "You're in the Section now, Chief. Do you know what that means?"
Sandburg took no notice of the bruises Jim was causing. "Nikita made sure I knew before she brought me here. Do you really think it matters to me, Jim? Do you really think that once I knew you were alive, that anything would keep me from going to you?"
Jim searched the blue eyes for any trace of bitterness toward him. Of course there was none."I'm sorry I let you down, Chief. I should have been the one to find you. If I had any idea that you were alive, I would have come for you. I would have searched the entire planet. But I heard Simon. He said--"
The pain in Jim's eyes was unbearable to see. "Don't relive it now, Jim. Simon was lied to the same way I was lied to. I was told you were dead. There's no reason to apologize for not coming after a dead man."
"I should have known. The Spirit Guide kept telling me..."
"Don't beat yourself up over this, Jim. I believed you were dead too until Nikita told me otherwise. It was a plan devised by very calculating people and executed by some very sloppy ones. They are the ones to blame."
Jim's jaw clenched angrily. "Who? Who did this to us, Chief?"
"You're hurting my arms, Jim." He said it not because of the pain, but because he needed to calm his friend down. Even without Sentinel abilities, he could tell Jim's pulse was racing.
Instantly, Jim relaxed his grip and gently massaged the red spots. The anger faded. "Sorry, Chief. You'll give me the details later?"
"As much as I know. Nikita probably has a better grasp of the matter. She said she and some guy named Birkoff uncovered the whole plan."
Jim was sure they had; the Section had made them experts in exposing conspiracies. The Section... "Chief, this organization does a lot of good, but not always in the nicest way. They will make you do things you abhor, will make you betray, will make you kill. I don't know if you can handle it."
"It's okay, Jim. I know how weak I am."
"That's not what I meant, Chief."
"But it's what I meant. Man, we both believe the other's dead, and what happens to you? You take on the evils of the world and from what I've heard, have been winning the fight. What happens to me? I become the town drunk."
"Chief?" Sandburg nodded, turning his face away from Jim in shame. "Look at me," The Sentinel commanded and the Guide obeyed. "We can handle anything together. Understand?"
"I know we can, Jim. Even Section One."
"Even Section One." He looked at their joined hands. "You weren't weak. You were lost. That's what the Spirit Guide kept telling me, but I wouldn't listen. I didn't want to hear it."
"Why do you think I drank?" Sandburg searched for something else to talk about. He noted the corded muscles in Jim's bare arms. "So what have they been doing to you around this place? You have this kind of muscle tone and you've been in bed for a week?"
"It's called training, Chief. You'll find out soon enough."
"Nikita said something about that. Said Birkoff might be my trainer, since I'm obviously going to be brains, not brawn."
"No. I want Michael to train you. I want to know, I have to know, that you can take care of yourself."
"Whatever you say, Jim. Who's Michael?"
As if he heard his name, the man and Nikita entered the room. "Jim, I'm glad to see you're awake."
"Glad to be that way, Michael." Jim emphasized the name, laughing silently as Sandburg's eyes bulged. Michael looked dangerous, was dangerous, but his students had the best survival rate.
"Madeline wishes to see you in her office, Sandburg. I'll take you there," Michael said.
"Madeline? That's the woman who was here earlier?" Sandburg asked Nikita.
Nikita nodded. "She's second-in-command here at Section One."
"And she was sitting with Jim? These people can't be as cold as you led me to believe then."
Nikita looked at Jim, wondering if he was going to explain. He leaned over and whispered something in his Guide's ear. Sandburg's eyes widened dramatically. "You're kidding, right, Jim?"
"No, Chief."
"But isn't she, like, out of your league?" He didn't mean any disrespect but the thought of Jim sleeping with his C.O. seemed a little "tailhook-ish."
"Yeah, but you know stranger things have happened. I knew a cop once, a bad ass dude, if I remember correctly. Chose a ponytailed anthropologist as his partner and best friend. People thought that was odd too," Jim pointed out.
Sandburg smiled. Jim did have a way of making bizarre personal connections. "So she'll be nice to me, huh?"
Jim frowned. "Madeline's not into linear thinking, Chief. Oh, she'll quote logic when it suits her purpose, but never assume one thing will lead to another with her. The human mind is her playing field and she'll use whatever she finds against you."
"And this is the lady you want in your life?" his partner asked in amazement.
Jim laughed. "Ain't love a bitch?"
Uh oh. Jim had used the "L" word. He'd definitely have to stay on Madeline's good side. Not that he thought Jim would choose her over him, but because he didn't want his friend to have to make a choice at all. Besides, this Madeline must have some redeeming qualities. Otherwise, Jim would have nothing to do with her. "And what about the person in charge? Is there a relationship between you, too?"
Sandburg sort of hated he'd asked the question when he saw the icy look forming in Jim's eyes. "What the two of us have is an understanding."
The Guide didn't have to wonder what that meant; the hostility was obvious. "Well, it seems this is an interesting little club here. Michael?" The man looked at him, never blinking. This was one serious dude, Sandburg thought, and apparently Jim considered him a friend. He was pretty sure he didn't want to meet his enemies. "Let's go and get this over with. I'm sure tardiness won't make a good impression."
Jim grabbed his arm. "Give us a second," he requested and Michael and Nikita left. "Listen, Chief, the Section knows I'm a Sentinel but I only told them about my enhanced hearing. And that was only last week."
"You mean you weren't recruited because of your Sentinel abilities? I just assumed that because Nikita told me she had worked as your guide."
"Nikita and I work together a lot. I had to tell her for her own protection and she volunteered to help me. But even she only knows about the hearing. Section One is about getting the job done. Risk and safety are way down on its list of priorities. As an operative I'm used as effectively as possible. The reason for the training they provide is twofold; one is so you can complete the mission, and two is that you have the opportunity to save yourself after the mission is over. As a Sentinel, the Section would expect the same. But as much as these abilities strengthen me, they also make me vulnerable. As much as I may be in need of rescuing, the Section would not be there for me."
"I hear you, man. So I'm to keep my mouth shut?"
Jim shook his head. "No, Chief. I want you to go up there and sell them the whole damn Sentinel package. Make them an offer they can't refuse."
Sandburg frowned. "Are you sure about this? I mean, it sounds as if these people will hang you out to dry."
"They would if they could. But now I've got you to watch my back. I'm in balance again, Chief."
He nodded, knowing the feeling well. "We'll do it your way, big guy, but believe me, this is not going to be a one-sided deal. Your Section One may be tough, but it is no match for a Guide protecting his Sentinel."
Jim nodded, knowing the Section was going to be in for a rude awakening. Sandburg could be downright cunning when pushed into a corner. Surprising himself, as well as Sandburg, he pulled his partner into an embrace. "It's good to have you back in my life."
The Guide wrapped his arms around his Sentinel. "It's good to be back where I belong."
Section One: Madeline's Office
As Sandburg was escorted through the cavernous, futuristic setting that was Section One, he mumbled to himself, and to Jim whom he was sure was listening, that they certainly weren't in Kansas anymore. As the doors to Madeline's office swung open he was also pretty sure a bucket of water wasn't going to help this time.
"Nikita says you wish to be called Sandburg," Madeline said, gesturing him and Michael inside. "I hear that Jim is awake and responsive. Thank you, Sandburg."
"No thanks needed. Protecting Jim is the main purpose of my life." There. He'd decided that if she wanted to play mindgames, he wouldn't give her much to work with. Strategists expected lies; honesty just confused them.
"Protecting Jim seems to be everyone's purpose," someone said dryly, entering the office behind them.
"You've decided to sit in on the interview, Operations?" Madeline asked pleasantly.
"If you have no objections?" His eyebrows lifted mockingly. If he hadn't had his own private network, he would have never known any of this was happening. Somewhere, somehow, he was losing control of the Section. Or least certain people thought so.
"None at all," Madeline said with a smile. "Sandburg, this is Operations, head of Section One. Operations, our newest recruit, Sandburg."
He looked at the silver-haired man who was eyeing him distastefully and knew why Jim didn't like him. Jim, for all his bulk and brute strength, didn't like bullies and that was exactly what Operations was. It was a wonder they had reached an "understanding" at all. "How's it going?" he asked the man nicely.
"Cancel him," Operations said, turning to leave.
"Why?" Michael asked.
If looks could kill Michael would be a greasy spot, Sandburg thought, as Operations glared at him for daring to question his order. No, wait. Maybe Operations would be the spot, considering Madeline's evil stare. No, wait. Make that a smoking greasy spot--if Michael's heated gaze didn't start a fire, nothing would.
"He is substandard. He does not fit the profile of a recruit. Who brought him in?"
"Nikita."
Operations muttered a curse. "I should have known. Cancel them both."
"Do you really want to go there again?" Madeline asked softly. The last time Nikita was supposed to have been canceled, they had nearly lost Michael, Walter, and Birkoff in the process. Everyone in Section was expendable, but not all at the same time.
Sandburg startled them all by bursting out in laughter. "The man is obviously insane," Operations pointed out.
"No, I'm not," Sandburg said, plopping onto the sofa. "But you are if you let this opportunity slip through your hands because of what? Petty jealousy, a stupid powerplay, what?"
"What opportunity?" Madeline asked because Operations refused to.
"You people have at your disposal the ultimate weapon and instead of taking advantage of it, you're playing games."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Operations demanded. "What weapon?" The man did have the odd look of an inventor. Maybe he was hiding something from them.
"Jim."
Operations looked disgusted. "You mean because he's a sentinel or some such nonsense? Big deal. A parabolic microphone can make us all sentinels."
"A parabolic mike can see a mile away? Can detect whose been in a room by simply sniffing the air? Can rub a sheet of paper and tell you what was written twenty sheets earlier? Can taste just the smallest amount of a compound and tell you its components?" Sandburg shook his head. "That's one hell of a microphone."
"Explain," Michael demanded.
"Jim is a full-fledged Sentinel. All five of his senses are enhanced. When we first started with his training, his skills were limited but over the years, his talents have increased. There is no limit on how far we can push them. Especially with the facilities you have here." He looked at Operations, expecting him to demand some kind of test. If fact, he had already devised some simple, but impressive, parlor tricks for Jim to perform.
But Operations had already learned the error of questioning Jim's abilities. Madeline had been correct the first time; only fools would concoct easily proven lies. "When will Jim be ready to go out in the field?" he asked.
"Jim and me," Sandburg corrected.
"Jim and you?" Operations repeated with a sigh.
"One month." Operations looked like he was going to protest. "We haven't worked together in over a year. We have to regain what we've lost. Besides, Jim wants Michael to start my training."
The older man smiled at the thought of Michael pummeling the long-haired hippie. "Okay, one month. Both of you."
Sandburg grinned and looked at the foreboding members of Section One. "Now that the ground rules have been established, it's time for the serious negotiations to begin."
Section One: Gym
Nikita walked over to where Sandburg watched Jim sparring in the ring. "Shouldn't you be in there?" she teased, tugging on his ponytail. She had gotten rather fond of Jim's Guide over the past few weeks. He knew a little bit about everything and she was fascinated by how much he could talk without revealing anything about himself.
"Don't I suffer enough during my workouts with Michael?" he asked with a sad puppy dog expression. Actually, Michael was taking it easy on him. Not that he wasn't learning anything, but neither was he covered from head to toe in bruises. Jim didn't understand it, but he did. In the first session he had with Michael, he had let it "slip" that any sister of Jim's was his sister too. Michael had been a lot less threatening after that.
He watched Jim move fluidly around the ring, sensing how much he was holding back in order not to hurt his sparring partner. "When I called him the ultimate weapon, I had no idea of what you people had done to him. He is one lethal Sentinel."
Nikita nodded. "I watched his last sims session. Even Operations was impressed."
Sandburg had tinkered with the sims programs, slightly adjusting some key harmonics until they didn't bother Jim. "Jim admitted to me he can hear the computer making adjustments and so he knows where the bad guys are going to appear."
She looked at the man beside her and noted he wasn't a bit unnerved by what Jim had told him. In fact she could sense the pride he felt each time there was a new accomplishment to be jotted down in his ever-present notebook. She, on the other hand, was always shocked senseless when Jim revealed another talent. The difference between a Guide and a guide, she supposed. "It's a wonder I didn't get him killed before I could find you," she murmured.
Sandburg's animated eyes searched hers. "What do you mean? Jim told me what a good job you did with him. And we are both grateful to you for not only bringing us together again but for keeping Jim alive in the meantime. I thought we had made that clear to you."
"I thought you were merely being kind."
Sandburg smiled. "We're Section One. Kind is not in our vocabulary."
She smiled too. "I'm just glad he's your responsibility now."
He looked back at the ring. "He's still our responsibility, Nikita."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm mostly going to be an observer, tracking the missions from the van. You're going to be in play with Jim. You'll still have to be his guide."
"But you're here now," she argued. "It doesn't matter whether you're in the van or at his side; he'll hear you."
"Jim says you were the one that gave him the code name: Atlas. It's more fitting than you realized. Before, the Indians in Peru called Jim the Sentinel of the Great City. Now in Section One, Jim can be considered Sentinel of the World. That responsibility rests on his shoulders and it is up to his guides to ease that burden. He needs us both, Nikita."
Before she could reply, Jim touched gloves with the other guy in the ring, then leapt to the floor beside them. "Hi, Nikita. You coming with us?"
"Where?" she asked, looking at the matching sparkles in their eyes.
"To check out our new loft. You can give us some decorating tips. Let me shower and change, then we can go. Don't let her back out on us, Chief."
"I won't, Jim," Sandburg vowed. Jim disappeared into the locker room. "You heard the man, Nikita. You can't back out on us now. You're a guide."
"But he was talking about..." She suddenly realized Jim had heard the entire conversation. What a gift. What a burden. "I'll do what I can."
"Good. Because there will be times when I have to be in play and Jim will be the observer." He really wasn't looking forward to playing Section's little games but someday he would be the perfect operative for the job and he would be sent in. "Jim will freak when that happens and you will be his only control. You'll have to keep him safe from himself."
Nikita looked at him as if he was insane. "How am I supposed to control Jim? You yourself just said he's lethal."
Sandburg linked his arm in hers and patted her hand. "Don't worry, Nikita. We guides always stick together. I have a whole bag of tricks on how to soothe a disgruntled Sentinel. I'll give you my notebooks to read through in the next few days and when Jim and I get back, we'll start some real guide training."
"Back from where?" she asked as they walked out of the gym.
"From Utah. We have some unfinished business there."
VII. Restoration- a return to an unimpaired or improved condition
The Loft
"How's the turkey coming, Jim?"
"Should be ready in time for our guests, Chief. You finished playing with the gifts under the tree?" he teased.
"Man, when it comes to Christmas, visual effects are everything," Sandburg explained as he took a seat at the bar and started rearranging the cookies Jim must have just dumped onto the platter. "I can't believe we're all going to be here for Christmas. Where were we last year?"
"One of those 'istans," Jim said as he finished making the eggnog.
"Isbekistan, man. Good thing one your Christmas gifts is a geography disk."
"Why do I need to know where I am, Chief? As long as I know what language to speak."
Jim's ability to listen to a language tape and instantly be fluent in it had been stumbled upon two years ago. Operations had barely reacted when he had learned of Jim's new skill. He'd long ago given up being surprised by what the man had up his sleeve. Of course that didn't mean he didn't get on their cases every chance he got.
Sandburg looked at the twelve-foot tree and smiled. This loft was tons bigger than their old one and that meant they had to have a bigger tree. At least that was what he'd told Jim when his roommate complained as he went up and down the ladder decorating it. "Madeline wasn't too mad when you had to come home early last night to help me with the tree, was she?"
"Nah. I've learned if you give her a present, she's usually very understanding."
"Especially if the present came from Victoria's Secret. I swear, man, you are such a dichotomy. On one hand, you fly all over the world, pretending to be like a hundred different people on any given day. You are suave, sophisticated, and oh so worldly. Yet, put you in a mall and you actually blush in a lingerie store." Sandburg was laughing so hard he had to rearrange the cookies again.
"Well, at least I was buying for only one lady. You had the store send packages to nearly every continent on the planet. Aren't you getting a little old for that kind of behavior, Sandburg?"
"The ladies think otherwise, man," he said with a grin which quickly faded as the phone rang. "That better not be someone calling for Atlas or Mercury."
"Well, if it is, Quick Silver, this is a warning. If you say one more time, 'to the Bat Cave, Jim', I'm going to have to hurt you." Jim wiped his hand on a towel and answered the phone. "Hi, Maddie." He turned away so Sandburg couldn't hear the rest of the conversation.
His partner looked up anxiously as he hung up. "Well, is dinner still on?"
"Sure is, Chief. They were getting ready to leave the Section and wanted to know if we needed them to pick up anything."
Sandburg frowned. "Good thing we didn't. It's Christmas Day, man. Everything is like so closed."
"To Section One's finest?"
"Oh, good point. They're all coming together?"
"Yeah. Someone told them my eggnog is wicked. They figured it would be safer to call for a van when they left."
Sandburg sniffed at the punchbowl. "You are a little heavy-handed with the Christmas cheer, Jim. By the way, you think Operations will like what we got him?"
Jim rolled his eyes. "It wasn't my idea to get him anything in the first place."
"Yeah, but we have gifts for everyone else. It wouldn't have been fair to him. Besides, I'm hoping he's like the Winter Warlock."
"The who?"
Sandburg's jaw sagged. "Man, your childhood was so deprived. Don't tell me you never saw Santa Claus Is Coming To Town?" Jim shook his head. "There was this bitter old Winter Warlock who tried to stop Kris Kringle, right? But good ol' Santa pulled a toy out of his bag for W.W. and like instantly, he thawed and became a good guy."
"And you think this is going to work on Operations?"
Sandburg shrugged. "It's Christmas, the season of miracles." Granted, he knew his Jewish heritage should have precluded him from celebrating the inherently Christian holiday, but he was an equal opportunity celebrator. "You think anybody's mad because I just wanted it to be a 'family' dinner?"
"Nah. It'll be nice to be away from the Section and not have to watch what we say. Besides, I think we're all still recuperating from Michael's New Year's Eve bash last year."
"Who knew Michael could be such a party animal? He and Madeline certainly surprised everybody when they climbed onto the dining room table to demonstrate an Irish jig."
Jim laughed in remembrance. "Nikita and I were just coming in from a mission and instead of going to the Section for debriefing, we went directly to Michael's house. Talk about zoning... We both did."
"Yeah, and then you climbed on the table with them."
"It was nearing midnight. How else were we going to get our kisses?"
Sandburg snickered and wondered if he could talk Jim into having the New Year's party at the loft next year. He looked around the place and remembered the old one. "You know it's times like these when I miss Cascade the most. I wonder about Simon and the gang. And Daryl. He was supposed to graduate college the year we 'died'."
Jim heard the sadness in his voice and understood. Sandburg and Simon's son had been especially close. "I know you miss your mom too. And I miss my brother Stephen. But things change, Chief, and we just have to roll with them." He reached over and plucked a piece of tinsel from the curly locks.
Sandburg touched Jim's arm before he could withdraw it."I know, Jim. I'm just grateful for the things that don't."
Jim placed his hand over the one on his arm."Me too, Chief."
There was a knock at the door. "They're here, Jim," Sandburg called unnecessarily as he took a final, proud glance around the room.
Jim smiled as he saw the loft reflected in his friend's dancing eyes. He'd been so afraid that Section One would break his partner's spirit, dampen the infectious enthusiasm he had for life. But Sandburg was stronger than either of them knew; not only was he unbowed, but he was determined to bring light into the Section. A daunting task but as he'd said, it was indeed the season of miracles. "Well, are you going to let them in, Chief? They're going to think we aren't home."
"Oh, but we are, Jim," he said meaningfully as he turned toward the door. "We are."
THE END