Dark, Still Water
Rated TEEN

6. Chapter Six

"It's not broken," Darla said with a smile as she walked in with a smile and a Styrofoam cup full of steaming coffee in each hand. "You look like you need some." She offered Blair a cup.

"Bless you and three generations of your children," Blair said as he closed his hands around the cup. It was the first decent thing to happen to him today.

"Would you like some?" She offered the second cup to Blair's large and silent shadow.

"No, thank you," Murray said with that tilt of his head that Blair was coming to associate with politeness or perhaps just a recognition of the other person's good intentions. His body language was fascinating, almost more tribal than industrial or even pre-industrial, and very few places in Africa were remote enough to qualify for that distinction. Blair shoved the thought to the side for now because he had way more immediate concerns. Darla set the second cup on the small counter.

She leaned over with a conspiratorial smile, and for a half second, Blair thought he was about to get propositioned. He and Darla had certainly been sexually compatible during their short-lived relationship, so it wasn't all that impossible. "Your partner tracked you down and wants to talk," she said as she pressed a cell phone into his hand. "You are such a cutie, even if you do look like an extra in a prison show right now," she offered in a slightly louder voice, her fingers lingering over his cheek. "I'll get you a brace and some crutches, and you can go get washed up in the bathroom." Darla busied herself with Blair's ankle, and Blair was left hiding the open phone in his lap. He had no idea why he had to hide the fact that he was getting a call from Jim.

"Oh man, the bathroom sounds great," Blair said as he slipped the phone into his shirt and prayed that he didn't accidentally switch it off. As much trouble as he and Jim were having, Blair didn't think hanging up on him would go into the good column.

"You just need to not do anything stupid for a while," Darla told him as she sat on a stool at his feet and started strapping his ankle into a heavy brace. "Of course, that may be difficult for you."

"Har, har," Blair said with a roll of his eyes.

"You need a keeper. Seriously, Blair, do not go and screw your ankle up. You know, a serious sprain can require surgery, and you hate surgery. So take care of this."

"I hear you," Blair nodded.

Darla glared up at him. "Oh no, that's the tone you use when you plan on ignoring everything I've just said, Blair Sandburg."

Blair blinked down at her in surprise.

"And that's the look that is supposed to make me forget that you never listen to anything I say, and that look works better without the black eye." Darla crossed her arms and pinned him with an unhappy look. Funny, even though she was sitting on the stool at his feet, he still had the impression she was glaring down at him.

Blair held his hands up in surrender. "I'll take care of it. Promise," he offered. He and Darla had dated for about three days, and even in that time, he had learned that she really wasn't one to cross... not unless you really enjoyed extreme sports like skiing down black flag rated slopes and dodging teapots thrown at your head at near-lethal speeds. He'd never seen that side of her, but he'd heard some stories.

"I shall ensure that he cares for his physical needs if you will entrust any instructions to me," Murray offered. Blair rolled his eyes again. Despite his hair and his lack of height, he was a grown man and he truly didn't need to be taken care of. He hadn't since he was sixteen. And yet, he was nearly thirty and he had more mother hens in his life than he could shake a stick at. He had some seriously baggage a past life, that's for sure.

Not surprisingly, Darla smiled at Murray. "Keep the walking to a minimum, make sure the brace is on anytime he's out of bed, but it shouldn't be tight enough to leave marks on the skin. At home, keep the leg elevated and an ice pack will help with the swelling. I can write a prescription for anti-inflammatory medicine if you think you can get him to take it."

"I can." Murray tilted his head, and Darla gave him a conspiratorial smile.

"I can take care of myself," Blair complained softly.

"Of course you can," Darla agreed as she pressed the last Velcro strap over the brace and stood up. "Now let me help steady you on the crutches," she said as she reached over to the wall and grabbed a pair of silver crutches. Blair snatched from her, but when he stood, only her hands on his waist kept him upright as he struggled for balance.

"Whoa. This was so easier last time I did it."

"Were you just recovering from pneumonia last time?" Darla asked sweetly. The only problem was that Darla didn't do sweet.

"Nag, nag," Blair said softly as he navigated toward the door out to the hall. Unfortunately, Murray moved with him. If Jim was trying to hide their contact, he couldn't exactly go pulling the phone out in front of Murray.

"Hey, do you mind going out and finding some food? Something that isn't the crap you find in the vending machines here. Something that I can still recognize as having grown in the actual ground. No way can they call a sandwich sealed in plastic actual food. That's more like torture for the stomach."

"There's a shop just on the other side of Harper Hall," Darla said, gesturing toward the north. Murray tilted his head at them.

"I can pay," Blair said, reaching for his wallet, which led to Darla grabbing for him as he fumbled with one of his crutches.

"I do not require currency." Murray took a step backwards, and for one second, Blair was afraid that he wasn't going to take the bait. "I shall return quickly." He turned and walked down the hall without any other comment.

"Tall, dark, and laconic." Darla gave a little huff of laughter.

"No joke. He is totally not into idiomatic English and non-verbal communication," Blair agreed as he reached for the phone. "Jim?"

"Chief, are you okay?"

Blair smiled at the concern in Jim's voice, but Darla plucked the phone out of his hand before he could answer. "Blair will be with you as soon as he sits his ass on a chair before he falls on it," she told Jim even as she gave Blair a firm stare.

"You would make one hell of an Amazon," Blair complained, but he limped his way two feet to a chair sitting in the middle of the hall and then held his hand out, demanding the phone. She gave it to him and then headed down the hall so he had a little privacy.

"Nurse Ratched is gone now," Blair said into the phone.

"Chief, are you okay?" Jim repeated.

"Man, I'm fine. I just twisted my ankle. When IA calls, I'm going to..."

"Blair!" Jim cut him off with the barked word, but Blair could hear a scuffling on the far end of the phone.

"Jim? Jim?!"

"Hey, how ya doing, Sandy?" Megan's voice came over the phone, sounding concerned.

"Megan? I'm fine. Where's Jim?"

"He's right here, and he's fine. Well, he's as fine as he usually is, but I'm more worried about you, mate."

"Seriously, I'm fine. Look, Megan, I appreciate the concern, but I really need to talk to Jim."

Blair heard another shuffling, but this time, Megan's voice came through like a faint ghost. Blair was guessing she had her hand over the mouthpiece. "Play nice or I'll make you sorrier than IA could dream of, Ellison." Blair waited for the explosion, but Jim didn't answer.

"Blair, when IA calls, just keep to the facts. Blowing up isn't going to help anything," Jim said. Blair frowned at the weariness he could hear in Jim's voice.

"Oh man, how bad is it?" Blair asked softly. Jim's sigh was all the answer he needed. "Fuck. I'm going to kill O'Neill," Blair vowed. It might not be good on his karma, but right now, killing the guy seemed like a pretty good idea.

"Blair, I have no idea whether O'Neill is acting in good faith or not—"

"Good faith?" Blair nearly squeaked. "I can answer that. He's a manipulative, son-of-a bitch who needs a good swift kick in the ass."

"Blair." Jim stopped, and the silence that followed weirded Blair out about as bad as anything else on this truly crappy day. "Blair, I was out of line."

"You've been a dick lately, but it's not like I've been a joy to be around," Blair agreed.

"Sandburg, just shut up and listen for two seconds." Jim's words were cut off by more scuffling on the far end of the phone, and Blair could just imagine Megan giving him shit. The phone went dead for a second, and then Jim was back. "Blair, please let me say this. I might have been out of line back there. From the colonel's point of view, things might have looked bad. We can't assume he has other motives."

Blair narrowed his eyes and wished that Jim was here so Blair could look him in the eye. Jim had been the one assuming that O'Neill was playing some sort of covert ops game, and now he was definitely singing a different tune. Blair was all in favor of change. He was the quintessence of change. But Jim... Jim did not change. Once he made up his mind, he was more the sort who just closed his eyes and pushed his way straight through the middle. "So, you think he's just stupid and arrogant?" Blair asked.

That made Jim snort his amusement. "Maybe." Then the silence returned. "Blair, from his point of view, you were badly hurt, and I was the only one in that alley."

"Brad Ventriss—"

"We don't have evidence against him, Blair. Let's not borrow trouble here."

"Oh, so just because the Ventriss family has money, we're going to bend over backwards to—"

"Yes, we are," Jim snapped. "Try it and I'll be taking you to the hospital with broken fingers," Jim snarled, and for a half-second, Blair thought Jim was threatening him. The angry retort he could barely hear on the other end of the phone suggested that Megan had been the target of that threat, though. "Blair, things are difficult right now. If IA believes O'Neill, I'm guilty of domestic abuse. If they believe me, I'm guilty of malfeasance or possibly just stupidity. A civilian was attacked by someone using a deadly weapon, and I didn't call it in."

"Oh fuck," Blair breathed as he realized just how much shit Jim was in. He could lose his job over this, even if Blair told the truth. "You would have called it in if we hadn't been interrupted by O'Neill," Blair quickly added as he tried to think his way through this problem.

"Would I?" Jim asked, and instead of sounding challenging or angry, Jim just sounded weary.

"Totally. Man, I know you. You would have filled out the report the second we got back to the station," Blair said firmly. And again, that silence crept into the corners of the conversation.

"Maybe," Jim finally admitted. "It doesn't matter now. Look, I can't have contact with you right now, and I don't think Megan is going to volunteer her cell phone again anytime soon..."

Blair could hear her saying something in response to that, but all he could hear was the general tone, and she didn't sound happy.

"I wanted to say that I didn't mean for you to get hurt," Jim said quickly, but Blair could just imagine how much it bothered Jim to spit out that apology.

"No harm no foul," Blair quickly assured him. He then flinched as he looked at his ankle wrapped in the large, bulky brace. Okay, minimal harm.

"If O'Neill is on the up and up, he's going to try and get me booted from the force. At best, I'm looking at a suspension. But if he's not on the up and up..." Jim stopped for a second, and Blair could hear muffled sounds as Jim and Megan exchanged words. He hated not being there. He needed to see their faces to judge what they were really thinking, and a phone was a sorry substitute for true communication. After several seconds, Jim returned, his voice low and serious. "Chief, if O'Neill takes you into custody, don't fight him. Just tell him to contact me. I won't make trouble."

"Jim?"

"Just... Chief, just don't get your mouth running when you don't have the ability to back it up, okay?"

"So, you think I’m a wimp?" Blair demanded.

"I think Colonel O'Neill has worked out of the Defense Intelligence Center in Langley. The information I have is sketchy, but from the stories I've been able to put together, he was a Lieutenant Colonel working Special Operations when he survived enemy capture and escaped on his own. He specialized as a Master Parachutist who worked behind enemy lines and has awards for courage under fire and completing a mission after being wounded. Even after calling in every military favor I have left, nearly his entire record is blacked out. I do know he has a Master's degree in Military Strategic Studies, and he's worked in satellite command, covert ops, and surveillance. His name set off red flags all over the system, and Kelso won't even talk about him except to tell me that I need to not get on his bad side, and I think it's a little too late for that. Chief, O'Neill is not a pencil pusher and I think *I'm* out of my league going up against him. I won't have you hurt getting between him and whatever the hell he's in Cascade to get."

"Oh fuck." Blair could feel his guts clench up as he tried to reconcile that resume against the gray-haired man with the dry sense of humor. They were so incredibly and totally screwed.

"What if he just wants to find his friend's friend?"

"Then we keep our heads down and survive this storm," Jim said seriously. "Chief, IA is going to figure out which hospital you went to soon enough. We really shouldn't be on the phone when they show up. Simon's ass is in a sling already because he refused to put me in an interrogation room while they tracked down witnesses. We can't make it worse for him."

Blair swallowed. "An interrogation room?"

"Let me handle this, Chief. I'll be fine."

That was a blatant lie. Blair could hear the stress in Jim's voice, but there was precious little he could do about it from here. If Blair had to guess, he would say that Jim was already on administrative leave, meaning Simon had taken his gun and badge. If they were talking about keeping in an interrogation room, that meant IA wanted him booked. They might have already forced Simon to book Jim and he was just out on his own recognizance. Maybe he was calling from jail. Fuck and fuck. Jim used the job to channel his frustrations, and this was so not the time for the fucking IA department to take that away from him. "Try the meditation routine. My candles are behind the chair."

"I'll be fine, Sandburg," Jim said, and some of the cranky was back. God forbid Blair suggest that Jim wasn't a fucking Superman. Blair sighed, and he knew Jim would hear that too.

"Call if something happens."

"I'll find a way to," Jim promised. "Take care, Chief." Before Blair could answer, the phone went dead, and Blair was left sitting in the clinic hallway wondering just what the hell he was supposed to do now. IA was coming to talk to him, and he had no idea what exactly Jim had told them on his end. Blair scrubbed his face with both hands before leaning over so his elbows rested on his knees and his face rested on his hands. Life just kept getting better. After the whole getting dead business, he had expected some sort of euphoria, a period of extreme joy as every pleasure reminded him that he hadn't actually died in that fountain with Alex's hands around his neck. Instead, he just found himself more and more weary.

"You ready to try to make it to the bathroom?" Blair looked up and Darla was standing there with a compassionate look.

"Totally," Blair agreed. He held up the phone and she silently took it.

"Babe, you have looked better. I hope that Murray plans to take care of you a little better than Ellison has been. I'm betting you didn't even take the full course of medicine."

"I took the antibiotics," Blair told her as he got his one good foot under him and used his crutches to pull himself up.

"And the pain pills? The muscle relaxers to help with the cough that was keeping you up, the pills to help you sleep?"

"A glass of warm milk works just as well." Blair could have talked all about tryptophan and melatonin and healthy sleep, he was just too tired.

She snorted. "Then why do you look like the walking dead?"

"Because a guy with a baseball bat kicked my ass," Blair quickly answered. Darla didn't look convinced, but she didn't argue as she helped him into the clinic bathroom. Blair felt scummy after clinging to the dumpster, so when Darla moved a chair to right in front of the sink, he happily sat and focused on cleaning up his hands and face instead of worrying about what he was supposed to do with the rest of his life.

7. Chapter Seven

"Mr. Sandburg?" a man asked from the door to the exam room where Darla had shoved him. Blair looked up from the narrow plastic chair and found a middle-aged man with a paunchy stomach and suit with pant legs shiny from age. IA.

"That's me," Blair said, pasting a smile on his face as he tried to figure out exactly what he was supposed to say now. A dozen plans darted through his mind, but a good half ended up with Jim kicked off the force and/or looking for a lawyer, and the really shitty thing was that a little voice in Blair's head whispered that he deserved it. Blair had died. Blair had laid in the fucking water and died, and Jim had the nerve to bring him back and then leave him floundering like a fish—although fish might not be the best metaphor under the circumstances.

"I need to ask you a couple of things about this afternoon," the dweeb said with a smile that was meant to put Blair at ease. He held his hand out. "I'm Detective Laurencin. Bruce."

Blair shook Bruce's hand and tried to not look like he was panicking. Sometimes he could pull off obfuscations that would make the Great Pretender look like an amateur, but other times... not so much. "You already know I'm Blair. I'm actually just waiting for my ride to show up, so ask away, man." Blair tried for a casual sort of air, but Bruce gave him a sharp look before he schooled his features into something more friendly. Blair wasn't sure how he did it, but he was fairly sure Simon had gotten the most incompetent boob in IA assigned to the case.

"Your ride? Detective Ellison?" Bruce's voice had that overly-casual tone that meant something big was up. Shit. Jim probably was in a cell. Yeah, he'd been a first-class dick, but no way was Blair going to give these assholes any ammunition against Jim. Bruce was about to go down in flames without so much as a hint of glory.

"After this afternoon? No way." Blair shook his head with a look of exaggerated horror. "Whatever issues Ellison and O'Neill have, I plan to stay far, far away. I thought archeologists were nasty with their feuds, but these covert ops guys take grudges way too far, if you know what I mean," Blair snorted. Stretching, he reached for the Kleenex on the small counter. He couldn't quite make it without standing up, so Bruce quickly came into the room and grabbed the box, offering one to Blair.

"Thanks, man." Blair blew his nose and waited for the seeds of doubt to do their work.

"So, O'Neill and Ellison have a history?" Bruce leaned against the counter and tried to look non-threatening.

"How the hell would I know? You'd have to pull both their military records to figure that out because no one is telling me anything. I'm doing my dissertation on closed communities, and I would love it if Jim gave me something on military culture and communities, but any time I mention his time in the Rangers, he goes mute on me. But when O'Neill showed up..." Blair whistled to indicate just how explosive that had been.

"At the station? They were in a confrontation in Major Crimes?" Bruce was scribbling in his little notebook.

"Oh man, I thought Jim was going to explode when he had to help O'Neill, and O'Neill kept making all these little references about how they'd worked together and how cops are nothing more than glorified meter maids." Blair paused, and sure enough, Bruce's gaze came up at that. Yep, all cops had two buttons guaranteed to cause total emotional meltdown: donut references and suggestions they were meter maids. Blair snorted again. "Jim and this O'Neill were in a pissing match from the first time I saw them, but does Ellison tell me shit? Oh no. No, he's going to handle O'Neill all on his own. I just get an order to steer clear, and then Ellison is off growling at O'Neill in private. Man, either they have history, or those are the two crankiest men on the face of the fucking planet."

Blair paused for a second. He knew for a fact that he couldn't defend Jim. If he did, everything he said would be tainted by the assumption that he was covering. "Then again, Ellison is one of the crankiest men on the planet, so... who knows." Blair shrugged and blew his nose again. Sadly, he wasn't even obfuscating on that front. Jim used to have this wicked, sarcastic sense of humor that would make Blair just about bust a gut laughing, but lately, the man had turned into this weird, serious, asshole version of himself. If Blair had met this current version of Jim Ellison first, dissertation or not, he would have told the guy to go fuck himself. He then would have been arrested for jaywalking or something because Jim version 2.0 did not have patience or a sense of humor.

Blair coughed, and that set off a long string of heavy coughing that brought Darla to the door. "Blair? Did you take that pill?" She crossed her arms.

"Yes, I took the pill. Geez, it's just a cough," Blair said with an eyeroll.

"I'm going to see if someone can cover for me so I can drive you home now," she said firmly before turning around and disappearing.

"Darla! You don't have to do that!" Blair sighed when he didn't get any answer.

"She's driving you home?" Bruce asked.

"Man, you sleep with a woman once, and she suddenly thinks she has a right to tell you what pills to take." Blair closed his eyes and leaned back. He hated not being able to see how his words affected Bruce, but this was delicate lying here. He had to debunk O'Neill's story without looking like he cared about O'Neill's story. And that meant that he had to look like he didn't care what Bruce thought of his heterosexuality. At least, Bruce would assume that Darla was proof of heterosexuality because people just did not want to recognize bisexuality or asexuality as legitimate orientations. They just divided the world into straight and gay, and Blair needed Bruce to make certain assumptions.

Bruce cleared his throat. "So, how long ago did you and Darla date?"

"Three or four months." Blair opened one eye and looked at Bruce. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Obviously, Bruce was buying Blair's stupid act. "Just curiosity." He smiled at Blair.

"Man, unless you have insurance, just do not go there," Blair advised him. "She's dangerous and has access to a large number of sharp implements."

"Is there bad blood between you?"

"No way. I have heard Darla's reputation, so I was a paragon of faithfulness when we dated. Actually, she reminds me a whole lot of Sam, you know in forensics?"

"At the station?" Bruce frowned.

"Totally. Now that is a dangerous woman. I forgot her birthday once... just once... she nearly took my eyebrows off with one of her experiments. 'Blair, just bend a little closer here,'" he mimicked her voice. "She is freaky scary. But you know, looking at my dating life, I have a pattern of scary women. A psychologist would probably call it an Oedipal complex or something because my mom, Naomi—now that is a woman who does not take shit from anyone. Even Simon begs me to keep her out of the squad room because she is seriously scary. She steps on toes all over the place, if you know what I mean." Blair nodded, and he was more than a little pleased to notice that Bruce looked ready to run for the hills. Yep, the very mention of Oedipus pretty much sent men running.

"So, this afternoon," Bruce quickly changed the subject.

A shadow appeared in the door of the exam room, and Bruce quickly shifted his focus toward the newest person in the room.

"Murray, how goes the mighty hunt for snacks?" Blair called out. Murray's eyebrow rose, but he simply held out a plastic grocery sack with a fern-like, bright green top sticking out of the top.

"It went well."

"Cool." Blair opened the sack and looked at the contents. Two apples, two oranges, a potato, a tomato, and a fennel root. Fennel root. Who the hell bought potatoes and fennel when they were asked to pick up snacks? Okay, some of Naomi's friends might, but Murray did not look like he was the kind to talk about the magical healing properties of root vegetables.

"That's a snack?" Bruce asked as he leaned over and tried to look in the bag.

Bruce was now looking from one to the other curiously, and Blair silently cursed as he tried to figure out how to bend this to fit into the picture he was trying to paint for the man. Murray being here didn't exactly fit the whole image of O'Neill having a grudge against Jim. Murray and fennel root was a combination he really didn't quite know how to weave into the lie he was building here.

"Man, fennel root is full of vitamins. Nurse Ratched out there may want me to take pills, but a few root vegetables can do way more good for a person than all the pills in the world," Blair said cheerfully as he pulled off a bunch of the lacy greens and shoved them in his mouth. Murray didn't look surprised at all, but Bruce... Bruce looked like he was either grossed out or considering calling in the folks with the white coats. Blair smiled and pulled off more fennel before popping it in his mouth, and Bruce decided to focus on Murray.

"I'm Detective Bruce Laurencin. Are you a friend of Blair's?"

Murray blinked without answering. Then again, the world 'friend' had a whole lot of connotations that were difficult to translate culturally, so the man might not know how to answer.

"O'Neill sent him along, and I'm pretty sure he's just hanging out here to annoy the shit out of Jim if he shows up here," Blair answered for him.

"O'Neill? You're a friend of O'Neill?"

Murray tilted his head for a second. "I am."

"Wait, you're the fourth witness. Murray Small, right?" Bruce flipped through his little notebook.

Small? Blair mouthed the name to Murray, a questioning look on his face, but Murray was busy having absolutely no facial expression at all. The man had a poker face that would make Jim jealous.

"I'll need to interview you later, so I'm going to have to ask that you wait outside." Bruce finally looked up from his notebook.

"I must decline." Murray took a position at the side of the door and crossed his arms. Blair hid a smile behind his fennel because Bruce obviously hadn't been expecting that answer.

"This is police business," Bruce said sharply. Murray continued to just gaze at the man. This was better than cable. Bruce glared at Murray, but the big guy was definitely not picking up on the non-verbal signals. Well, either that or Murray seriously did not care that he was pissing off the cop. "You cannot stand there during my interview."

"On the contrary, I find standing quite easy," Murray offered, and Blair choked on a laugh that he almost didn't catch in time. Bruce spared him a quick and nasty look before he focused on Murray again.

"I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside. Since you were present at the conflict this afternoon, I'll need to interview you later."

"No."

Blair watched as Bruce just about twitched. Of course, Jim would have been twitching and slamming Murray into the nearest wall by this time, so Bruce was actually doing pretty well, all things considered.

"You will leave." Bruce stepped forward and grabbed Murray's arm, yanking so hard that Blair thought he might lose his balance. And the really amusing thing was that Murray didn't even move an inch. It was like watching a Chihuahua try to play tug of war with a St. Bernard. "Sir, if you do not leave, I will arrest you for interfering in an official investigation." Bruce backed off a couple of steps, but Blair could almost feel the aggression swirling around the room.

"Whoa, hey, no need to tank any careers here," Blair quickly said. He just wished he could get up and get between them, but he kept coughing, and coughing plus crutches was so not the best combination. Bruce totally ignored him. Murray at least glanced over with that one-eyebrow twitch that requested more information. "I mean, come on. You can't seriously think his name is Murray Small. He isn't even American, and do the words 'diplomatic immunity' mean anything to you? How about the words 'flushing' and 'career' or the phrase 'pissed off commissioner'? Seriously, do not go there."

"Diplomatic immunity?" Bruce backed off so that he could keep his eyes on Murray while sparing Blair a confused look. "He told you he has diplomatic immunity?"

"No fucking way," Blair quickly answered. "I mean, he's one of O'Neill's buddies, and O'Neill isn't saying shit. But O'Neill is some big covert ops type, Murray here is from Africa, and neither one of them want anyone to know Murray's real name. As a trained anthropologist, I make observations and draw conclusions. In my professional opinion, O'Neill has a pretty big interest in making sure that no one even knows Murray is here. Man, alarm bells should be going off. I can name a dozen African countries on the verge of civil war and some of those governments would not be amused to know that the U.S. military is offering training to people more friendly to U.S interests, if you catch my drift. And that means O'Neill is going to protect Murray's identity, even if he has to ruin your reputation to do it. O'Neill is..." Blair held up his hands to show that he would not tangle with O'Neill.

Bruce was now looking fairly panicked. Blair hated giving the guy a heart attack—he was only doing his job. However, Blair was ninety percent sure he wasn't lying about Murray, and the rest... well, that was between him and Jim. He sure as hell didn't need rescuing.

"So, Murray, if Bruce arrested you, how long would it be before the State Department pulled you out?" Blair asked. Yeah, Murray would deny it, but that would just play into Blair's hand.

"I do not believe the State Department would retrieve me. I believe that either the Secretary of the Air Force or the President would." Murray tilted his head forward, and that was almost a smile on his lips. Almost. Blair looked at the man, wondering if he was playing along.

"The President?" Bruce cleared his throat. "I don't care who you are, you cannot be present when I am interviewing a witness."

Blair gave the man credit for having balls. He almost sounded like he meant that, but Blair figured the guy would take any out he could get at this point.

"Man, there's nothing to interview me about. I got attacked. Before Jim could call it in, O'Neill shows up and makes a crack about Jim needing to write more parking tickets. So not cool. O'Neill is an asshole, and two assholes cannot occupy the same space at the same time, so Jim starts getting pissy right back. Jim tried to get us out of the alley and into a more public space, and I do not even want to guess why. Man, if he doesn't trust O'Neill enough to be alone with him, then I am right there with him. We tried to leave, my ankle gave out, O'Neill got even pissier, Jim got even pissier than O'Neill, and the next thing I know, Murray here tossed Jim aside, and O'Neill had a weapon on him before he could recover. Interview over."

"So, O'Neill instigated the confrontation?" Bruce asked. Yep, the man was ready to run for the hills.

"I think O'Neill and Jim pretty much instigated each other. But the way O'Neill kept accusing Jim of being the one who hit me after all the vague references to their past? Man, I was so not surprised when Jim blew. And the shitty thing is that he's not going to tell me squat about what's really going on because it's all this covert crap he never talks about. He's a decorated officer, but he hasn't kept a single medal or reminder of his military days. He doesn't keep in touch with any of his army buddies, and when O'Neill started talking about some fort where they were stationed together, I really though Jim was going to punch someone, right there in the middle of the station." Blair didn't mention that it was Murray Jim seemed more likely to punch.

"So, you think this is personal?" Bruce was already eyeing the door. He'd probably be edging toward it if Murray wasn't standing there like some sort of bodyguard... or some sort of statue. It was freaky how still the man could be—almost like he was meditating, even though he was watching the conversation intensely.

"Think about it," Blair held up a finger. "Colonel O'Neill is this big muckity muck in covert ops, and he has his own team to track down leads. But the first thing he does in Cascade is track down Jim, who just happens to be retired covert ops. Stop number two is Jack Kelso, former CIA. Man, maybe I'm just way too into conspiracy theories, but my Spidey sense is tingling. I don't know what this is, and good luck getting anyone to talk. Actually, they may talk lots, but good luck figuring out the truth from the lies," Blair added after a second of thought. He took another bite of fennel greens. They actually weren't bad. A little sweet, but not bad.

"And do you have anything to add?" Bruce asked Murray. Blair knew police procedure well enough to know that anything Murray said now was next-to-useless. He'd sat in on another witness' statement, and that tainted anything he said. On the other hand, Blair almost sympathized with Bruce, who was trying to save some face.

"I do not," Murray said with a smile that actually looked a little creepy, like he was about to snarl or something. Bruce snapped his notebook shut and headed out the door without even leaving a card behind. Yep, the guy was freaked.

Blair sighed. One disaster averted... probably. The room was silent, and Blair seriously hoped that Darla found someone to cover for her because he felt like a limp dishrag. His dissertation, his job, his work at the station, his friendship with Jim... it all felt like it was on the verge of going up in flames, and he didn't know how long he could keep everything together. He was just so tired.

"You implied untruths," Murray commented eventually, his low voice so soft it barely disturbed the silence.

"Well, yeah," Blair answered. "People look for reasons, for motive. Man, you can have all the evidence in the world, but the human mind wants a story that makes all the pieces fit. I just gave Bruce a story that the piece might fit into."

"By suggesting a history of animosity between O'Neill and Ellison."

"Yep," Blair agreed. "Two guys holding a grudge, now that's a familiar story. Way more familiar and believable than whatever we have going on here."

Murray tilted his head to the side. "What do we have going on here?"

Blair pushed himself up a bit on the chair and studied Murray. "I'll be damned if I know. Man, I'm getting a headache just trying to figure out what kind of shit is hitting the fan with all this. I don't even know what direction to duck in any more." Blair closed his eyes and tried to will away the gathering headache. He almost wished Bruce was back because that gave him something to focus on. Weaving half-truths for the IA detective didn't leave him enough time to worry about whatever shit was going on for real.

"O'Neill holds no animosity toward you," Murray offered. Blair opened his eyes to find that he'd taken a step closer.

"I'm just collateral damage, got it," Blair agreed. Murray tilted his head to the side, and looked like he was struggling to construct a response to that. English definitely wasn't his first language. "Man, it's fine. I get it. I signed up for this shit when I started tagging along with Jim."

"One does not consent to abuse," Murray said softly.

"Oh man, do not start. Jim did not hit me. Seriously."

"He did not take your injuries seriously. He implied that your own sexual choices precipitated and warranted such violence." Murray said the words softly and in such a matter-of-fact tone that Blair's tired mind didn't make the connection right away. Jim had said that he thought Blair's love life had inspired the attack.

Blair sat up straight. "You saw the attack. You saw those three guys."

"There were four men."

"Four? Oh man. Please tell me one was really young, nineteen or twenty, a skinny runt with a narrow face."

"He was," Murray agreed.

"Yes!" Blair jumped up on his good leg and might have lost his balance except Murray darted forward pretty damn fast for such a big man and caught him around the waist. "Thanks, man. I mean, seriously, thank you. We can nail that little bastard for assault with a deadly weapon, even if we can't get him on rape. This... this makes the ankle so worth it."

Murray stared down at him, and Blair felt the joy slowly drain as he looked at Murray's impassive face. "No. No, you can't just let him get away with this," Blair said slowly. "No." Murray still didn't respond, and Blair shoved at the man's arms. "What? Is it because he has money? So, if a person has money, it's okay if they rape some girl and then frighten her into not talking? It's okay for them to blackmail someone?"

"It is not," Murray said firmly. Blair shoved at him again, and Murray slowly backed away.

"I'll have the DA subpoena you." Even as he made the threat, Blair knew that it wasn't going to work, but his other option was to take this lying down. Okay, so he had to sit because his good leg was feeling a little wobbly, but he didn't lie down for anyone.

"You are correct in surmising that your government would not allow me to testify," Murray said, and Blair started calculating the distance his crutch might reach. He had no illusions about actually hurting Murray, but hitting him would feel really, really good right about now. Blair closed his eyes and tried to find some sort of calm. Naomi always said that things happened for a reason, but right now he was having trouble just seeing past his own anger and helplessness, so universal reasons were way past him.

"I do not wish for my actions to cause you additional pain."

"Too fucking late," Blair snapped. "Can you see if Darla is ready to go, because I cannot take any more of this bullshit today."

"I have informed her that you no longer need a ride."

Blair opened his eyes and studied Murray, but the man didn't look like he was joking. "And why would you say that?"

"I shall return you to your housing."

"*You* don't have a car. You rode here with me in the patrol car."

"O'Neill has called. He will be here shortly," Murray informed him.

Blair stared at the man, remembering what Jim had said. Fuck. Fuck and fuck. So, O'Neill was coming, and was probably going to take him into custody. And with Murray standing at the door, Blair did not have much chance of slipping out the back. Hell, after Jim's speech about O'Neill's background, Blair was starting to think they hadn't had a chance since the colonel and his team hit Cascade. God, the universe really hated him. Blair grabbed his fennel and took another bite before he could say something really stupid.

8. Chapter Eight

"Sandburg, why are you eating a fern?"

Blair looked up to find Colonel O'Neill standing in the open door to the exam room. "Because Murray bought it for me," he returned, holding up the fennel. O'Neill looked over at Murray for a second.

"He requested food he could recognize as having grown. I recognized that plant."

"Oh." O'Neill left it at that, but Blair started trying to figure out which parts of Africa grew fennel. It wasn't a subject that had ever crossed his mind, but if he could get access to the Internet, maybe he could track down enough information to force O'Neill's hand. "So, kids, who's ready to hit the road?" O'Neill clapped his hands and rubbed them together like a kid getting ready to take off for summer vacation. It seriously did not match the description Jim had given him of a man who had more covert ops training than any ten soldiers should. Blair sighed and grabbed his crutches.

"Let's just get this over with," he said as he struggled up. For a second, confusion flashed across O'Neill's face and he traded looks with Murray, but Blair was not up to trying to decipher their shit. He just swung himself between the crutches and really tried to land one crutch on O'Neill's foot. Unfortunately, the man scrambled backwards to avoid a broken toe. Pity.

"Who pissed in your cornflakes?" O'Neill asked as Blair passed.

"You," Blair answered succinctly. Jim had told him to go along, but Blair sure as hell wasn't going to be nice about it. He navigated into the hallway and headed for the front. These guys weren't exactly the type to slip out the back door, and if they tried, Darla would probably try to stop them. Actually, Blair would give Darla fifty-fifty odds against O'Neill.

"Your friends showed up?" Darla asked, appearing around the corner as though summoned by Blair's thoughts. Yeah, he was sliding off into illogic-land, but the pain pills probably had something to do with that.

"Friends? Not really, but they showed up." Blair leaned his butt against the wall and pushed his crutches in front of him.

"Blair?" Darla took a step toward him with scary look on her face.

"Don't start. Look, Jim knows I'm going with them, so you can just back off the Mother Hen impression. I am a full grown man you know. Coddling is not required."

"I didn't—" she stopped. "Blair, I'm just worried about you, and with your history of trouble, it's not like I don't have a good reason for worry." She stepped close, and for a half second, Blair wondered why he'd broken up with her. He missed her. He missed Sam. He missed having a partner in his bed and having someone to verbally spar with. He missed touching. He reached out and let his fingers trace her shoulder.

"Why didn't we make it?"

"Because you love that job of yours more than me," she answered quickly, but she didn't sound particularly angry about it. She caught his hand in hers. "And because you're a good enough man to not fake it when it's really important. Blair, are you okay?"

"Nope. My ankle hurts, my head is fuzzy, and I'm pissed at so many people I need a dance card to keep them all straight." He looked up and Darla was watching him with dark eyes that searched his face.

"Maybe I should take you home after all."

"No. No, you stay here and intimidate more sick people. Colonel O'Neill will get me... home." Blair waved a vague hand toward the exam room where O'Neill and Murray were still doing whatever the hell they were doing. Planning his kidnapping, probably. And Jim had told him to go along with them. Even crazier, he was going to go along with it just because Jim told him to. He needed to have his head examined.

"I should—"

"Stay here. I can get a ride home without getting beat up again. Seriously, Jim knows I'm going with them, and do you really think Jim would let me go with anyone who didn't pass his Mother Hen test?" Blair asked with a smile that didn't reach any farther than his mouth. He knew he was faking it badly, but he was just too tired.

Darla made an unhappy noise. "His Mother Hen test needs updating," she said. She glanced over, and O'Neill stuck his head out into the hallway, his eyes going to Blair.

"Then how about respecting my choices," Blair suggested as he pushed away from the hall and started swinging his way toward the front doors, using his crutches a little too enthusiastically. Yep, he was going to fall on his ass if he didn't slow down, but he just seriously needed to get away. Darla let him go, but then maybe she was going back to give O'Neill and Murray a good tongue lashing. That would be justice.

By the time he got out to the parking lot, he was alone, so Blair just sat on the hood of one of the cars and tried controlling his breathing. Slow clouds crawled across the gray sky, and Blair wondered why he didn't just up and move to somewhere with the brilliant blue skies he remembered loving when he was young. He and Naomi had stopped in New Mexico for five or six months when he was about ten, and he remembered those blue skies against the red cliffs. He used to pretend he was a native out on a spirit walk. He never found his spirit. Jim had, but then Blair was getting used to coming in second to Jim.

Looking at the doors to the clinic, he willed Murray and O'Neill to just show up so they could get this over with. It was almost insulting. They didn't even think they had to keep an eye on him. Yeah, he couldn't go far on crutches, but if it were Jim, they'd at least respect him enough to think he might escape or pose some sort of threat. Instead, he was left to just stew. Eventually O'Neill came out of the clinic, Murray right behind.

"So, I hear I got cast as the big, bad commander come back to get revenge for some old grudge," O'Neill commented as he passed. The asshole actually looked amused.

"I call 'em like I see 'em."

Murray stopped near him, clearly wanting to offer some sort of help, so Blair got his crutches under him on his own and limped after O'Neill. "It really is your fault I got hurt so I don't feel even a little bit bad about siccing IA on you."

O'Neill looked over with that same amused look, and Blair started calculating distances and wondering if he could get one hit with a crutch in before O'Neill knocked him on his ass. Hanging out with these people was doing serious damage to his calm.

"Sic IA on me if you want." O'Neill shrugged before he pointed at Blair's ankle. "But that is still Ellison's fault."

"Don't even go there. Murray told me you saw the attack, so I'm not buying the bullshit." Blair stopped at the car as O'Neill unlocked the driver's side.

"He did, huh?" O'Neill gave Murray a look, but Murray was the king of poker faces.

Blair snorted. "Yeah, for all the good it does. You people suck, and I do not mean in any sort of sexually amusing way."

Blair had the satisfaction of watching O'Neill fumble with the car door for a second, his surprised eyes on Blair. Well, if O'Neill was that easy to throw, Blair had all kinds of ammunition he could use.

"Get in the car, Sandburg," O'Neill ordered, sliding behind the wheel himself. Blair stood with his hand on the passenger side back door and considered his options for half a second, but he didn't really have any. With an uncharitable thought for O'Neill and a quick wish for the man to come down with a nasty case of sexually transmitted skin rot, Blair pulled the door open.

"I shall hold your crutches," Murray offered, holding out a hand, and Blair handed them over before sliding into the backseat.

"The least you could do is help put Brad Ventriss in jail where he belongs. Unless you're so busy with your own secrets that you don't care about rape and assault. I suppose when you get to be a big, bad colonel, you don't have to give a shit about all the little people you walk on, huh?" Blair took the crutches Murray handed him and propped them on the seat next to him.

"Geez, Sandburg, are you always this annoying?"

"Yes, get used to it," Blair snapped. "So, now that we've established that we both have serious personality issues, why don't we get honest here?" Blair crossed his arms and just dared O'Neill to lie to him. He was in the car, isolated, alone with two armed members of the military, even if he didn't know which military Murray belonged to. They'd even left Sam and Daniel behind, so there wouldn't be anyone to discuss the ethical implications of kidnapping an American citizen.

"What the hell are you talking about, Sandburg? I saw Ellison yanking you around on an injured ankle, and I stepped in to stop him. That's as honest as I get." O'Neill started the car, but Blair could see the way he had adjusted the mirror to keep an eye on the backseat instead of on the road.

"Funny enough, that probably *is* as honest as you get, but we both know that in any sort of objective measure, that's not very honest."

"What is your problem?"

"Short answer—you. Long answer—you." Blair crossed his arms and glared murder at the rearview mirror. He could see O'Neill's jaw tighten, and Blair knew he was about to either get seriously hurt or finally get some truth. It was worth the risk.

At a red light, O'Neill took a deep breath and looked over at Murray for a second before twisting around to look at Blair. "Look, I've met terrorists I've liked more than you, but I'm trying to be polite and make up for the fact that you got hurt because Ellison and I were in a pissing match. So, do you think maybe you could shut up until we get to your apartment?"

Blair narrowed his eyes and looked at the street O'Neill had just turned onto. "And how are you planning on getting to Prospect from thirty-ninth?"

"For crying out loud. We have to make a quick stop unless that offends you so much that you'd rather we make two trips."

"I don't really have any illusions about my preferences mattering," Blair said in the sweetest tone of voice he could manage. Jim hated that. Obviously, O'Neill did too because his hands tightened on the wheel, and he just stared forward, even when the light turned green. The car behind them honked, and O'Neill hit the accelerator hard enough that Blair's crutches thunked into the window before he could catch them. Driving even worse than Jim, O'Neill slammed into a parking lot, and threw the car into park so fast that Blair was thrown forward against the back of Murray's seat. Even Murray had to slap the dash to keep from flying forward, but he didn't comment as O'Neill turned the car off and turned around in his seat.

Blair crossed his arms and braced himself for whatever was going to happen. Yeah, Jim had said to not make trouble, but Blair didn't know any other way to get a little truth out of these two.

"What, exactly, is your problem, Sandburg?" O'Neill demanded.

"You," Blair shot back, using his best 'no duh' voice. Yep, O'Neill was so going to crack under the Sandburg method. O'Neill's jaw was tight, and he exchanged another look with Murray—and from the look, he pretty much wanted to kill Blair.

O'Neill took a deep breath. "Look, Sandburg, you and Ellison have done nothing but give us grief since we've shown up. But since your tip with Kelso paid off, I feel like I owe you something. I've saved your sorry ass from Ellison, I put Ellison on notice at work, and I'm driving you home. So, once we get you home, let's just pretend that we never met and this was all a very unpleasant dream, never to be repeated. Deal?"

"We just go our separate ways?" Blair looked from Murray to O'Neill suspiciously. "I'll never hear from the Air Force again?" Murray didn't let anything show on his face, but O'Neill didn't have nearly as good of a poker face. He flinched. Blair poked his finger at the colonel. "Oh man, I knew it. Yeah, you drop me off and then someone else picks me up, is that the game we're playing? No way. No fucking way. Whatever is going on, I want the cards on the table right now."

"You're a suspicious little shit, aren't you?" O'Neill asked. "Have you ever known such a suspicious little shit?" he asked Murray.

"I believe you are equally suspicious, although I do not have any information on your bodily functions."

Blair laughed and then tried to smother it because this was not a funny situation. "Suspicious or not, you are planning on sending someone after me, so I would rather get the waiting out of the way."

O'Neill stared at him for long seconds, and Blair wasn't sure what was going to happen. A dark little voice in the back of his head whispered that he might have just made things a whole lot worse. Jim had warned him to play nice with these guys, and this did not even approach nice. Maybe the medicine was making him stupid. Then again, maybe he was just fed up with playing nice.

"Your dissertation work is on a classified subject. When I get back to base, I will report that you have unauthorized data. If you're lucky, you'll pass the background check, and an Air Force scientist will approach you about comparing your data to the information already gathered in classified studies. If you don't pass the background check, the Air Force is going to try very hard to pretend you don't exist."

Blair stopped breathing. Of all the answers he'd expected, that one wasn't even on his radar. "My research is classified?"

O'Neill got a look on his face that was a strange cross between disinterest and pure smug. "Heightened senses? You cover story needs work, kid. It didn't take much digging to figure out what you were really doing."

"My cover story?" Blair could feel anger and indignation rise up because it was so much safer to feel that than the terror he felt at the idea that the military had seen through him so easily. "This from the man with the story about Murray Small, the average man." Blair snorted. "Not even."

O'Neill shrugged and turned around to start the car again. "Yeah, well Murray here isn't usually in a position to need a cover story. You, on the other hand, are playing a dangerous game. After listening to Daniel, I thought you were smart enough to cover your tracks better. A bedroom is not a secure area for confidential records."

"You asshole," Blair reached forward and might have hit O'Neill in the back of the head, except Murray caught his wrist in a firm grip.

"You are injured. If you wish to challenge O'Neill, I will teach you moves which he has yet to successfully counter when sparring with me," Murray said calmly, and Blair looked from one to the other in confusion. Was Murray on his side? Hell, at this point, he didn't even know if Jim was on his side, so trying to figure his way out of the interpersonal relationships in this new team was way past his abilities. And the pain pills were making his brain dull.

O'Neill looked at him in the rearview mirror. "I don't hit injured civilians. I don't go shoving them around, either. You may be trying to cast me as the monster here, and maybe that's what has Ellison acting like an ass, but I'm not the bad guy. Ellison, on the other hand, seems to be running for office."

Blair yanked his hand back from Murray. "Look, I know Jim hasn't been the nicest guy lately—"

"Ya think?!" O'Neill interrupted. "If you can't see how far out of line he is, you need to do some reassessing. The cops only took my statement because it was true. Ellison had no right to dismiss your injury and then aggravate it by yanking you around."

"Which he wouldn't have done if you hadn't been there. You and Murray have been setting him off."

"Oh." O'Neill paused. "So, he doesn't ignore you or refuse to investigate potential rapists when we aren't around?" O'Neill gave Blair a sweet smile in the rear view mirror, and Blair could feel all the fire drain out of his arguments. Jim had been doing exactly that when the Air Force guys had shown up. Hell, Jim had left him coughing and cold and tied up on a stone floor while he comforted Alex Barnes. There was nothing like seeing your best friend pick your killer over you. That had actually hurt way more than watching Jim kiss Alex. Of course, it came in second behind watching Jim's slow reaction and lethargy when Alex had pointed a gun at him. For a second, he really thought that Jim was going to let her kill him again.

"Whatever," Blair said wearily. He was too tired and doped up on pain pills to think this whole thing through. He coughed and his stomach protested and threatened to bring up everything he'd eaten in the last day... which meant one algae shake and a bunch of fennel. Now that would make an interesting mess in O'Neill's car.

"I have promised the healer that I will ensure Blair Sandburg takes his medication and rests his foot," Murray said.

"Ya did, huh? Murray, you have a heart too big for your...." He stopped mid-sentence. "If Danny manages to set up a meet to have Elizabeth Canarsee come in, you should be free for babysitting."

"Fuck you," Blair offered from the backseat. Apathy was leeching his anger, though, so it didn't come out with any heat.

"So, Sandburg, do you think you'll pass a background check?" O'Neill asked. Blair eyed the back of the man's head and wondered why no one was mentioning Jim. No way would Blair be the first to bring him into this very bizarre conversation, but he still felt like he was swimming in quicksand.

"No way, man. I've been on more protests than you have missions."

Murray turned and gave him another raised eyebrow.

"My mom and I would protest when the government did something really shitty. We'd walk around with signs telling everyone what fucked up thing the government had done and we tried to embarrass them into not doing it again," Blair clarified.

Murray's eyebrows went up. "You are hi'ato'te?"

Blair mentally filed that word away. Given a word, he should be able to back track Murray's tribe. From the look O'Neill shot Murray, that wasn't lost on the colonel.

"I don't know." Blair shrugged as if he hadn't noticed the importance of the word. "I don't know that word."

Murray tilted his head. "It is one who attempts to get another to walk past a bad choice. It may apply to a mother guiding a child, or in some cases, to individuals attempting to alter the path or decisions of leaders."

"Yeah, I guess so. But man, the government is so not fond of protestors, so whatever background check you're going to do, I'll fail with flying colors. So, once I fail this background check of yours...." Blair studied O'Neill.

"At least I won't have to put up with you and Danny overdosing on geek-speak," O'Neill shrugged. "You aren't the target here. You or Ellison. I came here to find Daniel's crazy friend and go home before anything bad could happen. I obviously hadn't planned for meeting you or Ellison." O'Neill stared in the rearview mirror, and maybe it was the drugs or the weariness or the worry, but Blair found himself wanting to believe the colonel. "If Ellison ever wants to get those senses turned off, that I can help with. Other than that, I'll leave you two alone to live your dysfunctional lives."

"Whatever. Man, we were not dysfunctional until you showed up."

"And here I thought you were some sort of master liar," O'Neill said sarcastically. "You don't even sound like you believe that one."

Blair held up his middle finger as his answer and he leaned back against the seat.

9. Chapter Nine

"What are we doing here?" Blair asked suspiciously as they stopped in front of Questscape. Brad's father ran this place.

"We have a little time to kill and I need to do a quick job for the Air Force. You know, walk on some little people," O'Neill answered with a smug grin. Blair glared at him, but the colonel didn't seem to care as he pulled into visitor parking. "You coming?" O'Neill turned around in his seat, and Blair could tell that something was up. The man looked way too amused.

"Yes," Blair said, grabbing his crutches. Distant thunder cracked, so hopefully they wouldn't be in there too long. With Blair's luck, it'd rain, he'd slip, and then he'd end up in a full body cast. Then again, in a full body cast, he'd have a good excuse to just hibernate until all this shit had managed to pass. That might be worth it.

"Well, this will be fun," O'Neill said, and he had that child-like look of glee in his face that made Blair wonder if the man wasn't slightly unhinged. Then again, anyone with as much combat experience as Jim had described probably was a little unhinged.

"Blair should not stress his injury," Murray said with a hint of disapproval, but he got out and held the door open for Blair.

"Oh, this will be worth it, T, trust me," O'Neill said. Walking around the car, he slapped Murray's arm. "He's going to enjoy this."

"What am I going to enjoy?" Blair demanded as he got the crutches under him. His better judgment told him he'd be better off staying in the car, but dying of curiosity didn't seem like a good solution.

"Wait and see," O'Neill said as he set off for the front door. Blair followed, Murray at his side. By the time they got inside, O'Neill had already talked his way past the secretary, and he was standing next to an open elevator, a security guard standing at his side. "This way, kids. So, what do you say that after this we go out for ice cream?" O'Neill sounded so damn cheerful that Blair was starting to wonder if the man planned to throw him off the roof of the building or something. Blair watched suspiciously as their escort pressed the button for the top floor.

The elevator didn't stop until it dinged open on the top floor. An older man with graying hair and the same long nose as Brad Ventriss met them in the hall.

"Mr. Ventriss?" O'Neill stepped forward and offered his hand.

"At your service. Colonel O'Neill?" Norman Ventriss smiled at O'Neill, but Blair could see the confusion. O'Neill had on cargo pants and a long sleeved shirt that was a truly obnoxious shade of green. He wasn't looking very authoritative. But then the way he stepped forward and clapped Ventriss on the arm made it very clear that he was in charge here.

"That's what the dog tags say," O'Neill answered cheerfully. Blair had to give the man credit—he was a master of body language. Ventriss' smile turned a little strained, but he lost his smile altogether when he glanced over at Blair. Murray took a half step forward and stepped between them, leaving Blair to wonder if his first assumption about Murray being a Sentinel wasn't right. Either that, or Blair just attracted a frightening number of Mother Hens.

"Colonel. I was surprised to hear someone from the Air Force was visiting. We can use the conference room," Norman Ventriss had all the charm his son didn't, but Blair actually found himself disliking the father even more than the son, and that was really saying something.

They made a strange parade as they all headed into a plush board room with leather chair. Blair aimed for the closest one and sank down. Between the pain pills, the fuzzy head, and the sore arm pits, Blair was already hating his ankle. Murray took a spot right behind him and simply stood.

"What can I do for you?" Ventriss asked as he gestured toward a chair, inviting O'Neill to sit. O'Neill perched on the edge of the table instead. This was definitely not what Blair had expected from a military colonel. Instead of spit and polish, O'Neill was radiating a sort of bored curiosity. He studied the art on the wall for a second as though expecting them to whisper secrets. The only thing they were whispering to Blair was that either they were reproductions or Ventriss just had way too much fucking money.

"You've done a lot of work for the military." O'Neill's voice sounded casual, but the way he suddenly focused on Ventriss totally felt like some sort of trap. Blair squirmed a little just watching it.

"I've always appreciated the work the government has provided. And I look forward to years of mutually beneficial contracts," Ventriss agreed quickly, but he also grabbed the back of one of the chairs. Oh yeah, he knew something was up.

O'Neill returned to studying the walls, and the silence grew tortuous. Finally he looked over at Ventriss with a resigned expression. "I'm afraid that's not going to be possible. The paperwork will follow in the next day or two, but I'm here to inform you in person that your security clearance has been revoked, both personally and the clearance of your company in general."

"What?!" Norman Ventriss lost every bit of color out of his face. "You can't—"

"Ah, but we can. We're the government, and the government pretty much does what it wants," O'Neill said, and that same childlike cheerfulness from earlier was back. Blair made a mental note to tread softly around O'Neill any time he seemed cheerful. He was scary when he was cheerful.

"Does this have something to do with Mr. Sandburg?" He looked fiercely toward Blair, and Blair sat up straight, suddenly a whole lot less tired. "Don't look so surprised that I know who you are. You're that teaching assistant who has a vendetta against my son. Don't think I'm going to take this lying down."

"I don't care how you take it," O'Neill said, and that was definitely a smirk. "And while this may have started with Mr. Sandburg, the federal government does not act on one man's word."

"I was never given any notice of a problem," Ventriss started, but he shut up when O'Neill stood up and took a step toward him.

"You should have known there was a problem," O'Neill said softly. "When you were notified that Mr. Sandburg was filing a complaint against your son, you hired a $500 an hour law firm to handle a case of plagiarism and threatened to pull university funding within earshot of at least three witnesses." That really made Blair sit up. Fuck. No way would the Chancellor stand up to that kind of pressure. His goose was so thoroughly cooked.

"I have a right to defend my family from the slanderous lies of..." Ventriss cut himself off, but his glare left very little to the imagination. Blair just wondered if Ventriss planned to finish that off with bastard, Jew, or fag. Blair knew full well how many irrational reasons people had for hating him.

"So, you believe Mr. Sandburg lied about the plagiarism?" O'Neill asked calmly. "Did he also lie about your son coordinating an attack against him, one that left him in the hospital?"

Ventriss looked like he might throw a blood clot for a second he turned so red. "Of course. My son is a responsible young man, unlike some people who cannot even make it to work on a regular basis. I have already filed a complaint about your rate of absenteeism," Norman Ventriss shouted, poking a finger in Blair's direction. Blair barely contained a groan. Oh yeah, he was so dead at work.

"Blair is working on highly confidential material. I think his word is worth something given his advances in a sensitive field that impacts the lives of front line soldiers." O'Neill crossed his arms and just considered Ventriss. The businessman looked from Blair to O'Neill and back, confusion written all over his face.

"But he's an anthropologist."

"One with a very unique perspective. However, he is only one man. The fact that I witnessed your son driving the men who assaulted Blair is another issue. Now, Blair is angry that I cannot testify in open court given the sensitive nature of my job and my inability to make court dates. However, your son is clearly a significant security threat. More significantly, he's a security threat that you are clearly unwilling to deal with. When your son is willing to commit felonies, I have to ask, what are you willing to sacrifice to cover up for that? At this point, I'm almost ready to believe... " O'Neill shook his head in exaggerated frustration. "What was that woman's name, Murray?"

"Connie Roberts," Murray answered, even though Blair had absolutely no doubt that O'Neill knew the name already.

"Ah yes. I'm ready to believe Mrs. Roberts who says that your son sent her and her family to Argentina for the express purpose of interfering with a police investigation. That your son used your money and your jet to send her to Argentina. The access you have given him is a clear threat to Air Force security. So, with the evidence I've gathered in less than a day, I have enough conclusive proof to pull your security clearance. That means that you are in default on the last two years of the current contract, and you'll need to contact the Secretary of State to arrange the repayment of any advances."

Norman Ventriss' mouth opened and closed several times, like a beached fish, and now Blair really couldn't keep the grin off his face. Oh man, he didn't even care if he got fired because this... this was so totally worth it.

"You have a nice day now," O'Neill said cheerfully as he turned and headed for the door so fast that Blair scrambled to get his crutches under him and follow. Okay, that was a shock. That was more than a shock. That was... that was what Blair had expected Jim to do, only Jim would have created havoc by arresting people instead of yanking government contracts. And this still left Brad on the streets, but it was going to be a whole lot harder for him to be a predator if his father cut him off from the money and power. A whole lot. And now Norman Ventriss was going to have a whole lot less money and power. Damn, too bad he couldn't short sell a few stocks of Questscape. Now if Jim would just follow through on his end and arrest the little shit, all would be perfect with Blair's world.

"Oh man. That... that was a thing of beauty," Blair said quietly once the three of them were safely inside the elevator.

O'Neill smiled. "There are some little people who I really enjoy stepping on. However, I don't make a habit out of stepping on people who don't deserve it."

"Indeed. That man does not deserve the trust others have placed in him," Murray agreed.

"You sing it, brother," Blair agreed enthusiastically. Murray looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. "I'll explain when my head isn't fuzzy with pain pills," Blair promised.

"You must rest yourself."

"Normally, I would argue, but I'm about out of steam here. I'm not even going to complain about you making things difficult at school."

"Geez, Sandburg. Does nothing make you happy?" O'Neill asked as the elevator opened onto the lobby.

"World peace, a really good piece of tongue, and seeing Brad Ventriss in jail for something serious enough to keep him there a while," Blair quickly answered. "But telling Ventriss I'm doing important confidential work for the Air Force? So not cool. Chancellor Edwards is going to be all over me on that one."

"Technically, it's true," O'Neill pointed out. Blair sighed and stopped for a second, rested his bruised underarms as he considered the three steps just outside Questscape's doors.

"Man, do not try to obfuscate with an obfuscator."

"I'm still hoping that you're going to pass that background check."

"Man, so not going to happen, O'Neill. But why would you even want that?"

O'Neill gave him a strange look. "You can call me Jack. And I looked at some of that work you had in your room."

Blair paused on the top step and glared murder at him. The man didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed about his breaking and entering.

"I've been on mission with men whose senses went out of control. If you can find a way to help a soldier in the field control a potentially life-threatening condition, you've got my backing, Sandburg." Suddenly O'Neill didn't look childlike or gleeful.

"You know Sentinels?" Blair rushed down the last two steps as he hurried after O'Neill.

"I know men who've had their sense go out of control. It's not pretty, and it's not safe," O'Neill countered.

"Well, if they don't have someone to guide them through it, of course it isn't. It's like a blind person suddenly being able to see. They'd flinch at every movement because they aren't used to it. Same thing."

"No, it's not the same thing," O'Neill stopped and held a hand up to stop Blair. "We are not having this discussion in the open, but just take my word for it. In the field, these senses are dangerous."

"Jim..."

"Ellison is not typical, and quite frankly, that makes me happy. I wouldn't want too many like him around." O'Neill got a sour look on his face before he turned and started heading back to the car.

"You're a riot, O'Neill. Jim's a good cop and a good man."

"He does not appear to be either," Murray contradicted him, and Blair glared at him.

"You are supposed to be on my side, here," Blair hissed. That made Murray tilt his head to the side in obvious confusion. Hobbling after O'Neill, Blair left Murray standing in the parking lot. This was a small victory, and he still had so many battles to fight that he didn't know where to start, but Blair could feel a little spark of hope for the first time in a long time. Oh yeah, Ventriss senior had gone for his throat, and he got gutted instead. Now that was justice.

"You look like you're in a better mood," O'Neill commented.

"One asshole dealt with and only about a dozen more to deal with," Blair said with a saccharine smile that made it pretty clear that he still considered O'Neill one of them.

"You're dangling your preposition," O'Neill commented with exaggerated horror and a sarcastic smile before he got in the front seat of the car. The man was officially strange.

10. Chapter Ten

Teal'c sat on the floor across from Ellison's couch staring at three candles that flickered in the dark. He sought kelnoreem. The young man in the next room was finally sleeping, his breathing raspy and wet. In some ways, the man reminded him of Daniel—his intelligence and his ability to understand others. In other ways, he was much like Colonel O'Neill—irascible and manipulative. Both he and his work would be an asset at the SGC.

And yet both O'Neill and Blair Sandburg seemed to believe that he would not be allowed to join their cause because of his actions as hi'ato'te—a protestor. That disturbed Teal'c.

He was used to entire planets or systems of planets uniting under one lord. Sometimes world united in opposition to a lord. Worlds spoke with one voice, and those who publicly voiced dissent were silenced. Teal'c had silenced many of them with his own hand. The staff weapon was designed to burn and kill slowly, so Teal'c had often forgone the weapon in favor of breaking the necks of those who spoke out against Apophis. He had expected no less when he had finally decided to risk death rather than continue to serve false gods.

But then he had come to earth. Teal'c had seen the way in which General Hammond had respected those who spoke words that he did not want to hear. Even though Teal'c had expected a quick death after accompanying O'Neill back through the Chaapa'ai, O'Neill had defended him. And even when General Hammond had doubted Teal'c, he had listened to O'Neill's words of dissent. After years of serving the goa'uld, that had won Teal'c's respect. He had believed that he found a world where opposition was respected. The court system, the political system, everything Teal'c had researched about his new country had led him to believe that to disagree was a right.

But now O'Neill believed that Blair Sandburg would be denied access to information because he had acted against authority, something O'Neill did with great regularity. Sometimes Teal'c truly did not understand human thought, no matter how long he lived on Earth. Then again, perhaps Goa'uld were not the only ones to detest dissention. Perhaps that was the normal state, and those like General Hammond and Colonel O'Neill who respected divergent opinions were the exception. He had seen so little of Earth culture that perhaps he was deceived by their literature, perhaps the stories reflected not their true behaviors but the way they wished to see themselves.

He tried to ignore these thoughts so he could find the peace of kelnoreem. The young cha'til would sleep for a while if the healer spoke truth about the medicine. Slowing his breathing, he freed his mind from the current dilemma. His thoughts wandered back to events of several months ago, the sight of Amaunet pointing a weapon at Daniel Jackson. At first, Teal'c tried to push the image aside, but it persisted. Allowing the familiar events drift through his mind, Teal'c remembered firing the weapon that had taken the life of Daniel's wife along with the symbiote she harbored. He had not shown her the mercy of a broken neck, but instead had used his staff weapon to burn her death into her.

Even knowing that he had acted to save the life of young Daniel, Teal'c could feel the sorrow gathering because he knew how this would change his relationship with Daniel Jackson. The man no long sought out Teal'c's companionship. He distanced himself from both Teal'c and the team. After listening to Daniel speak of his pain to Blair, Teal'c had more reason for wishing that Blair Sandburg would join the program. He had never meant to cause such damage to Daniel, but Daniel had found a friend in Blair Sandburg.

Then Colonel O'Neill had injured Daniel by going undercover and not informing him. Daniel's reaction was not something Teal'c understood. He had struck out at Colonel O'Neill, made cutting comments about how he had not wished to seek out the older man and how he had not minded the team being led by another. It was most confusing. Teal'c understood Jaffa. Had these conflicts come up within a unit he commanded in Apophis' name, he would have a solution. Had he not known how to handle something, he could have turned to Bra'tac. Yet here he did not feel free to take his concerns to the rest of the team. O'Neill could certainly see that Daniel was floundering, and yet he chose not to act. Teal'c could only trust that judgment.

"Man, I would not have pegged you for the meditating type." Blair wandered out of his room, hobbling on one crutch. Teal'c considered retrieving the man's other crutch, but he did not appear to be putting weight on the injured joint. He did, however, cough several times before heading into the small kitchen and pouring himself water. "Then again, you do seem like someone Naomi would hang with." Blair walked over and dropped onto the large chair beside Teal'c, pulling a red blanket around him as he stared at the candles. "Naomi is my mom, and she's very into meditating and being her own person," Blair added.

"I find it restful," Teal'c offered.

"Totally," Blair nodded.

"You should sleep."

"Yeah, but I can't." Blair tucked his feet under him and stared at the candle flame.

"Perhaps another pill..."

"No way," Blair quickly cut him off. "Pills are not going to change the fact that I can't get my own brain straight here. I mean, you're here and Jim is over at Simon's place sleeping on the couch. So not right."

"Perhaps I should leave." Teal'c leaned over to blow the candles out, but Blair put a hand on his shoulder.

"It wouldn't change anything. Jim still wouldn't be here." Blair left his hand on Teal'c shoulder for a second before he pulled it back under the blanket.

"You show him great loyalty." Teal'c was surprised when Blair made a small noise that clearly indicated disgust. Given what he had seen of Blair Sandburg, the man had more loyalty than even a young Jaffa to his tec'ma'te. Teal'c simply waited for clarification because Blair's reaction did not appear rational.

"Man, I betrayed him, and he is not getting over it." Blair said the words with great sadness and in a tone that made it clear that he believed them. Teal'c thought of his own staff weapon ending the life of Daniel's wife.

"Sometimes betrayals are necessitated by life."

"Sometimes they're just a sign that someone is really fucking stupid. So, before I do anything else stupid, I just have to know. Are you a Sentinel?"

Teal'c tilted his head, surprised by the question. "A human with advanced senses? No. I have more acute hearing than most, but I have no behavioral imperatives and my taste and sense of touch are normal."

Blair nodded slowly. His hair was tangled, and dark circles under his eyes made him appear quite unhealthy. "So, no territorial imperative to keep me safe or get between me and Jim?"

Teal'c considered his answer carefully. "I would like to see you removed from Jim Ellison's influence. He is not as careful with your needs as you are with his."

Blair stared at the candles. "Yeah, I think I know that. It wasn't always that way, you know? He took me in after my apartment blew up."

"Blew up?" Teal'c frowned. He had not believed Cascade to be the center of any significant fighting, nor would he expect Blair to be in the middle of any conflict which did break out.

"Drug dealers set up shop next door, and boom!" Blair raised his arms to show the size of the explosion. "Oh man, I lost almost everything in that blast. I would have been homeless if Jim hadn't taken me in and given me a home. Three years. He's put up with my hair in the drains and weird food in the kitchen for three years."

"Is that a hardship?" Teal'c asked. He lived in a facility with hundreds of men, so he could not see how having two men in the apartment would cause difficulties. Before he'd been First Prime of Apophis, he had lived in a dorm in the belly of a Ha'tak. Two hundred and ten men had shared one room and seventy beds. While the Goa'uld lived lavishly, the slaves who served them could only aspire to eventually have a bed of their own on the ship and a small home with a wife who would wait as they spent years in the service of their god. By both counts, Teal'c had been successful. He had slept in a small room off Apophis' own quarters and Drey'auc had spent most of her life waiting for him to return from a war.

"Sometimes I think it is," Blair said softly. "You know, if you were a Sentinel, this would make a lot more sense."

"What would?"

"Your sudden interest in my well-being."

Teal'c frowned at that. "Should I not be concerned about one who has a good heart and suffers?"

"It's just not normal. But then again, maybe in your part of the world, people aren't quite as... you know." Blair shrugged, but Teal'c clearly did not know because Blair Sandburg's words were distressing.

"Shall I call Jim Ellison and request that he return?" If the young one wanted his teacher, Teal'c would request that the man return. Teal'c did not have to approve of Blair Sandburg's choice. As long as Ellison could command Blair's loyalty, he would have a place in Blair's life.

"No way. IA would have a cow if he came back here before getting cleared." Blair sighed. "Maybe I should have gone to a hotel. This is his loft, and it's not fair for him to get locked out."

"You could return with me to our hotel," Teal'c quickly offered. The solution would be ideal. Daniel and O'Neill had made contact with Elizabeth Canarsee, but she refused to meet them until tomorrow. If he could convince Blair to return with him, he could guard their rooms with Sam without failing in his promise to tend to Blair's injury.

"No way. Murray, I actually like you, but I'm just getting to the point where I don't hate O'Neill. Let's not push things, okay?"

Teal'c nodded his agreement. O'Neill had been aggressive with Jim Ellison, and it spoke well of young Blair that he remained firm in his allegiances. Blair settled back in a corner of the couch, and Teal'c waited for him to continue their conversation, but after another round of coughing, Blair just tucked the blanket around him and drank his water.

With no indication that Blair wished to talk, Teal'c turned his attention to the candles and tried, again, to quiet his mind. As before, the image of Amaunet rose in his memory. Teal'c jerked back as though recoiling from the memory.

"Bad trip, huh?" Blair asked softly. Teal'c stared at the candle and tried to calm his own symbiote. The creature could feel the unease, even without understanding the cause. Blair continued without waiting for a response from Teal'c. "A bad trip usually happens when you take drugs and your subconscious pulls up images that scare the shit out of you. Sometimes, though, I find that I have a bad trip when I'm meditating. The brain... sometimes it goes exactly where you don't want to go. You know what I mean?"

"I do," Teal'c agreed. He certainly did not wish to relive that moment. He had acted to save Daniel, but he had also destroyed some piece of the man with that same shot.

"I think I gave up meditating after my near-death with drowning. The paramedics actually called off the CPR. Technically, I think I was dead." Blair coughed again and set his glass down on the table. "Ever since then, when I meditate, the images are so not pretty. I can't face it, you know?"

"Your death?" Teal'c asked curiously. Humans had such fear of death. In the last one hundred years, Teal'c had faced certain death so many times that he could no longer gather more than a general regret when life led him to that edge again. He feared slavery and failure much more than death.

"I don't know," Blair said with a laugh. "I mean, yeah, death is not on my list of places to visit. I just feel like things weren't that bad on the other side. I remember being an animal, of searching for and finding something really important. But once I came back..." Blair shrugged again, a gesture most humans used to dismiss the trivial, but Teal'c could see the pain in the way his muscles were tightly knotted and the line of his mouth.

"Tao qua ca tec'ma'te i cal mah," Teal'c said softly. They were ancient words. Blair leaned his chin on his knees and looked at Teal'c, the worry and fatigue and curiosity all laying exposed on his features. "Tec'ma'te can mean one's master—one's teacher. But it also means to greet one as an honored member of the group."

Blair nodded. "A greeting to indicate respect as well as a title of respect."

"Yes," Teal'c agreed. "Tao qua is death, the state of being beyond this life. Cal mah is sanctuary." O'Neill would not approve of Teal'c sharing this knowledge, but the young one was clearly lost, and Teal'c would not leave him to struggle through such a difficult rite alone.

Blair frowned for a second. "Something about greeting death and seeking sanctuary in it? Oh man, do you think I'm looking to die? Because no way. No fucking way."

"I believe you misunderstand," Teal'c said as he struggled to put words to this sacred rite. "The belief is that some can greet death and will find sanctuary. They may then find both life and death open to them, although I do not believe those who are so inclined seek any final death."

"So, a person who faces death and shows it respect, and in return death respects them? That's a shaman."

"You have such people?" Teal'c was surprised. He had seen nothing but fear of death in all that he had read, with the exception of the Bible. And the Bible did not speak of men who stood between life and death, earning knowledge from both--not unless one counted Jesus Christ, and from Teal'c's research, he had assumed Christ's journey to be unique.

"Not in mainstream culture, but yeah. They face death and earn magical powers from the experience," Blair agreed. "Man, that is so not me. Trust me, there was not a lot of respect shown between me and death."

"You found nothing to fear in death, but you struggle with living," Teal'c observed. From the way Blair frowned at him, Teal'c knew that he was right. "My people have a great respect for death. When one has lost all direction the rites of mal sharran involve denying oneself sustenance until the truth is rediscovered."

Teal'c had expected objection to that. The Tau'ri valued life, even beyond reason in many cases. Instead, Blair nodded in agreement. "Lots of Native Peoples do the same thing. Young men fast and then go out looking for their spirit guide. I tried that myself when I was ten, but I didn't get far."

"Is ten considered a man?" Teal'c asked curiously. He had not thought Tau'ri grew as quickly as that.

Blair laughed, and it was nice to see the pain and fatigue fall from him for just a moment. "No, but I was always a little old for my age. Mom says I have an old soul. Jim just says..." Blair fell silent again.

"Among my people, one who is tao qua ca tec'ma'te i cal mah is special. He may have insights beyond that of others. They say these people can see past the needs of their body because they understand that they will go to a world where their body no longer has needs." What he didn't say was that the village would often have to tend the man carefully because he would often forget his own needs. Sometimes Teal'c believed Daniel was one such. That was why he tried to care for him, but that had ended with a staff blast through his wife's body. "Their advice is much sought," Teal'c finished.

That made Blair laugh, but it was a dark and bitter sound. Teal'c frowned at the despair he could see in Blair. "Man, no one seeks my advice. No one." He held his palms up as through surrendering, and Teal'c tilted his head in confusion.

"O'Neill would seek your advice on these men you call Sentinels."

"Yeah, well O'Neill has issues, and we both know that background check is going to sound FBI alarms so loud we'll be able to hear them from here."

"Do you not give advice to those enrolled at your university?"

"When they listen." Blair pushed the blanket down and stretched. "They don't listen all that often and I get tired of saying the same things over and over when it doesn't feel like it makes any difference. I am not into masochism, you know?"

"I do," Teal'c agreed. He wondered if the young man was failing to embrace life as much as he had embraced death. It was not unheard of among the tao qua ca tec'ma'te i cal mah for them to lose the balance between life and death. Teal'c knew so little of their journey that he wished Master Bra'tac were present to provide more effective guidance. "What in life holds you as firmly as the peace you found in death?" Teal'c asked.

Blair jerked and stared at Teal'c with wide eyes. Teal'c sat still, waiting for the shock to pass. His words should not have triggered such fear... not unless he was right about Blair yearning for the sanctuary of death.

"I have a lot to live for. A lot. No way would I consider suicide. That is seriously bad for the karma." Blair got up and grabbed his crutch, hobbling toward this bedroom, but he hit the end table, and his glass clattered to the floor and shattered with a tinkle of glass on the wooden floors.

"Do not move," Teal'c ordered the young man, and Blair froze in place, his bare foot surrounded by glass.

"Oh man, one foot out of commission is quite enough. This is me not moving."

Teal'c went to the end of the couch and quickly put his boots on before he returned to Blair, shards of glass resting against the top of Blair's foot as he leaned against the couch.

"Man, my karma sucks."

Teal'c picked him up easily and carried him to the dining room table where he set him down. "Where would I find materials for cleaning?" Teal'c asked, and Blair pointed at a cabinet.

"It is a huge cultural taboo to have guests clean, you know."

That caused Teal'c to pause for a second. He did not wish to offend, but the physical needs outweighed the risk of offense. "I offer apologies for violating a taboo, but I will not allow you to clean this."

"No way, the dishonor is all on me. I'm the one allowing a guest to clean."

"I am not a guest. I am here on instructions from the healer."

"True. So I can just blame the broken taboo on her. That works." Blair gave a short laugh. "She is totally okay with breaking taboos. That's one reason we actually managed to get to a fourth date because her ability to break taboos is a beautiful sight, Murray."

Teal'c used a hand broom and dust pan to sweep up the glass and deposit it in the receptacle Blair pointed to. One of the candles had blown out, and Teal'c considered it, trying to decide whether to continue in his attempts to kelnoreem.

"Maybe I could meditate with you," Blair said softly. Teal'c turned and considered the young man.

"I would very much like that, Blair Sandburg," Teal'c returned to the table and gathered the man in his arms.

"This is totally emasculating, you know," Blair sighed.

"I have often been carried when injured."

"Oh wow. I so do not want to meet the dude big enough to carry you," Blair said with a laugh.

"He is impressive," Teal'c admitted as he thought of Master Bra'tac. It had been too long since he had a mentor to turn to or a student to share his own wisdom with. Perhaps that dormant need was drawing him close to Blair Sandburg. If so, Teal'c vowed to police his own thoughts and actions because this one already had too many people pulling at him. Teal'c carefully settled Blair on the couch and then pulled the blanket off the chair, offering it to him. Blair pulled it close around him as though cold.

"I think I want to be on the floor with you," Blair insisted when Teal'c walked around the table and returned to his own spot on the floor. Blair slid off the couch and landed between the coffee table and couch. Carefully settling his injured ankle, Blair pulled the blanket around his shoulders and focused on the candles.

"Do you require anything?" Teal'c asked. Blair looked up at him with serious eyes.

"No. I'm good." He swallowed, his expression looking more like a man prepared to go into battle than one preparing for kelnoreem. Teal'c simply inclined his head and trusted that if Blair needed something else, he would speak of his needs. For now, he focused on clearing his mind and allowing his body and mind to finally rest. Across the table, Blair Sandburg's breathing slowed as he sought rest or answers from his own journey.

Keep Reading

Return to Text Index

Return to Graphics Index

Send Feedback