Listen, for the umpteenth billionth time already - they aren't mine! If they *were* you can bet the parking garage scene in BMB would have been *a lot* longer. And there is no way I'd have ended Dead Drop without at least *one* hug and declarations of undying friendship. And please, don't get me started on Rogue. Let's just leave it as it is. You don't sue me, and I don't lecture on how you're screwing up plenty of opportunities to create the perfect buddy cop show. Deal? No warnings. Archive if you want to. Can be found on my homepage. This story came to me in a dream... Actually it came to me during a moment of extreme clarity during an economics exam - I *should* have been concentrating one the test, but this was much more interesting. It has no plot. No point. No smarm even. Not one single buddy moment, unless you count the very end. It's probably garbage. Tomorrow I'm going to reread this and smack myself upside the head while I cower in shame for having actually *posted* it. I'll have to change my e-mail address and come up with a new name... I was just getting to like majik, too. It's a pity, really. ________ What Might Have Been Blair Sandburg was about to kill one of his students. He sighed and tried to force his attention away from the increasingly appealing idea of reaching across his desk and strangling the teenager who sat there to death. He was failing miserably and any second now he'd have to throw the boy out just to keep from doing him bodily harm. Fortunately, before it came to that, there was a knock on the door and his assistant peaked into the room. "Blair? Sorry to interrupt, but one of the Rainier Days kids is here and he'd like to speak with you." "Thank God," Blair muttered under his breath. He raised his voice slightly. "Shawn, I'm not giving a retest. You had plenty of time to study and I offered you extra help several times. I'm sorry, but you failed on your own, and you're just going to have to do better next time. Now, if you'll excuse me," Blair gestured for the teenager to leave the office. He did, pushing past the two people standing outside as he did so. Blair watched him go and sighed, then turned his attention to his visitors. "Come in, please." He offered a hand to the older of the two, the father presumably. "Blair Sandburg. Can I help you?" The father was a tall, middle-aged African American who looked like he was used to being in charge. He was in good shape too. A cop? Blair had dealt with more than a few law officials in his time, and this guy sure fit the part. "Simon Banks," the father introduced himself. "It's nice to meet you, Professor. This is my son, Daryl." The boy was about seventeen and Blair got the impression he wasn't happy to be there. "Hi, Daryl. How do you like Rainier so far?" "It's okay," Daryl shrugged. "Pretty nice, I guess." "Are you interested in Anthropology?" Blair asked. "Not really," Daryl replied. "I don't know for sure what I'm going to study yet." "A professor in the English department recommended we speak with you," Banks said. "She said you were fairly young when you came to Rainier and that you'd be able to answer Daryl's questions better than most of the other professors." Blair smiled. Had to have been Professor Kerrigan. "Why don't you take a seat and we can talk?" *** Daryl Banks was an intelligent young man, and a friendly one once he was drawn out of his shell. He asked some pretty intelligent questions about classes and professors and college in general. After a while they weren't talking about anything in particular. Blair was a little surprised at how well they were getting along. Daryl's father, Simon banks, roamed the office while they spoke. He was definitely a cop of some kind, Blair decided, watching him as he examined the books, carvings and other artifacts that filled the office. He could tell Banks wasn't impressed with the somewhat chaotic state of the office, but so far he seemed content to let his son speak. A cell phone rang, sounding out of place in the office full of artifacts and books. Daryl and Blair both turned to look at Banks, who had already answered. "Banks." He listened for a minute. "Damn. Get Brown and Ryf down there now. And alert the patrols in the area. I'm on my way now." He shut the phone off and turned to Daryl. "Sorry, son, but I have to go. Professor Sandburg, thanks for all your -- help." Banks paused on the last word, and he spoke it absently, as if he had realized that he had stopped speaking before he meant to. Blair looked to see what had caught the older man's attention. Text books? "The five senses?" Banks asked. "I would think that was more biology than anthropology." "Anthropology covers a wide range of study," Blair replied. "As a matter of fact, I'm doing my dissertation on enhanced senses." "Like x-ray vision?" Banks asked. The words were a joke, but Blair had a feeling the question and the curiosity behind it weren't. "Not quite, no. People with enhanced senses just have extremely sensitive senses, nothing paranormal." As far as we know, he amended silently. He had a feeling his theories about this particular area of study wouldn't go over well with Banks. "Fascinating," Banks murmured. "So someone with these senses would be able to, say, hear water boiling? Or smell a small amount of gasoline from more than a hundred feet away?" Blair nodded. "Those are some pretty minor examples. With training and practice, most can learn to do a great deal more than that." "Training?" "Well, of course," Blair replied. "These senses are just like any other ability. You have to practice with them to know how to use them correctly. Otherwise sensory overload could become a problem." Banks frowned. "Sensory overload." He seemed to roll the idea around in his head for a moment. "Of course," he said softly. "Mr. Banks, is everything all right?" "Captain Banks," the older man replied absently. "Professor Sandburg, thank you for all your help, but I really must be going." "No problem, I was glad to help. Daryl, you have any more questions, feel free to contact me. I have office hours every Monday and Thursday." Blair shook the young man's hand and nodded to Captain Banks as he left. 'What was that all about?' *** "No. Sandburg with a 'U.' That's right. He's an anthropologist at Rainier University. No I can't tell you why I need this information. It's confidential, all right? Just do it. And I want this on my desk first thing in the morning. I don't *care* how late it is! Get moving!" Simon Banks, Captain of the Major Crimes Division of the Cascade Police, slammed the phone down with more force than necessary. He sighed, and pulled off his glasses, dropping them on his desk. He dropped his head in his hands and rubbed his temples. God what a day. He looked up to glance at the clock, and groaned with heartfelt pain when he saw it was almost two in the morning. Daryl had to go home tomorrow - today. His plane was leaving at ten. If Simon was lucky he'd have just enough time to grab a few hours sleep, and maybe take his son out for breakfast before sending him back to his mother. Ah, the joys of divorce. He stood almost reluctantly and gathered his coat. The paperwork was finally finished, there was nothing else for him to do, not until tomorrow at any rate. A piece of paper fluttered to the ground and Banks leaned over to retrieve it. It was the invitation to Rainier Days, which he and Daryl had needed to get into the University earlier that afternoon. The open house at the University had been a good idea, even if it *had* been his ex-wife's. Daryl had gotten a lot of questions answered. Simon on the other hand, had only come up with a lot of new ones. Blair Sandburg. The young man didn't look like a professor, but Simon had seen stranger things, and he tried not to judge based on appearances. And if Sandburg knew what he was talking about... If enhanced senses were real, and Sandburg knew how to handle them... That would be an answer to several people's prayers. *** It was a little before noon when the phone in Blair Sandburg's office rang. He picked it up and held it between his ear and shoulder as he reached for the next exam to grade. "Sandburg." "Professor Sandburg? This is Simon Banks. We spoke the other day?" It took a second for the name and voice to get through, but Blair placed them both quickly. "Yeah. You were in here the day before yesterday with your son. How's Daryl?" "He's fine," Banks answered. "Professor, there's a matter I'd like to discuss with you. Could we possibly meet somewhere this afternoon?" Blair cast a disgusted glance at the piles of exams covering his desk. "I have almost a hundred exams to grade, Captain Banks. I really don't have the time-" Banks cut him off. "Professor, this is serious. I'm not exaggerating when I say that you are the only one who may be able to help me with this. Please," he continued, his voice almost - almost - becoming pleading, "a friend's life may be saved if you can help." 'Emotional blackmail. Hitting my sense of morality. Definitely a cop.' Blair sighed. "How about one 'o clock at the seafood place on Gardencrest? It's pretty close to the University." "I'll be there. And Professor, thank you." "Don't thank me yet," Blair told him seriously. "Let's see if I can help, first." *** Blair reached the restaurant a few minutes before one and chose a table within easy sight of the entrance. He had brought a few exams with him in his backpack and he started working on them while he waited for Banks to show up. A waiter approached, but Blair turned him back, preferring to wait until Banks showed up before ordering. It was about ten minutes later, just past one, when Banks entered. He spotted Blair and headed over. Blair finished the last question of the exam while Banks took of his coat and sat down, then shut the exam and slid it back into the backpack. "Captain. Hello." "Thank you for coming, Professor." "No problem, Captain. May I ask what the emergency is?" Banks carried a briefcase which he had set down beside his chair. He picked it up now and set it on the table. Blair watched as banks opened the briefcase and pulled out a thick file of papers, loosely held together in a manila folder. What was going on here? "I ran a background check on you," Banks told him. "You what?" Blair frowned at him, brows furrowed slightly. He wasn't sure whether to be worried or just pissed off. "You mentioned that your area of study is enhanced senses. I was curious about it, so I checked up on the area - and you. It seems you know what you're talking about, Mr. Sandburg. According to the people I spoke with, you're the closest thing to an authority there is on Sentinels - in this country at least." Banks shook his head. "I have to admit, at first I thought the whole thing was ridiculous, but I read over your work - some of it, anyway. It was fascinating reading. Unfortunately most of it was beyond me." "I'm glad you liked it," Blair said dryly. "Actually," Banks said, "it was more familiar than anything else." "Famil-" Blair blinked, then fixed Banks with a demanding gaze. "Do you know someone with enhanced senses? Is that what this is about?" "I *think* I know someone," Banks stressed. "Doctor Sandburg, please, calm down and listen to me." Banks waited and Blair forcibly relaxed, forcing himself to wait patiently for Banks to continue. The older man sighed and toyed absently with the glass of ice water at his place setting, rolling it just slightly. "First of all, I trust I can count on you to keep this completely confidential?" "Absolutely," Blair said firmly. Banks began to continue, but paused as the waiter approached. "Let's order before we get into anything, shall we?" Blair ordered off the top of his head, waiting until Banks had ordered and the waiter left before continuing. "You were saying?" "I have a man working for me at the precinct," Banks began. "He's a good friend and a good cop. He's former military and he was the best detective I had." "Was?" "Was," Banks confirmed. "Almost a year ago he started hearing things, seeing things, even *tasting* things that he shouldn't have been able to. It probably started about ten months ago during a case. We were looking for someone called the Switchman. The Switchman set off several bombs through Cascade, and eventually blew up a busload of people, and herself with them." "I remember that case," Blair said. "She had targeted one of your detectives, hadn't she?" Banks nodded. "The same one. His name is James Ellison. Jim almost caught her, but then he had some sort of... *fugue* I think the doctor called it, and she got away." "A zone-out," Blair said excitedly. "Was he concentrating on something at the time? Listening or looking for something?" "He was following the bus," Banks confirmed. "We would have lost it in traffic if not for him. When he blanked out like that we did lose it, and by the time we caught up..." he shrugged, obviously not happy with the memory. "Sounds like a zone-out," Blair muttered. "He was concentrating too hard on one sense and got lost in it. Do you mind if I take notes?" "Is anyone going to see them?" Blair snorted as he grabbed a well-used notebook from his pack. "Captain, with my handwriting, I assure you, *no one* else is going to be reading these." "I suppose it's not going to hurt anything." Blair was already scribbling furiously. "What happened next?" "We shipped him off to the doctor," Banks replied wryly. "For all the good it did us. Most everyone just said there was nothing wrong with him and maybe we should have a psychiatric evaluation done on him. We finally found a guy with a good reputation who seemed to know what he was doing. He prescribed some forced vacation, dietary supplements. Nothing major. He attributed it all to stress." Banks snorted, giving Blair a good idea of what he thought of the prognosis. "Jim Ellison spent eighteen months in the Peruvian jungles. He was ex-covert ops, and one of the best detectives Cascade has ever had. Jim *thrives* on stress." "I believe you," Blair said soothingly. "Did it work?" "For a while. Things calmed down for a couple months. There was the odd incident or so, the fugues popped up every other week or so, never lasted more than a minute. Nothing too serious. But eventually things began to get worse again. The fugues came more often and lasted longer, until it was practically impossible to snap him out of them. The slightest sounds became painfully loud, the slightest light unbearably bright. There were times it got so bad we couldn't even touch him without causing pain." Banks' voice became frustrated as he remembered. "The doctor we brought in this time said it was psychological, all in his head. He prescribed some medication to control it, but-" "Let me guess," Blair interrupted. "Detective Ellison suffered some sort of serious allergic reaction." "A severe one. He had to be hospitalized." He paused as the waiter returned with their food, and Banks just stared at it, apparently not half as hungry as he'd thought. Once the waiter left again he continued. "It got better for a while after that, started again, got better, started again, got better, over and over again. I had to put him on desk duty so he didn't get himself or anyone else killed." Banks speared a shrimp savagely with his fork. "If he were a weaker man they'd have institutionalized him a long time ago." "How is he doing now?" "He was doing well for the last few weeks, but things are starting to go downhill again." Banks met Blair's gaze and the anthropologist saw concern for his friend in the captain's gaze. "I don't think Jim can take this much longer. If there is anything you can do, anything you can tell me, I'd be in your debt." "I'll need to see him," Blair said decisively. "And I'll need to get his medical history. Everything from birth to the last time he saw a physician. I'll have to run some tests, too," he added thoughtfully. "Nothing big," he hurried to assure Banks. "Eye exams. Stuff like that. I'm not going to turn him into a lab experiment." "I can arrange for all that," Banks agreed. "Anything else?" "This thing about Peru. You said he was there for eighteen months?" "Yeah. His chopper was shot down. He doesn't remember much of it, apparently. Doesn't like to talk about it." "That's probably when his sense first began to emerge. Explains the memory loss." Blair scribbled, then looked up at Banks. "I think I read about that somewhere. Newsweek, wasn't it?" Banks nodded and Sandburg shook his head. "Small world." "Not small enough," Banks sighed. "We could have used you a year ago." Blair smiled grimly. "Wait and see if I can do your friend any good, before you regret not finding me sooner. Does he know I'm going to be working with him?" "Yeah. I told him I'd found some sort of specialist." "A specialist huh? I like that." Banks sighed. "What am I getting myself into?" **** ‘What am I getting myself into?’ James Ellison stared off the balcony onto the city below, but his thoughts were far from the hectic bustle below. Instead he was concentrating on the past ten months, and on Simon’s words when he’d spoken to his friend earlier that morning. “I talked to this guy for almost four hours straight, Jim,” Simon had told him. “If he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, then he’s the best con artist in the country. He recognized everything I told him, explained it, and then told me what we could expect next. He was right on the mark. And, Jim, he says the whole thing can be dealt with. Nothing psychological about it at all.” Did Simon know him or what? Jim smiled ruefully. For almost a year now he’d lived in fear that he was going insane. Not the senses, no he believed those were real. Rather it was the effect the senses had on him, the fugues, the overload. He honestly couldn’t take it any more. If this Sandburg kid Simon had dug up couldn’t help him he was going to have to find some quick, clean way of ending it. That was the problem. He’d already resigned himself to suicide when Simon had come to him with this new guy. He hadn’t wanted to listen at first, not wanting to deal with yet another dead end, yet another medical stiff you tried to either drug him up, or lock him in a straitjacket. But Simon had seemed so certain that this guy knew what he was up to… If this didn’t work out… From below he heard car doors slam, and he recognized Simon’s voice as he headed into the building. The other voice - Sandburg doubtless - was softer, gentler. Not like the parade of stuffed shirt imbeciles who bellowed at him endlessly, insisting it was all in his mind anyway, so why should they be quiet? At least it didn’t look like he was going to have to kill Sandburg just to get some peace and quiet. His name was mentioned, and he tuned in a bit, concentrating on the conversation without actually intending to. Sandburg’s voice caught his ear, and he felt himself falling… It wasn’t until he felt the warmth on his arm, and the soft voice at his ear that he realized he’d fallen into one of those fugues again. He blinked and shook himself slightly, looking at the person he felt standing beside him. Not much, at first glance. Short, too young to be anything more than a student - 26 if he was a day - dressed in worm jeans and an oversized blue shirt, long curly hair framing wide blue eyes. He was probably Rainier University’s star attraction, Jim thought wryly. A professional? But Jim took a moment to look closer and he saw wisdom in the blue eyes that gazed back at him. Patience, and a slight smile of friendliness that practically drained the tension from Ellison. Behind him, Banks said wonderingly. “I’ve never seen anyone pull you out of a trance that fast.” Blair glanced at Simon, then back at Jim, this time a little shyly. Jim felt himself smiling. Somehow, he just knew, this man was going to change his life. He welcomed it. ________ end