Who Shall Guard the Guardian Themselves Read online

  Disclaimer: Applies as always.

  Author's Notes:

  The following version of Guardians contains some minor revisions -- cleanup mostly -- but it is essentially the same story which was originally posted in serial to the Senfic list and archived at Majik's Eclectica site.

  Like many of my stories, this one started out as just a simple tale and grew to a much more complicated adventure. The Muse knew where she wanted to go and took me along for the ride.

  Per the show's time frame, this would fall during the third season, after Warriors. It is a stand-alone story, although it was originally designed to be the second of a three-story arc. I still intend to write the prequel and the sequel, but I'm not making any promises as to when that's going to happen -- the Muse seems content to wait, filling my head with lots of other story ideas for the moment.

  My thanks to everyone who wrote with encouragement on this story when it was first posted in serial and since the 'final' version was archived. I'm particularly grateful to Majik for archiving this story on her site while it was still a work in progress, and for hosting it there after it was finished. A big nod of thanks to Night Owl for maintaining a superb site filled with all sorts of lovely reference material and links from which I borrowed for inspiration. Final hugs go out to Chris, Linda and Carolyn -- who encourage, cajole and threaten on a regular basis.

  Who Shall Guard the Guardians Themselves?

  by

  K. Ryn

  [email protected]

  .

  Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? (Who shall guard the guardians themselves?) -- Juvenal

  Simon Banks reviewed the last of the paperwork and added his signature to the final page of the triplicate forms. With a sigh of relief, he closed the folder and placed it in his 'done-get-it-out-of-here' bin for Rhonda to file. His eyes strayed to the overflowing in-basket and he grimaced -- the number of new cases waiting to be assigned was nearly double the manpower he had available.

  He glanced up, studying the two silent men in his office. Jim Ellison leaned against the window casing, staring out onto the brightly lit morning. Simon could see the weariness in the detective's stance and in the dark shadows under his eyes, even if the face was as calm and unreadable as usual. Blair Sandburg was slouched on the couch, the young observer's normally ebullient personality dampened, his gaze fixed on the floor as he retreated into introspective silence. Simon shook his head. Ellison and Sandburg were his best team, but one look was all it took to see that their last case had pushed them both to the edge of their limits.

  Simon's eyes flickered to the closed file. Major Crimes typically got more than its share of grim cases, but this one had been a nightmare. Every day, for ten long days, there had been a new murder to add to the jacket. Initially, nothing seemed to tie the brutal deaths together; the victims had ranged in age from sixteen to fifty-four, male and female, Caucasian, Hispanic and African American. They came from different social and economic backgrounds, and there had been no evidence that any of them knew one another.

  The only consistent elements were the cause and location of death. Each of the victims had been stabbed repeatedly -- one poor soul up to forty times, and all had died in their homes. The murders had been violent and bloody. Even the normally unshakable members of the forensics team had blanched every time they'd been called to one of the scenes.

  Ellison, of course, had latched onto the case with a vengeance, treating the investigation as if the killer was taunting him personally. He'd driven himself hard, racing a ticking twenty-four hour clock, trying to find the murderer before he struck again.

  And Sandburg had been with him, every step of the way. The case had been particularly hard on the young observer. Simon had seen the haunted look in the kid's eyes when they'd entered his office to hand off their final report.

  At first, as if anxious to prove to them that he could handle it, Blair had planted himself at his partner's side, slipping into his role of Sentinel's Guide with practiced ease. Simon had privately wondered just how long the kid would stick it out, but by the fifth day -- after Jim had begun to experience more frequent zone-outs as he pushed his overworked senses -- Banks had quit speculating. The kid became Ellison's shadow, his dedication to the older detective unwavering. Blair had seen every bloody corpse, read every sickening report, had stood beside Jim as his partner questioned and consoled the grieving families.

  In the end, it was Sandburg who'd discovered the lead which had broken the case. In sifting through the endless personal records of the victims, he'd come across a common entry in their checkbooks. Each had placed a classified ad in the Cascade Observer, a local shopper-style newspaper. The 'for sale' ads themselves proved to have nothing in common -- a 'never worn' engagement ring for a 'steal' at $700.00, an infant portacrib for $45.00, a set of Bose speakers for $125.00, a "bargain basement" offer on a pair of matching love seats going to the first caller who came up with $200.00.

  A quick trip to the paper's office, however, uncovered the unifying connection. The same clerk, a 'nice middle-aged man', by the name of Bill Haight had taken all of the orders. A subsequent visit to the man's home, with search warrant in hand, had given them everything they'd needed, including Haight himself. He'd offered no resistance, and thus far, no explanations for the murders, although the evidence they'd discovered in his apartment clearly pegged him as the killer. He was down in the maximum security wing now, waiting for transport to the nearest psychiatric facility for evaluation. No one had any doubt his defense would involve some kind of insanity plea.

  What made it all so difficult to come to terms with was the randomness of his acts. The victims had been chosen simply because Haight had waited on them when they had placed their ads. If they had dealt with another clerk, they'd still be alive. Chance had decided their fates, and that's what made it so senseless.

  It was finally over, even the paperwork, but the damage the killer had done would affect all of them for a long time. Banks shook his head and sighed. No matter how heavy the new caseload was, these two needed a break, even if it was only for a few days.

  "Good job," Simon finally murmured, breaking the silence.

  Jim's gaze swung to his captain and he nodded, then glanced at his quiet partner. Blair still sat motionless, lost in his own thoughts. Simon saw the worry in the older man's eyes, accompanied by the expression which often preceded the detective's shift into his protective mode.

  "I think a couple of days off are in order," Simon continued softly.

  He saw Ellison's eyes flicker to the stack of folders in the in-basket. The look the detective gave him was grateful, but questioning.

  "It'll wait," Banks reassured him. He shot a look at Blair and then glanced back at Jim. "Get out of here and take that vagrant with you," he added in gruff exasperation.

  A brief smile crossed Jim's face. Simon wasn't fooling anyone with his tone, especially not a Sentinel.

  "Thank you, sir," he acknowledged. Moving to Blair's side, he placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Hey, Chief. Time to go."

  Blair shook his head and looked up abruptly, his eyes losing some of their 'lost' expression when he focused on the older man.

  "Oh... we're done?" He cast an anxious glance toward Simon, abruptly aware he'd been lost in his own form of zone-out.

  "Yeah, Simon's cutting us loose for a few days," Jim explained, tugging Blair's arm to help him to his feet.

  A broad smile of relief filled the younger man's face. "Great! I mean... no offense, Captain, but I'll be glad to see something other than the inside of this place, or the morgue, for a while."

  "No happier than I'll be not to have to put up with your ramblin
g mouth, Sandburg," Simon growled. "Two days, then you're back on the clock."

  "We appreciate it, sir," interjected Jim. He forestalled any additional comments from Blair by turning the younger man in the direction of the door. Simon's phone rang before they reached it.

  "Banks... Ellison? Yeah, he's here... Who'd you say this is?" Simon glanced up and caught Jim's curious gaze, holding it for a moment before focusing his attention on the call. He grabbed a pen and began writing furiously. "And when did this take place?"

  Jim moved a step closer to Simon's desk, trying to read past the concerned expression on his captain's face.

  "Yeah, I got it, but we'll need some paper to back this up... all right... hold on." Simon put his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and let out a terrific bellow. "TAGGERT!" Within seconds, Joel Taggert's bulky figure filled the doorway. "Check the fax. See if there's something coming through from the FBI's Seattle office," Simon ordered. Joel disappeared like a ghost and was back almost immediately, thrusting a flimsy sheet of paper into Simon's hands.

  "Simon...?"

  The captain cut off Jim's question with an abrupt gesture as he concentrated on the phone call again. For a moment, the Sentinel considered using his enhanced senses to listen in on the other end of the conversation, but he pushed the temptation away. Ethical considerations aside, he knew he'd be getting the full story from Simon shortly. He took a deep breath to settle his own growing impatience and was immediately aware of Blair shifting closer.

  "What's going on?"

  Jim answered the younger man's question with a shrug of his shoulders, his jaw tightening as he contemplated Blair's involvement in whatever was breaking. Maybe I can keep Sandburg out of it. He's done more than enough over the last ten days. He's practically out on his feet.

  Simon's next words put an end to that hope.

  "Sandburg? You want him, too?" Banks glanced up at Blair and then quickly to Jim, catching the nearly imperceptible shake of the detective's head. "Look," Simon shifted his attention back to the phone call once more. "I've got other officers who are accomplished in S and R besides... yes, Ellison and Sandburg are my best team, but they're just coming off a nasty... yes, I understand the seriousness of... no, the paperwork looks like it's in order, but... oh she did, did she?"

  Jim could hear the angry frustration in his captain's voice and knew he was facing a dead end. Despite Simon's best intentions, he and Blair had just been assigned another case.

  "All right... I'll have them up on the roof in fifteen minutes... yeah, I'm sure you do." With a snarl, Banks slammed down the receiver. He reached for a cigar, chomping down on the end of it as he studied the notes he had scribbled. Finally, he raised his head and met the inquisitive stares.

  "FBI's got a joint effort going with Search and Rescue," he began, chewing the words out around the cigar. "They've asked for you specifically. Seems the mayor's office has decided that you two are the flavor of the month." He shook his head in disgust as he handed Jim the fax. "We've got a missing busload of grade-school kids. They were due at the Tiara Wilderness Camp up north, three hours ago. Some kind of field trip. One of the rangers remembers them checking in at the park entrance on schedule, but they never made it to the camp."

  "I assume someone's checked the roads in and out," Jim said quietly, feeling a tightening in his gut as he scanned the fax transmission. "It couldn't be as simple as a mechanical breakdown, I suppose."

  "No joy there. Weather's been bad all week and the roads in and out are a mess, but they've done a pretty thorough search and come up empty."

  "I don't get it," Blair interjected, finally breaking his silence. "Why's the FBI in on this?"

  "Standard procedure, Chief," Jim explained. "Whenever you've got an unexplained absence, particularly one with children, kidnapping is always a consideration."

  "Kidnapping?"

  Jim saw the younger man pale and reached out to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's a possibility, Chief, but it's more likely that the driver tried a shortcut and got mired down. You know what that area's like. We went camping up there last year."

  "Yeah, I remember. Lovely spot. Lots of high mountains and long vertical drops," the younger man muttered distastefully, rolling his eyes and nervously pushing his hands through his hair.

  Jim turned away to hide a worried frown. That camping trip had almost been a disaster and it had been his fault. Neither of them had ever been in that particular area before and in his enthusiasm to break some new ground, he'd inadvertently led them up a trail that had severely tested his partner's acrophobia. He'd mentally kicked himself for months afterwards, remembering the look of terror in the younger man's eyes as he'd edged along a path which had dropped away at their feet, determinedly keeping up until Jim had finally realized what was happening and led them back down.

  Closing his eyes for a moment, he focused on his Guide. He didn't need to see him to recognize the physical fatigue that Blair was feeling. He felt it in himself. What worried him was the damage the Haight case had done to the younger man's spirit. He'd seen the anguish growing in his partner's eyes every day. He'd wanted to keep Sandburg on the fringe of this kind of violence, but the demands of using his senses for so long and so intensely had ultimately required his Guide's constant, steadying presence. Even now, with the case over, he could feel the stress still eating away at his friend. To ask him to jump into this unknown situation was definitely far beyond what the anthropologist had signed on for.

  "You know, Chief," he drawled casually, still half-turned away from the younger man, "this is likely to turn out to be just a dry run. Search and Rescue will probably have found those kids before we even get up there. Why don't you sit this one out?"

  "Don't you think I can handle it?"

  The raw emotion in Blair's whispered question caught him by surprise. Jim turned to face him, eyeing his partner intently. The younger man had drawn back a step and stood with his fists clenched at his sides. His gaze was angry, definitely challenging.

  "I didn't mean that, Chief --"

  "You're going. And if you're wrong and they haven't found those kids, you're going to have to use your senses during the search. You're going to need me." Blair's voice shook and Jim saw the fists clench even tighter.

  "Blair, the last ten days have been ugly. I know how much sleep you've gotten lately."

  "You're not in much better shape than I am, big guy. You're not the only one who can hear footsteps prowling the loft at all hours of the night, you know. I didn't stick with you through all this shit to get dumped aside just because you think I need a nap. What if it is a kidnapping and you get into a firefight? You think one of those FBI agents is going to know what to do when you have a zone-out, Ellison?"

  Blair paled and turned away. Jim caught his arm and felt the tremors that were surging through him. Reaching out with his senses he heard the rapid pounding of his Guide's heart and he spun the younger man around to face him.

  "What is it? What's wrong?" His gaze locked with Blair's. There was terror filling those familiar blue eyes. And more -- there was the impression of immense sorrow.

  "I don't..." Blair's whisper trailed off. He shuddered, then seemed to regain his control, the anger returning. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just standing my ground for once. Now are WE going or not?"

  They glowered at one another for several long moments, until Jim finally nodded. "Okay," he said softly. "We'll do this together. Just like always."

  Blair met his gaze evenly, relaxing as his anger melted away.

  "If you ladies are finished...?" Simon glared at both of them, hoping his feigned anger would conceal his concern. Neither one of them is in shape for another assignment, especially if things get rough. Damn, I wish I had a way around this. When they turned to look at him, he shook his head and continued. "FBI's sending a chopper. Get your butts up to the roof. They'll equip you when you reach the staging area. The man in charge is Agent Anders."

  "I'll meet you upstairs, J
im," Blair murmured, already headed toward the door. Stopping only to grab his jacket and backpack from Jim's desk, he moved swiftly through the bullpen and disappeared out into the hallway.

  "Ellison..." Simon's soft call stopped Jim at the door. "Be careful. Both of you."

  Blair let himself out onto the roof and slowly crossed to the helicopter pad. He was short of breath from his mad dash up the stairs, and he had a stitch in his side. Forcing himself to breathe evenly, he kept moving, desperate to get control over his racing emotions before Jim joined him.

  "It was just a panic attack, " he whispered, trying to reassure himself. "That's it. Nothing more."

  ~You know better than that...~

  "No, I don't... oh, shit!" He shook his head in irritation as he realized he was having a conversation with himself. "Man, am I the picture of mental health here, or what? Stop this. Get a grip." He took a deep breath, hoping to gain the upper hand on his subconscious, but the insistent voice within his head just droned on.

  ~Then what the hell was that all about? Why the panic attack? You've stood up to Jim before, so what gives?~

  "Shut up, already. I am NOT in the mood for this conversation right now!"

  He scrubbed wearily at his face. This is just stress, he told himself. And exhaustion. Jim was right, he hadn't been sleeping much. How could he, when every time he shut his eyes he saw the brutalized bodies of Haight's victims? In retrospect, he knew that it was a case he should have stayed out of. It was just too painful. But Jim's involvement really hadn't given him any choice -- his Sentinel had needed him. He was the Guide. It had been just that simple.

  ~Be honest with yourself. You know what's really going on here.~

  He stared down at the painted pattern that would guide the chopper in and shook his head in denial.

  ~You can't ignore what you are.~

  "You wanna bet?"

  He scrubbed his face again and closed his eyes, softly repeating one of his meditation mantras. "Find the center... find the center..." He felt one more tug of the almost violent sensation, then his breathing eased. Within moments, he felt better and he opened his eyes, glancing around the rooftop for his partner. Jim hadn't appeared yet, for which Blair was grateful.