"Are you busy tonight?" Blair asked Jim as he closed the door on the half-full dishwasher. He tore off a paper towel and wetted it before crossing over to the dining room table and wiping it down, removing all traces of their just-finished supper.
Jim, still seated at the silver dining room table, made no comment about Sandburg's voluntary KP duty. Blair had become adept at cleaning up after their meals, in the short time he'd been installed as Jim's roommate. "No. Figured I'd catch up with the paper, then watch the game."
While Jim spoke, Blair ditched the dirty towel in the kitchen wastebasket, then returned. "Good. Then you have time to talk, maybe do a little testing?"
Jim scowled, remembering the fiasco of their last Sentinel pop quiz. "No, it's been a busy week, it's Friday night and I want to relax."
Blair shifted his feet, standing by the dining room table. "I know it's been a busy week, I was there, too."
Jim's jaw tightened. "So your little doctor friend left for Atlanta and you've decided to turn your attention back to your favorite lab rat?"
"That's a low blow, man," Blair said softly, as he sat down on the opposite side of the table. "You know any testing that we do is for your benefit." He raised his head and met Jim's gaze levelly. "We just had a worst case scenario and we need to talk about it, to discuss the consequences and deal with them."
"Yeah, I've wondered what Brackett's going to do with his knowledge of us."
Blair blinked. "I'm not talking about Brackett, Jim, I'm talking about your zone-out on the bridge. Brackett had a gun on you, the bridge was mined with explosives, and you zoned. You could've died!"
"We all could've died," Jim agreed, quietly. "Lucky you were there, to, uh, bring me back."
Blair flung his right hand in the air, gesturing between them. "I'm your partner, Jim, of course I did everything I could to help." He took a deep breath. "But you're right, it was sheer luck that I was able to get you out of your zone so quickly."
"Sheer luck? I thought you knew what you were doing?"
"Richard Burton was a nineteenth century scientist. His monograph is a scientific study of the tribal and anthropological phenomenon known as Sentinels. He didn't write an instruction book on Sentinels, so I've had to infer information and draw certain conclusions. In short, I've been winging it, a lot - which is one reason that I'm so interested in testing your abilities. There's just no substitute for hands-on experience, and the more information we can get from lab work, the better."
"Okay," Jim reluctantly conceded, "after the, er, incident on the bridge, I'll go along with more testing."
"And that's another thing. 'Zone-out' isn't a four-letter word, it's just a condition that Sentinels are prone to, under certain circumstances. You should start using a Sentinel's vocabulary, at least with me."
"Brackett called you my so-called Guide," Jim said, seemingly at a tangent. "And I heard the capital 'G', loud and clear. I assume he got the word from your paper. So, are you my Guide?"
Blair's eyes shifted downward to stare at the pristine tabletop. "The term 'Guide' has specific connotations in Burton's monograph. The Guide is chosen by the Tribe to watch the Sentinel's back, anticipate his needs and act accordingly. The Guide is selected after rigorous testing by the Tribe and it isn't a title given lightly. I prefer 'partner' myself, and yes, I know I'm not supposed to use the 'p' word at the precinct."
"Watch my back, anticipate my needs and act accordingly," Jim mused. "That describes either a partner or a guide - and both words fit you, Chief."
"You really think so? Cool, man. Thanks." Blair beamed. "So, are you ready for some testing now?"
"Okay." Jim didn't sound thrilled.
"Good. Go get comfortable on the couch, I've got to get a few things from my room. Be right back." Blair rose from the table, and quickly disappeared into his room.
Jim heard the rustle of curtains as Blair brushed against them on the way to his room. That whooshing sound is starting to grate on me. I bet a door would be quieter. It's an oddly sized opening, though, perhaps a pair of French doors would fit? Jim stood, crossed to the living room in a few strides, and settled on the white couch, facing the equally white walls, with the cone-shaped artificial fireplace adding a dash of black to the otherwise monotone wall. The place seems too -- what? sterile? plain? --something, lately. Maybe it's time to repaint.... Wonder what Sandburg would say about a nice Kelly green? That I'm trying to recapture the jungle in the midst of Cascade, or some such hogwash. Still, I am getting tired of all this white.
Blair re-entered the room, holding a small notebook in one hand and a blue Eaton's shopping bag in the other. He skirted the low, marble-topped coffee table in front of the sofa and sat on the far left side, careful not to crowd the Sentinel.
Jim tensed as Blair plunked the Eaton's bag on the floor next to the sofa. Blair tsked. "You've got to learn to relax, here. My tests aren't booby traps, designed to catch you--"
"Sour milk," Jim interrupted, vividly recalling the horrible taste of the bad milk that he'd unwittingly swallowed.
"Hey, that was an accident. If my phone hadn't rung just then, I'd have kept you from drinking that. Hmmm, maybe I should turn the phones off now, just in case?"
"I'm a cop, Sandburg. I can't be incommunicado. The precinct might call."
"Yeah, sure, right. Okay, if the phone rings, we'll have a temporary halt in procedure, and you can answer it." Blair removed a blue pen from the spiral coil of his notebook and flipped it open. "So let's get started. I want you to tell me everything you can about your zone-outs."
"What? I thought we were testing, not talking."
"I've been thinking about this for days - ever since your zone-out on the bridge. Until then, it hadn't hit home how vulnerable you are while zoned. So, I've re-prioritized what I need to know about Sentinels, and zone-outs are at the top of the list. Let's start with the campus zone, then we'll talk about the one on the bridge. Uh, those are the only two zone-outs you've had? You'd tell me if there were others, right?"
"Yes, Sandburg. If I have others, you'll be the first to know, believe me."
"All right. So, you left my office, walked out of Hargrove Hall and--" Blair's pen was poised over his notebook.
"I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings, I was thinking about our conversation. I was starting across the street when I caught this red Frisbee on the edge of my vision. I focused on it, and the red became brighter, almost pulsating. It left a streak of red behind it, like a jet conn trail, as I tracked it against a mostly white background. I remember it was quiet, then something jabbed into my leg and I fell forward. I turned my head sideways on the ground and this lumbering black thing passed overhead. I jumped to my feet and noticed that big, ugly garbage truck as it screeched to a halt in front of us, and everything was back to normal. That's all I can tell you."
"Hmmm, and you don't know why you fixated on the Frisbee?"
"Not really. Maybe because it was airborne, and unexpected. I've been trained to respond to unexpected movement."
"Your Ranger conditioning had you seeing the flying Frisbee as a threat?"
Jim scowled. Conditioning. I don't think I like that word. "No, not as a threat, just something that needed to be checked out."
"And while you were checking out the Frisbee, you must've subconsciously triggered your Sentinel sight and you zoned. Now, tell me about the bridge zone-out. It only happened a few days ago; it should be much fresher in your mind."
"Brackett told me I should be able to tell the difference between active and inactive mines with my hearing. You gave me your little pep talk and I focused on listening. He was right, the active mines had an annoying buzzing sound attached to them, like a high-pitched electrical whine. The inactive mines sounded more like a synthesized ocean wave, or someone playing an electronically amplified musical saw."
"A techno version of a musical saw, that's awesome. What else do you remember?"
"I was working my way across the bridge, concentrating really hard on listening to the mines. Suddenly, something shifted, the noise level increased and sort of blended together, and the rows of black and red squares nearest me tilted, making the rest of the bridge seem off-kilter. The nearer squares got bigger and brighter, and started pulsating, they even gave off yellowish-silver rays of light from their outer edges. Everything turned white. Then I felt a tug on my arms, and your voice, telling me to relax and breathe. I shook my head to clear it, and I was back in the present, on the bridge with you and Brackett."
Blair scribbled as Jim described his zone-out. "Do you know how long you were zoned?"
"No idea, Chief. I was concentrating on the mine sounds, everything went white, then I was back on the bridge. That's it in a nutshell."
Blair re-read his notes. "Hmm, so even though you zoned on hearing, you could still see - you described the red and black squares on the bridge. Your sight was affected, because things got brighter and moved, then everything went white. I wonder if that means that you rank your senses, and the last one to succomb completely to a zone-out is sight? Once you lose control of your sight, everything turns white and you're completely zoned? Fascinating." Blair ran a hand through his curly hair. "Okay, we're through with the talking, time for some testing."
Jim shifted uncomfortably on the couch, but didn't object. "What do you want me to do?"
"It's all about zone-outs, Jim. So far, you've zoned on sight and hearing, your two strongest, most important senses. I need to know if you can zone on any sense, not just the major ones."
"You want me to zone on purpose?" This can't be happening, he would never ask me to--
"Yes. We need to test the possibility of you zoning on taste, touch and smell."
"I thought a Guide couldn't do anything to hurt a Sentinel."
"Hey, man, I'm one of the good guys, remember? That's not you talking, that's your fear talking."
"Fear?" Jim bristled.
"Fear of the unknown. It's only natural. But that's the point; zone-outs shouldn't be unknowns for you. They should be a recognized occupational hazard - like perps having guns, that sort of thing."
"Perps having guns?"
"You have to learn Sentinel lingo, I'm learning cop lingo. Did I get it right?"
Jim shrugged. "Close enough."
"Good. Now, back to the matter at hand..." Blair leaned over and extracted something from the Eaton's bag on the floor and Jim realized that they really were going to do this.
"Hold up, Sandburg."
"What?"
Jim frowned uneasily at the harmless-looking shopping bag on the floor. "I want some ground rules. This isn't an open-ended arrangement."
"Meaning?"
"Three zones - one for each remaining sense. Period. And you're lucky I'm agreeing to that much."
Blair heard the ultimatum in the Sentinel's voice. "Okay," he agreed, leaning over to extract a package from the Eaton's bag on the floor. He ripped open the package's drawstring top and set the exotically labeled item on the table, directly in front of Jim. Blair widened the package's opening by pulling back on the sides, exposing the largest possible amount of product to the air.
Jim read the contents, surprised. "Hawaiian Kona Supreme?"
Blair nodded, "The richest, most aromatic coffee I could find. What were you expecting, ammonia?" He frowned thoughtfully. "Although, we probably should know if you're more affected by things like ammonia, because the smell would or could be overly concentrated for you. I haven't figured out a way to safely test for that, so for now, we're going with normal, everyday items. Now, sit back and relax," Blair re-positioned himself at the far left end of the sofa. "Okay, breathe in deep, concentrate on the smell of the coffee beans, nothing else. Close your eyes if you want to, and focus on the coffee."
Jim leaned back into the sofa and took a deep breath, as instructed. He inhaled the smell of the gourmet coffee beans. It smells wonderful, and... and warm. Not any different from brewing coffee, full of richness and flavor, absolutely dripping in it.... Tendrils of the aroma wafted from his nasal passages to his brain. This is incredible coffee... I smell the faintest hint of the ocean and - and ash from the volcanoes in Hawaii and....
Blair silently moved closer to Jim. "Are you zoned?" It was the Sentinel equivalent of "Are you sleeping?" and Jim's lack of response was answer enough. Blair settled next to Jim and stared at him intently, monitoring the rise and fall of Jim's chest. Blair's most important question about zone-outs had to be answered first: are zone-outs in and of themselves inherently dangerous? Would the total non-awareness of his outside environment also encompass his inner environment, did zoning affect Jim's breathing or heartbeat? After several seconds of watching Jim's continued normal breathing, Blair cautiously reached for Jim's wrist. He observed Jim closely, looking for any reaction to the additional sensory input, but as Blair suspected, Jim remained zoned. Blair had grabbed Jim's arms on the bridge to keep him upright but touch alone hadn't brought Jim out of his zone, the Sentinel had only responded once Blair also spoke to him.
He positioned his fingers on the back of Jim's left wrist and timed the pulse. Fifty-six beats per minute, which was Jim's normal at-rest pulse rate. Blair continued to monitor both Jim's breathing and pulse rate for the next ten minutes, discovering no significant change in either. So, Jim's response to the zone did not change with time, at least not in the short term. How long exactly was a long-term zone, then? And would Jim's reactions be different over the long haul, if he zoned for hours instead of minutes? For that matter, could Jim safely zone for hours, out on the streets? Blair couldn't think of a street situation that would allow Jim hours of peaceful, uninterrupted zoning. Personally, he wouldn't let Jim zone while out on the streets for a second more than necessary; Blair defined "necessary" as five seconds less than the time it took for him to be aware that his Sentinel had zoned.
Re-checking Jim's pulse, Blair timed its steady less-than-60 beats per minute. Obviously, Jim could zone on the sense of smell, but was he truly oblivious to his other, stronger senses? Blair tightened his grip on Jim's wrist, wanting to know if the extra pressure would cause Jim to snap out of his zone. No response. But touch had worked on the bridge...no, touch and sound had broken the zone on the bridge, it must be the combination of two senses that mattered.
Just touch and sound, or any combination of two senses other than the one that had triggered the zone-out? No, wait, Jim had zoned on sound on the bridge; but sound and touch together had broken the zone-out. Blair glanced at Jim's closed eyes and reminded himself not to tell Jim to close his eyes on his two remaining zone-outs. For this zone, sight wasn't an option in the wake up department. Taste couldn't be an option in any zone, since Blair would have to get Jim to eat something in order to taste it and if he was aware enough to chew food, he wasn't zoned. Still, perhaps chewing gum could be used as a zone-out deterrent? If Jim popped a stick of gum in his mouth before ratcheting up his hearing or sight to observe a suspect, it might ward off an on-duty zone. It almost sounded like a joke, the Sentinel couldn't zone and chew gum at the same time....
Time. Hastily grabbing his notebook, Sandburg scribbled down his observations of Jim's first zone, recording pulse and breathing rates and Jim's lack of response in different situations. He also jotted down the additional items that he was going to retrieve from his room as soon as Jim emerged from this zone. Briefly, he considered just dashing into his room and picking up the stuff now, but Jim had zoned with the tacit understanding that Blair wouldn't leave him alone while he was zoned. A voluntary zone was a matter of trust between a Sentinel and his Gui - partner, and Blair wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize Jim's hard-to-come-by trust.
Reluctantly concluding that he couldn't learn anything else useful from this zone, Blair started to bring Jim out of his zone. He paused, thinking. He needed to know as much about getting Jim out of a zone as he did about the zone-outs themselves. Earlier, he'd tried to get Jim to respond to just touch and he didn't. Would Jim respond to just the sound of his voice? Or any voice, for that matter? Blair scribbled another idea in his notebook, then reached for the paper, tucked into the magazine rack next to the sofa. He grabbed the entertainment section, and opened it to the society pages. In a bored tone, he began to read. "The annual Fire & Ice Ball, benefiting the Cascade Museum of Natural Science, will be held next Saturday, under the auspices of Mr. And Mrs. Jim Fallsworth III..." Blair kept one eye on Jim as he read, had the Sentinel shifted slightly just then? Blair frowned and continued reading, but he didn't see any further response from Jim.
So, what had caused Jim to respond in the first place, if he, in fact, had? Blair re-read the article from the beginning, keeping a sharp eye on Jim. This time he caught the Sentinel canting his head slightly to the right as he spoke the name "Jim Fallsworth" or really, just "Jim." Well, that made sense, name recognition was ingrained from the earliest days of babyhood. "Jimmy?" Blair tried, tentatively and watched a slight frown appear on Ellison's face. "James" produced a barely perceptible tightening of the jaw muscle. Interesting. So, even zoned, the Sentinel responded to voice alone. Anyone's voice?
Blair reached for the remote control and clicked on the television, flipping through the channels to CNN. He notched the volume up and listened as the telecaster spieled the latest news, hoping the name Jim would crop up, somehow. Maybe somebody named Jim was a field reporter? After fifteen minutes of Jim-less news, Blair turned off the television. He needed to find some more news articles with "Jim" in them, and record a few of his students reading the articles - students who were complete strangers to Jim, of course. Blair was certain he could get some students to cooperate; they knew that Sandburg's extra credit assignments were off-the-beaten path.
That was for a future zone, though. Meanwhile, Blair needed to end this one. Could he bring Jim out of it by just his voice? "Jim, hey, Jim. Come on back, now. Jim, I know you're hearing me... Jim, wake up." Yes, Jim did tilt his head or twitch an eyebrow every time he heard his name, but there was a difference between a response and a meaningful response. Jim's name-twitching did not lead to any active effort to emerge from the zone-out. Blair wrote these conclusions in his notebook, then reached for Jim's hand. "Okay, Jim, come back to me. Jim, open your eyes and wake up. You're fine, Jim, just follow my voice--"
Jim shook his head, then opened his eyes. "How long was I out?"
"How long do you think you were out?" Blair asked.
"No idea," Jim admitted after a few seconds of thought.
"How do you feel? Tired? Rested and refreshed? Sleepy? Anything?"
"I feel--I dunno. Normal, I guess."
"Do you remember anything about the zone-out?"
"Y'mean, what did the coffee smell like? It was wonderful, rich and- almost intoxicating, it felt like I could smell Hawaii on the beans."
Blair scribbled Jim's answers in his notebook.
"Now, you answer me, Sandburg. How long was I out? What time is it?"
"It's almost 8. You were zoned for about forty minutes."
"Forty minutes? But - it felt like just a minute or two, if that." Jim frowned.
"Then you did have some impression of time passing? You said it felt like a couple of minutes."
"Nah, not really. I guessed that some time must've passed, but the truth is, I smelled the coffee, then I heard you and felt pressure on my hand and I woke up."
"Okay, one down, two to go. I need to get a few things from my room," Blair rose from the couch. "Hey, you wanna stretch your legs or anything, feel free. I'll be back in a few."
Jim watched as Blair walked out of the living room, then rose. He didn't feel a need to stretch his legs, but pacing was another matter. Sandburg wasn't very forthcoming in his information about the first zone-out. There's still two more to go. Almost an hour that I can't account for; it's just gone. I feel like I lost an extra hour to daylight savings time, or something. Jim continued to pace the living room. What extra stuff does he need for the next zone-out, anyway? Certainly there was more in that Eaton's bag than the coffee beans. Wonder if I can see the contents from here? Just as Jim had decided to apply himself to the task of peeking, Sandburg re-entered the living room, making a beeline for the sofa.
Blair settled on the far left side of the sofa again, and set a couple of CDs and a flashlight on the coffee table. "Ready for Zone Number Two?"
"No." Jim remained standing.
"No? Why not?"
"Because all I did with the last one was lose forty minutes of my time. Not exactly an incentive to zone again, Chief."
"All--?" Blair spluttered, right hand raised questioningly. "But, we learned a ton from your first zone-out."
"Oh? What did 'we' learn?"
Blair smacked his hand against his head. "That I'm an idiot. I'm sorry, Jim, I went way into lab mode and I didn't consider your side, at all. While you were zoned, I monitored your pulse and your breathing rate, and nothing changed. You continued to breathe normally, which is great. The zone didn't cause you to speed up or slow down your pulse or breathing rate; it had no affect on either one. And that's super-good news, because that means that zoning by itself isn't dangerous for you."
"It was on the bridge."
Blair bit back a hasty "What part of 'by itself' didn't you understand?" "Exactly, Jim. The act of zoning isn't dangerous for you; it's the circumstances surrounding the zone-out that create the danger factor - like the bridge being mined and its side rails electrified. But here," he patted the sofa, "you're safe. Now, are you ready to go again?"
"Okay," Jim sounded resigned as he slowly re-seated himself.
Blair ignored Jim's tone and reached into the Eaton bag, pulling out a small white bundle. He handed it over to Jim. "This is a rabbit skin, with all the fur intact. I borrowed it from Annie Littlechief, an asssistant professor at Rainier. It's the softest thing I could think of. Now, put it next to you on the sofa and sink your hand into it. Keep your eyes open, just concentrate on the feel of the fur next to your fingers. See if you can distinguish each individual strand of hair by touch..." Blair droned on, while Jim immersed himself in the feel of the rabbit fur, eventually zoning.
"Are you zoned?" Blair asked, checking. Receiving the expected non-response, he reached for Jim's wrist and took a couple of minutes to check his pulse. Normal. Good. Blair rose from the sofa, grabbed a CD from the coffee table and walked over to Jim's stereo, along the back wall. He placed the Metallica CD in the player, cranked up the volume and hit play. Sound burst into the living room, the loudest music he'd heard since the jungle music he'd played at his first meeting with Jim, way louder than anything he'd ever played in the loft before.
Blair quickly walked back to the sofa, checking Jim for any sign that the Sentinel heard the blaring rock music. No, nothing. Jim remained quietly seated on the couch, one hand cradling the rabbit fur. He stared straight ahead, clearly not seeing anything. Blair sat down on the left side of the couch, hand tapping to the throbbing bass beat, enjoying the heck out of hearing the screeching guitar riffs at normal heavy metal volume. He watched Jim for any reaction to the totally not-Santana CD playing at mega decibels, but the Sentinel was oblivious to the racket. Blair monitored Jim and enjoyed rocking out to his kind of music. When the last song started, Blair gripped Jim's wrist, exerting pressure. He wanted to see if Jim would respond to the combination of music and the grip on his hand, but nothing happened. Blair released Jim's wrist and rose from the sofa, heading for the CD player. He retrieved the just-finished Metallica CD, then, on a whim, put one of Jim's Santana CDs in the player. He walked back to the sofa, and took Jim's hand, wondering if the combination of familiar music and touch would bring Jim out of his zone.
Again, nothing. Blair frowned. Certainly Jim would recognize Santana's music, if he heard it. So... he didn't hear it, at least not now. But, touch and sound had been a winning combination before - twice - why not now? Well, it could be because the music was manufactured sound, not the same as a person speaking. Or that the music was impersonal, not directed at Jim, no mention of his name. Back to name recognition again. Blair jotted down a few notes then left the sofa to turn off the CD. He crossed the room to the light switch, turning off the overhead lights, leaving just the lamp by the sofa lit.
Blair sat down on the sofa, closer to Jim and picked up the flashlight. Flicking it on, he shone the light across Jim's eyes, in short bursts of on-off-on as he started calling Jim out of the zone. "Hey, Jim, wake up. Can you hear me, Jim? Follow my voice back, Jim. C'mon, Jim, you can hear me. D'you notice the light? I bet you do, Jim."
Blair continued to apply the sight and sound combination and a few minutes later, Jim blinked. "Wha-?"
"Attaboy, Jim. C'mon, are you with me, yet?"
"Sandburg, what're you doing with that thing?" Jim almost growled as Blair flicked the flashlight on across Jim's field of vision.
Blair hastily turned it off. "Sorry, Jim."
Jim shook his head, trying to clear it. "So, what happened this time? How long was I out?"
"Sixty-five minutes, just over an hour."
Jim mumbled, "Great, just great. Another hour gone."
Blair decided to ignore that, concentrating on Jim's earlier question. "I believe we've proved that when you're zoned, you're definitely out of it, not responsive to anything."
"And how did we prove that, Chief?" Jim asked suspiciously, catching sight of the CDs on the coffee table. "Metallica? You were playing that headbanger crap on my finely-tuned system?"
"C'mon, Jim lighten up. It was all in the cause of science. Besides, you didn't hear it, did you?" Blair was torn, waiting for Jim's answer. If he had heard it, that opened up all sorts of possibilities about zoning and "delayed reaction memory", and the fascinating concept that the Sentinel could recall events that happened while he zoned, without being aware of them at the time. If he hadn't heard it, then Blair was spared a good talking to about what was and wasn't proper use of Jim's much-babied sound system.
Jim tried to remember hearing that grating mish-mash of heavy metal, but failed. "No," he admitted reluctantly.
"Okay, then. Ready for the last zone?"
"No, but that hasn't stopped you yet," Jim sighed and readjusted himself in the sofa. "Bring it on."
"Not so fast, Jim. This last one, we're doing a little differently."
Jim stiffened. "Yeah? Why?"
"Because this is probably the last chance I'll get to test your zoning in a long time, so I want it to count. We're supposed to be applying these zones to real-life situations. Well, I don't think you're going to zone unexpectedly while sitting down. You're far more likely to do it on the job, standing up or maybe hunkered down behind some cover. So, I want you standing for this last zone, all right?"
"What if I say no, I don't want to do a standing zone?"
Blair blinked. "What, you think I can't catch you if you start to fall?"
"No, you'll catch me. I just - don't want to put myself in the position of needing to be caught." Jim's jaw tightened. "You've been around me long enough to know that I'm a - what did you call me? - 'control freak'. A zone-out's the most uncontrolled situation I can be in, and now you want to add another layer of uncertainty, by having me stand while doing it?"
Blair ran a hand through his curls. "Hey, Jim I'm trying to make this as easy as I can for you. The coffee, the rabbit fur, they were nice items to zone on and I guarantee you'll like the taste zone, too. But we've got to balance easy with realistic and useful and we need to know what happens - or doesn't happen - when you zone standing. Believe me, it's important; it may be vital. Now, are you with me on this, or not?" Blair met Jim's eyes levelly, trying to convey the urgency of doing this type of zone.
"Okay, Chief." Jim rose. "Where do you want me?"
"Pick some place in the middle of the room and stay there. Just find a comfortable stance - not like parade rest or anything that exact. And don't lock your knees, either." Jim stepped around the coffee table, placing himself about half-way between the table and the fireplace, feet about ten inches apart. He waited while Blair joined him.
Blair opened the thin rectangular package he was carrying and extracted a small silver foil-wrapped item. "Here," he handed the chocolate morsel to Jim. "This is a Godiva Key Lime truffle. According to Chris, it tastes divine, so you should like it." Blair stepped behind Jim, wanting to be removed from the Sentinel's field of vision.
"Okay, eat your chocolate and concentrate on the taste: that creamy, rich Key Lime filling and the smooth dark chocolate coating..." Blair waited a few minutes. "Are you zoned?"
"I could lie and say 'yes'."
Blair approached again, and gave Jim another truffle. "Let's try this again. Now, concentrate on the taste.... I know you can do this, Jim. I remember you telling me about the first time your taste buds went off the charts, at that Italian restaurant with Carolyn."
Jim munched on the truffle, seeking to expand his awareness of the taste. It was delicious, creamy and smooth, with the Key Lime center adding a touch of tartness to the dark chocolate.
"All you need to do is boost your awareness of the taste a couple of notches past that time, and you should be there," Blair reasoned. He studied Jim as the Sentinel finished swallowing the chocolate. "Anything?"
"No."
Blair frowned and thoughtfully unwrapped another chocolate as he walked back to Jim's side. "Maybe you don't have a big enough sample. Let's try two at the same time." He gave Jim the first truffle, then removed the foil from a second truffle and gave it to Jim, too. "One more time, now." Blair took a couple of steps towards the fireplace behind Jim's back while Jim popped both truffles into his mouth and started chewing. "Okay, just crank up your sense of taste, really concentrate on the filling and the dark chocolate outer coating..."
After a few more minutes, Jim sighed. "This isn't working."
"Yeah, I noticed," Blair muttered from behind him. "So now what?"
"Didn't you say we're testing the lesser senses earlier? Maybe I can't zone on taste; it's just not a strong enough sense."
"But you zoned on touch and smell, and they're about at the same level as taste. No, we're missing something here, I can feel it, man. Besides, it'll take a lot more than one failed taste test to convince me that you can't zone on taste."
"And that means?"
"It means we have to try something with a stronger flavor, like-" Blair paused, considering his choices. "Like Diet Coke. Everyone's always complaining about the after-taste...." He snapped his fingers. "After-taste! We're going about this all wrong, that's why you haven't zoned yet."
"You lost me, Chief."
Blair joined his Sentinel again, unwrapping the last truffle in the thin box. "You've been trying to zone on the truffle while still eating it. That's not working because you're doing two things at the same time, tasting and chewing. So you're working against the zone by dividing your concentration. Eat the truffle," he handed it to Jim and nodded for him to start munching and waited until he did so. "This time, I want you to focus on the after-taste. After you've finished chewing, zoom in on the lingering taste of the truffle, follow it inward as it goes down the esophagus, heading for your stomach."
Blair quietly observed Jim for a few minutes, then asked, "Are you zoned?"
No response.
He reached for Jim's wrist and timed his pulse. It was under 60 beats per minute, he was pleased to note. Jim also remained steady on his feet, if totally unaware of his surroundings. Blair picked up the remote from the coffee table and clicked on the television, honing in on CNN again. He cranked the volume up and watched Jim for any reaction. It was more Jim-less news, so the Sentinel remained oblivious to the overly-loud newscast. Blair let the news drone on in the background while he checked Jim for any overt response or shift in his balance. After fifteen minutes, Blair's gaze switched to the CDs still on the coffee table and then wandered over to Jim's music system. He eyed Jim one more time, noting his rock-steady stance, then decided that this was an opportunity not to be missed.
Making a beeline for the coffee table, Blair swooped up the Metallica CD and strode rapidly over to Jim's music system on the far wall. He stuck the CD in the player, dialed the volume to maximum and danced his way back to Jim's side. He watched Jim carefully as he grooved to the beat, but the older man was totally unaffected by the blaring rock music. As an afterthought, Blair turned off the television, scarcely noticing the difference that made beneath the din of Metallica at full-blast. He enjoyed grooving to two more songs, keeping a sharp eye on Jim for any change in his stance. As the third song started, Blair got into Jim's space, loudly clapping his hands in front of the unresponsive man's face. Still no reaction. Next, Blair stomped his foot hard on the loft's floor, scant inches from Jim. This, too, left the Sentinel standing unphased. Blair tried stomping from behind Jim, and even jumped up and down a few times, without affecting Jim's positon. However Jim was retaining his balance, he was keeping it. Next, Blair grabbed his notebook and wrote down his findings from Jim's standing zone, Metallica blasting away as he wrote his observations and conclusions.
Finished, Blair set the notebook down on the coffee table, then checked Jim one more time before quickly crossing the room to Jim's sytem. He killed the music and removed the Metallica CD, then returned it to its case. He left the case on the coffee table, picking up a green bottle of shampoo. He stood in front of Jim, thumbing open the bottle's flip-top. It was Blair's current herbal shampoo, a scent that Jim would recognize immediately after weeks of sharing the same bathroom. Blair waved the opened shampoo bottle under Jim's nose, looking for a reaction. As expected, he observed nothing. Then, he started talking. "Hey, Jim, third and final zone, here. Jim, you ready to come back, man? C'mon, Jim, nice and quiet here, no more Metallica, I promise. Jim, you're smelling my shampoo and listening to my voice. I know you can hear me, Jim, follow my voice..."
Jim blinked, shaking his head and saw Blair standing in front of him, waving an opened bottle under his nose. "Sandburg! Get that stuff out of my face, it smells like the botanical shop you tried to pick up that salesgirl in."
"Sorry, man. I see you're back with a vengence." Blair hurriedly closed his shampoo bottle and set it on the coffee table.
"So," Jim eyed the coffee table, noting the altered position of the Metallica CD. "You were playing Metallica again, weren't you?"
"Yeah, and you didn't hear it again, did you?"
"No. So, what happened this time?"
"You didn't fall, didn't even come close. You can relax, man, even when you're zoned, your sense of balance remains intact." Blair smiled, hoping Jim would ignore his accidental pun. "Anyway, you did great, Jim. We've got a solid baseline for your zone-outs and I've got a firm handle on getting you de-zoned. Give me a day or so to whip my notes into shape and you can read the whole report, how's that?" Blair walked back to the sofa and sat down. "Meanwhile, there's still a good half of the game left." He clicked on the television remote. "You wanna beer?"
Jim joined him on the couch, grimacing. "After all that chocolate? I don't think so... .What's the score?"
Blair spotted the score in the upper left hand of the screen and grinned. "We're winning."
* * * * *
Months later
Jim stood a few yards back from the water, completely focused on the activity around Marten's body. Blair stood about several yards to his right, watching Jim and the scene as he sipped a to-go cup of coffee.
"Ellison!" Simon bellowed as he arrived on scene. "Ellison!" A police officer raised the Crime Scene tape barrier and Simon passed through, continuing to yell. At Simon's third "Ellison!", Blair joined him. "What's up with him?" Simon asked, jerking his head towards Jim, standing unresponsively nearby.
"He hasn't taken his eyes off the recovery operations, Simon. He's totally zoned," Blair answered honestly.
They approached the oblivious Sentinel, Simon calling. "Jim! Jim!" He slapped Jim's arm. "Jim! You okay?"
Jim answered. "Yeah. My ears are just a little sensitive today."
Blair concealed his surprise at Jim's rapid response. He gave Simon zero points for style, but four stars for effectiveness. Simon had brought Jim out of an hours-long zone in less than fifteen seconds. Blair smiled, relieved. Jim's safety net for zoning had just doubled.
* * * * *
The End
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Swellison's Sentinel Fanfic
