"That play wasn't as bad as I thought it would be." Jim Ellison took keys from Michelle's hand and unlocked the door to her apartment.
Entering and flicking the light switch she mused, "I knew you'd say that."
Jim followed her inside. "I was surprised by all the cursing." He returned her keys and closed the door. "It didn't bother you?"
Michelle laughed once and shrugged. "I've heard worse. Like when I post finals. It wasn't that bad. I enjoyed it."
"Yeah," Jim agreed. "I am glad I went."
"Me too." Michelle started for the kitchen. "You want coffee?"
"Sure. How about that one guy, who was playing three parts?"
Michelle's voice came from the kitchen. "He was good."
Jim glanced around the living-room. "Funny, he reminded me of someone. Just can't put my finger on it." Bit by bit he began taking in all the Jewish and Israeli items Michelle had decorating the room.
"You want pie?" The question snapped Jim's attention.
"You make it?"
Michelle appeared at the kitchen entrance. "Yes."
"One of your sugar free, vegan creations," Jim said smiling.
"Naturally," Michelle was matter-of-fact, her arms folded.
Jim was still grinning as he answered. "Sure. I'll have some. I mean how bad can it be." I can always dial down my taste.
Michelle rolled her eyes as she turned on her heel, retreating to the kitchen. She knew he was teasing her.
Jim continued his survey of the room. "You've got some interesting things here." He picked up a small box from the coffee table and turned it. The lid dropped to the floor and a few grains of sand spilled from the opening. Jim quickly retrieved the lid and replaced it, and the box.
Michelle's voice came through again. "Be careful of that Jerusalem stone box. There's loose sand in it." There was a pause. "The sand is actually from different regions of Israel...."
While she was speaking Jim's eye caught the digital display atop a shelf of video tapes. * It was a clock that listened to WWV. There was a signal light and a light that indicated the clock had set itself within the last ten minutes. It not only displayed the time in hours, minutes and seconds. There was a rapid movement counting off tenths of a second. Jim watched the numbers flash furiously in front of him. At first Jim's eyes blinked in time with the motion. Then... he was gone.
"Do you want your pie warmed?" The question hung in the air. "Jim?" Puzzled, Michelle entered the room. "Jim?" She'd half expected to see him passed out on the floor... or the couch... or something, not standing statue-like staring straight ahead. She cautiously moved to his side, touching his arm. "Jim," she tried again. Waving her hand in front of his face she repeated more insistently, "Jim!" Nothing. "Okay." She was now talking to herself. "Another atypical evening a la James Ellison. Better get you seated."
It was like the Moving People game on "Whose Line is it Anyway?" She carefully guided one leg at a time backing Jim until his calves touched the sofa. She eased him into a sitting position. Through the whole process Jim remained totally oblivious to her actions.
"I'll bet you think I don't know what to do about this," she told the unresponsive form. "But you're wrong." Michelle attempted one last thing, snapping her fingers close to his ear. "Three strikes, I'm out. Next batter," she muttered reaching for the phone. She pushed the buttons and waited. "Come on. Pick it up. He said you were staying in tonight."
"Hello?" Blair's sleepy voice answered on the other end.
"Blair, it's Michelle," she began impatiently. "Something's wrong with Jim..."
"What's wrong with him?" He was still groggy.
"I don't know," she replied curtly. "But I have this nagging suspicion that you do. He's out of it. One minute he was..."
"I'm there," Blair told her before she could finish. And then came a dial tone.
Michelle shrugged and tapped the disconnect button. Their loft was about ten minutes away. She could deal with this that long. Taking a seat on the coffee table facing Jim she said brightly, "Blair's on his way." Then under her breath added, "I knew my suspicion was right. This reminds me of something from one of those papers of his I proofread."
Blair didn't even bother to knock when he arrived several minutes later. With a sense of urgency he approached and knelt on the floor beside his friend taking one of Jim's hands in his own. "Okay, Jim, just follow my voice," Blair began his soothing litany of words in attempt to coax the man from wherever he was. But nothing changed. The guide shuddered. "Damn. Deep zone." Not taking his eyes off Jim he asked Michelle, "Do you have vanilla extract or... anything?"
Michelle bounced to her feet. "Yeah." She started from the room. She would say something about the deep zone later.
"And an eyedropper," Blair called after her.
Michelle returned with the small bottle in her hand. Seating herself on the table and giving the container over she said, "I don't have an eyedropper."
"No problem. I'll do it this way." Blair opened the bottle and tipped it, dispensing the fragrant liquid onto the tip of his index finger.
Michelle took the bottle from him and watched as he used one hand to gently pry Jim's mouth open, just enough to slip the vanilla coated finger inside.
"Okay, Jim, taste that," Blair begged softly.
"Why didn't you tell me he was a sentinel?" Michelle asked quietly.
Blair's head jerked around to face her. "How..."
"I put it together. It was relatively easy, especially after this." She canted her head toward the sentinel. "Next time have someone else proofread..."
Her statement was halted by a sputtering sound coming from Jim as he coughed and choked. She didn't know if he was reacting to the strong taste of the extract or Blair's finger in his mouth... or both for that matter. The important thing was he was reacting.
"That's it, big guy," Blair soothed as he withdrew his finger. "Come back to me."
Jim coughed a bit more then managed, "Sandburg, you've got to stop using that almond oil soap. Mixes terrible with vanilla."
Michelle and Blair laughed at this as Blair draped his arms around Jim and hugged his neck, relieved. "Thank, G-d," he mumbled. He pulled back and added, "That was quite a zone out."
"Sandburg," Jim said evenly and indicated Michelle.
"It's okay man, she knows. I didn't tell her," he said in response to Jim's questioning eyes. "She put it together herself."
Jim shrugged slightly in acceptance. That explained how Sandburg happened to be there to bring him out of the zone.
Blair was now rubbing circles on Jim's back. "By the way, man, what did you zone out on?"
Jim ran his hand over his forehead. "The clock," he sighed. "I was standing there watching the tenths of a second. I don't mind telling you it was like watching my life flash before me and..." There was a pause. "How did I get on the couch?"
"I just pretended you were Ryan Stiles," Michelle explained.
"You okay?" Blair asked, making certain.
"Fine, Chief."
"Then I ought to leave you two to finish your date."
"It's not a date," Jim told him.
Blair laughed. If Jim was saying that he was definitely fine. "Well, I'll leave you two to your not a date then."
Blair rose to leave but Jim latched on the his wrist. The anthropologist knelt again asking, "What is it, big guy?"
"I think," Michelle said interrupting the impending moment. "That he'd like to have you nearby. And we were just about to have dessert. Would you like to stay?"
"Yeah, Chief, I don't think I can face her homemade pie without some backup."
Blair brightened. "Pear with nutmeg?"
"Yeah," Michelle nodded.
"Cool." He turned his attention to Jim. "Her pear pie is amazing. Totally fruit juice sweetened. No refined sugar."
"That's what he can't face," Michelle teased as she headed for her kitchen once again.
"She knows." Jim sighed after she was out of the room.
"Yes. Yes, she does," Blair confirmed. "Good thing she did figure it out. She called me instead of 911."
Jim grinned. He ran one hand over the length of his guide's hair and for no particular reason, other than he felt like it pressed his lips to Blair's brow and again at his temple.
Blair felt a warmth pass through him and simply accepted. There was a pause. "Go talk with her," he said canting his head toward the other room.
Jim ran his hand over Blair's head one last time before complying.
Michelle was at her kitchen counter rummaging through teabags. "Lemon, lemon, chamomile," she said selecting the pouch. She turned to find Jim watching her.
"You know Sandburg well," Jim commented guessing the tea was for his friend.
"Quite some time," she told him. "My mother was a friend of Naomi's."
"I never knew that."
"I guess there's a lot we don't know."
Jim scrubbed a hand over his face. "Are you okay with this? The..."
"Sentinel thing," she finished for him.
"Yeah, the sentinel thing."
"Actually, I'm fine with it."
"Look, the reason we didn't tell you..." He gestured vaguely with his arms.
Michelle took hold of his forearms. "I understand that too. Believe me. We're fine here."
"Good."
Michelle leaned against the counter. "I really have known Blair a long time. And as long as I have known him he's had an interest in this sentinel thing. He'd always been looking for a sentinel. I'm not too surprised he found one."
Jim chuckled. He knew too how Sandburg was when he was bound and determined about something. "Just a bit surprised that it's me."
"Yes and no." She gazed fondly at him. "But I will say this. I'm very glad it's you. Because with you he not only found his sentinel. He also found deep friendship. And that might even be more rare."
Jim nodded in agreement. "It's mutual," he assured. "We really love each other. If we weren't sentinel and guide..." He stopped to swallow the rising emotion in his throat. "We'd love each other just as much."
"I know."
Jim inhaled deeply. This next thing was going to be even harder. "I love you, too."
Admittedly, that surprised her. He leaned over to caress her lips with his. The kiss lasted some time before he broke it. The room was way too thick with the lingering emotions so he said, returning to an earlier humor, "I just don't think I can love sugar free pie."
*This clock really does exist and has been in my parents home where I live for fifteen years. I almost zone out on it myself. (Sadly, this clock died several years ago and we were unable to find a replacement)