Too Long, Too Far From Home

Danae

Disclaimer:  Not mine.  Pet Fly's.  No money.  No harm.  No foul. 
Just fun.

Thanks as ever, to my beta readers, Missy and Beth.  To Michelle,
a faithful friend.  To Lorri, with whom I share a love of horses
and a strong dislike for rude, obnoxious people.  And to all of
the other friends that have supported and helped me, Laura,
Daydreamer, Gen, Cindy, Donnia, Sorcha, Caitlin and the rest of
the Atlanta Sentinel Group and I could go on all day.... Just
thanks to everyone that reads my stuff and everyone who writes to
tell me so and even to those who don't! <g>

This was inspired by the song Full of Grace by Sarah MacLachlan
and has a companion piece from our beloved Blessed Protector's
point of view.  The title comes from a line in the song.

Warnings:  Spoilers for S2 and Four Point Shot.  References to
most of the fourth season shows up to this point.  Beth, Lorri
and I have been talking about how much Blair has changed this
season and we don't like it!  So.... 

On with it...

Too Long, Too Far From Home

____________________________________

It was the same nightmare that woke him, the one he had had for
months.  He was drowning in that damned fountain, and his best
friend stood by and watched it happen.  Blair Sandburg hung his
head and ran his hands through his hair, massaging the headache
away.  He pulled back the blanket that covered the glassless
window of the half-hut, half-shack where he was staying with two
other anthropology students and Dr. Carter Meeks.  He could see
the sun rising in the east.  There was no sense trying to go back
to sleep.  The little village would be alive with activity soon. 
He got up and tiptoed out of the dwelling so as not to wake up
his roommates.  Roommates, the word echoed.  Roommate, with no
"s."  Jim.  He did not have to make breakfast.  He did not have
to remind anyone not to use all the hot water.  Jim was hundreds,
thousands of miles away, probably doing his job quite fine
without one Blair Sandburg tagging along.  Part of him wanted to
believe that, the part that was feeling guilty over leaving his
friend, his Sentinel.  Another part of him, the selfish part,
hoped that Jim missed him terribly.  Then they would both have an
empty space in their chests, and Blair would not be suffering
alone.  He knew he had done the right thing for himself, but that
did not make it any easier to leave Jim.  To hurt Jim.  And he
had hurt the man.  He saw it in his eyes.

_______________________________________________________________
 
"Jim, please try to understand.  This is my life we're talking
about here.  I'm not a cop.  I'm an anthropologist.  I'm a
teacher.  In my world, this kind of thing not only looks good,
but is necessary in order to get grants and hopefully get a
tenured position someday."  He could not bring himself to turn
and look at his best friend.  Blair knew he would not be able to
do this if he saw the hurt in his best friend's eyes.  The hurt
that he could hear in his voice.

"What about me?" Jim asked the question Blair had known would be
inevitable.

He stopped packing.  Why did it have to hurt so much?  He felt
his chest tighten, and he swallowed back tears as he gripped his
duffel bag in one hand and a shirt in the other. "I'm sorry," he
said at last.  "I have to go.  I need this, Jim."

"Why?" It was more of a croak than a real word but Blair
understood it.

"Because I've been drowning in that fountain for months now. 
I've been reaching out to you, and you haven't seemed to notice. 
If I don't get out of here and get my head straight, I'm going
down for the last time, Jim."  He tried very hard to keep the
true level of his desperation out of his voice but it crept in
anyway.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" 

That did it.  Rage tinged Blair's vision an ugly red, and he
whirled on the man who dared challenge him to explain his
feelings.  Well, if that was the way Jim wanted it, Blair could
oblige him.  "It means that I'm not the same person I was, and I
don't know this new person, and I don't like him very much!  He's
your shadow, your puppy dog, your apt pupil, and he's learning
things *I* never wanted to know!  You handed me a gun not so very
long ago if you don't remember, and I not only took it, I fired
it.  *At people!*  I mean, you've given me a gun before, I know. 
But this time, it was different.  This time, I didn't hesitate. 
This time, I fired it at people.  Real people, Jim.  I could have
killed somebody and I did it anyway.  Do you see?  Do you hear
me?  What's worse is that I didn't even realize it until the next
day.  When I did, I just wanted to cry.  But I didn't.  I wanted
to scream.  But I didn't.  Instead, I started to mold myself into
you.  And you know the funniest part about all of this?  Do
you?!"

The Sentinel shook his head, pain and shock written all over the
usually stoic face.

"You didn't even notice.  I'm drowning, but you know something, I
was wrong.  It just started that day at the fountain.  You pulled
me out of the water and brought me back only so I could drown in
you.  Thank you for saving me from the fountain, Jim.  I mean
that with all my heart.  Now, I'm asking you to save me again. 
Let me go.  I'll come back, I swear it.  I just need some time to
remind myself who I am."

A quick nod was the only response he received.  Jim turned then
and left him to his packing.  When his tears came, he was not
sure if they were for his own lost soul or the lost soul that he
recognized in Jim's sad blue eyes.

______________________________________________________________

Blair swept away a tear as he watched the vivid sunrise.  He had
only been gone a week, and it felt like an eternity.  He ambled
down to the river when it was light enough to see the path and
picked up a basin that his group left in a clump of grass for
some of their morning cleansing rituals.  He scooped up some
water from the river and sat down with the basin in front of him. 
He reached behind him into the grass and snagged his bag.  He
pulled out a small mirror, a can of shaving cream and a razor
from it and put the bag down.  As he cleared his face of the
overnight growth of beard, he wondered what Jim was doing.  

He stopped shaving for a moment and stared at his reflection in
the tiny mirror.  His hair was down now.  He had taken it down as
soon as the plane lifted off from Cascade.  He put the razor down
and touched it as though it was something strange that had sprung
up there overnight.  He smiled briefly then tucked it behind his
ears carefully, so as not to catch any of it in the razor as he
continued shaving.  

That done, he stood and peeled off his shirt and reveled in the
warmth of the sun peeking through the trees to kiss his bare skin
with its rays.  Glancing around to make sure he was alone, he
dropped his pants as well and dug in his bag for the bar of soap
the village women had made and given to him.  Clutching it in one
hand, he dove into the river.  Popping up out of the water, he
shook his head like a shaggy, wet dog to try to get the long wet
tendrils of chestnut hair out of his face.  He moved closer to
shore so that he could stand up and began to bathe.  

He was rinsing his hair when it struck him.  He watched the soap
bubbles float away from him and down the river and realized that
he felt somehow cleaner on the inside than he had in a very long
time.  The river was washing away more than dirt and sweat. 
There, in the middle of an African jungle, standing naked and wet
in the early morning light, he released some of the pain in his
heart and began washing away the blight on his soul.  He gripped
the soap in his left hand and began to furiously scrub his right,
trying to wash away the memory of the weight of Jim's gun there. 
When he was satisfied that it was clean of the invisible stains,
he thrust it into the water and pulled it out again to look at
it.  It had worked somehow.  He knew it made no sense.  If he
told anyone about the feelings he had at that moment, they would
think he had contracted some strange jungle fever.  But it did
not have to make sense to anyone but him, and he would not tell
anyone.  Not even Jim.  

So it was that he remained there for a time, staring at his hand,
then the river, then the sky, and thanked whatever God looked out
for lost Guides that he was finally on his way back to himself.

________________________________________________________________

Dr. Meeks kept staring at him.  It was his own fault.  He was
easier to read than one of those little books that kids got in
first grade.  *See Blair run.  Run, Blair, run.  All the way to
Africa.  See Blair fall apart.  Fall apart, Blair.*  It was
disconcerting to be so obvious in your pain, but hiding it was
not an option for him.  He had tried and ended up becoming
someone he did not recognize.  So, Dr. Meeks had read him like a
primer and knew that something was not right.  So far, he had not
come right out and asked, but it was only a matter of time.  

Actually, he was feeling better since his revelation in the
river, but Dr. Meeks had gotten a good look at him before his
epiphany.  Dr. Carter Meeks was not the type of professor that
could or would ignore one of his students when he thought,
whether rightly or wrongly, that he could help.  Many times over
Blair's years at Rainier, Dr. Meeks had been a source of moral
and emotional support for him.  As Dr. Stoddard was Blair's
mentor in all things Anthropological, Dr. Meeks had been Blair's
mentor in things human.  From the troubles of a teenage boy alone
in Academia to moments of personal and professional doubt, the
professor had been there.  When Dr. Meeks had left three years
before on the original study of this tribe, Blair was just
getting settled into Jim's life.  When he returned, Blair was
just getting unsettled in Jim's life, so to speak, and Dr. Meeks
was quite observant and even more curious.  The questions were
inevitable.  Giving the answers to those questions would be
painful, but perhaps necessary.  To exorcise demons, call their
names aloud, right?  Maybe it was time to talk to someone about
his demons.  Before they moved back in on him and brought him
back down. *And before poor Dr. Meeks exploded from the pressure
of keeping the questions behind his teeth.*  It was ungracious,
but Blair smiled a little at the image that thought conjured up.

"Dr. Meeks, can I talk to you?"  He settled himself by his
professor.

"I thought you would never ask.  You haven't been yourself on
this trip, Blair.  I've been quite worried."  Hazel eyes met his,
and an arm fell across his shoulders.

"You don't know how right you are.  I haven't been myself for a
while."

"Since that incident at the fountain.  I know.  Dying seemed to
have had quite an impact on you.  I kept waiting for you to
bounce back, but you kept sliding away."

"You knew even before the trip?"

"Why do you think I wanted you on this trip?  Blair, you are a
fantastic researcher, even better teacher.  You have a brilliant
future ahead of you.  While it is true I wanted you on this trip
because I trust your judgement and knew that you could use the
credit, my primary reason was to get you out of this funk you
seem to have fallen into of late.  I thought a change of scenery
would do you good."

"It has.  I'm even more obvious than I thought, apparently."

Dr. Meeks smiled at him.  "So, are you all right?"

"I will be."

"What happened, well, other than your untimely demise and return
engagement to the stage of life?"

Blair had to laugh a little.  "You know I've been working with
the Cascade police department as a consultant, right?"

"Yes, go on."

"I work with this one detective.  He's become my best friend. 
His name is Jim.  As a matter of fact, I live with him too.  My
place blew up, and he offered me his spare room temporarily, but
temporary is a relative term with us.  I've been there three and
a half years.  With the exception of a few weeks right before the
incident, that is.  We had a disagreement, and he threw me out,
and etc.  You know, I died, I came back, life goes on, that sort
of thing."  Blair sighed heavily.

"That's a little glib, don't you think?  And I don't think that's
the way you feel about it, is it?"

"No, it's not.  Of course, it's not.  It's not quite that easy,
you know?  But to Jim, it seems to be that easy, and that's hard
to take, too, Dr. Meeks.  I mean, he just went on like it never
happened.  He moved my stuff back into the loft, made some stupid
jokes, and moved on without another word about what happened.
It's over, past, and you sure as hell don't talk about it.  Just
pretend it didn't happen, and it all goes away.  I can't do that. 
I'm stuck there at that fountain.  I tried to talk to Jim about
it, and he blew me off, like it wasn't important, like I was
harping on some insignificant little disagreement like who left
the bathroom light on or something.  So, I shut it up and tried
to grin and bear it.  But it hurts.  Right here."  Blair touched
his chest.  "It felt like a knot twisting and tightening inside
me, and instead of trying to work through it, process it, like my
mom always says, I tried to tie it up tighter.  That's what Jim
would do."

"You're not Jim."

"Yeah, that was a real shocker.  All this time, I've been trying
to get Jim to stop repressing shit and the first time things get
bad for me, I turn around and do exactly what I've been telling
him not to do.  That's not me, you know?  Anyway, then I started
coming apart, and all I could do was try for damage control.  It
wasn't working, and I gave up.  Once that happened, I just gave
Jim total control.  I was screwed, but he had it all together,
you know.  He seemed to be okay, so maybe I was doing something
wrong, and he was doing something right.  Then one morning, the
day before you asked me about coming with you on this trip, I
looked in the mirror and didn't know the guy looking back.  If
you hadn't come along with this trip, I don't know what would
have happened to me, Dr. Meeks.  I would have freaked out
completely and disappeared into the Cascade Mountains to live as
a hermit or jumped a freighter to South America, anything but
stay in Cascade.  In the long run, I would have hated myself for
that.  As it is, it's bad enough.  Just because I only ran away
temporarily doesn't mean that I didn't run away."

Dr. Meeks squeezed his shoulder for a moment then smiled at him. 
"At least you know where you went wrong.  It's easier to get back
to somewhere you've been than to hare off into the unknown.  Just
turn around and retrace your steps, and this time, deal with each
step, each obstacle properly.  If you need me, I'm here."

Blair nodded.  "Thanks."

________________________________________________________________

*Retrace your steps.*  Sounded good in theory.  Harder in
practice, though.  Not impossible to do, just a bit painful.  And
so, Blair started on his journey, realizing only after the first
step or two just how far from his destination, his spiritual and
emotional "home" he really was.  Nevertheless, he kept moving. 
He worked, he played, allowing the simplicity of tribal life to
strip away the trappings of modern ideas and leave him with only
honest emotions.  He laughed when he was happy and cried when he
was sad.  Unfortunately, the pendulum swung fast and hard between
those two emotions, and he found himself the center of attention
quite often as members of the tribe began to wonder about Dr.
Meeks' sad assistant.  He was a favorite of the old women.  They
doted on him like a sick child, taking turns comforting him when
some raw emotion sent him spiralling downward into depression. 
Gradually, it got better until the tears were not quite as
frequent, and the women were congratulating themselves for their
success in making the strange young American smile again.  

The trip into town had been interesting to say the least.  He had
wanted to call Jim.  However, that proved to be impossible. 
There were apparently some negative feelings floating around town
about America and Americans, and a very rude shopkeeper, who just
happened to have the small town's only phone, had been infected. 
Blair just happened to have called him a jerk, and the whole
group just happened to have been tossed unceremoniously out of
the store.  The tiny post office did have a plain postcard or
two, actually exactly two.  He had bought one, Caryn bought the
other.  With a borrowed pen, he had written a short note to Jim. 
He had wanted to write so much more, but he did not have enough
space.  So, he ended it with a simple phrase that he hoped would
convey everything he felt.  *I'm fine, but I miss you.*  He had
stared at the card for long moments until Caryn had shaken him by
the arm and asked if he was all right.  He had just smiled and
nodded, then dropped the card into the slot where it would start
its long trip across the ocean to his Sentinel.  

Truth was, Blair knew, that he might actually beat the little
card back to Cascade.  He shrugged to himself and continued
rinsing out his clothes in the river.  The trip into town had
been three days ago.  He tried to imagine where the little card
was now.  Then he tried to imagine where Jim was and what he was
doing.  Tears threatened again and he sat back, nearly losing his
grip on his shirt.  It would still be pretty cool in Cascade,
Spring not really setting in until the end of the month there. 
It would be early morning there, and Jim would be getting up and
getting ready for work.  He hoped Simon was watching out for him.

_______________________________________________________________

They really thought he was crazy now.  It was so stupid.  He
wanted to find a rock and crawl under it for a few hours, maybe a
few days.  Oh, hell, go for broke, a century.  The old shaman was
telling a story.  Dr. Meeks was translating.  It was a story from
the shaman's grandfather's time about an evil enemy and the
tribe's special guardians.  The two men had faced the enemy alone
and vanquished them because of their special gifts.  One was a
sh