Rules of Engagement
Summary: Set before TSbBS. Blair and Jim captured by the military. I know, a theme that has been done before, but I've only played in this sandbox once before, and that was a short Death story. I want the boys to live, so I'm trying it again. I'll get it right eventually.
Warning: H/C. Alternating POV's between chapters, with Jim up first.
July 2002
Chapter One: Give Nothing Away
“Well, doesn’t this just bite.”
The disgusted voice of his Guide was the first thing the groggy James Ellison registered as his mind clawed its way up the steep cliff of consciousness.
Bleary eyes rimmed in red fluttered open, then closed, and finally opened again. As the three Blairs gradually coalesced into one, the rest of his body checked in with a status report. A heat-filled throb told him of a fist-sized bruise decorating his jawline, a sharp stabbing pain as he breathed assured him that he had at least one bruised rib, and what felt like a stab wound in his arm turned out to be an injection site when his fingers gingerly explored the area.
An involuntary groan broke from his throat, and Jim was suddenly the focus of two concerned blue eyes peering from the disheveled and also bruised face of his friend.
“Jim? How’re you feeling, buddy?”
A croak Jim was ashamed to claim as his voice was the only response, and Blair immediately slid one arm underneath his head and gently levered him up to lean against the rough concrete wall behind them.
“Hang on there, man,” Jim heard, then Blair was gone, to reappear in a moment with a small paper cup. He felt Blair’s thumb press gently on his chin, and his mouth opened voluntarily. The lukewarm water that trickled onto the dry, gummy tissues of his mouth tasted better than anything had ever tasted in his entire life. Well, except maybe that cold beer he’d had coming off of the desert reconnaissance mission back in ’87, his brutally honest mind interjected.
“Wha…” Jim coughed harshly and tried again. “What…happen’d?”
Blair thumped down next to him and rolled his eyes, the disgusted tone from his previous comment coming back to take residence on his mobile face. “Two guys with big fists, a black van, a sadistic masked wielder of syringes filled with sedatives…any of this ringing a bell?”
“Vaguely.”
Taking a good look at the still blank stare of his Sentinel, Blair’s mouth quirked upward in an involuntary smirk.
“Very vaguely, I’m guessing. So here we are yet again,” Blair continued, one hand waving to encompass the small room, “kidnapper central. Small concrete block room, small utilitarian toilet facilities, one bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, big unpickable lock on the steel door. Wonder if I could make a paper out of this? It seems that either every criminal in the world is renting the same spy movies, because the surroundings are always virtually the same in these little adventures we are dragged into, or the spy movies are written by people like us, who get kidnapped, threatened, and beaten on a regular basis. Maybe there’s a collective genetic memory triggered by criminal behavior that…”
“Sandburg, I doubt that concrete holding cells are part of our DNA.”
“Yeah, you’re right, Jim. Concrete wasn’t even invented until…”
Jim tuned out Blair’s little impromptu lecture about the development of construction materials and methods as his head finally cleared enough for him to attempt a scan of the area. Surprisingly enough, a quick check of his senses revealed all his dials set to normal. Jim made a mental note to tell Blair about that; maybe they could find out what sedative the bad guys had used to knock him out. Uh-huh. He was sure they would love to sit down and have a civilized discussion about the safest and most effective drugs to use when committing a felony kidnapping.
Closing his eyes, he anchored himself to the still speaking Sandburg voice next to him and dialed up his hearing. Meeting a wall of silence that made his stomach drop, he redirected his senses behind them and confirmed his suspicions.
“Blair.”
The soothing voice faltered to a stop.
“They’re using white noise generators.”
“Oh, shit.”
With no other option except to wait, Blair and Jim cleaned up as best they could from the small trickle of water provided by the ancient white sink bolted to the wall. Blair generously sacrificed his t-shirt so the two of them could clean out the scrapes that were the result of being tossed gently onto a concrete floor, and Jim tore two long strips off to bandage the bloodied knuckles his friend was sporting.
“Chief, want to explain how you acquired these injuries?”
“They sedated you first.”
“Ah.”
“Obviously, my pugilist abilities made about as much difference as a gay salmon trying to start an anti-spawning movement.”
Jim snorted. “Only you, Sandburg. Where do you come up with these comparisons anyway?”
“What, you think I watch the Discovery Channel for its educational value?”
A scraping sound from the door quickly put an end to their conversation, and two pairs of blue eyes met in quick communication before they both climbed to their feet. Blair shrugged back into his flannel shirt just as the lock turned and the door swung open.
And Blair summed up their first glimpse at their captors quite nicely.
“Oh, shit.”
Jim grimaced as two soldiers entered and flanked the doorway, their hard eyes and baton-filled hands telling him everything he needed to know. The man in the white lab coat followed by a figure in the uniform of a three star general just confirmed his suspicions.
“I think that will be our new mantra for some time to come, Sandburg.”
The doctor looked way too eager, his cold eyes avidly scanning the two of them as though he could hardly wait for the General to quit speaking so he could start in on them.
Jim just knew this was going to be bad news, and from the worried look in his friend’s eyes, he knew Blair was aware of it too.
“Captain Ellison, Mr. Sandburg, I am General Short.”
An involuntary snicker from Blair was quickly cut off as Jim gently planted a warning elbow in his ribs.
“Sorry, Jim,” his Guide mumbled under his breath as he realized the General was staring coldly at him. The very tall, very muscular General. With a gun. And an armed escort. Sometimes Jim was sure that Sandburg had no sense of self-preservation and a sense of humor that was just short of suicidal. The subvocal running commentary that followed convinced him of it.
“This is Dr. Ravelle. We have brought you here because… “
“ – kidnapped us, you mean”
“we received intelligence from a former CIA operative regarding your abilities…”
“ – Oh! Thank you soooo much, Brackett!”
“and we are going to explore the usefulness and extent of your senses…”
“ – I’ll bet you guys pulled the wings off of flies as children, too,”
“…try to quantify the need for a Guide, as our source terms Mr. Sandburg’s role,”
“ – Whaaaaa! Oh, this should be interesting, I’m lab rat B!”
Jim couldn’t help it. ‘B’ for Blair. He snorted in involuntary amusement . This time it was Blair nudging him to shut up, deep blue eyes mutely apologizing and promising to remain quiet. Jim nodded slightly and Sandburg’s face relaxed.
Jim shifted slightly, taking a half step forward and to one side, partially shielding Blair from the enemy’s sight. His Guide’s hand settled against his shoulder blade in a gesture meant to comfort as well as ground.
“And after your experiments are over? What then?”
The General smiled coldly at the tall police officer. “Why, then we’ll be assigning you a handler and you’ll be working for the U.S. Government in whatever capacity we deem necessary.”
And Jim kept his face in a stoic mask despite the tremor of fear he felt run through the warm hand at his back.
Inside, though, the panther roared in defiance.
The two men had been fed an unappetizing meal that Jim informed Blair were standard issue Army MRE’s. Plastic spoons were their only utensils.
Two mattresses had been provided for them to sleep on, delivered by orderlies guarded by baton carrying soldiers. Obviously, the two of them were too valuable to risk shooting in an escape attempt.
Finally, the lights were turned out and the two men were left alone. Relatively. Jim was fairly sure there was a video camera positioned in the vent near the ceiling. A faint hum could be heard coming from the metal grate. Nothing beyond that, though. The white noise generators were doing their duty.
“Jim, how are we…”
“No.”
Blair quieted immediately. The room was too dark to see in, though Jim thought that the camera was probably equipped with infra-red sight.
“Here’s what we’re going to do…”
And Blair’s eyes widened as he listened.
The doctor threw his clipboard against the wall in frustration as he watched and listened to the camera feed. He had hoped to get some preliminary information from listening to the two men, but obviously the Sentinel and Guide knew they were being monitored.
“Doctor? What’s the problem?”
General Short watched with narrowed eyes as the doctor turned angry eyes on his superior.
“Those two men!
They’re…arghh! I don’t believe it. They’re speaking gibberish. I can’t
understand a word they’re saying, and I can’t get anything off of their body
language. Look at them! They know they’re being monitored, they won’t give
away anything.”
The General walked up to stare at the grainy picture coming from the
video feed. The two men were sitting motionless next to each other, hands
resting motionless on their outstretched legs, faces stoic and staring straight
ahead as they spoke a liquid and completely incomprehensible language to each
other.
A reluctant respect was evident in his voice as he spoke, never taking his eyes off of Ellison and Sandburg. “Black Ops tactics. Never give anything to your enemy that can be used against you.”
“We needed this, General.” The doctor stooped to pick up the clipboard as he continued. “We knew they wouldn’t tell us anything unless we forced it out of them. This was our only chance to learn anything from them that wasn’t tainted by torture or drugs.”
“They’re speaking Quecha, I think,” a quiet voice came from behind the two men. The General and doctor turned to look at the small woman sitting behind them.
“What? How do you know that?” the doctor asked his research assistant.
“I read their files. Ellison was in Peru with the Chopec tribe for 18 months. Sandburg has been on numerous expeditions to South America, and is known to speak a number of languages. Also, there is a case report of a group of Chopec visiting Ellison and Sandburg two years ago. It stands to reason, if you want to talk but know you’re being monitored, you speak a language no one but the two of you would understand.”
The General nodded his thanks and the woman faded away back to her desk. “Well, for now, we’ll just concentrate on measuring the extent of Ellison’s senses. Sandburg’s role should become evident as your experiments proceed, is that not the case, Dr. Ravelle?”
“Yes, but…”
“Thank you, Doctor. I’ll expect a report from you tomorrow at 1800 hours after your first day of testing is complete.”
General Short left the room, swinging the door shut behind him. He ignored the last comment the doctor made, hoping it was made from frustration and not prescience.
“The tests won’t be accurate without their cooperation.”
So, we’re agreed?”
“Agreed. Goodnight, Jim.”
“Goodnight, Chief.”
And the panther roared, this time with approval, as the wolf sat grinning next to him. Their humans had a plan. The enemy would be vanquished.
The animals ghosted through the walls and vanished.
Chapter Two Coming Soon