Notes: The first in a series, this story takes place sometime
after "The Debt"
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The man lounged against the wall. The curtain that separated his sleeping area from the main living area brushed against his shoulders as he pondered his situation. He was of average height, with curly brown hair that barely brushed his shoulders and wide expressive eyes that betrayed his intelligence and his emotions to anyone who cared to look into them. Blair Sandburg -- grad student, anthropologist and, currently, house guest -- was speculating on his options as he gazed at his current problem.
The object of his scrutiny was another man. A man tall and muscular enough to make Sandburg look small when they stood together. A man who had a sense of humor but hid it behind a growl and icy blue eyes that should be considered lethal. A man named Jim Ellison who also just happened to be a Sentinel, the subject of Sandburg's thesis and -- incidentally -- Sandburg's host.
So, what was the problem? What was the dilemma that had the anthropologist musing in the doorway to his current crash site? It was the fact that Jim WAS a Sentinel, the subject of Sandburg's thesis and -- incidentally -- his host. Perhaps we should review.
Jim Ellison is a Sentinel. This, for those who are not anthro students working on a dissertation relating to the subject, means that Jim has heightened senses. While it isn't uncommon for a person to have one heightened sense or possibly even two, all five of Jim's were heightened. He could smell faint traces of explosives from two stories away, see a piece of string fluttering in a bird's nest high in a tree while standing on the ground, hear water as it begins to boil, tell the difference between wood ash and plastic by touch alone and taste the most minute trace of spice in a dish.
Sandburg was currently studying the phenomenon that was James Ellison, Modern Day Sentinel, for his thesis on these genetic marvels. When not teaching classes at the university or in the library trying to find more info for his diss, Sandburg researched the subject by following Ellison at his job as a detective with the Cascade Police. He also helped the man learn to control his errant senses and prevent him from zoning out.
Which led to the third aspect of his little problem. Sandburg had previously lived in the warehouse district in a spacious -- if cold -- apartment in half of a converted warehouse. Unknown to him, his neighbors in the other half were running a drug lab which inconveniently exploded one evening (was it only a week ago?) when some uninvited guests decided to pay a visit. The explosion left him homeless, thus his present temporary home with his research subject, thus his problem.
Imagine, if you can, living with an individual who can hear you without trying, no matter what you are doing. One who can tell what you are doing before you really realize that you are doing it. Big Brother is Watching You. And Listening to You. And Smelling You... you get the point, I'm sure. It was acceptable the first day. It was bearable the second. By now, a week later, it was making him fidgety and nervous and slightly paranoid.
If anyone knew what the Sentinel was capable of, it was Blair. He had grown accustomed to Jim's ability to listen to heartbeats and conversations, to smell fear and arousal and nervousness. Until a week ago, he had been able to go home and relax, unwind, do... whatever without worrying about his privacy. Now... well, now he had nowhere to go. He could escape to his office, but that wasn't really all that private. Someone always showed up with a question or request or something.
The lack of privacy was killing him.
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The kid was driving him nuts. He was lounging in the doorway to his bedroom trying to look relaxed and failing miserably. There was a tension in Blair's shoulders and face that had been growing the past few days. Jim wondered if it was because the grad student expected to be nagged about finding new digs.
The Sentinel briefly toyed with the idea of focusing his senses to check on his guest's vitals but discarded the idea. It wouldn't tell him anything he didn't already know.
"So. You have something on your mind, Sandburg?" Jim got up from the couch and went to the kitchen. He pulled two glasses from the cupboard and poured iced tea into both.
Blair pushed himself away from the wall and picked up the glass. "I just wanted to let you know I'll be out of here by next Friday. I've got some leads and I don't think I'll have a problem getting all this stuff out of your way by then. "
"No hurry. In fact, if you'd like to stay, you can. I, uh, I kind of like having someone here. We could turn that little corner into a real room, slap some paint on it... "
Blair shook his head. "No, man, I don't think so. No offense, but I think it's better that I go."
"What, is it something I did? I don't understand, I thought we were doin' okay."
"No, it's just... I can't relax." At Jim's puzzled expression, he explained. "I'm gonna be really honest here. I feel like I'm in a fishbowl. I mean, even if this room had doors, you'd still be aware of everything I was doing. It'd be worse than living with my mom because I knew she couldn't hear what I was doing when I was in the bathroom." He made a sound of frustration and threw his hands in the air. "I mean, I know that you aren't sitting out here trying to peep in on me or anything, but I just can't seem to let go of the idea."
"Blair. Look. I can't promise that I'm never gonna overhear stuff or see or smell or sense something you don't want me to. You know I don't have full control over this yet but when I do, I try to keep them at a normal level. Not that I remember exactly what normal is, but I don't keep them on high all the time. It gives me a headache."
"Really? Yeah, I can see where it might.. maybe if we..."
"Point is, Sandburg," Jim interrupted before Blair could suggest more tests, "that you've blown this all out of proportion. Think of it this way. I spent years in the military. Part of that time, I lived in the barracks, shared a small room with 7 other guys. Four sets of bunkbeds so I had one guy sleeping three feet above me, and six others not much farther away. And the showers were just like a locker room. No privacy at all."
The taller man stopped to sip his tea, then continued. "You learn to compensate for it. You mind your own business, don't pry and if you do happen to notice something that might embarrass someone, you ignore it. You have the illusion of privacy, even if you don't have the reality of it."
"Like the Japanese?" Ellison could see a spark in the other's eyes.
"How so?" Privately, Jim was thrilled that Blair had taken the bait. This was exactly the analogy he had hoped his friend would pick up on.
"The Japanese. Their population has been outgrowing the island for centuries and living quarters have been so cramped that it's culturally unacceptable to invade privacy. They have a saying -- 'Nakedness is seen but never noticed.' They pretend not to see anything that might make another person lose face. Culturally speaking, ..."
Now that Blair was on a roll, Jim just sat back and smiled as the lecture
continued. He was sure the subject of moving out or finding a new
apartment wouldn't be brought up again.