Notes: This is my first venture in the Fanfic domain. It has
not been betaed and I have only seen the first two seasons and the Warriors
ep. But I’ve read the transcripts for the two Sentinel Too episodes and
almost everything that’s been written about the final episode, so I hope
I got it right. If you’re looking for a thick, juicy plot with lots of
action, owies and blood; sorry, this is not it. This is just a simple visit
to Smarmland, a little h/c, but basically emotional. Also, English is not
my native language, so please, be kind.
The title is from a poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. (If you’re a
rabid Tennyson fan, sorry, I don’t treat him very nicely here but, please,
don’t take it personally. You’ve been warned!)
This is dedicated to two wonderful young ladies: my daughter Kerensa, who introduced me to Jim and Blair, and Sorcha, who lives in Cascade and attends Rainier U., and who writes great fan fiction. There is a small reference here to her story “Getting it Right”, so if you haven’t yet, you may want to read it before you read this one. You’ll love the Kipling poem.
Spoilers: For 'The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg', although I also refer slightly to 'Assassins', 'Sentinel Too' and 'Warriors'.
Rating: I would say PG for some language.
“Oh, wow!” James Ellison felt the room suddenly spin around him and, holding on to the edge of the table, sat back in his chair.
Joel Taggart grabbed his friend’s arm. “You all right, Jim?”
“Yeah. It’s just... I’m afraid I overdid it this time.” The tough detective was embarrassed to admit he had let his guard down for once, and allowed that fourth glass of bourbon to get the best of him. “I’m not really drunk, man, but I’d appreciate it if you and your twin brother there would drive me home before I start making a fool of myself.”
“Sure, buddy. No problem.” Joel smiled. It was the first time he had seen Jim affected by alcohol. He usually drank very little during their poker sessions, and usually only beer. But this time he had surprised everyone when he accepted Rafe’s offer of bourbon. Jim had been more subdued lately, ever since his partner had started his training at the academy. Originally, Sandburg had only been required to take weapons training, but the kid had asked to be allowed to take a few other courses, including martial arts, arguing that if he was going to be a cop, he might as well go all the way and be the best cop he could be. That was Sandburg’s way all right, still full of enthusiasm, full of life, even after the whole academic world had turned its back on him.
Taggart, and everyone in Major Crimes, had noticed the change in Ellison. It was not as bad as before the kid had entered their lives, but the relaxed and friendly detective had slowly become more quiet, more reserved. He seemed to have lost his taste for socializing too. Only when Sandburg came along did he agree to meet with them for poker or to watch a game on TV. The guys had been glad today when he had accepted the invitation to a poker evening at Rafe’s apartment.
Jim apologized for leaving early and Joel, who was designated driver, took him home. On the way to the loft, Taggart asked how Blair was doing at the academy.
“Oh. He’s doing great!” was Jim’s overly enthusiastic reply. “You should see him practicing his new kung-fu moves every weekend, Joel. I don’t even have to wake him up anymore. He’s usually ready to go jogging by the time I get up, and when he comes back, it’s a full hour of Bruce Lee before breakfast.” Jim laughed, “I must be getting old, man. I get tired just watching him.”
“So, what time is he coming home tonight?” Taggart asked, glad to see his friend smiling once more.
“He’s not.” Jim tried to sound unaffected. “They’re taking a weekend field trip to Seattle. He won’t be able to come home until next weekend.”
*Ah! So that’s why you got careless tonight, my friend,* Joel thought. *You miss the kid, but you’ll be damned if you accept it. So I’ll just keep my mouth shut.*
Jim talked the whole way to the loft about Blair’s accomplishments at the academy, seasoned with a few funny anecdotes. He sounded like a proud father. However, Joel noticed the subtle trembling in his voice, the hidden pain that might have been missed by everyone else at the bullpen, but not by the sensitive Bomb Squad captain. He knew Jim was hurting, and he knew there was nothing he, Joel, could do to help him. So he listened, he smiled, he laughed, and he offered a silent prayer for his two friends.
*********************************************************************
The first thing that Jim noticed when he got off the elevator was the smell of chamomile tea. “Blair!” He opened the door and smiled when he saw the kitchen table taken over by an invasion of books, notebooks, pencils, laptop computer, mug and teapot. “Chief?” He dialed up his hearing, but could not locate Blair’s heartbeat. Then, he noticed the paper on the refrigerator door.
‘In case you come home before I’m back, I went to get some groceries for breakfast. The field trip was cancelled. I tried to call you but you had already left the station and I guess your cell phone must be off. (Jim checked his cell phone. Damn! It was true.)
‘Sorry about the mess on the table. I lost track of time writing this paper I have to turn in on Monday – On Duty and Discipline. Like that, capital letters and all. Do you believe it? Me, writing an essay on discipline! Anyway, the store’s gonna close if I don’t leave right away. I’ll clean up when I come back, I promise.’
Jim wished he could erase the stupid grin from his face before the kid returned. He took the mug and teapot to the sink and washed them, thinking that a cup of chamomile might be a good idea to get rid of the budding headache from his encounter with Jack Daniels. Putting the pot on the fire he dried Blair’s mug and took out a second one for himself. Had Blair eaten?... Yes, the leftover fried chicken was gone... Well, maybe he would like a couple of those chocolate-chip cookies Megan had brought for all the guys in the bullpen the other day. He found the cookie bag in the cupboard and carefully arranged half a dozen in a plate. After placing three teabags in the clean teapot, he decided against pouring in the hot water until Blair came back. *Might get cold. Better turn it off and heat it up again when he gets here... Look at me!* he chuckled. * I’m celebrating! I’m actually celebrating he’s home! * He shook his head, silently laughing at himself. * Ellison, you’re a sorry excuse for an ex army captain,... or else, your reeally drunk! *
He started piling up Blair’s books and notebooks to make
space for the tea and cookies, when one book cover called his attention:
“Selected Poems by Alfred, Lord Tennyson”.
Tennyson? *What does Tennyson’s poetry have to do
with police work, Chief?* He opened the book to the page marked by
a piece of notebook paper. *Of course! Duty and Discipline with capitals...“The
Charge of the Light Brigade”... Only you would do such thorough research
and be creative enough to illustrate your essay with Tennyson.*
For a brief moment, the image of Blair sitting at this
table came to Jim’s memory, grading papers for his anthropology class at
the university, smiling, muttering comments like “No way, Bobby!”
or “You have so not grasped the concept, Heather!”. He closed his eyes,
trying to focus on the present, and slowly walked to the couch. Noticing
the book still in his hand, he decided this was as good a time as any to
brush up on his literature. Anything to get his mind off the danger zone.
He sat down on the couch and opened the book to a random page.
‘Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more...’
The rest of the poem seemed to be blurred. It wasn’t until he touched his face that he realized he was crying. All the pain and shame he had kept inside since that terrible day came rushing out in a helpless moan, and his mind went back to that moment when he had seen his partner on television, telling the world that his research was a fraud, throwing away his career, his whole life,... for him.
*For me, Chief! * He sobbed, unable to control himself any longer. *For me! For the bastard who accused you of betraying him;... who kicked you out without a reason,... who got you killed!... And then,... and then I went and did it all over again!... Oh, God, no!... How do I fix this, Blair?... How do I make it up to you?... How am I supposed to live with this guilt? *
***************************************************************************************
“Jim? You home?”
“Hey, Chief. How’s it going?”
Blair knew something was wrong when he heard his roommate’s voice. You didn’t need to have sentinel hearing to realize Jim had just been crying. Even though he was trying to keep his face in the dark, and taking deep breaths to calm down, it was clear for the young man that Ellison was in the middle of an emotional crisis. He left the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and came to kneel in front of his friend. He saw the deep pain in Jim’s eyes and, placing his hand on the Sentinel’s shoulder, he asked softly, “Talk to me, man.”
“Oh, Chief!” Jim whispered, his eyes brimming with tears once again. He touched his guide’s head and said, half choking with grief, “Oh, Chief,... your hair!” gently caressing his short, regulation haircut. A heartbreaking sob escaped from his chest when he noticed the blue, uniform shirt. “Your clothes, Chief!”
Blair knew where this was going. He had been expecting it for weeks.
“No, Jim. Don’t do this to yourself.”
But Ellison was beyond listening. “Your career! Your future!... Your life, Blair!... I’m so sorry, buddy!... I’m so, so sorry!”
Blair got up from his knees and sat next to his distraught friend. All he could do now was offer him his shoulder to cry on and the comfort of his arms. Talking would have to wait ‘till later. But they would talk tonight; they had both been carrying this baggage of unsaid truths for too long.
“C’mere” he whispered, and Jim let himself be held by his best friend, by his victim. “Just let it go, Jim. Let it go.”
All the guilt and despair that Jim had been keeping inside came out in an overwhelming flood of tears. Blair closed his eyes and whispered soothing words, rocking him like a child, glad that, at last, his friend was opening up his heart. He knew how difficult these past weeks had been for Jim. He had noticed the sadness in the Sentinel’s eyes, the awkward way in which he tried to make him feel at home, going that extra mile to get him the kind of food he liked, playing Blair’s music on the stereo, asking him what he wanted to do, where he wanted to go when he came home every weekend. And all the time, avoiding eye contact, not daring to confront the accusation he was sure he would see in his young friend’s eyes. *It’s my fault,* Blair thought, *I should have forced him to speak sooner. I should have told him how I really feel.*
“Jesus, Chief, I got your shirt all wet,” Jim said, finally exhausted.
“It’s ok, man. I was going to wash it anyway,” the young man laughed. “You feeling better now?”
“Yeah. Thanks, buddy.” Jim grabbed a tissue from the box on the side table and blew his nose. “I’m sorry, Chief, I don’t know what came over me. I guess I was really drunker than I thought.”
“You were drunk?”
“Yeah. I let Rafe talk me into having bourbon instead of beer.” He started to massage his temples, his head was threatening to explode. “Big mistake!”
Blair shifted back on the couch and made his friend lie his head on his lap, taking over the gentle massage. “Here, let me do that.” Jim closed his eyes and felt the tension begin to leave his body.
“Now tell me,” Blair asked in his guide voice, “What started all this?”
“You mean, besides my ruining your life?” Jim asked with a bitter smile.
“You have not ruined my life, Jim. No one has ruined my life and it’s about time you got it through that thick skull of yours.” The young man said. Jim tried to protest but he would not let him. “No. I mean besides your getting plastered.”
“Oh... Tennyson, I guess.”
“Huh?”
“I started reading your poetry book. Something about idle tears rising to the eye,... and I just started...”
“Thinking of the days that are no more.” Blair whispered.
“Yeah... I’m sorry, Chief.”
“Will you please stop apologizing for something you never did, Jim?” Blair was starting to get angry, he had to make Jim understand once and for all. “Now, you listen to me, Ellison, and you listen good. Any choice I made about my life, I made on my own.... Ok, so you thought I had sent the dissertation to a publisher and got mad. Hey, man, I would have gotten mad too! How were you supposed to know Naomi had sent it? And for that matter, how was she supposed to know the guy would make it public? But you’re right about one thing, Jim. Those days are no more. They’re gone, man, so stop dwelling on the past and let it go.”
“Blair, I should never have doubted you.” Jim said holding the hand on his temple.
“Hey, Jim. You’re a Sentinel, not a saint.” Blair smiled. “And anyway, should have, could have, might have,... we’re all very wise in retrospective, man, but nobody knows how we’re going to act, what we’re going to do or say when something threatens us. That’s the beauty of life, Jim. It’s full of surprises, and nobody said the all have to be good.”
“That’s all very touching, Chief, but it doesn’t change the fact that you lost everything because of me.”
“Hold it right there, pal. What did I lose? My doctorate? I had already decided not to turn in the dis, remember?... The money? I never asked for it. It was never mine to begin with.... The Nobel Prize?” Blair laughed, “OK, so that would have been nice. But at what cost, Jim? A Nobel Prize paid in blood.... Simon’s blood, Megan’s blood,... your blood... No, Jim, never.”
“Chief...”
“No, Jim, let me finish. When I heard those reporters talking about your senses, man, all I could think about was this: not the fame, not the money,... not the movie rights I joked about so much... The only thing I could think of was ‘How do I fix this? How do I protect us... Not just you, Jim, us... How do I give Jim back his anonymity and what the hell do I do to stay his partner? It’s funny, but the thing that really scared me when I gave that press conference was not getting kicked out of the university, but getting kicked out of the bullpen. You didn’t force me to give that conference, Jim, I decided to do it. And I didn’t do it on an impulse; I knew very well what it meant. If you think for a second that I regret giving up the prestige, the fame, the money... Well, think again, pal, because after four years you still don’t know Naomi Sandburg’s son.
All my life, Jim, I’ve wanted to have a family, a home. You’re my family, you and the guys at the station. And this is my home. Naomi was a great mom and she gave me a kind of freedom that few kids get in this society: the freedom to make my own choices, and to be whatever I wanted to be, as long as I didn’t hurt anyone. She taught me that inner values are the only true values, that everything in life is temporary, and the only one you can really count on is yourself. Well, there, she was wrong. I know now that you need to count on others, and they need to count on you... Commitment, man. That’s what I never learned before. I stayed at the university more than ten years, Jim! So, I traveled a lot, I went all over the world, studying people I had nothing in common with, learning tribal customs and rituals. Always the outsider,... always an observer,... always a stranger. Even the night that Danny Choi was killed. You asked me to watch your back and, what did I say? ‘No way, man, I’m just an observer.’ I didn’t want to get involved. I didn’t want to be a part of your world. I didn’t want to commit myself and, do you know why? I didn’t want to get hurt. Yeah, man. You strike out when you’re threatened... I would simply step back.”
“That’s not true, Chief.” Jim sat up and faced his roommate. “You’ve given me more of yourself than I ever dreamed of. You’ve always been right there for me and for everyone else in the station. Damn, Sandburg, you taught me how to laugh again, you made me trust people!"
“But that’s what you don’t understand, Jim.” Blair smiled, his eyes shining with happiness. “All the time, while I was forcing you to come out of your shell, you were doing the same thing for me! You taught me that getting involved was ok, that getting hurt was ok because that’s what makes you grow up, what makes you strong.
“Look at me! I’m almost thirty years old and everyone still calls me Kid. My God, Jim, when Naomi was my age she was supporting herself and raising her nine-year-old son on her own. But where was I? Still in school. The university was my safety blanket, Jim, my Never-Never Land. But I had to grow up sometime and, thanks to you, I’m brave enough to do it now. Being an anthropologist was great, it was fun, it was a wonderful way of seeing the world and getting to know about people... from a distance. But being a cop is much harder, man. It’s getting involved, it’s a third kind encounter with the darkest side of the world, but most of all, it’s all about making people safe, making a difference. That fear I had of using a gun, remember?... ‘I’m a pacifist... It’s not me’... I saw this guy on TV when I was a kid and he said something I just recently began to understand, something that went like... ‘Those who speak of Peace cannot afford to be weak.’ Well, I’m tired of being weak, man. I’m gonna learn to use a weapon and I’m gonna learn so well, that when don’t use it, it’ll be because I choose not to; not because I can’t.”
“I heard that too.” Jim whispered. “The part about speaking of Peace...”
“Yeah, it was Master Po, I think.” Blair smiled.
“Kung Fu?”
“Uh huh... and that’s another thing I’m going to learn really well, so the next time you kick me out...”
“Blair, I’d never...” Jim stopped himself from making the promise. Hadn’t he already turned his back on Blair twice?
“Shut up, Ellison.” Blair’s voice sounded serious, but not cold. “You have five hyper developed senses, but you’re not very good when it comes to interpreting visions yet. Although, with time, you may learn that too. Maybe the next time the Sentinel is threatened you’ll be able to control your instincts, or you’ll have the experience to figure out what’s happening and ask for my help instead of pushing me away... Or maybe I’ll just have to say ‘Hey, Jim, it’s happening again.’ and you’ll come around. I don’t know what you or I will do, but I sure as hell know what I won’t do. I won’t leave... I won’t go crawling into a motel room to lick my wounds and I won’t leave you alone. You may be the tough one here, Jim, but I won’t be weak anymore... Man, I may even be a black belt by then!... Yeah!... First I’ll kick your ass; and then I’ll make you listen.”
“You’re sure about this, Blair?” Jim asked. “Is this what you really want?”
“Hell, yes, man! I’m really gonna be the best partner you ever had, not just the cutest.” The young man jumped out of the couch to escape his roommate’s slap on the head.
“Smartass.” Jim laughed. “C’mon, let’s get that tea and cookies, I’m hungry.”
“Cookies!” Blair exclaimed, “Megan’s?” Jim nodded. “Great!”
After a few minutes, they were back on the couch. Blair was munching contentedly on his fifth chocolate-chip cookie and Jim lay back with his eyes closed, enjoying the smell of his tea. Blair finished his cookie and also lay back, enjoying the peace and silence of their home.
“So, Jim,” he asked, “Are we ok now?”
“We’re ok, Chief.”
“No more regrets? No more guilt?”
“No more guilt, buddy.”
“Good,” Blair let out a sigh of relief, “Because I don’t want you to get the wrong idea when I move out.”
Jim opened his eyes and looked at Blair in surprise. “You’re leaving?”
“Sheesh, man! Will you relax? Not tomorrow!” Blair laughed. “But you know and I know that I will move out some day, and I just wanted to...”
“But why would you have to move out, Chief? This is your home, you said it yourself!”
“Jim, buddy, pal,...” Blair made him lie back again and rest his head on his chest. Then he hugged him and began to explain. “Jim, you’re my best friend. You’re my brother and I love you with all my heart... But I’m not planning to make the switch any time soon, man,... As in, not in this incarnation?”
“Make the switch? What do you....” Jim began to shake, but Blair knew that this time he was laughing.
“Hey, man, what can I say?” Blair continued, “You may be built like a Greek god, but you’re just not my type.”
“Oh, come on, Blair, seriously,” Jim teased back, “What’s there not to like about me, baby?”
“Well,...” Blair began to enumerate, “Your hair’s too short.”
“The barber’s history, muffin. Call me Fabio from now on.”
“Ok, your arms are way too thick.”
“I’ll stop working out, honeybunch.”
“You’re too tall...” Blair was biting his cheek to keep from laughing.
“I’ll... buy you platform shoes, munchkin.” Jim said caressing his partner’s arm.
Blair slapped Jim’s hand. “Don’t call me munchkin!... Besides, your chest is too flat and you have a penis.”
“Sorry, Chief, can’t help...”
“Although there is this doctor in Beverly hills...” Blair couldn’t help himself and burst out laughing as he ducked his partner’s very physical protest. They were both rolling with laughter. Jim felt truly at ease with his partner for the first time since that fateful day. God, it was good to be back! It was so good to be back!
“But, really, Jim.” Blair tried to get serious again. “I hope both of us do, but at least one of us is going to fall in love and get married or want to move in with his girl first. And frankly, man, I don’t see any wife of yours doing my laundry or my wife putting up with your house rules, like ‘No noise after 10 o’clock?’... Get the picture? In any case, when I do move out, I bet I’ll end up living just across the hall.”
“Yeah, you’re right, Chief.” Jim smiled, “Although Carolyn couldn’t stand living with me and I don’t think there is a woman out there who will.”
“Hey, buddy, you’re not the same guy who was married to Carolyn.” Blair protested. “You’re much more easy going now... That guy died when the Sentinel came home.”
“Yeah. And I have you to thank for that.” Jim said.
“If the man you are now had not been in there to begin with, “ Blair answered placing his hand on Jim’s heart, “I would never have found him... I just,... showed you the way out, Jim... I just guided you.”
Jim stared into his friend’s peaceful blue eyes. “Incacha knew what he was doing.”
“Yes, he did,” Blair answered, now without a trace of humor in his voice.
“I may be the tough one, Blair, but you’re the strong one here.”
“I know,” the young man whispered, “That’s why I’m the guide.”
“Yes.” James Ellison welcomed the absolute certainty that this was a much older, stronger, and happier Blair than the one he had been reluctant to admit into his life four (Was it only four?) years ago. “That’s why you’re the Guide.”
“And you have to promise me something, Jim.” Blair added in the same serious tone.
“What, Chief?”
“That, from now on, you’re laying off the Tennyson, man.” He said jumping up and beginning to pace the floor and gesturing in his old, Sandburg way, “I’m so not that fond of him myself, Jim. I mean, the only thing I like about him is the fact that he provided Loreena McKennit with the lyrics for a really bitching song, but other than that... well, I may get a bad grade on my paper, but I would surely protest and order that would send six hundred men to a certain death. And maybe not a few years ago, but I’m sure that now, so would you. So....”
“Blair?”
“What?”
“Breathe.”
“Ok, but remember we had agreed that Kipling was our man, Jim. Not Tennyson.”
“Yeah, Chief... ‘To the gallows-foot,... and after!’”
“And back, Jim,” Blair smiled. “And back!”
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