Into the Drink

by WhiteJazz

~**~**~**~

Rating: G

Category: Humor

Series/Sequel: Nope

Warnings: No actual shellfish were harmed in the making of this...

Notes: Gracie, my Humor Muse, kept kicking me in the head with this until I finally got around to writing it.

Standard disclaimers apply.

**********

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this, Sandburg."

"Into what? C'mon, Jim, you practically begged me to let you come along. Not that I wasn't going to invite you anyway-."

"Hey, first of all, I don't beg. That's your department."

"Oh, ha-ha. That's clever. Besides, I know you were dyi-anxious to get out of the station for a few days. Simon with a head cold is like Ghengis Khan on speed."

Jim snorted, shifting the nylon net from his left hand to his right.

Blair sighed, relieved that his friend had ignored his near slip-up. He just wished Jim would smile. The older man had been consistently unpleasant for the last week and a half and Blair was desperate for a way to pull him completely out of this self-declared funk. He'd tried everything short of beating Jim upside the head with a happy stick and nothing seemed to work.

True, whereas Jim wasn't manic depressive or teetering-on-the-edge suicidal, neither was he the cynical, bad-ass cop Blair knew and guided. This trip had been a godsend in Blair's eyes, a way to get Jim out of Cascade and into a more remote locale, far away from crime and the city. And Elliot's Island, Maryland, seemed as remote as they came.

"Chief?"

"Huh?" Blair looked at Jim, silently chastising himself for not paying attention.

"I said, are you gonna pull this one up or stand around and wait for it to crawl up the line?"

"Depends," Blair replied matter-of-factly.

"On what?" Jim asked, cocking his head to the right.

"You see anything?"

"I see what you see, Chief: brown marsh water."

"Aw, c'mon. You see one or not? I don't wanna have to pull this thing all the way up for nothing."

"Well, where's the sport in that?"

Jim tried to suppress the small grin that tickled the corners of his mouth. He knew Blair was tired, sticky and could probably use fresh bandages for the cuts on his arms, but the teasing was too easy to resist. Jim hadn't been in such a good mood in, well, a couple of weeks. Blair had admitted to not particularly liking his overweight, foul-mouthed cousin, but seemed unable to refuse the offer to visit for a week and quickly made travel arrangements for two. Jim knew Blair probably wouldn't have come all the way out here if it weren't for him.

He also knew in his head that the boy's death and Blair's injuries weren't his fault (he hadn't been anywhere near the scene, which had added to the guilt), but old habits of taking things too personally served to get him an extended absence until he shaped up.

Blair seemed happy here, never mentioning the incident or his subsequent trip through the store's front window. Jim had to admit the quiet, the open spaces, the rarely-seen populous, it all worked wonders on him so far. He was sure Blair, in all his intuitiveness, had noticed the changes in Jim's attitude, but neither of them had brought it up in conversation. There seemed to be no need.

"Besides," Blair said, as he continued his efforts to convince Jim to use his Sentinel senses. "The more time we waste with the lines that are empty, the more we miss on the other lines. We only need a few more."

"Wrong there, Junior," Jim said, wagging a finger at his friend. "*You* only need a few *dozen* more. You are the one that bet Larry we could catch a bushel of crabs in three hours. You made the bet, you pay the consequences."

Blair's eyes widened in mock horror. "But we're a team, man. You'd make me wash all those boats by myself?"

Jim considered it a moment, then looked at Blair and shook his head. "Of course not." A gigawatt smile broke across the younger man's face. "I'll tell you what spots you missed." The grin immediately melted away, replaced by a sullen frown.

"Fine, whatever," Blair mumbled, turning his attention back to the line in his hands.

But Jim wasn't buying the act. He'd known Blair too long to be coerced by his pitiful looks and whining. Blair had made the bet with his cousin, Larry, the previous night, depending on a weather forecast of sun and good temperatures. When the pair had risen that morning, they were greeted by rising humidity and thick, gray clouds blotting out any hopes of sunlight. It had been two and a half hours and they had caught maybe a third of a bushel. Of course, Jim had every intention of helping Blair wash all six of Larry's rental boats--it would give him a chance to blast his roomie with the hose. A tiny chuckle escape before Jim could stop it.

Blair tossed a baited line back into the marsh water and eyed Jim suspiciously. "What?"

The Sentinel shook his head innocently. "Not a thing."

"You're planning something," Blair stated simply, daring Jim to deny it.

"Come on," Jim responded. "Your figment is imaginating again."

"Uh-huh."

Blair resisted a triumphant grin. The old Jim Ellison was returning. He had almost laughed, Blair was sure of it. And he was scheming. Maybe soon they could move past the incident, put the dead behind them. His bandages came off in another week and would destroy any more reminders of what had happened.

Blair braced his right foot on the wooden plank that ran atop the small bridge over the creek. Gripping another line in his right hand and gently pulling with his left, he drew it in. Jim watched from Blair's right side, net in hand, ready to scoop under the bait when it appeared. He had been using his enhanced vision, but the water was so murky he could only see a few inches beyond what Blair could.

"Hey, Jim, I think I got some on this one," Blair announced, excitement making his voice rise a notch.

Jim perched on the wooden plank and slowly slipped the mesh net under the water, careful to stay several feet from the direction the bait was coming in from.

"Wow, it's a big one. Looks like it's coming up out there," Blair said, pointing.

Jim shuffled his feet, ready to extend the net further into the water. Blair moved to stand on top of the plank, slowly lifting the line straight up, trying to keep it in the tiny patch of sunlight that had crept out. Jim watched the line, staring as far into the brown depths as he could. The wind picked up, sending Jim a strong whiff of the raw chicken backs they used as bait. He caught

something out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, Chief, watch out for the--"

Too late. In an effort to keep the incoming crab in the sun, Blair shifted his position to move his shadow. In doing so, he stepped on a random piece of chicken fat. The slippery meat threw him off balance and he pitched forward. Before Jim could grab him, Blair tumbled into the creek with a sharp yelp.

He came up sputtering, his hands still tangled in the line. He found his footing quickly in the chest-deep water, dark curls plastered across his neck and face along with an unhappy frown. Blair spit several times, trying to clean the dirty salt water from his mouth.

Jim leaned over the bridge, net still in hand, the corners of his mouth twitching wildly. "Think you can find the crab you lost while you're down there?"

Blair arched an eyebrow, his expression souring.

That did it. Jim was racked with a fit of laughter, his guffaws echoing across the still marshland. Dropping the net, he clutched at the wooden bridge, helpless against it, the laughter a perfect release from the tension of the last few weeks of work, worry and blame.

Blair glared at him, folding his dripping arms across his chest, trying to look mad. But Jim's good spirits rubbed off on the younger man, slowly transforming the frown into a wide smile. The Sentinel hadn't laughed like this in far too long; Jim's own wound was almost healed.

When Jim's laughter had diminished sufficiently, Blair cleared his throat and asked, "You gonna help me out or what?"

Jim grinned devilishly. "I don't know. Maybe I'll let the leeches have you."

Blair's jovial expression faded into one of horror. "Gross! C'mon, man, help me out of here."

Blair slogged through a few feet of water to the bridge and held a hand up to Jim. Jim stared at him, making no move to help. Instead, he stood up so he was staring straight down at Blair, his shadow towering over the smaller man.

"If I give you a hand, you're not going to pull me in, too, are you?" Jim asked in his most intimidating voice.

Blair tried to look insulted. "Would I do that to you?"

"In a minute."

Blair laughed and held up his palms in a signal of surrender, an idea popping into his head.

"Okay, I promise not to pull you in if," Blair emphasized the last word, "you help me wash Larry's boats. Deal?"

Jim pretended to mull it over. It was too easy. Agree to do something he'd already planned to help out with in exchange for anti-dunking insurance. "Deal."

Blair swallowed back a grin. He knew Jim would have helped him wash the boats anyway; he just wanted to bring the other man's guard down. The look on Jim's face when he hit the water would be priceless. Then he thought twice. He could be wrong about Jim's mood change--unlikely, but possible. He decided not to risk the bodily harm when Jim realized he'd been tricked.

He grasped Jim's outstretched hand and placed his other on the plank at his eye-level. Jim braced one foot on the bridge.

"On three," Blair said. "One...two..."

"I don't know," Jim teased. "Maybe I should throw this guppy back."

Blair's earlier decision went flying out the window. "Three!"

Jim pulled and Blair jumped upward, coming up above the top of the bridge. With the larger man unbalanced, Blair latched onto Jim's shirt and yanked, falling back into the water as a surprised Sentinel flew over his head.

//Should have known, // Jim thought as he fell. Revenge-filled visions of garden hoses and drenched Guides followed him into the drink.

Finis

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