Disclaimer: The Sentinel, its characters and concepts are the property of Pet Fly Productions and Paramount/UPN. No copyright infringement intended. Written for fun, not profit.
Summary: Jim and Blair deal with a pair of well-meaning but misguided interlopers.
Notes: Minor references to His Brother's Keeper, Remembrance, Spare Parts and Sentinel Too, parts 1 and 2. Rated G.
United Flight 08: Sunday
"Your attention please. Due to the turbulence we're currently experiencing, the seat belt sign has been turned on for your safety. Please return to your seats. Thank you."
The overhead sign went on with a ding as the pilot finished his announcement.
Heaving a big sigh, the curly-haired figure slumped in seat twenty-five B looked up and rolled his eyes in exasperation.
The return flight back to Cascade had been sucky from the get go, starting with the drizzle that morning. Luckily Blair had been able to catch a cab to John F. Kennedy Airport, but soon found himself checking his watch. Traffic was slow on the rain-slicked roads as the taxi driver eased his way through the busy Queens Midtown Tunnel, across the Long Island Expressway and finally around several construction sites scattered across the airport.
Now he was jammed back in the economy section, hoping the big passenger in front of him wouldn't lower his seat any further or he'd have no knees left and absolutely no chance of getting out of his chair in the next several hours. Of course considering how narrow the aisles were on a 767, he'd never make it to the tiny restrooms either. Not with the fight attendants shoving their unwieldy meal carts up and down.
He set aside the copy of Us magazine he'd been trying to read and reached for the headset instead. Perhaps the in-flight movie would distract him from his current mood. He slipped it on then tapped the earpiece. No sound. It was definitely on the fritz. He pulled it off and sighed again.
I'm letting this go, I'm letting this go, he chanted silently. It was one of Naomi's many mantras he'd learned to repeat to himself over the years. Except it wasn't working. Between the continual drone of the engines, cramped quarters, bouncy turbulence, the icy chill of the recycled air, and the squalling infant behind him, he was ready to pitch a fit himself.
Must be payback for all those times I flew with Naomi.
He'd been a restless traveler as a child and remembered the look of irritation on the faces of the adults who had the misfortune to sit in front of him. If his nonstop chatter didn't drive them crazy then his little kicking legs did, forcing them to turn around with an admonishing glare. But before they could open their mouths, Naomi would sweetly speak up, apologize for her son's behavior and within minutes have them charmed into accepting submission.
His mother was nothing if not persuasive, and she had much practice in smoothing the way for her hyperactive son. Jim and Simon considered her kid-rearing ways lax if not negligent, but Blair knew better. When riled, her protective mode could rival his partner's. And once she set her mind on something, she was pretty much unstoppable. Many had underestimated the steely resolve lurking beneath the attractive surface.
He tried to ignore the cries behind him that seemed to be growing exponentially in volume. Instead he focused on thoughts of home. A leisurely hot shower, some herbal tea, a little quiet conversation with his best friend and then bed. Funny how small things like that could be taken so easily for granted. Until they were snatched away abruptly, without warning.
The memory of finding his things packed in boxes brought back a sharp twinge of pain. He automatically fingered the leather band on his wrist as he reminded himself that slowly but surely he and his partner were rebuilding the friendship that had gotten strained to the breaking point when Alex Barnes had suddenly surfaced.
Just relax, he told himself firmly. It'll all be there when you get back. Shifting into a slightly more comfortable position, he wondered how his Sentinel had fared the past few days.
* ~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~ *
Major Crimes: Wednesday
If I hear one more question about reward money I'm going to yell bloody murder, thought Jim sourly. Glancing up at the wall clock, he wished for the umpteenth time he were out in the field, instead of manning phones from the bullpen.
"Hey, Ellison, mind passing me the Upton file?" Rafe's affable smile suddenly faltered as he looked into the senior detective's grim countenance. He took the folder from Jim's hand and promptly returned to his desk. Noting that his partner was about to open his mouth to ask the detective a question, he quickly swatted Brown's arm and motioned for him to back off.
"Watch it H," he cautioned softly. "Ellison's on the warpath again."
Brown sighed. "Where's Hairboy when you need him?"
Jim ignored the whispered by-play as he snatched up his ringing phone. "Detective Ellison," he answered tersely. The unpleasantly shrill voice on the other end caused him to yank the receiver a good several inches away from his ear. Wincing, he picked up his pencil and attempted to take down some information.
"Ma'am? Yes, I'm listening. Would you mind repeating that? And a bit more slowly this time?"
Eight year-old Amy Hidalgo and her mother, Louisa, had been struck down by a speeding motorist as they attempted to cross a busy intersection late Tuesday afternoon. Before horrified passers-by could react, the driver, who'd paused briefly to look back at the two bodies lying unconscious in the street, sped off in a panic.
No one had gotten a clear look at the license plate.
As paramedics worked on the two victims, the police were able to gather only a general description of the driver. A young, dark-haired male, late twenties to early thirties driving a white two-door coupe. Without any concrete leads, the only other avenue left was an appeal to the public for help.
An 800-number was quickly set up and the hit-and-run incident led the local television evening news. Both mother and child were in critical condition and the resulting flood of calls kept detectives busy all night. It was now Ellison's turn to help man the phones.
Separating legitimate witnesses from the usual assortment of crackpots and pranksters was enough to give the tall detective a throbbing headache. This was something up Sandburg's alley. The outgoing anthropologist was more than adept at handling the public. He could almost instantaneously gauge a caller's background and intent then wheedle out pertinent information with considerable patience and tact--attributes Jim sorely lacked at the moment.
Growling under his breath, he dropped the receiver down, tore a sheet off his notepad and added it to the stack by his keyboard. Leaning forward on his elbows, he closed his eyes for a moment and wondered if he'd remembered to bring any aspirin with him.
The phone rang again. Opening his eyes, he looked over at the empty chair next to his desk and sighed.
* ~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~ *
United Fight 08: Sunday
Even if the big lug did miss me he'd never say so, thought Blair moodily. He held an empty plastic cup in his hand as he waited for the flight attendant to make her way down the aisle. Underneath the professional smile and demeanor, she seemed a tad harried. Due to the weather and traffic congestion, the crew was short four attendants on this particular run. It was going to be awhile before they got all the meals served.
Feeling his stomach rumble, Blair berated himself for skipping breakfast. Despite the rain, he'd been eager to get one last look around midtown Manhattan before setting off for the airport. Stopping on a whim, he'd walked into the venerable Waldorf-Astoria and admired the huge crystal chandelier hanging from the lobby ceiling, the spectacular floral displays sitting in gigantic urns and the Art Deco motifs on the paneled elevator doors.
Smelling brunch in progress, he drifted over toward the tables set up near the reception desks then glanced at the menu on display. Fifty-five bucks, for eggs and sausages? No way! Shaking his head, he turned around and exited the hotel. He passed by the distinctive Chrysler Building on Lexington Avenue as he made his way back toward Grand Central Terminal.
He'd spent the earlier part of the week attending a series of lectures at Columbia University. Then he'd taken the train to meet up with his mother in Connecticut. After picking him up from the station, they'd driven around admiring the local scenery then stopped to browse through several antique stores. Later they met up with her friends for an early dinner at a cozy little restaurant in Westport.
It was an eclectic bunch, composed of artists, writers, eco-activists, a therapist and a professor.
To his utter amazement, the professor turned out to be Victor Savedra, who'd spent many years in Central America and the Yucatan Peninsula. The grad student had read accounts of his work on the ancient Maya city of Dos Pilas.
The lean and tan Savedra had streaks of gray intermixed in his dark hair and mustache, lending him an added air of distinction. He was both articulate and charming and regaled the group with tales of his adventures in the Petexbatun rain forest of northern Guatemala.
Picking up a glass of red wine, he turned his head towards Blair and focused on him with sharp brown eyes. "So young man, you're the one I've heard so much about from Eli."
Surprised, Blair put down the goblet he'd been sipping from before he choked. "Er, you know Dr. Stoddard?"
Victor nodded and smiled. "Oh yes, Eli and I go back quite a ways. We've tromped through our share of jungles together. Did you know he has family here in Westport?"
"No I didn't. I always thought Dr. Stoddard was from Peoria."
"He is, but his grandparents had a place not too far from here." Savedra went on about Stoddard's family background then paused as Naomi excused herself from the table.
"Tell me something, Blair," he said, leaning forward and twining his fingers together. "Is it true you work part-time as a consultant for the police department?"
The grad student nodded. "Actually I'm more an observer than anything else, but it's certainly been an eye-opening experience."
"And you actually live with one of the detectives?"
Blair stopped fiddling with his napkin and studied the professor. His expression was neutral, but the brown eyes were alert and curious.
"Detective Ellison took pity on me when my old living quarters, um, blew up." He put his hands up as Savedra raised an eyebrow. "Long story--anyway, yes, I rent a room from him. And in return he allows me to ride along and observe his world up close."
"And despite the danger and violence, you find this worthwhile?"
Blair tilted his head slightly and looked the professor directly in the eye. "To be honest, I could do without the dangerous part, but yes, I find it more than worthwhile. It's both fascinating and humbling to see these men and women put their lives on the line on a daily basis. Besides, it's no more dangerous than you putting up with daily mortar fire from the local revolutionary guerrillas."
"Touche," smiled Savedra as he leaned back in his chair. "Perhaps that explains why you turned down the opportunity to go to Borneo last year. Too tame."
Blair flushed but was saved from replying when Naomi returned to her chair. "Did I miss anything?" she asked.
"Uh no, just swapping stories," he answered hastily. "It's getting late. Maybe we should go. I have to catch the train back to the city." He turned to Savedra. "It's been a pleasure meeting you."
Savedra nodded his head. "The pleasure was all mine. You know, I'm always looking for good research assistants." He reached inside his corduroy jacket and took out a business card. "Call me sometime and we'll talk further."
Blair thanked him as he pocketed the card.
"I'm thinking of putting together an expedition to Mexico in the near future."
"Whereabouts in Mexico?"
The professor listed several names. "Those some of the locations we're considering. Oh and Sierra Verde."
Blair inhaled sharply. "Sierra Verde?" he said, just barely managing not to stutter over the two words.
"Yes. We heard recent talk about some undiscovered temples there. But the reports are very scanty and mostly hearsay. Naturally we're still working on funding and there's always so much paperwork to prepare ahead of time. Not to mention the usual bureaucratic red tape..."
Blair nodded absently in agreement as he rose from his seat.
Savedra stuck out his hand and firmly shook Blair's. "I hope we'll meet again."
* ~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~ *
The Loft: Wednesday
Leaning against the back wall of the small elevator, Jim rolled his neck from shoulder to shoulder as he waited for the car to stop on the third floor. As he got out he reached into his pocket for his set of keys and walked to the door marked 307.
Once inside the loft, he took a deep breath then exhaled as he let the cool stillness seep into his tired frame. It was a welcome change from the constant barrage of ringing phones and loud voices. Tossing his keys in the basket by the door, he paused to shrug out of his jacket and hang it up on a wall hook. Next he went into the kitchen to grab a small bottle of water out of the refrigerator. The shelves were almost bare which meant dinner pickings would be slim. He reminded himself to make a grocery run later.
After closing the refrigerator door, he noticed the blinking light on the answering machine. No doubt it was Sandburg. But considering the afternoon he'd had, that was one voice he wouldn't mind hearing. He rolled the cold water bottle across his forehead as he stood and waited for the messages to play.
The first was a wrong number. But the second one caught his immediate attention.
"Hi James, this is Art Spencer. You may not remember me, but I'm an old friend of your father's. I'm here in Cascade for a few days and was wondering if I could meet you for a drink sometime. If you're free, give me a call. I'm staying at the Sheraton. The number here is 555-3700, room 1206. Thanks."
The machine beeped softly. "End of message."
Tilting his head back for a swallow, Jim walked out into the living room, sat down on the couch and leaned back into the cushions. Arthur Spencer. He hadn't seen the man in ages. Art and his father were old golf buddies and had started out working for the same company. But along the way Spencer moved to another division and eventually relocated out-of-state. Still, he made it a point to return to Cascade every now and then.
Before moving, Art and his wife, Margaret, had dined at their house on several occasions. Their son, Gary, had attended the same junior high school as Jim and was a year younger. Jim remembered him as being rather loud, obnoxious and spoiled. So unlike the father who seemed even-keeled and had always been friendly towards the young Ellison.
He couldn't imagine why Art would want to talk to him, unless it had something to do with William. The thought immediately put the tension back into his neck and shoulders and he wished for a brief second his roommate were there. Perhaps because of his own fatherless upbringing, Blair seemed to understand his conflicting feelings about Ellison senior.
Putting the bottle down on the coffee table, Jim ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. All right, let's just get this over with. If worse came to worse, he could always bow out saying he was busy.
He went back to the phone and dialed the hotel's number. After two rings it was picked up.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Spencer? This is ..."
"James?"
"Yes. Hello."
"It's good to hear your voice, son. How are you?"
"Fine thanks." Ellison was surprised to find himself immediately warming to the friendly tone in the man's voice. "And you?"
Spencer chuckled. "Not too shabby. Listen, I'm glad you called. I know this is short notice and all but are you free this evening?"
"Um, actually yes."
"Have you eaten yet?"
"No, I haven't."
"Good. How would you like to meet me at Phil's for dinner? Say around seven-thirty?"
Phil's Steak House was a well-known, long-standing Cascade landmark. The name alone conjured up visions of thick New York, porterhouses, and T-bones not to mention Phil's famous filet mignon. The hungry detective found his initial reluctance rapidly waning. What harm could there be in putting up with an old friend of his father's in exchange for a shot at a juicy prime rib dinner? Plus he'd be free to indulge himself for one evening without being subjected to an annoyed guide lecturing him at length about the evils of red meat.
"I'll see you there," he replied.
Some forty-five minutes later, he found himself standing inside the crowded restaurant as he edged his way towards the blonde hostess in a short black skirt and pumps, at the reservation rostrum near the entryway to the dining area. She looked up and smiled appreciatively as he approached.
"Good evening. Your name please?"
"Ellison," he answered as he swiftly looked over her shoulder into the full room beyond. "I'm here to meet someone. Art Spencer."
She glanced over her chart. "Ah yes. He's here. This way please." Picking up a menu, she turned and walked down the three steps into the main dining hall.
He dialed down his hearing to keep the loud conversations around him to a tolerable murmur. The hostess threaded her way around several tables with practiced ease and led him toward a dark wood-paneled booth. The older man inside smiled in greeting and rose, stretching out his hand. Jim shook it firmly.
"James."
"Mr. Spencer."
"Please, call me Art."
As they both sat down, the detective automatically noted the receding hairline around Spencer's squarish face. He was almost the same height as Jim, but broader and heavier. Despite the crow's feet around the hazel eyes, he still seemed the same calm, even-tempered executive he'd known as a boy.
Art studied Jim and smiled again. "You're looking good there, James."
"And you haven't changed a bit either, Art."
Spencer grinned as he reached for his glass of scotch. "And they call you a detective," he tsked. He flagged a passing waiter and waited as Jim ordered a beer.
For the next several minutes both men exchanged small talk as they waited to place their order.
"And how would you like your steak done?" asked the waiter.
"Medium rare," answered Jim, closing his menu and laying it flat on the table.
"Make mine medium well," said Art handing his menu back. He looked up as the waiter turned and left then asked, "So how's life on the force treating you these days?"
Jim shrugged. "Can't complain, though I wish the bad guys would take a vacation now and then."
"Seems every time I turn around, your face is either in the papers or on television, Mr. Cop of the Year. You know William's pretty proud of your accomplishments."
Jim looked down at his placemat, somewhat surprised. "Is he?" he murmured quietly.
"Yes he is," Art said firmly. "I know he's not the kind of man who goes around doling praise left and right, but he does take a strong interest in your doings."
Jim suppressed a snort as he picked up his beer and swallowed. Praise or attention had always come at a cost from his old man. And it had cost him dearly as a boy.
"I don't think police work's the sort of career he envisioned for me."
Art frowned slightly then picked up his glass of scotch again. "I've known your father a long time. He's a good businessman because he runs a tight ship. Unfortunately, that's not the kind of thing that translates well when it comes to raising kids. He always seemed a bit heavy-handed when it came to you and Steven." He sighed then continued. "Although I sometimes wonder if things would've turned out differently if I'd been a stricter father."
"Oh?" Jim's curiosity was piqued. "You mean with Gary?"
"Yes." Spencer downed the remainder of his drink and signaled for another. "That boy was a real handful."
"Hmm," Jim said neutrally.
"He always admired you," Art added. Then he waved a hand at Jim's disbelieving expression. "No really. You were quite the star athlete. And Gary talked about you a lot."
Uncomfortable, Jim shifted in his seat. "So what's he been up to these days?"
Art's face brightened at the question. "Well, he's finally gotten his act together." At Jim's questioning look, he added, "He and Lisa got divorced two years ago. Do you remember Lisa Moore?" The detective nodded. "Unfortunately it was messy and costly to say the least. Lisa got custody of the kids and Gary was a basket case afterward." He shook his head.
Jim found himself sympathizing. At least when he and Carolyn had split up, there had been little argument over who got what. And he considered themselves fortunate not to have had to wrangle over children and parental custody.
"But he pulled himself together, found a partner and bought into a business which he's now running."
"What kind of business?"
"It's called DataQuest Technologies. They're based in San Jose." Art pulled out a business card to show his guest. "They mainly produce computer chips and develop software programs. And you know what the best part is?"
"What?"
"He's hired his old man on as his marketing consultant." Art beamed proudly.
"Congratulations. Sounds promising."
"It's more than promising, it's going to be extremely lucrative." Art thumped the table for emphasis. "I'm working on next year's marketing plans and helping the sales force develop new contacts overseas." He expounded enthusiastically for several minutes about the company's growth potential as Jim nodded politely. It was sounding more and more like a sales pitch for potential investors. Still, if Gary had half the business acumen of his old man, it might not be a bad thing to consider.
His next question was interrupted by the arrival of the waiter with the steaks. He put aside his comments to appreciate the feast before him. A bite of Phil's mouthwatering prime rib enhanced by Sentinel taste buds was practically a religious experience in itself. Served with a large baked potato slathered in sour cream with a sprinkling of scallions and a minuscule portion of veggies, it was a meat-lover's dream.
Sandburg would have a cow, he thought as he savored his meal. Sorry, Chief, no pun intended.
"As I was saying," Jim raised his eyes as Art waved a fork at him, "my next project is delving into security."
"Security?"
"Oh yes. New product development is highly competitive as you can imagine. Gary's company could be vulnerable to all sorts of security leaks. Plus the government has their own set of stringent confidentiality requirements. All new hires are going to be subjected to extensive background checks. And the plants need upgraded security systems. That's where you come in."
"Me? How so? I mean if it's advice or recommendations you need..."
"We need more than advice. Gary needs someone with a level head and a lot of hands-on experience. Someone with both a military and law enforcement background. Someone like you. With your contacts and expertise you'd be the perfect head of security."
Jim blinked.
Art continued on, "He can offer you a very attractive package. Including travel, a company car, comprehensive medical coverage, year-end bonuses, profit-sharing and four-weeks paid vacation to start."
Jim stared back in stunned silence.
Art smiled. "Oh and did I mention salary?"
* ~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~ *
Westport, CT: Friday
"C'mon sweetie, you can tell me," wheedled Naomi as she pushed an errant strand of hair back over her ear. "You are going to call Professor Savedra aren't you?"
Blair shrugged as they walked back to her car. "I doubt it," he said as casually as he could.
She eyed him impatiently. "Don't give me that it's-no-biggie routine. The professor's obviously taken an interest in you. How can you ignore an opportunity like that?" She whapped him smartly on the arm.
"Ow! Mom!"
Ignoring his cry, she continued to walk toward the small parking lot at the end of the block. "This is your career we're talking about. You've been at Rainier since you were sixteen. That's a long time to be at one institution. Maybe it's time for a change. You could get yourself jump-started again."
"What do you mean?" Blair eyed her warily as he rubbed his arm.
"Let me put it this way. How many expeditions were you on before you started being a police observer?"
"Over a dozen, I suppose."
"And how many have you participated in over the past three years?"
Blair said nothing.
Naomi stopped in front of an art gallery window and put her hand out to tug on her son's sleeve. "Look, I didn't mean to be so blunt, but someone's got to look out for your best interests. And it sounds to me like you've been stagnating a bit lately."
He shook his head. "No, no. It's not like that at all. Things have been going good." At least lately, he amended to himself. "And what's so wrong with me wanting to stay in one place?"
Naomi looked at him skeptically. "This, coming from a person who'd already seen most of the world by the time he got his bachelor's degree. I can't believe how much you've changed. Running around with a bunch of cops is doing you a world of good I see. It's really narrowed your perspective on life."
Blair pulled away from the stinging tone in her remark and crossed his arms defensively. "You don't understand," he muttered quietly.
"Understand what?" She softened her expression. "All I'm saying is that you gotten so involved in this cop thing that you've ceased being what you're supposed to be. A researcher, an anthropologist, a traveler of the world." She fluttered a hand. "Don't you see? You're allowing Detective Ellison to stifle you, hold you back. Why do you still put up with him?"
"Oh Mom, you've seen for yourself what he's like. He's decent, honest and caring. I can't believe you'd say that about someone I trust and respect."
Naomi refused to back down. "I hear you've gotten hurt a few times too."
"Hey, I'm fine. I know what I'm doing."
"You're like that frog," she said as she resumed walking toward her car.
"Frog? What frog?"
"You know, put a frog in some water, then turn up the heat very, very slowly, one degree at a time. By the time it reaches the danger point, he doesn't realize it's time to jump because he's gotten acclimated to the water temperature. And before he knows it he's been boiled alive."
Blair grimaced at the image. "I am not anywhere close to that. Trust me."
"Humph. We'll see," she sniffed.
* ~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~ *
Just Desserts Cafe: Friday
"If Gary's company is doing that well, I'm definitely in the wrong business." Steven Ellison looked over his coffee mug at his brother.
Jim toyed with a piece of chocolate cheesecake on his plate. "It's still new. Lot of things could happen."
"But you'd be on the cutting edge of the new world order," Steven smiled. "So, what'd you say to Art?"
"I told him I'd think about it."
"And?"
"And what?"
"Are you going to take it?"
Jim sighed and put his fork down. "No, I'm not."
Steven stared in disbelief. "Geez, you know how many guys would jump at the chance to make that kind of money?"
"Come on Stevie. That's always been Dad's thing, not mine. Which reminds me..."
"Oh, oh." Steven leaned back in his chair, pretending to look anxious. "Here comes the interrogation."
Jim rolled his eyes at his brother. "I just want to know how much of a hand he had in Art Spencer's little proposal."
Steven looked over his mug thoughtfully. "When he stopped by to see Dad earlier this week, Sally said they seemed more interested in catching a round or two of golf than anything else. I seriously doubt Dad spent time on the course twisting Art's arm into offering you an opportunity of a lifetime."
"Opportunity of a lifetime?" Jim raised an eyebrow. "Is that your opinion? You think I'm making a mistake?"
"I didn't say that."
"But your tone says different."
Steven was silent for a moment then looked back at his sibling. "It's not about me. Personally, you should do whatever you think best."
"That's not what Dad would say."
"No, I suppose not."
"He'd tell me not to be an idiot and take it."
"Yeah, but that's because he'd want you to be safe. To think about your future."
"What about my future?"
"He does worry you know. He's afraid you might get hurt badly out there someday. Or worse..." Steven's voice trailed off.
Jim's throat suddenly tightened in response. "Hey, there are always going to be things out there I can't control. But I promise to be as careful as I can."
"You better. Hate to lose out on all that brotherly wisdom of yours."
The older man laughed. "Oh really?"
"Tell me something though," Steven paused as he turned the mug around in his hands. "Does your decision have anything to do with Blair?"
"Blair?" Jim's eyes narrowed. "What about him?"
"I'm not blind you know. You two live, work and even vacation together. Your lives are so intertwined it's spooky. Plus he seems to have more influence over you than Carolyn ever did. Dad doesn't understand it and frankly I'm a little concerned."
Jim felt his temper begin to flare but immediately reigned it in. Full trust still didn't come easy after fifteen years of estrangement. Plus he felt a strong hesitancy about revealing his sentinel abilities or the true nature of Sandburg's role in his life.
"What are you saying here Stevie? Do you really think I allow him to manipulate my life?"
"Yes, in a lot of ways, I think you do." Steven took a breath and tightened his grip on the cup. "I've seen the way he keeps an eye on you, the things you eat and drink, the stuff you buy for the loft and he even checks out the clothes you wear." He looked up almost defiantly. "I'd go crazy if someone were constantly monitoring me like that. And the weird thing about it is you let him get away with it."
Jim exhaled slowly as he thought about what his life might look like through his brother's eyes. What seemed strange or controlling was actually nothing more than careful planning and meticulous research on his guide's part to keep his wayward senses under control. They'd already documented his reactions to such things as paprika, sage, additives in drinking water and over-the-counter cold remedies. To prevent any potential problems, Blair regularly browsed through catalogs specializing in all-natural products and checked his clothes for fiber content to avoid irritating sentinel-sensitive skin.
Through the years, Blair had amassed a large three-ring binder's worth of notes and it'd come in handy on more than one occasion in the hospital, especially considering Jim's sensitivities to certain drugs.
He lowered his voice to a confidential level. "I haven't told you this before, but I've developed a few allergies over the years. Seems I'm ultra-sensitive to things like MSG, pollen and phosphates in laundry detergent. They really throw my system for a loop. That's why Sandburg's always checking out my wardrobe and my food. I know it looks strange, but he's literally saved my skin on more than one occasion by being so thorough. Sometimes it pays to keep a researcher around."
Abashed, Steven sputtered, "God, I'm sorry. I was way out of line there."
"No, it's okay. You didn't know." It wasn't the full truth, but it would do for now.
"Well, at least I now know part of the reason why you let him hang around."
Jim braced himself for the next question, but his brother merely stared down at his empty mug.
"I know it must seem strange to you, the way I listen to Sandburg at times, but you have to admit, the kid's pretty smart. And the funny thing is, he's usually right." He stretched his arm out and put his hand on top of Steven's wrist. "But you're still my brother. And that won't change. Ever."
Steven looked up, his eyes a bit misty. "Thanks for saying that." Then he stared down again. "Um, I think I have a confession to make."
"Oh? You gonna finally tell me the truth about what happened to my high school letterman's jacket?"
"What? Oh that." Steven laughed out loud then sobered. "No. Actually it's about the job offer."
"You mean the fact that you're the one who set it up with Art Spencer."
The younger Ellison stared at his brother in dismay. "You knew?"
"Not at first."
"Are you angry?"
"No." Jim pushed the cheesecake away as he leaned on an elbow. "I understand why you did it."
"You do?"
"Yeah. I just heard you list the reasons not five minutes ago. It's nice to know someone cares that much about my future."
"It's just that I happened to be visiting Dad when Art dropped by. And then when he mentioned Gary's need for upgraded security, I naturally thought of you."
"Must've been quite a spiel, considering the salary offer he made. You should be an agent."
"In which case I get ten percent. Providing you accept of course."
"Stevie..."
The younger man held up a hand. "I know what you're going to say. That police work suits you and you like what you do."
"Well yeah, something along those lines."
"But are you really happy though?" He looked intently into his brother's clear blue eyes.
"Pretty much, all things considered," Jim replied, slightly amazed that he didn't have to stop to think about his answer. "Plus I'm not looking to relocate to San Jose at this point."
"They're thinking about opening another office in Seattle, or maybe Cascade."
Jim's pained scowl put a grin on his sibling's face.
"Sorry, I'll stop. But if you ever do have second thoughts, I just want you to know you have options out there."
"Thanks, I'll remember that. Oh and by the way little brother," he slid the small black tray across the table, "you get the check this time."
* ~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~ *
United Flight 08: Sunday
Trying his best to not elbow his fellow passenger in the ribs, Blair put down his fork and carefully stacked the little rectangular food containers on his tray. Eating dinner in the cramped space was always a challenge. He kept his movements to a minimum, ate quickly, all the while wondering why everything had to come double wrapped in plastic.
At least the shrimp salad with cucumbers and celery had proved to be palatable. But he frowned at the icing covered brownie square. Perhaps he should save it for later. Chocolate in almost any form would be appreciated by his roommate.
The infant behind him had finally quieted down. He could hear the mother talking softly to it. She hummed then cooed and recited some nursery rhymes.
Naomi must've done the very same thing with me, he thought as he handed his tray over to the passing flight attendant. He settled back as his mother's comments from the previous day ran through his mind.
"So are you going to tell Jim about Professor Savedra?" she had asked as they pulled out from the parking lot.
"No. There's nothing to tell," he said flatly.
"Don't you think he should know you at least got an offer?"
"Mom--" Blair fidgeted with his seat belt then settled back. "I thought I'd made myself clear. I'm perfectly fine, the dissertation is progressing and I don't need to prove myself by taking on an expedition at this point."
Naomi glanced sideways at her son then back on the road. "Why are you so protective of him?"
"Who? Jim?"
"No, Simon Banks. Of course I'm talking about Jim. Sometimes you go around acting as though you're personally in charge of his health and well-being," she admonished, not noticing the sudden, pained expression that flit across his face.
Aw Mom, but I am.
"And you know perfectly well you can't control another person's destiny. It's not your responsibility. Besides, it's bad karma."
"Agami or sabija?"
"Don't get smart with me, young man," she said tartly. "I just knew this would happen."
"What? What would happen?"
She sighed as they approached a red light. "That you'd get too attached. It's dragging you down, killing your momentum."
"My momentum?"
"Your career momentum."
"My career's doing just fine. What is it about Jim that bothers you so much?"
"Look, I like Jim, but his choice of profession leaves a lot to be desired. First a soldier then a cop. He's actually killed people." She shuddered a bit as she pressed her foot to the accelerator then made a right turn.
"I know all that, Naomi. And believe me, it doesn't sit well with me either at times, but there are some truly evil, violent people out there in the world. And someone has to do the hard thing and take a stand."
"Yes but--"
"No buts. I've seen some of the stuff he goes against and it's a wonder he's still standing at all."
"Oh sweetie, don't you see? That kind of attitude's rubbing off on you now."
"Maybe, but perhaps it's for the best." Blair glanced out the side window at the passing scenery.
"How can you say that?"
"Because," he said quietly, "for however long it lasts, my place is by his side."
Naomi sucked in her breath as her hands tightened on the steering wheel.
"Watch it or you're going to cause an accident here."
She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like swearing then maneuvered her car into the parking lot of the local train station. After stopping, she turned off the headlights, killed the ignition then sat stock-still as she stared out the front windshield.
Blair exhaled and turned toward her. "It's not all that bad. Remember how you used to quote Joseph Campbell's 'follow your bliss' at me? Well that's what I've been doing."
She turned her head sharply to face him. "Following your bliss does not include getting yourself into dangerous situations. You're still a civilian, and my only child. And decent or not, that man could get you killed." Tears suddenly filled her eyes as she put a shaky hand on his arm.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he swallowed, then firmly pushed away the image of Alex Barnes.
"Hey, I thought we've been over this already." Blair kept his tone gentle. "The choices I make may or may not always be right, but you raised me to be independent, to think for myself and to make my own decisions." He put a reassuring hand over hers. "You can't control my destiny, Naomi. It's not your responsibility. Besides, it's bad karma."
She shook her head then wiped at her eyes with her other hand. "It's just that it's so hard to let go."
"I know. But Jim also looks out for me, just as I look out for him." He opened the glove compartment and fished around for a tissue to hand to his mother. "Remember the other thing you used to say to me?"
"If you say detach with love, I will smack you," she warned as she dabbed at her eyes.
"That living wasn't about being safe. That risks were always going to be part of a full and useful life."
"I should've known that would come back to bite me on the butt," she said darkly.
"It's true though. Look at the all causes, protests and rallies you've participated in over the years. Most of them were unpopular for their time. Did that stop you? You don't play it safe Naomi, you never have. Why would I be any different? Besides, wouldn't you rather see me out there trying to make a difference in this world than cowering away in some academic tower?"
"I've raised a monster," she moaned to herself.
"No, you raised me," he beamed with his best smile.
Defeated, she smiled back then held out her arms for a hug. They embraced for a long moment, then Blair pulled his head back.
"So Mom," he began.
"Yes sweetie?"
"Synchronicity aside, running into Professor Savedra at that restaurant was quite a coincidence, don't you think?"
"Now that you mention it, I suppose it was."
"How'd you set it up?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she protested, but Blair merely narrowed his discerning eyes at her.
"Don't give me that," he said warningly. "I know you. So fess up."
Naomi straightened her dress then settled her hands primly on her lap. "I didn't do anything, really. It just so happens I know his sister, Maria. We attended that conference last year at Barnard College on twentieth century women writers and poets and then she invited me up here to visit. That's how I met Victor, I mean Professor Savedra. So naturally I figured that if the two of you got the chance to meet..."
The rest would be history, thought Blair. He shifted and clasped his hands over his midsection. Naomi was many things--headstrong, impetuous, interfering and opinionated. But she had meant well. He'd just have to continue to stand his ground in case she ever pulled another stunt like that. And while he'd been flattered by the professor's offer, he was not tempted to take him up on it.
No point in telling Jim, he thought. We've been through enough already and the cracks are just beginning to mend. Besides, I have a full-time job already. To be alongside my Sentinel.
Listening to the plane engines drone on, he closed his eyes and slipped into a light doze.
* ~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~ *
United Terminal: Sunday evening
Jim eyed the crowd milling restlessly in front of arrival gate two as he sat back and waited for Blair's flight. He'd gotten there early despite the reports that head winds and turbulence had pushed back the arrival time. It was now eight o'clock. According to the electronic posting board, the plane should be landing in another fifteen minutes or so.
Shifting in the hard plastic seat, he stared out the large viewing windows and tracked a 747 as it took off into the night gloom. The lights underneath the plane glowed like a bright string of tiny UFOs. He followed the blinking lights as it ascended swiftly into the clouds.
The weight of another visitor settling into the seat behind him suddenly jarred him back to the present. He sighed and chided himself for the momentary lapse. But Blair would be back and just his presence alone would be enough to anchor his ever-shifting senses.
Folding his arms, he straightened his back then propped a leg over one knee. He watched as a rumpled-looking business executive hurried up to a pay phone, pulled out a credit card then started dialing. His size and posture instantly reminded him of Art Spencer.
He'd called Art at his hotel on Saturday and told him his decision. Spencer was understandably disappointed but gracious. "If you ever change your mind James, just give me a call."
"Thanks, I'll do that."
But in hanging up the phone he knew he never would. He was rooted to Cascade. Not because it was his place of birth or his current residence, but because that was where a certain free-spirited guide who had traveled half the world now dwelled.
The amiable anthropologist had not only breezed into the loft and his life, but also his heart and soul. Telling him about Spencer's offer would only upset him, he thought. He had no desire to trigger his guide's flight instincts after the debacle with Alex. It'd taken every ounce of persuasion he had to coax the reluctant grad student back to the loft.
Now that he was resettled, he had no intention of letting the young man go. Except for a few short jaunts here and there. And if the time came where Blair needed to leave Cascade, then he'd pack up his stuff and follow his guide. He'd learned the hard way to honor the bond that tugged at him no matter where the gentle grad student went.
Onboard the descending plane, said young man peered anxiously around his fellow passenger for a glimpse outside the small viewing window. His heart pounded as he saw the landing lights grow larger. Home.
Back at the terminal, a tall figure stood and stretched for several seconds before joining the crowd at the gate. He scanned the arriving group flowing out for quick peek of his friend. Turning up his hearing, he finally found the comforting rhythm he'd been missing all week.
"Hey Jim! Man, it's sooo good to be back!" Blair bounded up to his waiting roommate and grinned up at him. Dropping his backpack, he quickly latched onto his partner and squeezed hard.
"Oof, Sandburg. Watch it, I am not a plush toy," he said gruffly.
Blair poked at his middle with a finger, "Speaking of which, you feel kind of mushy to me. What've you been eating while I was gone? Wonderburger?" He wrinkled his nose in disgust.
"Nope, no Wonderburger."
"Honestly? Not even once?" Blair's eyes grew wide as he watched his roommate pick up his backpack and heft it easily over one brawny shoulder.
Jim shook his head solemnly. "Not once. Honest."
"Well I'll be darned." Blair shook his head in wonderment as he hurried to keep up with his partner's longer strides. "So what's been going on? Anything exciting? And how's Simon?"
"He's been smoking up a storm with those cigars of his. Had a hit-and-run earlier this week. A mother and child."
Blair's mind flashed back to the pair that been sitting behind him on the flight. "Oh man, that sucks. How bad was it?"
"They just got off the critical list on Friday. Looks like they're both going to pull through." Everyone in the bullpen had breathed a collective sigh of relief over the news.
"What about the driver?" Blair dodged around several visitors while Jim continued to plow straight through the crowd.
"Finally got a tip that paid off. We nabbed him just the other day." There was a note of satisfaction in Jim's voice. "He tried to hide his car in his cousin's garage, but the girlfriend got suspicious and called it in. Connor and I checked it out. Even though he'd rinsed the car off, I still found fibers from the mother's sweater caught in the front grill and around the headlight."
Blair looked admiringly at his partner. "That's great work. Must've made Simon's day and then some."
Reaching baggage claim, they stood by the revolving conveyor belt as clumps of luggage slowly went by them.
"How about you? How was New York?"
"New York was fantastic. And so was that lecture series at Columbia. I got to hear Professor Horstmann talk about Native American religions and Professor Lim about modern day Korean society and its effect on traditional family structure...
"...and then I saw the new Mesoamerica exhibit at the Natural History Museum. Also got to see the Met, the Guggenheim, Central Park, the library, Times Square..." Blair reeled off his list of sightseeing endeavors as Jim kept his eyes peeled for the battered khaki-colored duffle bag with the initials 'BJS' embroidered in black on the side.
"And there's nothing like a fresh onion bagel covered with cream cheese." He stopped once he realized the Sentinel had spotted his bag and snagged it with his long reach.
"How was Naomi?"
"Just great and she says hi."
Jim looked at him for a few seconds but said nothing as they made their way to the exit. After checking his claim ticket, the agent waved them through. Stepping out into the cool night air, Blair paused at the curb and took a deep breath.
He put a hand out to touch his sentinel's shoulder. "Jim?"
"Yeah?"
"You sure there's nothing else going on you want to tell me?"
"No." Jim set the bag down and pressed the button on the signal box. They waited for the light to change.
"I take that back."
Blair gazed at him and waited.
Clearing his throat Jim said simply, "I missed you and I'm glad you're home."
The smile he received in return was absolutely incandescent.
"I'm glad to be home too, partner."
"Light's green, let's go." Jim picked up the duffle bag and gently shepherded his charge towards the parking structure while keeping an alert eye on passing cars and shuttle buses. A Blessed Protector could never be too careful, especially of the special young man beside him.
Together, they strode off into the night.
*~ The End ~*
Comments welcomed. AutumnSkies1@aol.com