Silent night--A Sentinel Christmas story
By Jackie Lang

"...peace on earth, good will toward men."

Children stood on the street corner, voices raised in song, sharing the joy of the season with whomever passed by. At that moment, 'whomever' happened to be a very cynical Jim Ellison.

Peace on earth? Somebody forgot to tell that to the jerk who used his wife as a punching bag earlier that evening.

Good will toward men? He guessed that the drug addict who blew away a teenage store clerk, in order to feed his own hunger for powdered death, had missed that verse.

As a boy he'd looked at Christmas through the eyes of a child, eyes round with wonder, hope and joy--like those children singing on the corner. Then the boy became a man, and the man learned the lesson that hope was fleeting, joy soon gone, and peace a dream he could no longer believe in. He'd seen too much.

You gonna stay out here all night, Ellison? he thought. Sandburg's waiting. He's happy and looking forward to the holiday. Jim closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to calm a mind in turmoil. Shape up! This 'bah, humbug' attitude you're exuding will only bring him down too.

The truck purred softly beneath him. His hand searched absently for the key, switching the ignition off. Jim got out of the truck slowly, the heaviness of his heart weighting his feet. Taking another deep breath the Sentinel squared his shoulders, pasted a smile on his face and walked into the building. He paused before the loft door, frowning slightly. It was quiet inside. Too quiet. He allowed his senses to come online, focusing on hearing. Yes--there it was, one heartbeat, slow and steady; as familiar to him as his own.

He sensed no threat to his Guide. Sandburg must be deep in meditation, or engrossed in grading that pile of finals, or perhaps he had his nose buried in some dry anthropological text. Whatever the task, Jim hoped it would keep his roommate occupied; that he could hand Blair his gift, claim exhaustion, which was in fact the truth, and head straight to bed.

Jim pushed the door open and felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. Something wasn't right. Darkness filled every corner of the loft, not even one Sandburg candle illuminating the blackness. A Sentinel could see in the dark; his Guide could not. What's going on? he thought. A slight breeze caressed his cheek, and he turned toward the half-open balcony doors. Through the frosted glass he saw Blair leaning against the railing, his upturned face lit by the faint glow of starshine.

"Chief?"

"Look, Jim." Blair didn't turn, but gestured for his friend to join him outside.

Jim walked out onto the balcony, his eyes following Sandburg's upward gaze. One star shone more brightly than all the others, its golden light falling softly on his Guide's features, showing the wide-eyed expression of wonder and joy.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" the younger man whispered in awe.

"Yeah, I guess...the news said that the atmosphere is charged with some kind of gas that...."

"No, don't...."

Jim paused, responding to the soft pleading tone in his Guide's voice. He shrugged a shoulder, confused by the academic's seeming lack of interest in Ellison's astronomy 101 lecture.

"Don't what?" he asked.

"Jim, I'm a scientist. I know there's a reason, but tonight I don't want a scientific explanation. All I need to know is that what I'm witnessing here is beautiful, man, a miracle. I mean, what are the odds of it happening this night of all nights?" Blair turned to face his friend. "Can you imagine what it must have been like that first Christmas, so long ago?" His gaze returned to the star. "For a moment the world stilled, and the light of that night sky turned its focus on a humble stable. Shepherds mingled with kings and angels, and all was right in the world for that moment."

Snowflakes began to fall, each crystal capturing the essense of starshine; a million prisms of light dancing on the wind. A beautiful sight to one with normal vision--more so to one blessed with the visual acuity of a Sentinel. Jim followed the path of several individual flakes that came to rest on Sandburg's dark curls, dusting them with whiteness.

A stillness settled around the two friends. Jim looked out over Cascade--his protectorate, as a cop and a Sentinel. He had once told Blair that a cop had to separate himself from his feelings in order to maintain objectivity and sanity. The cop could do that. The Sentinel often could not.

'Protect the tribe!' The law by which a Sentinel lived. Failure to protect a member of his tribe, such as the murdered store clerk, ate at him more than he had ever admitted to his Guide and friend.

Sandburg stood silent beside him, but Jim remembered the words his Guide had said to him in another time of pain and doubt.

Jim. You're a Sentinel, genetically predestined to protect others. That is who you are. Your compassion, the instinct to protect...it's your greatest strength, but it can also be your greatest weakness if you allow guilt to destroy you.

He could still see the fire in his young friend's eyes as Blair forced him to listen, to accept that Sentinel or not, he was only a man....

You're a Sentinel, a man who just happens to have a little edge over the rest of us, but you're still a man, Jim, not a god. All you can do is try, and hope. You do what you can to help. You do your best, and that's all you can do. That's all any of us can do. No man, Sentinel or not, can be expected to do more. To insist on perfection for yourself...it...well, it borders on arrogance and that's not you, Jim.

He always knows just what to say, and the words make a difference, the Sentinel thought, looking on his Guide with fondness.

So often he got caught up in the big picture, the twin blinders of cynicism and anger preventing him from seeing and experiencing the simple pleasures of life. As he watched Blair's joy and awe of the night sky he came to a realization. Sandburg guided him in the way of his Sentinel senses, but just as important, he was there to remind his Sentinel of what was really important in life--quiet moments, simple beauty, spending time with a friend. A rare gift indeed and a cherished one.

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the heaviness fade from his soul.

Blair is right. The star is beautiful. He could still feel wonder for its beauty, even with the explanation in the back of his mind. The clean, white snow fell on his face, melted, and washed the darkness of the day's events away. He could not change what had happened today, or what would happen tomorrow, but he could accept this gift, this moment of peace, this time with his friend. The anger, pain and cynicism faded, and he opened his eyes to see Blair studying him, a concerned frown touching the smaller man's brow.

"Jim, you okay, man?"

"Yeah, Chief," he said, his lips curving in a genuine smile. "I'm good."

Sandburg chuckled at Jim's attempt to imitate him. "I'm glad to hear it." He rested his hand on the older man's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze before turning back to look at the star once more. Blair crossed his arms, hugging them close to his body to ward off the chill of the December night. When he spoke, his voice was soft--thoughtful.

"My eyes have been opened in ways I never dreamed of only a few short months ago. I've seen so much violence, so much pain, and fear and things I can't understand. You've seen even more."

Familiar fear clamped down on the Sentinel's heart. The same terror that always struck whenever Sandburg mentioned the down side of partnering with a police officer. Would his Guide one day tire of the violence and return fully to the academic world? And what would Jim do on that day? He shook his head, casting those thoughts to the wind, giving Blair his full attention when he spoke once more.

"Seeing these things has changed me, but I won't let it destroy me or my belief in the ultimate good of humanity. It would be easy to dwell on the ugliness. There's no doubt it's there and strong, but I believe in balance, Jim. Yin and yang, evil and good." Blair's hands moved in a dance of their own, rising and falling with the sound of his voice--words and motion driving the point home. "When I see the beauty of this star, a sky canvas painted with the colors of a sunset, the delicate petals of a wildflower, the smile of a child; when I see you doing your best to protect someone who needs your help, I know there is so much that is right in the world, and I let that touch my heart and fill my soul."

Jim stared in surprise. Sandburg talked a lot, but rarely allowed the Sentinel to see this deeply inside his mind and heart. Another rare gift.

"When the world seems darkest that's when I'll remember the star, the sunset, my friend's bravery and dedication to others." Blair looked up at Jim, almost shyly. " If the world won't give me peace than I'll make my own peace. You can too." He shivered slightly and Jim moved closer to drop his arm around the younger man's shoulder, offering him warmth and the comfort of friendship.

I can make my own peace. He looked down at Blair, his friend's profile bathed in starlight. And when it all becomes too much for me, I have him. A friend, a guide who will lead me out of the dark, the sound of his voice, the warmth of his smile lighting the way. A man who can show me once again, how to feel wonder, and joy. A friend who is teaching me daily how to live.

Jim tapped Blair on the shoulder, capturing his eyes when the younger man looked up. "Where does all this wisdom come from, Chief? And how did you happen to fall into my life to teach it to me?"

"Fate, man," the smaller man laughed. As he studied the star once more, his smile faded, replaced by a thoughtful expression. "Or maybe something more."

Jim followed Blair's train of thought and nodded. "I started this evening feeling anything but peaceful. You showed me a star and made me notice. A small thing really. But now everything feels right to me and there's nowhere else I'd rather be."

Blair smiled. "Me either. Merry Christmas, Jim."

"Silent, night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright...."

Jim looked down to see the caroling children standing beneath the balcony, singing the story of that first Christmas, a night much like this one. Maybe there would never be peace on earth, but here in this place, for this moment, with this friend, all was right with his world, and he finally knew peace.

"Merry Christmas, Blair."

THE END