Title & Summary -
I Didn't Hear the Sentinel - 20/20 hindsight isn't always much fun.
Disclaimer: The characters depicted within this story do not belong to us, but are the property of Pet Fly, UPN, Paramount and The SciFi Channel. No money has been made from the writing of this story.
Note from the Author: Just couldn't get it out of my head. Takes place after TSbyBS. A big thank you to Sylvia for taking the time to beta this story. Earlier version posted to SA.
I DIDN'T HEAR THE SENTINEL
By Jael Lyn
March 2001
Blair Sandburg stared into the darkness. Occasionally, his eyes would drift shut, but not for long. Jim was up, and had been for awhile. Why was he awake at...3 AM? Blair tried to shove down his irritation. He was no stranger to the hours past midnight. Going to bed at three wouldn't have been outrageous at one time in his life, but not anymore. His days of all-night grading and studying were long gone.
He flirted with snuggling back into his blankets. He heard another vague shuffle from the kitchen. A cupboard door banged shut, followed by the soft cursing of his roommate. Jim was obviously trying not to wake him. Wearily Blair scrubbed at his face and sighed. Roaming in the dead of night was definitely not Jim's style. Maybe he was sick. Pushing his rumpled hair back from his face, he shuffled through the French doors.
"Jim? What's up, man?" Blair shivered, the smooth floor chilling his bare feet and the rest of his body. He groped for the light switch. Jim might be able to navigate in the pitch black, but he certainly couldn't. "Watch your eyes - lights on."
Jim Ellison was clad only in boxers. The wreckage of several kitchen cupboards dotted the counter. Shielding his eyes obediently, he looked up sheepishly at Blair. "Sorry, Chief. I was trying to be quiet. Go back to bed."
Blair dropped limply into the nearest chair. "I will, as soon as you tell me why you're rearranging the kitchen in the middle of the night." He stifled a huge yawn. "What are we doing, changing from alphabetical to color coding?"
"Ha, ha," Jim answered sarcastically. Blair wasn't fooled. The set of the larger man's shoulders told the real story. Something had Jim seriously upset. Blair just stared; calmly, expectantly. Jim caved.
"Don't make a big deal out of it. I just couldn't sleep."
"And this?" Blair answered, pointing at the counter.
"I was looking for your camo-whatever tea," Jim answered sulkily. "Nothing else was working," he added softly.
"It's chamomile, and I ran out last week." Despite his resentment, all of Blair's alarm bells were ringing now, and he was wide-awake. Jim searching for tea was right up there on the weird scale, somewhere between to going to the opera and joining an encounter group. "I'll make you some herbal mint stuff I have, but you stretch out on the couch and try to relax while I make it. While you're at it, you can tell me what's wrong with your senses."
"Who said anything about my senses?" Jim answered defensively.
Blair snorted. "Certainly not you. Fortunately, your body language is a lot more informative than your mouth."
Jim didn't make it to the living room. He took the chair Blair had just vacated, clearly agitated. He fidgeted, grimacing as if he were in pain. "Everything's on overdrive," he blurted out, giving vent to his frustration. "It's been like this for hours. Like static on a radio that I can't turn off."
*****
Simon Banks had seen enough. Detective Ellison and Detective Sandburg both looked like death warmed over, and neither one of them was getting any work done. Dark circles lined Sandburg's eyes. Given a chance, the normally hyper young man would probably take a nap under his desk. Ellison - well, Jim had plenty of bad days, but this was ridiculous. Jim was just a bundle of nerves; snapping, complaining, and restless. Caged animals had more calm.
"Sandburg!"
"Yes, Captain?"
Simon leaned on the desk, towering over both men, glaring sternly. "I don't know what's with the two of you today, but you both look beat. Get out of here. Grab an early lunch, go outside." Neither man made a move, or answered, for that matter. Lowering his voice, Simon whispered conspiratorially, "Is this some weird Sentinel thing, Jim? You look like you're ready to crawl out of your skin."
Jim started to bark out a reply, but a firm hand on his arm stopped him. "Simon, Jim's really on edge. Lunch outside might be the perfect solution." Blair grabbed their coats and steered Jim towards the door.
"I'm going to a budget meeting at quarter to eleven," Simon called after them. "Meet me in my office at one, and we'll go over the Dawson case." Blair raised a hand to wave just before the two men disappeared down the hallway. Simon shook his head. Even on a quiet day it was always something with those two.
He stomped into his office to retrieve his budget projections. All he needed was a little more irritation in his life.
*****
Blair was used to dealing with a cranky Ellison, but this was really beginning to annoy him. It wasn't his fault that Jim had been up all night and was going to be crabby all day. "Jim, you're making us both crazy! Calm down!"
"I can't!" Jim spun on his heel. The crisp, clean spring air had done nothing for his state of mind. He'd worked up to agitated pacing.
"Well, try! For once, just once, try to remember that I'm not the bad guy here." The sarcasm in Blair's own tone made him wince. He shouldn't have done that.
Jim started to snarl out a reply, and then shuddered in what looked like pain. "Please, Chief, I'm sorry." He frantically rubbed his own arms, clawing at the fabric of his jacket. "I'm losing it," he whimpered. "It's like I have ants under my skin. Do something, anything."
Blair's tone lost any trace of irritation. Jim was literally trembling, falling apart before his eyes. Blair came close, barely whispering. "Sit down, Jim. Close your eyes and follow my voice."
Jim never made it to the nearby bench. Crumpling to the ground, he cried out, grasping his head as more pain ripped through his skull.
*****
Simon cast a despairing look at the clock. Chief of Police Warren loved these formal meetings, but they didn't change the numbers. They were over budget and nothing was going to change that fact. Surely the old windbag wouldn't keep them past noon - again.
He winced as the Chief banged on the table for emphasis. Coffee cups the length of the long table jangled against their saucers. Simon sighed inwardly. This would be another long session, and why couldn't the stuffy old codger just let them bring their own mugs instead?
The crockery continued to chatter. Chief Warren looked down the long table, puzzled, his hands at his sides. Simon's own cup jumped more emphatically, to be joined by his chair. The walls creaked. Books that lined the floor to ceiling shelves began to tumble from their perches. Simon and most of the others in the room dove for safety under the thick, oak topped conference table. The clock showed almost eleven o'clock before it tilted crazily and crashed to the floor.
*****
The ground rolled beneath his knees. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the façade on a nearby brick building crumble into dust. Blair Sandburg clung to his now-limp friend, struggling to shelter him with his arms. He chided himself as the earth roared its protest.
When am I going to learn to listen to what he doesn't say? He needed my help, and I blew it. I'm the Guide, and I didn't hear the Sentinel. I didn't hear the Sentinel.
The End
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