Disclaimer: The Sentinel is the property of UPN and Pet Fly Productions. No copyright infringement is intended. No money is exchanging hands.

I've never written anything that starts out this intense before, so bear with me. If you think you know what's going on here and want to bail, please read on. It's short and it might surprise you (then again, it might not). If you are inclined to comment, you can reach me at: TateWG@aol.com.

Thank you, Joanne!! I can't believe I almost posted this without your help. It would have had more mistakes than I can count. Also, a special thanks to Lorrie, who has helped me smooth out some rough spots and convinced me to post despite my reservations.

WARNING! WARNING!: This is a missing scene from "Vendetta" and contains spoilers and actual dialogue from the episode.

Rated PG-13 for violence. It may be archived.

THE NECESSARY PRECAUTIONS
(missing scene from 'Vendetta')
by Tate

I sit in my car, far enough away to observe the entire area and wired to my men in the field. Brown is overseeing the snipers, Rafe the ground team. I watch as Jim walks out of the building with the gang of safecrackers behind him. His other half, Sandburg is with the ground team, against my better judgment, but equipped with a bulletproof vest. He wanted to be as close as possible in case Jim needs him, and I gave in to his request.

I'm dreaming; I'm having a nightmare. The thought comes to me as the bust begins to go horribly wrong. Through the binoculars, I see one of the thieves take out a gun and point it at Jim's back. He must know Jim's a cop; he must have been tipped off somehow. My detective is oblivious, lost in the moment, waiting for the right time to signal us. Why aren't his senses telling him what's happening? I know he doesn't have eyes in the back of his head, but can't he hear something?

"Prepare to move in on my order!" I shout through the wire.

Then, the unthinkable happens. I'm sure Jim's zoning out. He stops and stares off into the distance, immobile. What the hell is he zoning on? The gun comes up behind him, level with his head. Is this guy nuts? There are people all around! Pedestrians. Witnesses.

I begin to give the order, but my voice is cut off by the sound of a discharging gun. I expect to see my best detective and one of my closest friends fall. Instead, Jim holds his hand up to his ear for a split second, and then swiftly turns around and disarms the man with a vicious punch.

"Go! Move in! Move in!" I shout.

"Sandburg's down!" I hear Rafe's frantic voice come through the wire. "Get a medic!"

Oh god, not the kid. My heart leaps into my throat. I crank the engine and speed toward the scene as bullets fly from the rooftop snipers. My men move in and the small gang is subdued. I step out of the car as they're being cuffed and read their rights.

Once I'm standing on the sidewalk, all I have to do is follow Jim's stricken gaze to find the police observer lying close to the hidden stairwell. There are already a couple of medics kneeling beside him.

Rafe comes up to me. In a low, despairing voice, he explains, "Sandburg stood up and screamed for Ellison. The kid warned him and took a bullet for it. He didn't even have a gun."

Of course not, it was a given that Sandburg didn't carry a gun. As it should be a given that he not wait with the first line of offense during a major bust. Dammit! Dammit all to hell! What was I thinking? I'd seen him play hero before, putting himself in the line of fire to save someone else. Now he'd done it again and maybe for the last time.

When I don't reply aloud, Rafe moves away quietly.

Ellison, in turn, doesn't acknowledge my presence. His eyes measure the distance between himself and his partner. He then turns his head and glares menacingly at the man who shot Blair. I can only imagine what's running through his mind. I ready myself to step between him and the restrained criminal, but instead of venting his anger on the shooter, he turns back to face what lies ahead. His expression has become a stoic mask.

Moving forward, Jim passes me and I follow. He must know something. His senses must be telling him, giving him an idea of what he might find.

It seems like the two of us walk in slow motion--in long careful strides across the concrete. With each step, I feel my heart quicken in fear.

As much as I like to think I'm a hardened cop, ready for any sight as horrific as it might be, I'm not ready to see this. Blair is lying on his back, one hand flung out at his side, fingertips almost touching the broken binoculars that had fallen from his grasp. His once expressive blue eyes are staring, empty. Blood has pooled under his head. The bullet wound is half-hidden by his long hair. The vest hadn't done him any good.

Jim crouches beside the body. The medics give him room, since it's obvious there's nothing more they can do. No words are exchanged. None are needed. Blair Sandburg-- anthropologist, police observer, and friend--is dead. My fear is realized.

Standing slightly behind and to the right of Ellison, I watch as he places a hand on his friend's chest, atop the vest and over his heart, confirming what I'm sure he heard. Adding stillness to the silence. He runs his other hand over the kid's face, closing his eyes. I swallow against the emotions rising in my throat, genuinely surprised Jim hasn't broken down yet.

As the moment stretches on, my surprise turns to concern. The medics have moved away altogether, leaving Jim and me alone at Blair's side. No one else has dared to approach us. The only movement is the kid's long hair brushing over his face in the breeze. I can't even tell if Jim is breathing; his shoulders are so still. One hand remains pressed against Blair's chest, as though he can't believe what's happened. As though he can't fathom his loss.

Finally, I bend to touch Ellison. Muscles tense beneath my hand. "Come on, Jim. There's nothing you can do here," I say.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he shrugs my hand off and sits on the ground, planting himself like he's never going to get up. He leans forward and brushes the hair out of Blair's graying face. God help me, Sandburg looks so young. I know he'd become like a younger brother to Ellison, filling the void Jim's own brother had left years ago. I've always known there was nothing they wouldn't do for each other. And now, the younger man had proven that. He saved Jim's life, sacrificing his own. I can't help but wonder what life Jim will have left without him.

I kneel beside Ellison. I want desperately to let him know how sorry I am, how responsible I feel. But first, I need to reach him and lead him away from a scene that will be permanently burned into our minds. "Jim?"

A sudden shudder travels through Ellison's body, as though he was touched by a cold wind, but still he doesn't acknowledge my presence.

"Jim, come on. Look at me," I urge.

Ellison turns toward my voice. His hand slides off Blair's chest. The mask crumbles and the look of despair replacing it steals my breath. "He's gone," Jim whispers. I see the glistening of tears in his eyes. His world's been shattered.

"Jim, I'm sorry," I tell him, though those few words can't express my own grief. Reaching out, I touch his arm again. It seems as though his pain travels through the connection, overwhelming me. I drop my gaze from his tortured look and close my eyes for a moment.

My phone rings...

I'm disoriented, trying to turn toward the sound that seems to be coming from a distance now. It rings again. I sit up straight on my couch. My couch?

Grabbing the phone from the coffee table, I answer it. "Banks," I say, forgetting I'm at home.

"Oh, hey, Captain, I don't mean to bother you, but I just talked to Jim, and you weren't at the station."

My heart is in my throat. "Blair?" I manage to croak.

"Yeah, Jim wanted me to have you put out an order to pick up Freeman on a stalking charge. He followed Jim to the hotel."

"Sandburg?" I speak again, trying to confirm without a doubt the identity of the person on the other end of the line.

"What?"

The dream slowly fades into the part of my brain it had come from. The police observer's voice banishes it. If he were standing in front of me, I probably would have hugged him. Thank god, he isn't. "Nothing, I'll put the order out." I remember I'd looked over the site of tomorrow's bust with both Rafe and Brown earlier in the day. Our brief inspection must have partially influenced the dream. "Did Jim say anything about tomorrow?"

"He said it's going down." Blair sounds nervous.

"We'll be ready," I assure him.

Clicking off the phone, I rub my hands over my face and wonder what else might have contributed to the nightmare. Why had my mind chosen to envision such a disastrous outcome to tomorrow's set up? Sure, I can admit to being anxious about it, as I usually was about any planned bust involving my team. But why the vivid nightmare? And why Sandburg?

I can't even begin to speculate. Maybe it's enough that I'm determined to do everything in my power not to see the nightmare realized. I sigh heavily and click the phone back on to call the station.

The morning finds Blair and I sitting in the car in front of the high-rise. I made it clear to him that this is as close as he gets. He argued with me, but I didn't budge. Now he's nervous. He fidgets beside me. Better a frustrated police observer than a dead one.

My phone rings. I lift it and bark my name.

"It's me," Jim says.

"Jim, where are you?"

"I just got to the hotel. What's the word on Freeman?"

"Still no sign of him," I reply. The fact we have a crazed stalker on the loose is more than I can tolerate. I give voice to my fears. "I think we should call off this whole operation."

"That's a bad move," Jim says with confidence. "I'm inside, sir. It's almost over. Anyway, they're here. Blow them off now and we lose them forever." His tone changes and his false accent kicks in. "Alright Darlin', I love you. Bye-bye."

I click off the phone, staring at it with a half-grin.

"What?" Sandburg asks.

I look over at him, unable to mask my amusement. "It's hard to keep a straight face when Jim just called me Darlin'. That accent of his isn't half-bad," I say, shaking my head.

Sandburg grins. "Last night on the phone he called me Honey. . . and Sugar." He laughs and for a moment his concern for his partner is lost in our exchange. "He told Melanie I was his wife."

"Fitting--you nag as much as a wife," I quip.

Blair rolls his eyes. "It's only because I care," he says, and though his tone is light I recognize the truth behind his statement. I know he would give his life for Jim without a second thought. But I won't let him, at least not today.

Tucking the phone in my pocket, I try to shake off my bad feelings about this bust.

'It was just a dream,' I tell myself. 'Just one hell of a god-awful dream.'

Minutes later the game begins. I lift the binoculars to my face and watch the Zeus truck pull to a stop in front of the high-rise. The woman exits first. The men follow.

"All right, it's going down. Everybody in position?" I ask through the mic.

"We're set on the ground," Rafe assures me.

"The rooftop snipers are in place, Captain," Brown says.

"They're in," I announce. "Stay alert, ladies and gentlemen."

Sandburg remains silent beside me while my mind replays the nightmare for what must be the hundredth time. I've never been one to believe in precognition, but I've taken no chances here. Jim wouldn't want Blair any closer than he is now. I only hope I haven't somehow put my detective's life in danger by protecting his partner.

Soon, we find our plan about to reach its conclusion.

"They're coming out," Sandburg announces.

I lift the binoculars. It's my nightmare coming true. They have a gun on Jim's back, but he's walking slowly, cautiously like he knows it. "Looks like they got a gun on him," I say. "Dammit! They know he's a cop." Even though I make it a point not to glance at Blair, I can feel the fear coming off him in waves. I grab the mic. "Alright, this is Captain Banks. Sharpshooters--find your targets. Nobody else move until my say-so. Repeat--do not move in."

"You're not just going to let them start shooting, are you?" Sandburg is frantic. He seems to be on the verge of a panic attack.

"If we don't take them out now, Jim's dead for sure," I tell him. Instantly, I chide myself for my straight-forward delivery and add, "Now trust me. He knows the drill."

Although I make a point not to show it, I'm ready to grab for Blair if he so much as touches the door handle.

Through the binoculars, I see Jim spot the sniper and duck under the gunshot that rings out. Ellison is turning, adding his fists to the fray breaking out behind him.

"All units get in there now! Now!" I yell as I gun the engine.

My car screeches to a halt only feet away. I'm already walking toward Jim, when I notice Sandburg stepping out. Though the bust is over and the gang is in custody, I can't seem to stop protecting the kid. "You stay in the car!" I shout, pointing a finger at him.

Sandburg just nods wide-eyed. He holds the door open in front of him, but makes no move to get back in. His stare drifts over to Jim, as does mine.

"Freeman got to the girl," Ellison explains.

"Almost got you killed." I can't keep my anxiety from echoing in my voice.

Jim turns his head. I can tell he's focusing on something. "Son of a ...," he mutters. Make that some*one*.

Before I can say anything else, Jim takes off running across the grass toward a distant figure. Freeman, no doubt. Damn, this can still go down badly.

I look back toward the car. "Sandburg, let's go," I say.

Blair's strapped in and ready when I slide into the driver's seat. "It's Freeman, right?" he asks as I rev the engine. "He's going after Freeman."

"Yeah," my reply weighs heavily in the air between us as I reverse the car. This nut case almost got my best detective killed. Now Jim is chasing him down alone.

"We've gotta get to him, Simon." Blair sounds desperate. "This guy is driving Jim crazy, man. Who knows . . . we've just gotta find them."

"I'm doing my best, Sandburg. Keep your eyes open," I tell him, as I speed through the streets of Cascade.

Just as I'm starting to wonder if we'll be able to find Jim, I turn a corner and see him stumble onto the sidewalk and into the road in front of the car. I stop a few feet away. Both Sandburg and I leap out without a word to each other.

The look on Jim's face says it all, but he speaks anyway. "He's gone."

"Lost him?"

"Hey, Jim, use your senses--concentrate on his cologne," Blair suggests.

Without questioning the younger man's advice, Ellison sniffs the air. His head turns away from us. I can almost feel something claim his entire focus. "He went down the sewer," he says.

Great, it has to be the sewer! "I'm going to call for backup. My cell won't work down in the sewer," I tell Jim as he starts down the street. His shadow inches away from me, trying to make a break for it, unnoticed. "Sandburg, where are you going?"

"He needs one of us with him," the kid states, walking backward. Though he respects me, I wonder if I can stop him with anything short of a tackle. "In the state he's in, who knows what he'll do to Freeman if he gets a hold of him."

He makes sense, but I don't have to like it. The nightmare creeps up on me, but another scenario plays itself out in my head. What if Jim does lose control? I'd seen it happen more than once, most recently with the cop-killer, Quinn. "You can go," I tell Blair. "I'm calling for backup."

Dialing, I watch as Sandburg runs toward the sewer entrance, wondering if I've just made a huge mistake. Maybe this is when it becomes more like my dream. I could have just exchanged one bad call for another. If something happens to Sandburg now . . .

In minutes, squad cars begin to pull up around me. I give the order for them to block off the streets in the area in case Freeman tries to make a break for it.

As I'm about to assign men to go after them with me, Jim and Freeman emerge from the sewer, followed closely by Sandburg. I sigh heavily with relief noticing that all three look the worse for wear, but none seem to be injured.

Grim-faced, Jim crosses the distance to me with one hand firmly wrapped around Freeman's arm. The man is handcuffed. He keeps his eyes down as he walks. Blair is walking behind Jim, his own hand on his partner's back as though guiding him.

I don't see how tightly the kid is clutching Jim's jumpsuit until Jim passes me to hand Freeman over to a uniformed officer. "He's been read his rights," Ellison explains, throwing one last glare at the man, before he's led away. My detective doesn't seem to notice or maybe he doesn't mind the fact that Sandburg has a death-grip on his Zeus outfit.

"You okay, Jim?" I ask.

"Yes, sir," he answers, more formal than usual. His lips form a thin line, a weak attempt at a smile.

I look over at Sandburg, who's lingering behind Jim. He looks a bit pale. Before I can comment, Jim turns slightly toward his partner. Bending one arm behind him, he grabs Blair's wrist and disengages his hand. "It's okay, Chief," he says softly. Their eyes meet. "Everything's okay now." Blair nods and Jim lets go of his wrist, moving his hand to rest on Sandburg's shoulder. He leans closer to the young man. "You all right?"

"Yeah...yeah, I'm fine." Blair's voice seems shaky.

Watching and wondering at the exchange, I ask, "Is there something I should know?"

Quickly, Blair chimes in, "No, Captain. It was just . . . well, Freeman had us going for a while . . . with the methane down there . . . he was going to fire his gun, and . . ." Blair makes a motion with his hands, spreading them apart in a simulation of an explosion.

Jim turns his eyes to mine, picking up where Blair left off. "Freeman and I struggled," he explains. "I almost let him fall over a ledge. I almost let him go. I was angry--crazed." Jim pauses a moment, but his gaze didn't waver. "Blair talked some reason back into me," he says, finally.

Ellison's revelation concerns, but doesn't surprise me. This Freeman is certifiable. After everything he'd pulled, I can see how Jim could lose control. I can't condone it, but at least I understand.

"You would've never dropped him, Jim," Blair says. The faith his voice exudes is unmistakable.

"At least we won't have to find that out, huh?" He squeezes Sandburg's shoulder and looks back at me.

Unknowingly, Jim has summed up the whole of my experiences in the last couple of days. Truly, we won't have to find out what would have happened had I not allowed Blair to follow Jim, and we won't have to know if I'd saved Blair's life by not letting him any closer to the actual bust.

The discussion about Jim's actions can wait. I'm mentally drained and they both look physically and emotionally spent. I'm sure they're in need of some down time to catch their breath and make sense of what happened. I know I do.

"Go home. You can make your statements and fill out reports later," I say, waving them on. "Have Brown take you back to your car, and get cleaned up for crying out loud."

They both smile. Jim gives Blair a gentle push, and they move away from me. I grin as I watch them go, knowing how much they depend on one another and realizing the strength of their bond. Silently, I vow to do everything in my power, take all the necessary precautions to make sure my nightmare never becomes a reality.

THE END