The Lunatic Fringe

Sun, 13 Dec 2009 22:53:12 GMT

Happy Birthday Luicat!!!

May there be much cake and happiness for you!

New Fic: TS

Sun, 10 Feb 2008 23:05:45 GMT

Hey all!

Well, here goes, my very first slash. Whoo-hoo! I happily lay the blame at T. Verano's feet for enticing me into writing slash. Though this isn't the one with the chocolate ice cream...but I promise, soon- 'kay? The rest of you lovely writers also inspire the heck out of me and more often than not, are the reason I have to run and stick my head in the freezer to cool down.

Hope y'all like!

Title: A Matter of Timing
Author: JadeBear
Disclaimer: I so do not own the characters of Jim and Blair. They are the property of Pet Fly and Paramount. If I owned them they would be gently chained in the basement for my amusement. I’ve made no money off of this story.
Category: Slash J/B; First Times

Word count: 2,438

A Matter of Timing
by JadeBear (JB)

Carolyn Plummer was his hero.

After all, if not for good ol’ Caro, he might never have considered the possibility. Oh, well, he did consider it. A lot. Pondered. Wondered. Day dreamed. Fantasized. Fantasized some more. But never in his wildest dreams did Blair Sandburg even once stop to consider that James Ellison might in fact, fantasize about him. Until Carolyn. God bless her.

She’d been in town a month ago for a conference and subsequently had looked up her Ex, who in turn had seemed happy enough to treat her to dinner. Carolyn had come to the door dressed to the nines. Blair had peeked over his laptop as she’d strutted in and had been bemused at her obvious overtones towards Jim. Jim had smiled, made polite small talk and bad quips and she laughed in all the right places and clutched his arm possessively as they walked out the door, her four inch fuck me heels clicking on the hardwood and Jim, Detective of the Year (twice mind you), was oblivious to it all. Blair had been bemused and had almost laughed outright as her attempt to give Jim a welcoming kiss had failed utterly and she ended up catching his cheek instead.

It was funny until they walked out the door and Sandburg realized that oblivious or not, if she wanted to get reacquainted in the biblical sense, it wouldn’t take much to convince Jim that it was a swell idea. If flirtatious overtones wouldn’t work, then pulling at the mans’ fly would probably get his attention.

Blair lost his smile.

Two hours later and nothing but gibberish filling three whole pages, Blair gave up the ghost. He’d get a lot more done at the University. Packing up his notes and laptop, he’d refused to acknowledge the added bonus that if he were gone, he wouldn’t have to watch Jim and Carolyn walk through the door, only to be asked politely to leave anyway with only a twenty for his compliance. He didn’t think he could watch the Godfather one more time.

“Where ya going, Chief?”

Blair had looked up, startled as he’d been unlocking his car door to see Jim and Carolyn stepping out of her Buick. It didn’t surprise Blair. He couldn’t picture Carolyn being caught dead in the truck. Personally, he loved Sweetheart. It had bench seats. Fantasies were easier with bench seats.

“I was headed to the U, ya know, get caught up,” He glanced over to see Carolyn standing on the curb, an unreadable expression on her face. Probably annoyed with the small talk taking up all her pillow talk time. “I can stay gone, uh, ya know, if you need me to,” It was hard to force the words past his teeth, but hell, what were pals for?

Jim tilted his head. “Why would you need to do that?” Blair’s eyebrows hit his hairline and before he could say anything, Jim was placing his hands on Carolyn’s arms, he was leaning in and Blair couldn’t help but stand there and watch. He could almost feel those hands on his arms, the length of their bodies pressed close, the heat of Jim’s breath as he leaned in and kissed his…cheek?

“I had a great night, Carolyn. Be careful going back to San Francisco,”

She said something polite back to him, but it was hard to hear because she had to force the words through a tight smile. Jim turned to him then and smiling said, “Don’t stay up too late, Chief.”

“S-Sure,” And if his voice cracked, then hey, maybe it was cold. He was trying not to smile with Carolyn still watching Jim’s back as he disappeared through the apartment doors, but it was hard. Jim may not be interested in him, or men in general, which was where the problem lay, but apparently he wasn’t interested in Carolyn Plummer either. It was hard not to gloat.

He’d thrown his backpack in the car, after all, he really did need to get some work done, when he sensed a dark presence. And she was pissed.

“So was it before or after I left?”

And the guys made fun of him for his ‘Sandburg Zone.’

“Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” She poked her manicured finger at his face and he leaned back, looking cross-eyed for a second.

“Carolyn, I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. Before or after what?”

She stepped back and folded her arms tight across her chest, her pretty face pinched and narrow.

“I knew about the army things. He thinks I don’t. But sometimes he had nightmares about the crash in Peru. He said things about that Sarris,” She blushed then and looked away. “I never told him. I thought it was just a stress thing, in the military, from what he did,” She looked back at him then and he didn’t know what to think, because surely she wasn’t saying what he thought she was saying.

“I, uh,” He coughed, “I didn’t know that,”

She looked at him strangely and he just stood there dumbly. Carolyn had shaken her head then, her arms tightening around herself.

“I don’t know what I was thinking tonight,” She was still looking away and Blair realized that she was talking more to herself than to him at that point. “I just wanted…” She looked up and Blair felt sorry for her and the sheen in her eyes. She shook her head then and looked at him as though truly seeing at him for the first time.

“Carolyn-“

Her outstretched hand stopped him. She took a deep breath, rolled back her shoulders and held her head high. And then she graced him with a sad little smile.

“I hope you make him happy, Blair. I certainly couldn’t.”

With those final words, Carolyn Plummer gracefully retreated, got in her Buick and left with Blair staring after her. His jaw was still hanging four inches below his face when he slowly turned and looked towards the loft.

No. Fucking. Way.

His hands shook trying to fit the key in the ignition. Did Jim and Sarris have a thing way back when? His heart hammered for two hours straight. Was Jim actually into guys? He got absolutely no work done. Was it true? As he crept back into the loft late that night and lay down in his bed, his eyes boring holes through the ceiling to where Jim lay, Blair had a whole line of tests worked out in his head.

None of them had to do with the senses.

*******

It was all in the timing, really.

Like making sure he was juuuuust coming out of his room, dressed only in his black silk boxers, the ones that were a little too loose, while towel drying his hair because he’d just had a shower, just as Jim stepped through the door. Oh and hey, while he’s out there, he might as well check the mail Jim was bringing in. And if his boxers were hanging just a little lower, the angles of his hip bones standing out; if their hands grazed one another as he took the mail, so what? And so what, when Jim bitched about Sandburg getting water on the floor, his voice came out a little rough and breathy…well, so what?

Yes timing was important. Like getting dressed up for a fundraiser. Even if it wasn’t for another three hours but Jim was leaving for a steak out in one and he got ready sooner anyway…well, better early than late. And he had to look good. He was representing the University. It was his duty to put forth his best impression. The long sleeve silk shirt was something of a deep blue, not too dark, but one that made his eyes look deeper. The black dress slacks cupped and hugged him in all the right places. He left the collar button undone and had found a choker with thick double black cording and set off with an etched Inuit wolf on a three inch pewter tube laying longways with the cords strung through it. It peeked between his shirt perfectly. Of course, he just couldn’t possibly get in on by himself. So what if he had to have Jim clasp it in the back for him? And if he had to bite back a moan as Jim’s calloused hand gently pulled his hair aside, his fingertips grazing the back of his neck, well, he got his necklace on, didn’t he? And if Jim’s hands seemed to be shaking and if Jim just looked down at him with an intensity that left Blair breathless, even as he’d walked out the door, well?

Score two for Sandburg.

Timing was standing in front of the stove for twenty-three minutes and bending over just as the front door opens and Jim calls out, “Hey Chief, something sm-smells, um…good,”
And timing is making sure that he stayed in that position, his threadbare, impossibly tight, obscene and most comfortable pair of faded jeans hugging his ass, and then standing slowly, replacing his shit-eating grin with something softer as he looks over his shoulder and says, “Thanks. Almost ready,” And if Jim can only seem to nod at that point, but his adam’s apple is working overtime, well then…
Timing is making sure to immediately grab the bowl of salad off the counter and accidently slip on the way to the table so Jim would automatically reach out to steady him. And when Blair pushed back against Jim, just a little, he had to keep the smile off his face. And if he could only whisper a thank you, and Jim could only nod, well…he’d felt more than Jim’s hands on his arms. The third test was complete. And judging by what he’d felt pressed against those threadbare jeans for just an agonizingly amazing moment, he could honestly say that it was a complete success.

*****

The dilemma now was how to approach the situation. Meaning Jim.

It was obvious the guy was into him. Blair thought about being romantic. But after torturing himself on what was too romantic versus just right, he gave up on that. Simple was better anyway. Jim was complex, but he appreciated the little things. Maybe they could walk on the beach?

He would say something clever and Jim would be stunned and then smile and take Blair into his arms, crushing them together until there was no space between, like they were crawling into one another and they’d fall into the sand. Jim’s hard length would be spread over him, pressing him down, a solid weight that would be liberating. He could practically feel Jim’s hand in his hair, pulling and stroking and his other hand would be moving under Blair’s shirt, skittering across his belly, pinching his nipples and then suddenly skimming lower as Blair arched into him, into Jim with his whole body, their mouths devouring one another. Jim’s nimble fingers, fingers that had squeezed the triggers of countless guns, had struck and punched, his fingers would undo Blair’s fly and those fingers, those hands that could act in such violence would act with nothing but utter love, utter brilliance. Jim’s hand would move lower and lower to a place Blair had allowed only one other man and he’s arching and moaning and it’s agony and it’s exquisite and he thinks, no he knows, he knows he’s been waiting for Jim. Just Jim. He let that other man, when they were young and lonely in some tropical forest long ago, but it hadn’t been like this. It had been clumsy and ridiculous and not like this. Not like, not like, oh, god, oh god not like this. And then, and then…but what if someone saw them and called the cops? Or recognized Jim?

Blair sits upright from his slouched position in the dining room chair, his hand falling from where he’d tangled it in his hair as his other hand re-buttons his fly.

And what about the sheer mess of having sex without a spare change of clothes? He knows Jim. Jim would want to change. And sand…sand would get everywhere, and he doesn’t want to think about where everywhere would entail… Maybe he’s making this too complicated.

“Agghh,” He claws his hands through his hair in frustration and looks like a wild man when he was done. Okay, somewhere private. Jim was a private kind of guy. And if he didn’t want to come out because of his job…yeah, private. A hotel? How the heck would he even get him there? A hotel didn’t seem overly romantic when they weren’t even a couple yet.

The loft? Well, okay. Convenient. Changes of clothes. Shower. Blair let his eyes wonder up to the loft. A bed. A big bed. He shifted in his chair. Loft. Yeah. The loft was good. But how? Hey Jim, here’s some Mac and Cheese and me. Right here, on the table. What a spread, huh? He put his hands flat on the table he was sitting in front of and he could see himself on his back, Jim looming over him, those hands on Blair’s hips, Jim’s chest a sheen of sweat and they’re both panting with need and his hair’s in what’s left of the macaroni and his left heel is in the salad but man, who the hell cares at that point…

Blair jumps up from the table and he doesn’t think he can sit at it again until he knows for sure if Jim will accept everything that Blair’s going to offer him. He stills then, because it’s just hitting him. He doesn’t want a one-nighter. He doesn’t want something to pacify him for the meantime. He doesn’t want a convenient relationship.

A slow smile spreads over his face. He hears the lock turn in the front door. No, he wants more. Jim’s home. He wants everything that is Jim. Jim’s coming through the door and Blair hears it close behind the other man. And it’s the first time he wants to give everything he has, everything he is. He turns and sees Jim standing there, just inside the door. Blair smiles, slowly, because he finally gets it. Jim looks uncertain for a moment, just a moment. And then, a slow smile spreads across Jim’s lips and Blair has never felt more warm, more whole in his entire life. Maybe love really is that simple. That complicated. Whatever it is, Blair thinks as Jim presses the length of his body against his, whatever it is, it’s all in the timing.

Update on my father-in-law

Sun, 10 Feb 2008 21:39:23 GMT

Howdy all! I just want to thank all those who have been keeping my father-in-law in their prayers. Last I've heard, they've turned the ventilator down as he is breathing better on his own. He is coming in and out of consciousness, which is confusing for him, but Mike has been there to reassure him each time. The nurse has said that he is a miracle already in that most people don't even make it to surgery after having an anuerysm rupture. He's not out of the woods yet, but he's doing better than we could ever have hoped.

Thank you again!
JB

Prayers requested

Thu, 07 Feb 2008 15:19:10 GMT

Hi all

I haven't been on here much lately but if anyone can send some prayers this way, it'd be appreciated. My husband (we're seperated but still friends) called this morning and told me that his father's annurism (god, I can't spell for crap right now) burst early this morning. He went through surgery fine and is stable, but doctors aren't giving much hope for a recovery. I'm heading up there soon, but thought I'd ask for some good vibes. Thank you all and be safe.

Love
JB

Hugs from the Void

Sat, 26 Jan 2008 21:00:24 GMT

*huge happy sigh* Thanks to my wonderful father who went out and bought a wireless router, I now have internet cabability. Yay! Talk about going through net withdrawal...

I just wanted to thank all of you who have shown such wonderful support for me as I go through this rollercoaster. And yet, thank you seems so simple and inadequant when it has meant so much more. I had to reach for the Puffs when I read your comments on T's site. Though the divorce is amicable and I know at this point there's nothing else to be done, it's been the hardest thing I've ever gone through, and all within less than six weeks. In that amount of time, we decided to get the dissolution, we've put the house up for sale, packed boxes after working full shifts and even had Christmas in there somewhere. I've moved into my folks old house, just across from where they live now. A blessing to have a place to live that will accept me and my faithful hound and get on my feet finacially. I feel as though I am finally waking up from the fog I've been in and can actually tell you what day it is now. Whoo-hoo! Now it's just figuring out what to do from here. But when I have moments where my thinking is very low, I read your comments and feel so much better and even a little stronger. Thank you, thank you all so much. Now to get my fix of all things J/B...

And thank you so much, my beautiful friend T...what would I do without you?

Love y'all,
JB:)

Wed, 31 Oct 2007 21:08:27 GMT

Gilly, I'm so sorry about your mother. All my prayers and thoughts are with you and your family.

::hugs::

Birthday Squee!!!

Tue, 02 Oct 2007 01:20:56 GMT

Wishing laurie_kyand sparrowhawk17happy birthdays!!!

I hope you both had a great day filled with gooey-goodness in the form of something sugary and utterly bad for you complete with loving family and friends.

Warmest wishes to you both!!

JB:)

Morning Lovlies!

Mon, 01 Oct 2007 10:09:22 GMT

I just wanted to make a quick post and apologize for not replying to all of my lovely friends who commented on my stories last week. I haven't forgotten you and am so touched by your wonderful comments! I've been on some medication that, while I felt great last month, it is starting to affect me in a not so great way. I'm tired all the time and am dreaming so constantly that I don't feel like I've slept at all. Grrr. And do you think I could finally get a good rest and sleep in on my day off? Noooo....of course not. So I'm up this morning at 5:30 and thought I'd be at least a little productive. I'm hoping to reply to everyone today, but wanted to let you know that I haven't forgotten you, or have been ungrateful or anything. Just um, weary. *g* Thank you, T ,who offered to update everyone for me...
::mondo hugs you fabulous woman::

Okay, off to get some go-go juice (coffee loaded with caffeine) and then down to business.

Hope y'all have a peachy day!

JB:)

Sun, 23 Sep 2007 15:45:05 GMT

Wow...two posts in one day. What is the world coming to?

This is chapter 3 of the Good Guys series and it's necessary to have read the other two first if you don't want to be scratching your head on this part. Though, you might be scratching your head anyway. *G*

Title: The Good Path
Series: Good Guys
Author: JadeBear
Disclaimer: The Sentinel, Jim and Blair belong to Pet Fly and Paramount. I'm just taking them out for non-profit spin.
Warnings: You know, the usual- run-on sentences, slight potty mouth.
Word count: 3,743

The Good Path

Blair

There should have been more.

There should have been an entire procession of people with brightly colored banners and drums. There should have been singing and weeping.

For a moment, Blair has an insane picture of a New Orleans jazz band leading the Chopec tribe through the humid jungle night. He can hear the lively blast of trumpets and tubas; he can see the feathered masks and dancing ribbons; spider monkeys howling and going insane at the racket. Incacha would have loved it.

Instead, it's just the two of them, tromping through the underbrush, Jim in the lead while he clutches the older mans' jacket from behind. They've been traveling for two days after setting out on foot from the lonely airstrip. They haven't spoken much. Jim seems pensive about more than just their little mission, but all he'll say is that he'd talked to Marvin. He'd asked if Steven was alright and Jim had gotten this almost surprised look on his face, graced with a smile and would only say, "Yeah. Yeah he is." Blair would get it out of him later. But not now. He looks down and watches the muted fluorescent glow from decaying flora as his feet sweep past. No, not now.

The only sounds now were what the jungle offered up to fall in sync with their own quiet breathing. For the second time in as many months, they were making their way to the Temple of Light to lay their friend, their teacher to rest and it caught Blair hard that Incacha deserved more.

He deserved more than the two of them.

Incacha would be gracious. He would say that it was a great honor to be led to the afterlife by a Sentinel and his Guide.

Blair would say it was a tragedy to be led to the afterlife by criminals.

"We're here,"

He starts a little and looking past Jim, Blair can just make out the dark silhouette set against an ever darkening canopy. There is the slightest break in the treetops, where starlight peeks through, the haze of the Milky scattering overhead.

He thinks maybe they've stepped back in time and for one perfect moment- they have.

A cool wind shivers up his spine. It passes through him and he's rubbing his arm, the one Incacha clutched as he lay dying, imparting the blessing, the Way; Blair's own private curse.

He can see mist rise up from the jungle floor, dancing, swirling, winding back and forth, back and forth until slowly, tendrils reach for one another becoming something more. Something tangible and real. He stares in awe, wonder and horror vying for dominance as warriors form from the mist two by two, side by side. Their skin is a translucent blue hue, writhing and swirling, as though the fog stirs beneath unsteady forms. They turn, their black eyes catching his unblinking ones, before turning slowly and gliding towards the temple steps. Sentinels and Guides. Those who have gone before. He swallows hard and Jim is looking back at him with raised brows and he doesn't seem to notice as the warriors walk through him and Blair thinks Jim might not be happy about being a thoroughfare, but he just keeps watching and Jim turns and walks behind the others, oblivious, and Blair feels a tightness now that is far different from the tightness he's been feeling.

We're their descendents. The thought strikes him hard. Ellison doesn't realize that he's put himself in line, and Blair doesn't know what he's feeling, seeing Jim with the dead, following them up the steps and he wonders if he's going crazy and it wouldn't really be the first time, but this time he's quite aware isn't he?

"Jim-" he chokes and Jim is turning immediately and the warriors march into the temple, their forms dissipating into wisps of nothing.

"Blair?" There's concern in the older man's tone. A lot of it. But the- whatever they were, are gone now. Blair just shakes his head, and finds that it matches the shaking of his hands. Jim comes down a step, but Blair takes a deep breath and on wooden legs, gains the steps. Jim hesitates only a moment before turning and walking forwards.

Behind him, Blair has never been more aware of history and the walking in the footsteps of others in all his life as he is now. They're at the top now and they both stop and Blair is ready to do this, to finish this, and Jim shrugs the duffle bag off his shoulders and Blair catches sight of the shoulder holster under the other's jacket as the duffle catches on the nylon and suddenly a force so powerful plows into Blair's chest and he stops breathing and they can't do this. This isn't right and he can feel his own weapon strapped to the small of his back and he hates it, but he has it just in case, just for Jim and he sees all those they've worked for, stolen from, hurt, flash before his eyes and he sees his own humiliation from so long ago and he hears the filthy names and the pain is there and he sees the judging eyes of the dead and dear God, they can't do this.

**0**

Jim

Jim takes two steps before realizing his Guide isn't following. He turns and sees Blair standing there with wide eyes, his fists kneading at the hem of his shirt and Ellison frowns. It's a nervous habit he'd thought he'd broken the kid of. He turns fully to Blair and reaches his hand out.

"Blair? What's going on?"

But Blair only backs up, his hands shooting up in a warding gesture and Jim drops his hand as quickly as though Blair had struck him. Blair's blinking rapidly and Jim really doesn't like where this is headed.

"Blair?" His voice is pitched low and soft and if his enemies could see this, could hear him, they would never believe that he was capable of this level of gentleness…of humanity. For Blair, however, he's capable of quite a bit. "What's going on kid?"

Blair jerks then, like someone being woken from a dead sleep and he stares at Jim now, his jaw working like he wants to say something but it won't come out.

"Okay, it's okay. Just take your time," Jim reassures him. He looks at the urn in his hands as though just remembering he has it. Looking around himself, Jim finds a suitable place for it, tucked just within the entryway. He turns back to Blair then, who isn't in any better state. He set the urn down because he understands Blair like this. Oh, he has no idea what triggers the episodes, as he's come to call them. It sounds more clinical, more detached. It surprises him to see Blair going into one. It's been a while. He was waiting for it after he'd pried Incacha's hand from Blair's arm. He watched for the signs while he scrubbed every single spec of blood from the younger man's pores. The kid had been in shock, but nothing more. In fact, Ellison was profoundly surprised by Blair's ability to hold it together. "Just breathe, Chief. That's it. In, out. Easy, just take it easy now," God knew, if anyone had a right to fall apart, it was Blair. After all the shit he'd been through, and that was just what he had lived before meeting up with Jim. That Blair wasn't a freaking basket case amazed Jim when he really thought about it. But Blair was strong. And Jim, for all he would never say, would never be afraid to admit that Blair was stronger than he was. For all Blair's talk about how Jim was his rock, he could never really convince Blair that the kid was his shelter. His shield against the world. Even after all they'd been through, Blair's self-esteem refused to see his own strength. To be honest, it really pissed him off.

"There you go, that's better." Blair was taking deeper breaths now. Steadier. Jim was crouched just enough to bring him eye-level to his partner, but not close enough to touch. He'd learned his lesson ten years, one black eye and two split-lips ago. For a little guy, he had a hell of a right hook. "You back with me?"

Blair nodded shakily. "Yeah, I…" He swallowed hard, and when he spoke again, there was a hollowness to his voice, "yeah, I'm here," Jim was waiting for the embarrassed apologies that normally followed an episode while the other part of his mind was making notes to make sure Blair was taking his anxiety meds. Instead, Blair lunges forward and grabs his jacket with both hands, his eyes wild. Jim grabs his wrists, not wanting to hurt, but not in the mood to get decked because he's let his guard down.

"We can't go in there!"

Of all the things he thought he'd hear, that wasn’t one of them. It took him a second to catch up.

"We can't- wait a minute, what?"

Blair shook him. "We can't- we don't belong in there, Jim. Don't you feel it? We don't belong here with them!"

Well, shit. Apparently they were still in the Sandburg Zone. Very carefully, Jim asks, "Who don't we belong with, Blair?"

"The others, man! You didn't see them but they came out of the ground and they were mist but then they were warriors, like Sentinels and Guides and they came in the Temple and we can't follow," He's getting more agitated. Jim just nods, as though everything he's hearing makes perfect sense.

"Why can't we follow them?"

This is where Blair's face crumples and withers in abject misery. Tears shine in his eyes and Jim hates it. Absolutely fucking hates this. He hates the bastards that had terrorized a child long ago. He hates the bigots that had beaten down the teenager. He hates the mother-fuckers that had stolen a young man's life and God help him, but right now, he really hates Incacha. Incacha who had burdened and badgered a man who was only getting by the best he could. A good man who had never once left Jim's side, even when it nearly cost him his life. He hates Incacha, who'd had the audacity to die, literally on Blair, and then pass all this spiritual bullshit onto him. Even if it wasn't really bullshit.

Jim has never wanted to believe in the acid trips Incacha had claimed were visions from the spirit plane. Has never wanted to believe that there was more to the senses. But he'd seen his share of weird crap. Besides, if he didn't believe in it, he'd be forced to consider the fact that Blair was insane. That simply wasn't an option.

"Blair?" he encouraged, "why can't we follow?"

"Be-because, man. We're not- we're not like them! Don't you get it! We're the bad guys, we can't go where they go. They're our predecessors. They're good and honorable and-"

"And they had to kill and possibly even steal to provide for their tribe." Jim said in a reasonable tone. Blair looks at him like he can't believe the stupidity spewing from what he thought was an intelligent man.

"That's not the same!" His voice is shrill and tinged with hysteria and Jim does what he had dubbed a major 'no-no' early on when Blair had gone into one of these. He gently removes his hands from Blair's wrists and very slowly, so the other can see exactly what he's doing, he places his hands on either side of Blair's face. He's careful not to apply any pressure. Blair immediately goes rigid under his hands, his whole body strung tight. Jim readies his own reflexes. He'd been slow the first time and wondered for quite a time afterward if he'd ever be able to have an intimate relationship again. Ever.

Slowly, he brings his head forward and rests his forehead against Blair's.

"Blair, I need you to come back to me, right now. And then you need to tell me what's going on here." It's an order, gently delivered, but an order nonetheless. Jim can feel the minute tremors wracking through the younger man's body, Blair's rational mind battling with the demons dancing in his head. Jim's the only one who can do this. Can bring him outta this. He had been absurdly pleased when he'd realized that some years ago. The kid had gone into an episode and Stoddard, that poor bastard, had been at his wit's end when Jim had shown up and just snapped the kid out of it. Well, alright, it hadn't been that easy, but no one else could get through. Except for Incacha. But then, that was just Incacha.

A violent shudder rips through the body under his hands, followed by rapid, deep breaths.

"That's it, buddy. Here you go. Come back now, that's it. Good. You're doing great,"

Shaking hands came up to grasp Jim's wrists while wide blinking eyes look on in dazed earnest.

"Ji- Jim?"

Ellison smiles, relief swelling his heart. "Yeah, Chief. It's me."

Blair's pupils are huge in the darkness and Jim realizes the poor guy can't see anything. Blair tries to move his head and Jim reluctantly lowers his hands to his sides.

"What the hell- did I? Oh man, I did, didn't I? I flipped out. Shit!" He scrubs his hands savagely over his face to tangle in his hair, pulling until the sting is his eyes is from more than just his humiliation.

"Hey, hey. None of that," Jim gently unlaces Blair's fingers from his hair, "how do you think I lost all my hair? Don't want to look like me, do you?"

"Just remember, you're the one who said it," Blair smiles lamely, his voice still thick. But he's attempting humor, following Jim's lead. "Jim, I'm sorr-"

"No. Don't go there, Darwin. I'm sick of you apologizing for something you have no control over. It'd be like me apologizing every time I zone out. So shove it, alright?"

Blair snorts, and it's this insult that truly brings the smile to his face. "Gee, did anyone every tell you you have a wonderful bedside manner?"

"They wouldn't dare,"

"No doubt,"

Jim looks back to the Temple and then to Blair. He reaches down into his duffel and extracts an electric lantern. Setting it on a ledge, he turns it on, illuminating their little part of the world. He turns back to Sandburg who is blinking against the sudden light. Without preamble, Jim starts, "You saw something," It's a statement. He doesn't question it. He knows better. Blair looks away.

"I remember what I told you. That's what I saw."

Jim nods. "And we can't go in there because we're not like them. Not honorable,"

Blair looks pained, his hands gesturing wildly, "No, I, yes. Ugh! I don't know. I mean, that's not how I see you. You are honorable,"

"I'm a lot of things, Chief. Honorable isn't one of them."

"No? Then what about Steven?"

Jim's eyes narrow, his voice low, "What about him?"

"You never had any obligation to take care of him and yet you've done everything for him," Not everything, Jim thinks. But he won't say it. He won't lay the burden at Blair's feet. "Even after he told you to fuck off, you still send the money,"

"So what? How's that honor? I'm taking care of my brother. It was my old man's dying wish for cripe's sake. What else was I supposed to do?" Like he wouldn’t have done it anyway.

"Okay, then what about me?"

Jim heaves a long-suffering sigh, "What about you?"

"You never had to help me. You didn't have to take me with you. You could have left me there to die. But you didn't,"

"I needed the company," Before Blair can get another good head of steam going, Jim interrupts him, "And you aren't making a very good case for why we shouldn't go inside the damned Temple. According to you, I'm as pure as the driven snow,"

"Pure? I said you were honorable, not pure man, there's a difference."

"God help me, and no, I'm not going to ask what the difference is. Okay, so I'm an honorable sonuvabitch. But then, so are you. Uh-uh," Jim raises his finger to ward off Blair's verbal attack, "I took you with me, true. But you didn't have to stay. You've saved my ass more times than I can count and only half of that is senses related,"

"Yeah, well, I couldn't just leave you defenseless," He looks smug now and Jim just rolls his eyes.

"So, since we've established our inherent nobility and shining virtues, please explain to me what the hell is the problem here?"

Blair grips the hem of his shirt and Jim steps forward, physically prying Blair's fingers open and holds a wrist in each hand.

"Don't do that," he admonishes softly. Blair looks away and Jim has a sudden insight. It makes him hate Incacha all over again.

"It's Incacha, what he said to you. It's what you've been thinking since the warehouse, isn’t it?"

"What are you talking about?" his tone is weary and Jim's irritated that Blair's going to make him spell it out. But he won't let it show.

"Even I can hear the hamster wheel going from here," Blair gives him a dirty look, but at least now he has his attention, "You keep thinking back to the past. Analyzing everything that's happened the last ten years. You keep hearing Incacha's words in your head. Not just the one's he said when he died, but what he said before-"

"What if he was right!" Blair blurts out and he doesn't look miserable now, but horribly worried.

"Blair-"

"What if we're supposed to be helping people?"

"Damnitt, Sandburg," he can't keep the frustration out now and Blair jerks away from him, shoving a finger in his face.

"Don't damnitt me! You have these incredible gifts and look at what we've done with them. We've helped Oliver and who knows who else get richer-"

"We've also taken out dangerous despots-"

"Yeah, but only when it's been for the good of political polls and what about the ones that weren't despots-"

"Yeah, and if not for what we do and the money we make doing it, your mother would be a corpse in a state hospital cemetery,"

It would have been simpler to punch the kid in the gut.

Sandburg went still, his eyes narrowed to dark slits while his fists knuckled white at his sides.

"Shit Blair, I'm sor-"

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response," Blair answers tightly. Jim just nods. Blair closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and when he opens them again, his anger is spent.

He continues in a soft tone, "I don't regret our lives, Jim. Don't mistake what I'm saying here. If I had to do it all over again, I still would have followed you off that cliff," He smiles wryly, "It scares me sometimes, how perfect this is," Jim arches an eyebrow and Blair holds up a forestalling hand, "I know, I know. I mean us. Sentinel and Guide. I mean, this is real, man. We're real. My mom," He chokes a little here, but goes on, "Dr. Stoddard, they didn't know anything about me. Not really. I never belonged anywhere." He looks up and pins Jim with eyes that are piercing and Jim thinks that he doesn't want to hear this. He's not a hero. He's not perfect. But he can't bring himself to turn away. Blair moves closer. Looking into Jim's eyes, eyes that seem just this side of scarred, though that could just be the light, Blair places the flat of his palm against Jim's chest. Even Blair can feel the beating thrum under his skin.

"But I realized that I do belong somewhere. Right here, with you. You're my brother, man. And I'll follow you anywhere. It's just…Incacha talked about us choosing the right path."

"What, so we should settle down, get married to some trophy wives, have the 2.5 kids, and the picket fence?" But the sarcasm comes out stilted and half-hearted.

"No. I just think we should be…choosier, with our jobs."

"Choosier."

"Yeah."

"Charity cases pay for shit, Sandburg,"

Blair smiles, "We're never going to be the good guys, I know that. I'm okay with that. We're never going to be like the warriors I saw,"

Jim places his palm against Blair's chest, over his heart. He can feel the pulse beat strong, through the clothing, into his skin, becoming part of him, humming in tune with his own heart. "We're never going to be what Incacha wanted," Jim says.

Blair nods. "No, we're not,"

"It's something Incacha could never understand, Chief. He never understood what we went through, the lives we've led. He simply couldn't,"

"Two distinctly separate cultures," Blair says softly.

Jim nods, "Yes. No matter how many times I explained it, he could never really appreciate it. He tried. But in the end, he just couldn't understand that too much has happened. That we can't go home, become cops or whatever it is he thought we should do. Even if we could, do you really think that's what you want?"

Blair's eyes were wide with so much emotion that Jim would never be able to name them all. His head slowly moves back and forth.

"…no…" It comes out small and soft but true. And Jim can hear it. He presses his hand a little firmer against his Guide's chest.

"But we can take care of our own tribe. And that begins with honoring Incacha and avenging his spirit,"

"And after?"

Blair is looking to him and Jim feels humbled. He also feels something else. There is a cold finger dragging along his spine and he feels them more than sees them. Blair's warriors gathering round. Watching, waiting, judging. He realizes that Blair is wrong. Yes, they're never going to be the good guys. But they do belong somewhere. They belong here. And one day, when Jim is too slow and Blair refuses to leave him, they'll come back here and join with those who have gone before. As for now…

"We'll make our own path."

Whoo-hoo!

Sun, 23 Sep 2007 12:37:13 GMT

Hello all! I bring a double-drabble offering. This is for t_verano who encouraged/hooked me on writing my first drabble. ::Mucho hugs and chocolate your way:::

This thing almost ended up as a quadruple drabble, though at that point I think I would have had to label this as a ficlet. (I have a slight problem with keeping things short) *snerk*   To be honest however, it was fun to write simply becuase there's little in the way of plotting and agonizing over "does this fit this, or does this break continuity here..." Very liberating. I love instant gratification. ;)

After writing this, I am in even more awe of those of you who do these on a regular basis.   Brava to all of you!

Hope y'all like and have a fantabulous day!!

JB

Save Me
by JadeBear

Eighteen in all, if you didn't count the corpses.

He walks down to the lower level, darkness a tangible thing. It seeps into the walls, the very fabric of the air. He hears the Guardian trained medics. They've found one more. He scents the air. Underneath the fetid smells is something...wonderful. His gut tightens.

"This one's not gonna make it," a medic says.

The panther is shrieking now and he's beside the supine form, the medics gone, this place of horror gone. The body lies in its' own filth and blood. Bruises mar the pale flesh, welts stripe across the torso, the long dark hair lays lank and matted. His sensitive fingers ghost over the broken skin, feeling ruptured vessels strain against the surface. Grief overtakes him while denial surges forward. Not now! Not now that he is here, finally here.

"I'm here, Guide. Please, your Sentinel is here,"

Suddenly, a blood slicked hand grabs his arm. He looks down to see the Guide's eyes slit open. There is strength there, there where there should have been death. He smiles down gently, laying his hand over the others'.

"I'm here now,"

The hand tightens.

The Guide knows.

His Guide knows.

New Fic: The Good Brother (Good Guys Series)

Wed, 04 Jul 2007 17:44:31 GMT

Hi all! I finished something else! Whoo-hoo! (It's the simple things in life)
This directly follows my story, The Good Guys. A little interlude with some backstory. I want to thank everyone who commented and encouraged me. It means so much. I hope y'all enjoy this one. Take care!

Title: The Good Brother
Author: JadeBear
Category: AU/gen
Disclaimer: The Sentinel and its characters are owned by Paramount. I'm just playin' for fun.

Lennon had it wrong.

Oh it was a noble sentiment to be sure. Honest. Sweet. Naïve.

After all, if the world could operate on love alone, then there wouldn’t be a need for currency. You'd simply give someone what they needed because there was love of your neighbor, right? If someone doesn't have a home, hey, love would prompt you to let that stranger into your home and give him a warm place to crash. After all, if love really spun the world around, then you wouldn't fear strangers; wouldn't wonder if they were a serial killer that just hadn't gotten caught yet. No, because we're all filled to the brim with love and love doesn't hack people into a million little pieces and feed it to your cat.

No, love just takes you by the shoulders, turns you around, and sets you on the path- right after grinding your teeth in said path. The one you never really knew was there. Maybe love wasn't far from the devil on your shoulder. Problem was, the angel on the other shoulder agreed too much to argue and steer you the other way.

Love was great, but it wasn't all you needed.

If not for love, there wouldn't be men like him.

Ellison throws a sidelong glance at his companion who is blissfully drooling over Jim's finer leather jacket, chin smooshed against his shoulder in dreamless sleep. He smiles fondly, knowing his partner would grouse and bitch if he catches Jim grinning over his saliva malfunction. Jim smiles wider. In a fit of compassion, he wipes Blairs' mouth with the sleeve of his jacket and moves just enough that Sandburg shifts and closes his mouth. Ellison watches a moment more, assured his companion drifts back to sleep.

He shifts his gaze to the small window and easily pushes his sight past the dark clouds to the ground so far below. They've been in Mexican airspace for thirty minutes and it won't be long now. He sends his hearing up to the cockpit of their small puddle jumper. Jerry is conferring with flight control. He's glad to have the man on their side. One of the few people he still trusts. Still wouldn't turn his back completely on the man, but then, he's like that. Blair's the only one he trusts completely. It took time to achieve that level of trust, but there was always some form of it there, even in the beginning. He knows Blairs' thoughts have been going back there lately, but he doesn't ask. He doesn't want to know. To follow. Not this time. Let Blair agonize over past things. He's too aware of the present.

He shifts his feet, nudging the metal case there and its' precious cargo. Without looking over, he moves his arm and carefully curls it around Blair's shoulders, causing the younger man's head to press against Jim's chest. Blair will be mortified that he slept in the cocoon of Jim's arm later. But Jim doesn't really give a shit. He's feeling sentimental all of the sudden. Not that he would ever admit it. Ever. But the thought comes to him and he can't let it go.

Precious cargo at his feet.

Precious cargo beside him.

And somewhere out there, far behind him where his sight cannot go, there is one more precious burden. Whether the asshole wants to be precious or not.

He listens again to Jerry. They're still fifteen minutes out. There's enough time. Careful not to jostle Sandburg, he takes his cell from his jacket and one handed, dials a number he knows by heart. It’s not a number that will ring directly to the man he's calling. He can't remember a time when he actually called anyone direct. AT&T would stroke out from pure ecstasy if they had him on a long-distance plan. This number routes to another, and that one to another and then their friends tell their friends and their friends tell…crap, he's feeling punchy tonight. He stares out the window and watches the dark clouds go by. It'll take a minute before the actual number he's trying to reach rings. There's so much he's been able to take with him from his stint in Covert Ops and the CIA. This is just one of the more miniscule things. One of the most important things. No one must ever be able to trace this. God help him if anyone ever does. He's not concerned for himself, or even for Blair here. And he's not concerned about the cops tracing this. No, they're the least of his worries.

"The dog barks at midnight,"

Jim rolls his eyes as the phone finally connects.

"Marvin," He doesn't dignify the greeting.

"Jimmy! Long time no hear,"

Marvin is a necessary evil. Annoyingly cheerful and feels he's far enough removed from Ellison's reach to get away with calling him, "Jimmy". He's not- far enough away- that is. But Jim doesn't remind him.

"Update."

"Not much for conversation tonight, huh?"

"Marvin," He warns. He's not in the mood. Not now. Not with everything that's happening. That's going to happen. He only has fifteen minutes. After that, too much will be going on for him to check in.

"Sorry, sorry. Okay, here's the straight poop," Jim tries to remember why he puts up with this guy. It comes to him that this is the third person in the world Jim trusts, not necessarily his life, but another's. Jim knows Marvin will never betray the man he's calling about. Not out of loyalty, but out of abject fear. He knows what Ellison is capable of. He knows. He's seen it first hand. But Jim won't trust Marvin with his own life. If Marvin thought he could get away with it, if he was absolutely sure, Jim knows he would roll over on him to the highest bidder. God help that poor schmuck if that highest bidder couldn't take him down. So yeah, he trusts Marvin. Just not with his life.

"Okay, so here goes- He's good."

"Just good,"

"Yeah, he just bought a new house, up there in Hilliard, you know, that ritzy development on the Southside?"

Jim settles back, his mind clicking through a mental scrapbook, remembering the neighborhood. He knows Hilliard. He knows it intimately.

"Address." He doesn't ask. Marvin's used to the commands. He's too laid back to comment and too well paid to bitch about the attitude. Or maybe he's just too scared. Jim hopes it's the latter.

"307 Prospector Avenue," he pauses, "even the name sounds pretentious,"

Ellison shoves his head back in the seat and consciously has to remind himself not to crush his phone. He might need it later.

Three-Oh-Seven. Two houses down. What the hell is he thinking? Son-of-a-

"Yeah, he's landed some big business lately. His company is investing in a racetrack, real spiffy place. Earning them lots of little dollars. Good thing, especially since he won't touch the accoun- ah, I mean, you know…" Marvin trails off, aware suddenly that his mouth has been running without consent from his brain and remembers too late that he and Jim aren't buddies. Remembers what Jim could do to him. What he's done. "Ellison?"

But Jim isn't listening. Marvin hit a nerve, but it was one Jim was already dancing on, so he doesn't really notice Marvin's slip. But Marvin is right. It's a good thing the guy is making his own money. He's not taking Jim's, that's for sure. But Prospector Avenue? That sonuvabitch. Jim's whole being coils and it's only when he hears distressed little murmurs that he relaxes minutely but doesn't turn to check on Blair. His mind is already turning and he remembers why he uses Marvin. In the beginning, he used Marvin to watch the other, to make sure no one was hassling him, to check that he was safe. Now, Marvin is more. Marvin is his only link. Because he hasn't talked to his little brother in five years and he's not sure how sorry he is about that considering why they stopped talking in the first place…

**O**

"Mitchell?"

The other man starts badly. Jim hears his heart jump off the scale as he whirls around, his eyes wide at first and then squinting against the shadows.

"Who- who's there?"

Jim waits a beat. Blair would call him a drama queen, whatever the hell that means. He steps from the darkness, slowly, his pale eyes trained on the lone occupant of the stark office. He would berate the security here if he wasn't so focused on other matters.

The other man stares at him in shock.

"Jim? Jimmy, my God, is it you? Really you?"

"Stevie," he nods. But his voice is low, almost genial and if Steven wasn't in shock right now, he'd be nervous like any other sane person who had someone sneak past security and creep out of the darkness of their little office.

Steven's face transforms then and there's nothing here but overwhelming happiness and he rushes forward, embracing his brother and Jim returns the hug, but it's not gentle and when Steven tries to step back, Jim tightens his hold. He knows it hurts. He's glad.

"Jim?" and now the tang of fear hits Jim's nostrils. He brushes his lips against Steven's ear and whispers, the air sending shivers over Steven's scalp. The tone sends them down Steven's spine.

"Mitchell, Steven?"

And Steven goes still because he understands now and tries to push away but Jim tightens his hold. He's letting him know who exactly is running this show and when the younger man stops moving, Jim pushes him away and immediately stalks towards him. Steven backs up, hands raised. He's never had to raise his hands against Jim.

"You're the one that told me I had to distance myself from you. You said I needed to change my name to protect myself," Steven's pointing his finger at Jim and Jim just keeps coming until Steven darts behind his shit-scarred desk that he must have found at the Goodwill. He's using it like a vertical shield and Jim thinks that if Stevie really knew half the shit he's done, he'd know that a desk was a pitiful shield indeed. But he's not here to hurt Steven. Not really. It's him whose been hurt. Betrayed. Bewildered. Sandburg calls it fear-based responses. That's why the kid is downstairs. Ellison doesn't need to give him anymore ammunition.

"I did," Jim admits. He leans down, bracing himself, hands flat on the desk. His eyes never leave Steven's. One of those stupid, random thoughts hit him, and not the first time, that he's grateful Steven inherited their father's eyes. Not like Jim, who has to stare at that bitch's eyes everytime he looks in the mirror. Women love the pale color. That's usually when he calls the evening off, when they mention his beautiful, pale eyes. Such a mood-killer. But he goes on, quiet, soft…pissed. "I did tell you to change your name. You're right. But Mitchell?"

"I, I'm sorry. I guess I wasn't thinking," Steven stammers. Jim straightens, his anger beginning to cool in the face of his brother's realization. Until he opens his mouth again, that is. "I didn't think that using another family name could still be tracked back to you,"

He's over the desk and he doesn't even remember doing it. Steven is against the wall and Jim's hands that were flat on the desk are now flat on the wall, on either side of his brother's head. Steven's heart is racing, his scent is rancid and Jim is too far gone to care.

"HER name! You took her name damn you! After what she did to us! To him! You took that bitch's name! Jesus, Steven, what the fuck were you thinking?" And Steven's eyes get real wide here, and he goes real still and Jim slams his hands against the wall, making Steven's head bounce. Steven jumps and for the first time he's frightened of Jim. Of his brother. Jim can see it and it sickens him down to the core of his being. He's not that angry, really. Just hurt. Bleeding out. His hands slide down the wall, gripping his brother's shoulders. Hated blue stare into beloved brown.

"Why would you chose her name, Steven?" His voice is hoarse.

"Because, Jim, I- I've forgiven her,"

Jim staggers back, as his grip falls, Steven lunges forward and mirrors his brother's previous stance, this time he's the one holding Jim up by the shoulders.

"Jimmy, please. I thought about it. I think, I think she was like you. Special,"

Steven should have just shot him. Just taken his Sig Sauer from his inner holster and blown his chest open. It would hurt less.

"I'm nothing like her." He growls, but Steven holds on tighter.

"Don’t you remember how she used to know things? Like she could hear conversations from far away?" Jim pulls away, but Steven just dogs him, following him from out behind the desk, desperation in his voice and Jim is spinning, his mind racing, not landing on any one thought and yes, he remembers how she was, what she could see and hear and feel just like him and he's thinking about Blair downstairs and Steven and that day, THAT day and how fucking dare Steven compare them-

"Jim please-"

"No!" He snaps around and it's his turn to stalk forward, and Steven is walking backward but stops suddenly as though he remembers finally that this is his brother and Jim won't really hurt him and Jim grabs his crisp linen shirt front and pulls them toe to toe. "No, Steven. No. You want to give her some convenient excuse to do the things she did. You want to say it was alright for her to punch you in the chest and break your ribs because your heart was beating too loud?" And Jim is admitting without really saying it out loud what he's always known, but wasn't sure if Steven did. He knows she was like him. A Sentinel. Or at least a twisted version. He might have even had pity for her. But not after. Not now. There are pivotal places in people's lives, and she pivoted him on his ear that day.

"You want to say poor baby, it's alright she locked us in the basement because the air currents we made moving around hurt her skin?" He's shaking Steven and Steven just takes it, his eyes bright. "Fine! But I don't. She knew she was a danger to us and she didn't do a damn thing to protect us. What kind of a mother does that, huh, Steven? She could have just left, but she didn't even do that much!" He shoves his brother away from him. Steven staggers back and spreads his hands.

"She didn't know how to get help. The times were-"

"Bullshit. Bull. Shit. You were eight, Steven. Eight. It took the divorce to get her out of the house and only when it was obvious she couldn't function on her own did anything happen."

"Yeah, and look what the sanatorium did for her,"

Jim just stares. It's not a nice look. It's not meant to be.

"They made her worse, Jim. You know that. They pumped her full of drugs-" Jim knows what drugs can do to a heightened system. He shudders despite himself. But not for her. He would die before he harmed his brother the way she had. She was just too selfish to curl up in a corner and rot.

"When she escaped, Jim, she didn't know what she was doing,"

Yes, she did. She knew she was going home. Home to collect her boys. But she forgot about Bill. Forgot that her husband was there. Forgot he wouldn't let her take them.

"So let me ask you something, Stevie," He lets go of the shirt and smoothes it down real nice, taking out all the creases and finger shaped wrinkles. He takes his time. He can feel the minute vibrations traveling through his brother's body, not fear now, no, not fear. Anxiety, but not fear. He looks into his brother's eyes, their father's eyes and asks, "Did she know what she was doing when shoved the fireplace poker through the old man's chest…or did she just slip?"

Steven goes still. His face turns a horrible, shocky white as all blood drains from his face. Jim smiles sweetly. Icily. Cruelly. Steven is trembling now as he clumsily pushes away from his big brother.

"Get- get out," It comes out choked. The brightness in his eyes slides down his cheeks.

"I guess you're right to forgive her for murdering our father. For going insane. For leaving us to the will of foster care," Steven is backing up, eyes unblinking. "Only natural for you to honor her by taking her maiden name. Mitchell. Steven Mitchell,"

Steven is breathing hard. Jim snaps his fingers, his face brightens in a grotesque parody of happiness. "Say! I got it! You've got a little girl now, right? Amanda? If you and your wife have another girl, you could name her Grace!" He leans into Steven's personal space, his smile flashing into something predatory. Something ugly.

He says in that soft tone of his, "Grace Mitchell. Wouldn't that be perfect? After all, names are important. What better way to let dear old mom know you love her- you've forgiven her than to name your child after her?"

"Get. Out." Steven grinds the words through his lips. Jim leans back, he brings his hand up and Steven flinches, but he only pats his brother on the cheek.

"Take care of yourself, Stevie."

"Don't ever contact me again," Jim sees that he means it. It should hurt, him saying that. Besides Blair and Incacha, Steven is all Jim has left. Steven's the reason Jim does what he does. When Jim was released at eighteen, he joined the army as a way to earn money for his little brother so Steven could go to college when he was old enough. Foster care didn't give an emancipated kid anything. Just a "have a nice life" kid and that was it. But the army didn't pay that much. He needed more. He loved his brother. But love doesn't pay college tuition. It doesn't pay for clothes or an apartment. It doesn't pay the electric or the sewer bill. It doesn't pay the ER when your brother gets in his first car accident. It would have been easier without love. Without love, he wouldn't have cared if Stevie was taken care of or not. No, love just made him need more, not less. And Steven had gotten into Stanford for cripe's sake. That's when Oliver offered him a job. Nothing big. Just something to earn a little extra. By the time he learned it wasn't legal, Steven was in his second year and legality wasn't much of a point.

Jim nods, yes. He'll leave Stevie alone. He doesn't really want much to do with him right now anyway.

"And stop sending money. I won't take it anymore. I don't know where you really get it. But I can make my own way. I don't need you." Steven stands up straight then and juts out his chin and he looks strong all of the sudden. Jim's always been the guardian here, but for the first time, he thinks maybe Steven's been able to stand on his own for a while now. He's kinda proud. And kinda heartbroken. But he won't say it. He won't say any of it.

"I won't stop sending it to you," he holds up his hand to forestall the protests, "do what you will with it. But it's yours." He should stop here, but he can't help one last dig, because this really hurts more than he thought. "Hell, save it up. Send little Gracie to college some day."

**O**

It's the last thing he said to his brother. All communication since then has been through Marvin. Marvin who spies on his brother for him and tells him that he's still alive and doing quite well in a world that doesn't involve Jim and is now apparently living just up the street from the house their mother murdered their father in. Classic.

"Oh and Jim, some good news,"

"What?" He asks wearily. Jerry comes over the com and announces they'll be setting down in five. "Wrap it up, Marvin," He shifts a little, and decides he'll wait till they land to wake Blair up. Kid still had a thing about heights. Push him off one little cliff and he develops a hang-up for life…

"Seems you’re an uncle again!" Marvin crows as though it means something to him too. Jim looks out the window, resigned.

"Yeah?"

"Yup. Baby girl, seven pounds, eight ounces. Born three month ago, April 3^rd. Blue eyes, like yours. You know, that real creepy pale blue?" Jim closes his creepy blue eyes. He doesn't want to hear this. Any of this. "They named her-"

"Grace." He says flatly. There's a pause.

"Uh no, Jamie, actually. Jamie Lynn. What's with Grace?"

Jim sits up straight. He feels his heart pound.

"Jamie?" His mouth is dry. "They named her Jamie?"

"Uh, yeah. Hey, that's kinda like your-"

He closes the phone, severing the connection. Carefully, he puts the phone away. With precise movements, he brings his hand up and wipes it down his face, holding it over his mouth and chin. His hand is shaking. His eyes stare forward. He ignores the chatter from the cockpit.

Jamie.

James.

Steven named his baby after him.

His hand falls in his lap. He looks out the window and the lights that make up the secluded airstrip not so far below now.

He draws his feet closer to the case. One precious person gone from him. One restored to him. One always at his side…he tightens his grip on Blair and ignores the unhappy mutters that issue forth from the still sleeping man.

Lennon was fucking wrong.

He got into this life for love of his brother.

He stayed for love of his Guide, his other brother.

But love will never be enough.

Love just makes you need more.

Tue, 19 Jun 2007 11:26:32 GMT

Happy Birthday Betagoddess!!!!!

May you have a wonderful day full of cake and goodies!

::hugs::

The Good Guys- TS fic

Sun, 17 Jun 2007 11:39:42 GMT

Hi all! As I sit here, my cat is insisting he help me type. He's so dedicated to the written word...or maybe just pestering...

Anyhoo, this story was written for my dues on SA and is the first time I've done a fic on LJ. ::nervously laughing and hoping I can do the cut thing:: My mind has been scattered more than normal lately and it's been nuts just trying to focus my attention on any one project. So this piece may be a little strange; but honestly, I'm just thrilled to finally have finished something. Wouldn't mind exploring this universe more, so we'll see.

Hope everyone has a fantabulous day!

Title: The Good Guys
Author: JadeBear
Word count: 3,974
Category: AU/ Gen
Warnings: Intentional abuse of run-on sentences...I blame it on the coffee

He thinks about it sometimes.

Not all the time. Not everyday. He's gone whole days, weeks even, without thinking about it. Harder, though, on days like this. Nights like this. When the world is dark and still and his breathing is the only sound he hears; his and his partner's. He's looking out the pristine windshield and he smiles at that. How with everything that happens in their lives, with all the bullshit and the not knowing what each day will herald, with all of that, his partner still insists on keeping the truck spotless. It's so, so…normal. His eyes slide sideways, and he watches his friend the way only quiet moments like this will allow.

He's older now. There are a few more creases tracking from the corner of his eyes. His hair would be tinged with grey, but he kept it so short now that it was hard to see. Shorter now than when they met, though not by much. It was funny, he thinks, how you don't notice the changes in another human being, even though you practically live inside their skin. Gradual changes. The way a river cuts through solid rock, slow and methodical, wearing down the mountain year after year until it melts the earth away like so much dust. He frowns at that. That wasn't where he wanted his thoughts to go. Was that them? Just wearing each other down, moving slowly through an existence that neither of them had ever anticipated? He doesn't like that thought. It makes him think about it again. It makes them sound…comfortable. Sedentary. But really, there's nothing slow about their lives.

"There he goes,"

He starts a little, his gaze going to the spotless windshield and traveling beyond. Yup, there he goes. Sneaks had given them a fairly accurate description. He grimaces and wiggles his toes in his worn shoes that have no brand name. The information should have been good, considering the price, they'd- scratch that- he glares at his partner- the price HE paid. His partner is still wearing his good pair of Nikes. Goody for him.

"Sneaks came through again," His partner murmurs.

"He better have," And he ignores the shit-grin his partner flashes him and instead watches the man walk away from the building, cross the street and start chatting up Roxanne, aka, "Thunder Thighs". He's middle aged, with the stereotypical beer gut and thick mustache. She's all over him like all she really wants in the whole damn world is his attentions but she's snagging the twenty before it's even out of his wallet. He swings his arm behind her and they turn into a dark alley a few feet ahead. How romantic.

He swings his gaze back to his partner and seeing the familiar tilt of the head and the faraway look in the other man's eyes, he places his hand on his partner's arm and waits.

The other man grimaces and wrinkles his nose like he's just stepped in something foul. Focus slides back into his eyes and he turns to him.

"I think he'll be occupied for a bit,"

He grins, "Are you sure he'll last long enough?"

His partner shudders dramatically. "Trust me, from what I heard, he wants his money's worth,"

He puts his hand up to forestall further details that he knows his partner will inflict on him for the sake of demented comedy.

"'Nough said,"

They look to the building and then to each other.

"You ready, Chief?"

He takes a deep breath and thinks that no, they aren't like a slow moving river, grinding down the path. More like the part where the river splits. One part of the divide is slow and steady, patient and content to move the earth a little at a time. He watches his partner grab his black duffle from between them. He watches him check his weapon. He looks into pale eyes and nods. He's ready. His partner nods in return. They're opening the doors and getting out and closing them quietly and then they're across the street, following the shadows, weaving in and out and he thinks, no, they aren't a quiet river.

They're that part of the river that starts out serenely enough. Just enough to fool the unsuspecting man and then bam! The rocks hit the bottom of the boat and flips your canoe. Yeah, they're like a river. Just not a quiet one. He kind of likes this better.

They slide around the building to the back and there's nothing here but a rusted out Ford Tempo and they both know it belongs to the man that's supposed to be guarding this place. He toys with the idea of letting the air out of the tires, but really, it's beneath him. The guy is gonna have enough to answer for after tonight.

He takes out a small cylinder from the oversized pocket in his pants and extends it. Their faces still hidden in shadow, he places it to his lips and blows. A small pellet flies from the opposite end, shattering the lightbulb in the lamp above the door. The camera lens is next. Jim pats him on the cheek and Blair knows he's grinning. The blow gun is Blair's favorite weapon in his unorthodox arsenal.

He slides in behind his partner, and he watches Jim enter the numbers into the keypad. They sat on the roof of the warehouse three blocks down earlier. Ellison had watched the previous guard punch in the codes. He had sat there with his hand on the other man's back and for a moment, he had stood outside himself and truly appreciated what he seemed so often to take for granted. How often in his life had he needed someone like Jim? Someone to pull him out of the dirt and stand with him. A guardian when he couldn't stand anymore? Ellison hated it when he thought like that. Hated how it made him sound like some hopped up superhero on speed. He can never explain it right so he stopped trying a long time ago. The hero worship eventually fell away and then it's just been them, Jim and Blair, but there's more, and Blair knows it. Jim knows it too, but he won't say.

Jim's looking back at him and jerks his head towards the now open door. Blair nods and follows as Jim slips inside. They pause at a metal staircase and Blair slips the night-vision goggles over his eyes. Ellison doesn't need them. Blair smiles at him, watching a green-tinged Jim with glowing pupils smile back at him and shrug. He can't help the enhanced senses and they grin because sometimes it still feels new and yet so damn normal it's ridiculous. But there are things to do and they head deeper into the building, crouching behind crates, pushing through plastic tarped doorways and farther into the warehouse they go. Jim stops so suddenly that Blair butts the goggles into his back.

"Slow down, Junior,"

"Warn a guy then," Blair complains as he lifts the goggles to rub his abused nose.

"Wuss,"

"Roadblock,"

"Listen,"

Blair rolls his eyes because if Jim is just now hearing something then there's no way he can hear it. He keeps his council and puts his hand on the others' back and watches Jim tilt his head. He thinks back to long ago, and it startles him how normal this has always felt. Even in the beginning, it never felt strange that Jim would pat his face, or guide him with a hand on his back, or rub his head as though he were some lucky rabbit's foot. Personal space wasn't a word they'd ever known. And yet, with others, he always kept his distance. He wasn't a touchy-feely kinda guy. There were good reasons for that and Jim was the only one who would ever really understand. But this, this was normal and he thinks back a little more and then he thinks about it and he doesn't want to.

"Damn,"

"What?" He's snapped back to the present and watching Jim through his goggles.

"There's another man. Top floor, making his rounds,"

"Should we call it off?"

Jim pauses a moment to consider, but he's shaking his head and turns back to Blair.

"Tonight's our best bet. Most of the hired thugs that were picked up by the cops earlier will be out by morning. We won't get another chance at this. We'll just have to be quick and on our guard,"

"Right. Lead on, man."

And that's another thing, he thinks as he follows Jim through another room with wooden crates. He doesn't hesitate. Jim says let's go and he goes. Jim says trust me and he trusts. Jim says let's jump off a cliff and well, yeah, he even did that. His throat tightens inexplicably and he slams the door on the thought that caused the lump. He doesn't want to think about it.

"Finally,"

He looks around at the room they've entered and sees it. It's sitting propped up on a tall crate like an afterthought; as though it isn't valuable enough to go through the effort of placing it in a box complete with packing tape. He grips Jim's bicep and feels the tension there as the muscles tighten and he knows Ellison's fists are clenched.

"Let's get this over with," He knows Ellison pushed those words through his teeth and he knows the effort it's taking to control his temper. Blair knows. It's hard for him too.

Ellison stalks forward and stops before it. He's eye level with it and he just stands there a moment. Blair moves forward too and he's standing at Ellison's shoulder and there's something come over him, over them. Here in the darkness, here amidst the crates and the tarps in the middle of the city, Blair feels other worldly. It's the only way he can describe it. He feels as though he is not himself and yet, more like himself than he has ever been. A feeling of rightness falls over him, something sacred covering his heart. He feels Jim's strong hand grip his shoulder and Jim won't say it, but he feels it too.

Jim squeezes his shoulder and then slowly, he reaches up and takes the round vase into his gloved hands, reverently checking the tightness of the lid and it's this gentleness that brings the sting to Blair's eyes. There's so much darkness here, within and without. So much pain and hurt and strength in the older man and Blair thinks that this is why he's stayed with Jim. Because Jim, once past all the hard nosed exterior, is a man worth staying with. He bends down then and takes a case from the duffle, opening it to expose the foam interior that's been specifically cut to hold the precious item in Jim's hands. Jim kneels across from him and lays it inside, skimming his fingers over the rough surface and Blair knows Jim can feel every bump and ridge and imperfection even through his thick gloves. He closes the case and locks it securely before placing it carefully into the duffle.

"We did it," He says solemnly. Jim nods, but his focus is somewhere over Blair's shoulder. "Jim?"

Jim is looking back now and Blair knows that look. It's the look that used to give him chills. It doesn't anymore. Maybe because that look fits him just as well as it does the Sentinel. It's a feral expression. Blair wears it well.

"We're not done yet."

Blair looks around at all the crates, his mind flashing through the rooms they've come through and knowing there are still more they haven't seen. He looks back to Jim. No, they aren't done yet.

**O**

He's waiting in the shadows when the man comes down the steps. He walks with a heavy gait and Blair pictures a large man with a gut to match the other guys'. Must be a job requirement. He glances under the stairs and watches his Sentinel. His Sentinel. Almost wasn't though. So much had happened. Alex and Mexico and so much even before that. He shivers now and Jim shoots him a concerned look. He shakes his head, muttering, "I'm fine," under his breath. Jim watches him a second more. He doesn't buy it, but as long as he isn't bleeding, Blair knows Jim will let it go. He won't mention it later either and for that, Blair is glad. As much as he doesn't want to think about it, he wants to talk about it even less. Except…he watches Jim and wonders.

The man is on the landing now. Ten steps away. He wonders if Jim ever thinks about it. Eight steps now. He wonders if Jim looks through his ridiculously clean windshield on dark nights and thinks that far back. Six steps now. Does Jim let past events circle through his mind like carrion? Four steps now. Does his gut convulse when he thinks about how close they came to not coming together at all? Two steps now. Ice crashes over him and a new, horrible thought catches him. One step now. Does Jim ever think back on what might have been… The man's foot reaches the step in front of Ellison and Jim shoves his hands through the open steps and grabs the man's ankles. The man yells, his arms flail but Jim pulls backwards and the man falls forward, tumbling down the last couple steps and he's laying in a heap at the bottom. It crosses Blair's mind that the guy could have broken his neck, but the other thought, the one he'd started, over rides it.

Does Jim look back on what happened and regret it? Regret them?

Ellison races around the stairs and checks for the guy's pulse, but it’s done automatically with no real thought involved. Jim nods and Blair realizes he's supposed to feel relieved that the guy's alive. He images he will. Later. Much later when he's not thinking about this. He picks up the duffle and waits while Jim throws the guy over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. They'll toss him out back, beyond the Tempo. He'll wake up eventually with a hell of headache and lack of a job, but hey, at least he's gonna wake up. Blair thinks the guy can't be too picky about it.

They pass through two more rooms and Jim stops, his gaze going to an open crate. He drops his burden on the floor. Blair steps over the unconscious man and stands with his friend by the container. He whistles low at what he sees.

"Overachievers,"

"Oh yeah," There's enough kilos of heroine tucked amidst clay pots and statuettes to buy New York. They knew that, but now there's proof. He looks around and knows every crate is the same way.

"It's a wonder you aren't getting a contact high," Blair says. Jim smiles in that self-depreciating manner of his.

"Just thank your lucky stars that our drug runners are into quality packaging,"

"Oh yeah, cling wrap at its best," he quips. Jim grins, turns and lifts the man off the floor, grunting a little with the effort.

"Can you believe they'd just leave this out here? I mean, aren't they afraid of one their so called security guards stealing it?"

Jim gives him a lop-sided look. "Chief, no one in their right mind would mess with these guys,"

"Except…" Blair says with a sly grin and Jim returns it.

**O**

They're sitting in the truck when the fire starts in earnest. They should leave the scene. But Jim wants to watch the expression on the other guards' face when he comes stumbling out of the alley, zipping his fly. Jim doesn't howl with laughter. He's too dignified for that. Instead, an evil little grin curls his lips as the guard stands with a slack jaw, watching the flames curl around the edge of the warehouse roof. Like a switch being flipped, the guard suddenly sparks to life and in his haste, catches himself in the zipper. That's when Jim sighs contentedly. The guard hops around in a little circle, yowling and cursing and holding himself. Blair shifts in sympathy.

"Are you happy now?" Blair asks, a grin of his own spreading across his lips.

"Yup," He puts the truck in drive and they quietly make their way to the motel on the edge of town that rents rooms by the hour and smells like cheap booze and stale cigarettes.

**O**

It's all over the news the next morning. Blair sits on the edge of one of the beds while Jim sits at the little round table by the closed curtains, shoveling a mouthful of fast food pancakes down his throat. They're interviewing Captain Banks and he's doing the whole debriefing with the press and boy does he look pissed.

"…all we know at this time is that the warehouse burned down. Both guards claim they were set on by a group of men, dressed in black, and forced outside the warehouse. They were rendered unconscious and awoke when emergency personnel arrived on scene."

He hears Jim snort around a mouthful of pancake and syrup. "Well, they got the dressed in black part right,"

Blair grins and watches as Banks pushes through the reporters and he feels a slight pang of sympathy. He hates close quarters himself, especially crowds. The reporter, a Wendy something, reiterates the same thing, just in a prettier voice. He looks over to Jim and sees the other man concentrating hard on the television. He looks to the tv and can just make out Banks in the background, talking with several other people, detectives probably, a woman with curly dark hair, fair features and a hideous purple coat. There's an African American in a loud yellow shirt standing next to a man that could advertise for Armani.

"They know the warehouse was owned by Oliver. They're pissed because they've been planning a sting on the place for weeks," Jim pauses, listening and then goes on, "They're talking about the fallout now from Rainier University and the dozens of other places those artifacts were supposed to go. They know Oliver was smuggling the drugs in with legitimate shipments, but there's no proof,"

Since they lit the place ablaze, Blair feels a real hurt for all the cultural artifacts they destroyed last night. But he doesn't know if it hurts because of the artifacts they've destroyed or the fact that it doesn't bother him as much as it should.

"No leads. If they figure anything out, we'll be in Mexico by then."

Blair nods but says nothing. Wendy-What's-Her-Name smiles for the camera one more time and then they switch to the sports scores. He flips it off. Neither of them follow the Panthers or the Jags or whatever the hell team this town has.

Jim finishes his meal and tosses the Styrofoam container in the trash. He passes the duffle on his way past the double beds and here he hesitates. Blair watches him with hooded eyes as Jim reaches into the bag, strong hands moving through ropes and goggles and wires and then he's pulling out the clay jar. He just…holds it. Stares at it. But Blair knows better. Knows what he's really seeing. Knows who.

He wants to say something comforting. Profound. But the words aren't there. Not the right ones anyway. Other words. But no, not the right ones. He offers up something lame instead.

"It's over now,"

But Jim is shaking his head. His jaw is tight and he reverently places the jar back in the bag.

"No, Blair," and he pierces the younger man with that look, "Oliver is still out there. It's not over yet."

Blair nods, accepting. Jim is right of course. It isn't over. Col. Oliver is the one who started it all. The one who betrayed Ellison. They were partners, after all. Oliver was the one who took so much from all of them. He looks to the duffle again as though he can see through it to the jar within. Jim strokes his fingers over the jar and Blair remembers a blood slicked hand gripping his arm and sometimes he can still feel the way it runs over his skin, in his pores, drying the hairs on his arm to his flesh. He feels a hand on is his and he blinks. He's been rubbing his arm. Jim's hand is on his now, stilling the unconscious action. Jim knows what he's thinking, but again, he won't say.

Instead, he says, "We'll take him home, to the Temple of Light. Where his spirit belongs. Then we'll finish it for good."

It's a vow. From Sentinel to Guide. Blair nods, takes a deep breath and swallows hard. Jim smiles grimly and moves away, packing their gear, making ready to leave. He looks back to the duffle, back to where he knows the jar is hidden. To the jar. To the urn. To Incacha. He rubs his arm again.

Oliver betrayed them and then murdered the shaman for spite. Stealing the urn from the Temple was nothing more than a petty attempt to spit in Jim's eye. He watches Jim; he watches the hard glint in the man's eye, the rigid way he keeps his body. Yes, Oliver needs to be finished. He almost felt sympathy for the man. Almost.

He doesn't ask Jim what will happen when it really is over. There isn't any going back. They'd have to go back so far that Blair would practically be in diapers to find a time when they weren't on the path to becoming who they were today. But he wonders and now he can't stop thinking about it. He turns back to the tv and flicks it back on. Jim glances his way and then finishes packing.

The footage is back to replaying the fire from the early morning. He watches as Banks appears on the screen, standing with the fire chief and chomping on a cigar. There's the other detectives as well, asking the curious gawkers gathered around questions. His fists clench and he wonders about these people. What happened in their lives to bring them to that point? Why did they want to be cops?

"Ready, Chief?"

Blair looks up and then back to the screen. Banks is shaking his head and his blurry form turns towards the camera for just a moment and the camera man is trying his hardest to zoom in the man from the sidelines.

"Chief?"

"Huh? Yeah, comin'," He turns off the tv and throws a five on the table for the poor housekeeper who has to clean up after hourly guests and together they leave. They're passing the sign that hopes they've enjoyed their stay in Cascade and he feels an inexplicable wave of sadness wash over him. He thinks back to the cops on the tv. He thinks that he and Jim carried out justice last night and yet the cops on the tv probably don't think so. But then he thinks about everything else they've done. He thinks about the people they've worked for. And he thinks that he never once regrets being Jim's Guide. But he does wonder, and for once, just this once- he allows himself to ask. If only to himself.

He wonders what it would have been like.

He places his hand on the duffle and feels the hard case beneath. The case that holds the urn. The urn that holds the ashes of a dear friend. A friend they're going to avenge.

He looks at Jim and wonders what it would be like if they were the good guys.

He guesses he'll never know.

Quick question...well, maybe two

Sat, 02 Jun 2007 14:41:38 GMT

Hi all! I have a quick TS question or two, whatever:

I'm tweaking a zine story that has timed out, hoping to post it to CL soon. Unfortunately, there are some facts that I'm thinking I didn't get straight and it's frustrating the heck out of me.

1) What happened to Col. Oliver? Did he go to jail or did he not bounce that well? I have no idea where my old vhs tapes of this ep are.

2) What year did Jim's chopper go down in Peru? I thought I knew, but now I'm questioning a lot of this. Definitely need more coffee.

Thanks for any help y'all can give me!

Tuesday's child is full of grace...or not

Wed, 25 Apr 2007 10:05:56 GMT

Okay, so I just wanted to sit down and get lost in LJ. So I bring out my tea, which comes packaged already in a glass and all you have to do is pop the top on it and it's ready to drink. Yup, all you have to do is pop the top.

Suuuuure.

I tried to gently pop it. No go. Little harder. Hmmm. Brought it closer. Holding it against me now, trying to pry the top off, and then pop! Except, that by that point I'm practically wrestling the stupid thing to the ground and when I finally got the top off, tea went all over me and the couch! Grrr... Bad pop-top, bad. Geez louise, so I do my whole, Blair "I am calm" thing, change clothes (it was that bad) and go back into LJ. After a while, I notice a bug, no bigger than the head of a pin, crawling across the screen. I go to flick him away and end up smearing him across the screen. Ewwww! Arrrgghhh even. So I go to get a tissue to wipe said smear off and what do you think I did? Yes, graceful me knocks over what's left of my tea. So now I've got bug guts on the laptop and tea running down my stand, onto my beige carpet. But hey, it's okay because my white socks that were sitting on the floor absorbed a lot of it. *thud-this is me smacking my head against a wall* LOL so that was my evening. The screen is clean now, I'm dry, and the couch now smells pleasantly of peach and pomagranates.

In happier news, one of my favorite authors, Lynn Kurland, came out with her new book yesterday. *doing a happy dance* She writes historical romance (medieval) with a twist of time travel. I'm happily ensconsed in my geekdom and love sci-fi in my happily ever afters. :)

In even happier news, I got a raise at work. Yaaaayy!   It's been two years since we even got a cost of living increase so this was very happy news.

Now I'm off to get some coffee...though I think to be safe, I'll stand over the sink to drink it...

Hope everyone has a great day!

I have finally succumbed...

Mon, 16 Apr 2007 20:17:07 GMT

*flicks on the lights, steps over a few boxes, and throw my keys on the table.*

Sweet.

Groovy, even.

I have tried to resist the temptation to grab myself a spot on LJ for the simple reason that I already belong to several other groups...but, but, this place just looks so cool! So here I am, ready or not.

It's the addiction to the television show, The Sentinel, that has brought me here. Or more to the point- the fanfic. I've been writing off and on in the Sentinel sandbox for several years and have been overwhelmed and humbled by all of the brilliant writers out there. I can't wait to dive in, just as soon as I figure out how to use everything here. (I should have my ten year old nephew show me) I have found some great icons, however, at Muses Realm. The Monty Python Holy Grail icons are great!

Take care, y'all!