Warning- minor cusses. Not exclusive. Dues for SA list. Not beta-ed

I don't own them, Pet Fly/Paramount do. This is for entertainment only. No money is being made.

Tradition
by Strut

Stay in the truck!

That oft time repeated order echoed loudly in Jim's head. Damn, why did he ever bother to say it? Sandburg never listened. Not once. Not ever. Jim plain hated to have to say it, he only wanted his friend safe. Why couldn't he just understand that? Plus Jim disliked the looks that were flung his way.

He had a labeled for each one. The soulful puppy dog, the pissed off glare, the how could you? And his least favorite -The 'this will cost you one hell of an evil test when we get back to the loft'… The looks were usually followed by mutterings, harrumphs, cranky grunts, hisses of impatience, usually accompanied by interminable tapping, snapping or clicking of an ever present pen –or fingers- and the sundry grumbles that were clearly meant for him to hear, no matter how softly Blair uttered them, or claimed he didn't really want –or think- that Jim heard him.

Every single time the observer simply ignored his edict -except this time.

Now, when he really needed Blair, the kid actually listened to him for once. Dammit. Why here? Why now? Just when he'd gotten to the point of expecting Sandburg to simply show up. It had become a game to him. He would order, Blair would ignore it. The kid would arrive on the scene of whatever the hell was happening and usually winding up eyeball deep in trouble. That was Jim's cue to snap, at which point Blair would roll his eyes and explain in some cockamamie-scientific-word-laden-way why he had to be there.

For all of Blair's spouting off about some such tribal tradition or another, how could he just NOW finally think Jim was serious about staying in the dammed truck? It was tradition that he make the order and tradition that Blair ignore it.

Except for now. Dammit.

Okay, seriously, where the hell are you Blair?

Dialing up high enough to listen for Blair's heartbeat would take him too perilously close to a zone out. So he edged up his hearing carefully, listening for the soft tread of his shoes. Even tiptoeing, Jim knew the very cadence of his friend's gaits. Besides, the left shoe has a small squeak where the bottom tread had worn through into one of the air cushions in the sole. He sure as hell would not be telling Sandburg about that one. Lord only knew what he'd come up with to test that particular bit information. It might be interesting to find out... Nah, it wasn't worth it.

His vision dimmed. Stay awake! Stay awake! Focused… It was getting harder.

Sandburg, where the hell are you? You never listen. You always come. I tell you to stay in the truck. You come anyway. We have a ritual here dammit! Jim could feel the blood oozing out of the wound, his life slipping away with each warm drop. A dark and misty haze formed at the edges of his vision, he would lose consciousness soon. Calling out was useless, and potentially fatal, if the bad guys had doubled back. He hadn't heard them for a bit, but that didn't mean that they were still around. His phone was with Sandburg in the truck and his radio was smashed –over the heads of one of his opponents. They sure didn't make 'em like they used to, that was for sure.

Darkness edged closer, like a ravenous wolf prowling ever closer to a flock of sheep. Jim quickly weighed again the advantages – and disadvantages- of remaining silent. He could die either way. He called. Or tried to. A loud hiss was all that issued from his lips. The darkness deepened, lethargy beckoned sweetly like a lover. He could no longer see, his lids draped over his eyes and became instantly superglued in place.

Hiss-squeak! -pad- Hiss-squeak! -pad- Hiss-squeak! -pad

Huh, I know that sound. Jim mused woozily.

"Jim!"

Hands rapidly brushed over him and then pressed painfully into the wound, slowing the flow dramatically. "Oh geez, this is bad, big guy. But I think I got here in time. I've already called for help. Ambulance and backup are on the way." The whispered words were only audible to Jim.

Blair

Jim managed to keep the smile off his face as he relaxed. As consciousness tip-toed away from him, he managed to murmur, "Thought I told you to stay in the truck."

"Jiiiiim!"

The exasperated whisper was music to his ears. Other hushed words gushed out of Sandburg and flowed over him like a warm, comforting wave. It was safe to let go, he knew he'd wake up in a hospital.

Oh yeah. He loved tradition.

The End