Title: Grieve

Author: Brynn H

Disclaimer: I own nothing recognizable. The characters established in the Sentinel TV show belong to MUCH wealthier people than I.

A/N: Just a short little snippet submitted for dues on a sentinel list. Not beta'd. NOT part of my "Lost and Found" universe.

Grieve

How do I tell Jim? He's not at the precinct. Simon doesn't know if he's on his way home or if he has errands to run. I need to tell him this right away, but I hate to give him this kind of news on the phone. He had just recently reconciled with his dad. Their relationship still wasn't quite perfect, but then whose is? William had finally accepted Jim as an adult with whom he could spend time as an equal, instead of a son whose life he needed to control. They had come a long way. Jim was finally to the point where he could call his dad for advice, where he could drop by the house just to spend some time with him. They were finally starting to enjoy being with each other. Now this.

With no way of knowing when Jim might be home, I decided I needed to call him on his cell phone. This wasn't the way I wanted to deliver this news. In fact, I didn't want to deliver this news. At all. But, it needed immediate attention.

I tried his cell phone a couple of times and it went to voice mail. There were a couple of dead spots along the way and I figured he was in those at the moment, so I kept trying. I refused to leave this on his voice mail. I finally got through and didn't have a clue how to say this, so I just said it.

"Jim," I started, "Stephen just called from the hospital." I could almost feel him tense just by listening to his non-response. "Your dad had a heart attack and…passed away just a few minutes ago."

His voice, when he finally spoke, was leaden. "I suppose I should go to the hospital." I wasn't sure if it was a statement or a question to which he desperately wanted a 'no' answer. I knew that, since the hospital was between the precinct and home, Jim would have to come out of his way to continue to the loft to pick me up first, but I felt he needed me with him. Stephen sounded devastated on the phone, and even though it had been decided he would be the executor of the estate when this inevitably happened, it hadn't sounded to me like he was handling the whole thing very well himself. I knew there was no way he would be emotionally available for his brother. Worse, Jim had always been thrust into the role of 'the rock' of the family. If I let him show up at the hospital by himself, he would immediately slip back into that role and shove his emotions deep down to be able to be there for Stephen and Sally. I told him to come home and pick me up first.

About ten minutes later, I heard a sound I thought I'd never hear. Jim was sobbing in the hallway as he approached the loft. Not just crying, but sobbing, uncontrollably. By the time he got to the front door, he was fighting to take a breath. When he saw me at the door, he collapsed into my arms and cried even harder!

"Dad," he managed to articulate through the sobs, "No! Dad!"

I held him until his breathing evened out a little. He was still shaking with quiet sobs, but didn't seem in imminent danger of collapsing now. I pushed him away a little and steered him into the loft. He headed straight toward the sofa and buckled…literally fell as though his strings were cut. I sank down in front of him and waited for whatever he needed me to do…even if it was nothing.

"I can't," He said quietly, after a long silence. He was still on the verge of tears, and I could tell he was trying to say as little as possible, not trusting his voice not to break. "I can't go to the hospital, Chief. I can't see him like that." It was too much, and the sobs started again. It was the most heartbreaking sound I had ever heard. I've always tried to get Jim to get in touch with his emotions more…to let me in, and show me what he was feeling. He was finally letting me in, letting his emotions show, and it was devastating for both of us. I knew this meant that he trusted me implicitly. He'd never be this open with me otherwise. But, I had always thought that, if he'd just let me in, I'd be able to help him deal with any emotion he showed. I was so wrong. I hadn't a clue how to help him with this. The only parent I ever knew was still alive. I'd lost male role models that somewhat took the place of a father, but it really wasn't the same. I couldn't commiserate with how Jim was feeling. I didn't know what to do.

Jim's sobs once again reached the same point they had in the hallway. He was struggling to breathe again. He was actually starting to scare me. His face was a deep burgundy; he was gasping for breath, and making that same keening sound as before. Just as I thought I would go insane trying to figure out how to help him, he reached forward and melted into my embrace. He started to settle again.

Once he got his voice under control again, he continued what he had said earlier. "I can't see him like that, Chief. I can't go to the hospital. I wouldn't be any use to anyone. I just can't be strong for anyone right now."

"Jim," I reached into my heart and hoped that what I found there was what he needed to hear. "You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with, and you don't have to be strong for anyone."

He sagged in my arms again, as though a weight had been lifted, so I continued. "He's your dad too, Jim. You're hurting just as badly as Stephen and Sally. I doubt any one expects you to be any stronger than them, and if they do they have no right to." He remained silent, so I proceeded with what I had to say. "Stephen said when he called that he had everything under control. Your dad had already made arrangements and prepaid for everything to do with the funeral. There's nothing at the hospital that needs to be done right now. All you have to do…all Stephen and Sally have to do…is grieve. Details can be dealt with tomorrow. Business stuff can be taken care of in the next several weeks. There will be plenty of time to deal with minutia. Right now, you just deal with all that you're feeling."

He continued to hug me for a while, and when he finally sat back, he was much more composed…not shut-down, just composed.

"Thanks Chief," he said simply. I think I finally figured out what to do to help. Jim didn't need fancy words, or any in-depth knowledge of psychology on my part. He just needed an ear, a shoulder, and a friend who would accept him for whatever he was feeling at the time. I realized I could easily be all three.