Disclaimer: The Sentinel belongs to UPN/Paramount and Pet Fly Productions. No copyright infringement is intended and no money has changed hands.

Author's note: I'd like to thank everyone who gave me such encouraging feedback on the first episode of this series. I know that a lot of people REALLY hate death stories, but I tried to make it different than all the others. I hope this one holds up to your expectations. Enjoy!

Official Beginning

Wednesday, April 9, 2014...

The bullpen was quiet except for the shouting coming from Captain Simon Banks's office. All the detectives in the division but Brian Rafe were either out on cases or lunch, and Rhonda Wilson, Banks's long-time secretary, was gathering files and information for the weekly staff meeting. The Captain was on the phone with the Chief of Police, Robert Snyder, who was trying his damnedest to halt the Sentinel camp in its tracks. Every time the volume went up, Rafe and Rhonda flinched. An unhappy Captain made for a miserable staff.

With a final shout, Simon slammed the phone down on the cradle. He just stood there for a moment, calming down. Then he stuck his head out of the office and barked, "Rafe!"

The summoned detective jumped. "Captain?"

"When Sandburg gets back, tell him to get his butt in here."

"Yes, sir." The door slammed shut again. No one had to be told that Chief Snyder had turned down the proposal again.

Detective Blair Sandburg knocked once on his superior's door then went in, knowing that he was expected. "You wanted to see me Captain?"

Simon looked up and said, "Sit down, Sandburg."

Blair's eyes narrowed slightly. Something was wrong. He'd sensed the tension coming off Rafe and Rhonda, and while Simon had learned how not to broadcast his emotions where the Shaman could detect them, the fact that he was shielding probably meant he wasn't going to like what was coming.

When Blair's Shamanic powers had come on-line a decade earlier during the course of a murder case, he'd had to learn quickly how to control his abilities. He'd been able to solve the case and release the trapped soul of the murdered Shaman by forcing his developing powers forward, but that had left him open to the psychic atmosphere around him. Jim Ellison, normally in the position of needing help with the five senses, had been able to help his Guide with his sixth sense, the bond they had always shared coming into play, as well as years of experience controlling excessive sensory input. They'd had to teach Simon how to shield his mind because for some reason he had a "louder" mind than anyone else in the department, and in those early days, Blair hadn't been able to block him out on his own. These days, the big black Captain only used that ability when he needed to hide something from his subordinate, so the current "silence" in the office worried Blair. "Simon?"

Banks sighed. "I got a call from Chief Snyder while you were on lunch." Blair looked at his commander's face and knew by his expression how that phone call had gone. "He's still refusing to grant official approval for the camp. He's convinced that you're going to suck funding away from those civics programs he's promoting."

Blair groaned in frustration. "How many times are we going to have to tell him that this isn't coming out of the budget? Jim's estate will cover the camp for at least two years. We still have to find a location, get people to run the camp, figure out how to get the kids out here, and a hundred other little things, and until he gets his head out of his ass and signs the papers, we can't even get started! I wanted to do this over the month of July, but the way things are going, I'm not even going to be able to get it started this year."

"I know, but I've done everything I can from this end."

A new voice filled the office. "Then maybe I should give it a shot." For a moment they could see nothing, but soon the form of Jim Ellison materialized in the chair next to Blair.

"Jim!" Blair had to restrain himself from jumping up and trying to hug his Sentinel, as he no longer had a body to hug. Just a month ago, Jim had been killed by a punk kid in a convenience store robbery, but the powers that be had not been finished with him, so they arranged for him to be able to haunt the entire city, still protecting his tribe, but also remaining to help Blair prepare the next generation of Sentinels and Guides. They and the rest of Major Crimes had come up with the idea for a summer camp, a six-week-long training session to bring the new pairs together gently and start teaching both groups the beginnings of control.

Jim missed his life. Sure, he was still able to haunt the city and bring down the bad guys, still make collars. No one made drug deals on the street after dark these days and the gangs were no longer actively at war, all because of rumors of a demonic black jaguar roaming the streets at night. As the cat, he had terrorized the criminal element for a month, causing several groups of drug dealers to just move out of Cascade all together and the violent street crime rate to plummet in the nighttime hours. The homeless and the hookers felt a lot safer, both groups knowing that he was there to protect them. He couldn't do anything physical, other than alter the temperature and move the air around a bit, but he could certainly create illusions, and they were usually enough to scare off any criminal. The entire police force knew that if you saw a jaguar on the street, he meant for you to see him and to follow him, usually to a scared-out-of-his-mind perp huddling behind a garbage can and begging you not to let the monster get him. But Jim could no longer do a lot of the little things that had made his life worth living, like drinking coffee in the morning and swatting the back of Blair's head when he said something to annoy him, eating a home-cooked meal, processing the information from his five senses into a homogeneous picture of the world around him, the voice of his Guide cutting through all the interference to ground him. He only had three senses now; sight, scent, and sound. Taste was useless to a ghost. He no longer had the physical presence to use either taste or touch. He couldn't touch the world any more. He couldn't touch his guide.

Still, he would always be there for Blair, and that was no small consolation. He sent a wave of warmth to surround his Guide, the closest thing to a hug he could now offer. He smiled when he felt Blair wrap his psychic net around him, a warm feeling of joy imprinting itself on his mind in the same type of gesture. Jim said, "How're you doing, Chief?"

"I'm okay, just a bit frustrated."

Jim nodded. He turned to Simon. "How 'bout you, sir?" Long-time habit caused him to still be formal to his former commander when he met him at the station. Habits were very hard to break when you were dead, the familiar being a link to the life of the deceased that they were seldom willing to give up.

"I'm all right. It's good to see you again, Jim." Simon dropped his shields before they could crack from the amount of emotion he felt at seeing his old friend again. Blair grinned as the sensation poured over him. He didn't mind, being well able to control the input.

Jim got down to business. "I'll probably ambush Snyder tonight. He's the only one of the brass who hasn't stopped harassing Major Crimes. I'll give him one chance to get his act together in private, and if he doesn't, I'll embarrass him at the party fund-raiser on Saturday."

Blair's grin widened. "Guess who's coming to dinner."

Chief Snyder sat down to the table with his wife, Anne. She was not happy with him at the moment. She thought he should stop trying to keep Detective Sandburg's pet project from taking off, being convinced that the ghost of Jim Ellison would begin to give them problems if he didn't quit interfering. He was tired of having to cater to that detective. He'd not been happy when the man was killed, but he thought that he'd at least be able to get some work done without the man insisting on doing things his own way. But no, not even death was stopping the irritating man from dictating to him. But he was not going to stand for it. He would not allow his own work to be hindered by the plans of a ghost!

Suddenly, Anne screamed in surprise. Snyder looked up from his dinner. Standing in the entry way to the dining room was a large black jaguar. The cat had piercing blue eyes that seemed very familiar to him, as did the expression on the animal's face. This was Jim Ellison pissed off. The cat morphed into his human form, the big detective glaring balefully at his former superior. Snyder decided to play it cool and glared right back. "What do you want, Ellison? What justification do you have for coming into my home without an invitation and scaring my wife? If you were still living, I'd have you arrested!"

A smirk played around the edges of the glare, giving the Sentinel an evil look that made the Chief wonder if taunting a ghost was a smart idea. "Good thing I'm dead, then, isn't it. The law can do nothing to me, but I can do things to you, and you haven't exactly been giving me any reason not to want to. You keep stalling on signing those papers for the summer camp and I promise I will. What's your problem, Snyder? Is it just because it's my last request or do you have an actual reason for this?"

"This camp doesn't seem to have any benefit for Cascade, but Sandburg is wanting to filter its funds through the PD. He keeps saying that it's your money he'll be using, but if that's true, why is he after the budget?"

Ellison rolled his eyes. "He's not after your budget, Snyder. He needs to put it there for everything to be official so he can arrange leave time to run the camp and so he can get reports of Sentinel abilities into the official record. That way, when some of these kids become cops, there will be official documentation of their abilities and they won't have to do the dance of obfuscation that Sandburg and I always had to, not to mention that mess with Tommy Juno. And who says the camp won't be benefiting Cascade? I mean, do you really want to have to deal with another rogue Sentinel like Alex Barnes? This camp will help to to prevent that kind of mess by making sure the kids have the right set of values and have their Guides to support them."

Ellison looked at him, awaiting for a response. Snyder was getting angry. He stood up and said, "I won't be dictated to by a dead man, Ellison, and I won't be harassed by that hippie fraud!"

Big mistake. The ghost unaccountably grinned at him like a shark. "I warn you Snyder, it doesn't pay to piss me off, especially in an election year. You're going to regret that remark. No one insults my partner!" His expression softened for a moment as he turned to Anne and said, "Sorry, for barging in on dinner, ma'am."Then he turned back to the Chief. "I'll be seeing you." He morphed back into the cat and turned around, leaping through the solid front door.

Anne breathed easier once the angry spirit had left the house. She turned to her husband and whacked him on the arm. "I told you this would happen! Until you sign those papers, Robert, you'll be sleeping on the couch!" With that she stood up and took her uneaten dinner and headed up the stairs to eat in their bedroom.

Snyder groaned. Damn that Ellison! It wasn't enough that he was a thorn in his side when he was living, he had to bug him from the grave as well! But he refused to give in, he didn't care what that damned ghost did!

Thursday, April 10, 2014...

Blair crouched behind the driver side front wheel of his '02 Ford F-150, grimacing as bullets pinged off the passenger side of the truck. The kidnapper had gotten desperate and had turned his hostage into a shield, meanwhile shooting at the surrounding officers, probably hoping to find a hole in the barricade he could get through. The man was already beyond reason, and he'd nearly taken Blair's head off when he'd tried to talk him down earlier. It was getting to the point where they'd have to call in the SWAT sniper.

Suddenly, Blair felt a ripple in the air and a brush of warmth against his shoulder. He looked up and smiled. The jaguar stood beside him. "It's good to see you, man! Think you can help us out here?"

The ghost cat grinned, a feral expression that had never crossed the muzzle of a living cat. "No sweat, Chief." Then he faded out, though Blair had no doubts that he was still there.

Blair got on the radio quickly. "Dispatch, this is 4-William-21! Call a Code Ellison on the hostage situation at 6th and Marley! Repeat! Code Ellison at 6th and Marley! Do not shoot!" The code call was necessary because the bullets would pass straight through the ghostly Sentinel, and if a cop shot instinctively at his sudden appearance, they could hit the hostage. Likewise, if the perp started shooting at Jim, any cop not under cover would be hit.

The air around the gunman and his hostage started to shimmer, and the huge feline form of the jaguar padded regally out of the disturbance, his ice-blue eyes flashing at the perp and a feline scream of challenge erupted from his throat. The man panicked and began to shoot at the cat, but it did no good, and he emptied his magazine into the pavement, not taking his finger from the trigger even after it had begun making its useless whirring noise. Then Jim morphed into his human form, clothed as he had been in Peru, face camo included. The glare he had pinned on the shooter could have put ice crystals on a lava flow. "Let her go." It was said with quiet menace, and the temperature in the previously-balmy night air dropped so suddenly that fog began to form along the ground.

The gunman freaked out even further. "What are you!?"

Jim's cold glare remained, but his stony expression shifted into an evil smile that was somehow even more terrifying. The air and the fog began to move, slowly at first, rotating around the ghost. He never raised his voice, adding to the eerie silence that had descended on the lot. "I'm the thing that haunts this city, the reason the gangs won't travel at night. I'm the shadow that stalks the crooks in this town, the beast they never see until it's too late. I'm the silence that they feel in their bones, the shiver that runs up their spine. I'm the one that protects this place and it's people from things like you. So let the woman go, and maybe it'll only be the police you have to deal with." Then as he finished speaking, the rotating wind began to pick up, moving faster and faster until the speeds were enough to create some suction, like a baby tornado coming to life without the benefit of a storm front to aid it. The wind wasn't strong enough to cause any damage to the structures, but every loose piece of trash within a hundred feet was pulled into the funnel, which now extended high into the sky. If speed increased much further, the smallest projectile could become lethal, and yet none of the police were being effected by the phenomenon.

Finally, the frightening display worked. The shooter threw both his gun and his hostage into the whirlwind, which immediately changed into straight-line winds. The girl was gently supported by the now-warm wind, gently lowered to the ground by its force, which almost seemed like strong and comforting arms to her.

Jim's gaze never left the man before him as he waved to Blair to come in. The Guide quickly approached the perp and handcuffed him, then handed him over to the uniforms, moving to the woman who had been his hostage. She was just sitting on the ground now, seemingly unharmed, but definitely shocky. She looked up and saw the two men kneeling next to her. Nervously she took a real good look at Jim. Not wanting to frighten her, he didn't change to a more casual appearance as he usually did after one of these activities. He said, "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "He didn't hurt me. He said when he took me that he wouldn't, that he just wanted the money and the people at the company to realize what a mistake they made, but there was something in his eyes toward the end, like he was starting to go crazy or something." She paused for a moment, considering whether or not to ask her next question. She nodded to herself, then said, "Sir, what are you? Are you an angel?"

Jim chuckled. He knew Blair would throw that one back at him later. The thought that he could be mistaken for an angel was prime fodder for teasing. He shook his head and said, "No. I was just as human as you once. I was a cop."

"Was? ...Oh." He nodded. She looked closer, trying to see what he looked like under the face camo he was wearing.

"I can change into something more casual if you'd like. This was what I wore in the Army when I was stationed in Peru."

"Like you changed from the panther, right? Or was it a jaguar?" He nodded and his form shimmered just slightly, leaving him in his usual work clothes. "Oh! You're Jim Ellison! I remember that thing last year with the car bomber. One of his bombs took out my boss's car." She turned to Blair. "Are you -ah- too?"

Blair grinned and shook his head. To prove the point he took her hand. "Detective Blair Sandburg. Jim's my partner."

She turned to Jim. "Oh! Is that why you're still -you know- here?"

"Part of the reason, anyway. Apparently the powers that be weren't exactly through with me. That's why I haunt the whole city, not just our apartment."

Blair said, "Not that I don't like listening to this stuff, Jim, but..."

"Right. Miss, can you tell us about what happened before the police came? Where did the kidnapper take you from?"

Getting the woman into the rhythm of a normal witness interview, Blair took over the questioning, drawing her attention away from Jim, who was gradually fading out, taking it at a speed that wouldn't startle her into noticing. Once he had disappeared completely, his voice rang in his Guide's head. "I'll meet you later at the loft."

Blair answered telepathically, splitting his mind between Jim and the witness. "Good. I want to talk to you about the amount of control over the physical world you're starting to demonstrate. And I just want to talk to you." The Sentinel responded with the familiar brush of warmth that Blair had come to translate as a hug, and then was gone in a brief shimmer behind the witness where she wouldn't see it.

It was easiest on civilians if they weren't confronted too much with the strangeness of their protector, even after having witnessed the decidedly spooky things he could do. No matter what you'd done for them, if you rubbed it too much in their faces, they started to freak out. Some of the cops had the same problem, but most of them had gotten over it, and those who hadn't had transferred. No one had done so out of dislike for Jim or Blair, but it was just too strange for the completely atheistic mind set sometimes. After all, if this kind of spirit was real, than what about other kinds of spirits, or angels, or God? It could really shake them up.

Soon the scene had been processed and the kidnapped girl, named Jenny Tucker, had given her statement and was being driven home. The kidnapper, Mede Wilson, had been Mirandized and sent to the station in the back of a black-and-white. Simon had arrived shortly after the patrol car left the scene and waited until Blair was done talking with the witness, then waived the younger man over. "I heard the code call. Is he responsible for this mess?" He said it with a bit of a grin to take any possible sting from the words, but the scene WAS a mess. The miniature wind storm had scattered all kinds of litter and debris all over the place. It looked -well it looked like a tornado had come through there.

Blair grinned back at his Captain. "Yep. He made like he was going to send Wilson to Oz to meet the wicked witch. He's getting better with the wind thing, and I swear it must have dropped twenty degrees there for a minute. So far the only things he can control are air, temperature and light, but that control is increasing, and I've seen what a tornado can do, even a small one. In the plains states, where tornadoes are so common, they find drinking straws imbedded in tree trunks. If Jim can get enough control, he could conceivably aim that kind of debris. He'd have a weapon again, you know, other than his 'charming personality.'"

Simon snorted. "That'll go over well with Chief Snyder. The only reason he hasn't shit his pants yet is that he thinks Jim can't hurt him."

Blair's grin widened. "Well it's not like he can do anything to prevent it. He can't exactly have him suspended or arrested any more." Then he switched gears. "You coming over for dinner tonight, Simon?"

"Yeah. I think Daryl was planning on showing up, too. I know Joel is coming and he's bringing his wife's chicken enchiladas, and maybe Megan. Rafe and Brown are on stakeout tonight, though." It had become an unwritten policy with Major Crimes that Blair would never eat dinner alone. That was the time he was most likely to become depressed over Jim's death, and the Sentinel had asked them all to make sure he didn't have to face it alone. They would all pitch in, each detective bringing something to the table once per week so that Blair didn't have to cook for seven people every night. And Jim was usually there, though some times he was out in the city doing the Sentinel thing. No one liked to miss an opportunity to visit with their departed friend, well aware of how very rare his situation was.

Blair nodded. He was well aware of Jim's actions, but he never said anything, preferring just to enjoy the company. It was just another manifestation of his Blessed Protector's mind set, and who's to say they wouldn't have done it anyway? "I'll see you tonight."

Blair was setting the table when Jim showed up that night, the time he usually came in. "Hi, Chief. How are you doing tonight?"

Blair set the stack of plates in his hands down on the table and sighed. "I can't seem to stop missing you, and I can't figure out why. I mean, you're still here, still an active part of my life, still being you.

Jim smiled sadly. "It's because the normal is gone. You know instinctively that this isn't the way it's supposed to be. We're not supposed to exist without a body; it's not natural, so you mourn. That's as it should be, Chief. Believe me, this is killing me, too, if you'll excuse the pun." Blair smiled a bit at that. But the small expression couldn't last against the emotions that were still so heavy in his heart. Jim wrapped his friend in warmth, wishing for the umpteenth time that he had pressure to go with it and make it a real hug. "It's all right to grieve, Blair. It's perfectly natural. You don't have to feel guilty about it. It's not like you're not grateful that I'm still around or being selfish for wanting more."

Blair's voice had deserted him, blocked by the tears in his eyes that were threatening to fall, so he just nodded. It didn't surprise him anymore that his partner knew exactly what he was feeling. He picked up the plates again and set them on the table, trying to put things back to normal before company showed up. He changed the subject, as Jim had known he would. "Well, you seem to be getting the hang of the poltergeist thing. That tornado trick could prove to be deadly if you needed it, not to mention the total heart-attack-inducing freak factor. You're developing quite the demented sense of humor, Ellison." This time the grin was broader, more genuine.

The Sentinel returned it, chuckling evilly. "I think it's going to come in handy. I can certainly scare the bad guys this way, and if necessary I can take them out with the wind. I keep getting stronger. Maybe some day I'll be able to move something heavier." That's right, Ellison. Invite him to give you more tests. It would get Blair's mind off the loss, put him right where he was strongest, in the realm of the scientist, giving him a new problem to solve and wrap his mind around. For nearly eighteen years, that had been the best way to distract him, and though Blair knew the diversion for what it was, he was grateful.

Blair said, "Well, why don't we try a few things." There was a knock at the door. "After dinner."

After dinner, once they were alone again, Blair set out an assortment of small objects; a feather, a penny, a small stone, and the TV remote. Jim sat in front of them and attempted to move them. On the first try, he couldn't even move the feather. Blair, back in the old groove, said, "Try it using your hand, like you still had a body. That should help you to visualize." When he still couldn't get the thing to move, he got frustrated and kicked up a small breeze, blowing it off the table. Blair picked it up off the floor and put it back on the coffee table. "Jim, take it easy. You're trying too hard. Just close your eyes and let yourself relax. Remember what it felt like; to move, to feel, to breathe." Jim sat there, and just like he used to do when Blair was doing some test on his senses, he leaned back into the sofa. Blair fell into his Guide voice, as natural to him as his own breathing, and continued to instruct his Sentinel. "You had a physical presence, a mass, that was defined by your form. Remember that feeling, the weight of your body, the heft of your hands and your arms, the tension in your muscles." He watched as Jim concentrated on the remembered feelings, and the first thing he noticed was that Jim started to actually sink into the couch, as if he still had a body. The Guide had to take control of his heartbeat and respirations so that they wouldn't betray his excitement at this, or Jim would be distracted. "That's good, Jim. Now, lean forward. The feather is at your two o'clock. Just reach out and grab it."

Jim didn't even think about it. He just did it. Once he had it back to automatic reflex and stopped trying so hard, it connected. He opened his eyes and saw the feather in his hand and grinned. He could feel the thing, its rough texture, its light weight, its temperature, just slightly colder than the surrounding air. It was sudden, but he'd found the dial for touch again, one he hadn't been able to even think about for the month since his death. He held tight control over it as sensation washed over him for the first time in a long time. It was almost orgasmic in it's intensity, but it soon subsided to acceptable levels. It wasn't complete. There was no air passing through his throat, no heart beating in his chest, but he had a presence again, a solidity, one that he could produce at will. It would take practice, but he knew he'd be able to do it again.

Blair was ecstatic. "Jim! You did it!" Forgetting momentarily that Jim didn't have a body, he moved to hug his Sentinel. But he didn't pass through. There was now a physical presence to the ghost that, while not perfectly mimicking a body, was still solid and warm. An observer would never have known as the two men embraced in the joy of this discovery that one of them was a spirit.

Saturday, April 12, 2014...

Because it was an election year, Snyder couldn't afford to snub anyone at this dinner party. Every Captain in the department was invited and could bring up to five guests and their dates. This had allowed Simon to invite all of his best detectives. Daryl got to come as well, invited by his own Captain in Narcotics. He looked splendid in his tuxedo, and the tall lady on his arm matched him beautifully in her red velvet evening gown. The room was full of cops and well-to-do supporters of Snyder's political party, all in formal evening wear and looking, in general, like any other high-society party.

But this party was destined to be the most memorable of the year. Snyder had still refused to sign the papers. His wife was at the party, but she was avoiding him at all costs, blatantly showing her anger with him by talking with Detective Sandburg until dinner was served and then refusing to sit by him at the table. There wasn't a cop at the table who didn't know the situation, and most were having trouble keeping their faces straight. The humorous atmosphere was at odds with the formal setting, but that didn't stop it.

Dinner did not go smoothly for the Chief of Police. Three separate waiters ended up spilling drinks on him, having been tripped by something, though nothing could be found as to what that something was. His main course had mysteriously had a tablespoon of cayenne pepper added to the top of it. His desert, mint ice cream just like everyone else's was the only one at the party that came melted. The waiter had sworn that the dish was still frozen when he picked it up, but by the time it was delivered to the table it was liquid.

Snyder had held up marvelously against the strain of the "mishaps," enough that Simon said to Blair that he deserved all the headaches that went with his office if he could do the same thing under more official conditions. He had even dared to make fun of the occurrences, saying that it was obvious that the Republicans had slipped someone into his kitchen staff. That was when the swan ice sculpture he had been standing next to melted suddenly, drenching him. He snarled at the Cheshire cat grin that appeared in the air in front of his face, but cleared his expression before anyone could see it. The water soaked into the carpet, and anyone who happened to look would have seen moist paw prints appear on the dry part of the carpet for a few paces before the water on ghostly feet finally petered out.

Things started getting more and more blatantly supernatural, to the point that no one could ignore their peculiarity. One of the centerpieces of the main dining table was a watermelon that had been beautifully carved to resemble a Viking ship. The oarsmen, small figures made of pressed cheddar cheese, dropped their oars, plucked themselves out of their stationary positions and leapt from the boat. They deployed with military efficiency, splitting into two groups. The first group, comprised of four men, stayed close to the boat. One of them double-timed it to the nearest place setting, which happened to belong to Daryl's date, and saluted her with perfect form, then took her desert spoon, hauling it with no difficulty back to the ship. She giggled. The other three men of his group had tipped over a salt shaker, bracing it along its sides with chunks of pineapple to keep it from rolling, and had stacked up carrot sticks next to it, creating a platform. They lashed the spoon to the shaker with a strip of ribbon taken from the decorations on the sides of the table. By this point, everyone could tell that the set up was a weight-fire catapult. Then the little figures began unloading their ship's cargo of melon balls.

Meanwhile, the larger group of cheddar men had traveled stealthily up the table through the jungle of centerpieces and trays toward the head of the table. The men had all stopped at one of the trays to grab one of the fancy sword-shaped toothpicks out of an hors d'oeuvre, and then moved on, sticking to cover as good soldiers should and allowing the activity at the boat to serve as a distraction.

The attack, though not dangerous really, was well coordinated. The men by the boat started firing their catapult, the melon balls serving as ammunition and the stack of carrot sticks as a jumping platform. The machine was aimed perfectly, and the first four balls hit him in the face. The table erupted into laughter. Snyder finally lost it and started fighting back. He picked up his table knife and threw it so that it so that it hit the little machine and knocked its components apart. It didn't manage to actually hit any of the little men, but they dove for cover. That was when the ground troops charged. Three of them had swarmed up his arm before he could move it, and the rest leapt across the distance between the table and his chest, all climbing toward his head. They wouldn't be shook off, displaying an admirable tenacity and a strength that mere cheese should not have possessed.

They finally reached his collar and all twenty men stuck their swords under his chin. A sudden loud voice went along with the quelling move, effectively freezing the more-than-annoyed official. "I wouldn't move if I were you. Those things are sharp." The air behind Snyder shimmered to reveal Jim in a tux. "I told you you'd regret insulting my partner, Snyder. I hope the evening's been hell enough for you."

"Damn you, Ellison!" He stopped when one of the little men who was right at his throat poked a bit with his sword.

"I don't think so. They'd have already done it if they had intended to." He paused and walked right up to Snyder on his right side and leaned over so that he was talking in the man's ear. "Now I think your constituents ought to know about your refusal to sign those papers, don't you? After all, they deserve to know the reason for this evening's entertainment." He stood straight again and addressed the assembled cops, politicians, and businessmen and ladies. "For those of you who don't know me, I'm Jim Ellison. Before my death, I was a cop. My last wishes included a specialized summer camp for certain children in major cities across the country. The funds were to come from my estate, at least in the first two years, and certain investments I made should provide funds for longer than that. By the time this venture needs fundraising, Chief Snyder's own programs will have already achieved completion. Now, in order for my partner, Blair Sandburg, to be able to apply for leave for the six weeks of the camp, which he will be running, the program needs to be listed in the department budget, but Snyder has consistently refused to sign the papers, convinced that Blair is just after his budget. When I approached him privately, he not only refused to sign, he insulted my partner. So I've been feeling a little vindictive."

Simon chuckled, drawing the attention of the rest of the banquet table. "A little, Jim? Remind me again never to piss you off."

Jim grinned at his Captain. "Yes, sir. Now, Snyder, I'm going to call off my little friends there because I don't want you claiming duress later. I did this strictly for my own satisfaction, your embarrassment, and your voters' information. Now, it's up to you, but I think that if you want reelected, you'll go ahead and sign. After all, news like this travels fast, especially when it'll make such an entertaining story. Not something the papers could pick up, I guess, but who needs the Herald when you have the rumor mill."

The cheddar figures leapt from the incensed official's shoulders and lapels, landing on the table and then falling in and double-timing it back to their boat. Once they got there, they joined the other four men of their crew. None of the little men had a voice, but they all indulged in a scene of good-natured back-slapping, congratulating each other for a job well done, then reloaded the unused melon balls into the boat and reclaimed their seats and their oars before once again becoming simply cheese. The last one to freeze turned his head to Daryl's girlfriend and saluted her again, this time rather jauntily, then took up his oar and froze again. Chuckles rose on all sides of the little scene. Blair said, "Hey, Jim! What's with the little flirt down here?"

Jim smirked one-sidedly. "That one was Harvey Shore. I served with him a year before Peru. The man couldn't resist flirting with the ladies, no matter that he was queer as a three dollar bill."

"Woah, you mean these guys were real?"

"Yeah. Every one of them was someone I served with when I was in the Army. Call it one last hurrah. Everyone who went down in Peru was in that bunch. I figure I owed them that much at least."

Daryl grinned. "You managed to get a bunch of your old Army buddies a Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card to throw fruit at your old boss? How'd you pull that off?"

The Sentinel chuckled. "I guess the PTB just like my style."

Sunday, April 13, 2014...

The guys were all at the loft again for dinner. This time, Megan's chicken cordon bleu was the meal of the day, with pasta on the side. They couldn't stop talking about the dinner party. When Jim finally showed up Daryl was laughing about Shore's antics again. Blair said, "Jim! Man, last night was so great! It took all I had not to laugh my head off right there!"

The ghostly Sentinel grinned. He was dressed in a plaid shirt, collar open, sleeves rolled up, and khaki dress slacks. "Well, it worked. He signed the papers this morning."

A cheer rose from the table. Simon said, "All right, Jim! Now we can actually get started on this thing."

Blair went and got a bottle of champagne out of the 'fridge. "I've been saving this. Daryl, you want to help me get the glasses?" It took about two minutes to get everyone a glass, then he popped the cork. Jim caught it cheekily, and both of them grinned as Blair poured for everyone. Then he raised his glass in toast, and looking his Sentinel in the eye, he said, "To Camp Enquiri!" Everyone joined in the toast.

END (for now)

Author's note: Thanks for reading, folks. I hope this is up to snuff. Feedback is most welcome!