Title: Impossibility under oath of Incredulity

Author: Meg a.k.a. Shinigamideathgirl

Disclaimer: Not mine

Summary: Sometimes it's just too much to ask to be a normal cop.

This story deals with the old Ellison, he changed a lot from the anti-social person he was before he met Blair. So what if Blair was just a little too late? What if Jim found another way to deal with his psychotic senses? What if Blair is facing something bigger than Jim's senses, something so tangled up in history and lies?

Author's Notes: Why am I starting a new story? When I haven't finished the other two I've started? Because I've lied and given up on them… I'm really, really bad. But I've just found this incredible fandom, the writers in 'The Sentinel' are amazing. They just have such GOOD stories and above all else, I like good writing. So I thought, why not, I'll just write a bit here too. It's not really a slashy story but I suppose in my mind I can't (or won't) see them with anyone else, but don't worry its mostly just Gen, I'm not a big romance writer. So let the action begin!

Excerpt: Jim pupils expanded and he could suddenly see every detail, the sweat and the tracks the sweat had left on his skin, every bump, crevice and hair on his face suddenly seemed obvious. Even the plethora of hues that made the curly mess on his head, every twist and turn each strand took, every mark and eyelash and those orbs that had no right to be so beautiful, blue and blue and blue and blue…

Chapter: One

Jim tossed his pen gently to his left hand, twisted it between his fingers and tossed it back to his right hand. His report lay abandoned besides his computer, a sheaf of white pristine paper. Untouched. He frowned while unconsciously playing with his pen; the quicker he got this report done the quicker could let his workmates watch dust settle where he'd been. Sighing he switched tactics throwing his irksome pen on top of the blank pages, mildly hoping it would break and splatter ink all over the untouched sheets, when it refused to comply he turned towards the computer. The crime database flashed on screen, all criminals on record in cascade; their profiles, past misdemeanors, locations, friends, jail time and so much more, their life splayed out to be dissected and monitored. Jim vaguely wondered if he should be feeling any sort of sympathy, the thought floated away before it had fully formed leaving Jim more irritated than he had been moments ago.

He was procrastinating, he should just write up the damn report and get out of here, the night shifts were giving him dirty looks. He shortcut his way to word pad and wrote up his report short and concise, referencing witness testimonies and other useful resources, two hours later he was beginning to feel remorseful for leaving it for so late. Saving the document and printing out a copy he snapped the computer off, tossed the load of papers than represented his report in his boss's pigeon hole and strode out of the bull-pen.

Maybe he should find himself some company tonight; he was feeling rather lonely and pissed. Then again better not, no need to drag anyone else down into his pissy mood. He sighed leaned against his pickup and glared at the car park for good measure. Oh yeah, the concrete sure knew not to mess with him. It was late, he was grumpy, he should just go home and sleep his bad mood off. Sleep off his personality, heh, Jim grimaced his own version of a smile before unlocking the truck's door and a climbing in. 11:45, later than he thought it was however not nearly late enough for him to succumb to sleep.

Jim suddenly jerked, slammed both of his hands over his ears, bent over and bit the steering wheel, it was a minute before he could see again, took another two for his hearing to come back. Sweat slowly dried on his collar and underarms. A scream, he heard a scream but he didn't hear anything now. Jim slammed his head back on his seat and gripped the steering wheel. These attacks were so sudden, so random and totally uncontrollable. He started the ignition, shift gears and careened out of the car park and into cascade's hidden night.

Where was it? Where did it come from? He wished he could hear it once more just to get his bearings but it just didn't work like that, he knew it and yet somehow he just wished for some damn logic to it. For no reason whatsoever his sense... his senses would play up, of course that didn't make much sense at all. He couldn't possibly see what he saw, hear what he heard, taste and feel some of the things he had experienced. He ground his teeth, just ignore it and try to follow the sound from memory. He slowed the truck and slipped out.

Here.

It was here, he licked his lips and let go… for a moment it was terrifying, he hated having to give up control, he wasn't all together sure of the motives of… his other self. And that's what it was because it sure wasn't him unholstering his gun, clicking the safety off and slipping into an abandoned hotel. His blood sang. Something about this person was primal, dangerous, like it had no capability to reason. It hunted. And it did that well, he just hoped he could force himself back before it took over him completely because he wasn't sure it was a good guy, an upholder of justice, no he didn't think it cared much about the laws of society at all.

But he could see through its eyes and it always amazed him, just like when he had those 'attacks,' his vision sharpened to beyond his comprehension, he could see in the clearest of colour and distinction, the dark didn't diminish his capacity to see at all. While his attacks hardly ever lasted for over a minute or two and carried a shitload of attached pain, this was being used it without the slightest twinge.

He wondered which would be better, to have this strange freakish ability and be able to control it or just be normal. Well either option was probably better than having a spilt personality he supposed. A door stood proud before them and suddenly he was back, breathing heavier than when he was in his truck and he could hear something. He pressed his ear towards the door straining to listen while in the back of his mind he wondered where the other him had disappeared off too.

"Look you have the wrong guy, I… I'm just a grad student," the voice was male, shaky and perplexingly made Jim feel at ease. Until he started screaming again.

Metal on flesh always had such a distinct sound, kind of hollow and high pitched. Jim tensed ready to fling the door open and start shooting, but he needed just a bit more information.

"Why were you waiting at the drop-off? What the fuck do you know?" another male voice, deeper and gritty. It got on Jim's nerves.

"I don't know anything!" The voice was straining, trying for calm and yet assertive. "I don't know where your shipment has disappeared too." Footsteps, more than one pair, so three people for sure. The kid getting beaten up and two goons. No problem.

He took two steps back and grinned, better to use his surprise attack to the maximum, maybe scare them a little and maybe mess em' up a little too. His kick sent the door ripping out of its hinges and smashing a few feet within the room – hopefully the kid wasn't under the now bits of door on the floor.

"Who the fu-,"

"Police! Drop your weapons and raise your arms!" Jim stormed in after the door, "Didn't your mama ever teaching you not to swear?"

The two goons watched him stupidly before realizing the impact of his words, one lunged towards the kid tied up to a chair the other was already getting a round out of his revolver. Jim dived grabbing the trigger happy by his ankles and watched the giant fall, shots still blasting into the roof. Jim slammed his elbow down hard on his right arm and watched the gun slide away from them; he then proceeded to give the giant a knuckle sandwich. Centered straight at his face, and watched it bounce twice on the wooded floor before being still.

"Don't fucking move or I slit his neck, I ain't fucking about!" Of course you will, some days his sorry excuse of a life just played out like corny eighties detective stories. So predictable.

"Keep it rated pg," Jim muttered standing and training his gun at the imbecile's forehead. "What do you thinks faster? You're knife or my gun?" Jim grinned, people have alleged that he looked rather psychotic when he smiled, so he smiled a little broader adding a lot of teeth. "Put it down and you don't die. Simple. Move and your brains paint the wall behind you." He really had no intention of killing the terrified gangster wannabe, unless there was absolutely no other option but a little fear went a long way to dealing with delinquents.

He tossed the knife and raised his hands. Take a bow Jim, you deserve it.

"Good move." Jim moved fast cuffing the youngster and calling for backup, he secured the site and moved to hostage. "Hey you alive kid?"

"I'm not a kid." Sharp blue eyes, a slightly upturned nose, pretty lips all framed by a tumble of dark curly locks. Jim backed up a little, masculine for sure but he found himself checking anyway. Two hoops glittered from his right ear and blood flowed freely from a gash on his forehead. "Er… hey man, can you maybe get me outta this?" The kid tugged his wrists indicating his tied up state of affairs.

Jim wondered if that was such a wise decision, he had a strange feeling about this kid or whatever age this guy claimed. "Maybe," Jim murmured instead, "Name."

"Aww come on, it's really starting to hurt." Jim pupils expanded and he could suddenly see every detail, the sweat and the tracks the sweat had left on his skin, every bump, crevice and hair on his face suddenly seemed obvious. Even the plethora of hues that made the curly mess on his head, every twist and turn each strand took, every mark and eyelash and those orbs that had no right to be so beautiful, blue and blue and blue and blue… "Hey, hey, you okay there?"

Jim jerked back and glared at the kid. "I'm fine." He growled, got behind the kid and started on the ropes, sirens wailed in the distance as backup decided to finally get their ass into gear. For probably the first time in his life that attack didn't hurt, he had definitely gone into 'super sense mode,' as he'd dubbed it; however the little demons hiding in his brain weren't trying to smash their way out for once. And that shook him. Pain he could handle, even the idea he was going insane and had a split personality he was handling. Change, change he abhorred.

Change was an uncontrollable force, a cataclysm that could shake the very foundations of his life and sanity which didn't exactly sit on steady ground in the first place. Change was evil. In other words, he had to get away from this kid as soon as possible.

There were procedures and rules to follow in these kinds of situations and of course a damn report lingering at the finish line. Other cops were now on the scene securing the goons and forensics were swooping into the room like a bunch of masked aliens tripped out on ecstasy. He wondered briefly if his ex-wife was working tonight and decided he didn't really want to know the answer to that.

"Thanks man, I'm gonna have bruises for the next month. Ugh," The poor beaten up kid probably had a lot of bruising underneath the hundred of shirts he seemed to be wearing. Some kind of new-age bullet proof vest? Jim smirked.

"Don't move," Jim crouched in front of the kid and slid a hand on his chest, his sense of touch suddenly increased tenfold. "Broken two false ribs on the left side. You're probably safe from puncturing a lung however, I would suggest you stop moving." The kid looked a little flushed and was obviously trying to squirm away from his touch, Jim wondered if he was hurting the kid, he slowly let go finding himself aggravatingly reluctant to move away. As soon as his hand couldn't feel the heat of the kid's body, his sense of touch suddenly seemed evaporate back to normal, he almost lunged back towards the kid.

Definitely should get out of here.

"Jim." Gruff voice, probably one that was interrupted from sleep, Jim was surprised to see his captain. "I wondered if you ever slept guess I finally know." He had a tentative relationship with his captain some could call it friendship, however Jim wasn't quite sure he had friends, he supposed the captain was a little closer than anyone else. That wasn't really saying much though.

"Captain." Jim made sure to leak a bit of curiosity into the word hoping that would tip Simon Banks into telling him why he was down here.

"The two thugs you've terrified over there are known gangbangers, have rap sheets longer than my arm. I happened to be in the area when you made the call." Jim watched his captain closely wondering if he was lying and decided he wasn't, sleeping out in his car in this kind of neighborhood? That kind of behaviour fitted Jim Ellison but not his captain.

"Doing a little camping out in the backwaters?" Jim asked curious despite himself.

"Rough patch with the miss's." Simon finally muttered. Jim nodded.

"Hey, you aren't just ignoring me are you?" A voice floated from behind him, Jim turned back to the kid and wondered why the paramedics hadn't gurneyed him away yet. "Because I'm sure in these kinds of situations-"

Jim whistled one of the on site doctors over, "Get him out of here," he motioned to the kid who was trying to get his attention.

"Oi wait-a-minute!" the voice insisted.

"Make sure he gives his statement and see if he wants to press charges." Jim told the doctors before he strode away from the kid.

"Hang on Jim," His captain matched his long strides.

"I'll be at the bull-pen ready to serve and protect, don't worry I'll have my statement down and this investigation running by tomorrow."

"The kid?"

Jim shrugged.

………………………

Jim looked at the crime scene, from what the goons had spilled they were waiting for a shipment, no they didn't know from whom or too whom, all they knew was to get the bags from a hotspot and get them over to a warehouse down the waterfront. Typical runners, useless really. He'd already been down to the warehouse ironically numbered 13 but didn't find anything, not that he had really thought he would. They had found Sandburg (the kid who was tied up) loitering around the shipment area and they had presumed he was their shipment guy. I mean look at the guy, with that hair, man, who's he trying to fool? Looked like a junkie to me.

He was at a dead end here, it was probably time to write a report and drop the case at narcotics; maybe they would find some links with this case. He turned away from the dust smattered room and was about to duck out of the yellow crime scene tape when something glinted under a piece of broken door. He turned back interested crouching to get a better look; he got a pair of thongs and a bag, moved the wood and spotted a necklace. He grabbed it with the thongs and dropped it into the bag. Moving the bag towards the light he eyed the necklace carefully, string with wooden… well he wasn't exactly sure what it was, carvings he guessed. Something about it, something forgotten. Jim shook his head and shoved the bag into his coat, he'd let forensics have a look and maybe if his ex-wife was in a good mood they could get dinner.

Jim quietly strolled out of the hotel looking around, quiet neighborhood but not the calm comforting type of quiet where families fell asleep at eight pm. This felt oppressed with the smell of decay, debasement and possibly fear. Something stirred inside him, Jim stopped digging his nails into his palm, it would be so easy to just let his other self take over. Jim shook his head vigorously before dragging himself into his truck, maybe… he did need to interview the victim… well no, he didn't have to personally…but it had to be done… he was free and primary on this case.

Jim sighed and drove out of the sight of the hotel.