The Sentinel belongs to Pet Fly. No copyright infringement intended.
Note: Thanks to everyone who is reading Dead Ringer. Part 3 should be up by the end of the weekend. Until then, here's a one-shot to tide you over. There might be a bad word or two, but nothing more than that.
Feedback is craved and appreciated. Thanks!
Wish
Blair whistled tunelessly as he puttered about the kitchen. Assembling the ingredients he would need to make a triple chocolate fudge cake with icing, he set to work. It was going to take him a little longer to make than an ordinary cake mix, but that was okay. He was used to it. Ever since moving in with his Sentinel friend, Blair made sure he knew everything that went into the food Jim ate. No telling what or when the older man would have a reaction to something. It was better for Blair to be prepared for it.
He was especially careful as this was Jim's favorite dessert...or it would be once a scoop of vanilla ice cream was served alongside it. Blair had learned early on of Jim's sweet tooth. Donuts were just the beginning.
Shaking his head, the young man glanced at the stove clock. The detective had called about ten minutes ago to say he was leaving the station. It gave Blair just enough time to put the cake together and stick it in the oven to cook. Jim would want to relax a bit before getting ready to go out to dinner.
As he set about cracking the eggs into the bowl, Blair shook his head. He had really wanted the cake to be ready sooner, but the Bower bust yesterday had left them with a pile of paperwork today and he couldn't let Jim tackle it all by himself. Not today of all days.
Unfortunately, that had only been part of it. Blair had been reluctant to leave his friend's side all day. After his close call yesterday, Blair craved the soothing presence of his Blessed Protector. He could tell it hadn't bothered Jim a bit either. What had nearly happened had shaken him as well.
Blair reached up and gently fingered his throat, which was still tender. Bruises were already beginning to darken where Brian Bower's fingers had dug tenaciously into his skin. The artifact smuggler had been livid that Blair had found out about his plans to steal some Mayan pieces from the university and had informed the police about it.
Pushing his thoughts of yesterday aside, he just thanked God once again that his Sentinel had gotten to Rainier just in time to save him. Yeah, he thought, it had been a close call, but at least I got in a few good licks before he nearly killed me.
Things were looking up today. Bower had spent last night in a holding cell down at the precinct. Sometime this afternoon, he was supposed to be transported to Seattle. They, apparently, had dibs on him first. It didn't matter one way or another to Blair just as long as he didn't have to deal with Bower anytime soon. Jim had mentioned something about testifying, but that would be a long way away. No need for me to worry about that right now.
Blair was just plugging the electric mixer into the outlet when there was a loud crack and a splintering of wood. He looked up in surprise then terror as the loft door swung open and bounced against the side counter with a resounding thud. It hung at an awkward angle, but the anthropologist didn't notice.
There was only one thing occupying his attention and it was the man with the long ponytail who was smiling at him, revealing a mouth full of sharp, wolf-like teeth. It was a deadly look and Blair involuntarily stepped back.
"What are you doing here?" Blair rasped. "You're supposed to be on your way to Seattle."
"Thought you could get rid of me, huh, kid?" Bower's tone was full of malice. "I escaped just so I could come back and kill you. You oughta feel special."
"Hey, man, why don't you just let it go?" Blair's gaze never left the bruised face of the man who had just broken into the loft. Outwardly, he appeared unruffled but inside he was cringing in fear. Yesterday, this man had tried to kill him. Somehow, he'd escaped and now he was here, his intent clear. Show no fear, Blair, he told himself. Show no fear and maybe you can talk your way out of this.
Bower advanced menacingly and Blair backed up flush against the counter. The intruder didn't appear to have any weapons on him, but the police observer wasn't going to take any chances. The two hundred and fifty-pound, well-muscled man was enough of a lethal threat. Yesterday's encounter had shown Blair that much. Of course, Bower had had a knife the last time too. It had made Bower pretty angry when Blair had disarmed him of it.
Blair cleared his throat, wincing. He tried to school the pain from his face that the talking provoked. He didn't want Bower to realize the damaged he'd caused. It would only bolster his confidence."Listen, man, I don't want any trouble and neither do you. If you leave now, you'll still have a chance to get away."
"Save it, punk," Bower snarled, now standing in the kitchen. Only the table separated them. "I'm not interested in what you have to say. All I want is to see your blood all over this floor." With that pronouncement, Bower withdrew a butcher knife from inside his coat. It gleamed as the overhead lights bounced off the shiny blade.
The anthropologist swallowed, his eyes darting from the knife to the crazed man who held it. "Come on, Bower. You don't want to do this. My partner will be here any second now and if you trash his loft, he's gonna be really upset. And trust me; an angry Jim Ellison isn't a pleasant sight."
"He could be a fucking pit bull who's been starved for days and I wouldn't care," Bower slashed at the air with the knife and Blair winced. "I'd cut him down just like any other mangy cur who was stupid enough to get in my way. Besides, I've sent him on a wild goose chase. He and his captain."
The last sentence distracted Blair from the image of his partner cut to pieces; in image which pierced his heart. "What? What did you do?"
"I called them and sent them looking for me on the docks." The tone was smug as the hand made almost casual gestures with the knife.
Blair eyed him incredulously. He couldn't believe the unmitigated gall of this man. "Oh, boy," he whispered. "You've made a major mistake. They know where you are, Bower. It's only a matter of time. I can't believe you called them." Blair shook his head at this particular man's stupidity.
"Cut the talk!" Bower suddenly screamed and Blair jerked at the sound. Instinctively, his hands went back to brace the counter behind him. Feeling a cord he began to get an idea.
"Like I said, if you left now, no one will get hurt." Blair tried to use his most calm, reasonable voice…the one that usually worked on stubborn detectives and growling captains. Apparently, it wasn't going to work on crazed would-be killers because Bower began to move around the kitchen island, the knife now clenched tightly in his fist.
"You just need to shut up! I don't want to hear your mouth anymore. You don't know what you're talking about!" Bower continued to yell in uncontrollable rage.
Blair tilted his head and gave him a pitying look. It was hard trying to contain the fear vibrating through him as Bower neared, but he had to try. If he could just keep the other man talking, then maybe Blair would get out of this in one piece. "Oh, man, you are so wrong. You shouldn't have called them. Detective Ellison will know this is where you'd come first. You should have escaped when you had the chance. Don't you watch cop shows, Bower? The escaped convict that stops to tie up loose ends always gets caught." Again, Blair shook his head. "It must be a stupidity gene all criminals seem to carry."
The police observer finally managed to throw the furious smuggler off balance. Despite knowing what was going to happen, Blair almost missed Bower's lunge at him and barely managed to deflect the blade coming toward his head with his hand. As the knife sliced through his palm, pain shot through his fingertips. Blair had no time to agonize over his wound as Bower's momentum had the younger man bending backward over the counter, the knife poised above him.
Blair grabbed a hold of the electric mixer he'd plugged in earlier. He flipped the switch and brought the appliance forward in one fluid movement. The whirring mixing blades came into contact with Bower's face. Flecks of blood splattered Blair as the skin of the criminal's nose was flayed off.
Bower screamed and dropped the knife to clutch at his wounded organ. As he backed away from Blair, the younger man moved forward, waving his electric weapon threateningly.
"This isn't over, kid," Bower growled, his voice sounding hollow through his cupped hand. He began reaching into his pocket, and Blair moved toward him, his weapon ready.
He slowed in confusion as the mixer sputtered to a stop. He glanced behind him and noticed the cord dangling on the floor. Oh shit, he thought. Blair had lost his juice.
Hefting the now dead appliance in his right hand, the young man did the only thing he could do. He hurled it at Bower, hoping to strike his attacker and sneak passed him to the door. Dismayed, he watched as the other man easily deflected the mixer, sending it to the floor with a loud crash.
Without thought, Blair reached for his nearest weapon. Picking up the bowl with the unmixed cake ingredients, he flung it at the man advancing on him. Blair watched in satisfaction as it struck Bower on the side of the head, raw egg, powdered cocoa, and butter finally blending and dripping down the side of Bower's face. He felt slightly disappointed that Jim's special cake had ended up on the creep intending to kill him, but he felt sure Jim would forgive him.
Taking advantage of the still distracted smuggler, Blair sprinted for the front door, kicking the knife on the floor as he went. Three steps toward freedom and he tripped over the leg Bower stuck out in front of him. With a wordless cry, Blair felt himself falling through the air. At the last possible moment, he twisted his body to avoid hitting the couch and slammed into the wooden floor. Pain flared in his hip as he turned all the way onto his back to look up at Bower. Staring into the barrel of the gun now pointed at him, Blair felt his heart beat triple time with fear.
"Thought you were smart, didn't you?" Bower's face was twisted with hate. "Well, I got you now and you're a dead man!" The gun never wavered as he took a step toward Blair.
In moments like this, Blair fell back on his tried and true method of self-defense. He opened his mouth. "A gun? Man, give me a break. What is this? You planning on writing a book? I can just see it, 101 Ways to Kill an Anthropologist." He shook his head in disgust. "Total overkill."
"Not quite the words I would have chosen, Chief."
Blair's gaze swung to the open doorway. Jim stood there with his gun drawn. Behind and to the left of him, Blair could see Simon standing in a similar position. The police observer also caught a glimpse of Rafe and Brown in the hallway. He sighed in relief. "Hey, Jim."
The detective didn't take his eyes off Bower as he asked, "You okay, Sandburg?" His face looked as if it were carved from granite, his blue eyes icy diamonds. And he'd used Blair's last name. It only meant one thing. Jim was worried.
"Doin' okay here, man." Blair nodded at Bower who still hadn't lowered the weapon aimed at the police observer despite the new arrivals. "Or I will be as soon as you get this trash out of our living room."
"You got it, buddy," Jim solemnly promised. Turning to the man threatening his partner, he spoke almost off-handedly. "Put the gun down, Bower, and get away from him. I wouldn't want to have to kill you."
Blair recognized the tone. He rarely heard it and he was glad of that. It scared him every time. It was Jim at his most dangerous.
Simon must have realized it too because he stepped forward. "Bower, do as he says. Ellison's just a little bit difficult to control when he gets like this. I don't think I can stop him if he loses it."
"Don't do me any favors," Bower growled, stepping closer to Blair. "I've got the upper hand here. I've got Sandburg right where I want him and he's gonna die."
Blair saw what hot anger flicker in Jim's eyes as they dilated, making them almost black. The Sentinel had taken over. "Bower, there's no way you're going to get out of this. If you surrender now, no one gets hurt," he pleaded once more. Blair knew deep in his heart that if this man tried anything he would be dead in seconds. His Sentinel would see to that.
"Listen to him," Simon urged. "Put the gun down and come quietly."
"No! I came here to finish what I started yesterday." Bower grinned evilly at the police in the doorway. Turning to Blair, he pulled the trigger.
Chaos reigned as two things happened at once. As the bullet left the chamber, Blair gave a roundhouse kick at the wrist holding the gun. The bullet missed its intended target and shattered the glass of the television.
Bower didn't notice. He was dead before he hit the floor, his forehead sporting twin bullet holes.
Dazedly, Blair looked from the body to his friends. He saw them lower their still smoking guns. Groaning slightly, he closed his eyes and lay back against the floor. This had turned out to be the mother of all days and he felt bad because of it. Things like this shouldn't happen. He thought to himself. Least of all on Jim's birthday.
"Chief?" The quietly spoken word had Blair opening his eyes. Jim was crouched on one side of him, Simon on the other.
"I'm okay, Jim." Blair answered the unspoken question. Painfully aware of the bruises inflicted on his body, he shifted into a sitting position. Jim gripped his elbow and helped him to lean back against the couch. "Thanks, man," Blair murmured.
Jim frowned and looked him over.
Blair suffered the scrutiny in silence. His verbal reassurance probably did much to ease his friend's concern, but he knew Jim wouldn't be one hundred percent satisfied until he did a Sentinel-enhanced exam.
"Is he okay, Jim?" Simon asked, looking at his detective.
Blair glared at him. Apparently, Banks was aware of this Sentinel maneuver. Still, it rankled that the captain hadn't asked him if he was okay. "I'm right here, man, and I'm fine."
"Just double checking, Sandburg," Simon replied.
Blair frowned. "Aw, come on. Would I lie about something like that?"
"Yes," his two friends spoke in unison.
Blair's eyes widened as he looked from one to the other. "I can't believe you would actually think that."
"It's not so much that you would lie about it, Chief," Jim said in a soothing tone. "Sometimes I think you don't realize how hurt you really are. That's all."
"Oh," was all Blair could say. He hadn't thought of it that way. "I guess that's possible."
Simon just shook his head. "So back to my question. Is he okay or does he need to go to the hospital?"
"No!" Blair said vehemently. "I don't want to go there. It's not necessary."
Much to Blair's annoyance, Simon looked questioningly at Jim who sighed. "Let me see the hand, Chief."
The younger man looked at him blankly. "Huh? What are you talking about?"
The detective picked up the injured hand and turned it over to look at the palm. He raised an eyebrow.
Blair gazed stupidly at the angry redness of his palm, the traces of blood smudging the skin. Looking up at Jim, he said, "I forgot about this. Sorry, man."
"It's okay, Sandburg." Jim continued to examine the palm. "It doesn't look too deep and it's already stopped bleeding. Gripping anything may be painful for a while, but as long as we clean it up and bandage it so it won't get infected, you'll be fine."
Blair flashed him a grateful smile. He really hated hospitals.
Jim patted him lightly on the shoulder as Simon spoke, "All right then, Sandburg. If Jim says you're okay then that's good enough for me." He peered shrewdly at the man propped against the sofa. "How's your throat? Still bothering you?"
Blair shook his head. "No. Well, not much. Tea with lemon and honey helped a lot. And until Bower..." Blair's eyes flicked toward the body and he shuddered slightly, "came to visit, I hadn't talked all day."
As if choreographed, Jim and Simon both moved into Blair's line of vision, blocking out the sight of the dead body and those working around it.
"Take it easy, Chief," Jim murmured. "He can't hurt you anymore."
Blair could only nod, his throat suddenly tight. It began to hit him how close he'd actually been to being killed. He reached out with his good hand and wrapped it around Jim's arm, finding peace in his friend's strength.
Simon laid a hand on Blair's shoulder as he spoke. "Jim, why don't you take him into the bathroom and clean up that hand. I'll make sure Rafe and Brown have everything under control here and then we'll go to the station."
Jim nodded. "Good idea, Captain. We'll be ready to go in a few."
"We have to give a statement, huh?" Blair asked as his friends helped him to his feet. His hand never left Jim's arm and the older man made no move to dislodge it.
"Yeah, Chief," Jim replied as he guided his partner into the bathroom. He nodded once to Simon as they left the captain before continuing, "You okay with that?"
"Yeah, might as well get it over with." Blair sat down on the toilet seat, finally letting go of his partner's arm. "Man, I feel beat. My body aches like I've been slammed by a whole football team."
Jim rummaged through the first aid box and took the supplies he would need to take care of Blair's injury. Setting them down, he reached for his friend's hand. "I know you feel battered and bruised, Chief, and not just physically either." He and Blair exchanged a look. "We'll do what we have to do down at the station and then find a nice quiet hotel and rest for a few days, put this behind us. Both Simon and I are on administrative leave until the investigation is over, anyway. That'll give us some time."
Blair's eyebrows narrowed in confusion. "Administrative leave? Why? You didn't do anything wrong. You saved my life. They can't suspend you."
"Calm down, Junior," Jim admonished gently as he began to clean Blair's palm. "It's administrative leave, not a suspension. It's standard procedure when a cop shoots and kills."
"But I don't understand," Blair protested, wincing slightly as Jim cleaned the wound. "You did what you had to do. It was the right thing."
"Yeah, Chief, it was," Jim replied quietly. He wrapped the hand with a bandage. "They just have to make sure everything was done properly and legally." He secured the wrap and proceeded to clean the blood dotting Blair's face. "Just think of it as a paid vacation and don't worry about it. I'll be back to work by the end of the week."
Blair stood up slowly. His body did ache. "Vacation. Okay. I can think vacation. Besides, you really need one."
Jim grinned. "I won't argue with you there. It'll be nice to have a few days off for my birthday." He turned toward the cabinet to stow away the first aid kit and didn't see the look of guilt flash across Blair's face. "Come on. Let's get out of here."
Blair nodded and left the bathroom first. He could feel Jim behind him, ready to offer assistance should he need it. For that he was grateful. It would have been really embarrassing if Jim had had to practically hold him upright.
As they neared the police captain, Blair's eyes were drawn toward the kitchen. He steadfastly ignored the covered body in front of it and instead focused on the mess. He could see egg yolk dripping down one of the walls and flour and sugar all over the floor. The can of cocoa powder lay on its side, the dark substance pooling on the counter. It peppered the floor, too, where it had dripped off of Bower.
With a pang of remorse, Blair realized he'd ruined Jim's birthday. If it hadn't been for him, Jim would be celebrating right now. Man, how do I always mess everything up? He asked himself. Why does he even bother to keep me around? I'm more trouble than I'm worth.
Any energy Blair had simply drained away and his legs could no longer support him. He collapsed on the couch, dejectedly; vaguely aware of the two figures that sat on either side of him.
"Chief? What's wrong?" Jim looked toward the bent head, trying to see past the curtain of hair to his friend's face.
"I'm just...really tired," came Blair's listless voice.
"Blair, what is it? What else is bothering you?" Jim commanded gently. The posture of defeat in front of him had him more worried than anything else that had happened in the last hour. Something else was going on. When Blair finally looked up at him and the Sentinel could see misery and sadness in his friend's blue eyes, he knew he'd been right.
Instinctively, he placed a hand on Blair's shoulder. "What is it, Chief?"
Blair's eyes watered, making them appear luminescent. He swallowed once before he spoke. "I'm sorry, Jim. Sorry you have to put up with me and all the trouble I bring you. I should have known better. I always screw everything up."
"Where the hell did that come from?" Simon's voice was loud and Blair flinched, moving away from him, towards Jim.
The detective glared at his captain over the curly head and Simon mouthed, "I'm sorry."
Jim nodded and made a "wait" motion with his hand before sliding his arm around his partner's shoulders. Softly, he spoke, "We had this discussion once before. Remember, Blair?"
There was a small nod and Blair whispered, "Lash."
"Yeah, Lash," Jim agreed. "You said something similar then and what did I tell you?"
There was a pause and when Blair answered, his voice was still low. "You said that...that I didn't screw up and that I did everything right."
"Just like now, Chief. You did everything right," Jim assured. "But I also told you that I put up with you because I want to, not because I have to. That's what you do when you're a family. I like having you around. I want you around. You're my home, Chief, and nothing's ever gonna change that." The Sentinel drew his friend to his chest and held him.
"No," Blair denied. "It's not right. I ruined your birthday. I'm so sorry."
"Who broke into the loft, Blair?" Jim demanded. When no answer was forthcoming, he asked again. "Who was it? Tell me."
"Bower," Blair finally answered, voice muffled against Jim's chest.
"That's right, Chief," Jim confirmed. "You had no control over that. It was Bower's fault. Not yours. He caused the trouble. Not you."
"No, no," Blair protested. "I wanted to make your favorite cake, Jim. We were going to go out for dinner. It was supposed to be your special day." Blair's voice rose on the last sentence and he struggled to pull away from Jim.
The Sentinel wasn't having it. His other arm encircled his friend and he held Blair in a firm embrace against his chest. He murmured calming words and rocked the younger man slowly until Blair was quiet and resting against him. Jim never let go.
"Chief," Jim said quietly, "it is a special day." Holding his friend just a little tighter, he continued, "you're alive, Blair, and you're here with me. It's the best birthday I've ever had."
After a moment, Blair raised his head to look at Jim. "You mean that?"
"Every word of it, Chief," Jim replied. "Don't ever doubt that. Hear me?"
"Loud and clear, man." Blair closed his eyes and allowed his head to drift back down to Jim's chest. He felt safe and secure.
They stayed that way, quiet and still, until Jim felt eyes upon him. He looked away from Blair and focused on the concerned face of his captain.
Simon nodded toward the anthropologist, quirking his eyebrow in a question.
Jim gave a slight smile and patted Blair gently on the back. "You're gonna be okay, aren't you, Chief?"
"Huh? What?" Blair mumbled. He sat up, pulling away from Jim. Brushing a hand over his eyes once before opening them, he sighed. "Oh, yeah. Sorry. I don't know what came over me. I think maybe I'm a little tired."
"I think you are, too," Jim responded quietly. He squeezed his friend's shoulder. Blair looked exhausted and the Sentinel could see pain in the dull blue eyes, thanks to the beating Blair's body had taken in the last twenty-four hours. "Why don't you grab a few things for the next couple of days and then we'll hit the road. The quicker we get to the station, the faster we can leave."
Blair just nodded. Rising from the couch, he stiffly made it to his room and disappeared inside.
Releasing a pent-up sigh of his own, Jim leaned back against the cushions, totally tuning out the police personnel behind him as he'd been doing for the last few minutes.
"What was that all about, Jim?" Simon's quiet voice drew Jim's attention. "I've never heard the kid talk that way." He shook his head. "And God help me, I never want to hear it again."
"Unsettling, isn't it?" Jim replied as fatigue stole through his muscles. The weight of the worry he'd been feeling was finally gone. Now that the tension that had been holding him upright had disappeared, his body was craving sleep. He could just imagine how his partner felt. Actually, he could see it.
"I don't think unsettling is the word I would have used, Jim." Simon was speaking. "It was more like being in the Twilight Zone. What happened to our confident, fear nothing police observer?"
"Oh, he has fears, Simon, just like everyone else," Jim disagreed softly. "He just usually doesn't give into them." The Sentinel looked toward the door. "What you saw tonight happens very rarely. I've seen him like that twice before. The night he was kidnapped by Lash and the time Maya broke his heart. Blamed himself for everything." Jim shook his head and again sighed. "I doubt you'll see that again, Simon. Despite appearances to the contrary, he really is intensely private. He doesn't like to show that side of him. You just happen to be here when it hit. Blair will be back to his old self after he's had some down time. Give him a couple of days."
"Take all the time you need, Jim," Simon returned. "I'm not lying. I don't want to witness that again. Way too painful," he finished candidly.
"I don't like to see him that way either, sir. Glad it doesn't happen very often." Jim rubbed tiredly at his eyes.
"You know," Simon said, suddenly. "It's kind of amazing."
Jim looked puzzled. "What is?"
Simon smiled. "Your friendship blows me away sometimes. You trust him with your senses, he trusts you with, well, with him. You know what I mean? It's extraordinary."
"I trust him with a lot more than my senses, Simon," Jim spoke earnestly. "A lot more."
"Beyond words, huh?" Simon said, knowingly.
"Something like that," Jim replied, slightly distracted with thoughts of his friend and their friendship. They had been through a lot together, both good and bad. There was no one the detective would rather have at his side. Blair was his best friend.
The captain glanced toward the kitchen, peripherally aware of Bower's body being taken away. "Man, Jim. Blair really wanted to make this day special for you. He bought all of the cake stuff over the weekend and couldn't stop raving about how he wanted to surprise you with your favorite dessert."
"Yeah, I know," Jim grinned. "I heard."
Simon smacked him lightly on the arm. "You weren't supposed to know. Can't you keep those senses of yours tuned down?" There was laughter in his voice even as he scolded Jim for eavesdropping.
Jim's smile turned thoughtful. "Yeah, I can. But with him it's different. I can't tune Blair out, Simon. There's an...awareness that's there and if it's not, I--" he stopped, groping for the right words. Jim shrugged and borrowed a phrase from his roommate. "I freak out. So I can't help but know what he's up to."
Simon nodded in understanding. "Still, it's a damn shame the cake's all over the floor. He was looking forward to doing all the traditional stuff. You know, singing happy birthday, blowing out the candles, making a wish."
Jim looked toward the bedroom door where Blair stood, backpack over one shoulder. Rising to his feet, he spoke quietly, "I don't need to make any wish. I've already got what I wanted. It's all I'll ever need."
Whether his detective was speaking to him or himself, Banks didn't know. But as the captain stood and looked from one man to the other, Simon totally agreed.
The End
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