Title: What is Past is Prologue
Author/pseudonym: black fungi
Email address:
Rating: R
Pairings: J/B, B/m
Status: In-Progress
Date: 06/02/06
Archive: Yes
Archive author:
Archive email address:
Series/Sequel:
Category: Crossovers, Drama, First Times
Author's website:
Disclaimers:
TV series The Sentinel remains the property of Paramount and Pet Fly Production while La Femme Nikita is owned by Warner Bros and USA Network. I claim authorship to this story which is written simply for mindless
entertainment... STRICTLY a non-profit endeavor.
Notes:
Do note the following for easier reading:
...words... - Indicates words are stressed (bold)
...words... - Indicates unspoken thoughts (italics)
...words... - Indicates mind-speak (underlined)
Summary:
Will Blair's shawdowy past threaten his new found tranquility and life with Jim? The Sentinel xover La Femme Nikita
Warnings: Slash
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ACT II: Mind Games
-- Wednesday, February
4th 1998 --
-- 1120hrs --
-- Cascade Park --
"I don't wanna do it!" Wisps of hair flew over his face as he shook his head stubbornly. Folding his arms across his chest, he willed the unruly tendrils away from his eyes with a hearty puff and looked at Jim squarely in the eyes. "I won't do it, and you can't make me, Jim!"
For the eighth time that day, Jim sighed wearily. He had heard enough of his partner's obstinate refusal to participate in this simple exercise, and he was goddamned sure the rest of the guys in blue had too.
"It's just a tin can."
"Oh yeah? Maybe this time it's just an empty can or empty bottle, then it'll be just a paper outline of a person, and the next thing I know, I'll be just shooting guys off the street," the younger man explained hurriedly, his hands flying in swift animated gestures. "And my karma's way uncool with that. Now can we skip?"
For Christ's sake! Do you have to analyze everything to death! They're cans! Jim was beginning to feel a throbbing in his temple, a sure sign that a headache was being born.
The Annual Police Obstacle Race had started off surprisingly well. Blair had good-naturedly joined in, and despite the absence of police training, he was holding up under his own steam better than most of them here. But it was the marksmanship exercise that had Wonder Boy stumped.
Jim's eyes caught a couple of rookies sniggering at the far end of a picnic table, probably thinking what a wimp his friend was. He knew Blair was no wimp. Hell, Blair was probably the only person he knew that could take out an armed terrorist with a vending machine, but this little episode was not going to score an 'A' with the good guys. The faster you finish this, the faster we can get the hell out of here with what's left of your reputation. He was 101 percent certain now that they were talking about his young friend: Being a sentinel has its few advantages. His eyes shifted back to his friend who was staring mutely at the cans a hundred and twenty yards away from them. Maybe I need a new approach.
"Kid, you go to carnivals often?"
"Yeah... if there's one around.." Blair turned away from the cans to look at Jim curiously with a tinge of suspicion at the change in conversation. Not that he didn't trust Jim, but like most good cops, they have an annoying habit of sneaking up on innocent civilians - like himself. Jim is a great cop and a sentinel. What chances have I got against him? "And?"
"And what do they have there?"
"You mean at the carnival?"
Jim nodded.
"You haven't been to a carnival before, man?"
Jim only smiled his smile which Blair recognized as, 'Humor me, Sandburg.'
Okay, Jim, I'll humor you this time... and every other time. Taking a deep breath, Blair recounted all the stuff there were in all the carnivals he had been. ".. and there's a lot of squalling kids for one thing, not that I'm like totally against noise pollution 'coz it's a carnival you know, it's expected and hell, you can't get a better carnival to go to without a scream; and there's lots of huge contraptions to stimulate the adrenaline like the House of Horror, the Viking and Rollercoaster rides which I've been meaning to question the effects on your senses up there, that is if I can ever pull you away from work, and gods forbid, enough junk food to last a lifetime and shoot an artery or two and there's games to --"
"Games," Jim spoke out suddenly, silencing Blair's monologue. "You like games, Sandburg?"
"Sure. Don't you?"
Jim chose not to hear the question or answer it. This wasn't about him. Knowing Blair, he could turn the whole conversation given an opportunity, and Jim was making sure he wasn't giving any. "Great! So let's play a game."
"A game?" Blair couldn't help but sense an impending doom.
"A game. You played one of those games where you have to squirt water right at the bull's eye to get a stuffed toy before?"
Blair nodded, not daring to hear himself speak. He was almost certain there was a trap hidden somewhere, and the growing panic he felt didn't exactly boost his mental skills.
"Well, now we're going to play a similar game. Different rules though." Jim turned Blair around so that the ten cans were in full view. "All you have to do is shoot those cans there, and if you do knock one down, you won't get a stuff toy." Jim then turned him to face the snickering rookies to his left. "No, kiddo, you won't get a stuff toy, but you will get to rub it in their faces, which is a whole lot more satisfying were you to ask me. So are you game, Chief?"
Oh shit! Why didn't I see that before? Blair winced. I'm making a dumb fuck outta myself - and Jim - with my stupid, stupid sheep whining... Right in front of the whole fucking precinct too. They're never gonna lived it down - Jim and his sissy partner, too fucking afraid to shoot harmless cans. Jeez! "A game?" His voice was soft, and to Jim, it sounded so pitiful in his confusion and fear.
"Just a game, Sandburg. Just a game," Jim reassured him, patting his cheeks gently as if dealing with a slightly demented child. That's it Sandburg. It's all a game... He placed the gun into the smaller hands and guided him to face his targets.
"It's just a game," Blair muttered, "It's just a game." I'm gonna stop being such a whiny piece of shit in front of all his cop buddies and shoot those fucking cans. So Blair shot, the sound almost deafening. Again and again, until all he heard was an empty click. For every cursed blast, Blair could hear a distinctive scream in his mind and it clawed viciously in his gut.
Ten out of ten. That oughta keep their mouths shut! He felt that he should be shouting at the top of his voice for his perfect score, but at that moment, he could feel only revulsion for allowing himself to be led into a 'Killing Exercise'. "I hope you're impressed 'coz I'm gonna lose my breakfast any second now." He dropped the gun and fell unceremoniously on his butt.
"You're really terrified of guns, aren't you?" Crouching in front of Blair, Jim teased; only his eyes betraying the genuine concern for his friend.
"No, not exactly. Just that I don't like them very much." He squeezed his eyes shut and vigorously rubbed his temples as though the very act would erase the memory.
Yeah, and you're one hell of a shooter, kid! Jim flashed a proud smile at his friend, which went unnoticed. "Hey, you okay?"
"Jim, I think I'm gonna --" Vomit spewed out suddenly onto his shirt. "Shit... This is not good." Without opening his eyes, he spoke, "You wanna leave this place, man? 'Coz it ain't a bed of roses here."
"C'mon, Chief. I think that's enough exercise for one day."
TBC