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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-- 2105hrs --
-- Prospect 852, Loft --
After Jim helped Blair clean himself, they stayed for the rest of the evening. It wasn't Jim's idea. If it were up to him, he would've hauled Blair's sorry ass back home. But Blair had insisted, pleaded with his lost puppy look. As long as Blair was okay, Jim didn't think it would hurt. Somehow that little prep talk on carnivals and revenge had changed his mind on leaving, and Jim was feeling guilty for unwittingly pushing Blair into thinking he had shamed him for creating a scene. It worried him too that his best friend felt so strongly about using a gun.
He wondered if Blair's reaction had anything to do with the Golden incident two years ago. The poor kid had lived with months of flashbacks, night terrors and psychiatric visits after. There were times then when Jim believed the ride was long over, that it had totally broken his friend, but Blair surprised them all when he bounced back to his old self. It couldn't have been that. Could it? He didn't believe it could. Still, he had spent the entire drive back home trying to get Blair to talk to him, subtly steering the conversation to that one incident. Blair had assured him that 'oh, he was cool' - whatever that meant - but Jim could not not sense pain beneath his words. Maybe it had been too soon, too painful a memory for his young guide to share with him, so the worried sentinel shelved the thought of grilling him.
When they were safely in the loft, Sandburg had the dibs to the toilet. There was no point in arguing; Blair in a vomit-stained shirt was all the smell a Sentinel could take.
While Blair was busy making himself feel (and let's not forget smell) human again, Jim skimmed through Palmer's forensic reports. He didn't want to actually, not when he had unfinished business with Blair. Truth to be told, he rather be spending his night coddling his friend out of his 'oh-I'm-cool' mental anguish, but he figured Detective James Ellison needed to make some new headway; A few harmless minutes on it wouldn't hurt. Plus he promised Rafe and H that he would bring the files over within the hour.
So like it or not, there was no escape from this 'chore'. A very nasty chore, judging from the pictures. Whoever has done this to this kid is one sick bastard. His stomach lurched at the sight of a picture of a heavily mutilated body. The victim was only fifteen, but that wasn't why he felt the bile rose up in his throat... It was his uncanny resemblance to his partner - the hair, the face, the height and even his personality (an assessment offered by his friends). A dead ringer. Pardon the pun.
The previous team from Vice assigned to this case tried to cover all the bases, but there was nothing to pin on the case - anyone the kid shouldn't have pissed. Zippo. They didn't rule out possible random killings, especially with all this millennium shit fermented in the public's minds. His parents however had thought otherwise. Being parents that they were and unfortunately having tremendous influence on the senate, the mayor had Captain Simon Banks appointed his best team on it. That meaning Jim and Blair.
Snuffed without reason... Even I find that tough to swallow... Jim shivered for effect. Think I need a drink.
Jim walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge and frowned in disappointment. Whose turn was it to stock up? It's practically bare in here! Last Friday, they had 'Briyani' and Jim helped Blair buy the spices when it was Blair's turn to shop for groceries. But he couldn't remember if it was last week or the week before. For that matter, he couldn't remember if he did any shopping for the whole of last month. And it's no wonder... I haven't been grocery shopping at all since Christmas. Oops... Jim grinned sheepishly.
"Might as well go shopping and hand in those reports," Jim muttered aloud, speaking to no one in particular. He strode to the hall, picked up the reports and was about to get his jacket when the phone rang.
"Ellison."
"Sandburg please," a deep curt voice answered.
"He's occupied right now." Jim couldn't contain a grin when he heard Blair's gurgled voice singing Sinatra's 'My Way' under the blast of shower. "Who's calling?"
"Michael, sir. I'll wait. Tell him it's urgent."
"In a minute." Jim placed the receiver on the table and yelled, "Sandburg! Your call!"
Sounds of the faucet being rapidly turned to cut the water off and Blair groping for his towels were audible to the sentinel's sensitive hearing. A crash was then heard, followed by a loud 'Ouch' and a muttered curse.
The crash brought Jim outside the bathroom, and he knocked on the door. "You okay in there?" His friend could have an accident at the most unsuspecting places. Jim swore he would have a cardiac arrest if Blair didn't at all step into the hospital in a month. It was not an unusual thing. For all his fancy moves, Blair was always tripping over something, loosing his footing and falling. It wasn't because he was clumsy. God, no one moves like Sandburg. His slightest motions are like a dancer's, weaving a mystic tale out of an ancient book. Supple, graceful, erotic and sometimes sad. Yet now and then, tangled in that woolly head of his, Mr. Co-ordinate Blair isn't. Being with him out in the field didn't help either, Jim duly noted.
"Chief? Tell me you didn't give yourself a concussion," Jim joked, trying to repress the panicked urge to knock down the door when Blair didn't reply the first time.
"Nah.. Stub my toe there," Blair called out from the shower, in reassurance. "Tell her to give me a sec."
Trust Sandburg to believe the womenfolk's falling at his feet. Jim gave a smirk as the panic wore off. He shook his head, disbelieving. Well, the womenfolk are falling at his little feet. Jim couldn't blame the women for lack of self-respect. They know a good thing when they see one, and damn if Blair isn't the best thing that could happen in their world. Even when things didn't actually work out, Blair had shared a part of himself, and that gift was, to Jim, more than enough. But some women didn't like to be brushed off lightly. An image of Samantha came to mind and craved a grin on his face. Nothing like a woman scorned.
Yeah, Sandburg, the divine answer to all women's prayers... But not today, Chief.. "It's a he," Jim corrected, then turned to the receiver to inform the speaker that Blair would be right with him in a few minutes. For all the man's intelligence, Blair's understanding of the time frame was very much different from the normal population. Then again, his partner wasn't exactly normal.
"Oh?" The surprise in his partner's voice was quite evident, and Jim didn't need sentinel senses to hear a faint tinge of disappointment. A muffled 'Who is it?' was heard; Blair was furiously drying his riotous, wet hair with fluffy towels and his speech was somehow caught in the action.
I would like to know that too, Sandburg. You have too many guys calling over for comfort. My own personal comfort to be precise. "Some guy - Michael. Says it's urgent."
Okay, so 'many' is stretching a wee bit but three in fours months is really cutting it too close. The first was Richard Peterson. Oh, he met the jerk in person all right. Richard was not much older than him, Jim supposed. Built like him, Richard could almost pass for an older brother, and he wasn't at all that unpleasant to the eye... That last thought didn't blend well with the sentinel. No offense to all Richards, but he really was a dick. His rude manners left little to be desired, but it was his cocky attitude that he believed he actually owned the little fella that had him hopping mad. He kept putting his paws on Blair where they shouldn't be, taking Blair to places where he shouldn't have and most of all, he kept Blair away from home, night after night, with that silly excuse of needing Blair's help on his project. Jeez, his senses were swarmed by the odor of pheromones emitting from Richard when he met him, 'studying' with Blair in the library. Blair, the ever 'observer', was strangely oblivious to Richard's amorous advances. It took a 'civilized' man-to-man talk for Richard to quake in his pants and leave. Jim grinned at the thought.
A mathematician at Rainier, Ian MacLaine, was second in line. No, Jim hadn't met him, but from Blair's description of him, he wouldn't be any different from his scruffy young partner. Ian was strictly a 'phone-guy'. He'll be one helluva guy for a long distance romance.
Then there was Dr. Norman 'as-in-Bates' Williams, Daryl's dentist. One harmless visit to the dentist, courtesy of Simon and POWW!! Norman came sniffing at Jim's loft.
Unlike Richard, Jim just couldn't find any fault with Dr. Williams. He was clean: no drugs involvement, no dark childhood to speak of, no criminal record. He had even been granted a plate by the mayor himself for helping a police officer nab a child molester. Norman was as sweet as they come. His mannerism was perfectly charming and sincere with none of the insolence of Richard's. With an IQ of 172, they didn't have much problem in the communication department either. They never seem to run out of things to talk, and Jim, not having well-read in certain areas, was unwittingly left out of their conversations. As much as Jim hated to admit it, Norman would be a suitable mate for Blair. But Blair's door just didn't swing both ways, and they both parted amiably. If for some reason Blair decides to make a 180 degree change in his sex life, Norman would be 'it'. Jim thought grimly. And now there is some young pup named Michael on the phone asking for Blair and calling him Sir
He didn't mind if Blair-chases-anything-in-a-skirt Sandburg opted for (or secretly led) an alternative lifestyle. Of course, he'd be startled at first, but he was sure he'd come around. The kid's a darn hippie. He's probably done a few things that would have my ancestors turn over in their graves. Hell, it wasn't his business to mind in the first place. It was just that Blair had a knack for choosing 'poor' bedmates and getting himself hurt in the process. Jim didn't like that. If it were physical hurt, the hospital could fix him up, but Jim didn't think he could help much if they wounded his friend's heart. Not after Maya... No, he didn't like it at all.
"He sounds like a very polite young man," Jim commented lightly, hoping that the irritation he felt wasn't projected into that single sentence.
"He pulled a Sir on you, didn't he?"
"Which is more than I can say for your manners," Jim muttered under his breath when he heard a gurgle of laugh choking out of Sandburg. Taking on a more nonchalant tone, he asked, "Who's this Michael anyway?"
"I don't know a Michael. Probably Dave's student." Clad only in a white bathing robe and a white towel over his damp hair, Blair emerged from the bathroom.
"Dave?" Oh swell Sandburg... They're all popping out of the woodwork!
"Yeah, Professor David Hemming. You remember Dave, don't you? Tall, dark - the one who offered me a ride home from the airport when you were sick?" At the look of confusion persistently etched on Jim's face, Blair shrugged and waved it way as unimportant. "Anyway, I covered some of his Anthro 101 classes when his wife went into labor last week. 23 hours, man." Blair gave a whistle of admiration as he skipped his way to the living room. "That must be one helluva torture for one woman to go through. Dave wanted Rachel to have a cesarean birth but 'no thanks to Mr. Blair Sandburg', as quoted by Dave himself," Blair remarked in mock guilt, "the wonderful, intelligent Mrs. Hemming opted to go au naturel. 23 hours! And I wonder why they call females 'The Weaker Sex'?"
Blair paused a while, gathering his thoughts before shooting in pure gusto, the bounce in his steps became more pronounced. "The mom and baby are safe, and Dave never look happier. They've asked me to be her godfather. Isn't that so great? And they named their little bundle of joy after me!!! Me! Blair Sandburg! There's this little tyke named after me!! And I'm gonna be her godfa-- What?" Noting the grin on Jim's face, he stopped and reached out for his nose and began to dab it with one end of the towel. "Do I have a smudge on my nose or something?" Seeing no evidence of stain on the towel, he continued, "Sentinel or no sentinel, I know I cleaned myself very well."
It was fairly entertaining watching his partner fizzled in his enthusiasm becoming a 'Godfather'. God, Blair is going to spoil the child rotten. I hope the Hemmings know what demon they've created out of Sandburg. But he doubted Michael was having an equally joyous time waiting on Blair. Not that he cared anyway. All that raced in his mind now was his best friend being... Cute. Standing there in his virginal white robe, he looked... Good enough to eat. I mean if the audience is into that kind of thing, and I'm not. Oh Jeez... Jim carelessly gestured at the phone in his hand, slightly alarmed by the sudden train of thought.
"Oops.. uh, thanks Jim." Embarrassment colored his cheeks. Blair took the phone and settled himself down on the couch, the towel over his head providing a blessed screen to Jim's scrutiny.
"Anytime." Jim chuckled in understanding, his earlier discomfort conveniently forgotten. Draping his jacket onto his arm, he walked to the doorway, meaning to let himself out.
The sound of a turning doorknob made Blair's head shot up in Jim's direction. Taking note of Jim's clothing and finally realizing that his partner was going off to 'somewhere', he let out a quick apology to the speaker on the phone, and then, covering the mouth piece with his hand, he asked, "Where are you going?"
"We run out of beer, and it's my turn to run down to the mart, remember? You need anything?"
"Yeah, I got a list on a couple of-- " Blair started to stand up but plopped back to his seat. "No, wait. Way too much trouble. Maybe we could go together later?"
"Sure." Jim was already throwing his jacket onto the couch and making a beeline, up to his room. "Just be quick; I promised Rafe and H, I'd drop Palmer's forensic reports within the hour. And if we're quicker, we could have dinner at Tony's new restaurant."
"I'm fresh out of dough, man." The younger man's face pulled in disappointment. "If you want to, you can go ahead. I can always whip up my--".
"--My treat. For making an ass out of those rookies. Waddya say?" Jim smiled his megawatt smile at him. Kid, you couldn't make me prouder of you...
Blair made an OK sign with his fingers and hid his face under the towel again as he felt a deep flush returning to his cheeks. Then he turned his attention to the speaker on the phone. "Hello Michael? Sorry to keep you waiting, man."
"I'm surprised." The voice sounded amused. "Whatever happen to Mr. Every-fucking-second-counts?"
TBC