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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-- 2250hrs --
-- Section One --

She watched him finger a piece of paper almost lovingly. No, it wasn't just a paper, she corrected herself, but a photograph. From where she stood, outside his office, she was unable to discern the picture but she was confident it featured a certain long-haired...hippie? How in the world does someone as classy as Michael end up with a... tree- hugging hippie?

She swore her eyes must be playing tricks on her - she had a quick look of the photo as Michael was picking it up off the floor after it accidentally fell out his wallet almost a month ago. Given her eidetic memory, it was hard not to brand that image on her mind. So Michael got a case for a man; why should that bother me?

But a tiny voice screamed insistently, saying it was just not possible. It was not the fact that her mentor/lover kept a photo of man in his wallet that had thrown her off the map or that he had it bad for a hippie. Of course, the last thing she would think to find in his closet was his being bi, but the thought of Michael actually romancing a 'person' - be it a man or woman - was like taking a trip to bedlam.

"Blair Sandburg, anthropologist. I looked him up." A voice beside here made her spun to face the speaker. He tapped the end of a pencil on his temple. "If you're wondering who he is, that is."

Anthropologist? It didn't ring any bells. Granted Michael's life was quite an enigma, it still did not explain the obvious infatuation. "Anthropologist?" She could not keep the skeptical tone out of her voice. "How the hell does Anthropology fit into all this?"

"Yeah, I know," the young man nodded, taking that as an agreement in opinion. "I wonder what's with all the hung ups about it. I mean, once you get pass the naked men and women, Anthropology is just --" he stopped and stared blankly into space.

"Just what?" she prompted.

"I don't really know," he answered thoughtfully as he chewed on his fingernails. "I couldn't get pass the naked men and women." That earned him a friendly but hard slap on his shoulder. The young man winced, then pretended to glare at her. "I could make your next mission a bitch, you know that, don't you?"

She rolled her eyes in reply to his weak threat. "C'mon kiddo. Out with it."

Resigned that he couldn't, for a second, scare the daylights out of her, he sighed. Sometimes it's tough being the brains in Section; Everyone thinks you're a wimpy cybergeek... Which is not far from the truth, he quipped to himself. Unlike the other operatives, he was never placed in any situation where he had to fend for himself. A usual day would see him behind the glare of a computer screen, his fingers flying across the keyboard. Any other day, he would be sitting unscathed in a van, fitted with lots of amazing techno-gadgets and guiding strategic missions with the other operatives through portable communication sets.

Once, Michael had proposed that he be taught some art of self-defense so he could better protect himself, and the man had actually forced a gun on his hands. God, I hate guns. Not only he lacked the mandatory skills of self-preservation on the field, but the idea of simply holding a gun had him hyperventilating. This is no fun; I think I've just shot my self-esteem, or lack thereof, to hell. He grimaced.

And the woman operative was still looking expectantly at him.

"Code name's Adrian," he muttered depressed, wishing a retreat behind the safe wall of the screen. At least there, he felt invincible, safe and shielded from judgmental eyes. These people ain't God, but they sure do a fair impression... in more ways than one... Glancing at the operative, he knew it wouldn't be anytime soon before she would let him off the hook, and he gave a mental groan.

She drew her breath sharply as she heard him speak, disbelieving his words. One of us? No... It couldn't be! She shut her eyes and in doing so, let the image of that young man whom she had only a brief look, burned in her mind. A smiling young chap with his hands holding up a peace sign came into view. He was wearing a blue rumpled sweater and a pair of faded blue jeans. There wasn't anything extraordinary with the way he dressed, but the blue of his top brought out the color of his eyes, making them seem almost like glowing sapphires. The soft rays of light played with his halo of long, brown curls, adding an almost ethereal quality. She figured the picture must had been taken with the sun directly behind him to achieve this effect or she might just have to consult the dictionary for the word 'Angel'.

And there was something about the way his lips curled up into a smile - a little suggestive, with a touch of sensuality and unfeigned innocence all rolled into one.

All in all, he was aesthetically pleasing to the eye and he didn't seem at all threatening. As a matter of fact, she thought Blair was a far cry from 'a killing machine'. Even a blind man could see he radiated too much love and respect for life to rob another out of it. Guys like him don't do that. Guys like him don't fit.

A small voice in her head snapped back: And you do?

Startled for a moment, she violently shook her head. No. But I'm here, aren't I? As she pieced two and two together, a horrifying thought came to her. Maybe Blair was like her. Trapped without a choice. If Blair was exactly what she thought him to be, then this life could be eating into his soul. He could kill himself for letting himself be thrown into this game. Then again, he might already be dead. She shuddered.

"Nikita?"

"Yes?" She answered and opened her eyes and found the bespectacled man looking at her strangely. "You were speaking about.. Adrian?" She asked and blanched visibly as she uttered the name.

"Yeah.." Something must have clicked because he was quick to add as he misread the distress on her face. "Ah gee, Nikita.. not that Adrian. He's got the wrong err.. equipment." A faint blush colored his pale cheeks. "He was one of us... Was... Is... I don't know actually." He shrugged as he adjusted his orange-tinted glasses. "He was here before many of us. One of the original elite members, I was told. And he was good. Word has it that Blair was molded for the next man in Operations' shoes."

The last comment had her baffled, and she narrowed her eyes as she shot a look at him, thinking he was pulling her leg. "He didn't look like the right material. I mean, have you seen him? The guy's practically a poster boy for World Peace. Is he under cover of sorts?"

"Must be one helluva cover," he muttered under his breath just audible enough for her to pick up. "He's been cruising around being Blair for five fucking years, and there's no mention of 'Recall' anywhere. I say he left Section One for good."

"What do you mean he left?" Her voice suddenly took a bitter tone. She remembered her feeble attempt to 'disappear'. Operations was good at his word. "Nobody leaves!"

"Apparently he did. Before him, I thought all those who left were either terminated during an operation or canceled."

"He just walked out and leave? Operations didn't stop him?" Oh god... he left... if he could escape, maybe... oh god!

"I don't know if Operations did or didn't... What I could get was bits and pieces from the elders. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to penetrate Section's security this time. They had his files clamed tight. After that fucking 1986 incident, I couldn't even squeeze my way past Level Two." He snarled in anger. "Whoever Blair may be, he must be a helluva pawn to be kept under wraps."

"Birkoff, you weren't an operative in 1986." A hint of a frown marred her expression as she tried to follow his words that was somehow difficult now - the idea that someone had escaped Section nagged at the back of her mind.

"My point exactly." The younger man smiled sheepishly. It wiped the frown from her face and won a small laugh out of the waif-like operative.

Just then a pony-tailed man in his late forties passed by, and he caught enough of the conversation to interject his own opinion. "Don't pay any attention to him, sweetie." He indicated Birkoff with a jerk of his chin and continued as he made a circular motion with his finger in the air just about the temple level. "He gets a wee bit irrational when someone takes away his toys."

"Do not!" Birkoff huffed in annoyance.

"Tell that to the president; you spent half your life here bitching about its security. And about your so-called ex-operative, you shouldn't have spun an old wives' tale about it." The older man shook his head in mild disapproval. Jesus Birkoff, are you creating a mutiny here? Operations'll have your head if he knew you're going around calling up false hope on his people. "You and I both know there's no such person."

"You're saying this Blair person doesn't exist at all, that Michael created him out of nowhere?" Nikita asked incredulously. "That's tough, Walter, even if it's true. I never tag Michael for a sucker for fantasy."

"That kind of talking is gonna get you creamed, sweetie. All I'm saying is this -- " Walter turned to the younger man expectantly. Birkoff sullenly answered 'Blair Sandburg' and was rewarded with a smile before Walter turned his attention back to Nikita. "This Blair Sandburg fella is as real as the hot-dog guy at the 57th street. He might even be an anthropologist as Birkoff speculated."

"That was a fact and for your information, I don't speculate." Birkoff rudely interrupted him and walked off.

Walter sighed as he watched Birkoff's retreating back. "As for the part about his being an ex-operative, I say it's bullshit. You know the rule: you check in and you don't check out... unless you're sixty feet under. Last time I checked, the rule still holds, and it wouldn't do you good believing otherwise." He turned to face her and made his eyes hard, hoping to drive the point home. "And you better believe it, Nikita. You better believe it."

TBC