New
Arrivals
Author-fyresong
Titles
Home Front
Part Three
by fyresong
See notes and disclaimer on part one.
*It's one of those days and I'm not even working with Jim any more!* Blair thought ruefully as he watched Brad and Suzanne escape by chopper, courtesy of their fathers.
Jim was yelling at Suzanne's father and there were cops swarming all over the place, but the two thieves turned murderers were already airborne and not likely to land until they hit Canada.
"Dammit. You are not getting away," Blair hissed under his breathe. Ventriss had gotten away with everything up to murder and now he was trying to do that as well. Scanning the area, Sandburg caught sight of another helicopter, unmanned at the moment. "Shit. Why did it have to be a helicopter?" he muttered as he swung himself up into the pilot's seat and grabbed the headphones. "You okay?" a voice asked over his shoulder, causing Blair to nearly jump out of his skin. He turned and saw Jim climbing into the seat behind him, concern for his Guide and eagerness for the hunt competing for dominance on his face.
Blair pulled on headphones. "Just strap yourself in!" he yelled as he started up the bird. *Fly now, freak later,* he ordered himself fiercely.
"Hey! That's private property!" a man yelled as he came running up to the chopper, ducking his head in precaution as the blades began to whip around faster and faster.
"Then get in and copilot!" Blair yelled back. The man needed no second urging and took his seat just as they lifted off, beginning their pursuit.
The copilot pointed out at the horizon. "He's probably trying to use the canyon as cover."
"Chief, let's keep them in sight," Jim said over the noise of the blades. "When we get over a clear area, we'll try and force them down. "
They dodged the other chopper's tail, in and around the canyon, trying to keep them in view. "He's gonna head for the ravine," Sandburg announced as he doggedly followed the escaping suspects, gripping the controls so tightly his knuckles were white, trying to keep calm. *This is not Iraq, this is not Iraq.*
"I lost visual," the co-pilot called.
Jim leaned forward between their seats, eyes scanning the sky and the landscape. "Something's not right. Come on. Where are you?" he murmured, and then suddenly, "There he is!"
"Man, look out!" the copilot yelled.
The other helicopter was bearing down on them, pulling aside at the last minute causing the whole craft to rock.
"Hang on!" Blair cried as he fought with the controls. "Oh, God," he breathed, trying to calm his heart that pounded almost painfully in his chest. *Calm down, calm down! We're not going to crash! You know what to do!*
A hand grabbed hold of his shoulder, squeezing tight, and Sandburg had to wonder how much of his panic Jim was picking up. "Chief! Wha-- are we going to crash?"
"We're caught in his rotor wash," Blair explained tightly, steadying the craft after a tense moment.
"Chief?" Ellison pressed worriedly.
Blair nodded quickly and swallowed. "All right, all right. I'm good. I'm cool." He turned the chopper around and once again they searched for sight of their suspects.
"Lost them again," said the co-pilot.
"Where the hell did he go?" Blair asked, dividing his attention between flying and looking.
"I can see their ride," Jim said, eyes focusing off in the distance, pupils dilating as he zoomed in close. "They're not on board. He must have dropped them. Move out over the water. They could be on a boat." Banking the craft, Blair flew out over the water, the boat clearly visible to those even not gifted with Sentinel sight.
Jim fiddled with the controls on the loudspeaker and finding the right knob, hailed the fleeing suspects. "This is the Cascade Police Department. Heave to and shut off your engine!"
The boat went faster.
"Any plans or are we gonna buzz them?" Blair asked as he spared a moment to glance behind him to see what Jim was up to.
Jim offered him a quick grin as he hung on to the side of the helicopter and leaned out over the edge. "Think runaway stagecoach."
"Are you nuts?!" Sandburg roared. "That means jumping!"
"Right." The detective edged forward and gauged the distance towards the boat.
Blair shook his head. "Fucking crazy."
"Right."
*Stupid Sentinel! I mean, there's chasing and then there's chasing! Why does this always involve jumping?* Blair thought sourly. "What if they swerve and you miss, huh? That leaves me."
Jim spared a moment of his concentration on his prey to offer his partner a grin. "Right."
The anthropologist paled. "Don't miss." "See if you can get right over them. I'm sure you've done this before, Lieutenant," Ellison teased as Blair brought them to hover over the rapidly moving water craft.
"Don't remind me." Blair tried to keep the helicopter right above the boat even as Jim slid out the door and hung onto the side. "You better make it, Jim, cause I am *not* jumping, man!" He yelled at his friend.
But Jim was. With a leap he let go of the side of the helicopter and fell towards the boat. The craft swerved in the water and Jim hit the edge of the craft, hanging on with his hands. Brad, grabbing the nearest weapon, advanced on the Sentinel.
Cursing under his breathe as he flew after the still speeding boat, Blair focused on both flying and Ellison. Jim had knocked Ventriss into the water. Brad refused to be helped back on the boat, choosing to swim for it instead.
*That jerk just doesn't know when to quit,* Blair groused, bringing the chopper around to follow the escaping murderer. "Take the stick," he yelled to the copilot.
"You too?" the man asked in astonishment.
Blair nodded as he eased over to the door, pulling off his headphones. "Me too." Hanging out over the water, he stared down at the long drop. *Water and heights. Someone hates me.* "What am I doing? What am I doing? Jim, I am going to kill you for this," he announced in a calm voice, hoping that his friend heard him. "Stay with him. Down lower," he called to the pilot. "You've got it."
"Lower!"
"I'm working on it."
The chopper dropped another couple of feet in altitude. *Too high, too high.* "Can't you get any lower?!"
"Jump!"
*Easy for you to say!* Taking a deep breath and sending up a quick prayer just in case, he let go of the chopper and
Fell . . .
Fell . . .
Fell . .
. . . on top of Brad Ventriss.
Cocking back one fist, he grabbed a hold of the boy by the scruff of the neck as he splashed, struggled, swore, and kicked at Sandburg. "Hey loser!" he yelled, getting the boy's attention. "If you noticed, I'm not in class today! I hope you don't file a grievance!"
It felt so good punctuating those words with a well placed fist. Having taken out the captain of the boat and Jim subdued Suzanne. He scanned the water and caught sight of two flailing figures in the water, one very familiar. "Shit. SANDBURG!" He yelled. He turned the craft quickly around and went back for the two men. Pulling up beside the bobbing figures that spent as much time under the water as above it, he reached out with the hook and with his hands and grabbed both men, dragging and helping them back into the boat. "Get out of there! Get out of there!" Ellison flung Brad Ventriss over by his partner in crime, a sodden pathetic bundle sporting a split lip, and no doubt in a few hours a spectacular black eye. "YOU! SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!" he roared as the boy made an attempt to rise. The detective wheeled around and faced his Guide. "And YOU--" Blair was soaking, sitting on the deck, sputtering and coughing, bedraggled and looking very much as he did one dreadful morning outside Hargrove Hall. Jim clenched his fists in fury, words, even thoughts abandoning him in his anger. *How could he . . . Is he crazy?! I know I said . . But I didn't think he would just-- He just--!* "You just- you! ARG!"
Wordlessly, radiating enough anger to keep his suspects docile and quiet, he steered the boat back towards land and the waiting police.
Simon and Joel watched from the shore, both Norman Ventriss and Harry Nadine handcuffed and even now being placed in squad cars. "Jim!" Simon called as Ellison cut the motor. "Good job detective."
"Not now, sir." Jim brushed him off hurriedly as he helped Sandburg onto dry land. "You!" he barked, pointing at a hapless officer. "Don't just stand there! Get me a blanket. Can't you see this man's wet?" He led his Guide over to a somewhat calm spot amid the chaos of the cops milling about and pressed him to sit sideways on the back seat of Simon's sedan, feet on the ground. He gave only a passing thought to dripping water on the car's interior, but Blair shakily protested. "Sandburg, sit down. Now!"
"Jim, have you mirandarized them?" Simon yelled from behind him. Ellison turned to reply when he saw an officer with a blanket walking quickly towards Brad Ventriss who was being manhandled off the boat.
"No, no, no! Not for *him.*" He grabbed the uniformed cop and unburdened him forcefully of his blanket. "Give me that!" He turned back to his shivering Guide and urged him to stand for a moment to drape the thick cloth around his shoulders.
"Ellison!" Banks roared again.
"WHAT?!"
Banks hesitated at the sound of that reply, even though he wanted to continue to yell, because that is what captains do after all, (specially when their detectives won't listen and get their cars filled with water stains,) he wasn't about to outdo that animalistic yowl. There was definitely something in Ellison's tone that told him not to press. "Uh . . ."
"I'm busy sir, ask Joel!" he snapped, not turning around "C'mon, Chief," he murmured in a softer tone, rubbing excess water from his friend's shortened hair.
From underneath the blanket that was vigorously toweling him dry Blair's voice rose in protest. "J-Jim, man, cut it o-out--"
"Quiet," Jim growled.
Simon threw up his hands and turned back to the arrests going on around him, leaving Sentinel and Guide alone. *But that doesn't mean they won't pay the cleaning bill for the interior of my car,* he vowed silently. "I have fallen into the Sandburg zone," he muttered to himself as he brought out his handcuffs and snapped them around Brad Ventriss's wrists and began to lead him to a waiting squad car. "I try to keep out of it. I don't go looking for this, but it *finds* me. What am I doing wrong?"
"I want my lawyer. I demand my lawyer!" the boy yelled. "This is inhuman treatment! I'm wet! I'll sue. That hippie bastard hit me!"
"Shut-up," Simon barked. "You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be . . ."
Jack's jeep pulled up and he jumped out, avoiding those officer setting up a police line, and tagged after Captain Banks. Simon had just slammed the door on Ventriss before turning to find the colonel in his face.
"I thought you were sightseeing."
Jack shrugged, tugging down his baseball cap. "It was on the news."
Simon glanced over the area and for the first time noted the camera crews and trucks that had set up on the edge of the water behind the police line, filming and yelling for interviews like vultures descending on the kill.
Exasperated, but unable to do anything to keep them away, Banks turned and started searching for Taggart amid the chaos, Jack following.
Joel, who had just pressed a sobbing Suzanne Nadine into her own transportation to lockup, came over to check on Ellison and Sandburg. "There's coffee," he offered, trying not to grin a the sight of Jim mothering a complaining Blair.
"Thanks, Joel," Jim replied over his shoulder, hands still rubbing briskly over his Guide's blanket covered head. "Could you get some, please? Sandburg, would you hold still?"
Blair reached up and yanked the cloth away from his head and the riot of half dried curls that it had covered. "I am n-not a f-four y-year old! J-just cool it Jim, I'm f-fine," he said teeth chattering.
"FINE?! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jim yelled as he wrapped his partner tighter to keep him warm. *God, drowning, running around a jungle, a rescue mission, walking pneumonia, low grade temp, and now this?* "Do you have a death wish, Sandburg? Walking pneumonia and you jump into a fucking lake!?"
Blair offered him a small smile. "Y-you said i-f-f-f you missed I h-had to j-jump. S-stagecoach, man-n. I learned f-from the b-b-best."
Jim stood, jaw clenching. "God! You--!" He cut himself off quickly. *Now was not the time to yell at Sandburg,* he told himself fiercely. *Wait until he's well and then ream him for putting himself at risk. Again.*
Megan came over and offered Jim another blanket. "Hey Jim, Sandy. Heard you got 'em."
"Yep," Blair agreed. "We g-got our murderer," the one time observer reminded his Sentinel, shuddering.
Jim muttered, couching back down again and new blanket in hand resuming his drying efforts. "He wasn't worth it."
"You wanted him to g-get away? What ha-happened to jumping?" the anthropologist asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "You m-missed! You wanted him to escape?"
"No! Just leave the Olympic diving for someone who isn't a recent drowning victim. Jesus!" he muttered. "I had it under control. If you'd been thinking you would have seen that and stayed in the chopper. Sometimes I wonder if your vaunted common sense is nothing more than a figment of your imagination! You get your doctorate and your brain goes out the window?"
"Haven't got it yet-t." Blair replied. "And you s-should talk! You never wait for back-up, and you are always p-pulling stunts like this. May I remind you of someone, who shall remain nameless, jumping from an overpass onto a moving b-bus? Hanging onto an airborne helicopter? Going into a darkened fun house afer a killer when your eyesight was s-shot to hell and you couldn't hold onto your gun? What about when you were sick with a cold and I told you not to take the n-nasty medication, but nooooo! And what happened? You practically fell off a f-fucking train! And then who could forget--"
"At least my dates don't try to kidnap me!" Jim retorted
"Of course they don't. They're all t-trying to kill you instead!" Blair countered tartly.
Megan watched, Jack and Simon coming over to join them. "Are they always like this?" O'Neill wondered with amusement. *And I thought Daniel and I were rough on each other.*
"Yes," Simon growled. "It's a wonder I don't smoke more." Grumbling to himself, yet content that Ellison had the situation well in hand, he dug out a cigar and lit it. "Jumping out of helicopters . . . Not even an observer . . . how am I ever going to explain . . . "
"Good to know," Jack said nodding to himself, hiding a smirk at Captain Banks' predicament. Having these two in his department would make anyone prematurely grey.. *Be careful!* a voice warned him. *They could be IN YOUR department, so to speak, if you convince them to take the general's offer.*
Joel came over to the two of them and handed Ellison a steaming cup. "Here," the detective said, shoving the cup into his Guide's hands effectively ending their argument. "Shut up and drink your damn coffee, Chief."
***
Jack O'Neill could hear Blair's grumbling from the living room of the hotel penthouse suite. Ellison had manhandled his friend out of most of his clothes and into a hot shower. He then began digging through Jacobs' backpack for his medication, mumbling just as audibly as Blair about stupid bonehead stunts.
Those two were a pair. And despite their careful avoidance of delving questions, he was almost certain that James Ellison was the Sentinel they were looking for, and Blair Jacob Sandburg was his companion and Guide.
The colonel wasn't certain exactly what a Guide was, but if the large detective possessed even one of the heightened senses that Daniel had been harping on about, he was a military treasure. He was amazed the Army had ever let the man go.
*And it's no wonder that they're so cautious about taking up the general's offer. I know I would be.*
Jack sat down on one of the plush armchairs with a sigh. He'd received a page from Stargate Command. His time was almost up; General Hammond wanted him back within forty-eight hours with or without his objective accomplished.
Perhaps it was time to show all his cards, Jack mused internally. *Oh come on! Like they're gonna believe anything you say about wormholes, Stargates, and Goa'uld, ancient civilizations and other galaxies. Hell, half the time I don't even believe it myself.*
But then again, if Ellison could see and hear and smell, taste, and feel a hundred, perhaps even a thousand times better than an average human maybe it wasn't so improbable.
*Full disclosure then, O'Neill? What about security risks?*
General Hammond had authorized permission to tell these men the truth based on their military records. Blair could keep a secret. He'd been debriefed and signed a contract of silence about the mess he'd inadvertently gotten into when dropping off a unofficial group of American soldiers behind enemy lines, and been shot down and captured along with them for his troubles. And the detective was a Ranger, Covert Ops, Special Forces, he would understand secrecy too, a quarter of his life was probably classified already.
They had the appropriate level of clearance, and the general had said to use his discretion.
The shower went off and Jack could hear Blair exit the bathroom after a moment, picking up his good-natured argument with his friend as if it had never been interrupted. O'Neill wasn't blind to the fact that there was strain in that partnership over something that happened either directly before or after Jacobs had drowned, but he no longer had the luxury of waiting for the two men to sort it out. He stood, watching as first Ellison and then a few minutes later Blair, clothed in sweats, now entered the living room
*Time to fess up.*
The detective eyed him knowingly. "I guess this is the moment you cut the crap and tell us what you really want, huh?"
Jack shrugged, taking his seat. "Something like that."
Ellison urged an exasperated Sandburg to sit on the couch. Jim himself chose to stand behind the piece of furniture giving him plenty of necessary pacing room since Blair was too sick in Jim's estimation to fill his usual role.
"Okay Jack, spill," Blair urged with good-humor.
And Jack obliged. He told them about the alien threat to the planet, about the discovery of ancient technology left on earth after humans rebelled. He told them about the SGC, the Stargate Command program. He explained the seeding of humans across the galaxy, enslaved by the parasitic aliens. He quickly briefed them on the technology found on the planet labeled PR5-977, and how it could protect all human kind. He was brief, to the point, and didn't gloss over key facts, though he left out many of the details for sake of time.
Jim and Blair's reactions were hardly surprising.
"You expect us to believe you need our help on another *planet* to prevent future *alien invasion*?" Jim repeated incredulously.
"You're on drugs, aren't you?" Blair declared conversationally.
O'Neill scowled at his friend. "*No,* I'm not on drugs, and I don't really expect *you* to believe anything," he added to Ellison. "I expect you to come and see for yourself and trust me that you won't be forced to do anything or kept against your will. I think I've proved that *I'm* at least trustworthy after the whole kidnaping thing." Jack leaned forward, lacing his hands together, trying to appear nonchalant in the face of disbelief. "But all this means nothing unless you are a Watchman and Guide pair, or Sentinel, or whatever." He eyed both men carefully. "Are you?"
Jim's cold blue gaze never flinched, Blair's face was impassive, and Jack was impressed. "I noticed," he began quietly "that you heard Blair and I talking from the shower that first morning." Jim remained stone faced; O'Neill directed his next comment to Blair. "*You* whispered to him under your breath at your defense and he answered as if he heard you clearly. Your master thesis said--"
"What does that prove?" Sandburg scoffed, suddenly agitated for some reason. Jim seemed uncomfortable at the mention of Blair's research. Jack had the feeling he was missing something important. "Lots of people have really strong senses, it's documented, I helped document it. *No one* has all five. There is a reason why I wrote about police subcultures instead of Sentinels; it was because I couldn't *find* one, remember, Jack? After my master's degree I didn't know what to do because I couldn't continue my work without a Sentinel and they *weren't* any. You were there!" Blair said furiously. "You helped me get my head together after that dream fell through, remember?"
O'Neill backed up mentally hearing the anger in Blair's tone. *I seem to have struck a nerve.* Jack was also quick to notice that Jim stared agape at his partner's words. Obviously Jacobs had not told Ellison much of anything about his life before they met, but that was a conversation the two friends would have to have at a later date.
*Time to switch tracks; they won't come right out and admit anything and I don't blame them.* "Even if Ellison is not a Sentinel, and you haven't found one, that doesn't mean they don't exist. *I've* met a pair," Jack insisted, wanting to give the younger man another opportunity to continue his life's work. The colonel remembered all to well how Blair had slowly fallen apart as his search for a Sentinel failed. His dissertation proposal was rejected; the driving momentum of his search was the only thing that rekindled his will to live, to rejoin the human race after the Army. *I can give it back to him, though,* Jack thought. *I can give him the chance to really meet a live Sentinel, *if* they're telling the truth and Ellison is just a guy with really good ears.* "You can take me up on my other offer, Blair, work with the Stargate program. Now that you know the truth, know that you have a chance to study a real Sentinel, you can reconsider. The offer is still out there," Jack said.
Now the detective was grinding his teeth. *Oops,* Jack winced. *I guess Blair didn't tell Ellison about that either.*
"What other offer?" Jim growled.
Blair tiredly sighed and closed his eyes. "Jack's CO authorized him to offer me a place working at his base even if Jack's Sentinel hunt didn't pan out. I told him no, so stop snarling, okay?" He opened his eyes and looked at Jack who was staring at him in confusion and Blair didn't blame him. Jack knew of his long obsession with finding a real live Sentinel. To not jump at the chance now must have the man thinking he was crazy. "I don't do Sentinel research any more," he explained quietly.
Bewildered, O'Neill decided to let the matter drop. Ellison looked . . . well, Jack couldn't tell whether the man was mad enough to punch holes through concrete, miserably guilty, or even ecstatic because of that frozen, emotionless look. Blair, on the other hand, looked liked he'd just run over his own puppy.
Ellison cleared his throat tentatively in the lull. "If you know of a pair on another planet, why would come here in the first place?"
Jack ran a hand through his slivering hair. "Because of some dumb tribal rules. They won't help anyone outside their planet, their tribe, whatever! If we want to protect ourselves, we have to have our own pair. Some sort of tradition or something." Blair was nodding slowly, no doubt in anthropological understanding so reminiscent of Daniel that Jack suddenly missed his articulate friend. *He* would know what to say. Daniel, who hated the Goa'uld, had charmed three of them when they had visited their base for treaty talks. *Well, maybe charmed wasn't the right word for what happened. Maybe defanged is better.* "Look, I understand that you'd want to keep this a secret, especially after the whole kidnaping thing, but if *I* think you're the real thing so will NID or any other Black Ops group. People fought to take you back from us; you don't do that unless you have something to hide."
Sandburg shifted uneasily in his seat and fought the urge to look at his partner for direction. Jack had a point, a really good point. *God, how worse can this get? I can't even rescue Jim without drawing more attention to him,* Blair thought morosely.
"If you help SG-1 retrieve this technology you are officially part of the Stargate program even if you choose never to go on another mission. No one will touch you, no CIA knocking at your door, nothing," Jack reminded them.
"But we'll be under your CO's command. He could order us to do anything, order us to be dissected," Jim argued placing his hands on the back of the couch right behind his partner.
"You'd be in the same category as Teal'c, untouchable," the colonel promised.
"Who?" both men asked in confusion.
*Oh, why not? Go ahead and tell them.* "Teal'c," he repeated the name slowly. "He's a Jaffa. He's . . . kind of human; his people were genetically engineered to sever the Goa'uld, the aliens we're fighting," he clarified at their blank looks. "He's on my team. He can leave at any time. He has a family on a safe planet, a son and a wife. No one is allowed to dissect him."
"A human genetically engineered by aliens," Jim echoed condescendingly. "How convincing."
"And no one has dissected him *yet.* What if this General Hammond of yours is replaced? What if there's a new president and he decides differently?" Blair pointed out.
"Jacobs, for cryin' out loud . . ." Jack sighed, letting his frustrations go. The kid was only trying to take care of his friend. "I know this sounds crazy, but about a year ago there were three huge ships up there," he gestured above him "ready to exterminate and re-enslave this planet. We barely, *barely* managed to stop them. They're under treaty not to attack us again as long as they can keep a leash on our technological development, but it is only a matter of time before they break it. We know it; they know it. The people on PR5-997 have a defense against Goa'uld planetary attack and they are willing to share it with our Watchman and Guide, no one else. If you two are what SGC is looking for, we need your help."
Silence descended and for several long moments it stretched out to fill the hotel room. Finally, Blair stood. "I'm tired. I think I'll turn in early."
Jim nodded, the two men's eyes meeting in silent communication. "We have to go in to the station tomorrow and give our statements, Chief. You want me to pick you up around 9?"
Sandburg nodded, yawning. "Sounds good. What about you, Jack?"
"I have an 11 o'clock flight out and two open ended tickets to Colorado. Just think about it," he offered. *Well, I guess that's that. I've done my bit. Not gonna press when I damn well know what they'd be risking if they are what everyone thinks they are.*
"A late breakfast then," Blair decided. "Night, Jack. Good night Jim."
A chorus of *good nights* followed the anthropologist to his darkened room.
There was really nothing else to say.
***
The thin leather fold landed with a faint slap on the conference table. Blair picked it up gingerly and flipped up the cover to reveal a gold shield. He looked up at Simon. "What is this?" he asked in astonishment.
Smugly, Banks bit down on his cigar, glad to have finally got one over on the anthropologist. "A badge, Sandburg. I think you'd be familiar with that after three years," he said as if talking to a child.
Sandburg rolled his eyes at the tone. "You want *me* to be a detective?"
"It pays better than consultant," Simon pointed out, gripping the back of his chair with two hands. "More permanent. More fitting. The brass is now very happy to have a doctor, who is fluent in so many languages with a shining military record, on the team. A doctor who just happened to write a brilliant police dissertation that several publications are asking to print for you, not to mention various other law enforcement agencies such as the FBI, the State Troopers, hell, even the National Guard want to use in their training." He turned his chair slightly and sat down, picking up a pile of well typed and documented request forms. Blair was intimately familiar with those; the police department was a bureaucracy in an of itself when it came to paperwork.
"The Police Academy wants you to teach a seminar on partnership and police procedure," Simon continued, flipping through the pile, reading off the headings to the slightly stunned young man. "The bomb squad wanted you to do a class on dealing with the stress and tension of their job since it seems you've been taking classes with Joel's permission on bomb location and disarmament, something which you failed to mention to *me.*" The captain eyed the anthropologist sharply, not at all happy about being left out of the loop on this and making damn sure the kid knew it. "Vice wants to use you on undercover operations officially now, since you seemed to have helped with a bust at a party about six months ago, another thing I was not informed about and I doubt Jim knew either. Public relations wants you. The Victims Advocacy Unit wants you for all the volunteer time and reorganization you did for their group. The K-9 unit says you're great with the animals and wants you to go along on all their school assembly days like you did last fall. You've been very busy, and as a result, you are one popular man Doctor Sandburg."
Blair fidgeted, slightly flustered that he'd been caught integrating himself so completely into a society he was to be studying. "What about Ventriss?" he asked carefully.
"They've made a complete 180 degree turnaround on that. They realize when they've made a mistake," Simons said.
"And actions speak louder than apologies, huh?" Blair murmured as he fingered the badge, running over the words engraved upon it. "I'd have to be a cadet, though. What about time on patrol?" he asked suddenly.
Simon waved his cigar. "Not needed. You update your marksman certification that you convinced one Detective Rafe to sign for you, yet another police related activity you failed to tell me about," He glared at Sandburg, and the kid had the decency to look embarrassed which was enough for Banks, "and you're in as a detective. I've heard there is a significant line waiting to be your partner if Ellison still hasn't gotten his head out of his ass," he added with a smile.
Blair merely blinked, stunned. Yesterday he'd been ordered into this office and been offered a consultant position if and only if he'd retracted a petition against Brad Ventriss. Now he'd been invited into the captain's office and offered a permanent place as a detective, a gold shield, the respect of a group of men and women he had high regard and friendship for, and a official partnership with one James Ellison.
For once in his life he didn't know what to say.
Simon took pity on him. Leaning forward on his desk and lacing his hands together, Banks' voice became slightly less gruff. "Sandburg . . . Blair" the large man amended. "I want you working with Jim. Ellison's opinion is not an issue. No man or woman has ever been able to put up with him, and I want it officially taken care of rather than have a loose canon around my department. On a more personal level, Jim's my friend and you've made sure that this Sentinel thing hasn't killed him and . . . I like that," he admitted. "I like the way things were. Do you understand?"
Blair nodded, stunned.
Simon bit down hard on his cigar, and grunted his approval. "Good. And from now on when you branch out into other areas of the P.D. I want to know about it. Clear?" he barked.
Finding his tongue at last, Blair stared out at the bullpen and then back to the badge in his hands. "I won't partner with Jim if he doesn't want me. We still haven't-- haven't made any permanent decisions. And then there's Jack . . ." The colonel had left after one last breakfast, leaving the hotel room paid for through the next week, two innocuous airline tickets on the coffee table. Conversation over waffles consisted of whether hockey or basketball was the better sport.
Simon stood, face serious. He wouldn't rush this. The last thing he ever wanted to see again was the two of them, Sentinel and Guide, self-destructing. Finding Blair face down in that fountain was enough to give him a heart attack, or that could just be the all cigars he'd been smoking because of the two of them, he didn't know. All Banks did know was that if Blair Sandburg was going to work for the Cascade Police department he didn't give a damn how much work the man had done for other departments in the city. Blair was James Ellison's partner, member of Major Crimes, and that's where he would damn well stay. But he didn't say that. All he said was "Fine, take the time you need."
"Yes, sir," Blair replied with a smile, taking the offered hand before him. "Thank you, sir."
Simon clapped the young man lightly on the back, mindful of his health. "Now that, Sandburg, is what I like to hear. Sir! Keep it up and you'll be promoted."
***
Jim looked up from his smaller hay stack of paperwork that stood approximately where his desk once resided, trying to be nonchalant about the whole thing. Watching Simon and Blair walk out of Banks' office, the captain's arm around Blair, both men laughing, left him wondering just why the hell he hadn't listened in. He'd always eavesdropped on Blair's conversations with Simon before unless the kid had been adamant about it beforehand. But lately, he'd kept his distance. Now he, like most of the bemused crowd of detectives in the bullpen, all wanted to know what was up.
"What did Simon have to say?" Ellison queried as casually as he could as Blair strolled over towards Jim's personal paperwork hill. A thin leather fold landed gently on the case report in front of him.
Gently, Jim flipped it open. He looked up at Blair who was watching him intently, arms crossed. "Detective?" he asked in amazement. Simon had mentioned a consultant position in a phone message if The Powers That Be got Sandburg's cooperation on the Ventriss case, but Jim had never expected a shield.
Blair shrugged, a cautious grin lighting his face. "I don't even have to go to the Academy except when they want me to teach a class for them."
Stunned, Jim gaped like a fish before he controlled himself. "That's . . . congratulations, Chief." He abandoned the write-up of yesterday's activities he was in the middle of and grabbed his jacket. It was close enough to lunch to take his friend out to celebrate. Technically he wasn't even on duty. Technically. "Y'know, I was thinking," he began cautiously.
Blair shot him a quick look before glancing away. *Here it comes,* he thought fatalistically, dully. *He's had enough, can't risk it again. He's changed his mind, doesn't want me for his partner. And I can't blame him.* "About?" Blair asked quietly.
"About O'Neill's sales pitch, about immunity. I mean," Jim continued as he handed Blair the shield and they headed towards the elevator, not oblivious to Sandburg's sudden change of mood.. "Your master's thesis and Brackett are still out there somewhere."
Sandburg ducked his head, a slightly less inefficient method of hiding now that he was bereft of his long curls. "Yeah."
"And he seems to be telling the truth. I listened to his heart, watched him. He's either on drugs or he's telling the truth. I think we can trust him." They pushed their way out into the hall, waving and greeting people as they left. "Maybe we should head out to Colorado," he said tentatively, casting sidelong glances at his Guide, trying to judge his reaction and failing. "Do some hiking, some fishing. I mean, we do have those free tickets. It would be a shame to waste them."
Blair looked up at him for a instant. "We?"
Jim shrugged, trying to play it cool, but inside he was bouncing up and down, excited. *Well, maybe not bouncing, that's more Blair's thing.* "It would mean leaving Cascade for a while," he continued carefully, as if they really were discussing vacation plans. For them that meant one of them throwing the idea out and both of them dancing around it, never coming right out and *saying* they wanted the other person along, but somehow hinting at it nevertheless. A complex dance of two people eternally unsure of just how much they were friends, roommates, brothers, and how much they were researcher, subject, and detective and temporary observer. *But not any more,* Jim told himself, fiercely proud on behalf of his Guide. *No more dissertation. No more ride-along. He doesn't even have to go to the Academy!* Inwardly, Jim beamed on behalf of his friend, but on the outside he was cool, really. "I think maybe we both need some time away from this place. You'll have to see about someone taking care of your stuff for a while, though."
The elevator doors opened. Blair took a deep breath, entered and pushed the garage level, reeling, replaying the last words in his head just to make sure he'd heard correctly. He blinked once, twice. *I'm dreaming. I must be running a temperature,* he thought, stunned. *Play along, it's a nice dream.* "Okay," he said slowly. Jim had to fight to keep from punching the air and yelling "YES." He settled for a brief nod of his head. "After all, with just one mission I'll be hands off to all secret organizations in America for the rest of my life."
"They could be lying about that," Blair put in darkly, guilt heavy in his voice.
Jim couldn't help himself. He may get angry at Sandburg for doing some boneheaded things, but he didn't like to see the kid suffer, especially not *now,* now that things were headed in the right direction. Her reached out and grabbed the younger man by the scruff of the neck and shook him gently. Blair's heart rate calmed; he didn't like elevators. "And they could not," Jim reminded him. *Damn. Now I'm the optimist! Talk about role reversals.* "The world at stake kind of thing just might be literal. Hell, even the *aliens* might be literal." Blair shrugged, secretly enjoying the familiar weight of the hand on his neck. "True," he allowed "but they could be lying about that and the whole alien thing."
"Well, I couldn't let *you* go *alone,*" Jim remarked with dramatic shock in his voice. "One mistake and there goes the solar system. And *I* couldn't go alone because I'd probably zone on the smell of the first alien I mean and then *zap!* Sentinel stain on the wall."
A tentative smile at the teasing words tugged at Blair's lips, before reality intruded. "Megan," the anthropologist began, daring a quick glance at his partner. "Megan might not want to keep my boxes in her living room much longer and Joel might need his garage unblocked by the Volvo."
Jim stuffed both hands in his pockets and watched as the elevator descended, trying to be casual as he offered. "You could-- you could store them at the loft."
Blue eyes bored into him suddenly. "Would that be a problem?"
"No. I've got the space."
Blair nodded. "Okay." A bounce "Okay." A slight smile as he fingered the badge in his hands. "This wasn't what I thought I'd be doing after I got my doctorate," he confessed warmly.
"But jumping in lakes was?" Jim asked pointedly.
His Guide sighed and rolled his eyes. The elevator doors opened onto the garage. "You're not going to forget that are you?"
They began walking towards Jim's truck. "Y'know, when you said you'd flown Apaches in Desert Storm I thought you were bluffing."
Blair stopped and stared after his friend. "You heard that?" he asked incredulously.
Jim tapped his ear and fished out his keys. "Sentinel senses, remember, Chief?"
"Like I could forget, but over the helicopter?" Jim unlocked the door and opening it, reached across the cab and opened the passenger side. "Your senses had only been on line, what? A week?" Blair whistled under his breath as he opened the door and got in. "Pretty cool."
Jim shrugged, somehow proud like a big brother who's little brother had just complimented him on a touchdown. Before, such a statement would have been uncomfortable, a reminder of why Blair was with him: to study him, a reminder of his freakish nature. No more. "I just thought you were bluffing that's all."
Sandburg snorted in exasperation and disbelief. "You were hanging out of a helicopter with a militant lunatic attached to your leg. I thought everyone back in the bullpen had been executed on my very first day there. It wasn't the time to bluff. Poker is the time to bluff. With Naomi it's downright necessary to bluff."
The key found the ignition and the engine thrummed to life. "But not with me hanging out of a helicopter," Jim clarified, deadpan.
Blair smiled secretively, slipping on his seatbelt. "Like Jack taught me, never bet what you're not willing to loose."
end
Series to be continued in Part 5 which may take a while due to Real Life circumstances but it IS coming.
For more information on the Theban Mapping Project go to http://www.kv5.com/intro.html