Fic: Rainy Day Remembrance (TS, gen)

by Azar Posted on November 10, 2012

Author’s Note: This story was the first piece of Sentinel fanfic I ever wrote and in spite of the fact that I never finished the series, I’m still pretty proud of it. Yes, it revolves (more or less) around an original character, but to this day I still hold that she was too flawed to be a true Mary Sue. I created Ariel because there weren’t a whole lot of good, interesting female characters in The Sentinel, and those there were never stuck around very long. She wasn’t originally written as a love interest for Blair either, even if the series did eventually develop in that direction. I know the fact that she isn’t a canon character will be enough to make a lot of people avoid her, and that’s their choice. But I remember that when I was in Sentinel fandom, if you were a het fan, you were in a very small minority (most people were either in it for the slash or the gen) and didn’t have a lot to read, so I’m putting this series out there just in case there’s anyone out there now who’s in the position I was then. I do however, um, apologize for the time jumps. There were some stories in the middle of the chronology that just never got finished. :-\

Thanks to Nancy Taylor, my wonderful beta-reader for this piece, with special thanks for the truck check. And to the two preservers of my dubious sanity, Eryn and DebC.

He spotted them huddled in the doorway of the building, as far away as they could get from the edge of the slight overhang without actually stepping back inside. Both were clutching vulnerable book-bags, one leather, one nylon but not woven tightly enough to be even remotely waterproof.

Focusing in closer on the two unhappy lurkers, Jim chuckled. Two heads of curly hair were inflated by the humidity in the air, creating a brown and red cloud around their respective faces. Two pairs of eyes, one blue, one blue-green, stared miserably out at the gray torrent.

Still chortling in amusement, Ellison pressed one hand gently on the horn, dialing up his hearing as soon as the “harnk” had faded.

“I don’t believe this. He’s just going to sit there?” Blair’s disgruntled voice reached the Sentinel’s ears. “Thanks a lot, Jim.” Jim just smiled even more broadly.

After a moment of no activity, probably hoping to force him to come fetch them (as if that would change anything, since he didn’t bring an umbrella), the two figures began hurrying through the downpour towards the truck.

“Geez, Jim, park as far from the building as you can find,” Sandburg grumbled as soon as he reached the vehicle and pulled the door open.

His eyes still sparkling with mischief, Jim put a hand out to stay the younger man. “You’re going to sit in the middle, right, Chief?”

“What?! Uh uh. No way, man. That’s not only cramped, it’s downright dangerous, the way you drive.”

“Well, unless you’d rather stay here or sit on the lady’s lap…” the detective teased.

Blair turned back to look at the young woman. He bobbed his eyebrows flirtatiously. “Why doesn’t she sit on *my* lap?”

There was an amused feminine laugh from behind the anthropologist. “You heard him, Blair, get in. Quickly, before I catch pneumonia.”

Still mumbling under his breath, Sandburg scurried into the seat, while the red-haired young woman climbed in beside him and quickly pulled the door closed. She shivered and ran a pale hand through the curls the water had not only tamed but rendered a darker auburn than their usual bright shade. The car’s other long-haired occupant shivered as well.

“What took you so long?” he demanded.

Jim shook his head in amusement. “A little rain won’t kill you.”

“Speak for yourself!” two voices chorused from beside him.

“Besides,” the redhead added emphatically. “That was not ‘a little rain.'”

“I seem to remember you saying on several occasions that you had no problem with rain,” Jim pointed out as he pulled the truck out of the parking lot.

“I enjoy a nice warm, light summer rain. But they don’t seem to *have* that kind around here.”

“Guess you’d better go back to Pennsylvania, then.”

“Back to *freezing* rain?? I don’t think so.”

The detective laughed.

“You trying to get rid of her or something, Jim?” Blair asked. He was still shivering in the damp flannel, but had forced his clattering teeth into a smile and had a genuine sparkle in his eyes.

Ellison shook his head innocently. “Just trying to save you both any unnecessary discomfort, Chief.”

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks for the ride, by the way,” the young woman apologized sheepishly.

“No problem. I think I can spare a few minutes to rescue you two from an unexpected cloudburst,” he teased.

“I think I’m never leaving the loft again without my umbrella,” Sandburg groused.

“I think I’m never leaving my dorm again, period,” the third party in the car agreed.

“Wouldn’t that make it rather difficult to pass your classes, Red?” Jim asked her with a smile.

She winced a little, and instantly sobered. “Yeah, I guess it would.”

The detective grimaced. “Sorry, Ariel.”

Ariel Jensen smiled. “That’s okay. I promised myself it would never happen again, and it won’t.” A mild giggle escaped her. “Even if it means I have to get drenched on a weekly basis.”

“I don’t know if I mentioned this before, Ariel, but I’m really proud of you,” Blair contributed to the now-serious conversation, the glow in his eyes confirming his words. “I mean, Dean’s List only one semester after…”

After I almost flunked out. Yeah, I guess that is something. “Thanks.” The young woman squeezed his hand affectionately. “I couldn’t have done it without you guys.”

“You’re a lot stronger than you think, Red.” Jim smiled at her.

“That may be, but I still appreciate what you guys did for me. Even if you weren’t too thrilled about it at the time.” Ariel’s eyes twinkled as she looked back at Jim.

He shrugged. “I never had a problem with you, just with the way we were introduced.”

The young redhead began to laugh again. “Oh yeah…”

*****

Six months earlier…

Jim was only mildly surprised to hear the sound of two heartbeats as he focused his hearing on the other side of the loft door, both of them beating in the lulled rhythm of sleep. Great. Sandburg brought a date home again, he sighed.

He pushed the door open, dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and hung up his coat before he realized that the unfamiliar breathing he heard was coming from the couch. Curious, he crossed the room to stand by it and studied the girl lying there. She seemed younger than his partner’s usual taste, but older than her years. Curls as rebellious as Blair’s, but much redder, tumbled around and over her face, and her full lips were slightly open. She was pretty, he concluded, but not beautiful. Certainly not as striking as the knockouts Sandburg usually went for.

The only puzzling thing was the fact that the young woman was alone on the sofa. Somehow, it just didn’t seem like Blair’s style to abandon a paramour on the couch and go alone to his bed.

Whatever. I’m too tired to try to unravel the eternal mystery of Sandburg’s love life tonight. With that thought, he headed upstairs.

*****

Both heartbeats were still echoing in his ears when he woke the next morning. A burst of laughter from downstairs–quickly hushed by Blair–immediately followed that discernment.

“Sorry, Ariel, my roommate’s just a really light sleeper.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You didn’t tell me you had a roommate.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t tell him about you either–guess I hadn’t figured out how on either account.” He sounded embarrassed.

“I still can’t believe you got me up this early,” she shrugged off the confession. Her voice was cheerful, even though there was a surprising undercurrent of sadness to it.

“I sorta got into the habit of making Jim breakfast, I didn’t mean to wake you. Which *I* should be doing, by the way–breakfast, I mean.”

“Don’t be so paranoid,” she teased. “I’ve been told I have quite a gift with scrambled eggs.”

“Yeah, but you don’t know as much as I do about Jim’s allergies.”

The sounds of a spatula scraping against a pan suddenly stopped. “Oh.”

Jim chuckled and hauled himself out of bed.

*****

“Morning, Chief,” the detective greeted his roommate with a yawn as he entered the kitchen. “Who’s our guest?”

His partner’s heart rate spiked, which caused one of Jim’s eyebrows to raise.

“Uh, Jim, this is Ariel Jensen. She was a student of mine last semester. Ariel, Jim Ellison.”

She smiled at him, but there was still something lacking in it.

“Your student, Sandburg? Doesn’t the University frown on that sort of thing?”

Sandburg blushed and Ariel also turned bright red. “Geez, Jim, I do have a few female friends, you know,” the younger man grumbled.

If she’s just a friend, then what is she doing here? The detective raised his hands in a gesture of apology and surrender. “My mistake. Now, do I smell scrambled eggs?”

“You might want to be careful of those, Jim,” Blair warned, only half teasing. “From what I could see, she went through the spice cupboard and dumped in anything that looked interesting.”

Jim sniffed. Egg…milk…cheese…oregano…garlic…onion…parsley…salt…pepper…maybe a little bacon…well, at least there’s no sage…

“Sorry,” Ariel apologized. “Blair warned me about your allergies…but I’d already thrown everything in.”

“Tell you what, why don’t I try a bite and let you know?”

She looked a little dubious, but nodded. “All right, but if you keel over dead, I am *not* taking the blame.”

The Sentinel saw his Guide’s shoulders relax at the banter, and the disapproving eyebrow rose even higher in response. Don’t get too comfortable, Sandburg. I still want to know what this girl is doing here, and why you didn’t tell me yesterday that you were bringing her home.

Sandburg had the good sense to look ashamed under the Sentinel’s stare.

The young woman finished ladling the eggs onto three dishes and handed one to each of the men. She smiled uncertainly at the older of the two, and he returned it with a reassuring one of his own.

“I can tell you what I put in it, if you like,” she half apologized.

The detective just continued to smile. “I’ll take my chances.”

*****

“These are really good. Hey, Jim, maybe Ariel should take over making breakfast while she’s here.”

“And how long will that be, Chief?” The question was asked mildly, but it stopped the other man mid-bite. Ariel had finished her breakfast a few minutes before, and was currently borrowing the bathroom to shower and dress.

“Ah…yeah, we should probably talk about that…” Blair murmured over his eggs.

“We probably should,” Jim agreed.

The younger man grimaced. “Look, Jim, it’s only for a few days, I promise. Ariel’s been struggling a lot this semester, and I just wanted to give her a chance to get back on her feet. She doesn’t have a roommate, and most of her friends have either transferred or are spending a semester abroad. Plus, her grandfather just died and I get the impression they were pretty close–”

Ellison held up a hand to stop the monologue. “Okay, I get the idea, Chief. She can stay.”

Sandburg grinned in relief. “Thanks!”

“But just for a few days,” the Sentinel emphasized. “I don’t have any more spare bedrooms and I am *not* putting French doors on the couch.”

*****

…six months later

“French doors on the couch–now that would have been an interesting sight,” Ariel laughed.

“Yeah, but not half as interesting as…uh, Jim, is there a reason you’re leaving campus already?” Blair interrupted himself. He watched as the campus security office and the sign proclaiming “Rainier University” flashed past.

Jim’s face remained impassive as he turned to look back at his partner. “You didn’t think I was going to come all the way out here just to give Ariel a ride across campus to her dorm, did you?”

Sandburg nodded. “Okay, so where are we going?”

“Oh, I thought I’d treat you two to dinner.”

“You did?” The younger man looked astonished. “Um, that’s great. You definitely won’t hear me complaining. Man, what’s got you in such a good mood?”

Jim just smiled innocently and ignored the question. “So, Red, where would you like to eat?”

Mischief creeping into her eyes, Ariel nevertheless managed to keep her voice casual. “I’m not in the mood for anything expensive. Wonderburger would be fine.”

Blair suddenly sat up straighter. “Oh, no. Not Wonderburger. Do not do this to me, man!” He twisted his face into his most pathetic, miserable puppy dog expression. “Ariel…Jim…” he pleaded.

The detective grinned. “Sorry, Chief. I think you’re outvoted.”

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Fic: Overheard at the Movies: Frequency (TS, gen)

by Azar Posted on November 10, 2012

“The kid grows up to be a cop? That is just too funny, man.”
“Must be the nickname.”
“What, it sends some sort of subliminal signal or something?”
*chuckle*
“You know, that might make for an interesting case study. How people’s names and nicknames affect the direction of their lives–”
“Chief?”
“Yeah, ‘Dad’?”
“Watch–”
“–the movie. I know, I know. Sorry, Jim.”

“You know, I think Simon handled learning about your Sentinel abilities much better.”
“That’s probably because Simon saw the proof before he heard the wild story.”
“You’ve got a point, there.”

“Now, there is an escape worthy of you, Sandburg.”
“Yeah, especially since the guy didn’t die from the electrocution. That would be just my luck.”

“Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. I did not need to see that.”
“We see worse all the time in real life, Chief.”
“Last time I checked, Jim, no one’s hand had shriveled up and disappeared all by itself on our watch.”
“It didn’t disappear all by itself, Frank blew it off with the shotgun in 1969.”
“I know. I’m just grateful they didn’t show that part too. Ugh.”

“Jim?”
“What?”
“I’m still here, man.”
“How did you know–?”
“Hey, I may not have your superior night vision, but I know you. And I also know that guy was giving me serious Lash flashbacks.”
“I’m sorry, Sandburg.”
“It’s ok. I’m ok. It’s not like someone’s going to get on a radio to the past and warn Lash that you came looking for me.”
*long pause*
“Jim, you with me?”
“Yeah. I’m still here, Chief.”

“Ok, Little Chief. Movie’s over, let’s go.”
“Whoah, whoah, whoah. Now that’s going too far. I am not little.”
“Really? How tall are you, Sandburg?”
“Jim–”
“‘Little’ is a relative term, Chief.”
“Just great. I really hope no one else we know goes to see this movie. I’ll never live it down!”
*chuckle*
“Don’t you dare tell them, Jim.”
“Who, moi?”
“Oh, God. I’m dead.”

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Fic: Overheard at the Movies: The Road to El Dorado (TS, gen)

by Azar Posted on November 10, 2012

Author’s Note: This is what happens when I go to a movie with Jim and Blair’s voices a little *too* vocal in my head. 😉 Written…well, when the movie came out. 🙂

“Sheesh–!”
“Dial it down, Jim, dial it down.”
“I’m dialing, I’m dialing. God, what is this, movies for the near-deaf?”
“It is pretty loud.”
“Try deafening.”
“Not all of us are Sentinels, man.”
*pause*
“Hey, Jim, do you think if you tuned it out you could hear the dialogue in the movie next door…?”

“Tulio? What kind of name is Tulio–Julio with a lithp?”
“You know, Jim, you might not be too far off there; Castillian Spanish does pronounce certain consonants with something a lisp, traditionally because–”
“Sandburg?”
“Yeah?”
“Watch the movie.”

“Hey, Chief, you been giving these guys obfuscation lessons?”
“Jim?”
“Yeah?”
“Watch the movie.”
*chuckle*

“You know, I like this song[*]. It reminds me of you and me.”
*pause*
“Yeah, you’re right. It does a bit. Blazing a trail together, huh, Chief?”
“Always, Jim.”

“Man, I don’t believe this. For once I’d like to see a cartoon where characters from two disparate cultures don’t speak the same language.”
“I dunno, I certainly could have used a universal translator like that in Peru.”
“That’s just the point, man. It’s not realistic. There’s no way these people would have spoken English, or Spanish, or whatever, any more than the Chopec did when you first encountered them. And they certainly wouldn’t have called their own city El Dorado, since that’s also a Spanish phrase–”
“Sandburg–”
“I know, I know. Watch the movie.”

“That is just so unethical. You don’t play on people’s religious beliefs to manipulate them, man. See, that’s the whole problem with the Spanish conquistadores, they didn’t give a damn about the people…”

“Now, even for a cartoon, that woman is hot.”
“Sorry, Chief.”
“Sorry for what?”
“Well, as you can see, the lady prefers Tulio.”
“So?”
“So, you remind me more of Miguel.”
“Oh, come on, man. There is no way you’re Tulio.”
“And you are?”
“Well…”
“Uh huh.”
“That is so not fair, man.”

“Sandburg, if I hear one more word about the anthropological inaccuracies of a cartoon, I swear I’m never taking you to a movie again.”

[*] “The Trail We Blaze”

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Fic: The Child’s Cry (TS, gen)

by Azar Posted on November 10, 2012

Author’s Note: There is no graphic violence in the story, but there are some non-graphic mentions of torture. Just in case that’s a trigger for anyone thinking of reading this. Oh, and the title is from a poem by Sylvia Plath. I can’t remember at the moment which one.

Blair’s always said that, if I wanted to, I could probably make my mind remember anything that happened to me since the day I was born. He told me a story about how he once put Jim in a mildly hypnotic state and he’d remembered hearing a message on his answering machine almost five years after it had been left. But more often than not, I’ll change the subject. Partly because I hate how haunted he looks when he talks about Jim, but more because I don’t want to remember.

Yeah, I wish I could remember my parents. I wish I could remember my last name. But if I remembered that, I might have to remember the tanks.

I remember quite enough about them in my nightmares. I remember the fear, the absolute nothingness.

I remember crying when I found out it was all because our own government wanted to push us over the edge, to sharpen us like knife blades against the rock of total sensory deprivation. To hone their new weapon.

You see, my name’s Shane, and I’m a Sentinel.

I don’t know where I was born, or who my parents were. If pressed for a last name, I’ll give Sandburg–it’s only fitting, since Blair’s the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had–but I don’t know the name I was born with. I don’t know how or why I got the given name of Shane, or if that even was the name my parents gave me. It’s just what I’ve put together from the nickname I answered to as a child–Shaney. I have no memories of frilly party dresses and hair ribbons and Barbies…of any of the things most women associate with their childhoods. If I ever had any of these things, they were taken away from me long ago.

I spent most–if not all–of the first five years of my life in a laboratory. My world was tests, genetic tests, sensory tests, endurance tests, and of course, the tanks. I’ve spent every day since then on the run.

My first clear memory is the day the tank was opened for the last time, and I saw Blair Sandburg’s face hanging over me for the first time. I remember with precision clarity the horror in his eyes, the devastation that dug lines into his face that would never go away. I remember those first whispered words.

“Oh, God, Jim, what have I done?”

I remember Jim too, although that memory is fuzzier. We lost him so long ago. I remember how his eyes would twinkle, even when he was trying to be stern with us. I remember how he jokingly called us his “kittens.” And I remember how he gave himself to protect us.

Blair says a Sentinel has a genetic imperative to protect, and that instinct is never so strong as when faced with another Sentinel. What he never told us, but I learned as one by one of the older kids chose tribes and Guides of their own, is that the genetic imperative to protect that Guide is just as strong. Jim didn’t just sacrifice himself for us, he did it to keep Blair safe.

So I’ve repaid him the only way I can.

Jim, can you hear me? The kittens are all grown, and this one is taking care of the wolf for you. I promise, I won’t leave him until we find you again.

I have to find you. It’s the only thing I can do to repay Blair.

End Note: Before you ask, no, I never wrote the sequel wherein Blair and Shaney finally find Jim. Nor am I ever likely to. But rest assured that it happened, even if I don’t remember anymore how or when.

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Fic: Running Home (TS, gen)

by Azar Posted on November 10, 2012

Author’s Note: Written for the Sentinel lyric wheel. I’d been playing with the idea of a Sentinel/Harsh Realm crossover and the lyrics I was given for that round kind of reminded me of Harsh Realm, so that’s where this story came from. Also: fair warning, but there are mentions of torture in this story. Specifically sensory deprivation. Just in case that’s a trigger for anyone.

Can you hear me, Jim? Can you hear me running?

It’s been fourteen years. Half of these kids you and I picked up are full-grown now. A lot of them have struck out on their own, found cities of their own to protect. They haven’t forgotten that lab, Jim, but you know better than anyone a Sentinel’s genetic prerogative to watch over his–or her–chosen tribe. They’ve all found Guides of their own, some older than them, some younger like I was. But all good people. Every single one of them would give their lives to protect their partners. Which is why I don’t worry about them. They have each other, like we had once. The kids don’t need me any more.

Shaney is still with me, though. I’ve been guiding her, although she knows it’s just until I find you. She knows I haven’t given up. But she also knows how much I don’t want to be alone until then. Because every time I’m alone, I still feel my failure.

I can still remember that day. The last time I saw you. I can still hear your words in my ears: “Take the children and yourself and hide out in the cellar.”

I protested, of course. I was your partner, your backup. There was no way I was gonna go hide and leave you out there alone. But somewhere along the line, you learned the only words I couldn’t say no to.

“Chief…the best way you can back me up right now is to watch those kids. If something happens to me…someone needs to be there to guide them. To teach them who they are, like you taught me.”

Then you looked me right in the eyes, trusting me to make the choice you already had. “There’s a gun and ammunition just inside the doorway. Use it only in emergency.”

Sometimes I still curse you for that. For reminding us both of our responsibility to protect this future generation from the curse I’d brought down upon them.

So many regrets. If only I’d never written that damned dissertation, then the U.S. government wouldn’t have started looking for kids who showed signs of Sentinel abilities. They would never have taken them away from their families, tried to turn them into guinea pigs, into weapons…

And we would never have found them like that, stuffed into sensory deprivation tanks, their senses tortured to the point where whatever control they would have had from birth was shattered.

So, I ran. Just as you asked me to. I crawled into that hole under the floor and held Shaney tightly in my arms while the rest of them clustered around me, all of us trying not to cry as we listened to the fight raging over our heads–gunfire, voices, running footsteps–the fight I knew you couldn’t win. And when you were gone, I left that place behind and never looked back.

They heard, you know. The kids heard whatever it was those bastards did to you. But none of them would ever tell me. All they said was that you were still alive, and I’ve held on to that hope ever since.

They didn’t need to tell me, though. They didn’t need to tell me what happened to you. I already knew. You gave yourself to them, to those bastards. Gave them a test subject to replace the ones they’d lost.

You protected them, just like you protected Alex all those years ago.

Fourteen years ago, I couldn’t say no to that. I ran away, like I knew you wanted me to, and I took them with me. And I’m still running today, but I’m not running away anymore. I’m running home, to wherever you are. And I won’t rest until I find you.

Listen for me, Jim. If you still remember my voice, listen for it. Because soon, I swear, you’ll be hearing me coming for you.

Can you hear me running, Jim? Can you hear me calling you?

Soon, partner. Soon.

End Note: Story based on the following lyrics, provided by Dawn (Stormwolf):

“Silent Running”
Mike + The Mechanics

Take the children and yourself
And hide out in the cellar
By now the fighting will be close at hand
Don’t believe the church and state
And everything they tell you
Believe in me, I’m with the high command

Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?
Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?

There’s a gun and ammunition
Just inside the doorway
Use it only in emergency
Better you should pray to God
The Father and the Spirit
Will guide you and protect from up here

Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?
Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?

Swear allegiance to the flag
Whatever flag they offer
Never hint at what you really feel
Teach the children quietly
For some day sons and daughters
Will rise up and fight while we stood still

Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?
Can you hear me, can you hear me running?
Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you?

Can you hear me running (can you hear me calling you?)
(Can you hear me) hear me calling you?
(Can you hear me running) hear me running babe?
(Can you hear me running) hear me running?
Calling you, calling you

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Fic: When You Care Enough (TS, gen)

by Azar Posted on November 10, 2012

Author’s Note: The card Blair finds actually *does* exist, and was in part the inspiration for this story. I remember finding card like that in the store and thinking to myself what a great little inspiration that could be for a single mother struggling to be all things to her child. It just seemed like the sort of thing Blair would appreciate and remember. 🙂 As for Jim’s card…well, I’ve never seen one exactly like it, but I know there are many people out there who do struggle every year to find a card for a father who’s emotionally distant. This was intended as something of a bittersweet little tribute to them as well.

‘Two, four, six, eight. Who’s a dad who’s really great?’

Without even opening the card, Jim tucked it back into its space on the rack. Frowning, he reached for another one, this one adorned with a painting of a sailboat, matted in blue. ‘For Dad’ the front read in a looping script of metallic teal hue.

This one he flipped open.

‘Thanks for all you’ve given of yourself…’

Anything other than paper would have snapped as he closed it. A deep sigh shook the Sentinel’s frame as he tucked that card too back onto the shelf and went hunting for another choice.

‘Here’s to an A-#-1 Father…’

‘Dad, you’re the greatest…’

‘Everything I am today, Dad, I owe to you…’

Hawk-sharp blue eyes closed in frustration. Nostrils flared. A jaw clenched. Fists curled and released.

‘Every son thinks his father is tops…but I know mine is.’

‘Dad, I’ll always remember the first thing you taught me…how it feels to be loved.’

Damn it! Another frustrated sigh escaped, this one filtered through his nose so that it came out sounding almost more like a snort. One more try…

“Aha! I knew I’d seen one of these before!”

His partner’s voice broke into his thoughts like a welcome cloudburst on a humid summer day. With his usual enthusiasm, the younger man bounced to his side and displayed his treasure, a slim card reading ‘To Mom, on Father’s Day.’

“You know, that’s one great thing about this decade,” Blair remarked cheerfully. “They never had cards like this when I was little.”

Jim’s sour mood broke for a moment and he smiled at the affectionate tone of his friend’s voice. Naomi was a very lucky woman, he decided.

“What about you? Did you find what you were looking for?”

The Sentinel looked down at the card in his hands. ‘To Dad–‘ it read. ‘It’s so nice to know I can always depend on you…’

With another sigh, he opened it.

‘…for money. Happy Father’s Day.’

“Yeah, I think this one will work.” Jim smiled ruefully, his voice filled with regret.

Curious, the shorter man inspected the offered card. When he handed it back, he was much subdued. “Yeah, I guess it will,” was the sympathetic reply. Laying a compassionate hand on his friend’s back, Blair followed him to the cash register.

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Fic: That They May Serve (DZ/TS, gen)

by Azar Posted on October 23, 2012

Author’s Note: I don’t own these guys, I just noticed the parallels.

“All right, man, give it up. What did you see?”

Johnny glanced up at Bruce, back towards the ticket counter and the young woman who’d handed him his plane ticket, then back at Bruce. “Just now? She just found out her fiance’s been cheating on her and is trying to decide what to do about it.”

Well, that would explain why he’d told the young woman “he doesn’t deserve you” before they’d walked away from the desk.

Bruce shook his head. “Nah, man. I’m talking about whatever it is you saw that made you up and decide you and me needed to take a trip to Washington State. I know you, man–if there’s one thing you don’t like, it’s big cities with lots of people.”

As if to emphasize his point, a man in a long coat and a hurry promptly bumped into the psychic, then continued on without even a backwards glance or an apology. Johnny winced, then shrugged. “There’s someone there you need to meet.”

“Someone I need to meet?”

“All right, someone we both need to meet, but primarily you.”

Bruce blinked, confused. “Who?”

“That–” Smirking mischievously, Johnny air-poked his friend with a finger, being careful not to make actual contact with his chest. “–is for me to know and you to find out.”

* * * * *

“A cop? This person you and I desperately need to meet is a cop?”

Johnny shook his head with a little grimace. “Persons, actually, and I’m not sure…”

Bruce gave him a sideways look. “What are you sure about?”

“That I’ll know when I see them.”

Right on cue, the glass front door of the station opened to let two men step out into the sunlight. The taller one’s dress was casual, but neat, with a gold badge gleaming on his belt and brown hair cropped close to his skull like he’d spent time in the military. He had a commanding stride, an air of power and controlled violence like a jungle cat, but the genuine smile on his face hinted that he was definitely one of the good guys.

The shorter man at his side was also smiling with genuine joy, the baggy flannel shirt he wore pushed halfway up arms that were animatedly contributing to whatever it was he said. His hair, though longer than that of his companion, was a close cap of curls that seemed as unfamiliar to him as Bruce’s newly re-shorn pate was to him, since he kept reaching up one hand or the other to tuck back locks that weren’t there.

A smile crossed Johnny’s face and he started to walk towards the two men, Bruce almost hurrying to keep up despite his friend’s continued dependence of the silver-headed cane.

“Detective Ellison?”

The two men stopped, the shorter one mid-story, and stared at them. “That would be me,” the taller one stated, his voice and eyes sharp, wary.

Much to Bruce’s surprise, Johnny stuck out a hand. “My name’s John Smith–”

The second Ellison’s hand clasped his, the vision hit, as he’d known it would. It was the same wooded clearing he’d seen a week ago, when he’d first glimpsed the necessity of this meeting as Bruce handed him his cane getting out of the car. As before, he stood beside Bruce at the foot of a particularly tall fir, watching as a salt-and-pepper gray wolf and a midnight black jaguar stalked towards them on padded paws, only to shape-shift upon reaching them into the two men who now stood before them in reality.

When the image released him, Johnny met Ellison’s eyes and knew by the startled look in them that he’d shared the vision. He also knew that it wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened to the man.

The psychic smiled, and continued the introductions. “This is my friend, Bruce Lewis. Bruce, meet Detective Jim Ellison and Detective Blair Sandburg, Cascade PD.”

With a worried glance at Ellison, Sandburg tentatively shook hands with Bruce. Johnny didn’t offer his hand again.

“Mind if I have a word with you, Detective?” the psychic again addressed his words to Ellison. “I think your partner here and Bruce have a few things to discuss.”

Still shaken and a bit leery, Ellison nodded. “Sure…Chief? What do you say we meet you guys back at the truck?”

“Ah…okay,” Sandburg agreed, confused. He glanced at Bruce as the other two men turned away. “What exactly do we have to discuss?”

Bruce sighed. “Beats me–Johnny didn’t exactly fill me in on the details.”

“Oh, Detective Sandburg? One last thing…” Johnny stumped back towards them a few steps, smiling like a man with a secret too good to keep to himself. “An acquaintance of yours, Incacha, asked me to give you a message. ‘Not every sentinel sees with his eyes, but every sentinel needs a guide.'”

Before Blair or Bruce could do more than gape, he walked away again.

End Note: If Johnny can communicate with a centuries-dead shaman via his visions, I figured he should be able to talk to a recently-dead one like Incacha too. *g*

Posted in Crossovers, Gen, The Dead Zone, The Dead Zone/The Sentinel, The Sentinel | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Title: Wait (Roswell, gen)

by Azar Posted on October 23, 2012

Author’s Note: This was going to be the prologue to a series where Tess was raised with the other three, but yeah…big surprise, I never got around to writing it.

It is his first conscious memory–a compulsion he does not even understand, commanding him to push at the protective warmth that surrounds him. His hands flail out slowly, applying pressure to the thin membrane. It resists and he panics, suddenly terrified of the only safety he has ever known. He doesn’t understand this emotion, fear. He doesn’t understand emotions at all. All he understands is that he must get out, so he strains at the membrane.

Finally, it breaks, spilling something cold and intangible into his cocoon. Again reacting purely on the silent command in his mind, he opens his mouth and gulps in his first breath of air.

Little by little, he becomes aware of his body, still following instinct’s wordless instructions–it’s just as well that they are wordless, for right now he knows no words, does not even know what words are. The hands that freed him continue to pull at the membrane, tearing it wider. Finally it is wide enough for him to put one of the feet he has just discovered through the opening. The foot touches a strange surface–hard and unyielding, with tiny specks of sensation irritating the sole. He will later learn it is called dirt.

His silent guide whispers that if he opens his eyes, the darkness will go away. One hand reaches up to his face and swipes the slime away, then he tentatively parts the lids and stares in amazement at the sight that meets him. He has never seen rocks or dirt before, or a girl, but instinctively he knows what they all are, though he still has no words to name them.

He steps towards her, and they touch hands, communicating without sound or language. This is his sister, the guide whispers. His blood.

A sound draws their attention to a third pod, like the two that are now torn. There is a shape inside it too, also trying to escape. But this one beats at the membrane instead of just straining it, his fists violent and demanding.

The boy and girl standing in the chamber look at each other, understanding again. This is the warrior.

Finally the pod yields and another boy bursts forth. He is taller, with wary eyes. The girl reaches out her other hand towards him, but he hesitates, hovering at some distance distrustfully.

Even though it is not in the second boy’s nature to trust easily, the first knows, it still hurts the girl that he does not join them.

For a while, they linger, studying each other, becoming acquainted with their eyes and hands, discovering themselves and their as-yet-limited new world. There is one more pod in the rock chamber, but it is not straining. It rests quietly as if it had not heard the silent command that woke them.

The first boy steps towards it, studying the shape that can be seen through the translucent membrane. She is a girl, with wispy blonde curls floating around her peaceful face in the jelly that enwombs her. Looking at her, he knows that if she does not wake, he will spend the rest of his life searching for her and never truly find her. For if he leaves this chamber without her, the bond between them will be broken forever.

Still she doesn’t stir.

The compulsion changes now–they have been born, now they must leave their sandstone nursery and venture out into the world that waits for them.

Still the fourth doesn’t stir.

He has no understanding of death, does not know that he has died before. But suddenly he is frightened again, as he was when he struggled to escape the pod. Frightened of her stillness and the nameless thing it might mean. Frightened of parting from her. Frightened of waiting for her and disobeying the call to go.

The third, the warrior, is becoming impatient. He has received his orders, and will obey them. If the first waits, he will lose his right hand. If he does not, he will lose…he cannot comprehend what he will lose, or what the cost will be.

So he steps away, towards the entrance of the cave. The other two follow.

Destiny holds its breath.

But then his sister hesitates, her steps slow. She looks at them both, and the voice of her eyes is the command of a princess that men will love to obey. Wait for her.

They wait.

Posted in Gen, Roswell | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fic: Carry These Sins (Roswell/TS, gen)

by Azar Posted on October 23, 2012

Author’s Note: This was written for the Sentinel Lyric Wheel’s “Crossover Wheel.” During a conversation about past Lyric Wheels with another writer, she commented that part of the fun of a challenge is writing something you wouldn’t normally. Hence, my first Roswell fic. Oh, and it would be a good idea to have a little more than a passing familiarity with “The Sentinel” to understand this–since it was written for a TS lyric wheel, it’s a little heavy on the TS side. Also, for the record, I liked Tess. A lot. I was very angry with the way the writers decided to resolve her character arc, partly because it felt like a cop-out–“Uh oh, a lot of the fans hate her…we’d better make her evil!”–and partly because the whole scenario was so cruel to Kyle. Some of those feelings do come through in this story.

Jim Ellison collected his badge and wallet on the other side of the security checkpoint and started searching for the gate. His brother-in-law’s words still rang in his mind:

“It’s been a rough couple of months…I just think we could use a vacation and he always loved visiting with you…”

“Rough, how? Maybe I can help,” he’d responded.

The other man had hedged. “It’s a long story…I’ll tell you what I can when we get there.”

“So how are they related again?” Blair’s voice interrupted his thoughts. Both the shorter man’s hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans, his plaid shirt draped over his wrists. Sandburg’s wardrobe hadn’t changed much in the two years since he’d joined the Force in an official capacity, which was why Vice was constantly trying to borrow him for some sting or another. Both he and Simon had been adamant in their refusal, though–Blair had done his time on rotation when he completed the Academy. Now he was Jim’s official partner and Major Crimes needed him too much to risk his life on some chancy drug bust.

“Carolyn’s older sister’s ex-husband and their son,” Jim explained, spotting Gate C23 far down the terminal and heading towards it with determined steps. “The Plummers really took them in after Michelle left–compensating, I guess–and Jim and I got to be good friends, which is why we’ve stayed in touch.”

Blair laughed. “His name’s Jim too? That’s going to be confusing.”

Jim Ellison chuckled.

The passengers were already disembarking when they reached the gate, and the Sentinel easily picked out the two men he was looking for, just emerging from the jetway. They were about the same height, with an obvious family resemblance. The older of the two had dark blonde hair and haunted blue eyes, while his son’s hair was a medium brown with eyes that seemed to match.

“I don’t know if this was such a good idea, Dad,” Jim heard the teenager confess to his father. “With everything that’s happened lately…”

“That’s kind of why I thought we could use the time off.”

“I know. I just…there’s no one here we can really talk to about it, you know?”

“Yeah. I know. But think of it this way–we’ve got a chance to get back to normal for a couple of weeks. Forget about all the crap that’s come down and just relax. Or if we need to, take a step back and look at everything from a safe distance. Maybe it’ll be easier to go back after this.”

The younger man smiled weakly. “I hope so, Dad.”

Disturbed, Jim nodded to Blair and began moving through the crowd towards the two visitors. They were spotted a moment before they reached them.

“Ellison.”

“Valenti,” Jim responded with a smile, slapping his ex-brother-in-law on the shoulder and clasping his other hand in a firm grip. “Glad you made it.”

He then turned to the boy, who forced another tired smile. “Hey, Uncle Jim.”

Ellison returned the smile with a fatherly one of his own. “Good to see you again, Kyle.”

*****

“They’ve been here for a week, now, and I still don’t feel any closer to knowing what’s going on,” Jim grumbled as he and Blair climbed into the truck to head home. They’d both taken the week off to show the Valentis around Cascade, but something unexpected had come up regarding a case they’d handled, and Simon had called them in to clarify. Valenti, being a lawman himself, had refused to let them apologize and had made plans to spend the day on the waterfront.

Blair snorted in response to his partner’s complaint. “Guess you rubbed off on them, huh?”

Ellison shot him a glare.

“Well, think about it. You’re not exactly the most forthcoming person yourself when it comes to stuff that’s bothering you, man. Half the time if you express any emotion at all, you get ticked.”

Jim sighed. “I just wish I knew what was wrong. Kyle’s a tough kid. He doesn’t break easy. But something’s eating him. Hell, I can’t even get him to sleep in a goddamned bed…”

Sandburg nodded, remembering the battle they’d had over sleeping arrangements at the Loft. Kyle had insisted on taking the couch, even though he’d offered to let the teenager use his room, only offering “I’ve gotten used to it,” as a reason.

“Maybe I could talk to him,” Blair suggested. “I mean, I’m a little closer to his age, you know. Not so much of an authority figure. And that would give you and Valenti a chance to talk too.”

Jim nodded. “Might not be a bad idea.”

“Maybe I’ll offer to take him down to Rainier,” was the younger man’s next thought to be voiced. “He should be starting to look at colleges, right?”

His partner visibly stiffened. “I don’t know if I want you anywhere near that place, Sandburg. Not after what happened.”

Sandburg’s smile was sad but calm. “Yeah, I know. But it’s a good school, Jim. And rumor has it that Chancellor Edwards will probably be asked to leave as soon as she finishes her current term. Berkshire Publishing weren’t the only ones embarrassed by how the whole thing went down, and while she may have managed to blame it all on me, I know for a fact that there are more than a few people who feel her mishandling of the situation only compounded the problem. And not just the professors who were friends of mine, either.”

“All right. Just let me know if anyone tries to give you any trouble, okay?”

Blair laughed. “Take it easy, Jim. I’m carrying now, remember? And not everyone at Rainier knows that I’d only use that weapon as a last resort.”

*****

“So, what do you think?”

Kyle shrugged. “Sure, I guess I could take a look around. I’ll probably just end up at Las Cruces or something–”

“Well, don’t eliminate any of your choices until you’ve examined them thoroughly,” Blair interrupted with a smile. “Sometimes getting away from home for a few years can be a good thing.”

Jim snorted. “With Naomi for a mother, when were you ever not away from home?” he muttered softly.

Sandburg ignored him. “What kind of field are you looking to go into?”

The teenager shrugged. “I guess I figured I’d get in somewhere on an athletic scholarship, and worry about what to study once I got there.”

“Any particular interests?”

He shrugged.

“Okay…I’ll see if I can’t get us appointments with some profs I know in a couple of different departments.”

Blair disappeared into the kitchen and was soon engaged in a lively chat with someone on the other end of the phone. Jim Valenti studied his son.

“You know Blair’s right, Kyle. Maybe a few years away from home would be a good thing.”

Kyle shot his father a look that clearly said he knew he was talking about whatever burden was currently weighing them both down. “I think it’s a little premature to decide that right now.”

“Maybe,” Valenti agreed. “But I’ll be the first to admit, Roswell’s a pretty backwater town. Not much there for someone who wants to make their mark on the world.”

A defiant spark came into the younger man’s eyes. “You made a mark,” he insisted.

His father’s face softened, even though something like regret lingered in his eyes. “Thanks, son.”

Ellison once again silently cursed whatever it was that had changed them both. Both the stubborn sheriff and the cocksure jock seemed to have vanished, leaving behind two strangers with a somber reserve and subtle insecurity he didn’t recognize.

Blair reappeared then. “Okay, I’ve got everything set up. Doctor Graves said he’d talk to Doctor Newell and Doctor Robison for me, let them know we were coming, and Doctor Wright offered to meet with us and Doctor Santos…”

*****

“Blair…can I ask you about something?” Kyle asked as they pulled onto the campus.

Sandburg nodded. “Sure.”

“I just don’t want to…” He hedged. “…bring up unpleasant memories or anything.”

Blair looked at him frankly. “You mean about my dissertation?”

The younger man nodded, looking embarrassed. “Yeah. Dad told me about that when it happened, but all I remember is Uncle Jim said you weren’t a liar, that the paper they’d released was something you’d written for yourself that was never meant to see the light of day.”

“So what do you want to know?”

“I guess…just why would you want to come back here? After everything that happened.”

Blair sighed. “It’s not easy. But I had some good times here. I had three good years before everything came crashing down. Those memories are here too. And something good did come out of what happened. I realized what my priorities really were. And I found out who my real friends were–the people, both here and in Major Crime, who stuck around in spite of everything.”

The teenager nodded, his face quietly thoughtful.

“Have you ever…trusted somebody you shouldn’t have trusted?”

Blair nodded, thinking of Alex Barnes. “Yeah. And it almost got me and Jim killed.”

“It did get a friend of mine killed,” was the quiet reply, spoken almost too softly for purely human ears.

So that was the secret. “I’m sorry, man,” he sympathized.

Kyle sighed deeply. “There was this girl, see…her dad died unexpectedly not long after they got to Roswell and she didn’t have any other family, so Dad and I took her in. She got to be like a sister to me…and then we found out…she killed Alex because she didn’t want him blabbing what she was really doing there.”

It took Sandburg a moment to register that Kyle was talking about his friend who had been killed, not the female Sentinel he’d been thinking of. Children killing children–he’d heard about it on the news, but Cascade had been mercifully spared so far. This was the first time it had hit close.

His voice almost shook. “God, I’m really sorry!”

“Yeah, so am I. I just can’t believe…I let her get to me, you know?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

A long, heavy silence fell between them as Sandburg searched out the Criminal Justice building. He’d had a gut instinct ever since he first met Kyle a week ago that the kid was going to follow in his father’s and his uncle’s footsteps.

“So what was she doing there?” he finally broke the dead quiet with a question.

“It’s a long story.”

“Trust me, long stories are my specialty,” Blair grinned.

The teenager grimaced. “Yeah, but it’s not really my story to tell, if you know what I mean…”

Blair knew exactly what he meant. That was the whole flaw in the dissertation, that it wasn’t his story to tell, but he’d told it. And someone had gotten a hold of it and decided to tell the world before the man whose story it was could decide if he wanted it told.

“Yeah, I get it. But if you ever need somebody to talk to…”

“I will. Thanks.”

“And Kyle…no matter what you may have told yourself, what she did is not your fault.”

****

“Is that why he won’t sleep in a bed?” Ellison asked.

The Sheriff nodded grimly. “Yeah. Tess had been using his room since she came to stay with us. It’ll probably be a while before he can be in there without thinking of her, and some of it spills over into any bedroom. From what his friends have told me, he stays away from their rooms as well, always wanting to stay out in the living room or dining room or somewhere. I just…” He shook his head in frustration. “I can’t believe I let my judgment falter so badly.”

“It happens to all of us sometimes,” Ellison sighed, an image of Lila springing up in his mind.

“I know. But damn it, I hurt my son by trusting her. And Alex…I guess I can’t help but feel I’m as much responsible for his death as she is. Like I failed those kids somehow, especially him.”

The Sentinel sighed, leaning over to rest his hands on the balcony railing. “I know the feeling.”

*****

“…I just don’t seem to be able to convince either of them that what happened isn’t their fault,” Jim sighed.

Blair nodded, his mouth quirking upwards in a slight smile. “Do you blame them, man? We’ve both been there. Like the time you almost shot the night watchman at the mall, and decided you didn’t want to be a Sentinel anymore. Or the thing with Alex, or the thing with my dissertation. You weren’t the only one pissed that I’d let that get out, remember.”

“Or Lila or Laura McCarthy,” Jim corroborated.

“Or Maya.”

“Yeah.”

There was a pensive silence, then Blair spoke again. “Jim? I have an idea…”

*****

“So what’s with the guided tour?” Kyle asked. “We’ve already seen most of the city–”

Blair smiled from behind the steering wheel–the truck didn’t have room for four, so they’d decided to take his Volvo. “You’ll see. Jim and I wanted to show you guys a few places that have been significant for us…”

They pulled up before the Cascade Depot and Jim pointed out the window at the brand new facade. “Would you believe that building was destroyed by a serial bomber about five years ago?”

The younger Valenti blinked. “Whoah. Guess the city put some money into rebuilding it.”

His father, however, watched Ellison with a sharp eye. “A serial bomber?”

The Sentinel nodded. “Veronica Sarris. She was the daughter of a man under my command in Peru…one of the men who died when our chopper went down. She blew up half of Cascade to get back at me for ‘letting’ her father die.”

Kyle’s attention was instantly drawn back to his uncle. “Damn.”

For the next two hours, Jim and Kyle Valenti were introduced to the Cascade no one saw. The club where Jim Ellison had met Laura McCarthy. The safe house from which Maya had faked her own kidnapping to get at her father’s money. Chinatown, where Lila had killed two monks to appease her “family.” The park where she had died because she couldn’t bring herself to kill Jim. Back to the loft, where Jim had missed the call that could have saved Jack Pendergast’s life because he was “occupied” with Emily Carson. Every fatal or near-fatal “mistake” that either one of them had made was laid bare…only with the details of Ellison’s senses carefully edited out. He wasn’t yet ready to share that secret.

Then they arrived at Rainier…

“You asked me, Kyle, if I’d ever trusted someone I shouldn’t have trusted,” Blair explained as they approached the fountain that still reminded them both of one of their darkest hours. “Well, a couple of years ago, I befriended a woman named Alex Barnes. We had some common interests related to my studies, and I started spending a lot of time with her. But I didn’t tell Jim. Turned out she was a thief, and a pretty good one. She stole a canister of VX Nerve Gas from the HazMat Research Unit here at the University. And because I didn’t tell Jim sooner, he wasn’t able to put the pieces together in time to stop her.”

“Why would you telling him about the work you were doing with this woman have let on that she was the thief?” Valenti asked.

“Because those common interests I mentioned? She used them to pull of the heist.” His voice grew quiet. “And then she decided to kill me because I knew too much about how she’d done it. Right here in this fountain.”

“And what Sandburg’s leaving out is that once he did tell me, I acted like an ass and threw him out of my life, and it’s because of that he was alone when Alex found him.”

“Jim–”

“See?” Ellison pointed at Blair with a crooked smile. “He’s still trying to convince me it wasn’t my fault.”

The two visitors laughed, and Sandburg chuckled softly under his breath.

“But the point we’re trying to make is this–” Blair persisted, “we’ve all made mistakes. Mistakes that got people hurt. If you want to use the Judeo-Christian term for it, we’ve all sinned. And sometimes we think we’ve sinned when we haven’t–Jim couldn’t have known Lila was a killer and I couldn’t have known that Alex was, anymore than either of you could’ve known this girl Tess was. We can’t carry these sins on our back, man. They’re too damned heavy, and half the time they’re not even ours. Sooner or later you have to forgive yourself and move on.”

“And concentrate on learning from what happened, not letting it happen again,” Jim added.

Sandburg nodded. “Boy, have we learned that one a few times!”

A few times. Ellison almost snorted, remembering how many times he’d tried to push Blair away because of a mistake he’d made before he’d learned his lesson there.

Jim Valenti looked at his son. Forgive himself…that would be hard. Every time he looked in Kyle’s eyes, he saw the devastation in them as the boy broke the news to him that he’d been mind-warped into helping Tess dispose of Alex’s body…

…but then it must not have been easy for Jim to forgive himself for leaving Blair alone with the Barnes woman long enough for her to drown him either, Kyle reflected.

“What about your friends, Kyle?” Blair asked. “Do they blame you?”

The younger Valenti shook his head. “No. Not even Liz, and she mistrusted Tess from the start.”

“So you’d say Liz is a pretty good judge of character?”

“Yeah, I gue–oh. You’re saying if she thinks what I did is forgivable, maybe it is?”

“That’s a pretty profound statement, Detective Sandburg,” Valenti mused quietly.

“Yeah, well…” Ellison hooked an arm around his partner’s neck and gave him a noogie. “…he’s a profound kid sometimes.”

“Hey, watch the hair, man!”

The four men laughed, and Jim Valenti put a careful hand on his son’s shoulder. They looked at each other, but his words were directed to his brother-in-law and his partner. “Thanks for the good advice.”

End Note: lyrics provided by CarolROI:

“Swim”
by Madonna

Put your head on my shoulder baby
Things can’t any worse
Night is getting colder, sometimes…
Life feels like it’s a curse
I can’t carry these sins on my back
Don’t wanna carry any more
I’m gonna carry this train off the track
…Gonna swim to the ocean floor
mmmmmmmm
Crash to the other shore
mmmmmmmm
Swim to the ocean floor

Children killing children while the
Students rape their teachers
comets fly across the sky
While the churches burn their preachers

We can’t carry these sins on our back
Don’t wanna carry any more
We’re gonna carry this train off the track
We’re gonna swim to the ocean floor
mmmmmmm
Crash to the other shore
mmmmmm
Swim to the ocean floor

Let the water wash over you
Wash it all over you
Swim to the ocean floor
So that we can begin again
Wash away all our sins
Crash to the other shore
mmmmmmm

I can’t carry these sins on my back
Don’t wanna carry any more
I’m gonna carry this train off the track
I’m gonna swim to the ocean floor
mmmmmm
Crash to the other shore
mmmmmm
Swim to the ocean floor

Posted in Crossovers, Gen, Roswell, Roswell/The Sentinel, The Sentinel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fic: A Novel Solution part 10/10 (QL/TS, gen)

by Azar Posted on October 14, 2012

The loft

Sam finished the final page of Blair’s thesis and sighed deeply. On his other knee was a pad of paper, where he’d begun jotting down the idea he’d had.

Ziggy’s right–this paper does deserve to be published. It’s good. And it’s not right that he should be forced to choose between the recognition he deserves and the friend he’d give his life to protect. An image of Al flashed into Sam’s mind and he shuddered. He didn’t even want to think what it would be like to have to make that kind of choice.

“If you had to choose between a Nobel Prize and someone you cared about,” the Observer’s words echoed in his thoughts. “You would do it in a second. You and the kid have a lot in common that way.”

He realized how lucky he’d been with his own doctoral work, especially in physics. Even though his string theory was every bit as sensational as Blair’s sentinel research, it couldn’t hurt anyone. Until the day he’d decided to put that theory to the ultimate test, it hadn’t touched anyone’s life but his and maybe Al’s. And now that it affected so many more…well, he had to admit it was for the better, as much as he wanted to give it all up and go home.

A hand fell on his shoulder. “Will you ever forgive me for making such a mess of things?”

Sam looked up at the sound of Naomi’s voice and forced a hesitant smile. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay…Mom.” Reaching out one hand, he patted hers. “We’re…we’re all going to be fine.”

She sighed. “Do you still love me even with all this?”

The physicist blinked, startled. Was Naomi Sandburg really so insecure in her relationship with her son? Setting down both the dissertation and the pad, he stood and smiled warmly at her. “Mom, come on. You know me better than that.”

He held his arms out to her and she stepped into his embrace with a grateful smile. Which one’s the parent and which one’s the child, here? Sam wondered ruefully.

Naomi sighed again. “I’m sorry.”

“Of course I love you,” Sam promised in a sincere, quiet voice. “Would you stop loving me because of one little mistake?”

“Oh, honey, of course not.”

“So why should I do that to you? We were all doing what we thought was right. Right? Maybe this happened for a reason. Maybe there’s something we’re all supposed to learn from it. And I think I know what.”

“And what’s that, Blair?”

He released her with a comforting squeeze of the shoulder. “Why don’t you go call Sid, and I’ll tell you both at the same time?”

Naomi nodded. “Okay, sweetie.”

-8-

Back at the Project

“Look, Kid…” Al took a deep breath before proceeding. “If you remember anything once we send you back…look me up sometime. Let me know how you’re getting along.”

Blair smiled a bright, genuine smile that the older man fervently hoped his best friend would be able to preserve. “Thanks. I really appreciate that.”

“Just one thing–”

“Yeah?”

The man who had once been a father’s nightmare now shook a fatherly finger at the young anthropologist. “You lay a finger on one of my girls, and even your friend Ellison won’t be able to count the number of stitches you need. You hear me?”

“Whoah, man, chill,” Blair laughed. “I promise, okay?”

Al chuckled in return. “Don’t you know it’s a father’s duty to protect his daughters from young men who remind him of his own misspent youth?”

“I’ll remember that if I ever have kids,” the anthropologist joked. He paused thoughtfully. “Al, do I–?”

The Observer shrugged. “Hell if I know. You’re only a year behind us here, remember?”

The Visitor nodded. “A year behind…wait, that means you won’t know me for a year.”

“Once you get back to your own time, yeah. I won’t.”

“That sucks. I was really looking forward to taking you up on that offer.”

Al chuckled. “Hell, do it anyway. Tell me I said for you to look me up–I shouldn’t have too much trouble figuring out the rest.”

-8-

The room was packed with reporters by the time Sam came in. The Leaper took another deep, quaking breath.

“Don’t sweat it, Sam, you’ll do fine,” Al reassured his friend’s unspoken concern. “You were nervous as hell when you accepted the Nobel Prize, but once you got up there, there wasn’t a person in that room who woulda known it. Except me.” The hologram smirked.

Sam smiled. “Thanks, Al,” he whispered softly, just as someone gestured for him to approach the podium. He did so, shuffling the notes he didn’t really need and leaning forward into the mike.

“Hi. Thank you all for coming. I just have a short speech prepared here. Um… In our media-informed culture, a scientist receives validation by having his or her work published and after years of research there is great personal satisfaction when that goal is reached. However, there’s been a serious mistake, for which I accept full responsibility. The paper which was released to you is *not* my dissertation.”

Sam took another deep breath and let it out before plunging ahead.

“In all my years of research into the history and legends surrounding the concept of Sentinels, I was never able to find a test subject, a modern-day Sentinel whose abilities I would be able to observe first-hand. So, I changed the subject of my doctoral thesis to a study of the anthropological sub-culture of law enforcement. In order to research this new dissertation, I was assigned as an observer to the Cascade Police Department, and as an unofficial partner to Detective James Ellison.

“In Detective Ellison, I found all the traits that would make a good Sentinel–a strong sense of honor, a commitment to protecting the innocent–except for the heightened senses. Since I had never quite dealt with the necessity of abandoning my original thesis, I began to imagine how that paper would have taken shape if I had found a Sentinel.”

Sam lifted his eyes to look directly into the camera, hoping Blair’s partner was watching somewhere. “The manuscript you have been led to believe is my thesis, ‘The Sentinel,’ is actually the first draft of a novel. The central character is not Jim Ellison but a fictional amalgamation of my work with him and my Sentinel research. However, having very little experience in writing fiction, I chose to name the characters after the real people who had inspired them until I could think of something better. I apologize for the misunderstanding. My only hope is that I can be forgiven for the pain I’ve caused those that are close to me. Thank you.”

“Sam, you did it!” Al crowed. “It takes a little work on Blair’s part, but he not only convinces the press that his thesis is a novel, he actually rewrites it as a novel and it becomes an instant bestseller. And get this–” The hologram grinned. “He changes Jim’s name in the book to Sam.”

Smiling broadly, Dr. Sam Beckett stepped down from the podium, out of the room, and out of Blair Sandburg’s life in a flash of light.

-8-

Back in the Major Crimes division of the Cascade Police Department, a group of officers sat in stunned silence before the television, absorbing the words they’d just heard.

When the eerie quiet showed no signs of ending, Captain Simon Banks shook his head and spoke in a voice too low for anyone but Jim to hear: “Damn. I always knew the kid was good at obfuscation, but that beats everything I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth.”

A very pensive Jim Ellison nodded. And he saved my neck. Again. He stood. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen…I need to go see a man about a book.”

-8-

The loft
A little while later

Blair stared at the notebook where it lay in front of him on the dining room table. The first page, which he had folded under, contained the speech he had given at the press conference. Part of him still marveled at the words that had come out of his own mouth. What on earth had given him the idea to call his dissertation “the first draft of a novel”?

Of course, it wasn’t a bad idea. In fact, it was probably a much better idea than what he’d briefly considered doing, which was to denounce the paper as academic fraud.

Now I just have to figure out how to make people believe it, he decided. That was why he was staring down at a blank piece of paper, with his hands clenched and a firm set to his jaw. If there had been a mirror anywhere in the vicinity of the table, he probably would have laughed at how reminiscent the unconscious mannerism was of Jim at his most determined.

His right hand fiddled with a pen, bringing it up to his mouth to uncap it. With the cap still clamped between his teeth, he brought the ballpoint back to the paper and scratched out a first line:

“Draft Dr. Lake as a co-conspirator.”

That was an absolute necessity, he decided as he removed the cap from his mouth with his left hand. Dr. Lake had seen the early chapters of the dissertation, and was the one person who could blow this plan to hell if he wanted to. Thankfully, Blair was certain that his thesis advisor could be trusted.

Pursing his lips, he let out a low, almost whistling breath and stared at the page again. A few moments of thought later, he scribbled down another “to do” item:

“Figure out fictional names for Jim, me, Simon, Megan, Joel, Rafe, Brown, etc…”

On impulse, he brought the pen down to the next line and wrote under Jim’s name, “Sam.”

Sam? Where’d that come from? Frowning, Blair reached up to draw a line through the name, but paused. Actually…that would work. It sounds a little bit like ‘Jim,’ has some of the same vocal nuances…

Figuring out a fictional name for himself would be harder. He’d have to be careful not to choose something that might invite teasing from the guys in Major Crimes. Not that any of them were probably students of Etymology or Onomastics, but on the off chance that someone might know if a name sounded particularly self-aggrandizing–

“Hey. Thought I might find you here.” Jim circled the table slowly and seated himself in a chair opposite the younger man. The smile he offered him was subdued, but not forced or angry or hurt, as most of their interaction lately had been.

Blair looked up at his partner, a little sheepishly. “Yeah, um…I didn’t know where else to go. If you want, I can–” he gestured towards the door.

“No, I don’t want you to leave.” Ellison’s hand somehow found its way to Sandburg’s forearm, where it fastened with a firm but gentle grip. When he could tell that the younger man was going to acquiesce and stay put, the detective loosened that hold just a little.

He looked Blair straight in the eyes, his own eyes just as subdued as his smile. “I saw your press conference.”

“Oh, yeah, you saw it?” the anthropologist repeated lamely. Wow, if his press conference had inspired this reaction, what would Jim have done if he’d gone with the fraud idea? He suppressed a shiver and shrugged. “It’s just a book.”

“It was your life.”

“And I’ve still got it,” Blair pointed out. “Albeit in a slightly altered form.”

Jim inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, and the younger man continued. “But this way…this way I don’t have to choose between your life and mine. Like I said, this isn’t just about a research project anymore. It hasn’t been almost since the beginning. It’s been about friendship, and that’s what I don’t want to lose. The dissertation I can live without, hell, even the doctorate if the University won’t let me start over.”

There was a long pause as the detective regarded his friend. “You really think this’ll work?” he asked hopefully.

“I’ll make it work,” Sandburg promised. “Besides, uh…I mean, where I get off following you around for three years pretending I was a cop, right?”

“You might have been just an observer, but you were the best cop I’ve ever met and the best partner I could have ever asked for. You’ve been a great friend and you’ve pulled me through some pretty weird stuff.”

An Observer…Blair smiled, not knowing why he now capitalized the word in his mind. “Thanks.” His fingers tightened around the notepad. “Jim…I know I used to joke about it…about my paper. Like that stupid remark I made once about movie rights when you were in the hospital. If anything I said ever led you to believe I would do something like that to you, expose you like that…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The detective frowned, thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Maybe it did. But I seem to recall you also saying once that you had enough material for ten dissertations, but you were stalling on finishing it because you wanted to stick around.” He smiled again. “I think I’m the one who made the mistake here, Chief. I assumed the worst when everything I know about you should have told me otherwise.”

Sandburg nodded, relieved.

His smile warming a little, Jim patted his partner’s arm. “So, are you ready to get back to work?”

A delicious shock ran through the younger man at those words. His own smile broadened as he flipped the notebook closed and lifted it to stuff in a deep flannel pocket.

“Hey, man, I thought you’d never ask!”

Chuckling, the Sentinel rose from his place at the table and crossed to the door.

“No matter how badly you think you’ve screwed up, if you just hold on and fight for it until the hurt is past, the friendship will survive.” Blair shook his head, bewildered by the memory. Especially since he couldn’t recall who’d spoken those words to him.

Jim turned back in the doorway, his voice light. “You coming or not, Chief?”

Oh well. It didn’t really matter who had said it. All that mattered was that the words were proving true. He grinned into the once-again-friendly blue gaze of his roommate.

“Right behind you, partner.”

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