Sentinel - Progression Series 08 Fathers and Sons

by Beth Manz

  Disclaimer: The characters depicted within this story do not belong to us, but are the property of Pet Fly, UPN, Paramount and The SciFi Channel. No money has been made from the writing of this story.

  Note from the Authors: In our Sentinel universe, the events depicted in "The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg" did not occur. Therefore, any "canonical" references that may be found in this story are related to episodes up to and including "Most Wanted."

  Dedication: This series is dedicated to friendship, for only through caring for others can we truly find a sense of peace and belonging.

  Fathers and Sons

  Part Eight of the "Progressions" Series

  by Beth Manz and Shiloh

  Part One

  Jim Ellison pushed open the door to the loft and stepped aside to usher his brother into the apartment. "Just have a seat, Stephen," he directed as he dropped his keys into the basket by the door. "I'll get us something to drink while we're waiting for Dad."

  He looked up at the touch of his brother's hand against his arm. Stephen had a finger placed across his lips and when Jim's gaze met his, Stephen smiled and inclined his head toward the couches in the living area. Peering around his brother, Jim smiled himself. Blair lay on the couch, asleep. A book lay open across his chest, Blair's arm draped over the thick tome.

  Jim pushed the door closed quietly, then motioned for Stephen to wait in the kitchen. Moving around his brother, he walked over to where Blair lay sleeping. Shaking his head, he stared down fondly at his friend. The kid had been exhausted lately, putting in the usual long hours at both the station and the university. Jim leaned over and gently pulled Blair's glasses from his face and lay them in the middle of the coffee table, safely out of danger of being knocked to the floor. Turning back, he lifted Sandburg's wrist and gingerly withdrew the book from beneath his arm, reaching around to place it on the coffee table as well. Placing Blair's arm against his chest, Jim straightened.

  He glanced over at Stephen, who was thumbing through a magazine one of the men had inadvertently left on the kitchen counter. As Jim crossed to him, he heard the elevator arrive on their floor. Changing directions, he opened the door before their father could knock and immediately held his finger to his lips.

  William scowled at him as he crossed into the loft.

  "You guys head out to the balcony," he whispered to his father and brother. "I'll grab us some beers and join you in a second."

  William's gaze shifted from Jim to Blair's sleeping form and back again. "Fine," he bit out, following Stephen across the loft and outside.

  Jim shook his head. His father was obviously not in the best of moods. This dinner should be fun, he thought wryly as he grabbed the beers from the refrigerator.

  Stepping outside, he passed out the drinks and said, "We still have about twenty minutes before its time to go. Until then, I thought we could just enjoy the view and talk."

  "Don't you think this is a bit awkward?" William complained. "Standing out here like this when we could be relaxing inside?" He gestured impatiently in Blair's direction. "Can't you just wake him?"

  "I'd rather let him sleep," Jim said, working hard to keep the sudden irritation he felt toward his father from slipping into his voice. "He's been working a lot of hours lately. It's finals at Rainier and he's had tons of papers to go through. His workload there is even heavier now that he's a professor."

  "Well then, maybe he should stay home tonight," William suggested. "He could get the sleep he so obviously needs."

  Jim waved a hand, dismissing the idea. "He's been looking forward to this. All he's done lately is work. I really think he could use the break."

  "Whatever," William ground out, taking a long drink of his beer.

  Jim frowned. "What, Dad?"

  "I didn't say anything."

  "No, but it's pretty obvious you have something on your mind. What?"

  "All right, Jimmy. It's just that he's always here." William shot a quick glance in Blair's direction, then returned his gaze to his son. Shaking his head, he continued, "I just don't understand why he still lives with you. I know you told me once that he moved in because he lost his place and didn't have a lot of money to find another one. But all that's changed. He has two jobs now, plenty of money to get his own apartment... but he's still living here."

  "I like having him here," Jim said. "This works for us and I don't see a reason to change it." He folded his arms over his chest. "I don't understand where this is suddenly coming from. I thought you liked Sandburg."

  William glanced inside again, staring at Blair, obviously debating whether he wanted to continue the conversation or not. "It's never just the three of us," he said after a time.

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "Your brother and I feel-"

  "You've talked about this before? Both of you?" Jim turned toward Stephen. "Why haven't you ever said anything to me?"

  "Because it's not that big a deal," Stephen replied, his expression apologetic. "Dad, please, can we not talk about this now?" He turned back to Jim. "Let's just all go out to dinner and-"

  "No, I want to talk about this now," Jim cut in. "What do you mean it's never just the three of us?" he asked his father.

  "I mean that Blair goes everywhere with us and I'm getting a little tired of it." He set his beer down on the table with a resounding thud. "Don't you think that once in a while it could just be the three of us? That maybe you could take the time to get to know your own brother."

  "I am getting to know Stephen!"

  "Jim, when we go out, you always tend to talk more with Blair than with either one of us." William stepped closer, his eyes locking with Jim's. "You remember the last time I invited you to go camping? It was right around the time when Blair was going to graduate. I thought we were finally going to get a chance to go off alone--that Blair would stay behind to graduate and you would come with us. But no, you chose to stay home with him instead."

  Jim let out a short, humorless laugh. "You thought I would go camping rather than watch him graduate?"

  "You hate that kind of thing," William countered.

  "Dad, do you have any idea how hard he worked for that degree? How many years he put it off because of his work with me?"

  "He is not your responsibility, Jimmy."

  "You think that's how I see him? As a responsibility? Dad, he's my friend. My partner."

  "Partner," William scoffed. "An academic who doesn't even carry a weapon? I still can't believe the department would risk my son's life by hooking him up with someone like that."

  "You have no idea how many times he's been in trouble because of me, how lucky I am to have him as my partner."

  "Lucky? You nearly got killed because of him." He took a step closer. "How do you think I felt when I got home from that camping trip and found out you were shot while we were gone? If you had just come with us rather than staying with him, none of that would have happened."

  "And Blair would be dead," Jim bit out.

  "You don't know that."

  "I do know that. He didn't hear the gunman. I did."

  "So you stepped in front of Blair and took a bullet meant for him, which proves you feel responsible for him."

  "Dad, this is pointless. I'm not going to argue about this with you."

  "Because you know I'm right. He nearly got you killed!"

  "Blair saved my life that day! He's the one who took down the hit man, not me."

  "After you were already shot," William said, his voice rising in frustration. "Maybe if he were a real partner, he could have prevented the sho
oting." He gripped Jim by the arms. "Don't you see? He's a liability to you. He can't really back you up the way he's supposed to. And one of these days, the fact that he's not a cop is going to get you killed."

  Jim shook his head but before he could say anything, a familiar sound registered in his mind--a fast, furious pounding. Blair's heartbeat.

  His gaze shifted inside. Blair still lay on the couch in the same position, but Jim knew--He's awake. And he's been listening. "Damn!"

  "What?" Stephen asked uncomfortably.

  "Blair's awake." Jim ran a hand over his hair. How much did he hear?

  William looked inside. "He's still sleeping," he said irritably.

  Jim moved toward the doors. "No, he's not. He's awake." He glanced back at his dad and added, "And I'm sure he heard everything you just said." Pushing through the glass doors, he crossed to his partner. Blair lay just as he had before, eyes closed, arm draped over his chest. But Jim could hear his fast beating heart.

  "Chief?"

  Blair didn't move.

  "C'mon, Chief," Jim said softly, crouching down beside his friend, "I know you're awake."

  Blair opened his eyes and looked at Jim. Hurt gave way to anger as he pushed himself up into a seated position. He ran his hands back through his tousled hair. Jim sat down across from him on the coffee table, using his body to block Blair's view of his father and brother, who had remained on the balcony. Reaching over, he placed a gentle hand on his guide's knee. "I'm sorry you had to hear that."

  "Not your fault, man." Blair glanced at him for a brief second, then looked down at his lap, his discomfort obvious. Suddenly he pushed himself up. "I think I'm going to pass on dinner tonight."

  Jim stood with him. "What? No, that's not-"

  "I have some stuff I should do down at the library."

  He turned to leave, but Jim caught him by the arm, stopping him. "Blair, you don't have to do this. Come on to dinner with us. Everything will be fine."

  Blair looked up at Jim, then glanced out at William and Stephen. William had his back to the loft, but Stephen was watching and he gave him an apologetic look.

  Blair shifted his attention back to Jim. "Another night," he said softly, offering a weary smile. With that, he pulled away from Jim and moved to the coat rack where he pushed his feet into a pair of worn loafers he kept there.

  Jim crossed to him as Blair pulled on his jacket and scooped up his keys. "Don't let my father run you off like this."

  Blair turned and gazed up at him. "How can I go now, Jim? I'd feel like I was horning in."

  "Chief, you are never horning in. I want you there. So does Stephen."

  "But your dad doesn't," he reminded his partner, his voice calm. "I got that message loud and clear and I can take a hint." He reached out and lay his hand gently against Jim's chest. "It's all right, really. I can understand how he feels. I'm not his son. You are, and he wants to spend some time with you alone. That's not unreasonable."

  "You're sure?" Jim asked, feeling completely unsure himself.

  Blair pulled open the front door. "I'll be fine."

  "Sandburg?" Jim called as he stepped out into the hallway.

  Blair turned toward him, his eyebrows raised in question.

  "The other things my father said... about you not being a cop... you know I don't feel that way, right?"

  A sad smile crossed his lips. "I know you don't, Jim," he whispered. "But you have to admit, he does have a point." With that, Blair pulled the door closed behind him and left.

  /

  /

  /

  Blair shoved open the front door of the apartment complex and stepped out into the crisp night air. On the way down the stairs he'd realized--too late--that he'd left his backpack behind in the loft. Dammit! He really did have some things he needed to get done at the library, but he needed his pack to do them.

  He looked up at the lighted windows of the loft three stories above. There was no way he was going back up until Jim and his family had gone to dinner. Sighing deeply, he hugged himself as the night wind blew over him. Well, he hadn't had dinner. Maybe he'd run up to the deli on the corner, have something to eat, then come back for his pack.

  He rubbed his eyes. His plans tonight--eating alone at the deli, working in the library--reminded him of how he used to live... before he met Jim.

  Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Sandburg. Jim needs to spend time with his family... without you there. Get used to it.

  He pulled his coat closer around him in an attempt to keep out the cold and started down the street toward the deli.

  "Blair?"

  He turned, surprised to see that Stephen had come out of the building and that he was carrying his backpack.

  "Jim thought you might need this," he explained, holding the bag out to him.

  Blair accepted the pack and swung it effortlessly over his shoulder. "Thanks, man. I do."

  "But you weren't going to come back up and get it, were you?" Stephen shivered against the cold, outside without his coat and obviously regretting it.

  "Let's just say it wasn't high on a list of things I wanted to do." Blair nodded toward the building. "You'd better get back inside before you freeze to death."

  Stephen nodded but did not step away. "Come to dinner with us, Blair," he offered instead. "You were planning on going. It's not right that you're left high and dry."

  Blair shook his head. "Not this time. You three need to talk." Again, Blair glanced up at the lighted loft. "Your dad is right about one thing--I am always there." He shifted his attention back to Stephen. "Maybe I should back off where you guys are concerned. At least for a while."

  /

  /

  /

  Jim stood at the balcony door, watching his brother and his partner below. Briefly, he'd thought of listening in on their conversation, but quickly dismissed the idea.

  Blair can handle himself.

  He had been reluctant at first to allow Stephen to take Blair his backpack, unsure how his brother would treat his guide. But as he'd stared into Stephen's earnest expression, Jim knew he didn't feel the same anger toward Blair that their father did. He knew he could trust him with Blair.

  "Why is that kid really here?" William's annoyed voice, coming from the dining area, washed over Jim. "What is it exactly that Sandburg gives you?"

  Jim stiffened at the words and the manner in which they were spoken. There was no doubt what his father was implying. Turning, he pinned the older man with a cold glare. "You want to know what he gives me, Dad? He gives me a sense of home and family that you never could."

  William huffed out a cynical laugh. "And when did you become so sentimental?"

  Jim stalked toward him. "Sandburg has helped me through some tough times, Dad. He's been there for me when no one else was."

  "You mean when I wasn't." William stared at his son, his expression and posture challenging. But before Jim could answer, the door opened and Stephen stepped back inside.

  "I managed to catch Blair and give him his backpack," he said. "But I couldn't convince him to come with us." He glanced at his father. "He was too uncomfortable."

  "I really don't think I should be made to feel like the bad guy just because I want to spend some time alone with my sons," William reasoned, his voice rising. "Because I want to have my sons get to know each other better." He turned to Jim. "And you damn well know that's not going to happen as long as Blair is in the picture."

  Jim's own anger surfaced. "You know what, Dad? It's your fault Stephen and I even have to get to know each other. You're the reason we didn't talk for so long. Not Blair."

  At Jim's words, something changed in the older man's face. The anger that had been driving him seemed to drain away with the accusation. "I know that," he said softly. "And I regret it." He stepped closer to Jim. "I've made mistakes, Jimmy. But I want to correct them, to fix things between you and Stephen. The trip this weekend... I thought if it could just be the three of us, that we could really get to know
one another."

  Jim stared down at his father, his own anger waning. "You're asking me to take back Blair's invitation, aren't you?"

  "I'm asking you to think about what I'm saying, that's all. Just think about it."

  "I won't ask Blair not to come," Jim said finally. "But to be honest, I really don't think he will. Sandburg isn't going to go where he's not wanted, and right now he knows he's not wanted by you."

  /

  /

  /

  Blair steered his Volvo through the darkened streets of Cascade. It was later than he had planned to be out. He'd gone to the deli for dinner, then worked at the library until it closed. After that he'd stopped at a coffeehouse, staying late, not wanting to come home too early and have to face William again.

  "Blair's a liability to you. He can't really back you up the way he's supposed to. And one of these days, the fact that he's not a cop is going to get you killed."

  Blair chewed absently at his lower lip as William's words came back to haunt him. They'd been with him all night--intruding into his studying, clouding his mood. In all the years he'd been with Jim, they'd never once discussed the fact that Blair was not a cop, that the detective's backup was nothing more than an anthropologist who could think on his feet. But now... now Blair couldn't help but think about it.

  Was William right? Could he end up getting Jim killed because he didn't carry a gun? Because he wasn't a trained police officer?

  He rubbed at his temple, pressing against the headache that was pounding just below the surface. He'd spent hours thinking about all this, but had only come to one conclusion--he was not going to go on the camping trip they'd planned for day after tomorrow. He knew it was probably best if he just kept a low profile for a while. Let Jim spend some time with his brother and father without him around. After all, William did have a point. Seeing his sons alone was not too much to ask. Besides, having the weekend to himself would give Blair some time to think.

  Pulling up in front of the loft, he shut off the Volvo and grabbed his backpack. As he headed inside and rode the elevator to the third floor, he went through his arguments in his mind, determined to convince Jim that he should stay behind. He stepped off the elevator and strode to the loft. But as he crossed inside the apartment, he frowned. The loft was dark, no lights on at all. But Jim's here. I saw his truck outside. He closed the door, his gaze shifting upward to his partner's bedroom. It was late, but Blair didn't think Jim would be in bed already.