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Entry tags:
Sentinel Fic: Death Will Not Part Us
Title: Death Will Not Part Us
Author: Tayla
Fandom: The Sentinel
Pairing: Jim/Blair
Rating: FRM for violence
Category: Drama, Deathfic (Although, I like to call it a Death and Afterlife fic)
Status: Completed December 26, 2003
Feedback: Yes, please. All constructive criticism will be graciously accepted
Disclaimers: The Sentinel and its characters belong to Pet Fly Productions and Paramount Network Television. No copyright infringement is intended. The author makes no profit and exists solely on the accolades from fellow fans.
Authors Notes: Written for the Destinies Entwined Zine "Bonded 1"
Summary: Warren Chapel abducts Jim and Blair
Warnings: Spirit Guides, Shamanism, and Major Character Deaths
Enter your Death will not part us
And to those we leave behind
We wish you peace
*****************************
Death Will Not Part Us…
In the end it was relatively simple. Maybe he got lucky. Maybe we got complacent. Lost our edge. Maybe we were just tired. Even an ever-vigilant watchman needs some down time.
He snatched us right out of the loft. He must have gassed us. I think I remember Jim struggling to wake up when he noticed the change in the air, but by then it was far too late.
******************************
When I awoke, I was in some kind of warehouse, gagged, with my hands tied together and lashed to the pipe over my head. Jim was facing me in the same condition.
Warren Chapel was lightly slapping his face, trying to bring him to consciousness.
You'd think that someone would have told us that he was out. We would have been on our guard. We're always a little more alert when one of our old enemies is out and about. But someone, somewhere, screwed up.
And it was going to cost us our lives.
I can hear them. I can't see them, but their voices are clear in my mind. Jim's head snaps up and his eyes dart around, searching. I think he hears them too. His eyes stop their frantic motion, and light somewhere off to the left of me. He must see them also.
The Panther and the Wolf. They're both growling.
Chapel backhands Jim across the face and my Wolf erupts in an angry howl, followed immediately by the Panther's scream.
Here in the last moments of our lives, when ours have been stolen from us, they have become our voices.
Jim is struggling mightily against his bonds, injuring himself, and Chapel stands back to watch in glee as my Sentinel exhausts himself. I'm squirming also, but the ropes are just too tight. I can feel them cutting into my wrists; and Jim has blood running down his arms.
Chapel has a large hunting knife out. He's talking, but I'm not really listening to him, reserving my attention for my Sentinel. He is still now, panting into the gag, and finally he meets my eyes. The fear and desperation are evident in his.
It's all right.
I try to soothe him with a glance. I wish I had gotten a chance to explore this Shaman thing more thoroughly. Incacha could probably have spoken right into his mind.
As if thinking about the Chopec Shaman conjures him, I begin to hear chanting, and jungle drums underlying the cries of the Wolf and the Panther.
Chapel is standing behind him now, whispering in his ear.
Ignore him, ignore him, Love. Just look at me.
The Panther is whining now, voicing Jim's fear. The knife is at his throat, and Chapel is going to kill him first.
Small mercies. I glad that he will be spared the sight of watching me die. The knife is pressing hard against his throat now, a small trickle of blood staining the elegant column of his neck. I hold his eyes, willing him to not look away.
It’s all right; it's all right, Love. Wait for me; I'll be right behind you.
The Panther's scream of defiance breaks off abruptly as Chapel draws the knife across my Sentinel's throat.
The Wolf howls my heartbreak.
And as his life's blood pours out and the light fades from his beautiful eyes, I prepare to send my soul after his.
I will rob Chapel of his final victory, for I will be dead before his knife touches my flesh.
*****************************
…And To Those We Leave Behind…
Dan Wolfe, ME.
I had to do three autopsies today. One of them I was quite pleased to perform. I know, technically I am a doctor, and maybe Hippocrates would be disappointed in me, but I'm glad that Warren Chapel is dead. Major Crimes squad really did a number on him. His chest looked like raw hamburger. There wasn't enough left of his heart to examine.
That will happen when five cops empty their clips into your chest. I've heard that IA has already called it justified. That's because Chapel was responsible for the other two autopsies. Our Tribe has lost its two greatest Warriors today. I don't often fall back on my Native American heritage, but sometimes it is so appropriate.
Ellison and Sandburg. Jim and Blair. Two autopsies that I hoped I would never have to perform. I almost didn't. It was in my mind to ask the ME from Seattle to come in and do it.
I'm glad now that I did it. And I'm glad I ran all the samples myself. Even after all the good they've done, there would still be some in the department that would ridicule them if it were found out.
At first I thought that the bastard had raped them. But there wasn't enough damage for that. That's when I realized that the rumors were true. The rumors that had been circulated about them since the beginning.
As I said, I ran the samples myself. I have proof now, and I could confirm the rumors, but I won't. And for the first time in my professional career, I am going to falsify a report. I am going to pretend I never ran those samples.
It's the last service I can provide for my friends.
Speaking of reports, Captain Banks is here. His face goes gray at the sight of his two best detectives laid out on the tables and I quickly cover them and lead him to my office. I turn my back to him and fiddle with the coffee, pouring us both a cup, giving him a chance to compose himself.
When I turn back he is sitting calmly, but the effort is costing him in tooth enamel. The only other person I've seen clench their jaw that hard without actually breaking teeth, is lying out there on a slab.
I don't wait for him to ask.
"I've got the preliminary reports. I'll have the finalized reports later this afternoon."
He nods for me to continue.
"Ellison died from massive blood lose due to the severing of his carotid arteries."
He swallows hard and his eyes are bright with unshed tears.
"And Sandburg?" He asks.
"Undetermined Cardiac failure."
He looks puzzled for a moment.
"His heart stopped." I clarify.
"But isn't that what ultimately kills everyone? What caused his heart to stop?"
"Undetermined. Officially, I can't find a cause."
"Unofficially?"
I sigh. "I believe that Blair died because Jim died."
*****************************
Naomi Sandburg, Beloved Mother.
I'm burying my son today. My son and his partner.
We're at the graveside now, and I want to be angry at these…these…police officers that surround me and my son's coffin. And Ellison's coffin.
Simon Banks made all the arrangements. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that they would appoint Simon to take care of things. Relations between us have been strained of late.
My fault.
When they told me about the change in their relationship, I reacted badly. Not because my son had fallen in love with a man, but because he had fallen in love with a…cop. A pig. A member of the fascist establishment. I thought it was bad enough that he had become a police officer, but since it was me that took away his other options, I held my peace. I tried to be happy for him, and find the good in the situation. And after all, sometimes the best way to change the establishment is from the inside.
But when he told me he had realized he was in love with Jim, it was the last straw for me. I told him he was making a mistake.
And now I realize that for all my lip service to the ideals of peace and love and harmony, I am really no more than a bigot. I have always judged Jim for the career he had chosen, rather than the man that he was.
Even when I did judge him as a man it was only for his physical attributes and his potential as a bed partner. Yes, I flirted with him, and yes I considered trying to seduce him, despite his being a police man.
But when my son decided to commit to Jim, I objected. I was disappointed. I thought that he was giving up his freedom and that Jim would crush his spirit, not realizing that I was doing the crushing.
I rejected his choice because it wasn't the one I would have made. And it hurt him.
I hurt my baby and now I won't have the chance to apologize.
I look around at the faces surrounding me, and I am in awe at the friendship and loyalty that my son…my sons inspired, and Jim could have been my son. Would have been if I hadn't been so stubborn and our society were open minded enough to accept same gender marriages.
They were married in all the ways that counted, and that was another choice that my son made that I never did. Committing his life to another person. Promising to love that person forever.
I understand too late that my son was very, very different than me. I always craved freedom. I never wanted any ties. I even made sure that even Blair wasn't tied to me too closely.
He always craved having a home and he found it with Jim. They are together in death as they were in life. Buried together in a joint plot. They will have one headstone acknowledging their bond, the bond that they could not openly express in life.
Goodbye my sons. I will miss you both.
*****************************
William Ellison, Father.
We never followed up on our reconciliation. After he saved me from a serial killer. Because I'm a stubborn old fool.
We had lunch a few times. Caught up on all that had happened to us in the fifteen years we haven't spoken. And it was fine at first although we were both a little tentative.
But I'm stubborn and I'm too old to change. I pushed and he backed off. I made the mistake of questioning the wisdom of maintaining his friendship with such an unconventional person as Sandburg.
He told me once and only once that Sandburg was the best friend that he ever had. That he was the only person in his life that understood him.
I let that phrase anger me, even though I know I never understood Jimmy, never really tried to understand him. And in my anger I lashed out. I questioned Sandburg's motives. I questioned his loyalty, and his integrity. I told Jim that people would think he was a faggot if he continued to let that long haired freak live with him.
I looked into my son's eyes and saw such rage there that I actually feared for my health for a moment. Then those eyes went flat and blank. He calmly wiped his mouth, folded his napkin and laid it on his plate. He got up and walked out of the restaurant and never spoke to me again.
Ms. Sandburg is standing across from me. We spoke for a while after the viewing last night. I found out that she was just as intolerant of my son as I was of hers.
She didn't understand them any better than I did.
These people do. These other police officers. Simon Banks, their best friend. Taggart and Brown and Rafe and Conner, partners and coworkers. Row upon row of uniformed officers that understand the bonds of partnership, all standing solemnly, paying their respects.
I didn't respect my son. Didn't respect his decisions. Never understood that he was different than me. I divorced my wife and never let anyone else in my life.
He did. He had a broken marriage behind him, too, but he didn't let it devastate him. He let someone else in. Blair Sandburg. I don't know if they were lovers or not. I suppose since they have a joint plot, they were. If I had known it for sure I wouldn't have accepted it. It would have driven us apart. Hell, I didn't accept them being roommates and that drove us apart.
I failed. His whole life, I was not the father I could have been. And now I'll never get the chance.
*****************************
Megan Conner, friend and coworker.
I'm sitting at my desk, trying to get through another bloody report when it happens. My eyes alight on the two empty desks, and the tears start.
It's okay. It's just my turn. It's happened to all of us over the past few weeks. Someone will be doing something, going about their business, and they'll see their desks, and stop dead. Sometimes in the middle of a sentence. Who's ever turn it is will stare, look sad, maybe even cry, although that's usually just me. Or Joel. I've seen him teary eyed a few times. Then after a few moments they'll drag their eyes away and get back to work.
I didn't think it would hurt this much. Didn't know I could miss anyone so much. I mean, we're cops. We've all lost partners and coworkers. It comes with the territory. We're supposed to deal with it and then move on.
But this is different. They were special. They had the kind of partnership that legends are made of, and it started way before Sandy was a cop. When he did become a detective, it got even stronger. They were amazing, closing cases that no one else could even touch. Ellison being a Sentinel was only half of it. Sandy's abilities were no less extraordinary. His intelligence and compassion were the perfect compliment to Jimbo's physical strength and special senses.
They made us all look good by association. We were a team, all of us. Sandy was our heart and Jimbo was our strength. I don't know how we'll go on without them.
Eventually we'll have to replace them. Fill their positions on the squad, just because of the case load.
But no one will ever take their place in our hearts.
*****************************
Simon Banks, Captain and confidant
It’s been six weeks. Six weeks of hell. Blank grey days and restless nights. I really don't know how I make it through each day.
I miss them so much. They made life interesting, and I haven't been interested in much since they died.
Oh god, I think that's the first time I've actually used that word. They're gone, they've left. They've passed on.
They're dead.
Shit.
Blair's mother and Jim's father were surprised that I was named the administrator of their estate. I wasn't. They warned me that they had done that at the same time that they told me they were together.
I remember that night so well. Sandburg, uncharacteristically, was scared shitless to tell me. Usually it's Ellison that had fear based reactions (yes I did read Blair's dissertation.) Anyway, I grinned at him, called him 'son' a couple of times, and asked him if he really thought that it was news to me and calmly drank my beer.
I still remember the stunned look on his face. And then the grin. Then he plopped himself down on the sofa next to Jim and we watched the game.
They were just so good together. I have to admit that I didn't understand the sex thing. I didn't understand everything about the Sentinel/Guide thing, either. But I do understand partnership. When I first became a detective, I was partnered with a veteran detective and we worked well together. But we never had the kind of relationship that Jim and Blair did. Theirs was a rare thing and I don't think it was just the Sentinel/Guide thing. I think it was mostly a Jim/Blair thing.
They simply belonged together.
I'm at the cemetery. Joel has come with me. I was contacted that the headstone was ready, and we're going out to see it.
I tried to keep it simple. Gray granite. Block letters. And a little something extra.
When I went through their apartment I found a drawing that Blair had done. A simple sketch of a wolf and a jaguar, sleeping, curled around each other. I showed it to the stonemason, and he put it on the headstone.
It turned out very nice.
Really.
And I know I'm lingering on the artwork so I don't have to read the words.
James Joseph Ellison
1962-2002
Sentinel of the Great City
Blair Jacob Sandburg
1969-2002
Shaman of the Great City
I had decided to put those words on the stone, to declare what could not be declared while they were alive. They deserved that much. They deserved so much more than that.
It wasn't fair. Jim had just turned 40. Blair would have been 33 yesterday. Too young. Way too young.
Joel gasped as he read the words.
"It really was true? Jim was a Sentinel?"
"Yes." I answered him.
"Blair lied." Joel said and I knew he was referring to the press conference, not the dissertation.
"And he did it very well. He protected his Sentinel."
Joel looked sad and confused. "He ruined his life."
"No." I disagreed. "Jim was his life."
"But…he gave up so much. His career, his doctorate…all that money. Was Jim really worth it?"
"Blair thought so."
************************
We wish you peace.
I haven’t gotten used to this yet. This whole…non-corporeal thing. I keep looking for a place that I can sit down and rest, forgetting that I don't need to rest anymore.
Blair is loving it. He's flitting around, looking in on our old friends.
That's another thing to get used to. He's not really a 'him' any more. Neither am I. Souls don't have gender.
We do have memory. I can look back on my life and see what I did wrong, and what I did right.
Hooking up with Blair was one of the big rights. I would have been dead long ago if it weren't for him. I probably wouldn't have survived the switchman case.
But enough of looking backwards. Time to move on. We have to decide on our next life. What we are going to try to accomplish. You see, heaven isn't at all what I thought it would be. It isn't just floating around on a cloud all day being happy. It's more like a waiting area. A rest stop on the eternal journey. We get to go back. Live another life. Another life together.
Blair and I have been together a long, long time, since the beginning. We always return to life together somehow, and it's not always as Sentinel and Guide. Looking back over the lives we've lived together, only about half of them have been Sentinel and Guide. And sometimes I'm the Guide.
We've been in a lot of different relationships too. parent and child, siblings, spouses, or just friends.
So we have to decide how long we're going to rest, and how we're going to do it next time around.
Blair is still looking in on the gang. It's Christmas down there right now. The first one that we're not there for. And they're all together. Helping each other through it. His mother and my father and all our friends. I'm glad they're sharing. I'm glad they're leaning on each other.
They'll make it through. They'll find peace.
Like we have.
Author: Tayla
Fandom: The Sentinel
Pairing: Jim/Blair
Rating: FRM for violence
Category: Drama, Deathfic (Although, I like to call it a Death and Afterlife fic)
Status: Completed December 26, 2003
Feedback: Yes, please. All constructive criticism will be graciously accepted
Disclaimers: The Sentinel and its characters belong to Pet Fly Productions and Paramount Network Television. No copyright infringement is intended. The author makes no profit and exists solely on the accolades from fellow fans.
Authors Notes: Written for the Destinies Entwined Zine "Bonded 1"
Summary: Warren Chapel abducts Jim and Blair
Warnings: Spirit Guides, Shamanism, and Major Character Deaths
Enter your Death will not part us
And to those we leave behind
We wish you peace
*****************************
Death Will Not Part Us…
In the end it was relatively simple. Maybe he got lucky. Maybe we got complacent. Lost our edge. Maybe we were just tired. Even an ever-vigilant watchman needs some down time.
He snatched us right out of the loft. He must have gassed us. I think I remember Jim struggling to wake up when he noticed the change in the air, but by then it was far too late.
******************************
When I awoke, I was in some kind of warehouse, gagged, with my hands tied together and lashed to the pipe over my head. Jim was facing me in the same condition.
Warren Chapel was lightly slapping his face, trying to bring him to consciousness.
You'd think that someone would have told us that he was out. We would have been on our guard. We're always a little more alert when one of our old enemies is out and about. But someone, somewhere, screwed up.
And it was going to cost us our lives.
I can hear them. I can't see them, but their voices are clear in my mind. Jim's head snaps up and his eyes dart around, searching. I think he hears them too. His eyes stop their frantic motion, and light somewhere off to the left of me. He must see them also.
The Panther and the Wolf. They're both growling.
Chapel backhands Jim across the face and my Wolf erupts in an angry howl, followed immediately by the Panther's scream.
Here in the last moments of our lives, when ours have been stolen from us, they have become our voices.
Jim is struggling mightily against his bonds, injuring himself, and Chapel stands back to watch in glee as my Sentinel exhausts himself. I'm squirming also, but the ropes are just too tight. I can feel them cutting into my wrists; and Jim has blood running down his arms.
Chapel has a large hunting knife out. He's talking, but I'm not really listening to him, reserving my attention for my Sentinel. He is still now, panting into the gag, and finally he meets my eyes. The fear and desperation are evident in his.
It's all right.
I try to soothe him with a glance. I wish I had gotten a chance to explore this Shaman thing more thoroughly. Incacha could probably have spoken right into his mind.
As if thinking about the Chopec Shaman conjures him, I begin to hear chanting, and jungle drums underlying the cries of the Wolf and the Panther.
Chapel is standing behind him now, whispering in his ear.
Ignore him, ignore him, Love. Just look at me.
The Panther is whining now, voicing Jim's fear. The knife is at his throat, and Chapel is going to kill him first.
Small mercies. I glad that he will be spared the sight of watching me die. The knife is pressing hard against his throat now, a small trickle of blood staining the elegant column of his neck. I hold his eyes, willing him to not look away.
It’s all right; it's all right, Love. Wait for me; I'll be right behind you.
The Panther's scream of defiance breaks off abruptly as Chapel draws the knife across my Sentinel's throat.
The Wolf howls my heartbreak.
And as his life's blood pours out and the light fades from his beautiful eyes, I prepare to send my soul after his.
I will rob Chapel of his final victory, for I will be dead before his knife touches my flesh.
*****************************
…And To Those We Leave Behind…
Dan Wolfe, ME.
I had to do three autopsies today. One of them I was quite pleased to perform. I know, technically I am a doctor, and maybe Hippocrates would be disappointed in me, but I'm glad that Warren Chapel is dead. Major Crimes squad really did a number on him. His chest looked like raw hamburger. There wasn't enough left of his heart to examine.
That will happen when five cops empty their clips into your chest. I've heard that IA has already called it justified. That's because Chapel was responsible for the other two autopsies. Our Tribe has lost its two greatest Warriors today. I don't often fall back on my Native American heritage, but sometimes it is so appropriate.
Ellison and Sandburg. Jim and Blair. Two autopsies that I hoped I would never have to perform. I almost didn't. It was in my mind to ask the ME from Seattle to come in and do it.
I'm glad now that I did it. And I'm glad I ran all the samples myself. Even after all the good they've done, there would still be some in the department that would ridicule them if it were found out.
At first I thought that the bastard had raped them. But there wasn't enough damage for that. That's when I realized that the rumors were true. The rumors that had been circulated about them since the beginning.
As I said, I ran the samples myself. I have proof now, and I could confirm the rumors, but I won't. And for the first time in my professional career, I am going to falsify a report. I am going to pretend I never ran those samples.
It's the last service I can provide for my friends.
Speaking of reports, Captain Banks is here. His face goes gray at the sight of his two best detectives laid out on the tables and I quickly cover them and lead him to my office. I turn my back to him and fiddle with the coffee, pouring us both a cup, giving him a chance to compose himself.
When I turn back he is sitting calmly, but the effort is costing him in tooth enamel. The only other person I've seen clench their jaw that hard without actually breaking teeth, is lying out there on a slab.
I don't wait for him to ask.
"I've got the preliminary reports. I'll have the finalized reports later this afternoon."
He nods for me to continue.
"Ellison died from massive blood lose due to the severing of his carotid arteries."
He swallows hard and his eyes are bright with unshed tears.
"And Sandburg?" He asks.
"Undetermined Cardiac failure."
He looks puzzled for a moment.
"His heart stopped." I clarify.
"But isn't that what ultimately kills everyone? What caused his heart to stop?"
"Undetermined. Officially, I can't find a cause."
"Unofficially?"
I sigh. "I believe that Blair died because Jim died."
*****************************
Naomi Sandburg, Beloved Mother.
I'm burying my son today. My son and his partner.
We're at the graveside now, and I want to be angry at these…these…police officers that surround me and my son's coffin. And Ellison's coffin.
Simon Banks made all the arrangements. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that they would appoint Simon to take care of things. Relations between us have been strained of late.
My fault.
When they told me about the change in their relationship, I reacted badly. Not because my son had fallen in love with a man, but because he had fallen in love with a…cop. A pig. A member of the fascist establishment. I thought it was bad enough that he had become a police officer, but since it was me that took away his other options, I held my peace. I tried to be happy for him, and find the good in the situation. And after all, sometimes the best way to change the establishment is from the inside.
But when he told me he had realized he was in love with Jim, it was the last straw for me. I told him he was making a mistake.
And now I realize that for all my lip service to the ideals of peace and love and harmony, I am really no more than a bigot. I have always judged Jim for the career he had chosen, rather than the man that he was.
Even when I did judge him as a man it was only for his physical attributes and his potential as a bed partner. Yes, I flirted with him, and yes I considered trying to seduce him, despite his being a police man.
But when my son decided to commit to Jim, I objected. I was disappointed. I thought that he was giving up his freedom and that Jim would crush his spirit, not realizing that I was doing the crushing.
I rejected his choice because it wasn't the one I would have made. And it hurt him.
I hurt my baby and now I won't have the chance to apologize.
I look around at the faces surrounding me, and I am in awe at the friendship and loyalty that my son…my sons inspired, and Jim could have been my son. Would have been if I hadn't been so stubborn and our society were open minded enough to accept same gender marriages.
They were married in all the ways that counted, and that was another choice that my son made that I never did. Committing his life to another person. Promising to love that person forever.
I understand too late that my son was very, very different than me. I always craved freedom. I never wanted any ties. I even made sure that even Blair wasn't tied to me too closely.
He always craved having a home and he found it with Jim. They are together in death as they were in life. Buried together in a joint plot. They will have one headstone acknowledging their bond, the bond that they could not openly express in life.
Goodbye my sons. I will miss you both.
*****************************
William Ellison, Father.
We never followed up on our reconciliation. After he saved me from a serial killer. Because I'm a stubborn old fool.
We had lunch a few times. Caught up on all that had happened to us in the fifteen years we haven't spoken. And it was fine at first although we were both a little tentative.
But I'm stubborn and I'm too old to change. I pushed and he backed off. I made the mistake of questioning the wisdom of maintaining his friendship with such an unconventional person as Sandburg.
He told me once and only once that Sandburg was the best friend that he ever had. That he was the only person in his life that understood him.
I let that phrase anger me, even though I know I never understood Jimmy, never really tried to understand him. And in my anger I lashed out. I questioned Sandburg's motives. I questioned his loyalty, and his integrity. I told Jim that people would think he was a faggot if he continued to let that long haired freak live with him.
I looked into my son's eyes and saw such rage there that I actually feared for my health for a moment. Then those eyes went flat and blank. He calmly wiped his mouth, folded his napkin and laid it on his plate. He got up and walked out of the restaurant and never spoke to me again.
Ms. Sandburg is standing across from me. We spoke for a while after the viewing last night. I found out that she was just as intolerant of my son as I was of hers.
She didn't understand them any better than I did.
These people do. These other police officers. Simon Banks, their best friend. Taggart and Brown and Rafe and Conner, partners and coworkers. Row upon row of uniformed officers that understand the bonds of partnership, all standing solemnly, paying their respects.
I didn't respect my son. Didn't respect his decisions. Never understood that he was different than me. I divorced my wife and never let anyone else in my life.
He did. He had a broken marriage behind him, too, but he didn't let it devastate him. He let someone else in. Blair Sandburg. I don't know if they were lovers or not. I suppose since they have a joint plot, they were. If I had known it for sure I wouldn't have accepted it. It would have driven us apart. Hell, I didn't accept them being roommates and that drove us apart.
I failed. His whole life, I was not the father I could have been. And now I'll never get the chance.
*****************************
Megan Conner, friend and coworker.
I'm sitting at my desk, trying to get through another bloody report when it happens. My eyes alight on the two empty desks, and the tears start.
It's okay. It's just my turn. It's happened to all of us over the past few weeks. Someone will be doing something, going about their business, and they'll see their desks, and stop dead. Sometimes in the middle of a sentence. Who's ever turn it is will stare, look sad, maybe even cry, although that's usually just me. Or Joel. I've seen him teary eyed a few times. Then after a few moments they'll drag their eyes away and get back to work.
I didn't think it would hurt this much. Didn't know I could miss anyone so much. I mean, we're cops. We've all lost partners and coworkers. It comes with the territory. We're supposed to deal with it and then move on.
But this is different. They were special. They had the kind of partnership that legends are made of, and it started way before Sandy was a cop. When he did become a detective, it got even stronger. They were amazing, closing cases that no one else could even touch. Ellison being a Sentinel was only half of it. Sandy's abilities were no less extraordinary. His intelligence and compassion were the perfect compliment to Jimbo's physical strength and special senses.
They made us all look good by association. We were a team, all of us. Sandy was our heart and Jimbo was our strength. I don't know how we'll go on without them.
Eventually we'll have to replace them. Fill their positions on the squad, just because of the case load.
But no one will ever take their place in our hearts.
*****************************
Simon Banks, Captain and confidant
It’s been six weeks. Six weeks of hell. Blank grey days and restless nights. I really don't know how I make it through each day.
I miss them so much. They made life interesting, and I haven't been interested in much since they died.
Oh god, I think that's the first time I've actually used that word. They're gone, they've left. They've passed on.
They're dead.
Shit.
Blair's mother and Jim's father were surprised that I was named the administrator of their estate. I wasn't. They warned me that they had done that at the same time that they told me they were together.
I remember that night so well. Sandburg, uncharacteristically, was scared shitless to tell me. Usually it's Ellison that had fear based reactions (yes I did read Blair's dissertation.) Anyway, I grinned at him, called him 'son' a couple of times, and asked him if he really thought that it was news to me and calmly drank my beer.
I still remember the stunned look on his face. And then the grin. Then he plopped himself down on the sofa next to Jim and we watched the game.
They were just so good together. I have to admit that I didn't understand the sex thing. I didn't understand everything about the Sentinel/Guide thing, either. But I do understand partnership. When I first became a detective, I was partnered with a veteran detective and we worked well together. But we never had the kind of relationship that Jim and Blair did. Theirs was a rare thing and I don't think it was just the Sentinel/Guide thing. I think it was mostly a Jim/Blair thing.
They simply belonged together.
I'm at the cemetery. Joel has come with me. I was contacted that the headstone was ready, and we're going out to see it.
I tried to keep it simple. Gray granite. Block letters. And a little something extra.
When I went through their apartment I found a drawing that Blair had done. A simple sketch of a wolf and a jaguar, sleeping, curled around each other. I showed it to the stonemason, and he put it on the headstone.
It turned out very nice.
Really.
And I know I'm lingering on the artwork so I don't have to read the words.
James Joseph Ellison
1962-2002
Sentinel of the Great City
Blair Jacob Sandburg
1969-2002
Shaman of the Great City
I had decided to put those words on the stone, to declare what could not be declared while they were alive. They deserved that much. They deserved so much more than that.
It wasn't fair. Jim had just turned 40. Blair would have been 33 yesterday. Too young. Way too young.
Joel gasped as he read the words.
"It really was true? Jim was a Sentinel?"
"Yes." I answered him.
"Blair lied." Joel said and I knew he was referring to the press conference, not the dissertation.
"And he did it very well. He protected his Sentinel."
Joel looked sad and confused. "He ruined his life."
"No." I disagreed. "Jim was his life."
"But…he gave up so much. His career, his doctorate…all that money. Was Jim really worth it?"
"Blair thought so."
************************
We wish you peace.
I haven’t gotten used to this yet. This whole…non-corporeal thing. I keep looking for a place that I can sit down and rest, forgetting that I don't need to rest anymore.
Blair is loving it. He's flitting around, looking in on our old friends.
That's another thing to get used to. He's not really a 'him' any more. Neither am I. Souls don't have gender.
We do have memory. I can look back on my life and see what I did wrong, and what I did right.
Hooking up with Blair was one of the big rights. I would have been dead long ago if it weren't for him. I probably wouldn't have survived the switchman case.
But enough of looking backwards. Time to move on. We have to decide on our next life. What we are going to try to accomplish. You see, heaven isn't at all what I thought it would be. It isn't just floating around on a cloud all day being happy. It's more like a waiting area. A rest stop on the eternal journey. We get to go back. Live another life. Another life together.
Blair and I have been together a long, long time, since the beginning. We always return to life together somehow, and it's not always as Sentinel and Guide. Looking back over the lives we've lived together, only about half of them have been Sentinel and Guide. And sometimes I'm the Guide.
We've been in a lot of different relationships too. parent and child, siblings, spouses, or just friends.
So we have to decide how long we're going to rest, and how we're going to do it next time around.
Blair is still looking in on the gang. It's Christmas down there right now. The first one that we're not there for. And they're all together. Helping each other through it. His mother and my father and all our friends. I'm glad they're sharing. I'm glad they're leaning on each other.
They'll make it through. They'll find peace.
Like we have.