Disclaimer: All characters who have appeared in the UPN-TV series, "The Sentinel" are the properties of UPN and Pet Fly Productions. All original characters belong to the author. No infringement on the rights held by any to "The Sentinel" characters, name or stories is intended. No money is changing hands or profit being made on this story.
Rated PG-13 for violence.
Author's Comments: Big thanks to Karin for her quick read-through and encouraging comments. Thanks to Wolfpup, for giving my fiction a home. And hugs and kisses to "Nurse Heidi" for her willingness to discuss with me all things Sentinel and medical.
Rated PG-13 for violence.
Feedback may be sent to Crideon@aol.com
Warning: This is a dark little vignette that popped into my head, and I decided to run with it. I'm not sure where it's going, but it wanted to be seen.
Carolyn
Jim never saw the shooter. Blair knew it, and knew he had to do something desperate. For a brief moment, he thought he might be too late, but when the lancing pain struck his back, driving him even more forcefully into his best friend and partner, he knew he had succeeded. His Sentinel was safe.
"Dammit, Sandburg, when I said 'get down' I did not mean for you to tackle me!"
Detective Jim Ellison had careened backwards into the brick side of an adjoining warehouse with his arms full of his partner, who for some inexplicable reason, had decided to dive at him instead of getting his head down like he was told to do.
The impact had winded the bigger man, and the momentum he maintained after hitting the wall had tumbled him down to the ground, onto his smaller partner, knocking the breath out of him as well, judging by the gasps emanating from the anthropologist. He glanced towards the exit to the warehouse they had been casing, where Adam Calkins and his brother David had been holed up. The doors were open and swinging. Focusing his hearing, the unmistakable sounds of running footsteps reached his ears.
A quick glance showed him that Blair still lay on his back, trying to get his breath back, so he tossed his cellphone onto his partner's stomach and took off after the perps.
"Call for backup," he shouted over his shoulder before he rounded the corner and out of sight.
Blair closed his eyes as soon as Jim was out of sight. Summoning his waning strength, he called after him.
"Stop, Jim, please. I need you." The words might have been loud enough for the Sentinel to hear had he been closer to him, but Blair knew Jim's focus was on the chase, and not on his partner, who had once again gotten himself into trouble.
He fumbled for the cellphone, moaning loudly as the motions brought the pain of his wound coursing through his body. The exertions he made in lifting the device to rest on the ground near his head and pressing the speed dial for Simon's cellphone brought about a round of desperate coughing. He tasted blood. Oh, no.
Silently, Blair prayed that he could be strong long enough to bring help for Jim and for himself.
"Banks."
Blair let out a frustrated groan, unable to catch his breath long enough to form words.
"If this is some kind of joke, it's not funny," he heard the captain growl into the phone.
Pushing his tortured lungs into action resulted in a blaze of pain through his chest, but he was able to gasp out a single word.
"Help."
The blood he coughed up after the words escaped his lips caused another round of panicked gasping, and his vision bled into dark spots and shining lights. Darkness threatened, but his sense of duty to his Sentinel was stronger. He heard Simon calling his name, and braced himself for another wave of pain, desperate to get Jim the help he needed.
"Jim . . . backup . . . Pier 12 . . . Calkins . . ." The effort to speak grew too much, and he simply let Simon's words wash over him as he lay on the cold, hard concrete. He could feel the blood leaving his body steadily, pulsing out through the hole in his back. He resisted the desire to turn his head and watch it trailing away.
Simon was yelling at him to hold on, that he would be here soon, and Blair smiled weakly at that. Jim would be safe.
The scene that greeted Simon as he screeched to a halt beside the warehouse on Pier 12 was one out of his worst nightmares. Without bothering to cut the engine, he flung himself out of the car and towards the crumpled figure lying on the ground.
"No!" Simon shouted just before he dropped to his knees next to Blair. Jim's cellphone lay next to his head, still connected to the phone now on the seat of Simon's car. Simon moved it away.
"I'll go wait for the ambulance, sir," Rafe said softly after taking in the scene. He had been riding with the captain when the call had come through. Simon barely acknowledged him with a nod. All his concentration was on the man in front of him.
Simon rolled the anthropologist gently to his side and supported him while he coughed up the blood which had made his breathing so labored. Simon's fear had increased drastically while listening to Blair's tortured wheezes and gasps through the phone.
He pressed a hand to the wound in his back after a cursory inspection. The bullet had definitely torn through one of Sandburg's lungs, and remained imbedded somewhere in the young man's body. He didn't think Blair would still be alive if it had hit his heart, and prayed that it wasn't so, despite appearances. Another bout of coughing struck the anthropologist, and Simon lifted him to rest against his body, not caring when the blood Blair coughed up landed on his coat. This new position allowed him to increase the pressure on the wound while cradling the observer's failing body. He listened as the younger man struggled for breath, and realized he was trying to talk. His shushing was ignored.
"Backup . . ." Blair rasped.
Soothing the man with action, and cursing himself for not thinking about it sooner, Simon called out to some patrolmen who had answered the emergency call and sent them off to look for Jim. Simon hated to disturb Blair, but one question needed asking.
"Blair, was Jim shot, too?" The head against his chest shook to indicate no.
"Why didn't he stay with you?"
"Chased . . . brothers." More coughing.
Simon began to get a very ugly thought in his head, and prayed it wasn't true. "Blair, are you saying that Jim chased after the Calkins brothers after you were shot?"
The question seemed to agitate Blair, and he arched in Simon's arms, twisting his face towards the captain. Simon blanched at the streaks of blood coating the younger man's chin and pleaded with him to be still, but Blair was not to be discouraged. With an effort, he spoke.
"I jumped . . . in front . . . he never . . ." Simon watched Blair squeeze his eyes shut in pain, halting his words.
Oh, Lord, no. The kid took a bullet meant for Jim, and the man never stopped to help him. Simon felt like he had been punched in the gut.
"He just left you lying here? Damn the man!" Simon's outburst caused the hand pressing against Blair's injury to tighten. The younger man gasped and arched up, fear and pain in his eyes.
"No . . . " Oh God, Simon thought Jim had left him on purpose. Dammit, he had to make Simon understand. If only he could get one good breath . . .
"Didn't . . . know . . ."
"Shhh, Blair, don't talk. The ambulance is almost here. I can hear the sirens. Just breathe, son."
"Jim. . . "
"Relax, Blair. I'll make sure he's okay." Misunderstanding Blair's words, and cursing the detective yet again for leaving his partner like this, Simon shouted for the paramedics as they appeared with a gurney and their equipment. Blair gripped his arm, forcing him to meet his eyes.
"Didn't . . ." was all he got out before an oxygen mask was placed over his face. Finally succumbing to his blood loss, he fell back weakly into Simon's arms, unconscious.
The captain pulled off his overcoat, covered liberally now in Blair's blood, and wiped off his hands. Rafe trotted over with a towel he got from the trunk of a cruiser, and handed it wordlessly to Simon, who continued to rub at his hands with it. The young detective stood next to his captain, watching as a pressure bandage was applied to the wound on Blair's back and an IV was started.
Only when the doors to the ambulance were shut and it sped off, sirens blaring, did the men look at each other. Anguish was written on each face.
"I'm going to kill Ellison with my bare hands," Simon swore softly.
"Drop your weapons, now!" Jim knew that David Calkins would do as he said. The younger of the brothers had run out of bullets two blocks ago, and had called out to Adam for help. Adam had slowed, then turned, and now the two of them stood facing the detective in the middle of an overgrown field.
"I said drop your weapons. Put your hands where I can see them." He watched David comply, and was ready when Adam fired a shot at him that went harmlessly over his head as he crouched. Good. That was his last bullet, too. Adam's face, though mottled with rage, shone with the realization that his days of drug smuggling were through, and held his hands aloft.
Jim handcuffed the brothers together as he read them their rights, threading their arms through the smashed windshield of an abandoned car and securing the cuffs to their wrists.
He turned towards where he had left Blair and silently cursed his partner under his breath as he began to jog back. Backup should never have taken this long.
He shook his head and quickly banished those thoughts from his mind. Even if Blair had called it in, Jim had run a twisting mile and a half before finally overtaking the brothers. His backup would never have caught up with him even if they knew which way he had gone. He cut through one of the warehouses he had passed while on the chase and extended his hearing.
There. Sirens. An ambulance? He chuckled to himself as he continued on his way. Blair must have really been spooked by the Calkins brothers. He'd have to tease him about it later.
Jim stopped in front of his captain, a small smile playing across his face. Breathing deeply from his exertions, he leaned his hands forward onto his knees and filled Banks in before the older man could speak.
"You'll find the Calkins brothers handcuffed to an old car about a mile and a half from here. They led me quite a chase before they ran out of bullets. They're Mirandized, they just need a lift downtown." He raised his eyes to Simon, and lifted his brows at the furious scowl playing across the man's face.
"I want your badge and your gun right now, detective!"
"You've got to be kidding me, Simon, what's going on?"
"You'd better have a damn good reason for leaving Sandburg behind, detective!"
Jim took a step back in the face of his captain's rage. His captain had called him 'detective' twice now. That was not a good sign. Not sure of why Banks was all over his case about Blair, he tried to inject a bit of humor.
"What, Captain, the kid talked your ear off already?" His smile dropped as suddenly as it had appeared as he watched Simon's eyes get impossibly larger. His captain made a fist and held it in front of Jim's face. The knuckles were almost white.
"If I thought you had a clue what was going on here, I would drive this into your face so hard your own mother wouldn't recognize you."
Jim's face turned quickly from confused to angry and he felt his own fists clenching defensively.
"Captain, stop threatening me and tell me what the hell is going on here. And where the hell is Sandburg?"
"Any man who thinks he can just sprint off after a suspect when his partner is down is not fit for duty. You are suspended as of this minute, Ellison."
"What are you talking about? Since when does getting the wind knocked out of you count as 'down' Captain?"
Jim was not prepared for the strong hands which gripped the front of his shirt and swung him around to crash into the wall behind him. He was equally unprepared for the snarling face of one very pissed off captain in his face, nose to nose with his now suspended detective.
"You listen to me, Ellison, and listen good. Blair is on his way to Mercy Hospital to have a bullet dug out of his back. A bullet he took for you." Simon ignored the choked sounds coming from Jim and hauled him over to where a forensics team had drawn an outline of the anthropologist's body where it had fallen.
"What the hell were you thinking about, chasing after some petty dealers while your best friend was bleeding to death?" Simon released Jim and shoved him away from himself. He watched the detective stumble back a few steps then turn to face the pool of Blair's blood. Simon waved the people still surrounding the scene and watched Jim, waiting to see what his reaction would be.
Jim fell heavily to his knees next to the evidence of his partner's injury. Slack jawed in shock, he twisted to face his captain.
"Jesus, Simon, I didn't know. Oh God, I didn't know." He let his gaze return to the pool of red, focusing until the mass filled his vision, blocking out the stark white of the outline. His entire vision was swimming in red, drowning in it. Closer and closer he looked until he thought he could see the individual life-giving cells, so out of place amidst the gravel and dirt. Even when rational thought told him he could see no further into the mass of vivid color, he pressed himself harder, pushing his abilities to their limits, losing himself in agonizing truth. This was Blair's blood. His partner's blood. His Guide's blood. . .
"Jim!" Simon's rough shaking finally broke through his self-induced zone, and the face he turned towards his friend was etched in despair. Heaving air into his starved lungs, he collapsed backwards, crouching back on his heels, his palms flat against the cold ground. Blair hates to be cold, he thought as the reality of the situation struck him again.
Simon stood next to him. The other police personnel had left the area while Jim was zoned, and the captain had used the time to get his raging emotions under control. Only when Ellison had stopped breathing did he intervene.
"Come on, Jim. Let's go to the hospital." He got no reaction from the man still on the ground.
"Jim, I said let's go." He walked towards his car, expecting Jim to follow. Ellison never moved.
Simon strode to his side and crouched down, grasping his chin and pulling it to face him. "Jim," he spoke, more softly, into the man's blank face.
In front of his eyes, Simon watched as his stoic detective crumpled. Jim bent over, hugging himself and rocking gently back and forth. By this point, Simon had had enough.
"Ellison!" he barked, in the voice guaranteed to make anyone but the soul-dead jump to attention. Haunted eyes looked up at him from the man on his knees.
"Oh, God, what have I done?" Jim whispered, just before he threw back his head and screamed his anguish and denial to the skies.
The End (for now)