Disclaimer: The place and characters of "The Sentinel" universe legally belong to Pet Fly Productions and the people who own it. What we do to said place and characters is for recreational purposes only.
Spoilers: TSbyBS, mostly, but a few vague references to "Switchman," "The Debt," "Warriors," "S2P2" and "Waiting Room."
Rating: Oddly enough, a G.
Author's Notes: Due to the need for speed in posting this, I wasn't able to get it to my usual beta. Thanks to Audrey Lynne for the last-minute check. And also to wolfpup, a gentlewoman and a scholar.
Linda Stoops
It was another quiet evening at 852 Prospect, Apt. #307, Cascade, Washington. The omnitemporal rain had mostly dried from the parking lots and street gutters, and the loft's two inhabitants had both made it home without the usual traffic delays or getting wet one way or another. Dinner was leftovers, since they were planning on a shopping trip in the next day or two, and wanted to clear the refrigerator space for incoming supplies. The taller of the two, one James Joseph Ellison, had settled into his customary spot on the long white couch and was exercising his thumb on the TV remote, flicking through the seven-or-so dozen channels once before finally choosing an action movie he'd only seen three times. A senior detective with the Cascade PD's Major Crimes division, his present week at work had been less than exciting. Paperwork, interviews, trips to Forensics and already hashed-over crime scenes comprised most of his time at the station, so he was ready to lean back and indulge in some televised mayhem. At least he didn't have to report stuff like this.
A rustle of clothing and the patter of computer keys directly behind him snagged a fraction of his awareness, and he gestured with the hand holding a bottle of microbrew to get the noisemaker's attention. "You want me to turn this down so you can work?"
"Nah, I'm good. I don't think I'd get anything done without a little background sound. Silence is way too distracting, y'know?" To prove his assertion, Blair Sandburg rattled a sheaf of papers and rolled a few pens on the kitchen table.
As well as being Ellison's roommate and best friend, Sandburg also worked at the PD as a civilian specialist consultant. He was assigned to Major Crimes generally, and to Ellison specifically, since they had worked so well together in the first three years when Blair was an unpaid observer, working on his doctorate at Rainier University.
What the department and the university didn't know was the real reason for the continuing relationship between the two men. Only a handful of people were in on the secret that Ellison's genetically enhanced senses made him a member of a semi-mythical group of individuals, designed by nature to watch over their particular tribe. This group, dubbed "Sentinels" by an English explorer, had all but vanished in an increasingly growing and scattered populace. They were considered to be, if not imaginary, then extinct.
Blair's life's work -- to prove that they were neither -- had led him to cross paths with the suspicious detective, then to train Ellison in the control of his newly-reawakened senses in exchange for the research data to finish the grad student's thesis. One thing lead to several others, and before either man realized it, they found themselves tied to each other by more than simple friendship. Blair's position as teacher expanded to that of the Sentinel's human sensory anchor, or Guide, then to Shaman, a role they were still finding the parameters of. In turn, Jim had discovered that the duty of a Sentinel required more than awareness of the physical world, that the spiritual planes needed guardians, too.
This continually-evolving bond had undergone more than one trial, the last nearly doing what the previous one could not: destroy the partnership. When the effectiveness and safety of the Sentinel was placed in jeopardy, Blair denounced years of research to the public, torching his academic career for the sake of more important ones: as Guide to a Sentinel and fellow guardian to a good-sized city.
But a Guide isn't recognized as an income-producing job, and the requirements for official guardian training were antithetical to the upbringing and personal beliefs of one Blair Sandburg.
For a man who'd spent nearly all of his life making no permanent connections with those outside the circle of his bloodkin, who felt deeply for humanity but somehow didn't really expect humanity to remember him at all, the amount of support he got was staggering. From the officers he'd impressed with his bravery and intelligence, to the students who remembered him as a favorite teacher, to his fellow TAs and a few senior professors, and most importantly, to his unofficial "partner," an organized groundswell of protest and help rose on Blair's behalf. Between legal action against the publishing company that tried to print the Sentinel dissertation without his permission and the university who dismissed him without due process, and the proposals written and political wrangling committed to ensure a civilian advisory position in the department, the forces massed against him never stood a chance.
He even managed to acquire his doctorate, although not for the Sentinel research, nor for the "closed society" paper that had been his cover story for three years, but a study of multi-tasking as a new survival trait within human society. Jim had helped him with that one as a research assistant and an observer of various social settings. A defensive but otherwise impressed dissertation committee read the paper and listened to his arguments, and he walked out with his Ph.D.
More than two years later, he was sitting at the kitchen table, entering data into his laptop for a paper he would never submit so long as the existence of a modern Sentinel had to be kept secret. But Jim needed the information to help him better understand his senses, so the research continued.
There were some things one just did.
When Blair finished transferring his notes into the proper files, he decided to do a little 'Net surfing as a reward. A search through his mailboxes turned up a few letters to answer and a lot of spam to delete. Yeah, like I want to know how to increase my bust size naturally, or pay someone to watch people do things I wouldn't look at for free. And I already have a way to spy on my neighbors. His name is Jim.
His mail dealt with, he turned to some bookmarked websites he checked on once in a while. Independent Film and Ain't It Cool News kept him updated on the visual entertainment front, although the latter's Talkback feature was something he tolerated in small doses. Some of them definitely need a hobby. At least get out once in a while...
He popped on his headset and listened to a couple of samples from an album he'd heard Moulner in Traffic rave about, and decided to see if the library carried it so he could road-test the whole thing before buying. Two and a half years with a regular paycheck had not broken him of all his "cash-strapped student" habits. Especially when college loans still needed paying.
Speaking of habits...
His hand flicked instinctively toward the link to their local cable service's site for the week's detailed program listings, and he waited out the clutter of ads, .gifs and .jpegs. Once everything was loaded, he entered their service area and called up the specific grid, selecting programs of interest to add to a custom "shopping" guide he could print out. This feature helped the site owners determine what channels were the most and least popular, vital information come lineup alteration time. Nearly six years of co-habitation gave both men a sense of what the other might like to see, if the interest wasn't mutual, and from the time this feature came online, they rarely missed anything.
He was on next Friday's evening grid when his gaze targeted and locked on a word.
"Santana."
Arts and Entertainment's "Live by Request" concert was Carlos Santana. Viewers could phone, mail, or e-mail their favorite songs, and if time permitted, the most requested would be played.
I have to tell Jim, repeated in his mind as he dashed the headphones off and leaped to his feet. Bounding to their videotape collection, he dug for an unused one, or at least one with enough space. "Jim! Jim, guess what? You'll never guess -- this is too cool -- you gotta e-mail them..."
"They're revealing who won on 'Survivor?'" Ellison watched the layered whirlwind spin from the video shelf, cross between him and the image of Jet Li taking down a bad guy flunky, scoop up the VCR remote on the way to the sofa and find the end of the previous taping.
"What?! No, no, man, WAY better. Miles, light years better than that." He bounced on the cushion's edge while fast-forwarding eight counts into the commercial, then stopped the tape and began to set up the recording. "Go look at next Friday night's listings on A&E. It's on the screen."
"That episode of the 'Scarlet Pimpernel' you missed two months ago?" Jim ventured as he rolled off the couch and stood.
"Would you -- just. Go. Look?" Blair waved emphatically with the left hand while the right entered the desired settings.
"I'm going. I'm looking. So, what am I... wow. It's a live concert?"
"Yeah, and you can enter a request, right on their website. I think it's on the browser's default bookmarks. Go ahead and exit the TV listings; I'll go back to it later."
"Right." He got out of the cable site, then hopped over to the channel's home page. Rumors to the contrary, Jim knew how to navigate through menus, windows, text fields, maps and links on a computer. After all, the Internet was a military creation, and the Army expected its Special Operations personnel to be proficient in the use of said creation. It may be colorful, noisy, obsessively commercial and neophyte-oriented now, but the 'Net was still an access tool, and Rangers were well-trained in tool use.
He found the "Live" page and read the details. Then coughed out a surprised laugh. "Ahhh, Chief?"
"Yeah?" The VCR settings finished, Blair grabbed the TV remote and pulled up the grid for next week.
"Do you know the name of the album he's releasing to coincide with this concert?"
"Ahhhmm... no. I don't follow the mainstream albums charts much."
Jim cleared his throat and grinned. "The title is... 'Shaman.'"
"You're kidding."
"Nope. Funny how you were the one to find that program, huh?"
"I'd say we're on the border of 'frightening' at the moment, rather than 'funny.' Wanna take a trip to the music store next week and pick up a copy?"
"Sure. In fact--" Jim licked his lips once and unearthed a subject he'd been toying with for a year now. "I've been thinking about getting a bigger television set lately. We've had this since the last one got destroyed, and it wasn't any larger."
"You want to get a bigger set, now? To watch a concert?" The Ghost of Frugality spoke with Blair's voice, then he amended the intent of the question, realizing how it might have sounded to Jim. "I mean, yeah, you've been thinking about going bigger, and that's great. But I'd wanted to share the costs, of course, so we could get a nice one. You know, big screen? So we can watch the games and see more detail. I mean, well, you can, of course, but the rest of us... you know. And the movies would be great. Like having our own theater.
"But, see, I'm still on a tight budget. Not like it used to be, oh, no... but, still... anyway, I thought if we could wait a couple of months and go in together for a house Christmas present, that would be cool, too. And then you could watch the concert all over again on a bigger screen, since we'll be taping."
Jim figured that the ramble wouldn't last long, so he let Blair wind down on his own, instead of cutting him off in mid-babble. No sense getting his partner's back up over something that Jim had wanted to get for the other's benefit, after all. Once the "one week" offer more than five years ago had morphed into an indefinite situation, Jim became aware that Blair had difficulty seeing smaller images on the screen. It wasn't all the time, and when Blair thought to put his glasses on, it wasn't an issue. However, the Sentinel felt a twinge of guilt every time his Guide had to squint to read text on screen, or he missed an important detail in the program they were watching. And some forms of nearsightedness worsened as the eyes got older. He didn't want Blair to strain his vision over something so minor as a TV show. This wasn't something a proper Blessed Protector could allow to happen.
He'd intended to upgrade ever since they got back from Mexico, but their combined budgets didn't allow for such a big ticket item. Not until Blair started to work for the PD for real, the Volvo finally got a decent repair job done on it, and certain long-standing debts were whittled to manageability did Jim seriously begin considering the issue again.
There were some things one just did.
"I understand that, Blair, and I appreciate you wanting to go halves, but I've been planning this for a while, and... well, since it's my indulgence, I think it should be my responsibility. Besides, I hear there are a couple of clearance sales going on about now. A lot of those stores want to make room for the newer items in time for the holidays, so we can probably get a good deal somewhere."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. What did you call it once: a 'moral imperative?'"
The younger man laughed. "Right. 'Real Genius.' Y'know, I've gotta rent that movie for you to watch someday. It's a lot more intelligent than your average campus comedy, which is probably why it didn't do so well at the box office..."
Jim smiled, his hearing focused on his roommate's review while his sight and touch went through the motions of selecting a song request. If getting him to watch a college movie made Blair happy, who was he to argue?
Some moral imperatives were so much easier than others.
END