The Sentinel and all related characters are the property of Pet 
Fly Productions, UPN and Paramount. No copyright 
infringement is intended. No profit is being made.

This story is the property of the author.

This one took me forever to finish, and it's the longest 
installment in this series so far. It *is* the episode where Blair 
granted Jim with the title of Blessed Protector, so I figured it 
deserved the extra effort. I hope it's worth it.

Many, many thanks to Karin, who caught all the silly stuff and
all the not so silly stuff and helped make this a lot smarmier 
than it would have been otherwise.

Minor warning for language. PG maybe.

Spoilers for "Cypher."
________

A Blessed Protector's Thoughts on Cypher



I'd expected nightmares.

After everything that has happened over the last few days, 
anyone would be more than entitled to a few nights of restless 
sleep. Corpses, serial killers, car chases and then that son-of-a-
bitch Lash who had been almost as scary as his serial killer 
son... Hell, I'm having trouble sleeping myself and I've seen 
worse. Mutilated ducks dance through my dreams and every 
time I close my eyes I see the color yellow. No denying that 
this was a seriously disturbing case.

So I expected nightmares.

Not for me, although I'm not so completely out of touch with 
my feelings that I can't admit my own weaknesses, at least to 
myself. No, I expected the nightmares for Blair. The kid was 
seriously shaken even before Lash decided to make him the 
newest addition to the nutcase's little collection.

I'd expected to be woken by shouts or cries or even the 
sound of my new roommate falling out of that sorry excuse for 
a bed.

But this... this I wasn't expecting.

So far the nights have been silent and undisturbed by anything 
but my own fears and memories. The silence from Blair's room, 
which at first I attributed to exhaustion and the effect of the 
drugs Lash forced into his system, was starting to worry me. 
After a trauma like this, Blair should be dealing with his 
emotions, not locking them away, yet he hasn't shown any sign 
of shock. 

Until tonight, at least.

I still don't know what woke me. Maybe I heard him... but this 
has probably been happening every night since he got back 
from the hospital and I never noticed before. And the soft 
sounds of distress coming from Blair's room aren't loud enough 
to have caught my attention unless I was looking for them. 
Maybe I was.

I leave my bed and pull on my robe. I take the steps slowly and 
quietly, keeping my hearing tuned to the small downstairs 
bedroom while I argue with myself about how to handle this. 
Part of me - a big part - is telling me to go back upstairs and 
give Sandburg some privacy. If the kid wanted me, he'd have 
asked. Besides, who wants to be caught crying?

But a bigger part of me, a part that has been becoming 
increasingly vocal since Sandburg burst into my life, is telling 
the other part to shut up. Sandburg is scared, and it was my 
fault that Lash got anywhere near him to begin with, so the 
least I can do is wake the kid from a few nightmares and offer 
to listen if he wants to talk, right? Hell, if I want to pull even 
for this one I'll probably have to give him my firstborn child or 
something. Letting a civilian observer, especially an 
inexperienced civilian observer like Sandburg, within a 
hundred miles of a case like this was one of the biggest 
mistakes of my professional career. And if Sandburg had been 
killed... If I'd been five minutes later...

Five fucking minutes.

Worlds can end in five minutes. Lives can be lost. Sandburg's 
almost was. 

Faced with that alternative, I'm damned lucky to have to deal 
with being woken at three in the morning by my traumatized 
roommate. Very lucky.

I pause in the doorway to Blair's room, pushing the curtain 
aside so I can see him, curled beneath the blankets on his bed. 
I hesitate, trying to decide which would be more awkward: to 
just go in, or to announce my presence first. Somehow, 
knocking seems inappropriate.

I approach the bed quietly. "Sandburg? Blair?" I catch myself 
before asking if he's all right. The answer to that question is 
fairly obvious

There's no reply, so I cross the rest of the distance to the small 
bed. Looking down, I see Blair's eyes closed, despite the racing 
of his heart, and the tear tracks on his cheeks. God, he's still 
asleep.

I sit on the edge of the bed and reach out, carefully resting a 
hand on his shoulder. "Blair? Chief, come on, buddy, wake up. 
It's just a bad dream, that's all. Come on, wake up."

He awakens almost violently, a startled gasp catching in his 
throat, eyes opening abruptly. He  pulls away from my touch 
and almost throws himself off the other side of the bed before 
he realizes where he is. He freezes, and looks over toward me. 
"Jim?"

The fear, and slight hysteria, in the way he says my name is a 
bit of a surprise at first, but I suddenly realize why. God, what 
an idiot. Sandburg can't see in the dark, like I can. He has no 
way of knowing who I am. "It's me, Chief. It's all right. You 
were having a nightmare."

"No kidding." Sandburg's voice is breathless, but the near 
hysteria I'd heard before is fading. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry."

"It isn't a problem." I watch him carefully in the dark, knowing 
that he can't see me. He looks horrible, like he hasn't been 
sleeping for days. I realize how likely it is that exactly that is 
the case and berate myself for not noticing earlier. "Are you 
okay?"

"Yeah, man, I'm... I'm fine. Just a nightmare. Y'know?" He 
eases himself away from the edge of the bed and back into the 
center. "Nothing unusual, right?"

"No, Chief. Nothing unusual." I watch him carefully as I add, 
"Nothing unusual in needing to talk about it, either."

"I don't want to bother you."

"You're not. You're my partner, remember? And my roommate. 
And my teacher. And my friend. All of which add up to the fact 
that you aren't bothering me in the slightest."

"Are you sure? I mean, it's pretty late-"

"Trust me on this one, Sandburg."

Maybe he believes me, or maybe he's just too tired to try to put 
me off again - not like he was trying all that hard to begin with 
- whatever, he leans back against the headboard. He looks 
small and afraid as he sits there and I'm a little surprised at the 
protective instincts he's provoking in me. I know I won't be 
going anywhere until I'm sure he's feeling better. "You want to 
talk about it?"

He takes a shaky breath and for a second I think he's going to 
ask me to leave. Instead  he begins speaking, softly and quietly, 
so that without my Sentinel hearing I wouldn't have been able 
to hear a word. "It was Lash." He runs a hand through his hair, 
brushing it back, then letting the tangled curls fall forward 
again, partially obscuring his face. "I was back in that 
warehouse and he... he had me chained in that chair." His voice 
drops even lower and I have to turn my hearing up even further 
to hear what he says next. "He was standing over me and he 
said he was going to *be* me and then he had the d-drug and 
he was pouring it down my throat and I couldn't *breathe.*" He 
shudders and I hear his breath catch as he tries to continue. "I 
couldn't breathe. And I knew I was going to die and -oh, God."

Hesitantly, a little uncertain how he's going to react, I ease an 
arm around his shoulders. He accepts the offered comfort 
silently, leaning against my shoulder. As I feel the trembling in 
his small frame I realize just how close he is to losing it 
completely. God, how could I not have noticed how badly this 
was affecting him earlier? "You're all right," I assure him 
softly. "You're home, you're safe. I'm here and he won't hurt 
you anymore. He can't. I promise."

"I was scared," he whispers. "I couldn't move, but I heard the 
shots and all I could think was that you had dropped your gun 
when you fell. I thought he'd killed you."

Jesus. He was worried about me? "I'm fine too, Blair. I had my 
backup with me."

"I didn't know and all I could think was that, that you'd..." 

I can guess what he'd thought. "Lash didn't hurt me," I say 
soothingly. It's something of a lie - we did fall a *long* way 
and my ribs aren't thanking me for it - but under the 
circumstances I feel justified. "Besides," I add softly, "I 
couldn't let him win. I wasn't going to let him hurt you any 
more. I would have kept up until backup came if I'd had to in 
order to keep you safe."

He stares at me like I'm saying nonsense, and for an instant I 
think maybe I am. That little speech was not what I'd intended 
to say. But it was definitely the truth. More truth than I'd 
thought it was.

"God, Jim." He practically lunges at me, arms going tight 
around my waist, his head resting on my shoulder. I don't have 
time to be surprised before I automatically return the embrace, 
one arm wrapped around his back, pulling him close, the other 
cradling the back of his head as he finally breaks down and 
cries. For an instant, I'm torn between discomfort and shock - 
I've known the guy for less than three months, for Pete's sake! 
-- but the same part of my heart that told me to come in here in 
the first place is insisting that this is right. And it feels right to 
comfort him. To keep him safe. Even if I have done a lousy job 
of it so far.

"I was scared too," I admit. If we're playing midnight 
confessions we may as well get everything out in the open. "I 
was scared he'd hurt you when he broke in. I was scared we 
wouldn't find you in time. And then, when I finally got there, 
and I saw him standing over you wearing that damned wig and 
I wanted nothing so much as to rip the ugly thing off his head 
and shoot him a few times before I beat him to death and then 
threw him out the window. Probably would have been overkill, 
though, huh?"

His chuckle is more of a sob, but it's a start. "The wig bothered 
me, you know that? Silly, huh, letting something like that get 
to me. I mean, the guy's a murderer who played me for a fool, 
broke into my home and kidnapped my partner, and all I could 
think of was that stupid wig." His breathing is getting easier 
but the deathgrip around my chest hasn't loosened any. If he 
doesn't let up soon my ribs are really going to start hurting. "It 
kept running through my mind that this guy steals other 
people's lives. And that message he left, "Who am I now?" just 
rubbed it in. I wanted to tell him that he couldn't have your 
life, that he couldn't try to have it because it would never 
work. You're definitely one of a kind," I add almost off-hand. 
"Accept no substitutes, that sort of thing. It was almost 
insulting that this guy thought he could be you, even to 
strangers."

"Not so hard," he sighs. "All he'd need is a few anthro texts 
and a crappy car."

"Was," I correct him. "Past tense. He's dead, remember? 
Bullets tend to do that to a person."

"Was," he repeats dutifully.

"Good," I approve. "Now as for taking your place, I don't 
know. He'd have to quote obscure texts at any given moment, 
usually in a situation that seems totally inappropriate. He'd 
have to know about Sentinels and Guides and he'd have to 
remember only to use herbal shampoos. Have I mentioned 
that's a lot better than the fruit stuff you used when you first 
moved in? All those strawberries were driving me insane."

He giggles at that, an honest laugh and I relax slightly. "The 
car's not *that* bad. Not really. Okay, so the crappy car thing 
was true."

"It's a classic," he reminds me.

"You're the one who called it crappy," I retort. "I'm just 
following your lead, Chief, like always."

Blair finally releases his hold and pulls away. To my 
surprise, I regret it. There was something so right in holding 
him close, feeling his heartbeat instead of hearing it. 
Something... maternal, God help me. Like a panther with her 
cubs. "Thanks, Jim. Sorry I lost it like that."

"You didn't lose it. You were put through hell and you needed 
to let go and work through the emotions. I'm glad I could help 
you." I really don't know what to do now. Sharing like this, 
emotions and fears and feelings, isn't something I'm good at. 
Hell, not even Carolyn confided in me about this stuff. "Are 
you going to be all right?"

He nods and flashes a shaky, but genuine smile. "Now, yeah."

"Go back to sleep." I hold the blankets back until he's back in 
place, then drop them over him. "You look like hell. I bet you 
haven't had a full night's sleep in days, have you?"

"No," he admits. "Too many dreams."

"Nightmares, more like." I watch as he curls into himself, 
burrowed beneath the blankets, eyes drifting shut from 
exhaustion. "Promise me you'll sleep?"

"Can't," he sighs. "I keep seeing him."

"You won't see him tonight," I say softly. "You hear me, 
Blair? I'm here now, and I'll make sure he can't find you, even 
when you're asleep. Remember that, all right? Your Sentinel is 
going to keep watch."

He smiles at me a little, too tired to argue. "My Blessed 
Protector."

I smile as I remember my new title. I don't know if Sandburg 
was serious about that or not, but I know I am. "Exactly, 
Darwin. Your Blessed Protector. Now go to sleep, and 
remember that you beat him before. You did all the right things 
and you kept yourself alive until I got there. He can't win 
because you already beat him."

He falls asleep quickly and I leave to grab a blanket and pillow 
from the couch. I feel a little silly setting up camp at the kid's 
bedside, but I promised to stay and keep watch and I will. If it 
helps the kid get through this then it's worth it. Besides, I'd 
slept on harder things in the military.

He stirs as I settle down and a sleepy voice reaches me. "Good. 
Thought you left."

"I'm right here," I tell him. "And I promise I'll stay as long as 
you need me."
________



end