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.

My beta-reader is feeling the trials of college life at the 
moment, so this story - well, more of a vignette, really - hasn't 
been beta'd. Read At Your Own Risk.

Spoilers for the episode Deaddrop.

Is anyone getting tired of this yet?
________

A Blessed Protector's Thoughts on Dead Drop



We managed to make it back to the loft before everything 
began to sink in. I can almost see the adrenaline rush wear off 
as Blair dropped onto the couch and leaned back against the 
cushions. I stand behind him and rest a hand on his shoulder, 
offering whatever comfort and reassurance he wants or needs. 
After a long moment he tilts his head back and smiles. Blair 
Sandburg smile #184. <Don't sweat it, I'm okay.> Yeah, right. 
Sometimes I think that particular smile was patented just for 
these occasions. But if he thinks he needs a few minutes alone, 
then that is what I'll give him. But there's a difference between 
giving him time to process everything he's been through and 
leaving him alone with his demons, so I won't give him *too* 
much space.

I hand him a beer from the fridge as he heads on onto the 
balcony. I busy myself in the kitchen, trying to find something 
quick and simple for dinner.

The thing about time alone is, it works both ways. The day's 
events keep running through my head as I gather the 
ingredients for a stir-fry.

I knew, as soon as the call came in, that Sandburg was on that 
elevator. It was almost as if it made sense that he would be 
there. 2 + 2 = 4 and a hostage situation with a sabotaged 
elevator equals Sandburg. I can't even honestly say I was 
surprised. There had been something in the back of my mind 
ever since I realized he was running late, a feeling which only 
grew stronger when I couldn't reach him over the phone. I don't 
buy ESP and psychic powers and whatnot, but I just *knew* 
that Sandburg had gotten himself into the middle of something 
unpleasant.

When I finally did reach him and he found out what was going 
on, he sounded so genuinely surprised. And so genuinely 
afraid. I hated to hear that in his voice, to see it in his eyes 
through the video feed. The kid spends enough time in danger 
while working with me, it doesn't seem fair that the danger can 
reach him during the everyday stuff, too. I sometimes wonder if 
there's anything he can do without needing police backup.

Not that backup did him much good, this time. Galileo - 
Rachin - was one step ahead of us from the beginning and he 
stayed that way no matter what we tried to do. In the end, 
Sandburg saved himself and the other hostages. All we could 
do - all *I* could do - was watch.

And watch we did. A smile comes unbidden as I remember just 
*what* we watched. The Macarena. Now *really.* Brown was 
laughing his head off and teasing the entire time we were 
pulling Sandburg out of that elevator. Even Simon cracked a 
grin.

It's been almost fifteen minutes since Blair headed out to the 
balcony, and I know from previous experience that he'll 
probably be out there a while longer. Usually he stays there 
until it gets late or until I go out and bring him back in. Which 
I will, soon. But if he's half as worked up over the day's events 
as I am, then he may need a few more minutes. I know I do. 
There are a few things I want to work through in my own mind 
before I have to face him.

Blair's not the only one who was afraid today.

Its no secret that I don't handle being afraid very well. Maybe 
it's the military training, or the cop thing, or my father's less-
than-sterling influence. Maybe it's just macho-bullshit, as Blair 
would no doubt call it. Whatever it is, I always hide feelings 
like fear away, deep inside myself where no one, not even me, 
can find them. It's what I did when my senses first began to 
develop two years ago; I turned my fear into anger and started 
lashing out at everyone, even Blair when he tried to help me. 
When Danny died I turned my grief into anger and a thirst for 
revenge, channeling everything into the need to catch Juno. It's 
a bad habit with repercussions. I hide the emotions to avoid the 
feeling of losing control, but suppressing like that only makes 
the emotions harder to handle. And then on top of that, it 
makes me lose control of my abilities. My method of coping, 
which obviously isn't a very good one, only ends up giving me 
more to cope with.

If I want to control my sensory control, I'm going to have to 
give up a little emotional control. And yes, that *is* something 
Blair told me, word for word. I think the department shrink 
would agree with him. Assuming she didn't have up both 
locked up over this Sentinel thing.

So all I have to do is own up to what I'm feeling. I can handle 
that.

Can't I?

So why am I still here, standing in the kitchen, watching dinner 
cook, telling myself what I should be doing, instead of out on 
the balcony helping my best friend through this? It's not like 
I'm hiding a deep dark secret or that Sandburg will think less 
of me for what I feel. Hell, he's the one who's always trying to 
get me to admit to this stuff. But I still don't want to go out 
there. I want to conquer this so he doesn't have to see that I was 
afraid and helpless.

Okay?

I don't want him to know that. Blair is put in so much danger 
because of me, and I've always done my best to be there to 
protect him. Somewhere along the line it became second nature 
to me. Bad guy shoots, I get Blair somewhere reasonably safe, 
*then* I start shooting back. 

But today... Today I couldn't get him somewhere safe. I 
couldn't protect him. I left him alone in that elevator and he 
almost died. The bomb *went off.* Five more seconds, Taggert 
told me, and it would have taken Sandburg and the rest of the 
hostages with it. Blair had counted on me to help him out of 
this mess, and I couldn't do it. And I'm scared to death the kid 
will realize just how dangerous this work is and that he'll run 
as far away from the Major Crimes Unit - and me - as he can.

Oh, I know it won't happen. Sentinel stuff aside, we have a 
friendship that could outlast just about anything up to and 
including serial killers and homicidal maniacs. But that doesn't 
mean the idea doesn't worry me.

So I'm hiding out in the kitchen, hoping to school the fear from 
my eyes and face and voice before I confront Sandburg, 
because maybe, if he thinks today was a fluke and he thinks 
that I will never let things get so out of hand again, maybe then 
he won't leave.

Or maybe I'm a coward.

Being alone with your thoughts is overrated.

I turn down the heat on the stove and head for the balcony.

Blair's standing in the same position he was the last time I 
looked; arms folded over his chest, leaning against the wall, 
eyes introspective and thoughtful as they wander across the 
city below. I join him, watching the cars below and waiting for 
him to decide if he's ready to talk. He glances up at me almost 
immediately, and the tired, heart-warming smile is enough to 
make my earlier fears look ridiculous in comparison. "Hey, big 
guy."

I watch him closely, seeing the tension still in his eyes. "You 
all right, Chief?"

"For now." He tilts his head and grins sheepishly. "I'm 
probably gonna wake you up for the next couple of nights, 
though."

I give in to temptation and reach out, tousling the long curls. "I 
don't mind."

He blinks and turns away, but not before I see the bright glint 
of tears. "Thanks, Jim."

It takes me about a millionth of a second to make this decision. 
Carefully, and lightly, so as not to startle him, I wrap an arm 
around him shoulders and pull him against my side. "Hey," I 
say softly. "You're okay now. It's over."

He tenses for all of a second, then relaxes and leans against 
me, resting his head on my shoulder. "Sorry."

I sigh. "Idiot. Don't ever be sorry. Understand?" I rest the side 
of my head atop his for a brief moment, until I can feel him 
fully relax. "You sure you're all right? I'm here, if you need 
anything."

"I know that." He pulls away a bit and looks up at me. "And I 
meant it. Thanks."

"No problem." I tighten my grip around his shoulders for just 
an instant. "Just don't *ever* scare me like that again, Chief. 
God."

"Don't intend to," he promised. "I think I have a phobia about 
elevators now."

I have to laugh at that. "Another one, huh, Chief? What's that? 
Three?"

He begins counting them off on his fingers. "Dentist's chairs. 
Pizza. Spiders. Heights and guns. And now, elevators. Six 
altogether." He looks disgusted for a moment. "Geez. Am I 
messed up or what?"

"Completely," I agree. "You are the single most fundamentally 
screwed up individual I have ever known." The look on his face 
is a combination of disgust and amusement. I pull him close 
once more, holding him tight and feeling his arms come around 
my back. "Totally messed up," I agree again, allowing the feel 
of his heartbeat against my chest, and the soft exhalation of 
breath against my neck to reassure me. "But I like you that 
way."

"Good," he says. "Because it's just gonna get worse."

"Thank God."


________

end