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

This story is the property of the author.

Poor Simon. Even when nothing's happening, something's 
happening.
________

Hippies and Anthropologists and Guides - Why My Precinct?
A Look at Simon's Thought During an Average Day at Work



God, that little hippie annoys the hell out of me.

Not right now. No. Right this moment is one of the rare 
moments when Sandburg isn't a total annoyance. He's actually 
being pretty quiet today. He showed up about an hour ago, 
helped Jim dig through an old case we just reopened and now 
he's sitting there working his way through a text that's probably 
thicker than all the books I've read in the last year combined, 
no doubt filled with some obscure fact about a tribe 
somewhere that's been extinct since long before anyone even 
invented the word 'anthropology.'

He's in full anthropologist mode right now - hair pulled back, 
glasses on. It's kind of odd seeing him like that. The hair makes 
him look older and more serious, but the glasses usually make 
him look younger, vulnerable. Contradictory. Like everything 
else about Sandburg.

He pauses a moment to stretch and take a glance at the clock 
before returning to the text. He shifts a bit as he does, but he 
doesn't seem uncomfortable. Amazing. Sitting Indian-style in 
Jim's chair, the text balanced across his knees and his back 
hunched over until his nose is all but touching the book just 
can't be a comfortable position. I don't even know how he 
managed to get like that in the first place. If I tried I'd probably 
break both my legs. Not to mention that I'd look like an idiot.

Daryl actually does the same thing sometimes, on the 
increasingly rare occasions when I bring him down to the 
station. He'll sit in my office, curled up in the chair and work 
his way through whatever textbook his assignment was in. And 
he always looked just as comfortable as Sandburg does now. 
Just as right.

Maybe it's a studentthing, because I've never seen one of my 
guys sit like that.

Although, if I want to be honest, maybe Sandburg is one of my 
guys. In a very loose, very general sort of way. Possibly. He's 
certainly managed to hold his own over the past two years. 
Kincaid. Lash. Galileo. Golden. Quinn. I'm afraid to think 
about how much more there was that Jim and Blair just never 
got around to telling me about. That's as much grief as any of 
the other detectives in Major Crimes have put up with and 
they've been around a lot longer. But the kid hasn't left yet. I 
can't believe that it's all for a paper. Not anymore.

Unfortunately, that leads to the conclusion that Sandburg is 
sticking around for Jim -- to help him with this Sentinel thing, 
to make sure he doesn't get himself killed in the middle of a 
zone-out or loose control and go completely nuts. And when I 
think about everything Blair has been through because he made 
that decision, well... I have to respect him.

And I *hate* respecting Sandburg.

I mean, it's such a foreign concept. When I first met him two 
years ago, my first thought was 'drug test.' That was quickly 
followed by 'Jim knows this guy? And hasn't arrested him?' My 
comments about hippies and flowerchildre were the nicest 
toughts in my head. I was tempted to be a bit more... vocal, but 
I wasn't sure just how close he and Jim were.

Now I'm glad I didn't say worse for two reasons. First, Jim 
would never have forgiven me. Second, and probably most 
important, the kid didn't deserve it. 

Despite the long hair and the earring and the puppy dog eyes, 
the kid really seems to know what he's talking about. Hell, for 
getting Jim to calm down and ease off -- for that *alone* I 
should be eternally gratefull. I don't think Jim and I have come 
even close to killing each other in at least a year.

Okay, so I -- God help me -- respect Sandburg. So I even like 
him a little bit -- a *very* little bit. So he reminds me a little of 
my son. He still annoys me. And the worst part? I think he 
does it on purpose.

Jim is back. He has some papers in his hand and the look on 
his face says he found something. There's a question there, too. 
His gaze goes from me, to Sandburg and back to me. He must 
have caught me staring. My own little Sandburg-induced zone-
out. Another reason he annoys me.

I shake my head. <No, Jim. No problem.> My office is a 
sanctuary right now. Actually my office is usually a sanctuary. 
No Sentinels. No anthropologists. No rogue CIA agents or 
serial killers or cop killers. Not even a hint of enhanced senses. 
Those two will be the death of me yet if Sandburg keeps 
calling the shots.

And the fact that -- for just a fraction of a second, in just the 
tiniest corner of my mind -- I think that perhaps at least it 
would have been a fun trip, annoys the hell out of me.

I have to find something to yell at Sandburg for soon.



end