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

I come up with mopst of these things at night, just as 
I'm falling asleep, which explains why most of them 
are so short. This one came to me at about one in the 
morning, Christmas Day, and I decided to share.

I am incapable of writing a story without Blair owies. 
It must be genetic or something, I dunno. Hope you 
like it. Merry Christmas!
________

Silent Night


It was dark and silent, bright moonlight illuminating 
the pure white snow, glittering off the ice that 
decorated the trees. The night sky was purest black, 
lit by the brilliant glow of a full moon and the 
scattered glory of a thousand stars. In the distance, 
just barely visible, were the Christmas lights 
decorating the streets of the small Maine town. It was 
an idealic scene worthy of a thousand paintings and 
stories.

And just moments ago, it had been torn by gunfire.

Three men lay still on the snow, their forms hidden by 
the shadow of a large tree. They lay unconscious, 
their guns thrown into the snow yards away so they 
would no longer pose a threat.

Less than twenty feet away the moonlight covered the 
two other men, each still, but awake. The dark red of 
blood stained the snow around them, and the only 
sound they made was the soft rasp of breathing, and a 
gentle murmur of reassurance.

Blair tried not to move, having already learned that 
the pain just got worse when he did, trying to ignore 
the burning in his side. The pain was giving way to a 
numbness brought on by blood loss and the cold. 
Only where he was propped up against Jim was he 
warm, and even that was beginning to seep away.

From far across town he heard the ringing chimes of 
the church bell begin to ring. Once... twice...

"I can hear the sirens, Blair," Jim said softly. They're 
still across town, but they'll be here in a few minutes. 
You're going to be all right." Then, as if finally 
realizing what it was he had been saying for the last 
several minutes - or perhaps, only just believing it - 
he pressed his cheek against the top of Blair's head 
and murmured in a choked voice. "Oh thank God, 
you're going to be all right."

Ten... eleven... twelve times and the bells fell silent. 
Nothing had changed, but Blair could feel the 
difference the ringing chimes had signified. He raised 
one shaking hand, and placed it on Jim's arm, urging 
the other man to meet his eyes. Jim did so carefully, 
blue eyes meeting blue, each looking clear and 
glorious in the moonlight. "Blair?"

A tired smile, no less beautiful for it's weakness, was 
his reply. "Merry Christmas, Jim."

The arms around him tightened ever so slightly, as 
Jim returned the smile, leaning down to brush a gentle 
kiss against his brother's brow. "Merry Christmas, 
Blair."



end