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I just watched the first season for the first time last night. These are just some random thoughts I wrote down. Maybe Jim thought them, too. By the way, Jim Ellison, Blair Sandburg and the Sentinel concept belong to Pet Fly Productions, not me. But you already knew that.
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RANDOM THOUGHTS - JIM
by Elizabeth Bach
Today Jim watched his partner closely. Blair Sandburg was a walking contradiction: face and movements which read like an open book, mind and mouth that concealed all when he wanted them to. Jim noticed it was mostly when Sandburg was around familiar people or situations that his own body betrayed him, and when he was the most frightened that he became someone else.
Although he didn't like to think about it, Jim sometimes wondered if there was an edge somewhere between the lofty morals, ethics and emotions which made Sandburg so vulnerable to the dark side of police work and some sense of selfish self-preservation, the innate need to survive and protect number one at any cost. And he wondered if the young man could ever be pushed over that edge.
It wasn't that Jim thought Sandburg was weak. On the contrary, anyone who could go through the things Blair had been through and keep coming back, all for the sake of research and an insatiable thirst for knowledge, had to be strong. Damn strong. A little stupid? Maybe. But strong nonetheless. There was just something inside of Jim that wanted to know -- needed to know -- that if something were to happen to his "blessed protector," Blair would be able to fend for himself. When Jim agreed to take Blair on as a partner, he'd accepted responsibility for the anthropologist's safety -- his life. After all, Sandburg was a grad student; he was no cop. But he wondered if the kid had thought about the danger he was putting himself into, teaming up with Detective James Ellison. Clearly, Sandburg had been thinking about writing his thesis, not his will that afternoon in the hospital when they first came into contact. He wondered if there was a breaking point somewhere in that resolute mind, and how much longer he could continue to protect Blair from it.
It was with slight envy that Jim Ellison watched his seemingly happy and at least content roommate bounce around the loft with a pen in one hand, a pad of paper in the other. He was wearing those glasses which made him look so much older, so much more serious than Jim wanted him to be. Jim realized he didn't really know what made his partner happy. He knew some things that made him laugh or relax. But he didn't really know whether or not anything in his life truly made Blair Sandburg happy. In the back of his mind, that bothered Jim.
Noticing the unusual silence last night, he knocked on the glass of Blair's bedroom door. When he received no answer, he opened the door slowly and saw Blair just standing there, very still, looking into a mirror. Staring aimlessly, yet intently, at the image there.
"It's a dark world we live in, man," he'd said. Blair had two voices: one bright, vibrant, young and excited; the other deep, captivating, often calming, but in this case, disturbing.
"That dark world's full of bright colors, Chief," Jim offered. He let his shoulder rest against the door frame, unconsciously letting the strength and solidity of the loft, his job, his past, his future, support him.
"Yeah, but you're the only one who can see them." Blair stared harder, the desperation in his eyes overtoned by a bitter frustration. "Just for once...a day...a moment, I wish.... God, I just wish I could have what you've got. Feel what you feel. Sense what you sense."
"But you can't," Jim said from the shadowy doorway.
Blair flinched, almost as if Jim's words had been a physical blow.
The envy sprouted from Blair's ability to think so much -- feel so much -- one minute, and then be bright, cheerful and ready for anything the next. If Sandburg ever felt sorry for himself, Jim rarely saw it. And if he did let his emotions get the best of him, the young man certainly bounced back quickly enough. Too quickly, Jim sometimes thought. He wondered what Blair did with those feelings, where he put them so they'd stay out of the way until the appropriate time. And he wondered when that appropriate time was or would be.
Was it a violation of privacy, Jim's listening to Sandburg late at night, when the lights were out and Blair lie awake in his room? The controlled breathing, the tension behind the otherwise peaceful sound, betrayed him. Yet for all these damned senses, Jim still couldn't hear Blair's thoughts. And he couldn't begin to feel Blair's pain. Taste the regrets? Not even close. Smell the fear? Not half of it. But he did see, unmistakably, the strain, and the accompanying strength, that kept his remarkable partner going. Enviable, envied strength.
Jim was suddenly very aware of his roommate's presence in the loft: the smell of his shampoo, and the lingering smoke from the lounge at the University; the sound of the fabric in Blair's pants rubbing back and forth as he paced the room; the feel of the air stirring each time the young man walked past; the taste of that night's exotic dinner, still left in Jim's mouth; the scraggly hair, the dark blue shirt, the familiar body moving so effortlessly and comfortably through Jim's world. Jim couldn't remember letting this person in, couldn't remember giving Sandburg permission to mean so much. But he had.
Where did Sandburg come from? His past was an unsolved mystery. He'd come out of nowhere, eager, anxious, almost desperate to shadow and study this stranger. What was Blair's plan for his life? To be a teacher? Or a perpetual student? He could be both. After all, no matter how many cute experiments his partner executed and took notes on, Jim didn't think they'd ever know truly all there was to know about this Sentinel stuff. And the need to know would keep them together, keep Blair safely at Jim's side. (When had "safe" become such a relative term?) But what had Jim thought? That he and Sandburg would grow old together? That was a frightening thought. Certainly there had to be more to Sandburg's life than just his exploits with Jim. Jim wanted to know where all Blair had been. Who had he seen? What did he know? Blair was one of the most intelligent people Jim knew; he had so much potential for happiness and greatness. Jim didn't want to be the factor that held him back.
Sandburg stopped suddenly between the sofa and the coffee table. Jim grimaced, but held his tongue as Blair put his socked foot on the table and held the pad against his leg. He wrote something down furiously, as if the product of all his pacing were finally pouring from his fingertips. Then he examined the paper.
"Beautiful!" he exclaimed, letting his foot drop back down to the floor. No matter how outrageous Blair seemed at times, Jim decided his partner always kept both feet in the general vicinity of the ground.
Blair took off his glasses and hurried to the kitchen table from where Jim had been observing, virtually unnoticed, this whole time. He brandished the note pad like a treasure map and an enthusiastic smile as bait.
"Jim, man, we've gotta try this! I think it'll really test your range and give us some substantial insight to that weird feeling you say you've been getting lately."
Jim Ellison watched his partner closely with a familiar look of disgust, bored exasperation, and finally grudging consent. No matter who Sandburg turned into, he'd always be Sandburg. Jim smiled at the thought. Standing, he grabbed playfully at Blair's hair and steered him over to the couch.
"Alright, Chief, one experiment. But you owe me."
"Great, Jim, great," Blair smiled. "But, uh, listen. I'm not so sure this is something we want to try right here in the loft. I can't be certain how it would affect the paint job."
Jim rolled his eyes. "Sandburg, you owe me big." For a fleeting moment, he pondered how much he owed Blair.
One day Jim would tell the kid what he was thinking. But for now, he'd just let Blair sweat.
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