Okay, they're not mine. We all know that. We also know I'm not
making any money here, though if anyone were crazy enough to want
to give me money for this, I would be sorely tempted to take it,
and wouldn't that mess up my karma?
This is a bit of absurdity inspired by...well, a lot of things,
and nothing in particular. There are spoilers for S2, if there
is anyone left in the universe who hasn't seen or heard about it.
Rated PG-13 for a couple of bad words.
WARNING: CONTAINS STRONG CONCENTRATION OF SATIRE. NOT TO BE
TAKEN SERIOUSLY.
Thanks, Jo.
Afterbath
Or
S2, Brute?
by Susan L. Williams
Jim Ellison broke away from the arms holding him back and flung
himself down beside his guide's body. Shoving an EMT out of the
way, he smashed his fist into the unmoving chest.
"Breathe, Sandburg! Damn it, you can't do this. You don't have
any right to do this. Breathe!"
Someone tried to pull him away, but he shook the hands off and
pounded Blair's chest again and again.
"God damn it, Sandburg, get back here!" He seized Blair's
shoulders and shook him. The younger man's head snapped back and
forth, but there was no response. Ellison backhanded him.
"Breathe, you rotten little bastard!"
Blair coughed. He gagged, and vomited water all over himself,
still coughing. Jim dropped him and sat back with a satisfied
smile. "It's about time."
Blair lay in the hospital bed, accepting the well-wishes of half
the Cascade Police Department with a weak smile and
uncharacteristic silence. Jim leaned against the wall, watching.
He'd been there since the doctor left, never moving, never
speaking a word to Blair. That was all right. Blair knew he
didn't deserve to have Jim speak to him ever again.
Finally, Jim stirred. "Out," he barked. "Everybody out. Now."
Everyone obeyed, even Simon, though the Captain gave Blair a
sympathetic squeeze on the arm before he left. Jim approached
the bed, loomed over Blair with his arms folded and his
expression stony. Blair studied the sheet covering him, unable
to meet Jim's eyes.
"I'm sorry, man."
"Really," Jim deadpanned.
"I am, Jim. I know this was all my fault. I should never have worked with Alex, no matter how badly she might have needed my help. You're my sentinel, not her. You're the only one who counts. I should have just let her go crazy.
"But I didn't. I thought I could help her, and in the process,
maybe help you, too. I thought I could learn more about
sentinels, maybe get some new insights that might help you
function better. Not that you don't function perfectly already.
I mean, I just thought.... But I was wrong. I never should've
gone near her."
"What about your dissertation?"
"My diss? My diss doesn't matter, Jim, it's garbage. I don't
need a career. All I need is to be with you, where I belong,
watching your back. I'm supposed to be your guide. That means
total dedication, man, 24-7. I don't have room for a life. I
don't need one. I don't know why I ever thought I did. I must
have been crazy."
"Must have," Jim agreed.
"I am so sorry, Jim. I swear, I'll never think of anyone or
anything but you again. You don't have to let me move back in to
the loft. Of course, I won't be teaching anymore or working on
my diss, so no more money, but that's okay, Jim, I can live on
the street, or maybe in my car until it rusts out. You were
right to throw me out, man. I betrayed you with Alex. Sure,
when I tried to tell you about her, you didn't want to hear it,
but I totally understand that, Jim. Your territorial instincts
were on overdrive. You couldn't hear me. I should've tried
harder. I should've made you listen to me, so you'd know who the
threat was, even though I didn't know she was a threat at the
time. I should've ignored the fact that you stuck a gun in my
face and gone after you. I mean, maybe you might have shot me,
or hit me or something, but what difference does that make?
Getting you the information was what was important, and I didn't
do that. I failed you, Jim. And I am so, so sorry. If you
forgive me, I swear I'll devote the rest of my life to making
sure you're okay. I'll never ask for anything; I can eat your
table scraps; you don't even have to speak to me, unless you're
having a problem. I swear, Jim, I understand now. It's not
about friendship: it's about you. You're the center of the
universe, Jim. I just didn't get it before."
Blair risked a glance at Jim. Ellison's position hadn't changed.
The powerful arms were still folded tight across his chest; his
expression was still cold and unreadable. Blair fought back
tears. Swallowing hard, he whispered,
"Please, Jim."
Jim's jaw twitched. Regarding him like the bug Blair knew he
was, Jim said, "All right, Sandburg. I'll give you another
chance. You can even move back in to the loft. It's more
convenient for me that way. But that crap you call your stuff
goes in the trash. All of it. I'm what's important here. You
concentrate on me, and nothing else. You got that?"
Meekly. "Yes, Jim. Thanks, man. I know I don't deserve this,
but you'll never regret it, I promise."
Ellison snorted. "I'd better not, Sandburg. I know where
there's a fountain with your name on it."