Notes: Yes, yes, yes, I know what you're thinking right now: Another one, another epilogue to the heart-breaking season finale, and YES you're right! But read it anyway, you might like it <bg>. No warnings are necessary because I just don't do death stories...

As always, a huge 'thank you' goes to my favourite Texas twanger Tate who doesn't twange at all J. Your phone call inspired me and this story was finished in a flash.
 

When the panther growls...
~ Epilogue to "Sentinel Too"

by DannyD
 

Half an hour - just half an hour.

Only 30 minutes, it had been a brief span of time during which Jim Ellison hadn't been at the side of his still unconscious partner, Blair Sandburg. Dazed, Jim stared at the dead receiver in his hand, then slowly put it down again, working automatically. The phone had rung seconds after Jim had entered the loft.

Banks had sent him home to freshen up, change his clothes, and eat a bit. Hell, the mere thought of food made Jim sick and he knew he couldn't keep a thing down. Not now. His captain had insisted though, promising to watch over their young friend.

He had played with the thought of just driving around and returning to the hospital after a few minutes, but the detective knew Simon Banks would make one of his 'scenes'. A verbal fight with his superior officer was the last thing Jim felt up to.

He hadn't felt up to much of anything since they'd pulled Blair out of the fountain eight days ago. Grief had replaced disbelief in Jim‘s mind for the young man lying in a hospital bed, barely alive, hooked up to medical equipment, fighting for his life, and struggling to return alive. Blair's heart had stopped for so long. The lack of oxygen might have caused severe damage to his brilliant brain.

When the initial shockhad passed, Jim's grief turned into rage. It was a rage he directed at Alex Barnes, that woman, his so-called counterpart, the female Sentinel, Sentinel too., She was an evil in disguise who had claimed the innocent heart of the young anthropologist by presenting him with another Sentinel

It had hurt to think Blair had found a another research subject. Hurt deeply. Three years ago, Blair had managed to cut the bonds around Jim's heart right from the beginning, and the Sentinel had allowed it to happen. Blair had seen everything: His brightest hours, his worst nightmares. Now, however, for the first time since Jim had started working with his partner, he had questioned Blair's loyalty; his head had forgotten the truth he knew in his heart.

Now he knew he'd been wrong. When they had pulled Sandburg out of the fountain, Jim had wanted to scream at him, shake him by the collar, yelling at him not to be a coward by leaving his precious life without fighting hard enough. Instead, Ellison had knelt beside his still form, praying words he'd never known, pleading with the fates to have mercy. Blair had fought against the darkness, and his faint heartbeat had not only surprised the EMT but Jim as well. Blair's heartbeat, the sign of life, had sounded in the Sentinel's ears like thunder, and the rage turned into relief. Yet, his relief was mixed with the fear of not knowing if his young friend would be ever return to his old self.

The mixture of emotions left Jim Ellison battling the tension building inside of him. He didn't care about himself. He didn't care about Simon and his other co-workers.

He needed his Chief back.

Jim had jumped at the phone after the first ring, jerking the receiver to his ear, listening intensely to the dark and calm voice of his captain. Now, Jim stood perfectly still, his muscles unable to move, his brain trying to digest the call.

Why now? Why had it happened when Jim hadn't been there to hold his hand?

The detective didn't know what to do. The tension that had ravaged his body for days stiffened every muscle, seeking escape where there was none. Jim felt the urge to hit something, to destroy a cup, to throw the books off the shelves, to scream his lungs out. But he couldn't. All he felt was numb, overwhelmed by an emotion he didn't dare feel yet.

Someone knocked at the front door a few times, but Jim didn't hear it. The soft Australian accent of Megan Connor spoke from outside the loft.

"Jim? If you're there, open the door, please?" she shouted. Receiving no answer, the inspector tried the door handle. It wasn't locked so she stepped inside.

Jim hadn't moved; his hand still rested on the telephone.

"Jim?" Megan approached him quickly, trying to read his body language as she neared him. He didn't turn his head or acknowledge her presence in any way.

"Jim? Are you okay?" she asked gently, placing a hand on his arm. Something must have happened. Megan didn't want to think about it, but she had to ask the only logical question.

"Have you heard about Sandy, Jim?" she carefully phrased.

The volcano inside Jim Ellision erupted. Megan saw the movement of his shoulder and instinctively stepped back. Thanks to her quick reaction, Jim's fist only connected marginally with her chin. Still, Megan stumbled backwards, rotating her arms to regain her balance.

"His name's Sandburg, damn it!" Ellison roared, and his arm came up again. Stress and tension finally found their way out and...

"Jim!" Megan shouted, shocked by his attack. She blocked the next blow of his fist with her arms, feeling the impact like a train engine.

Connor didn't want to fight with him, didn't want to hurt Jim by returning the blows. Somehow she knew he needed a punching bag right now. So be it, Megan thought grimly and awaited the man's next move.

Jim's arm came up again, cutting through the air and would have probably seriously hurt her if Megan hadn't moved. She ducked her head, swirled around and brought her leg up, connecting with Jim's chest. Megan thought she'd hit an iron bar, but she saw the surprise on Jim's face. As force of the impact raged throughout her leg, Jim stumbled backwards. Using the distraction, Megan gathered all her strength and whirled around another time, hitting the astonished Ellison again. The detective fell against the kitchen table, seeking support with his hands, groping for balance. The furniture moved under his weight instead, and Jim collapsed on the floor when the table surrendered. Ellison recovered too quickly, and Megan fought off several 'attempted' blows to her body. She acted fast, her smaller size providing her with more flexibility and agility. Suddenly, Jim's hand grabbed her long hair, and Megan screamed in pain when the fist pulled violently. She tried to get away, but Jim twisted his body and his arm crossed her chest, holding her in place. He was so much stronger that Connor couldn't do anything.

"Jim, stop it!" she yelled, pulling at his arm thatpinned her. At least, Jim had let go off her hair.

The two police officers acted simultaneously. Suddenly, Jim came to his senses and released his hold on Megan, while Connor's elbow forcefully rammed backwards into his ribs! Jim grunted, the pain coming instantly, robbing his breath. Wrapping his arm aroundhimself, he slowly sank to the floor. Megan turned around in shock, witnessing her colleague collapsing. Jim's body didn't to cooperate anymore and the Sentinel dropped backwards, curling up on his side

Megan knelt beside him quickly. Her hand rested on his back, stroking gently. She felt the uneven movements of his breathing, and for a terrible moment Megan feared she had caused some serious damage. It was then when she realized Jim's breathing wasn't disturbed because of her blow to his chest. He was choking on sobs bottled up inside his body. Uneven hiccups escaped his mouth but no tears were shed.

Something inside of Megan froze. She didn't know what to do at the sight of a crying, sobbing Jim Ellison, but she surely knew she couldn't handle the forced restraint he'd put on himself now as an attempt to lock in his emotions. She continued the subtle stroking of his back, giving him space but remaining in contact in case she was needed.

"It's okay, Jim," was all she said.

Minutes passed.

Jim rolled onto his back, his hand still clutching his bruised ribs. Megan smiled encouragingly , her eyes gentle with sympathy and understanding.

"You don't have to say anything," she whispered, her voice strained. She knew now. There was only one horrible truth that could have caused such a strong, violent reaction from Jim.

Sandy was....

"Sandburg," Jim began and Megan wanted to put a finger on his lips to prevent it from happening, ban the unspoken words from the world and make it better. However, a tiny smile played at the corner of Jim's mouth. "...he woke up."

****

There was so much Jim wanted to say, but when he stared at the closed door of Blair's hospital room, he was afraid. The fear tormenting him the last few days became a fear that he wouldn't be welcome anymore. What could he say to make it up to Blair? To relieve the young man's pain, to take the hurt away from him? "I'm sorry" was too poor, and Jim wished he could wrap up his apology and reassurances in those eloquent words Sandburg was usually known for. Maybe English wasn't his language. Jim sighed recalling briefly what Simon had told him.

Blair had awakened a few minutes after Jim had left. Simon almost had a heart attack when he had heard the weak moans and finally the whisper of a name. Then, the doctors had burst into the room and shooed Simon out so they could examine Blair thoroughly.

Miracles did happen from time to time.

Jim took a deep breath and knocked at the door. There was no reply from inside, and the detective carefully opened the door. He slipped into the room and stood still for a moment to absorb the picture in front of him. Nothing seemed to have changed from the time he'd watched over the young man the days before. Same room, same sight.

Blair was sleeping - hadn't he done that before too? Only much deeper? And odd thought in an odd situation.

Jim tried to gather his wits, as he sat beside the bed, monitoring the familiar equipment he'd catalogued days ago. Hesitantly, Jim took Blair's limp hand into his, squeezing it tenderly. The IV needle had left its mark on Blair's hand. Painful blue and black bruises coloured most of the sensitive skin, and Jim wanted to scream at the nurse or doctor who'd caused his young friend additional pain. Jim's focus shifted from the bluish pattern of mutilated blood vessels to the sudden sight of deep blue eyes watching him.

Instantly, Jim let go of Blair's hand. He rested his hand beside Blair's, regretting his startled movement in the same second.

"Hey, there, Chief," he greeted warmly, smiling a sad, tired smile.

The impressive blue eyes of his partner closed, then fluttered open again. Exhaustion claimed Blair's body.

"It's okay, Chief," Jim assured. "You need to rest." He felt he had to say more and so he added: "You'll be home soon." What a dumb thing to say, he cursed.

"Jim." The pleasant voice was barely a whisper, vocal cords lacking use for too many hours and days. Blair looked at him, trying a small smile, before heavy eyelids obscured his eyes once more.

"Yes, buddy, I'm here," Jim replied softly. "We'll talk later, Blair. Try to sleep."

"I'm not tired," Blair murmured, sighing deeply and fighting to stay awake longer.

Risking a reaction to his next words, Jim said: "Save your strength, Sandburg, you'll have to unpack all your stuff when you get out of here." Jim hesitated but then continued in a lower voice: "....if you want to."

Blair's response took a while to work its way up. "You gonna help me?" he asked weakly, still struggling to stay awake

"Sure, Chief." The words were choked and Jim quickly turned his head to look out the window, squinting at the light and his blurred vision.

Suddenly, he felt Blair's fingers touching his hand. The badly bruised hand gingerly stroked the back of his own, squeezing it and, finally, patting it in reassurance. Jim's tear-stricken eyes met the gesture of comfort and forgiveness. The Sentinel looked up and locked them with the brilliant blues of his Guide. Words weren't necessary, and the unspoken trust needed no explanation. They just knew.

They would talk about it later, at home, discuss everything, probably even fight again from time to time - just the way old friends do.

The End.