Contrary Virtues, by Allie (The Sentinel - bromance story challenge)
written for bromancestory
Master post: http://bromancestory.livejournal.com/19366.html
Fandom: The Sentinel
Length: 8,287 words
Pairing: None
Warnings: None
Beautiful art created by mella68: http://mella68.livejournal.com/147683.html (Thank you!!)
Summary: Takes place after the events of the episode "Smart Alec." Blair is grieving for his dead friend and mentor. Jim tries to help while dealing with his own issues, namely, his senses going haywire while he worries about Blair.
Contrary Virtues
by Allie
"You're very contrary, you know that, man?" Blair Sandburg leaned on the kitchen counter and watched Jim Ellison preparing a pot of soup and a plate of crackers and cheese for them to eat.
"Oh yeah? And why's that?" He was speaking with that tolerantly amused inflection in his voice, as if he was both enjoying Blair's seriousness and not at all taking it seriously in return. Sometimes, it seemed like the more serious Blair was the less serious Jim was; and sometimes the opposite, like they had to trade off. Even if, to be honest, Blair spent a lot of time trying to shadow the sentinel's moods and behavior. Like any anthropological work, a person had to give it their all and really commit to the lifestyle to get to understand the people involved. But sometimes Jim didn't make it easy.
"Because, you pretty much just ignore me except when you're in mother hen mode."
"That's hardly fair." But he still had that amused sound to his voice as he carried the hot soup pan over to the table, his attention all on it, as far as anyone could tell. Most likely, he was actually smelling, sensing, and hearing absolutely everything within a block's radius, which took even more of his attention away from Blair.
"You're right, it's not fair. And I'm not sick or anything, so you don't have to take care of me and cook me soup!"
"Were you going to eat if I didn't?" inquired Jim calmly.
Blair's mouth twisted into an unfamiliar frown. He always tried to keep his cool, not let things bug him, take life easy. Right now, he turned away. That nameless frustration and anger filled him, the emotion he didn't really have words for. That was as frustrating as anything; he should've been able to name and conquer these feelings, pin them to the wall like a big game trophy. They didn't belong stuck inside him this way, wordless as big black clouds.
"Sit down, Chief." Jim gave him a swat, a rather gentle swat, on the arm, and jerked his head toward a chair. It was already pulled out.
Blair sat, sighing. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers raking through his hair. "I don't know, man. It's just…"
Jim waited for him to continue. When he didn't, he spoke. "Since Professor Buckner died."
Blair jerked up, blinking at his friend. "Shit, Jim. You should be a counselor!" He couldn't help the edge of a proud smile that touched his face. But quickly, he sobered. "What do you suggest I do about it, Doctor Ellison?"
Jim raised one eyebrow. He was usually the one to employ sarcasm in an effort to keep his partner away. But he didn't say anything about it, and didn't revert to type either.
Curiouser and curiouser, thought Blair. It's as though we need to maintain a constant push-pull, or tug-of-war. If I'm interested and happy and trying to find out more about him, he pushes me away. If I push him away because I'm upset, he moves closer.
It made him think of some of the more naturalistic methods of horse training, first the keep-away, then the merging of individuals into a group….
Not that he needed anyone to tell him he and Jim were more or less already a unit. He was practically the sentinel's shadow, and not just during their work and study together anymore. Hell, he lived with the man and spent most of his free time with him as well. Figuring out the sentinel had become as much obsession as work. But not just figuring out the sentinel, figuring out and helping his friend.
Blair let out an explosive breath and averted his gaze from Jim. Even thinking anthropological-type thoughts didn't help now. That deep, welling chasm of darkness still threatened, swirling nearer and nearer.
"Hey, take your time, Chief," said Jim, getting up and heading back to the fridge. "Grief hits everybody different ways." His voice was deceptively calm and casual, but quite serious, too.
"Grief?" Jim cleared his throat. "What are you talking about? He stole my statue, lied to me, and got killed when he was double-crossed by his associates." He waved a hand vaguely in the air, for once finding words beginning to desert him. And worse, his voice was tightening and growing rougher. Damn it!
"Didn't you say he was your advisor when you first went to college?" Jim didn't turn around, but stood in front of the fridge like he was letting the cold out on purpose, wasting energy. Either he was looking for something…or he was trying to give Blair his privacy.
Or else he just doesn't want to see a grown man cry over a college professor.
He thought of all Jim had lost: his previous partner in the police force plus basically everyone he'd served with in the armed forces.
Yeah, I guess the man knows a thing or two about grief. I guess the guide just got guided.
"Excuse me. I-I gotta go for a walk, man." Looking away, he headed up
from the table and walked quickly toward the door. He knew the lump in his throat and the dampness of his eyes wouldn't be hidden from Jim-there was no such thing as privacy around a sentinel, not really-but all the same, a man had his pride.
#
Jim followed at a discreet distance-a very discreet distance, considering his heightened senses let him track Blair from even further away than the rest of his training would've. He was fairly certain no one could've guessed he was following the younger man at all.
A faint tint of embarrassment colored his emotions, but he quickly pushed it aside. This wasn't about him being a 'mother hen,' whatever Sandburg said. Truth be told, he spent a lot of time ignoring the observer or shutting him out deliberately. Sandburg's intelligence, verbal abilities, and energy were part of what made this partnership work so well so far, but they could get a little annoying sometimes, too. The man was always on; if he had a dial, it would always be turned up the whole way. It was as though Sandburg simply couldn't get enough of seeing, hearing, learning and experiencing everything in the universe. His rare moments of quiet were all because he was concentrating so hard, or because he was trying to help Jim by staying in the background and just watching instead of participating. Or sometimes, because he was upset.
Jim usually had to shut him a little bit out just to get any work done. It was all very well to have a happy puppy bouncing around, who always wanted something from you (usually uncomfortable discussions of experiments and controlled environments or personal stuff he didn't necessarily want to walk about at all). But sometimes Jim had to concentrate; he couldn't let his buddy distract him. Blair was all very well when you needed him, and when he learned to listen and stay in his place during police work, but sometimes he just needed to shut up.
Except, that when he did for more than a few minutes, Jim missed him talking. So Jim got him talking again. It usually didn't take much to draw
him out. A few friendly words and smiles and the offer to include him in something-anything-and he would be back with a bounce in his step. For a man who'd seen and done so much already in his young life, Blair still reacted sometimes like a kid who was just grateful to be noticed, grateful for a little bit of attention and kindness. The man was genius-level bright, and he lit up at the least encouragement from Jim or Simon.
Whatever Blair wanted to say about not being bothered by a lack of a father, he certainly had latched onto older male support whenever possible. Simon had developed a grudging respect for Jim's partner, but there was clearly nothing grudging about it on Sandburg's side. He'd practically glowed that time Simon defending Jim's choices to Naomi. He didn't even seem to mind being yelled at as much after that.
Then there was Jim, of course. They had a special relationship, not quite teacher-and-student, but a little of both on each side. Despite the kid getting on his nerves, and despite Jim bossing him around sometimes to keep him safe and help him get used to the life he was now more than halfway living, sometimes totally living, Jim hadn't managed to scare Blair off. Sandburg accepted the occasional jibe and bossiness with good humor and grace. And kept talking and following Jim around and helping him in whatever way he needed.
He was much better than a puppy. No piddling on the carpet and he could talk to you. He could actually help a lot of the time. And, if Jim was honest with himself, he relaxed better than he used to. He could smile and enjoy Blair's company, when he wasn't too busy with other things. The kid made a great distraction.
There was an age difference between them, and sometimes Jim like to emphasize it to help keep Sandburg in line and remind him of his place as an observer-and someone who should really stay out of the line of fire. But in truth, not THAT many years separated them. He didn't think he filled a father-figure role in Sandburg's life. That would be a little odd, actually.
There was just something instinctive inside Blair that let him put up with
Jim, and bend like a reed in the wind, instead of snapping off like a branch in a hurricane. He could deal with Jim's irrationality and the weirdness of his senses, when most people would run screaming in the other direction.
But a father-figure? For an anthropologist? That would be his teacher/advisor/mentor/professor. Who was now dead. Blair had admitted Professor Buckner helped him a lot to get his head on straight when he was an angry teenager only a little older and a little less bratty than Alec.
Jim thought about that, about Alec. Jim had taken to Alec at first sight of him, actually. Something had appealed to him about the kid who was trying so hard to impress while hackled up like an angry little kitten hissing at the world. He only realized later, after Sandburg's confession (and, perhaps, after seeing how much the kid irritated Sandburg!), that it was because Alec reminded him of what a young Blair might've been like. And…instead of being annoyed…he'd been amused. He'd enjoyed the glimpse of Young Blair. Though he'd never admit it to his partner, of course. It wasn't exactly a flattering comparison.
Blair had come a far way from being a bratty kid. He sucked it up, he took his knocks, and he moved on. But sometimes a man had to grieve. He'd seemed so closed off in the parking garage when they found Professor Buckner dead. Like it hadn't touched him at all more than to sober him up a little bit.
Jim knew that way of coping, oh yes. And Blair had done well for the rest of the case. Extraordinarily well. He'd even been able to keep up a cheerful exterior for Alec and let the kid play teacher for once, while Blair flailed around on roller blades.
Blair knew how to rollerblade. He'd mentioned it in the past. As much as Jim had been amused by the antics, he hadn't been fooled either. Blair was just trying to help the kid out, to be a friend instead of a mentor-as Professor Buckner had told him to, before he died.
Jim enjoyed the younger man's boundless energy-it helped him keep up with Jim, too-but sometimes, he wondered if Sandburg was running to something or away from something. There was sometimes a frenetic quality to his running, both verbal and physical.
Blair was walking faster now. Jim could feel his distress even from here. Because in truth, he didn't need his logic or his own experience to tell him when Sandburg was in distress. He just knew.
Cautiously, he began to close the distance. It wasn't that he thought Sandburg didn't deserve his privacy-he could have his privacy, as much as he wanted-but if he was too upset to be taking care of himself and ended up getting into some kind of trouble (which, be honest, he seemed to be quite good at), well, Jim wasn't going to be sitting idly at home and waiting to find out the hard way. No, he was going to damn well watch his partner's back.
Even though he knew they weren't quite partners in the traditional sense, Sandburg had been there for him, and he was certainly going to return the favor any time he could.
He remembered the sensation of Blair's grief from the time he'd fallen in love with the daughter of a drug dealer. It hadn't ended well. And Jim had been able to tell without looking at or listening to a word from his mouth just how upset Blair was. He could hear it in his heartbeat-a certain strained difference, no matter whether going faster or slower than normal, or just the same-as if each beat, and each breath he took, was an ache inside him. There was the smell of his tears, of course, but even the smell of his sweat was slightly altered. It was as if Jim could sense the distress from every pore of his partner's body. He'd tried to help by being friendly and trying to include Blair. It had worked, eventually, but it took time for Blair to regain his normal joie de vivre and smiling, bouncy energy.
It was worse now. His whole being seemed to not only vibrate with his grief, confusion, and anger, but almost to shout it out.
It was hard to concentrate on anything else with him like this. He wasn't in the background, irritating and amusing and company and distraction; he was at the forefront of Jim's thoughts, every moment, the way he'd been when he was kidnapped by that crazy man, or any other time his life had been at risk so far. This was Blair-in-distress, and it brought out the protective side of Jim.
Jim was very definitely a man who liked to fix things. He knew this about himself, and knew how much it weighed on him when he couldn't.
When he couldn't keep his squad alive, even though he survived.
When he couldn't protect or defend or even avenge the people he was sworn to keep safe.
When he couldn't fix a marriage that just kept breaking steadily further until there was nothing left. In truth, he never should've married in the first place, when he was still working through so much about the jungle and his time in the service. It hadn't been fair to Carolyn, though he hadn't realized it at the time. When the man she thought she married proved to have some very deep, very long cracks inside him, well, was it any wonder she needed her space? That the marriage ended?
No, it wasn't.
But even when he couldn't fix things, he had to try. And they'd given it a hell of a try with the marriage, counseling and everything, till he'd thought he'd scream at the slightest question about his feelings, or statement about listening with an open mind and heart and starting his conversations with "I feel…" statements.
Blair might focus on mumbo-jumbo a lot, but at least it sometimes helped. And he shut up when Jim wanted him to-most of the time.
Right now, Jim didn't want him to shut up. Or to go any further, because actually, he was heading into a rather bad part of town. On foot. After dark.
Jim closed the distance between them a little further, keeping his footsteps soft and light and quick.
…And he must have been zoning out a bit, because all of the sudden, his careful footsteps hit an empty beer bottle and sent it skittering away. Ahead of him, Blair jumped visibly. Jim heard his heartbeat and breathing speed up quickly.
Jim stopped instantly. "It's just me, Sandburg!"
"Jim." Blair sounded relieved and annoyed. "I thought you might be following me."
Jim hesitated, then hurried to catch up with Blair. They stood by a ratty warehouse, only dimly lit by a flickering street lamp. Jim could hear the crazy buzzing inside the light bulb that meant it was about to go out. On the glass over it, he heard insects thumping themselves. They sounded really loud to him, like cats thumping into walls. He winced inwardly. Even their wing beats sounded loud, like big ceiling fans.
Blair's heartbeat began to slow down and his breathing to even out.
"Why did you think I'd follow you?" asked Jim, just for something to say. Just to get Blair talking to him again.
Blair snorted. "C'mon, man. You've been worried about me all day."
"Well, yeah, I have." He slung an arm around his partner's shoulders, hoping to cheer him up. But even the affectionate touch didn't improve Blair's mood today. True, he didn't push Jim off, but he didn't smile either. He just stood there, staring into what to him must be nearly pure darkness.
Jim could see the cracks in the brickwork of the building opposite. He could see the rat sitting down the alleyway beside it them and hear its loud chewing. Someone's television blared, a low murmur to Blair if he could hear it at all, but a loud roar of laugh tracks and crude jokes to Jim. He made an effort to filter it out, to focus on his partner instead. Blair's sweat smelled more miserable than ever, perhaps because he'd been nearly running and there was more of it. It almost hurt Jim's nose to smell him like this, to smell his distress so very clearly.
Blair's shoulders slumped. "What do you want me to say? That I'm all right?"
"No. Just talk to me, if you want to. If not, at least don't put yourself in danger. This isn't a very good neighborhood, Chief." He gave Sandburg a pat on the stomach and slowly steered him around and began to walk with him back home. Blair went along without complaining.
They got home and inside. Jim turned the lights off, only left one of the softer ones on, because everything looked too bright in here. He could hear the hum of the fridge, loud as a B52 engine. He winced at the sound and struggled to turn his hearing down.
Blair cast him a surprised look, one tinged with concern. "Your senses bothering you, man?" He reached for a kitchen towel and swiped it over the back of his neck, wiping away some of his sweat. He must've already wiped away the tears, because there was no wetness on his face, even though Jim knew for certain he'd been crying earlier.
Jim shrugged. "A bit. I keep turning them down, but they keep turning themselves back up."
Blair walked over to him and looked up into his face, searching his gaze. "Well, you're in hyper vigilant mode, aren't you? No wonder they're acting up." He gave Jim a pat on the chest. "Would you quit worrying about me, buddy? It's touching and all, but really unnecessary." He started to turn away again.
Jim caught his arm gently and turned him round again. "Sure thing, Chief. I'll quit worrying about you if you'll sit down for a minute with me on the couch." He released Sandburg and spread his arms. "If you want to talk,
we'll talk. If you just want to be quiet for a few minutes, we can do that, too."
Blair gave him a skeptical look, and then smiled suddenly. It made his face light up ruefully, a look Jim liked to see-his good nature reasserting itself. His shoulders were already a little less slumped. The other signs weren't there yet, but maybe they were on the way.
Blair shook his head gently. "Jim, you are so going to regret that! Because I really do need to talk to somebody right now, and well, you might just get more than you asked for in the gut-spillage department."
"That's fine, Chief." He steer Blair gently toward the couch and got them both seated and crossed his arms. "You say what you need to say."
"You sure? Because usually you just want me to shut up."
"That's hardly fair, Chief."
"Maybe I don't feel like being very fair right now." He buried his head in his hands, shaking his head slightly. He looked like he was in pain. The very sound of his heartbeat confirmed it. "Oh man, where do I start?"
"Start? It's just one thing, surely. Losing your mentor."
"Well, yeah, and no, man. I mean, that's part of it. A big part. But now the whole thing looks so much bigger." He took a deep, shaky breath and straightened up, rubbing a hand over his face and frowning. "The dad thing…yeah, I lied. It bothered me, not knowing who I could count on, other than Mom."
He took a deep breath. "When I figured out the men in my mom's life weren't going to be there for very long, I changed it into a kind of game-a way of studying people. See how much I could get from them, like the baseball games and gifts. Made it easier when they left. I still have some case notes I wrote at that age, studies of subjects and their different and similar reactions. I got good enough that I could predict when they'd leave
to within a few weeks.
"Professor Buckner was an anchor for me for a while when I was an angry kid. He helped me find my passion and grow up a little. Don't laugh!"
Jim spread his hands placidly. "I wasn't going to."
"Hmm. Well, now he's gone, too. Damn it, he's gone, too. And he wasn't even who I thought he was in the first place, or he wouldn't have lied to me and used my artifact for smuggling. It's just gotten all way too serious. I'm behind on my school responsibilities, always playing catch-up, and at the same time trying to keep you out of danger and help with the sentinel stuff. And study. And help solve crimes. And observe without crossing the line that has Simon kick me out. I don't know how much more I have to give. I'm tired, man. I'm tired of not being good enough anymore, at anything.
"I don't fit anywhere! I don't fit at school anymore, I don't fit at your work. I just don't fit. I'm an anthropologist. I'm supposed to be able to study cultures and fit myself into them. I'm supposed to be able to transcend my own limitations and step into another world to learn and grow and study and live and experience. And I'm just stuck in limbo."
continued in part two: http://hutchynstarsk.livejournal.com/292200.html