Title: Fatal Error

Author/pseudonym: Silk

Email address: silkn1@worldnet.att.net

Rating: R

Pairings: Jim/Blair

Date: 2/24/01

Series/Sequel: Technical Problems; this file is a sequel to Improper Shutdown.

Category: Series: Technical Problems, First Times, Romance

Author's website: https://www.angelfire.com/ny4/tinsel/

Disclaimer: All things Sentinel belong to PetFly and Paramount. Not me. Not making any money here. But thanks for asking.

Notes: Give Jim Ellison a shovel and he'll dig himself a hole.

Summary: The aftermath of Jim and Blair's first kiss.

*****

Fatal Error

By Silk

"Jimmmmm!!!"

Ah, the voice I'd been hearing in my dreams, screaming out my name, suddenly made my senses go full-tilt boogie. Note to self: Never antagonize your Guide when your senses are dialed all the way up.

Messages were racing up and down and across my inflamed nerve endings faster than Han Solo could whip the Millennium Falcon through a wormhole. Okay, okay, Star Wars is not *my* favorite movie, it's Sandburg's. Director's Cut. Collector's Edition. One of those. Ever since I bought it for the little fucker's birthday, I was subjected to it on the average of twice a month.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, I was thinking about-I was *thinking* in the middle of a fucking zone-out? All of a sudden Rod Serling was doing the voice-over narration for The Twilight Zone-in my head. "Consider, if you will, the plight of the man known as Jim Ellison... He thinks this is just another Pleasant Valley Sunday. But folks..."

This is a drill. This is only a fucking drill.

Of course, if this had been an actual zone-out, you would have been instructed to tune into-

Blair Sandburg's voice. It was on every fucking channel and no amount of dialing, be it up, down, inside out or sideways, was going to change it.

The weird thing about coming out of a zone-out, whether it's partial or total, was that I usually had no way to tell what I had missed. Not this time. Sandburg was broadcasting loud and clear.

Without even raising his voice.

"I know you can hear me, Jim. So follow my fucking voice back so I can tell you exactly what's going to happen to you when we get home." Though he was speaking sotto voce, it was impossible to miss the hostile undertones.

Wait a minute here! Hostile? Sandburg looked apoplectic. Purple was *not* his color. "Calm down, Chief," I said, still at sea myself. Obviously I had done something to piss him off.

Equally obviously I was going to have to make major amends. But for what? And how?

"Don't you fucking tell me to calm down, you, you, you fucking Rebel-Without-A-Clue!"

People were beginning to stare. Beginning? I had a feeling that they had been watching the two of us for quite...some...time.

"Chief, I think maybe you should tone it down a bit. This seems like a pretty classy restaurant and-"

"I should tone it down? I'm not the one who kissed another guy before he even found out if he liked the salad bar! I'm not the one who decided to turn his male roommate into Dessert of the Day! And I'm sure as hell not the one who fucking nodded off in the middle of said kiss! What's your problem, Jim?"

"I kissed you?" I really had to work on that squeak. I was starting to sound just like Sandburg when he was-oh, shit, my thoughts just flew south and that was the wrong direction for all that blood to flow, believe me. The only thing that could possibly be worse than an embarrassed Sandburg was an outraged Sandburg.

Oh, there was probably some inconsequential difference only we connoisseurs of fine Sandburgs could discern, but hey, I'm all about nuance. I'm a sensitive guy.

Who knows where all this might have gone if we weren't interrupted?

The Maitre D' approached us, distaste chasing the elegance off his refined features. "Excuse me," he said, his tone obviating his choice of words. "Perhaps you are not aware that this is a prestigious restaurant catering only to the most elite clientele."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snapped. I may have been preoccupied, but I *got* the implication. A slur was a slur was a slur. Even when someone was assassinating my character with polite euphemisms.

"Do I have to spell it out in words of one syllable for you?"

I raised an eyebrow. If there's anything worse than a supercilious Maitre D', it's a *snotty* one. "Yeah...I left my thesaurus at home."

"Maybe you should go...find...it," he suggested.

"Are you saying he's not good enough to eat in your fucking restaurant?" Sandburg demanded to know.

The Maitre D' turned slowly and fixed his glare on Sandburg. "No...I'm saying that *both* of you are not good enough to eat in this establishment."

"Is that so?" Sandburg retorted, rocking back and forth on his feet. Heel, toe, heel, toe, heel, toe. It was mesmerizing.

"Do I have to call the police?"

I grinned from ear to ear. Flashing my badge had never felt so satisfying. "That won't be necessary. We're already here."

"They let people like *you* on the police force?" The Maitre D' shuddered.

"People like *me*?" I clipped my badge onto my belt, ignoring the fact that it definitely clashed with my good leather belt and its accompanying silver buckle. "You mean, *tall* people? Or *balding* people? Or people close to *forty*?"

"You know what I mean."

"Or people like *him*? *Short* people? People with *long curly hair*? People close to *thirty*?"

"You know...*gay* people," the Maitre D' uttered in glacial tones, from between painfully gritted teeth.

"Oh, so you've got something against *happy* people?"

"That's not the kind of gay that I meant," the Maitre D' finished unceremoniously, a fierce blush creeping up his neck.

I leaned closer. I would be the first to admit that playing Good Cop, Bad Cop with Sandburg had never occurred to me, but the possibilities of it becoming my favorite sexual fantasy in the future were pretty good.

I smiled at our audience, which was growing more and more restive as it awaited the next sterling bon mot to drop from my mouth. Only problem was, I couldn't think of a fucking thing to say.

I glanced at Sandburg. Just to see if anything significant had come to him. Big mistake.

There was every reason to believe that Sandburg was not as easily distracted as I was. The blindingly blue glare of his eyes was my first hint. Not only did he remember The Kiss, but his subsequent desire to punish me was now being featured in those wounded, angry eyes. So rather than wait for Sandburg to proclaim my stupidity to the world at large, I jumped in with both feet.

Leaving no doubt who the fucking moron was.

"Just for that, we're not having the wedding reception here," I declared with an imperious snap of my fingers.

One stunned look from Sandburg was all it took to realize what I'd said.

Fuck if I didn't mean it, too.

End