Title: New York Minute

Author/pseudonym: Silk

Email address: silkn1@worldnet.att.net

Fandom: The Sentinel

Rating: R

Pairing: Jim/Blair

Status: Complete

Date: 10/00

Series/Sequel: No

Disclaimer: Pet Fly and Paramount own 'em, but we treat 'em better, if you ask me. No money changed hands.

Notes: This is *not* a death story. It might seem like one, at first, but trust me...it is *not*. Oh, and the song lyrics are more in the nature of quotes that head up each major section. No singing is involved. {g} R for bad words. No sex.

Summary: Jim finally realizes how he feels about Blair. But is it too late?

Warnings: m/m, song lyrics, angst, Other: see story notes

*****

New York Minute

By Silk

"What the head makes cloudy, the heart makes very clear..."

--New York Minute, Don Henley

They said goodbye just like it was any other day. Jim gave Blair a casual hug; Blair grabbed Jim's arm, digging his fingers into his flesh a little too enthusiastically. But Jim didn't protest by so much as a grunt of pain. He merely reached out and ruffled the younger man's dark curls affectionately. "See you later, Chief."

Only he didn't.

***

People were talking. As usual, Jim tuned out the noise, concentrating on the task before him. Shit, he hated writing reports. That was Blair's job. Blair **loved** words. Jim was aware that some people, Simon included, thought that Jim took advantage of Blair.

Hey, he wanted to protest, I don't force the kid to do my paperwork. He's just so damn good at it. And he likes doing it. He does. A little voice inside Jim's head whispered, "He does it to please you, Jim, you know that, right?" Right, he agreed readily, preferring not to think about what Blair's desire to please him meant. Or the inordinate satisfaction that Jim got from all that...pleasing.

The morning went by fairly quickly. There was too much to do, and too few people to deal with it all. But lunchtime rolled around finally, and Jim looked up at the clock, yawning expansively as he stretched his arms out as far as they could go.

Sandburg should be here any minute. Jim smiled at the image of his bouncing-on-his-heels partner commanding him. "Yo! Jim! All work and no play, y'know. Lunch, man. Like now."

It wasn't as if Sandburg had to remind him to eat. Jim was certain that if Sandburg were embroiled in some meeting or University project all day long, Jim would manage. Somehow.

But there was something nice about having someone care about whether or not he ate. There was something nice about having someone like Blair watching his back. As often as Jim admonished the younger man to "Stay in the truck" or "Stay behind me", Jim wasn't trying to denigrate Blair's own abilities to defend himself or Jim. Ironically, Blair had a very creative mind when it came to protecting both of them. Dammit, as much as **he** felt like Blair's Blessed Protector, he was beginning to think that he had it backwards.

Maybe it was time that Jim stopped taking all that devotion to his well-being for granted. Maybe today was the day that things would change.

It was.

But not in the way that Jim expected.

***

Blair never showed up for lunch. Jim dialed Blair's cell phone, but it rang and rang and....

"Chief, how many times have I told you to make sure you turn the damn thing on?" Jim muttered under his breath.

Captain Simon Banks left his office and strode towards his #1 detective. "No answer yet, Jim?"

Jim shook his head. "He probably forgot to turn it on again, Simon," Jim offered. "You know how he gets."

"Well, we've got work to do, Jim. The kid'll have to catch up with us at the scene. If he does show."

"What's the call?" Jim asked with a frown. Something, some sixth sense, niggled at the back of his brain. He couldn't put his finger on what was wrong. Maybe it was just another Sentinel thing. Or maybe he needed a tune-up. Heh, heh. Wouldn't Blair just love to get his hands on him?

Suddenly Jim shivered. What did that mean?

***

That wasn't a crime scene. It was a veritable conflagration. Jim closed the door to the pick-up and stared at the crowd that had already gathered. God, he hated gawkers. They took someone else's pain and watched it as if it were television.

"Simon," he addressed the older man by his side, "is there any way we could move some of these people out of the way? They're pretty much obstructing our investigation anyway."

Simon appreciated the toll that such scenes took on Jim's hyperactive senses, but he was forced to say, "Unfortunately, Jim, some of those people are witnesses. We're going to have to weed out the ambulance chasers one by one."

"Okay," he reluctantly agreed. "What do we know so far?"

"Not sure if this was a murder or a simple accident."

"What kind?"

"Hit and run. Witnesses saw the vic crossing the street. The white car there, or what's left of it, sped up and hit the vic. What we don't know is whether or not that was intentional."

Jim nodded slowly. "Could have been a heart attack or someone drunk, on drugs."

"Right."

"Is the driver dead?" Jim winced as his sense of smell was momentarily overwhelmed by the odor of burning flesh. He shuddered involuntarily, unable to keep his feelings off his face.

"Burned to a crisp. Like the vic."

"Great. Now we'll have to wait for Forensics to do their thing before we can get anywhere."

"Maybe not, Jim," Simon said, pausing significantly.

"Oh, no," Jim said, backing up a step. "You have any idea what sifting through all that crap would be like for someone like me?"

"I know, Jim. But what's our alternative?"

***

"In a New York minute, everything can change..."

--New York Minute, Don Henley

"Shit, Simon. Remind me to thank you for this duty later."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, Jim."

"Y'know, I'm kinda glad now that Sandburg couldn't make it. I wouldn't want him to see this. It's...disturbing."

Now that Forensics had taken their samples and gone, Jim went to work. Ruthlessly poring through the wreckage, he was all too aware that what he was touching was the remains of someone's life. Literally.

"Hey, Simon."

"Got something, Jim?"

"Not sure. It's a piece of material. Guess the fire didn't get to everything."

"Hmm...looks like part of a jacket. Leather, maybe."

"Hard to tell, sir."

Jim raised the material to his nose and sniffed. "Too many smells, coming at me, all at once."

Simon glanced at the detective. "Well, as Blair would say, try eliminating them, one at a time."

"But I don't even know what I'm looking for."

"You'll know it when you find it, Jim. You always do."

Jim gave Simon a faintly mocking smile. So the Captain thought this was easy, huh? Maybe he and Blair did make it look too easy sometimes. He would have to work on that.

As he began to work through the various smells that permeated the probable jacket remnant, he suddenly felt a chill run up and down his spine. "Uh, Simon?" Jim queried, his voice breaking.

"What is it, Jim? Did you recognize something?"

Jim's pale blue eyes looked bleak. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "I smell Blair."

"What?" cried Simon, aghast at what Jim had just said. "Maybe you're mixed up. You've been missing the kid like crazy all damn day, Jim. That's gotta be it."

Jim blinked away the sudden wetness that filled his eyes. "No, sir. This is Blair's jacket."

"Can't be," Simon said, a catch in his own voice. Damn, he **liked** Sandburg. Even if he rarely told him so.

All at once Jim tore into the rest of the wreckage, searching for something, anything that would confirm or deny the evidence of his senses. Suddenly Jim stopped.

He did a slow turn, and it became apparent that he was holding something in his hand. It looked like a bigger piece of the same material. Charred but recognizable as the lower portion of a jacket.

There was a pocket.

Jim reached inside with a gloved hand and withdrew...the melted remains of Sandburg's cell phone.

"Shit," said Simon.

"Oh, God," said Jim, feeling the impact of this hit him like a deadly blow to the chest.

***

Simon tried to speak, but Jim was beyond hearing. Zoned on the molten plastic in his hand, Jim couldn't hear anything but the beating of his own heart, growing louder and louder in his ears.

Blair is **dead**. Blair is **dead**? Blair can't be **dead**. One after the other, those three phrases echoed in his brain. But he couldn't process any of them.

He came back to the real world with a jerk. Simon was so close. In his face. "Jim, I've been screaming at you for five minutes! I thought...I thought maybe you weren't coming back."

"Blair can't be dead, Simon."

"Jim...."

"He can't be. I would know. I would...**know**. I would...."

In a sudden shocking moment of clarity, Jim recognized his feelings for Blair for what they really were.

Too late.

***

"If you find someone to love in this world, you better hang on tooth and nail,

The wolf is always at the door...."

--New York Minute by Don Henley

"Jim, don't you do something stupid!" Simon called after the detective. He could no more prevent Jim from running away from the crime scene than he could have stopped him from loving Sandburg. Yeah, yeah, he knew how it was with them. But he didn't think that Jim himself knew. Till that moment.

***

Jim raced up three flights of stairs to the door of the loft. He would be there. He would open the fucking door and Blair would be there. It was all a mistake. It had to be. Blair wasn't dead.

"You were dead before, Chief. And you came back. You can come back again. Can't you?" Those last few words were wrung from somewhere deep inside Jim, their anguish reverberating throughout the empty loft.

Jim threw open the balcony doors. It was starting to rain. Hard. But Jim didn't notice. Drops of rain pelted his face, the sky shedding the tears that Jim Ellison couldn't.

He sank to his knees, uncaring that he knelt in a puddle of dirty water. "Come back, Chief. Please?"

Reason told Jim that there were some things that were not meant to be.

Emotion, unspent, undeclared emotion told Jim that there were some things that even he could not give up believing in.

Blair Sandburg was one of those things.

***

Jim was thoroughly soaked when he finally came back inside the loft. There was no sense in talking to God. It wasn't that Jim didn't believe in God anymore, but in a way, he was convinced that God didn't believe in Jim anymore.

What could He tell Jim that Jim couldn't tell himself? That He gave Jim a precious gift. That He gave Jim the love that he sought. That Jim was too blind to realize that love was right there in his life all along.

Raking a hand through his wet hair, Jim made his way haltingly to Blair's room. It was where he still felt Blair's presence most strongly. He lay down on Blair's bed and gathered up the bed linens, holding them to his nose for a brief moment. They smelled like Blair.

Crushing the linens to his chest as if they were Blair himself, Jim rolled over onto his side and buried his face in Blair's pillow.

Then, and only then, could he cry...for all he had lost.

"I love you, Chief," Jim whispered brokenly into the pillow.

***

"I love you, too, man," said the voice from the doorway.

It sounded remarkably like Blair. But it couldn't be. Could it? Had he brought Blair back to life a second time? How?

Jim looked up at the figure, almost reluctantly, certain that it would turn out to be a figment of his imagination. "Blair?"

"Yeah, Jim?"

"God, it's really you?"

Blair was nothing if not observant. He didn't know why Jim was lying in his bed, mourning like a lost soul, but he recognized the almost palpable relief in those pale blue eyes.

"You were expecting somebody else?"

"No! I-never mind." With an effort, Jim managed to stand, albeit unsteadily.

"Whoa, Jim, man, maybe you need to stay down for a little while. You're not too cool on your feet right now."

Gazing at the younger man in abject frustration, Jim ground out, "Where the fuck were you?"

"What do you mean, where was I? I was in my office, man. Like always. I-"

"Why the fuck didn't you call me, Sandburg? **I** called you! When you didn't show up at the fucking P.D.!"

Blair blinked owlishly at the man whose face was mere inches from his own. Jim might be in a weakened state, but he was on an adrenaline rush, for sure. "I tried to call you, man! The line was busy! I-What's this all about? You act like I was dead or something!"

Jim pushed with all his might, effectively trapping Blair between himself and the wall. His hands shook with fine tremors as they wrenched Blair's shoulders forward, then back, hard, against the wall. "You were, Chief!" he screamed in a ruined voice that had little of the power that such emotional intensity should have brought.

"You were. Oh, God, you were...." Jim closed his eyes on a ragged sob, his arms instinctively wrapping themselves around Blair's neck, pulling the younger man's head against his chest.

Blair could barely breathe, but he didn't move, his body tense with anticipation. His voice muffled, Blair asked, "Why would you think I was dead?"

Jim rocked Blair in his arms, his movement slower and gentler than before. "He was wearing your fucking jacket, Chief."

"Who was, Jim?" Blair whispered, his eyes wide.

"The vic. I thought it was you. But it was the jacket. It smelled...like you, Chief."

"Oh, Jim," exhaled Blair, the name a mere breath of sound on his lips. Suddenly Blair realized that they had stopped rocking. This wasn't a friendly hug. Jim was **holding** him.

"Jim? Maybe you should sit down."

Avoiding Blair's all too observant eyes, Jim asked, "Sit with me? Right here?"

"Sure. I mean, hey, it's **my** bed." Blair chuckled, but he noticed that Jim didn't so much as smile.

"Jim, are you sure that you're okay?"

"Yeah," Jim replied huskily. He patted the mattress next to him. "Sit. Please."

"What's this about?"

"I've got something to tell you, Chief."

Blair smiled. A brilliant, I've-got-enough-love-to-light-up-the-world smile. Aimed at no one other than Jim.

"Me, too."

"How did this..." Jim swallowed hard, a difficult feat over the lump in his throat. All that unresolved emotion. Still choking the life from him. "...this guy get your jacket, Chief?" He wanted answers. Hell, he **needed** answers. But he wasn't sure any of that was important now. Now that he had Blair in his arms. At last.

"Well, it was the weirdest thing, Jim. I was in my office, working my ass off, as usual, when-"

Jim began to play with Blair's hair, curling a long strand of dark brown hair around his finger. He could listen to Blair's chatter all night long. To think, he could have longed for the sound of that voice through all eternity.

"Uh, Jim? What are you doing, man?"

Jim gave Blair a look of complete and utter innocence. "I love your hair."

"Uh...that's nice, Jim. So I went down the hall to get a cup of coffee. I didn't lock my office cause, I mean, what's to steal? I'm just going down the hall for a little while, right? So I get back with the coffee, and this, this **student** starts running down the hall, away from me, and I suddenly realize...he's got my fucking jacket!"

Jim bent his head to Blair's shoulder and placed a tender kiss there.

"Uh, Jim? Why are you kissing me, man?"

"I'm glad to see you, Chief. Aren't you glad to see me?"

"Uh, yeah." Pause. "So...why would someone want to steal my fucking jacket?"

"Maybe he was after your cell phone," Jim said, a bemused look on his face.

"Huh? Well, anyway, it was seriously creepy, man. Now I'm out a phone **and** a jacket. With winter coming, too."

"Blair?"

"Shit, Jim, is that your tongue in my ear? We need to talk."

"Blair, I'll buy you a new cell phone...and a new jacket, too."

"You will?" Blair's eyes lit up like Christmas lights. "You're the best, man."

Jim strummed his fingertips across Blair's cheek. "I'm so glad you're here, Chief."

"Me, too, man. I'm sorry you had such a brutal day. But...maybe I can make it better?"

"I love you, Jim." Blair's voice deepened more or less unconsciously, and Jim registered the way his heartbeat sped up. In reaction to the words?

"I love you, too, Blair." Jim claimed Blair's mouth, tentatively at first, then more urgently, feeling the need to make his feelings known, his possession clear.

"I won't let you go again. Never again," Jim vowed, burying his face against Blair's neck.

Blair entwined his fingers with Jim's, pulling the older man into a tight embrace. "I want to be a part of you, Jim."

"You already are, Chief."

Jim kissed him. It was a kiss made up of equal parts tenderness and passion. Like their love for each other.

Everything changes.

Nothing stays the same.

End