This is a dark, unbeta'd little piece that grabbed me and shook me in it's teeth until I wrote it. It may not make any sense to anyone but me, but at least the damn rabbit has been put down.

Title: Masking
Warnings: Lots of swearing. Darkish. (Apparently I can't read dark stuff, but it's okay to write?)
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Fandom: Sentinel

*_*_*

Jim was disgusted with himself. It’d been a shitty day and he'd been mean and spiteful to everyone around him. He'd thrown the Prentice file at Rafe, a cold, disdainful look on his face saying very clearly what he thought of the detective's ability and work ethic. What a little fuck-up. God, he knew that Rafe was dealing with a sick mother, but did that excuse slacking on a case? Now the perp had walked, and Jim would have to clean up the little shit's mess.  Incompetent ass.

No, no. Stop it! Jim clenched his teeth and shook his head, ignoring the stares of the other drivers at the stoplight.  Keep it together Jimmy, just cool it.  Don’t let it touch you, just focus on the job.  

Which of course, only brought his thoughts back to Simon.  He was sure, mostly sure, that Simon had only been trying to help, but Jim just couldn't stand one more condescending look, one more smugly offered cup of coffee. Didn't the man know when to stop? It was like he enjoyed rubbing Jim's face in this Sentinel shit, and then with the other hand, 'Oh too bad, so sad, you're having a tough time? And oh by the way, here's another difficult case. Have it solved by lunch, okay?'

And what was Simon doing? Lounging in his cushy little office, playing footsy with the mayor, probably thinking about arranging for some nice retirement.  Meanwhile Jim was dirty, messy, in the trenches. No one cared, no one worked, it was just Jim and he couldn't trust anyone to get his back...

Jim slammed his way into the building, trying to attack the horribly mean, grossly fucked up thoughts in his head. He was so wrong for thinking about Simon like this. Simon who'd gone to bat for him again and again, Simon to whom he owed so much, which of course made him vulnerable because now he owed, and Simon could just stop protecting Jim someday and then where the hell would he be? A real man took care of himself and what kind of plan was it to depend on the kindness of someone else to keep you safe?

God. Fuck! Jim barely paused in his angry stride long enough to unlock the door to the loft before slamming into the living room and practically running over Sandburg in the process.

"Jim! Omigod, what's wrong? Is someone hurt? No, you're hurt, oh I just bet you're hurt somewhere right? Tell me damn it where are you bleeding? Are you shot? Is it your senses or-"

"Shut the fuck up Sandburg! Can't you stop whining and squealing over me for ten seconds?"

Incensed, Jim stormed into the bathroom, breathing heavy, nostrils flared. Fuck fuck fuck! Blair didn't deserve this from him. Of all people, Blair who made his life warm and comfortable, who loved him-

Who was just going to use him and throw him away the first time Jim turned his back. Can't trust the little fag, you stupid moron what where you thinking to trust him like that!

Jim clutched at his head and tore at his skin, his fingers raking long red welts down his face. Stop it stop it stop it!!!!

One minute. Two. Breathe. In and out. You stupid old fucker, stand still and look at yourself. That's right, look in the mirror. Calm. Just breathe and calm and look in the mirror you pathetic fuck.

Jim slowly raised his head, his own face swimming up from the depths of the lightless bathroom to meet him in the mirror. It was a strong face, harsh and cold. Jim knew this face and was both scared of it and perversely proud of how awful it was.

A sound threaded through the heavy silence, and he heard Blair in the next room, heard him pacing back and forth, smelt the distress in the air currents as he whipped around the living room and pilfered through Jim's discarded jacket, looking for clues to help him.

You pitiful little shit, the mirror face sneered. Look what you did to him. You owe him and look how you hurt him.

Not me. You. You hurt him, Jim thought back at it.

Someone had to. Jimmy, Jimmy, I've always taken good care of you. Listen to me. When Father hurt you, who kept you strong? When Steven betrayed you, who saved you from falling apart? Me. I'm the best, most competent, strongest part of you. Jimmy, listen to me.

Jim stared at the cold, adult face in the mirror and heard its whispers, as he'd done every day since forever. Then he did something. Something new. He put his hand up to it and stroked it.

We can't keep this up, he said to it.

Jimmy, Jimmy boy. Listen.

No. Let me see you. Let me see.

Jimmy…

No.  It’s time.  Let me see you.

And the mask fell, the Jimface fell with a slither and underneath, oh God underneath was a nightmare child face. Horror staring in at you through the dark window when you're alone at night. White staring eyes and it's going to get you, and it's a fucking messed up child and that was worse. That was the worst thing, that this God-awful monster under the Jim-mask was a little Jimchild and it was a monster.

Quietly, Jim took his other hand and framed the horrifying face. His eyes burned and he cried, a little, holding that hideous child.

"It's okay," he whispered to the mirror. "I'm an adult now. See? I can take it from here. You did a good job and I know you're scared. I know you've always been scared but-" his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat and petted the fucked up little child until he could go on. "You've really done a good job, protecting us. But it's time now. It's time for me to keep us safe. Okay?"

The little Jim-monster stared at him, wanting those hands and that voice to be true. But never true, no never. No one ever loved him. Liar.

“Mom, she loved us-“

LIAR!

Jim flinched away from that scream, and then took a deep breath and turned to stare at that truth, too.

“Okay, maybe not.  Maybe you’re right and that’s why she left.”

Left us, left you, not good enough to keep her, not good enough to love, not worth the effort, little Jimmy.

“Okay, okay!”  he gasped, forcing himself to keep staring into the scalding black pain in the mirror.  “But, I… I love you.”

…. no… liar…

whispered the little child, and Jim took a deep breath and said it again.

"I love you," Jim rasped. "Okay? And I know, I know you love me too. You can sleep now. You can rest. I've got it from here. Okay?"

Slowly the horror child's face scrunched up, and it was crying, and then Jim was crying. And Jim was leaning with both hands against the bathroom mirror and he was sobbing and gasping.

And then he straightened, mopped up his face with a shaking hand, and went to Blair.

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