You know the drill - not mine.

Originally an ObSenad, I've finished and modified this as a thank you to all the amazing people at senad. Thank you all *so* much for all the kind e-mails I received after originally posting this. Not betaed, 'cause I don't have a beta. *hint, hint*

He was sitting in the darkness.

So it was over. His dissertation was done, approved, and he was now a Ph.D. A doctor. Doctor Sandburg. And now what? What would happen with his life now? Offers about expeditions to far countries? Better teaching positions? A better paycheck? Probably all of it. He had completed his dissertation on closed societies, the review board felt it was a piece of art and he had received some pretty big grins and some back-slaps from the big shots of the anthro-world.

So where was everything he'd been waiting for? Where was the glitter, the party? Where were all the people he should have celebrated this day with? This day, that he'd been waiting on for so many years. Why was he sitting alone in the darkness, waiting for his friends?

Friends...

A strange concept the past weeks... The past weeks? He snorted a bit, then changed 'the past weeks' to 'the past years.' Where were they now? And where was his mother, Naomi? Why wasn't she here, to congratulate him and be happy for and with him? Why hadn't she picked up the phone and called him?

She probably couldn't reach a phone, when he thought about it. Probably off at some strange retreat up in The Himalayas or Nepal or wherever. Jesus, he wasn't a kid anymore, right? It wasn't like he depended on his mom calling, for his life to be good. Right...?

Blair Sandburg, Ph.D. leaned back on the couch and took a long swallow of his beer, then put it to his forehead. It was by no means a warm night - he was in Cascade after all - but just the chill of the bottle helped him think. Reorganize his thoughts which had pretty much been a whirlwind since the review board told him his dissertation had been approved at noon.

Noon - almost twelve hours ago. Seemed like a lifetime.

Slowly getting to his feet, Blair walked to his desk, put down his beer, grabbed a pad and pencil and began to write. He wasn't sure who he was writing to, but he knew that he needed to write, to get this down.

He sat there for hours, writing and pausing every now and then to take another swig of his beer or to collect his thoughts. His emotions, his thoughts, his confusion - it all came out in words, slowly filling the paper which had been empty at first. And when the paper was full, he turned the page over and started on the backside.

Finally, he was dry. He had nothing else to say, and he slumped back in his chair, staring at the letter he'd written.

Considering only for a moment what to do with it, he finally got up, grabbed the paper and stumbled through his dark apartment, over to the window. As he opened it, the chill of the night immediately hit him and he shivered a little, but he ignored it as best he could. Carefully, with slow movements, he folded the letter into a small paper plane, then sent it sailing out into the night.

The wind caught the small plane and played with it for a little while, before carrying it off and around the corner, out of Blair's line of vision. It wasn't until the plane was long gone and he finally had torn himself out of his thoughts long enough to close the window, that he crumbled.

Sliding down to the floor he buried his face in his hands and let the tears come.

There was nobody around to hear his pained sobs, and it only made him cry harder.

Jim Ellison nodded tiredly as Joel Taggart's car pulled up next to his truck. Rolling down his window, he greeted the other detective with a short nod. "No movements. I don't think he's gonna roll tonight, but still... keep an eye out."

"Gotcha," Taggart replied, turning to look briefly at the house they were staking out. When he turned back to Jim, he frowned. "You just get yourself home, Jim. You don't look too good. Maybe you're catching something. There's a flu going around, you know?"

"Maybe," Jim replied, then started his engine. "I'll see you around the station tomorrow, Joel."

"Yeah, bye."

Just as the detective was about to pull out onto the street, something his windshield and got stuck under one of his window cleaners. Hitting the brakes, Jim reached out through his window and was about to throw it away, when something caused him to stop. It was a paper plane. It shouldn't have been anything special about it, but there was. Something was written on the paper and for some reason, Jim felt like he should - no, needed - to read it.

Taking the plane and putting it in the passenger's seat, Jim rolled up his window again and pulled out, heading for his apartment. Once he was there, had his door unlocked and had stepped inside, he looked around.

Somehow, coming home to an empty, dark apartment seemed even lonelier than it used to, and he didn't bother to turn on the lights. It was way past midnight, and he had to get up at six in the morning, so his first thought was to go straight to bed. Then, as he was taking off his jacket, he noticed the small paper plane in his hand. He hadn't even registered taking it out of his car and bringing it with him up to the loft apartment. Yet there it was.

Walking over to the couch and sitting down, Jim slowly unfolded the paper plane with surprisingly gentle movements, then looked at what was written. The writing gave no clue as to whether it was a man or a woman, but some of the words just jumped out at the detective, and he started reading.

// Hey.

I don't know who you are, but I hope you will listen to me. Because somebody's got to.

I should be happy. I should be satisfied with my life, content with what I've achieved, proud of the goals I've reached. But although I'm proud, I'm not happy, I'm not satisfied, and I'm not content. I have no idea what I'm looking for, but whatever it is, I can't seem to find it. My dissertation was approved today. I'm now officially a Ph.D. Anthropology. People will address me as 'doctor' instead or 'mister.'

Why doesn't that make me happy? I have a good life. I'm healthy and I'm smart. And yet, I'm unhappy.

Lonely.

I think most of all, I'm lonely. Two minutes after my dissertation meeting was over, I was in ecstasy. I was longing to tell the whole world what I'd done, that I was now a doctor. And I told nobody. Why? Because nobody was around to listen.

I was standing in the middle of a University campus, surrounded by students, teachers, TA's - and I couldn't find a single soul who were willing to listen, to share my joy. They were all busy with their own lives, understandably.

I'm not saying I want the universe to revolve around me... Or maybe I do. I think we all want that from time to time. It would just be nice to have someone acknowledge that I'd reached the goal that I'd worked towards for the past two years.

Not even my mom was there to congratulate me. I don't know who my father is, I don't have any other family than her - and she wasn't there. She's traveling a lot, so she's not always easy to catch, but I did try to reach her about a month ago, because I knew that the dissertation would be finished any moment. But it would be nice to have her with me, at least.

She hasn't returned my call yet.

So I'm sitting here in the middle of the night, in the darkness, on the day that was supposed to be the happiest day of my life - alone.

Have you ever been so lonely that you've made someone up, just to have someone to talk to?

I have.

And it hurts inside me. I should have been out with a gazillion friends, celebrating my doctorate, and celebrating life! But I'm not, because I don't have a gazillion friends. I've had a gazillion one-night stands, and I've met a gazillion people, but none of them has ever become true friends of mine. And I long for that.

I long for someone to be there for me, someone to be my friend, someone who can tell me "I love you." My mom pretty much left me to my own when I was fifteen, so I don't hear it from her so often. Maybe twice a year, when she calls me. If I'm lucky. And the one time I thought I'd found The One and said those three little words out loud... It didn't go over too well, and a few minutes later I was alone again.

I'm tired of being alone, but most of all I'm tired of being lonely.

I know what it feels like to be so lonely that you just can't take it anymore. So lonely that some day, you just snap and you find yourself on your livingroom floor, sobbing. And nobody is ever there to dry the tears from your face. It's a horrible feeling, loneliness. East you up from inside and it suffocates your heart until you are no longer able to laugh or breathe or even smile again.

Anyway, I guess I'm just venting here. I'm not really sure what I'm trying to say. If there is a point to make. It's just... I wish I could you could make the universe rotate around me and focus on me, for just one tiny, little second. And I promise I'd do the same thing for you, if you ever needed it.

I don't want to be lonely anymore.

Thanks for listening.

~B.S. //

Carefully folding the letter together, Jim put it down on the table in front of him. Swiping his hand over his eyes, he was surprised when it came away wet. He hadn't even realized he'd been crying.

Slowly getting to his feet, Jim Ellison made his way upstairs. And as he crept under the covers of his bed, he swore to find the person who'd written the letter. He wasn't really sure what he was going to do once found him or her, but there was something that just drew him to it.

"Simon, is it possible to get a list of all Ph.D.'s in anthropology, approved through the Universities of Cascade for the past month?"

Simon Banks stared stupidly at his best detective for several long moments, before one eyebrow twitched just the tiniest bit.

"Huh?"

"You heard me."

"Well... I guess so. Why?"

"I just need it."

"Is this in relation to the Merricks-case?"

One corner of Jim's mouth moved a little as he thought about where he was when he'd found the small paper plane. "In a way, yes."

Simon sighed, seeing right through that statement, but at the same time knowing his friend well enough to know that he wasn't going to get anymore from him until he was ready to speak. "Okay," he said, nodding. "I'll call around, but then I expect to see your ass working very hard for the rest of the day."

Smiling gratefully, Jim nodded. "Yes, sir," he said, then disappeared out of his boss' office.

Jim bit his lip as he slowly sunk down into his chair, then dropped his head and groaned as he heard Simon call out for him, from his office. Biting his lip again as he got up, he limped over to his Captain, then nodded shortly.

"What?" he asked, not caring one bit if he sounded grumpy. It had been a very long day and he still had a ton of paper work.

"I got that list you were asking about, complete with Universities, addresses and dissertation subjects," Simon said, handing Jim a sheet of paper before looking his detective up and down. "You don't look too good, Jim."

"No kidding," Jim replied sourly. "I don't even wanna begin to speculate about Merrick's weight, and believe it or not - him landing on top of me after falling off the bed of that truck was not comfortable."

He was in pain, and to top it off, his senses had been spiking on and off since he'd taken Merrick down almost an hour earlier. It had given him a headache - the throbbing, mind-numbing kind.

"How's your leg?" Simon asked.

"It'll be fine once I get home and get some rest. I appreciate you getting me this list, Simon, thanks. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to wrap up this case-"

"Bull, the paper work can wait. It's almost eight - go home and get some rest, Jim. You earned it."

For a moment Jim stood completely still, not sure if he had really heard that, then smiled weakly. "Thanks."

Simon just turned and mumbled something that could have been 'Get out of here,' waving a hand at the other man.

Limping out of the bullpen, only stopping long enough to shut down his computer and grab his jacket, Jim headed straight for the elevators, relieved when he didn't meet anyone he knew. He was too tired and exhausted to talk to anybody right now. He just wanted to get home, figure out who had written that letter and...

And then what?

Jim leaned back against the elevator wall and sighed to himself. What exactly was he planning to do once he found out who had written that letter? Shaking his head, Jim straightened as the elevator doors opened, and he walked to his truck, getting in and starting the engine. He really had no idea what to do once he'd found the person who'd written the letter. But he knew he wanted to talk to him or her.

The letter had been one of, if not the saddest thing he'd ever read in his entire, and it had made him cry. Jim Ellison never cried. Not since he was ten and his father had told him, in several ways, that real men never cried. Yet, the letter had made him cry because it was so empty and so... lonely. And it made him want to find the writer, reach out and hug that person close. To make the world revolve around him or her for just a second or two. To take their loneliness away.

Suddenly hit by an impulse, Jim pulled over, parking outside a supermarket. Digging out the letter he'd placed in his back pocket and a pen, he unfolded the list he'd gotten from Simon and started scanning it. The letter was signed B.S., and after about half an hour, Jim had narrowed down the list to four people. But still... Finding that one person...

Thinking hard, Jim looked at the letter again. It carried marks of being folded both diagonally and into rectangles, some of which Jim was responsible for, but other than that it wasn't very worn or dirty. A little, but not much.

A light appearing in his eyes, the detective grabbed the letter then looked at it more thoroughly. It wasn't raining the previous night, but it had been, so the streets were wet. The letter wore no signs of having been wet, so it had to have been sent off only a few minutes before Jim received it. Five, maybe ten, tops. And it couldn't have traveled very far.

Turning to the list again, Jim turned his gaze to the addresses of the four people this time. Only one lived near Merrick's house, where he'd been on stakeout.

Blair Sandburg.

Looking at the address again, Jim walked up to the gate of the apartment complex then scanned the doorbells. He found Blair Sandburg listed in apartment #401, and Jim rang the bell. When there was no immediate answer, he pressed the button again.

"Who are you looking for?"

Jim turned to see a woman in her mid-thirties approach the gate, a baby sitting on her arm, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Uh... Blair Sandburg."

She looked to be thinking hard for a moment, before brightening. "Oh, I think I know who it is. Long, brown hair?"

Not having a clue, Jim just nodded and she turned.

"Well, if there's no answer, you could try there." She was pointing at a small bar just across the street. A white sign was above the door, with 'The Basement' written on it in deep green letters. "I've seen him come out from there quite a few evenings."

"Thanks," Jim said, already on his way to cross the street.

Blair stared at his beer with tired eyes. He really should get home and get some sleep, even though it was only nine in the evening. It was a school night after all, and he was mentally exhausted. But at the same time, he just couldn't stand to go home, knowing that nobody was waiting for him there, knowing that all that would greet him would be an empty, dark and silent apartment which needed to be vacuumed.

Sitting alone in a bar wasn't a big step up, but it was a step up. At least it allowed him to lull himself into a fake world, where things were actually happening in his life - positive things. With all the chatting and easy banter going on around him, he could allow himself to pretend people were talking to him. Allow himself to pretend they were noticing him.

Taking a sip of his beer, Blair barely moved his gaze at all when someone slid into the empty seat next to him.

"Hi."

The voice was new and somewhat insecure. Turning his head, Blair was about to tell this man that he wasn't interested in another meaningless one-night stand, when he saw straight into the bluest eyes he'd ever seen in his entire life, and the harsh words died on his lips. And somehow, he knew that this man wasn't trying to pick him up.

"Uh, you're Blair Sandburg?" the man said, looking a bit insecure.

Blair frowned a little and nodded.

The man fumbled a little before clearing his throat. "I'm Jim Ellison... I, uh... You... I've got your letter."

It took Blair a couple of seconds to realize what Jim meant, but when he did his eyes widened and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but once again, no sound came out. "Oh," he finally managed.

"Yeah, uh..." And Jim looked down briefly. "I just... I just... I don't know. Your letter really moved me. I mean, really."

"Pity isn't what I want," Blair said quietly, turning his head back to his beer.

"It's not, uh..." Jim stuttered, before pausing for several moments. Blair could feel his eyes on him, and he couldn't quite decide if it was unsettling or comforting. "That's not what I'm offering," Jim finally said. "I'm offering you my friendship, because... I think that's what you need. Friendship. Not pity."

Blair turned his head back towards Jim and studied his face for a long while. There was nothing but sincerity and honesty in those blue eyes, and finally Blair smiled weakly, offering the other man his hand. "I'm Blair Sandburg," he said.

Jim met his weak smile with one of his own. "Jim Ellison," he said, taking the offered hand.

Just as their hands touched, something happened. Blair wasn't quite sure what had just happened, but it had almost felt like a minor electric shock, which suddenly had put the world into focus. Somehow, the world around him were suddenly more alive. Somehow, sitting next to this man who was practically a total stranger, seemed so incredibly right.

By some unspoken agreement, the men both got up and left the bar, their bodies, minds and hearts completely in sync with each other.

One hour later, Jim found himself sitting in Blair's small apartment, the two men sipping a bottle of beer each, making small talk and just learning to know each other. The detective wondered about the instant connection he'd felt for a while, but then he'd decided not to dwell on it, and simply just enjoy the company of the younger man.

"You mother still haven't returned your call?"

"No," Blair replied, shaking his head a little.

Jim frowned - just a little. "Are you...?"

"I'll be okay," the younger man assured him. "Mom's... she's not always predictable in that way. She might call later tonight or sometime next year. That's just how she is."

"Oh."

Taking another swig of his beer, Jim studied Blair's face. Blair had told him he'd just passed 30, but he looked younger. God, he barely looked 25 to Jim. And yet, there was something about him... Something in his eyes, that spoke of far greater knowledge than any man twice his age! The blue orbs held experiences, feelings, secrets, loneliness... Things Jim didn't even dare to try to think about, much less ask about.

At least not yet.

"Why are you so lonely, Blair?"

The question just fell out, and for a moment Jim wondered if it had been a mistake, when Blair tensed up. Then the younger man started to speak, and Jim decided it was definitely not a mistake. Blair opened up to him, like a flower to the sunshine. Carefully, hesitant, but still determined. So determined. Determined to go through with it, and conquer his fear and insecurity.

"People seem to just tire with me, for some reason. I've met a lot of people. I've had a lot of friends. People I've cared about, some more than others. But they've all left me. Eventually. And I guess after a while, I stopped trying to make new ones. Absorbed myself in my work and my dissertation, and now... I'm alone. And lonely."

Leaning back on the couch, Blair rested his head against the back and stared at the ceiling, and Jim could see the tears forming in the other man's eyes. "God, Jim. So lonely! I hate it."

He took a deep, quivering breath.

"I'd write on my dissertation until I wasn't even sure what I was writing anymore, and when I took a break, I'd start talking. To myself, to people who've left me, people I've known, to some imaginary friend... Usually a figment of my imagination. Somebody who wasn't really there, but who I could see so clearly in my mind. Like they were standing right there in front of me."

His voice faltered, then died, and Jim was tempted to say something. But he knew that Blair wasn't finished yet, so instead he just reached out and placed a hand on top of the other man's, where it rested on one of his thighs.

"It would be someone famous. Or someone I saw on the street and just... wanted to get to know, for some reason. And they would take care of me, and talk to me and just..."

"...make the world revolve around you for a split second," Jim finished when Blair's voice died again.

Blair nodded mutely and the two men remained sitting in silence for a long while, until Jim was certain Blair didn't have anything more to say at the moment.

"I'm sorry, Blair," he said, squeezing the hand beneath his gently. "So sorry."

"Not your fault, man," Blair replied, an almost tired note to his voice, before he drained his beer and put the bottle down on the floor next to the couch. "You weren't there."

"I know," Jim said quietly. "That's what I'm sorry for."

Draining his own bottle and putting it down, Jim turned back to Blair, and suddenly it just felt right to take his hand again, this time lacing their fingers together and just holding on. Holding - on. Giving the lonely man before him all the strength and care he could give through that grip, saying everything he wanted to say without words. And the proverbial light bulb went on above his head.

Kissing Blair seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

So did undressing him, caressing his flesh as it was exposed, learning every curve and every inch of his body with his fingers. And standing up and gently leading him to the bedroom was just as natural, continuing to undress him - and then himself - until they were both naked and lying skin to skin on the bed.

No words were spoken as they rolled over, Blair ending up on top of Jim, the long curls brushing lightly against the older man's face as they kissed, tongues dueling. When they finally broke apart, their eyes met and held, and the time stopped for a moment, before Blair reached into his nightstand and came up with a tube of lubricant.

"Have you...?" he asked tentatively.

Jim knew that Blair's question had been very quiet - probably barely audible - but still he heard it as clearly as if the younger man had spoken it aloud and directly into his ear. All his senses were on edge. Not spiking, but just suddenly making him aware of the world around him, and especially of the beautiful man lying in his arms.

"No," he whispered.

But any thoughts Blair would have had of the older man's insecurities were quickly disposed when Jim captured his lips in another deep kiss, before taking the lube.

Trailing his fingers down Blair's back until they finally found that hidden spot between Blair's buttocks, Jim rained small, featherlight kisses all over the younger man's face and throat.

Mewling quietly in the back of his throat, Blair dropped his knees to either side of Jim's hips, his erection settling against Jim's abdomen, just over his own hard cock. Carefully rubbing a finger over Blair's opening, Jim was encouraged by the slight push of hips and the small sound of content that Blair made.

Opening the lube, Jim slicked up two of his fingers, then returned them to that small ring of muscles, once again rubbing lightly and finally probing with a little more strength, slipping inside. The preparation was gentle and loving, and Blair continued to moan quietly, returning the small kisses Jim was giving him, encouraging and loving the older man.

And when finally he was ready, when finally Jim's cock was all slicked up, and when Blair finally slid slowly backwards on top of Jim, the older man's cock easily slipping inside his body, the connection was overwhelming.

Absolutely. Overwhelming.

Blair had to hide his face in the crook of Jim's neck to hold back tears of pleasure, pain, joy, sorrow - he wasn't sure anymore. And small tremors ran through his body, transferring themselves over to Jim.

The world clicked in place around the two men as they started to move carefully together, automatically finding a comfortable rhythm that suited both their needs. It was by no means frantic or hurried - but it was loving. And Blair felt that for the first time, he truly knew what it was like to make love, and not just have sex.

The rhythm continued, and their lips met, tongues stroked and eyes locked, while they worked towards their climaxes. And it still felt so damn right.

Coming with a small cry torn from his throat, Blair's hands came up to instinctively clutch at the older man's shoulder, his orgasm almost immediately followed by Jim's, and he felt strong arms wrap around him and press him to Jim's chest.

The waves of pleasure washed over them both, warming them and consuming them, until they were both left like some strange victims of an unnatural shipwreck. Washed into shore where they lay gasping, satisfaction filling every pore of their exhausted bodies.

Even after the finally spasms of orgasm had left their bodies, they did not let go of their tight grip on each other, the embrace speaking louder than a thousand actions and a million words. Slowly moving his hips just enough so that Jim's limp cock slipped from his body, Blair rolled them over to their sides, then leaned their foreheads together.

They stayed like that for a long time, not speaking, not even opening their eyes to look at each other, but just feeling.

Finally, Blair took a deep breath, moved his head a little and opened his eyes.

"Stay, Jim. Please."

And at his quiet request, Jim opened his eyes as well and was almost surprised. His senses were so sharp, allowing him to take in everything about the younger man. He could see the blue eyes and that desirable body, he could hear the comforting heartbeat and the calm, deep breaths, he could smell the scent of their coupling, taste the unique flavor of Blair on his tongue and he could feel his body pressed so intimately against his own.

"I'll stay, Blair. For as long as you'll allow me to."

He would be late for work the next morning.

"The whole night?" Blair asked.

"And tomorrow night. And every night after that, if you'll allow me to. Because I want to."

And damn, if that didn't bring tears to Blair's eyes again. Hugging the older man just a little bit closer, Blair sniffled once and nodded.

"Yes, Jim."

"Is the universe revolving around you, yet?" Jim asked quietly into his ear.

"I don't need it anymore," Blair stated, equally as quiet. "Because I've found you."

"Yes, you have," Jim replied, capturing Blair's lips in a tender kiss. He really didn't have to say anything else. Because they had made their connection, they'd formed a bond between them, and they had strengthened it. Whatever would show up around the next corner, he knew that they would be able to handle, no matter what it was. They would handle everything, now. Together.

And Blair wasn't lonely anymore.

End The Letter by Little Pinky: inabyhol@online.no

Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: The Sentinel is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.