Not mine, never will be. No money made, but wouldn't that be cool?

Thanks to TSL for all their encouragement! You all are the best!

Warning: This is probably the darkest piece I've ever written. Don't read this if you're expecting HHJJ. This particular muse came in hard and fast and forced me to write this story. This piece also isn't beta'd.

He seems happy.

I rub a hand over my tired face, sighing with disgust.

Of course, he's happy. Why wouldn't he be?

I watch as he holds the restaurant door open for Megan and waves his free hand before him, smiling. They're seated right away; but, yet again, I wouldn't expect that they'd have much of a wait at two in the afternoon. The hostess leads them to a table by the front plate glass window. Unexpected, but serendipitous.

He's being charming. I can tell by the way he smiles at her. I've seen him direct that smile at co-workers and civilians alike. I even had it directed at me once or twice. The memory of those smiles kept me sane during the day and tortured me at night.

His smile makes me boil with anger, and I am immediately embarrassed by that anger. He went on with his life as I suspected he would. He had no way of knowing. Of course, a part of me, I am ashamed to say, hoped he had been writhing in as much agony as I was. If he had been in agony, then maybe he wouldn't have stopped looking for me.

How many times in my arrogance had I shouted at my captors that he would come? That he would burn their world around their ankles?

I should have known by the serenity of their responses that they knew they had nothing to worry about, but I couldn't see beyond my own screaming pain. Before he entered my world, I had been independent, but I had allowed myself to lean on him during our time together. I had gotten lax in my vigilance. But in the end, I had found my self-reliance again and had destroyed their world just as thoroughly and completely as they had destroyed mine.

When I was finally free of the shackles that had kept me bound for so many years, my only thought was to get back to Cascade. I traveled day and night, barely sleeping until I stood just within the city limits, desperate to be by his side again.

And yet, I didn't go straight home.

To this moment, I have no idea why I hesitated. I think, maybe, I was scared. Because my appearance has changed so drastically over the years, I worried what his reaction would be when he saw me. So I had gone to my refuge -- the library.

I remember standing in the middle of Rainier's athenaeum wondering what in the world I was doing, but my feet seemed to be acting of their own volition. I found myself in front of the microfiche projectors.

Two hours later I understood everything with a sickening clarity.

I was dead.

Not missing.

Not AWOL.

Dead.

Somehow they had covered my disappearance with so much evidence of my death that even God had to have be wondering why I hadn't shown up on his doorstep. No wonder Jim never looked for me.

I had prevented drawing attention to myself by biting my lower lip until it bled, not wanting to scare the students with my moans of despair.

More out of curiosity than anything else, I continued to skim through the papers, not horribly surprised by the three months of silence before he started making the papers again. His arrest record continued to be outstanding, but I could find no evidence that he still uses his senses.

I'm sure he does. What was it he told me so long ago? That a sentinel was a sentinel as long as he so chooses? I can't imagine that the loss of a guide would be enough to shut them down permanently.

I lean back against the cold brick wall and chuckle harshly to myself.

I had obviously placed too much importance upon my person. Wasn't that what Shafer always told me? Isn't it ironic that for all my worrying about secret government agencies coming in the middle of the night and whisking Jim away that I would be the one to peak their interests? No one could have predicted that outcome.

Seems my sentinel was too old, too dangerous, and too set in his ways. They knew he'd never break and if, by some chance, they had succeed in making him 'malleable', their data would have been corrupted.

Even now, I feel relief over that fact. For no matter how much I've suffered, I would never have wished that on Jim.

And so the time to leave Cascade and find my own destiny has arrived, but I find myself unable to turn away from that incandescent smile, wanting desperately to have it directed in my direction one last time.

As if hearing my thoughts, he looks out the window and smiles. A surprising warmth infuses me, taking the chill off my eternally cold bones. I return the smile, knowing full well he doesn't see me, knowing his smile wasn't directed at me.

Still smiling, even though my eyes burn with unshed tears, I push off the wall and walk down the street toward the horizon.

The thought occurs to me as I head toward the hotel that has been my temporary home that Naomi probably believes I'm dead as well. I wonder briefly if she and Jim got along while planning my funeral. The thought makes me chuckle; not a happy sound, but a sound I didn't think I was capable of making either.

Does the ability to laugh mean I'm healing on some level?

There was a time when I viewed each trip with excitement. What would I get to see? Who would I meet? What would I discover? Then came a time when I was content to stay at home -- my years with Jim. Later, when I was forced to travel, the joy had been sucked out of the experience, but then again the joy had basically been sucked out of all aspects my life so it's no surprise I didn't find any delight in travel. Now, as I stand on the brink of a new chapter in my life, I wonder if I'm even capable of finding that initial joy again.

Now that Blair Sandburg is dead, is Marcus Mallory capable of finding happiness? I contemplate visiting my namesake then decide against it. Now is not the time to revisit the past, but to step boldly into the future. Okay, maybe boldly is a little strong, but walk with my head up and my vision clear.

I smile, liking that analogy.

"Excuse me," a voice intrudes on my thoughts, almost apologetically, from behind me.

I turn, then freeze as I find my former sentinel standing a few feet away, looking as uncomfortable as I had ever seen him.

He holds up his hands by way of apology. "I'm sorry, I just thought you looked like..."

Swallowing hard, I nod and smile sympathetically, then turned back around, praying that my knees will continue to support me. He doesn't recognize me. I bite the inside of my mouth to prevent any sound from escaping. And why should he? I look nothing like I did five years ago. My hair is short, almost military-shorn. It's peppered with gray, no traces of the blond or auburn highlighted curls that once adorned my head. A scar runs deeply down my right cheek, and another across my throat. I no longer even see the look of revulsion, or worse yet pity, in people's eyes as their gazes run over me. I'm much thinner now, even thinner than when Jim and I first met, if such a thing is possible. I'm not so much skinny as I am lean. I move with economy now, no more large expressive gestures or hand waving, no more nervous pacing or bouncing on my toes.

No, Blair Sandburg has been dead for a long time.

A hand touches my shoulder and I turn again, raising an eyebrow as I do.

"I'm sorry. I'm not harassing you, really. It's just... that is...I'm sorry, Mr...."

My brilliant, brilliant sentinel. You think that by getting me to talk all the pieces will fall into place?

"Mallory," I answer, noticing him flinch slightly over the harshness of my voice. I had, long ago, screamed out the tenor tones he would remember.

"Mr. Mallory," he acknowledges.

I smile at him again, dismissing him, then turn to make my escape.

"Mr. Mallory," he says again.

I turn and sigh, loudly.

"Mr. Mallory, what are you doing here in Cascade?"

I raise an eyebrow at him and he has the common decency to look somewhat abashed.

"Why?" I croak.

"I'm...um...a detective with the Cascade Police Department."

I look at him pointedly, but my gaze shifts as Megan joins our little group.

"What's going on, Jim?" she asks, practically sentinel-soft, except I hear her. I notice Jim noticing that I heard her as well.

"I was just asking Mr. Mallory what business he has in Cascade," he explains, although his eyes never leave mine.

Soon Megan's eyes are on me as well.

"Passing through," I say simply, smiling almost wolfishly at Megan when she flinches over the sound of my voice.

"So why were you watching us at the restaurant?" Jim persists.

Megan gasps quietly. "Jim."

"What restaurant?"

He blinks in surprise, not expecting the misdirection. "Toreros," he finally says.

I nod and force myself to smile sadly. "My wife and I used to eat there when we were in town."

I can see him turn that little piece of information over in his mind, even as he cocks his head, no doubt listening to my heart. Ah, Jim, Jim, Jim. I learned long ago to keep my emotions in check for not all people with heightened senses are as honorable as you are.

"I'm sorry we intruded," Megan said, even as she takes Jim by the elbow and tries to lead him away.

"No problem," I reply.

As I walk away, I wonder why I fought Jim's recognition so hard. Am I trying to punish him...for not coming to the rescue like I had dreamed he would? For going on with his life once I died?

No. I finally realize it's because I know with certainty that I no longer have a place in his life. Oh, if he truly realized who I was, I have no doubt he would try to integrate me back into his existence again, but I'm not that over-exuberant grad student any longer, haven't been for a long time. How does an ex-operative find peace in the domestic again?

Jim did, a voice I thought long dead reminds me.

I feel my lips curl in a parody of a smile, making a woman walking down the sidewalk steer clear around me as she passes. Ah yes, and remember what a whole human being Jim was when you found him, I counter. He was a lot like I am now, although a bit more mellow; but then again, he had Carolyn during the interim period.

I remember railing against his reticence, but now I understand who he was. I've had no one since I left, well, at least, not since Jason died. Just stoic Quantico graduates who thought they were super-heroes because they had a heighten sense or three. Patriotic idiots who threw themselves into danger for the glory of it all. How many had I kept alive, pulled out of the fire? The key I learned, as I'm sure Jim had experienced, was not to get personally involved with them. Do your job, get out if you can, survive at all costs. Although now I wonder why I had bothered.

No, there's no place for me in Jim's life. What will I to do? Settle down and become a cop? I bark out with laughter, startling myself.

This is for the best. At least, I got to see him smile one last time.

I walk at a leisurely pace through the university campus toward the fountain. I've felt its pull ever since I entered Cascade proper. For some reason, I remember this place being busier, even at two in the morning -- but there's not a soul around.

Probably for the best.

I have no idea how I'll react to the place of my birth.

Oh, not my physical birth; but the birth of who I've became. No longer a wide-eyed innocent. For the first time, I had the world explained to me in terms that even I, as Blair, could understand. It was the beginning of the end. It was where I learned my first lessons of how truly ugly the world could be.

I stop at the edge of the fountain. Streams of water dance over the surface, keeping the water oxygenated.

In one moment of compassion, Jim had screamed his defiance at death and pulled me back from the brink, had pulled me back into the light.

If only there was a way to be pulled back one last time.

I snort my amusement.

"All of my rescues are gone," I say softly, knowing and accepting the fact that there is life in the darkness just as there is in the light.

A pebble skitters behind me and, before I can blink, my reflexes kick in. My automatic is in my hand, my arm stretched straight, the barrel of my gun sited in the middle of Jim's chest.

"Do you have a permit for that, Mr. Mallory?" he asks nonchalantly.

I almost chuckle. Jim always did have the drollest sense of humor, not something many people appreciate. As time has passed, I find that his humor strikes me as funnier than it did when he originally made a quip.

I don't lower my weapon.

He takes a step closer, no doubt calculating the odds of taking it from me. I flick off the safety with my thumb to discourage his line of thinking. Understanding, he stops.

"I didn't believe it for the longest time," he says softly.

I could pretend to be ignorant of what he's telling me, but quite frankly, I don't have the energy it would take to obfuscate. I simply hold my aim steady.

"It was only when the dental records were compared to the set in our secret safety deposit box that I finally conceded you were gone. I kept telling myself if you were dead, I would feel it, somewhere down deep within myself. And I never felt that. Simon didn't understand. Hell, no one did. How could I explain the merging? How could I tell them that you were my light and I would know on a cellular level when it was extinguished. For over a year after I publicly accepted your death, I still investigated on my own. But I couldn't find anything. No trace. No whisper. Nothing."

I sigh, then slip my weapon into the holster in the back of my pants.

"I tried to retreat, but Simon and the others wouldn't let me."

"They were always good friends," I say finally, wishing for the first time in a long time that my voice didn't sound so hideous.

"Yes, they are."

We remain silent for nearly a minute, neither of us moving.

"So the conspiracy theory that you were always worried about..."

I nod, knowing he has no problem seeing me.

"And I was..."

"Too old, too dangerous, too valuable as a hostage against me," I finish for him.

"And now, they're gone?"

"Yes. At least the ones with power."

"How?"

"Me," I say simply.

"You know the rumor around the station used to be that I was a hard ass, but everyone knew better than to piss you off."

I smile with him, sharing the memory. The rumor had begun shortly after Kincaid had taken over the building. I had, of course, helped the gossip along a bit...like I needed cops harassing the long-haired hippie. I wanted them wary of me until they got to know me.

"Where are you going?"

I shrug because I honestly don't know.

"Why did you come back?" he asks softly.

I take a deep breath and release it slowly. "Closure," I finally say into the silence, hoping he'll understand.

He drops his chin to his chest and releases a deep breath of his own before he raises his anguished face toward mine. "You didn't know?"

A small part of me wants to see him roast on a spit, to make him spell out what he thinks I didn't know, to make him feel a bit of what I felt when I learned the truth, but I can't do it. Blair loved him too much to cause him that sort of pain. "I didn't know."

"Christ," he whispers, his voice full of distress. "I would have come for you if I had..."

"Believed," I offer when he hesitates.

A low moan escapes his throat and he falls hard to his knees before me. "Yes."

As if by its own volition, my right hand reaches out and brushes tenderly over Jim's scalp. His hair is a bit longer than when I lived with him, but it looks good on him. He pushes his head slightly into my hand. "Please don't leave," he says quietly, not begging, yet not demanding either.

I drop my hand and take a step back.

He flows to his feet in one swift movement. "You have no reason to leave."

"No reason to stay either," I counter.

He flinches slightly and I know the words have hit their intended target -- his heart. He reaches forward, but I knock his hand away.

An almost feral grin graces his face.

"So, you can just walk away?" he demands, even as he starts to circle me.

"Third life's a charm," I counter, keeping an equal distance away from him as I turn to keep him in my sight.

He lunges toward me, but even in the dim light of the street lamps I can see the feint. I counter it and in that instant we're engaged. Five years ago, I would never have believed myself capable of this sort of hand-to-hand combat. It's obvious by his facial expressions, the ones I can see that is, that Jim would never have believed it either. He steps up his efforts a tad, hoping to gain an advantage over me, but I increase my efforts as well. I see the understanding dawn in his eyes that he might be in over his head. While Jim was always incredible in close-quarters combat, life in the police department has soften his edges, at least as far as an operative is concerned.

I return his earlier feral grin to confirm his suspicions.

Then realizing I really can't be caught here fighting with a police officer, I decide to end the game. My roundhouse kick sweeps him off his feet. Before he can gain any sense of composure, I'm behind him. I use his slightly longer hair to pull his head back.

It's my intention to explain to him, in very small words, what will happen to him if he attempts to follow me, but instead as my eyes lock on his I find myself desperate to taste him once.

I bend down, intent on giving him a hard, brutal kiss, but as our lips touch, he surrenders, tempering my hardness with tenderness. He opens his mouth, allowing me to slip my tongue into his sweet moistness.

I bring my other hand up and grip his head, delving deeper as if trying to plumb the depths of his soul.

He moans softly, his thumbs lightly dancing between my legs as his hands rub up and down my thighs. I devour his mouth, my teeth biting his lips and chin. His thumbs stop at the juncture of my legs, teasing me until my entire body trembles with want and need.

I push him away, hard; taking several huge steps back after I do. "This isn't who you are," I shout angrily.

"It's who I've always been...for you," he counters in a gentle voice.

I shake my head in denial, then turn and jog toward my vehicle. I can't...I won't...

My body is slammed against the trunk of my car. Jim's frame covers mine as he holds my hands spread-eagle against the cold metal. His pelvis grinds suggestively against my rear.

"We danced around the truth for so long that we convinced ourselves it was just our imagination," he murmurs against my neck, then inhales my scent.

I struggle to free myself, but he has leverage on me. I can probably do serious damage to him, but yet find myself reluctant to do so.

"I've always wondered what would've happened if I had taken the plunge when you asked me to join you in the water. Would it have made our bond stronger? Would I have felt you with every atom of my being?"

He grabs my shoulders and flips me over onto my back, stepping in between my legs as he does so, so I can't get my legs between us to push him away. I try to sit up but he slams me back against the truck lid, his hips undulating between my legs causing a friction so erotic I find myself arching upward, my body demanding his touch.

"He's still in there, Mallory. I can feel him. They haven't destroyed him completely."

I still suddenly. We're on very dangerous ground here. "Sandburg's dead," I say decisively. "As dead as he was in that fountain."

Jim smiles at me like a cat playing with a mouse. "Ah, but I brought him back from the fountain."

I struggle with every ounce of strength I possess. This is bad, this is very bad, I hear a voice whisper within me.

But the more I fight, the firmer Jim's grip seems to be on me, until I am sitting up, squashed to his chest. Jim bites my ear lobe. "Come on in, the water's fine."

I gasp as I find myself racing toward the edge of a cliff, all four legs stretching and pounding, pushing as hard as I can, knowing that I have to reach .him before it's too late. I hear a roar of defiance as a black cat streaks toward me, his muscles bunching and flexing as we close the distance between us. As if by some unspoken command, we both leap toward the other through a cascade of water separating us, but instead of colliding we flow into each other. I can feel Jim's joyful laughter ripple through me, can smell his love, taste the essence of him. Light explodes around us and I am warmed to my very core. There is no more solitude. No more me or him. There is only us.

I feel an unwieldy weight on my chest as consciousness slowly returns. Stars shine above me while the chill of the metal seeps steadily through my clothes. I lick my dry lips and take a deep slow breath.

Jim hums contentedly deep within his chest. I can feel his music reverberate over my skin.

"You couldn't have stopped what happened by taking the plunge back then," I say quietly, surprised at the softer tone of my voice. Still craggy, I sound like I just woke versus trying to speak with a shattered voice.

He sighs deeply against my chest. "I know," the words are spoken as though they are causing him great pain.

"I can't go back," I tell him honestly, knowing that the graduate student is gone for ever.

Jim braces his arms on either side of my chest and pushes himself up until he is straight-armed over me. "I know."

"So...what?" I ask, shrugging my shoulders.

"You could always become a cop."

I laugh until my whole body shakes beneath him.

"I've always wanted to be the good cop in the good cop/bad cop scenario," he says earnestly just as I start to calm down, which only sets me off again.

When my laughter quells, I look up into his eyes, my heart in my throat as I see the love there. "I don't know if I can be a cop," I say, because I don't... know that is.

"Whatever we do, we'll do it together. Promise me," he demands, his fingers gripping my forearms as if he's afraid that if he lets me go, I'll slip away into the night.

I search his face, looking for any signs of doubt, but there is none. "Okay," I whisper finally.

The word is barely out of my mouth before he grabs and pulls me tight to his chest, our love finding every little hole and crevice and filling it, cementing us tight.

I lift my hands and return the hug, gripping the back of his shirt. I then pull back gently, so that he knows I'm not pulling away. I place a hand reverently over his forehead, then tenderly over his heart in benediction. Our path is not going to be an easy one. There will be major obstacles in our way, baggage to be dealt with and lives to reconnect with, but I know one thing with every cell of my being -- in water I died, in water I am resurrected, with Jim I am whole.

~~ End ~~

End Resurrection by Dolimir: Dolimir@aol.com

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.