Author's webpage: http://www.dexters-world.de

Disclaimer: The Sentinel belongs to Pet Fly Productions and Paramount. No money, no copyright infringement, no claim on anything but the content of the story. This is purely intended to entertain the people.

Notes: I have no idea what drove me to write another "Sentinel Too" story. There are so many wonderful stories out there, like Candy's "New Beginning" series, but somehow this demanded its attention. Just a short story, almost a PWP with no sex (sorry), which will take you no longer than....6 Minutes and 34 seconds.

Thanks to JD for her quick beta! It's greatly, HIGHLY appreciated.

For Rike... good luck tomorrow!!

6 Minutes, 34 Seconds
~ Sentinel Too ~
by DannyD

The silence was deafening and, what was worse, there was an awkward, screaming discomfort as Jim turned the key and pushed the door open. His hyperactive hearing cursed him with the thunder of a heartbeat that wasn't his own. Certainly, his heart was racing out of control, but the sound of Blair's accelerating heart rate saddened him.

It made feel him guilty, remembering all too well the hurt in Blair's eyes as he'd spoken the words out loud.

'Are you kicking me out, Jim?' Complete disbelief mingled with pain and betrayal. Those damn big blue eyes talking like they had a mind of their own.

'I don't wanna talk about it, I don't wanna analyze it. I just want you out of here by the time I get back.' Thud. The door closed with a dreadful finality.

Now, the door to the loft opened with a squeaking sound. Jim Ellison had never been aware of the fact that the screws and hinge needed oiling, and the noise mirrored the inner turmoil both men felt as they entered the apartment together.

Together.

Alive.

Strangers.

Blair Sandburg had been released from the hospital today, and, as usual, Jim had picked him up. As usual? No way. As macabre as it sounded, Jim suddenly cherished the moments when he had taken Blair home from another hospital stay before. Endless discussions about having to use the obligatory wheelchair, complaints about the science experiments Blair called "food" gone terribly wrong, or just a heartfelt "oh man, I'm like so glad to get home and sleep in my own bed."

This time Blair had endured the hospital procedures without a word of annoyance. He hadn't uttered one single word about the food - not even when Jim prompted him - and the joy of going home was replaced by the fear and memory of what had happened earlier.

Before - when Blair didn't have a home anymore.

...because Jim had thrown him out, then packed his own bags and left him without a word of explanation. A friendship as precious as theirs was threatened because neither Jim nor Blair was able to break through the barrier of miscommunication that had built up between them for the first time.

Nine days ago Blair had died, and, driven by a force that could be interpreted as sheer will power, he had come back. Returning to life with his heartbeat faint and his breathing labored, he had opened his eyes. In the intense stare of the his partner's ice-blue eyes, Blair saw genuine concern and warmth. Still, something had been missing. Something Blair had hoped to see, something he'd come back for.

...and something he would die for.

"I went to the store this morning to grab something for us to eat," Jim just said as they stepped inside the apartment. Closing the door, the two men stood there for a moment, neither of them able to talk and both ready to escape from each other's presence.

What has happened to us, Chief? Ellison thought, wishing, praying for a verbal hint, an invitation to sit down and talk.

"If you don't mind, I'll go straight to bed, Jim," Blair replied, moving over to the French doors that separated his bedroom from the living room area. "I'm kinda tired." He grimaced. "Like I've done anything strenuous the over the last few days," he added.

Normally, Jim would have commented, would have insisted he ate something, but today the older man just nodded, following Blair's movements with his eyes until his friend disappeared into his bedroom. Blair closed the door and shut Jim out.

Staring into space, the blinking red light of the answering machine caught Ellison's attention. It was flashing in a wild staccato, indicating the tape was full and no more message could be received. Jim frowned as he strolled over to the table and hit the 'play' button. In last nine days, Jim hadn't cared much about his life, the loft or checking his mail. The pile of letters, bills probably, was still lying in the basket beside the door, untouched and forgotten.

The machine beeped. 'You have three messages,' the electronic voice announced.

"Just three," Jim mumbled as he walked back into the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. He didn't feel like eating.

'Message 1, 28 seconds, Monday, 4.32 a.m.'

Jim frowned as the dark voice of his captain penetrated the silence. Why didn't Simon tell him he had called? Monday?

"Jim, this is Simon. I just received another phone call from the airport. A woman matching the Alex Barnes' description boarded a plane to Hong Kong tonight. She's fooling us, Jim. Call me as soon as you can."

Click. Beep.

'Message 2, 26 seconds, Monday, 5.02 a.m.'

Simon again. "Jim? Jim, pick up the phone if you're there. Don't, I'm repeating, DON'T go after her alone. Connor is on the way. You hear me?"

Click. Beep.

Jim stopped in his tracks as reality hit him: He was listening to the message posted on that dreadful morning nine days ago. On the morning he would never forget for the rest of his life. Damn it! The memories came back with a vengeance. Mental images of him on his way to Rainier, Megan trying to comfort him, encouraging words in her thick Australian accent flooded his mind. Screeching tires. Simon, Rafe and Brown following them. Racing up the few steps leading into the Anthro building. Turning around for no apparent reason.

His friend lying face down in the fountain.

The detective cast a look over his shoulder at the French doors banning him from Blair's world. Jim moved over to the doors and raised his hands to tentatively knock at the glass. The motion died in the air, as the machine played the last message.

'Message 3, 6 minutes, 34 seconds, Monday, 5.53 a.m.'

"Hi, Jim, it's Blair . Listen, man, I'm in my office. I... just wanna say I'm sorry. Yeah, I said that before but I really mean that. This whole thing with Alex is driving us apart. For some reason, we cannot talk right now about this because everything comes out the wrong way. We're both too stubborn, I guess. Our ...friendship is way too important to let that happen. I'm not talking about my thesis or your senses. Honestly, it would hurt to abandon my but if you'd ask me to I would tear it apart. If you look at it, it's not more than 1,200 sheets of paper."

A joyless laugh.

"It's us I want to save. You and me. Together we can beat her. She's evil. If....if you think about it, the spotted jaguar, the black jaguar, it's like the fight of good vs. evil. "

Jim smiled as Blair began to talk faster.

"I haven't figured it out completely yet, but..." A long pause. "Geez, what am I trying to say, here?"

Jim closed his eyes, as he heard the strain in Blair's voice struggling for the right words. Another long moment went by and the machine started beeping as the tape ended.

"I love you, big guy. I...love you, yes."

Jim froze.

"Are you surprised? I meant to tell..."

Sandburg was cut off by the sound of an opening door.

"Alex!" Blair said the name that sent shiver's down Jim's spine.

Startled, Jim opened his eyes and found himself staring into the shining blue his of his friend. Their eyes exchanged a mute conversation, pleading for forgiveness and radiating warmth, as the last line of message was cut off mid-sentence. "Do you really want to know how I got the Sen...."

Click. Beep.

Again, the loft was bathed in silence but their eyes spoke volumes. Jim blinked, as did Blair. Slowly, as if he were balancing over a narrow beam, Jim stepped forward. The silence was broken only by the rustling of clothes as the older man opened his arm. Blair swallowed, and his cheeks were wet with tears. He leaned into Jim, burying his face in the soft fabric of a wool sweater.

"You...," Jim cleared his throat. "...love me?"

The mop of curls under his chin moved in a confirming nod and Jim tightened his hold on the young anthropologist.

They hugged each for a long time as seconds became minutes. Jim felt the moisture of his own tears on his face, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling, seeking an answer his heart and soul had known for so long.

The Sentinel's voice broke. "I love you, too, Chief."

The End.