Archive of Our Own ^beta

Author's webpage: http://www.skeeter63.org/jayci

Author's disclaimer: The characters from the TV series "The Sentinel" are not my property, and I am not making money off of them. That's all I have to say.

Twilight by J.C.

It hadn't been hard to find him, but then Blair hadn't really been hiding, just out of touch. Four years out of touch, to be exact, and almost thirteen years since Jim had seen last seen him. He had left the way Jim had always thought he would, summoned by a phone call to a place far away. For years, Jim had lived in silent fear of such a thing, ever since Eli Stoddard had first called offering Blair a chance to go to Borneo. Then, Blair had chosen Jim--the Sentinel, the friend--and their new partnership had continued. Surviving a myriad of shootings, kidnappings, and other criminal activities; a rogue Sentinel and Blair's close call with death; a fateful press conference and, finally, Blair's stint as a cop. They had had good years together, but Jim had known when the time had come for Blair to go his own way.

Blair had spent five years as a detective with the Cascade PD, and during that time he had managed to gradually reconcile himself with and ease his way back into the world of anthropology. At first, it had been a purely personal matter of taking notes and making observations about the group of which he had suddenly found himself an official member. Something to keep his brain active, he'd said, and a means to indulge in the process of research that didn't revolve around murder rates and criminal records that had started at an impossibly young age.

Jim knew it had to do with more than that. Blair had needed a way not to let it all go, and Jim hadn't been too surprised when Blair had started making a few discreet phone calls, trying to call in some outstanding favors owed him. It had pleased Jim that Blair still had people out there willing to listen, though he had fought odd moments of panic about Blair moving on until Blair had told him that he had been accepted into a doctoral program at a small college nearby. His offer of a 'loan' to help cover costs had been initially refused, but Jim hadn't taken 'no' for an answer. There was little enough he felt he could do in the face of how their lives had turned, and some gestures had still been easier to make than others.

Once again, Blair had split his time between school and police work, and he had earned his Ph.D. by the time that Jim completely lost his heightened senses. Jim's senses hadn't quit all at once; they had very slowly faded away. Jim had been so used to automatically fine-tuning that it took him a while to notice. And it hadn't been a matter of realizing that he couldn't see as far as he used to, or smell as acutely, it was one day becoming aware that he was adjusting up just for everything to seem 'normal'. He had tested it out himself, at first, alone in the comfort and safety of the loft. Standing on the balcony trying to remember what he had been able to see in the distance from that same spot before. Listening intently to see what customary sounds from his building were no longer detectable to him, no matter how hard he concentrated. Fear had kept him from conducting those informal experiments while Blair was at home...not wanting to face how much of Blair was suddenly cut off from him.

When Jim had finally revealed his problem, Blair hadn't taken it very well, and it was only after a battery of Sandburg tests and a barrage of Sandburg questions, that Blair had finally been convinced that Jim wasn't just suppressing that side of himself for some undisclosed, but probably typical Ellison reasons. Truthfully, Jim had missed his capability, surprised by how many times he 'reached' only to have nothing or nothing much happen. Like the time when a water main had burst on his block, and he suddenly realized how many times a day he actually needed to turn the tap on, taking it for granted, only to be brought back to reality when the faucet merely 'drip-dripped' or made an ugly rattling sound while he cursed silently. Of course, the water had come back on eventually, thanks to the Cascade Pacific Water Authority and their crews working overtime, but Dr. Sandburg was all alone and no matter what he did, what they tried, Jim remained decidedly 'ordinary'.

In the end, Jim sat Blair down and told him that enough was enough, explaining that he had to get used to doing his job the 'old fashioned way' again, and that it was important that he relearn how not to rely on enhanced abilities, for both of their sake. After telling Simon--who didn't know what to make of it, but considered that par for the course for Ellison and Sandburg--the two worked together to keep on track, and managed to continue to pull down an enviable solve-rate. It had been odd, at first. So much of what they were had always had the Sentinel thing lurking in the background of it, even though they had ceased to be totally about that years before, but they proved they were still a good team. It had been a big change, but Jim felt they had been through worse.

One day, Blair had mentioned, in an overly casual tone, that Dr. Stoddard was having some health problems and had called to see if Blair was interested in working with him on a project that would soon involve an expedition to Peru. Though Blair had tried to hide it, Jim could tell how badly Blair had wanted to go. So badly that Jim could almost taste it for him. But, he knew that if left to his own devices, Blair wouldn't take it. So, Jim had found himself in the position of letting go. It was he who convinced Blair that as a 'regular' cop, he could function just fine on his own, the same way he had before Blair had shown up, and he pointed out that Blair had already missed other opportunities, and that he didn't want to be the reason for Blair to miss out on one more.

Mere months later, Blair had left, resigned from the force and set off for two years to a small village in South America. Jim hadn't considered the possibility of not seeing Blair again; Blair hadn't moved out after all, though he had put some of his stuff in storage, and sold off a good bit more. Still, Jim had always envisioned Blair coming back, coming home, even if just to rest up between treks for a few weeks at a time. He hadn't expected that there would be just one visit, after Blair's initial expedition had wrapped up. One visit for six weeks where Blair had given to Jim the belongings that had still remained in the loft. There had been letters and the occasional phone call, and Jim had been looking forward to Blair's return. But after six weeks of long conversations where neither of them really said anything, and too many moments that one or the other spent just looking, Blair had gone back to Peru, this time on a study of his own. And Jim was left with that spare room, that incredibly neat, unbearably vacant spare room, and the realization that Blair was really gone.

Later, that same year, Simon had retired. Simon had always tried to work his job in a hands-on manner, but he had never gotten back to 100% after getting shot by the Iceman, and he had decided that not getting shot should be one of the perks to having a desk job. Retirement had started sounding better and better, but he had stayed on because of Jim. When Jim no longer needed a boss that had to cover up any sentinel-related discrepancies, and seemed to have adjusted on the job to Blair's absence, he felt he could finally retire with a clear conscience.

With both Simon and Blair moved on, Jim had had to reevaluate, realizing that, obviously, nothing was going to stand still just for him. Some new guy was sitting at Simon's desk, and Blair wasn't coming back home. Others had come and gone, too, but yet there he still remained. One night, as he methodically cleaned his gun, hating the silence, he came to the conclusion that, inevitably, he would have to stop waiting and take it upon himself to go after Blair.

Still, it wasn't quite how he had imagined. He had always seen himself emerging from a jungle to find Blair watching a native ceremony, or slipping quietly into the back of a classroom where Blair was holding a group of students enraptured. Instead, he ended up outside of an office that was tucked into a secluded corner of an old building on a university campus, part of a prestigious Museum of Anthropology and Archaeology in Pennsylvania. Jim felt an odd sense of dj vu peeking into the cluttered space, reminded of another time, another campus, when a different sort of tumult had been churning inside him.

Blair had ended up at the museum a few years earlier. Initially, he had been offered a position that would have required extensive foreign travel, but had chose instead to take a job that allowed him to concentrate on obscure anthropological texts for the special collections section of the museum library. His taste for globetrotting had been lost when his last expedition team had ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, between warring factions of a civil disturbance, and he had the gunshot wound to prove it.

After his second return from Peru, Blair had gone to New Mexico as part of a nationally funded project on cultural conservation that involved both lecturing and field work in foreign countries. Most of the communication that Jim had received for the next five years had been from locations other than Blair's apartment outside of Santa Fe. He had been surprised to hear that Blair had moved to Chicago to work with some sort of foundation for cultural studies. That foundation had sponsored Blair's ill-fated expedition, and Blair's account of that, three months after the fact, had been Jim's last contact with him. During that conversation, Blair had mentioned exploring opportunities on the east coast, and that he'd let Jim know when he was settled, but he never had.

It was odd, Jim thought, that they had kept better in touch while Blair was traveling the world than when he had finally settled down. Not that Jim had wanted a constant reminder that 'home' for Blair was no longer Cascade, but a city thousands of miles away. But he missed knowing where he could phone, though he had done it only periodically, preferring to let Blair set the frequency of their contact. More often, he had emailed, quick impersonal ones from work, but his last message had been returned as undeliverable.

After a chance meeting with Blair in a California airport, Simon was the one who had gotten the latest information, and had let Jim know exactly where Blair was living and what he was doing. In the year since, with still no direct word from Blair himself, Jim had done a good bit of what could only be called 'snooping' into Blair's life, though he preferred 'intelligence gathering', in preparation for the trip that he had known he would eventually make.

He had already been in town for several days, doing discreet surveillance, mostly to see if it looked like Blair was seeing someone. Only twice had Blair told him about any personal relationships. The first time had been when Blair had almost married a woman that he'd met on his second trip to Peru. But, a few weeks after telling Jim the news, Blair had called back saying that it was off, giving no other explanation, and soon after that had been on his way to Chile, never to mention Luisa again. In Chicago, Blair had lived for six months with an architect named John. Jim had expressed no surprise at the news, especially since Blair had stated it so matter-of-factly, but actually he had been struck speechless, and had been given fuel for the fire that had been slowly burning in the back of his mind for years. All current information indicated that Blair was unattached, but Jim had wanted to make sure. He had come a long way to get there, and selfishly, he wanted Blair's undivided attention.

Blair's office door was sitting slightly ajar, and when Jim knocked, it pushed open a little wider.

"Just a minute," Blair said, without looking up from his computer screen.

It gave Jim a chance to observe his friend for an uninterrupted moment. The hair was shorter than he remembered and streaked with a lot of gray, even more so than Jim's paler, still-thinning hair. The voice had been the same, maybe a bit rougher, and there was no flannel in evidence, instead a blue oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up, as he tapped on a keyboard. When Blair turned and looked up, Jim saw that the face was lined where it hadn't been before, especially around the eyes, but the gaze was still wide and bright from behind the wirerim glasses, and the smile, when recognition hit, was familiarly wide and bright, as well.

"Oh shit. You son of a bitch. What are you doing here?"

Blair was moving, coming around his desk, still smiling, surprise raising the timbre of his voice so that for a split second Jim could pretend it was years ago, when Blair was young and enthusiastic and damn near irrepressible. But then, he noticed the limp, and he felt an almost sympathetic twinge in his own knee, a reminder that life had left them both with battle scars, but Blair, he thought, had earned more than his share.

"Thought it was time that I checked you out, Chief."

Years since he'd had occasion to use that name, but it still fell so easily from his lips.

Blair grinned wider. "Shit, Jim. I can't believe it's you."

They hugged, hands patting backs for a minute before holding on in a tight embrace. Blair pulled away first, looking up.

"How'd you even find me?"

"Well, I didn't get the impression that you were hiding from me," Jim answered, his own smile quickly faltering. "Were you?"

"No, just..."

"Out of touch, I know," Jim said, echoing his own thoughts from earlier.

"Yeah, but this..." Blair clapped his hand against Jim's arm a couple of times. "This is nice. I'm glad you're here." He turned around, moving back to his desk. "Look, I'm about ready to wrap this up. Wanna come back to my place? Have a little dinner?" He gave Jim a quick, almost shy, glance. "Maybe catch up a little?"

"I could do that. I didn't come all this way just to grab a quick look at your gray-haired mug."

"Right...at least I've still got all of mine," Blair shot back, again smiling easily. "Give me a sec and then we'll go."

Soon after starting at the museum, Blair had bought a townhouse in a diverse section of the city. It looked much neater than any place Jim had ever seen Blair occupy, but still decorated with the same eclectic taste. When Blair walked through the door, he picked up a remote control and the house was filled with soft classical music interspersed with nature sounds. He led Jim to the kitchen, sitting him on a stool at the breakfast bar and handed him a beer, before turning his attention to fixing dinner. Jim sipped the cold brew, watching...so familiar, but still different enough that Jim ached a little with it, remembering the same scene countless times from their previous life, when he had been right beside Blair, working as one.

Blair's propensity for talking hadn't seemed to have diminished over the years, and Jim let the flow of Blair's words, the comfortable resonance of the voice wash over him, through him. He felt his cock perk up a little in his pants as he watched and listened, a nagging reminder of what he *hadn't* had with Blair, and he was thankful that the counter was hiding him from view. A memory from a few weeks earlier hit him--one of the things that had pushed him to finally make the trip--finding himself buried to the hilt in someone whose name he couldn't remember and whose only lure, besides an eager attitude and tight ass, had been the long, wildly wavy hair that for painfully obvious reasons had caught Jim's eye.

Too many times over the past years he had prowled through bars and clubs, inwardly grateful that he still looked good in tight jeans and leather. Good enough despite his age, or in addition to it, to attract the attention of young men with short, sturdy bodies, or bright, blue eyes, or riotous curls. Too many such incidents, too many anonymous fucks, and it was never enough, it was never Blair.

Yet as he sat there, he wasn't sure at all what he could say or do. He had never really planned anything beyond just getting to Blair. So much time had passed, it seemed outrageous to say, 'I want to have sex with you', equally outrageous to just up and say, 'I'm in love with you'. And now that he was there, just being with Blair was good. Not until he was actually able to soak up Blair's presence again had he understood that he had missed it on some gut level that he hadn't noticed before. They had forged so many connections during their time together, and Jim could almost feel the underlying sizzling and sparking in the warm, close space. Live wires drawing Jim to Blair's voice, Blair's movements, (Blair's ass, his mind whispered, lewdly) as Blair bent to get a pan from a low cabinet, still chattering on.

"Jim? You okay?"

Refocusing, Jim saw Blair looking over one shoulder at him, frowning a little.

"Yeah. Just..." Jim trailed off, at a loss for words to explain, but Blair nodded, his eyes seeming to sparkle.

"Yeah, I know," Blair said, turning back to heap food onto two plates.

During dinner, it was Jim's turn to fill in the blanks with talk. Stories about work, Simon's recent move to San Diego to be near his grandchildren, anything and everything except the thing...pushing that further and further away. It went on that way until well into the night, shared conversation while the music in the background changed every now and then. In the middle of it, Blair had asked Jim about his senses and Jim had replied that there was nothing to tell, not adding that if they had come back, he would have sought out Blair sooner, unable to resist such an built-in excuse to get Blair back into his life. Finally, it was late, past late, and Jim stretched his legs, trying to make himself prepare to leave.

"Hey, Chief, I should probably be getting to my hotel." Jim stood, fighting to keep his hands still by his side.

Blair stood up, too. "Okay, okay. But, you know, I have a guestroom. You can stay here. I'd, um, I'd like you to stay here. Have breakfast with me in the morning like old times."

Jim blinked while something inside him quivered at that. Way too dangerous for him to stay, but so very, very tempting. Before he could stop himself, he was nodding, saying, "Sure, I'd like that."

"It'll be your turn to cook," Blair smirked, before stepping back. "Come on, let's set you up."

Jim followed Blair up a staircase and down a hallway to a small bedroom, and stood silently while Blair unfolded a comforter and pulled extra pillows from out of a closet.

"There should be a new toothbrush in the medicine cabinet in that bathroom, said Blair, finally. "Anything else you need?"

"No, I'm good."

"Okay. Goodnight."

"'Night, Chief."

For a while, Jim just stared at the door that Blair had closed behind him, then he collected himself, moving across the room to the bathroom to pee and brush his teeth. Once done, he stripped down to his boxers and slipped between the cool, fresh sheets. The bed wasn't as big as he was used to, but he wasn't really sleepy anyway. He simply lay there, arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, remembering a time when, even in the darkened room, he would have been able to see the stuccoed patterns overhead, or smell the leather of the jacket Blair had hanging downstairs in the front hall, or hear Blair's quiet breathing as he slept. Remembering the old days with Blair, which made him feel old. He had never thought that he would miss out on so much time. Way in the back of his mind, he had pictured the two of them as old farts living out their twilight years. Joking and fishing, reading and talking. Even before he had realized that his feelings were no longer just friendly or fraternal. After that, sex and kissing had been added to his musings. Maybe one day, he told himself, when Blair was as dissatisfied and unsettled in his life as Jim was in his own. In the meantime, what Jim had rediscovered felt good, and he vowed not to let them get out of touch again.

A light knock disturbed Jim's thoughts, and, with a soft creak, the bedroom door slowly opened. He looked over to see Blair silhouetted in the doorway, and it was so like fantasies that he'd had back at the loft, of Blair coming to him in the night, that his dick grew instantly hard.

"Jim?" A low whisper. "Jim?" A little louder.

"Yeah?" Jim raised his head, trying to see more clearly. "You okay?"

"Uh huh, just couldn't sleep," Blair said as he walked all the way into the room.

"Me either," Jim responded, chuckling softly, though it sounded harsh in the darkness.

Blair sat down on the edge of the bed, and Jim didn't dare move. For endless seconds, there was only silence. Jim had almost made up his mind to say something, when Blair finally spoke. He told Jim how much he had truly missed him, how he hadn't meant to slip away completely, but it had made it easier to move on, and he had been afraid that going back meant going back, and he had needed to feel he was moving forward. And how many times he had wanted to call, started to call, but could never imagine it being as easy as it evidently had turned out to be when Jim had just shown up out of the blue. The hushed, but impassioned words surrounded Jim, and then there was silence again, broken only by the gently ragged sound of the two men breathing.

Blair started to rise, saying, "Well, um, I just felt I owed it to you to let you know that."

"Chief..."

Jim grabbed Blair by the arm to keep him from leaving, and thought it was a perfect time to kiss him. Their faces were so close, and it could be long and deep or short and sweet. And afterwards, Jim could tell Blair that he had missed him, too, and more than that, he loved him, that he had already wasted too much damn time, that he should have come sooner, but he hadn't wanted to be in the way of wherever Blair's life was going. He could beg Blair for a chance, just one chance to show him how good it could be, how good they could be, partners in a way that went beyond what they had had before. But, while he was still thinking it all out, Blair kissed him, a tentative fleeting touch of lips and quick dart of tongue that ended far too soon.

"Shit, Jim, I'm sorry." Blair tried to pull away, but Jim held him tight, pulling him closer. Words were whispered across Jim's chest, "I tried to get over you. For years, I tried."

"It's okay, Chief, because, you see...I never tried to get over you."

With a hitched breath, Blair looked up, staring at him, and he wished desperately that he could see the expression in Blair's eyes.

Then, Blair moved onto the bed, lying down, hands skimming over Jim's body, going still when he went lower and brushed against Jim's hard-on.

"Sorry about that, Blair, I..." Jim couldn't, didn't want to explain.

"No, it's fine," he heard Blair say, right before Blair's strong hand pulled him free of his underwear, gripped him tight, "just fine."

Blair gave him a few firm strokes, enough to push him right over the edge, body tense, one hand clenching at the mattress as he released what felt like decades of pent-up desire.

"Oh...fuck...fuck..." Jim tried to catch his breath. "I didn't mean for that to happen."

Blair laughed a little. "Well, I did," he said, sitting up and pulling off his tee-shirt to wipe off Jim's belly.

Jim stopped Blair from lying down again. "I want to see you. Please."

There was only a brief hesitation before Blair pushed down his sweatpants and kicked them off, then stood and let Jim look his fill. Jim's cock twitched a couple of times, but didn't get hard, just one of the curses of getting older, but he still had energy enough for some things, and he reached out, drawing Blair closer, nuzzling, tasting, fondling, pulling, sucking until Blair was making noises Jim had only heard from Blair in his dreams. Blair lasted longer than Jim had, but seemed more wiped out when he finally collapsed to the bed, and this time, it was Jim who chuckled, lapping up stray drops, wiping his lips with Blair's used tee-shirt. Blair only mumbled when Jim situated him under the covers, spooning up behind him. And in a matter of minutes, they both were fast asleep.

Jim awakened with Blair draped over him and smiled to himself, savoring it for a minute, while he tried to decide whether to go back to sleep or make the effort to get up and make coffee. Blair shifted off of him, and he stretched, frowning at how badly his back ached. One small bed and two old men might not have been a good idea, he thought wryly, wincing as his muscles continued to protest. Lying still, he tried to muster the energy to go grab some aspirin out of the bathroom, but unconsciously he focused inward and slowly a rusty dial turned in his head.

Later, he thought that somehow he should have known, shouldn't have been surprised at all, but at the time, he was so stunned that he froze. The distinct scent of stale sweat and sex coming from him and Blair suddenly filled his nostrils, and he inhaled it deeply, once and then again, before shakily, but successfully, bringing his sense of smell back in line. The 'thump-thump' of a sound long unheard, but never forgotten, had him trembling, sitting up, reality crashing fully into him, and for a second, he struggled to breathe. His eyes were screwed tightly shut, and he was afraid to open them, but Blair's heartbeat was loud to his ears and like so many stolen moments from his past, he attuned himself to the rhythm, until he felt calmer.

"Jim? What's wrong?" Blair murmured drowsily, blindly reaching out until his hand was touching Jim's thigh.

Opening his eyes and breathing deep, Jim rapidly worked through his senses in a practiced routine learned long ago, but his body was still tense, thrumming from the shock.

"Shit, Jim. Seriously. What is it?" Blair sat up, blinking as he tried to wake up more fully.

"Nothing, Chief." His leg relaxed under Blair's touch, and he indulged himself with watching Blair watch him. He felt such a rush at being able to really see Blair, and his eyes catalogued the familiar textures of Blair's face before zooming back and smiling into Blair's worried eyes. "I'm okay."

Jim got up and used the bathroom, stopped in the doorway on his way out to study Blair who was lying in bed wonderfully naked, but with a perplexed look on his face. "I think I should tell you," Jim said slowly, "that I seem to be back online. All of it. And in working order."

Blair jumped out of bed, with speed and grace that belied his bad leg, eyes wide and shining. "Shit! Oh, shit! Are you sure? How do you feel?"

"Fine. My back was hurting like hell, but I think I got that under control."

"What the fuck? It's been years. I thought maybe it was just an age thing. So, are you trying to tell me that you were blocking them all this time?"

"I didn't think so, Chief. I wasn't trying to, at least. I missed having them, I missed it a lot at first."

"What do you think brought it on?"

"I don't know," Jim said, running a finger through the curls of hair falling around Blair's ear, as he eyed Blair up and down and grinned. "Some force of nature?"

"Jim..." Blair said, color flooding his body, "I'm serious."

But Jim noticed the rise in Blair's cock, and moved them back towards the bed. "So am I."

It was a while before Jim got around to making breakfast, and afterwards he checked out of his hotel and brought his bag back to Blair's townhouse. With relatively good humor, he subjected himself to sensory tests, bitching and complaining out of nostalgia more than anything else. And over the next week, they did things they had never done with one another before, and said things they should have said long, long ago.

The night before Jim was scheduled to leave, they sat up talking, as if going to bed would only make the morning come faster. Jim was dreading daylight, because Cascade was a long way away, and the weight of time already lost sat heavily in his chest.

"I'm retiring from the force in a few months, you know, and I was thinking about buying a house. Someplace with a little land, a little solitude, near some good fishing."

"Oh yeah? That sounds good. I planned on leaving the university next year, work on writing a book. Think you'd like to try having a roommate... or something again?"

"Or something," Jim said, quietly. There was a haunting melody playing on the stereo that for some reason reminded Jim of the jungle, his time spent there an age ago, memories never fully regained. Nothing's gonna stand still just for you, Ellison, he told himself again. "How about if I move here? When you're ready to write your book, we can take it from there."

"You'd move here?"

"If that's something that you'd want. I'm not sure what I'd do with myself, but I guess I'd figure something out. Plus, I'm sure that you'll want to keep tabs on my senses for a while. So, think you'd like to try having me as a roommate? Or something?"

"Or something," Blair answered. Warm, happy words.

"I love you, Chief."

"Yeah, I love you, too. Nice, isn't it?" Blair replied, standing and pulling Jim to his feet.

They made love impatiently that night, and woke up early to do it all again slowly. Jim packed and tossed his stuff in the trunk of his rental car, and they kissed goodbye at the door. It was hard to leave, but Jim felt more at peace than he ever had in his whole life. He promised to call Blair as soon as he got back into Cascade, and he drove away, not allowing himself to stare into the rear view mirror at the shrinking image of Blair watching him leave. But he was unable to keep from narrowing in on Blair's heartbeat, letting the steady rhythm accompany him as long as he could, a comforting reminder of days past, a promising indication of days to come.

>>end<<