Archive of Our Own ^beta

SENTINEL IN LOVE
BRIDGING THE CHASM
by: ET

He'd heard about the place from his youngest son. Actually, overheard was closer to the truth. He had been visiting his son at work when a board member requested a moment of the young man's time. A businessman who'd fought his own way to the top, he'd understood why his son had excused himself, but now he understood why, when younger, his sons had been so disgruntled when it had happened during rare family outings. The old man's hearing was excellent despite his age and the two men hadn't gone far. What he'd overheard had intrigued him and so he'd come to see for himself.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected before he entered the place, but it wasn't the eclectic mix of people that he found. There were men and women, young and old, from all walks of life and varied nationalities sitting, standing, eating, drinking, listening and dancing to the music, talking and, in general, enjoying themselves. He made his way to the bar and waited for one of the two bartenders to notice him. He was pleasantly surprised when that happened quickly.

"Welcome to the Knight Rampant," the man said. The young man was around his height with brown hair and a pleasant voice. "Is this your first time here, sir?"

Puzzled the old man said yes, it was. "I don't usually favor bars but I heard my son talking about this place and I had to see it. It's not what I thought it would be."

The man gave him a weary smile. "You thought it was a gay bar?" Blushing the man confessed that was what he'd thought and why he hadn't understood his son's recommending the place. "We get that a lot. The name actually comes from Heraldry. A knight rampant is a knight on a rearing horse."

"Why chose such an -- ambiguous name."

"The owner's a Renaissance man," the 'tender said with a shrug. "Policy is, newcomers to The Knight Rampant get their first drink on the house. What can I get for you?"

He ordered a gin and tonic and leaned back against the bar to survey the crowd.

Despite it being a week night, nearly every table was taken. Unlike many restaurants which cram as many tables onto the floor as possible making it a nightmare to move through, this nightclub left plenty of room to maneuver between the tables. The staff was hard at work, waiter and waitresses taking orders, delivering food and drink, and occasionally clearing the tables when the busboys got behind. His drink was quickly delivered and he tasted it. Mixed just right. With his drink in one hand, he returned to watching the floor.

"I've always found it instructional to watch people. See how they interact. It's quite fascinating."

The softly voiced comment came from his left. Turning, he noticed that someone new had moved up beside him. The person was young with long golden locks and a slender build. But long hair aside, he was definitely male.

"It's my secret vice," he agreed, taking another sip of his drink.

"Why a secret? I'm sure people watching is a great help to a successful businessman such as yourself."

Startled to have his profession pegged so accurately, the man looked at the stranger a bit more closely. "Have we met somewhere? If we have, I must admit, I don't remember."

"No, we haven't met before tonight."

Golden eyes tinged with faint amusement flashed up to meet his before flickering quickly away. The move would have been flirtatious except that he didn't think it was meant to be that way. He got the impression it was a measuring look, sizing him up.

"My name is Ellison. William Ellison."

"Morgan Chandler," the young man said, offering his hand. His grip was strong, his hands having oddly placed calluses. "What type of business are you in, Mr. Ellison?"

"I'm retired."

"I'm certain that gives you plenty of time to enjoy life."

"You would think so, wouldn't you?" William Ellison said, softly as he swirled the ice around in his glass.

"Would you like another drink?"

William Ellison shook his head. "I don't think I'd better."

"Then how about supper? There's an excellent lamb dish being offered tonight."

Before William could accept or decline the dinner offer, a strongly built young man wearing a black tee shirt with the club's logo on it came up and interrupted them. Since all the employees wore the same tee-shirt, the man obviously worked there and, from his build, William assumed he was a bouncer. The young man whispered something to Chandler who frowned at what he heard.

"How does it look?" he asked, golden eyes flashing out over the crowd.

"Trouble," was the terse answer.

"Problems?" William asked. He was beginning to suspect that his inquisitive colleague was more than a visitor to the nightclub.

"Possibly," Chandler absently replied. He gestured to the bartender that had served William. When the man came up, Chandler spoke softly to him. For all his pride in his excellent hearing, William Ellison was unable to hear what Morgan Chandler said to the bartender. As the bartender walked off, Chandler turned back to William. "Excuse me a minute, Mr. Ellison. I'll be right back. There's a potential mess I need to take care of."

With unrestrained curiosity, William Ellison watched Chandler and his large shadow make their way to a table at the edge of the dance floor. Seated at the table was a pretty, petite woman. Next to her sat a thin man with close cropped, black hair. Both young people were dressed in the dark blue jeans and dress shirts. The only thing that set them apart from every other couple in the room was their race. He was the color of coffee with a dab of cream and she was his Nordic opposite, white with blond hair and eyebrows. Standing by their table were three belligerent youths in matching costumes of tee shirts and jeans. Their shaved heads and variously placed tattoos helped William realize that these young toughs were trouble.

William was too far away to hear what was said when Chandler and the bouncer reached the table, but he could see the sneer on the face of the man who was the leader when he looked at Chandler. William was a bit surprised at the easy way Morgan Chandler shrugged off that sneer. The blond man was obviously self assured enough not to let whatever these rowdies said get to him. William was surprised to feel a twinge of -- pride? Yes, that's what it was, all right. Pride. He wasn't sure why he felt it, but he did.

As he stood thinking, a movement out of the corner of his eye drew William's attention toward the door. Two uniformed police officers were making their way along the edges of the crowd closely followed by William's eldest son and his odd little partner. He saw Jimmy's head turn toward him as he followed the officers. His son knew he was here and would, undoubtably, want to know why.

Before William could decided whether or not to stay, the sound of breaking glass make him snap his head back around to the drama unfolding near the dance floor.

Positions had changed. The young couple were now on their feet, the man standing protectively before his date. One of the troublesome youths was curled into a crouch. William idly wondered who put him there, as the bouncer dealt with another tough by the simple expedient of hauling one arm up behind his back. Painful as that position was, it was very useful for dealing with rabble such as these three men. The sound that had alerted William to the trouble had been caused by someone pushing all the glassware off the table. The third man had a large piece of broken glass in his hand was waving it before Morgan Chandler in a threatening manner. Chandler was calmly watching him. The arrival of the police, Jim and his partner momentarily drew the thug's attention. That was all the time Chandler needed.

With the speed of a striking snake, he grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the glass shard and brought in down, sharply, onto the edge of the table.

"Aaah," the roughneck screamed even as he involuntarily released the shard. "My wrist. You broke my wrist! You fuckin bastard!"

"Watch th' mouth," Chandler warned him, giving said wrist a shake to drive home his point. His words were clearly audible in the sudden bubble of silence caused by the move. "I'll no' be puttin' up wi' language like that from the likes of you."

"You're lucky it wasn't your neck," William heard Jim say as an officer took custody of the injured man. "Take them downtown and book them. Disturbing the peace and attempted assault ought to do for a start."

"Yes, sir, Detective," the officer answered with a grin. "C'mon you."

"He broke my fuckin' wrist," the prisoner complained as he was ushered out the door.

"Yeah? Too bad. We'll get to it later so, listen up. You have the right to remain silent..." the officer said, pushing him toward the door even as he marandized his prisoner.

Chandler watched until the three troublemakers were out the door then turned back to the silent hall. "The floorshow is over folks but the next will be on in about 5 minutes. That won't be quite as -- interesting seeing as there 's no drama, merely a singer and music."

Several people laughed at the feeble joke. A kind of tension release. William found himself admiring the man's handling of the situation. Then he saw Jim speak to his partner before leaving the younger man for the bar and his father.

"Dad," Jim said, cautiously.

"Jimmy," William nodded a greeting. "How are you, this evening?"

"Fine. Blair and I were on our way home when the call came in about a problem here."

"You know this place, also?"

"'Also'?" Jim repeated, confused.

"Yes, I heard about it from Stephen," William said. He wondered for a second if his slight fiction would be caught. He knew about his oldest son's extraordinary senses and was glad that, if he had to use them, Jimmy had found a way to do it successfully and reasonably safely. He also knew that skill had to have something to do with that young partner of Jim's -- Blair Sandburg. "It sounded interesting, so I decided to come see for myself."

"I expect you saw more than you wanted," Jim said, dryly. "It's not always like this..."

"You don't have to explain, Jimmy. I understand," he said, quickly, letting his son off the hook.

"It's prejudice like that you were trying to shield me from," Jim said, softly. William looked at him in some surprise. He didn't think Jim would ever understand why he'd denied his son's gift the way he had. Upon seeing his expression, Jim gave him a slight smile. "Yeah, Dad. I'm -- beginning to get it."

"Do I have young Mr. Sandburg to thank for that?" William asked, taking a big risk. Jim was so sensitive, sometimes.

"In part," was all Jim said.

Before they could say anything else, Chandler came up to them. "Welladay, Jim. Right glad to see you, I was. You and Blair fancy stayin' for supper?"

William frowned at the unexpected language Morgan Chandler was now spouting. He'd seen no sign of it in their earlier conversation.

"You all right, Morgan?" Jim asked, apparently just as confused as his father.

"'Course I'm all right. Just need to settle down a bit," Morgan said, after drawing a deep breath. The accent was now just a faint trace, the odd slang almost all gone. "I hate that kind of thing. This is a respectable place and I don't like having it -- what's that word they're using now?"

"Disrespected?" William started slightly. Jim's long haired young partner had come up to one side of the three men without his noticing.

"Tha's the one." Morgan smiled down at Blair. "SO, staying for supper or not?"

"What's the special?" Jim asked rolling his eyes at something.

"We've a rather good lamb pie," Morgan said, leaning against the bar in a casual manner. "Goes well with beer, it does."

"Basque?" Blair said, wide blue eyes laughing as he practically bounced in place. William got the idea that they were good friends.

"No. Welsh, actually."

"You let a Basque cook a Welsh lamb pie?" Blair asked, looking askance at Morgan.

"He did it very well, Blair," was the calm reply.

"Basque?" William said, questioningly.

"Carlos, the Knight Rampant's chief, is a Basque, Dad," Jim explained as an aside.

"What's in this pie, man?" Blair was asking Morgan at the same time.

Morgan shrugged. "Nothing special. It could be called a bit bland, actually. Just lamb, of course, onion, carrots, parsley and pepper in a flaky pie crust."

"You developing precognition, man?" Blair asked, laughter in his voice. "You knew we'd be by?"

"No big secret there, Darwin," Jim said, drolly. "What do you say, Dad? Want to stay for dinner? By the way, this is Morgan Chandler. He owns the Knight Rampant."

"We've met, Jim," Morgan said, tossing an errant lock of hair out of his eyes.

William considered the offer carefully but quickly. He knew that Jim knew it was Sally's day off. Had been for years. Did he want to cook for himself tonight? "I'd like that, Jimmy," he said softly.

"Good. Wait here and I'll get you a table," Morgan said before Jim could answer. William got the impression that he somehow knew William was going to accept the offer before William had.

After an excellent dinner, Blair remembered a call he had to make. He headed for the payphones in the back as Jim escorted his father outside. They stood in the parking lot for a few minutes, each man feeling slightly uncomfortable.

"I know I made mistakes in the past, Jimmy. But I was wondering if maybe we -- I -- we could try over again? Build something new?" he suddenly asked, feeling as though his heart would burst out of his chest. He hadn't felt so nervous since he stood in the hospital waiting to see if everything was all right after each child's birth.

For the longest time Jim didn't speak, only looked out into the distance. Then he turned his pale blue eyes on his father. Eyes that William Ellison swore could see right through him. Eyes that could weigh his soul. He'd always felt that way, for some reason. Maybe it was knowing what he did about his son's gift.

"I'd like to try, Dad," he said simply and William sighed with relief.

"Good," he said, happily. He reached out without a thought to pat his son's strong arm. "Good. I'm glad. I really don't like be so -- separated."

"You and Stephen seem to be getting along all right," Jim opined, casually.

"A little, I suppose," William confessed. It was his turn, now, to look off into the distance. "We mended a few fences after you were shot down in Peru."

"I'm glad. Hey, you want to come over for lunch this weekend, Dad? Sandburg and I were planning on grilling something on the patio if it's nice outside."

"That sounds good," William said, smiling. "Sure you want your old man around?"

"I asked," Jim said, simply enough.

"True," William laughed, feeling better than he had for quite awhile. Maybe things would work out between him and his oldest son, yet. "I'd like that very much. Don't forget to tell your partner."

"I won't," Jim agreed as William opened the door to his Lincoln and climbed inside. "Drive carefully, Dad," he said, closing the door. William promised to as he watched Jim walk back inside the nightclub before exiting the parking lot.

"Maybe," William thought as he drove through the streets of Cascade. "I'm finally bridging the chasm I dug between Jim and myself. I hope things continue to go as well as they have tonight."

After his unexpected conversation with his father at the Knight Rampant, Jim discovered that sleep was a rare commodity. Something was preying on his mind, but he couldn't quite put his finger on whatever it was.

A glance at the clock revealed the time: 2:30 am. Giving up on sleep, he got out of bed and slipped noiselessly downstairs. He didn't want to wake his roommate. Blair had actually gone to bed at a reasonable hour that night after a week or so of being stretched thin between Major Crimes and Ranier University.

Jim stood at the balcony doors, watching, waiting. For what, he never really knew. It was just a habit he'd developed when he couldn't sleep. Behind him, sharp Sentinel hearing picked up the rasp of a door opening, familiar footfalls, and the calming warmth of a friend's heartbeat at his back.

Finally a comforting voice whispered, "Jim? You okay?"

"I'm fine, Chief. Go back to bed. You've got a class in the morning," he reminded his roommate, without turning.

"Can't sleep. Want some tea?"

He sighed, watching the barely noticeable fog of his warm breath on the cool glass of the patio doors. "No, I'm fine."

There was a quiet time before a softly whispered question. "Wanna talk about it?"

He shrugged. "Nothing much to talk about."

"How about the fact that your father was in the Knight Rampant? That he met Morgan? That he might want to know about your relationship with Morgan?"

Jim sighed, gustily. "After Mom -- left, there was no pleasing my old man, but Stephen and I tried. Which meant not only getting good grades, but doing the sports and the clubs and the social scene... making friends who came from 'nice' families with the 'right' connections," Jim sighed and shook his head.

"When Stephen trashed Dad's car, I realized I was sick of trying to please everyone. So what do I do? I joined the army." Jim smiled as Blair chuckled at that. "Oh well. At least my Dad's training prepared me well. I pleased the brass so much, I made Captain fairly quickly. After Peru, I went to college to finish my education. Don't get me wrong. I don't regret extending my education," Jim admitted, slowly. "It's helped my career a lot. Especially in dealing with verbose anthropology graduate students." At the gentle teasing, Blair grinned unabashedly at the bigger man. "In Vice, I got a taste of freedom. Of not having to please anyone as long as I got the job done." He reflected on that a minute then added, "It was hard to go to a more structured environment like Major Crimes. I had a hard time fitting in at first. Jack helped. Then, he died and I tried even harder to please people."

"That why you married Carolyn?" Blair said, frowning a little as he tried to follow what Jim was saying.

"I married Carolyn, because she was nice and pretty and I liked her and everybody kept saying that marriage and kids was what I was supposed to be looking for at that time in my life." Jim shrugged.

"I know about pleasing people, man," Blair said, knowingly. "When I was growing up I was always trying to please Naomi's various men friends hoping they'd like me enough that we could stay together for awhile. Be a family, you know?"

"Did it work?" he asked, vaguely curious. Blair rarely spoke about his own nomadic childhood with his free love, flower child mother.

"Sometimes. A little anyway. But that's not the point. Eventually, I wised up and realized that, though some of the moves were because of me, we weren' t moving all the time because of me. And the only adult I really needed to please was my mom and I could do that without thinking." Jim could see Blair 's cheeky grin reflected in the glass before him as he rolled his eyes at Blair's comment. "But sometimes, I still tried to please people. Then, I came to Ranier University and I had one of the most liberating experiences of my life. I met someone I didn't have to work hard to please. For the very first time, I had a friend who was pleased with me just because I was me." Blair paused, thinking about that remarkable epiphany. "That was when I learned what it meant to make a friend -- not try like hell to be what that person wanted, but to just be me. Make them take me or leave me as I am."

"If they don't take you, Chief, it's their loss,'' Jim responded, smiling warmly down at his best friend.

"That's what I mean, man. You were always willing to be my friend, even when I messed up. I guess that's what made me realize that if I was working that hard to be with someone..."

"Like Sam," Jim said, with a scowl.

"Like Sam," Blair readily agreed. "Then maybe it wasn't worth it. Maybe I was building my relationships on something artificial, something unimportant. I still want to find someone special, but I'm learning a new way of looking -- of seeing my relationships."

"Same here, Darwin," Jim said, smiling at the nickname. "You know, Morgan's made me think that, if the relationship is real -- if the foundation is strong -- you're free to do something outside of what you think that person might like or approve of, and it doesn't matter... they still love you."

"He's a wise man, Jim," Blair said, yawning.

"Yeah, he is. Let's get to bed, Sandburg," Jim said, turning away from the window and putting an affectionate arm across Blair's shoulders.

Blair looked up at his taller friend. "Sure you can sleep, man?"

Jim seriously considered the question before answering. "I think so. Goodnight, Chief."

"Goodnight, Jim."

Saturday dawned surprisingly warm and dry for October in Cascade. The temperature was actually ten degrees higher than normal. All together, it was looking like a perfect day for cooking on the grill. "I'm going to tell him," Jim announced, unexpectedly.

"Be interesting to see how your father copes with this little twist in your life," Morgan stated, easily accepting the difficult decision. He was seated in the loft's living room with Jim and Blair, waiting for Jim's father to arrive for the planned luncheon.

"He's probably going to hate it," Blair impudently replied. He smiled as Jim confined his reaction to Blair's comment to a rolling of his light blue eyes. Blair wasn't sure how he felt about Jim's father, but, when he thought about it, he was angry that the man had forced Jim to conceal his abilities for years -- made his best friend feel like a freak just for having been born with phenomenal senses.

Ages ago, there were people born with genetic advantages: they had senses which ranged well beyond that of most people. These people could see further, hear better, feel the tiniest flaw, smell the slightest change in the weather, and taste the most minute trace of something. The explorer, Sir Richard Burton, called these people Sentinels.

Sir Richard had postulated that Sentinels were still around, but because of modern advances, they went undetected. Years after Burton's death, Jim Ellison was the living embodiment of that theory. As a child, Jim's enhanced senses got him in trouble with his father, so he suppressed them. They stayed suppressed until well into his adulthood. Army Ranger Captain Jim Ellison was on a mission to Peru when his helicopter was shot down. He was the sole survivor. He lived for 18 months among the tribe. While they helped him use his senses, he trained them in better tactics to protect their land and families and, basically, completed his mission before being discovered and returned to civilization.

Jim snorted, indelicately. "As if I care."

"You have just started to get back with him," Morgan commented, idly.

"And if he really wants me back in his life, this won't change that. He'll accept that it's my life and my decisions. If he can't... well, it's no big loss."

"That's not true, Jim," Morgan quickly protested. "It is a big loss."

"He's right, man," Blair added. "This is your father, Jim. Your family."

Jim quickly interrupted him. "My family also includes my Guide, my lover, Simon and Stephen. He's the only one won't accept me as I am."

Simon Banks, Jim's captain and friend, was the only person in the police station to know that Jim was a Sentinel. He didn't understand everything that Jim could do, but he tried to accept it. He even helped Jim keep Blair as his partner on the force since the Sentinel needed the younger man so much. With Blair's help, Jim used his talents to ferret out criminals and solve crimes.

Sentinel gifts had one large drawback, something Sir Richard called "the zone-out factor." When a Sentinel focused too much on one sense, said Sentinel would become lost in that sense. Essentially, shutting out the world around them. That could be dangerous when a Sentinel was protecting the tribe, or hunting, so Sentinels were usually paired with someone.

Blair Sandburg, a student in anthropology, discovered Sir Richard's work on Sentinels and decided to make it his own field of expertise. He found many people with one or two enhanced senses, but could not find anyone with all five senses enhanced. He was just about to give up on his cherished dream of using Sentinels as his focus of graduate study when he discovered Jim Ellison. With some fast talking and hard evidence, Blair was able to convince the Detective to let Blair study him and, in return, Blair would help Jim with his senses.

As a Detective in Cascade, Washington, Jim fulfilled his genetic role as Sentinel by protecting his city. Blair, because of his unique knowledge of Sentinels, worked as Jim's Guide: protecting him from zone-outs and helping Jim to control and expand his senses as needed. Both men had become the best of friends as well as partners.

"We don't know that for a fact yet, Pet," Morgan cautioned him, quietly. "We shall have to go slowly, here. Sound him out a bit. You've suffered enough. I won't have you hurt any more. And losing your father will hurt you."

"Losing you would hurt me more, Sunshine," Jim told him, firmly.

But Jim soon found his private life somewhat lacking. Divorced since before Blair had met him several years ago, Jim was unlucky in romance. Then, during an undercover assignment, he met someone who filled his heart with happiness. Someone he thought he might be able to make a life with. Moreover, someone he wanted to make a life with. It just happened that this someone was also male.

"Your father made some big mistakes, Jim. I've yet to meet a parent that hasn't made mistakes," Morgan said with a sardonic grin.

"Morgan's right, man," Blair added his two cents when Jim would have protested. "And he's older now. I saw the way he looked at you after you rescued him from that strangler, Jim, and he loves you, man. More than likely, he doesn't know how to show it. You need to give him a chance to try before it's too late."

"He's not that old," Jim protested, thinking back to the last time he'd seen his father. He had to admit that William Ellison did look older than Jim had remembered. Time had not been too kind to the man. "It's never too late for one more chance, is it?"

Morgan smiled sunnily at him. "Not as long as both parties are alive, Pet. We proved that ourselves. Didn't we?"

"We did, Sunshine. We certainly did," Jim agreed, shaking his head in defeat.

"Oh, man," Blair suddenly said, nearly laughing.

"What, Sandburg?" Jim demanded, feeling that he already knew.

"You two, man." He was laughing out loud now. "You're calling each other by your pet names. That's a clue for me to make myself scarce."

"Don't mean to run you off, Blair," Morgan said, smirking at him.

"Better not run off, Sandburg," Jim mock growled at his partner. "And leave me here alone with my father."

"And what am I? Chopped liver?" Morgan snorted, amused.

"More like pate de foie Gras, man," Blair laughed even harder at the face Morgan pulled on him. Just then, Jim's head cocked to one side and Blair lost his laughter. "He's here?"

"He's here," Jim agreed, rising to his feet to head for the door.

"Show time," Morgan murmured, settling himself on the loveseat.

William Ellison had just reached the door when Jim opened it. "Hello, Dad," he said, sounding cautious.

"Jimmy," William replied entering the loft apartment. He greeted Blair easily enough, but seemed taken aback to see Morgan sitting in the living area.

"Good afternoon," Morgan said, smiling pleasantly.

"Good afternoon," William said, a bit at a loss.

"We invited Morgan to lunch," Jim told him. "I hope you don't mind."

"We had to, man," Blair's laughter chimed in the room. "He's the reason you' re not getting just soup and salad."

"Want a something to drink, Dad? We've got beer, lemonade or water." Jim asked.

"Oh?" William said to Blair as Jim headed for the kitchen. "Lemonade will be fine, Jimmy."

"They had all the ingredients for a barbeque and then forgot the steaks," Morgan explained as Blair ushered William to a seat.

"We didn't forget, we ran out of time," Jim protested. "We got the luncheon things together a few at a time because my - our - schedules were so hectic. When we went to make the marinade, we realized we forgot the meat."

Blair shook his head as Jim brought out a tray of glasses and a pitcher. "Only you would call eight ounce filet mingon, 'steaks', Morgan."

Seated beside Morgan, Jim smiled as he filled a glass and handed it to his father.

"You said steaks, I brought steaks," Morgan shrugged, accepting a glass of lemonade from Jim.

"Be glad he didn't bring London broil, Chief," Jim commented, handing Blair a glass.

"That's not a steak, Jim," Morgan gently chided him.

William sipped the cool liquid and a pleasantly surprised look filled his face. "This is very good. It's like no lemonade I've ever tasted."

"Sandburg's recipe, Dad," Jim told him, proudly. "There's a touch of mint in it."

"Actually, a friend gave it to me," Blair shooting a quick glance at Morgan. "A southern friend. He said it was his mother's recipe. I hope you like barbeque, Mr. Ellison..."

"Please, call me William. Both of you. We are all adults, here."

Blair smiled widely, please by the request. "William. I hope you like barbeque. Jim's boss has this great sauce recipe and Jim finally managed to get him to part with it."

"I love barbeque. What does it have in it?"

Jim told him the sauce consisted of maple syrup, pasilla chile powder and cilantro. "We have a good Mexican beer to serve with it."

"If you say so," Morgan said, with a grimace.

"Just because you don't like alcohol, Morgan..." Jim teased, smiling at him.

"I don't like Mexican beer, Jim. Stuff tastes like -- water. I like real English ale. There is a difference."

"I didn't know you drank English ale, man," Blair asked, wide blue eyes even wider at the revelation.

Morgan shrugged, nonchalantly. "For awhile, ale was all that was safe to drink over there so they got to be pretty good at making it."

"I like German beer, myself," William said, an odd expression on his face as he looked at Morgan.

"Morgan's a history buff, Dad," Jim explained, correctly identifying his father's expression. "Chief, why don't you dish up the salad while I put the steaks on the grill?"

"Sounds good to me, man," Blair agreed, rising and following his Sentinel to the kitchen.

The salad course was a success. Taking a bite, William Ellison was impressed. "This is very good."

"Thanks," Blair beamed at the older man.

"Blair likes to cook, Dad. He experiments with dishes from all over. Some of which, have ingredients that I don't want to know about." William was somewhat surprised to hear his reserved son tease his partner.

"What's in this, Blair?" Morgan asked, curious. He held up a speared green cube before popping it in his mouth. "I recognize some of this. Like avocado."

"Jim?" Blair asked, an expectant expression on his face.

Jim heaved a put upon sigh and frowned slightly as he chewed. "Let's see... there's spinach and mixed salad greens."

"Of course, man. It's a salad," Blair said suppressed laughter in his voice. "What else?"

"Um... watercress?"

"You asking me or telling me?"

"Telling you," Jim said, firmly.

Morgan leaned over toward William to comment in a stage whisper, "They do this a lot. They are both nothing but big showmen."

"Hey!" Blair laughed as William huffed out a laugh he couldn't stop. "I resemble that remark."

"Same here, Chief," Jim agreed, blue eyes merry.

William just shook his head. "What else, Jimmy?" He was impressed with his son's ability.

"Onion," Jim said, playfully spearing one to show. "Red."

"Very funny, man," Blair grinned.

Eating the onion, Jim finished the list of salad ingredients. "Radishes, bean sprouts, and avocado cubes."

"And the dressing?" Morgan asked, taking his turn at testing Jim.

"I'm interested in that myself," William confessed. "I can't remember ever tasting a dressing like this."

"Apple juice, vinegar, I think it's rice wine vinegar." Blair nodded that it was. "Um... garlic, soy sauce, Worcestershire sauce and oil. Knowing Blair, I would say it was olive oil."

"Very good, man," the Guide praised his Sentinel.

"What do I get, Chief?" Jim asked, smiling triumphantly.

"Your reports done for a week?" Blair suggested, fighting back a smile.

"No, fair, Blair," Morgan said, laughing. "You do them anyway."

"He's right, Sandburg," Jim mock glowered at his partner. Then he realized what he'd agreed to and shot Morgan an exasperated look, much to Blair's delight.

"You do this for a reward, Jim?" William asked, softly, obviously troubled by the thought.

"Oh, no. No, man," Blair quickly asserted, dismayed.

"Dad," Jim began, starting to get angry. He was interrupted by Morgan.

"Of course he does," Morgan said, serenely spearing more salad. "Everyone does training for some type of reward. In Jim's case, it's for more control over his senses. And if it can be made into a game, well, that's all right, too. Makes learning more -- interesting. More palatable."

"I hadn't thought of that," William remarked, thoughtfully finishing his salad.

While Jim pulled the chilled pea soup out of the refrigerator, Blair was readying the vegetables for the grill. On a plate, he had assembled four ears of sweet corn, broken in half, two green plantains that he was quartering with the skin on, and two sweet potatoes, sliced a quarter-inch thick and blanched that morning. A small, plastic bowl to one side of the plate contained spices that he had mixed and stored, airtight, the night before. Drawing a deep breath, Jim could make out cayenne pepper, cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, chives, thyme, sugar and dried onion flakes. As they talked, Blair was sprinkling the vegetables with spice and drizzling them with oil before grilling.

"I thought, for a minute there, lunch was over before it started, man," Blair said as he worked.

"I know," Jim agreed softly. He busied himself with ladling out servings of soup.

"He didn't mean anything, Jim," the grad student said, looking intently at the bigger man.

Jim sighed. "I know, Chief. It's just..."

"He was worried," Blair pointed out, mindful of his partner's quick temper. "You said that he said that he didn't want you to be considered a freak."

"But he thinks of me as one," Jim said, surprising himself with how bitter he sounded. He looked up as he felt a feather light touch on his biceps.

"Jim, it sounded to me like he just wanted to be sure you were not being exploited. Why don't we give him the benefit of the doubt, here?" Blair suggested, quietly. "At least until we can get Morgan to tell us what was really on his mind. Huh?"

While Sentinels were rare, telepaths were rarer, still. Morgan Chandler was a powerful telepath, able to both send and receive, as well as influence, thoughts. Trained since birth in the proper way to use his gifts, he had a surprisingly highly developed moral sense where telepathy was concerned. Something both Jim, as a policeman, and Blair admired. It would have been extremely easy to misuse the talent since there was no one to effectively stop him. The only ones who could have, his people all had the gift to various extent, were long dead ancient victims of prejudice.

Jim had to smile. "Sounds good, Buddy. Want to put those on the grill now?"

"No. I want you to put them on," Blair shot back, handing his astonished Sentinel the plate. "I'll serve the soup."

"Might be a good idea at that," Jim mused, aloud. "You can explain it better than I can."

He grinned as he felt Blair's glower on his back as he walked out to the balcony.

While he placed the vegetables on the grill, he listened in on the conversation going on inside the loft.

//This is something a little different,// Blair said. From the sound of bowls clinking on plates, he was passing out the soup.

//What is it?// Morgan asked, making Jim smile. He sounded a bit suspicious. He knew about Blair's propensity for weird foods.

//Pea soup,// Blair said, blandly.

Jim heard someone take a deep breath. //It's cold and it smells like -- mint?// his father announced, sounding surprised.

//Blair...// Morgan said, threateningly.

//It's harmless, man.// Jim could just see Blair's hands raised in a warding gesture. //It's chilled pea soup with fresh mint. I had it at a girlfriend's house. When I said I liked it, she gave me the recipe. She got it off one of those cable cooking shows. Try it.//

The sound of metal on stoneware told the Sentinel that they were doing just that. He remembered the first time he'd tasted that soup. He hadn't thought it would be good -- but it was. The mint gave the cold soup a different taste. Unique.

Just as Jim re-entered the loft, he heard his father admit, "It's good. If you don't mind, I'd like the recipe, Blair. Sally is always looking for something new."

"I didn't think you liked new foods, Dad," Jim said, sitting at his place and placing his napkin on his lap in one smooth motion.

"I don't, often," the elder Ellison ruefully conceded. "But you know Sally, Jimmy. She's determined to broaden my horizons."

"Sounds like Blair with Jim," Morgan observed with a smirk.

"Ha, ha, Morgan. You're just jealous," Blair grinned, unrepentantly across the table.

"Hardly," Morgan drawled. "I've eaten some foods that would curdle your stomach."

"I think we can go without the imagery, Sunshine," Jim said, quickly forestalling that argument.

Blair looked at him wide eyes, making him wonder what he'd said. A quick run through his memory and he nearly choked on his soup.

"Sunshine?" William repeated, eyebrows up into his hairline.

"Because of my looks," Morgan told him, blandly. "I've a golden complexion. Surely you've noticed how Jim graces people with a nickname?"

"You know, I hadn't realized. You are -- I mean...," William said, giving Morgan an appraising look.

"It's all right, William," Morgan easily reassured him, a twinkle in his golden eyes. "I won't sue you for sexual harrassment if you mention it."

That made William Ellison laugh, which made Jim and Blair laugh.

"Where are you from, Morgan?" he asked, seemingly much more at ease.

"I was born in Britain," Morgan said, finishing his soup. "I've traveled all over the world. Not unlike Blair, here."

Jim silently blessed Morgan's way with people, gleaned from over a thousand years of experience. He wasn't ready for a full disclosure right now. He wanted, at least, to get lunch over with first.

While they ate, the conversation ranged from world travel, history, religion (where they agreed to disagree and quickly changed the subject) to literature. Jim could tell his father was having a good time and blessed Blair and Morgan for their efforts.

Soon the dessert, an apple cobbler with vanilla ice cream, was served and eaten. The four men sat around the loft's living room, none of them quite wanting the afternoon to end. Jim knew it was time.

As he sat beside Morgan, Jim's heart was beating so loudly, he could barely hear anything else. But Morgan didn't need ears to make himself heard.

::Calm down, Pet, or you'll give it away before you're ready.:: Morgan's mental "voice" was soothing to Jim's jangled nerves.

::I don't know if I can do this,:: Jim admitted. Somehow it was easier to confess when it was not verbally spoken.

::If not, so be it. Blair and I understand.::

That helped Jim calm down. He knew Morgan wouldn't have included Blair in his caveat if it wasn't true.

"Dad," Jim said, when a lull occurred in the free flowing conversation. "I have something to tell you."

"Yes, Jimmy," William prodded when his son hesitated.

"I-I've found someone," he stammered out, clearly uncomfortable. "Someone to spend my life with."

William again gently prodded his eldest son. "A girlfriend, you mean?"

"More than that, Dad," Jim said, softly. "Much more than that."

"I'm glad, Jimmy. I was -- sorry to hear about your divorce," William confessed, shyly.

"Sometimes these things happen," Morgan commented before Jim could answer.

"At least Jim and Carolyn have stayed friends," Blair said, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind an ear.

"Sort of, Chief," Jim grimaced as he remembered a few things that had happened after the divorce. "It has gotten better since she moved to San Francisco, though."

"So, who is she and when do I get to meet her?" William asked.

"Well, that's part of the problem, Dad," Jim said, nervously. "It's -- not a she."

William went still. "It's not?"

"No, sir. It's a he. You've already met him, in fact. You two have gotten along pretty well."

"Jimmy, that's... do you realize how dangerous that is?"

"About as dangerous as using my talents to catch criminals?" Jim snapped.

A warm had landed on his arm, preventing any further outbreaks of temper. "Dangerous or not, it's his choice. His life."

William looked at both Blair and Morgan. "I take it, you two know about this? What about your Captain, Jimmy?" he asked when Blair nodded and Morgan merely smiled, gently, at him.

"Simon knows, Dad. He's my friend as well as my boss."

"I see. Is this why you invited me to lunch? To tell me this?" William Ellison's voice sounded strained.

"No. I didn't really decide to tell you until just before I did."

"But, Jimmy -- you're a police officer," William protested, alarmed.

"My coworkers have a general idea, Dad, although I haven't actually told them all yet. I think they'll accept it because they are also my friends."

"What you do in the privacy of you own home with one that you love should be no one's business but that of those involved," Morgan said, gently. "I've always believed that people are basically bisexual. Society's dictates cause most to choose one way over the other."

There was a momentary silence which William broke with softly spoken words. "When I was in college, I had a roommate. We became best friends. He told me he was gay and -- after awhile -- I-I sort of accecepted it. But being gay killed him."

"Secrets can kill, if there is no support for the one who owns that secret," Morgan said. "I have always been more open in my life. I care little what people think. If they cannot accept me as I am, then they are not meant to be my friends."

"Easily said, young man," William snapped. "You've grown up with this new 'enlightened' view. I grew up when being different could kill you."

Jim snarled in protective rage, knowing as his father did not, that Morgan had seen plenty of abuse and scorn for being different. Be it looks, talent or sexual preference, there was no one more different than Morgan. Once again, the grip on his arm kept him from lashing out at his father. He didn' t question it. He knew that the telepath knew more about his father's state of mind then a mere Sentinel.

"It has always been thus, William," Morgan informed him with an arched eyebrow. "For a religion that advocates love, there has ever been little of it for those who do not do as the church states."

"Uh, let's not get into religion. Please," Blair begged, nervously. "Your friend who died, William? How did he die?"

"He killed himself. He was -- I think 'outed' is the term they use now? -- by a supposed friend. He lost most of his friends, his parents disowned him, the Dean tossed him out of the college, and he killed himself. Cut his wrists and bled to death." was William's answer.

"All because he didn't fit societal norms," Morgan murmured almost too quietly for a Sentinel to pick up. "Not unlike the way someone with enhanced senses doesn't fit."

Engrossed in his own thoughts, William missed the look his son shot at Morgan. "I know I haven't always done the right thing, Jimmy. Please, believe me. Everything I did, I did to protect you and Stephen."

"Protect me? Dad, you knew about my senses. And, yet, you treated me like I was some kind of freak. How do you think that made me feel?" Jim could feel his heart constricting in his chest as he spoke.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy. I was doing the best I could with what I had. Your mother was gone. Men didn't raise children alone then. We were the breadwinners. And to have a child who was -- special -- I mean, who could I talk to about a child who sees and hears things he shouldn't? I was afraid they'd take you away. Put you in some hospital, somewhere, so they could study you."

"Not unlike the way those with mental retardation were treated," Morgan quietly pointed out.

"Exactly," William agreed, most of his attention focused on his son. "When I lost my best friend, Jimmy, I swore that I would protect my family from persecution. Any way I could."

Suddenly, Jim understood a lot of things about his father and his upbringing. "Oh, God," Jim breathed, stunned by the revelation.

"I think he gets it now," Morgan said. Wide eyed, Blair contented himself with a nod.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Jimmy. I needed you and Stephen to be as strong as possible. I've seen what the world could do to the weak. I know I didn't do a good job of it but..."

"You did the best you could." Jim sat back against he couch and ran a hand over his face. "I-I-I don't know if I can forget that, Dad. But I'm trying to get passed it. I want to have a relationship with you."

"Then why don't you start by telling me who your young man is?" William suggested with a soft smile.

Jim shot him a crooked grin. "You mean you haven't figured it out yet?"

"Well, I have a couple of prospects," was the tactful answer.

"Not me. Please, not me?" Blair begged, grinning. "Despite the looks, I am like so not into men, man."

Jim had to smile at his Guide's words. That grin became a laugh as his father just shrugged an apology. "Actually, Dad. It's not Blair. It's Morgan."

"You?" William seemed shocked as he turned toward the man seated beside his son.

"Me. And don't worry about the age difference. I'm older than Blair."

"He's older than God," Blair muttered low enough for a Sentinel as he lifted his drink to his mouth. Jim had to bite back a bark of laughter.

::Not that old, thank you:: was the response to Blair's comment. ::Although I may be close to Jesus in age::

"Are you all right, Blair?" William asked as Blair suddenly choked on his drink. Jim realized that the Grad student had forgotten that Morgan would know what he said, even if he couldn't hear it.

"Fine," Blair wheezed.

"I guess it went down wrong," Jim said, blandly. Looking at Jim, William missed the glare Blair sent his roommate.

"Well, Blair isn't that old, either," William said, cautiously.

"Morgan is over thirty," Jim told his father. Before anything else could be said, the phone rang. Muttering a curse, Jim picked it up, barking, "Ellison. No, Simon, please. I'm off duty."

"Uh-oh," Blair said, upon hearing that.

"Trouble?" William asked the younger man, sotto voiced.

"I hope not. Jim really needs this time off, man," Blair absently commented.

"Maybe I'd better be getting home," William suggested, tentatively gathering himself to rise to his feet.

Busy listening to both Simon on the phone, Jim proved he was capable of splitting his attention by waving his father back down before he could move. After hanging up the phone, he apologized. "We've got another murder, Chief. Like the one at the Hazelnut Caf?."

"Oh, man," Blair sighed, shaking his head.

"You mean, where someone took the employees to a back room, then shot them?" Morgan frowned at him.

"Yes. I'm sorry, Dad..."

"Don't be. A policeman's work is never done, sadly enough," William said, rising once more. "I've enjoyed myself, Jimmy."

"I'm glad. Maybe we can do this again?" Jim suggested, standing there somewhat awkwardly.

"Oh, for... hug each other, already," Morgan huffed.

"Yeah, man. It's what you both want," Blair cheekily added.

Both Ellison's laughed and obeyed. "See how I'm bossed around, Dad. I get no respect here."

"Oh, God," Morgan mock groaned. "He's on his Rodney Dangerous routine."

"Dangerfield, Morgan," Blair absently corrected him with a grin. "Rodney Dangerfield."

"Let's go, Chief," Jim said, herding three of the important people in his life toward the door.

"The dishes..." Morgan began.

"Can wait. We'll get to them later, man," Blair said, grabbing up his jacket on the way out the door. "It'll help get our minds off -- whatever we find."

"It's been a pleasure to get to know both of you gentlemen," William said, nodding to Blair and Morgan as they all stood in the parking lot.

"This is not over, William. I love your son and I want to get to know his family," Morgan archly informed the Ellison patriarch.

"I'd like to get to know you better, as well, Morgan," William said, sounding pleased.

"We'll talk it out later, huh. Sandburg and I have a murder investigation to get to," Jim said.

"I'll see you later, Jimmy."

"Bye, Dad," Jim said as his father got into his car and drove off. "Morgan..."

Morgan waved him silent. "We'll talk later, as well, Pet. Get going, now, or Simon will try to have my hide."

"Try?" Blair asked, buckling himself into the passenger seat of the truck.

Morgan smiled at him. "Try, Blair. I can hold my own in an argument. Take care."

"We will, Sunshine. You too," Jim said, starting the car. Within minutes they were on their way.

Finis

This the end of Sentinel In Love #13: Bridging the Chasm. We hope you have enjoyed your flight of fancy and will fly ET airlines again. Y'all have a good day, now. Y'hear.

End Bridging the Chasm.