DISCLAIMER: Pet Fly and Paramount own the copyright to The Sentinel
and its characters. This piece of fan fiction was written solely
for the love of the characters and to share freely with other fans.
No profit is being made from the posting of this story.

THANKS go to my beta readers, Terri Wadsworth and Heather-Anne Gillis
for their invaluable assistance.

NOTES: While I have written fanfic for another fandom, this is my
first attempt at Senfic. Comments are welcome, as are constructive
criticisms. Flamers, however, will be reported to their ISPs. *eg* On
with the story:


THE WELL
  by Nancy Taylor
  May, 2000

     A warm, late-fall sun shone down on the two fishermen standing
thigh-deep in the cold stream. A quiet camaraderie passed between them
as they cast their lines into the flowing water. It had been a
harrowing week in Major Crimes, and Jim Ellison had decided to take
his partner and friend for a relaxing weekend campout. Time had
slipped by all too quickly. He didn't want to have to think about
returning to the city. Laughter brought his head around, allowing him
to temporarily put off the inevitable.
     "Got one!" Blair Sandburg cried, reeling in the fighting fish.
Jim grabbed the net and slipped it under the catch.
     "Hey! That's great! He's a real beauty! I think that one takes the
prize for this trip."
     The sparkle in his partner's eyes brought a smile to the stern
cop's lips. He couldn't remember having a better time in a long time.
Aggravating as the young anthropologist cum police observer could
sometimes be, Jim often wondered what he had ever done before the
kid's arrival in his life. Blair had turned his world upside down and
set him on his head, but, he had come to discover, he wouldn't have it
any other way.
     "You think so?" his partner asked, wading to the bank of the
stream behind Jim. "That last one you caught was no 'toss-away'
either."
     "We'll have a great dinner, once we get home." Walking up the
bank to the treeline, Jim stopped beside the tent. "Time to pack.
Reality beckons." Blair moaned softly, but set about striking the tent
and packing up.
     The pair gathered their gear and hoisted the heavy packs onto
their backs. It was a long hike back to the hunter's cabin where they
had parked the truck. By the time they arrived, the sun was beginning
to set.
     "Hey, man, I've gotta take a leak," Blair said, slipping the pack
from his shoulders and tossing it in the back of the truck. "Be right
back."
     "Just watch where you're going, Chief."
     "Yeah. Yeah." Blair headed off toward the trees near the cabin.
     Jim extended his hearing to keep track of the young man. As much
as he hated invading his friend's privacy, he worried. Blair was a
trouble magnet, no doubt about it. For the number of times he'd been
accosted, shot, knocked out, bumped, bruised and generally mistreated,
it was a wonder the kid survived.

     "You weren't listening, were you?" The teasing accusation drifted
across the yard.
     "Who? Me?" Jim shook his head, dialing down his senses to
something more passing for normal, as he watched his partner's return.
Suddenly, Blair disappeared, as though the earth had swallowed him. He
didn't need sentinel senses to hear the resulting cry.
     Sighting the hole with enhanced senses, he ran across the yard.
Dropping to his knees, he peered into the abandoned well. He could see
the young man, trapped a long way down, well out of his reach.
     "Blair! Are you all right? Answer me!" He let the desperation he
suddenly felt slip into his voice.
     "I've been better," came the weak, but cocky, answer.
     "Hold on! I'm going back to the car to radio for help."
     "I'm not going anywhere," Blair replied.

     Jim returned a few minutes later. "Help's on the way." Bending
over the hole, he thanked the powers that be for his sentinel sight.
Twenty feet down the narrow, dark shaft, Blair was trapped. All Jim
could see of his friend was an arm sticking up and the top of his
head. "Can you look up at me, Chief?" Long hair, in wild disarray,
clung damply to the pale face that tilted up toward the small circle
of light. "Good. That's good. Can you tell me how badly you're hurt?"
     "I dunno, Jim. My left arm is pinned against the wall. It's
really hard to breathe. I think I might have busted a rib or two in
the fall. And my ankle hurts like hell." The last statement was
followed by a slight gasp as his movements caused Blair to settle a
bit deeper. "My feet are wet. I hurt all over. And I'm cold." He spoke
in short sentences, punctuated by rapid, shallow breaths. Add in the
fact that his heart rate was elevated, and Jim began to seriously
worry about his friend.
     "Think you could get a rope around yourself if I drop one down to
you?"
     "I dunno. Maybe." A slight pause for a few rapid breaths. "Get me
out of here, Jim. Please?"
     "Just as soon as I can. I promise. I'm going to go get the rope.
I promise, I'll be right back."
     "Don't go, Jim! Please. Don't go!"
     "But, how do you expect me to get you out?"
     "I can wait for the others. Just don't leave. Okay?"
     Jim could hear the edge of panic in his friend's voice. Sandburg
had proven himself to be quite strong and resilient in the past,
considering he'd faced more life-threatening situations than the
average anthropology grad student. But everyone had their limits, and
it sounded as though Blair was rapidly reaching his.
     Jim could feel the cool evening breeze as the sun set. The days
might still be warm, but the nights got downright cold. Blair, in his
tee shirt and jeans, risked hypothermia if he wasn't rescued soon.
     "You got it, partner. I'm not going anywhere."
     "My head hurts, Jim," Blair mumbled. "Really tired."
     "Don't go to sleep, Sandburg! Hear me? You've got to stay awake!"
Rummaging for an idea, he finally hit on Blair's tendency toward
constant chatter. "Tell me a story, Chief. Tell me about your sentinel
research. In detail."
     For the next hour, Jim listened to his Guide tell him the
intimate details of tribal culture, and how it related to the
sentinels. Occasionally, he had to encourage his friend to continue.
It was obviously hard for him to catch enough breath to talk in more
than short, stilted sentences.
     Finally, help arrived. Rescue equipment, followed by an
ambulance, pulled into the yard of the old cabin. As the rescuers
began to set up the floodlights, Captain Simon Banks climbed out of
his vehicle and hurried to where his detective was kneeling over an
absolutely *tiny* hole in the ground.
     "What's happened here? How's Sandburg?" he demanded.
     Jim looked up, tension lining his face. "Blair was walking back
across the yard and stepped on some rotten planks covering this
abandoned well. He's wedged down there, about twenty feet." Simon
groaned, attempting to see down the dark hole. "At the very least,
he's got some bumps and bruises. It sounds as though he could have one
or more broken ribs, and his ankle is either twisted or broken. He
says it hurts like hell. We have to get him out of there! It's been
hard keeping him lucid. He's going into shock, Simon."
     "We'll get him out, Jim. He's going to be all right."
     "I hope you're right. He may be a pain in the ass, but he's *my*
pain in the ass. I want him back."
     "Jim?" came a weak voice, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
"What's going on up there?"
     "The rescue guys are here, Chief. We'll have you out soon."
     "Hope so. Cold." The last word was drawn out, punctuated by the
chattering of teeth.
     The rescue workers finally had the scene lit brightly and were
getting out their equipment. First to come was a rope.
     "Give that to me," Jim barked, grabbed the strong, nylon cable
and tying a loop in one end. "Blair? I'm lowering a rope. See if you
can get it under your arms. We'll pull you up."
     "'Kay," came the quiet response.
     When the rope reached him, Blair grabbed at it with his one free
hand. Sliding his arm through the loop, he shrugged it over his head.
Struggle though he did, he couldn't get his left arm free. "Can't get
my arm loose!" he called.
     "Have you got the rope around you the best you can?"
     "Yeah."
     "Then get ready. We're going to pull."
     "'Kay."
     Jim could hear Blair's heart rate increase in anticipation and
his shallow breathing speed up.
     "Calm down, Chief! You're going to hyperventilate. Can't have you
passing out on us!" Jim stretched out near the well, sticking his face
into the hole to get a better look at his friend. "Try to slow your
breathing. Long, slow breaths. Like you taught me. Now's the time to
put your meditation techniques to the test." He listened as Blair's
breathing slowed.
     "Okay. I'm ready," he called.
     Jim started pulling. Simon, and several of the rescue workers,
picked up the rope, knowing they'd be hauling dead weight. Blair was
in no condition to help his climb out. A cry stopped the team.
     "OW! Owowowowowow!! Stop! Please!"
     "Blair? What's wrong?" Jim leaned over the well once more.
     "Can't budge, man. I'm stuck. I mean *really* stuck! You're
pulling my arm off here!"
     Jim sighed, turning to the others. "It isn't working. He's pinned
tight down there."
     "Now what do we do?" Simon asked. "Dig him out?"
     "We'd have to get a backhoe up here," a rescue worker, Timmons
according to his name tag, commented. "Can't dig that deep fast enough
by hand."
     "How long to get the equipment here? Sandburg's been down that
hole nearly five hours already!" Jim let his agitation show.
     "A few hours. Maybe two or three," Timmons answered. "There's
been some roadwork going on further down the highway. There should be
equipment there we could use. We'll need to find the foreman, get
permission--and the keys."
     "Then get going!" Captain Banks ordered.
     Jim shivered in the cool night air. Sensitive ears picked up the
tremulous "Jim?" coming from the well. "Right here, Chief. How are you
holding up?"
     "It's freezing down here, man! I'm soaking wet."
     "We can drop you a blanket."
     "Not enough room. Just get me out of here!"
     "We're trying. We're trying."
     "How long?" A note of fear obvious in the soft voice.
     He didn't want to have to be the one to tell his friend at
*least* another couple hours...just to get the equipment in. It could
be many more before he was finally extricated.
     "How long?" came the petulant whisper.
     "A while yet, Blair. Just hang in there."
     "I'm tired. So sleepy."
     "I know. I know. You have to stay awake." Jim thought for a bit
before inspiration hit again. "Remember when you told me about
ditching the diary and saving your memoirs for your old age?"
     "Yeah, but am I going to *get* any older?"
     "Don't talk like that! Of course you are! What would I do without
you around to continually talk my ear off?" That comment elicited a
weak chuckle from the trapped man. "Tell me about your exploits. Don't
leave out a single detail."
     "That's going to take a while, man. I've been busy." Another
chuckle.
     Good. Blair's sense of humor was still intact. That was a good
sign. "Great. So start now. You can finish the tale when we're safe at
home."
     "With a warm blanket and some hot tea on the couch?"
     "And all the hot water in the shower. Just hang in there until we
get you out."
     "'Kay," the soft sigh issued up the shaft.
     "So?"
     "So, what?"
     "Your memoirs, Chief. I'm waiting."
     Another chuckle and Blair began talking once again.

                                   **********

     The backhoe proved to be insufficient to dig the rescue shaft
deep enough. More precious time was lost as well-digging equipment
needed to be located and brought in. As they finally hit the
twenty-foot mark, Blair's approximate depth in the well, the hole
began to fill with water.
     "Shit!" Jim exclaimed, watching the water rise.
     "What's wrong?" Blair stopped his story to ask.
     "Nothing you have to worry about." Jim tried to sound reassuring.
"Whatever happened to Rachel?" The question set the young man off and
running on his tale again.
     The water stopped rising, forming a pool in the bottom of the
hole. Two of the rescuers climbed down and began to dig the connecting
shaft. Work continued slowly, as the dirt needed to be hauled out by
hand. A pump was brought in to keep the water level down, but it
didn't seem to do much good.
     Sandburg's voice was getting weaker. Like the trooper Jim knew
him to be, he kept on talking, long past the time he would have rather
drifted off into oblivion.
     The sun began to peek through the trees as a new day dawned.
Blair had already spent over twelve hours in that blasted shaft.
     "We're through!" The triumphant cry finally lifted from the
bottom of the pit. "Just a little longer. We need to widen the hole!"
A short while later.... "We can see his feet!"
     "Almost there, Chief. Won't be much longer now," Jim told his
friend.
     "Good thing. Don't think I could have kept this up much longer."
     "Don't give up on us now. Hang tight. I'm going to come down and
help you out."
     A hand on his arm stopped the detective from jumping into the pit
to extricate his friend. "Leave it to us, Detective Ellison. We'll get
him out."
     "Like hell you will!" He slid down the ladder, his feet barely
touching the rungs during his descent. He crawled into the connecting
shaft, followed by the smaller Timmons.
     "You grab his legs, and I'll dig him out," Timmons said as they
reached the well.
     Jim felt relief seeing those very familiar legs hanging in front
of him. Wrapping his arms around Blair's knees, he smiled. "It's just
me, Chief. We've almost got you now."
     His smile turned to a frown as he heard a soft exhalation and
Blair's heart rate and breathing slow alarmingly. "We have to get him
out. NOW!" He tugged on the young man's legs as Timmons redoubled his
efforts with the shovel.
     What felt like an eternity passed before a comforting weight slid
into Jim's arms. Hugging his friend tightly to his chest, he breathed
a quick sigh of relief. Hurrying out of the tunnel with his burden, he
found himself loath to relinquish his hold. Other hands pried Blair's
body from his grasp and placed him on a backboard, lifting him out of
the pit.
     A quick assessment in the back of the ambulance, and they were
off to the hospital, leaving Jim and Simon behind with the rest of the
rescue crew. The pit next to the well looked surreal in the artificial
light. Stumbling to the truck, he climbed behind the wheel. As he
pulled out to follow the ambulance, Captain Banks tailed him, making
sure that Jim also made it to the hospital in one piece.

                                   **********

     Jim paced the waiting area of the Urgent Care ward. Simon, who
had been fidgeting in a chair behind the prowling detective, stood as
a doctor approached. "Jim Ellison?"
     "How's Blair?"
     "I'm Doctor Weaver. I've been treating Mr. Sandburg. Actually,
considering what he's been through, he's not in too bad a shape. He
broke his right ankle and a couple of ribs. Other than that, it's
mostly just bruises and scrapes. Understandably, he was dehydrated and
hypothermic, but he's coming around nicely."
     "When can I see him?" Jim's intense blue eyes locked onto the
doctor's.
     "He should be settled in his room in about fifteen minutes. You
can see him then. He'll be groggy. We've got him on pain meds. If all
goes well, he could be discharged in two to three days."
     "That's *great* news! Thank you, Doctor Weaver." Simon Banks
shook the doctor's hand.
     "Yeah. Great!" Jim agreed.
     "Room 213, just down the hall," Doctor Weaver pointed. "You can
wait for him in there."
     "Thanks again," Jim offered.
     "You're quite welcome. Mr. Sandburg is a tough young man. He'll
be fine."
     "I think I'll go outside where I can have a smoke," Simon said,
pulling the cigar case from his pocket. "I'll meet you up in
Sandburg's room later."
     Nodding his thanks, Jim headed down to Room 213.
     Settling in, he waited for the orderly to bring Blair down to
his room. When he was finally transferred to the bed, Jim was struck
with how pale his friend had become. Needles and tubing bristled from
his arms, and he was on oxygen, but Jim thought he'd never looked
better. Curling his fingers around one limp hand, he waited for his
friend to awaken.

                                   **********

     "Jim?" A whisper-light voice woke him from where he'd fallen
asleep against the railing of the bed, his hand still entwined with
Blair's.
     "Hey, Chief! Glad you're back." Jim smiled, blue eyes sparkling.
"You had me worried there for a bit."
     "*I* had me worried there for a bit. Man, I gotta tell
you...watch that last step, it's a doozie!" He chuckled softly before
his face screwed up with pain. "Ow! Oh, ow! Geez, it hurts to
laugh...."
     "That's probably because you broke a couple ribs, Chief. And your
ankle. Doc says that other than bumps and scrapes, that's about the
worst of it. You'll be coming home in a few days if all goes well."
     "What'dya mean, 'if all goes well'?"
     "I know you, Chief. You give the doctors fits." He ruffled his
hand through the mass of dark curls, before resting it on the top of
Blair's head. "Behave yourself, and you're out in two. Give 'em grief,
and I may not get you back for a week!" Jim chuckled.
     Blair groaned and shifted uncomfortably in the bed. "I *hate*
hospitals!"
     "Yeah, and you've seen more than your share of the inside of them
since hooking up with me. I know. I'm really sorry about that, Blair.
You know I'd take your place in a heartbeat, if I could. I'm just glad
that after an ordeal like that, you're doing as well as you are."
     "I don't feel like I'm doing so great right now."
     "Understandable. You *did* spend the entire night at the bottom
of a very deep well. Geez, Blair, will you please quit scaring me like
that?" He smiled weakly. "I think you took five years off my life with
that stunt. I'm not as young as I used to be."
     Blair chuckled despite the pain, and patted Jim's hand
reassuringly. "Guess that means you ought to go home and get some
rest. Please don't take this the wrong way, but you look like shit." A
smile teased his lips as he watched his Sentinel react.
     "I'm not leaving. Not while you still need me."
     "Well, I don't. Not right now, Jim. You need rest. I'm fine.
Really." He winced as his ribs pinched again, but managed a grin.
"Please go home and get some sleep. I'll let you come back tonight."
     "You'll 'let' me? You'll *LET* me?" Jim sputtered, raising a
finger to shake at his friend. "I'd like to see you try and *stop*
me!"
     "Good-bye, Jim."
     "You sure you're okay?"
     A pretty young nurse slipped past the tall detective with a push
cart of supplies. "Ready for your bath, Mr. Sandburg?" She smiled
sweetly.
     Blair cocked his head and rolled his eyes toward the nurse.
"Yeah, Jim, I'm just fine. Real fine, in fact! See you this evening."
     With a resigned chuckle, Jim turned to go.

                                   **********

     Grabbing the doorjamb in his haste, Jim swung into the room to
find Blair sitting in a wheelchair, his belongings already settled in
his lap. He was chatting up the pretty nurse who was waiting to take
him to the discharge area.
     "Ready to go, Chief?"
     "You bet! It's going to be great getting out of here."
     "Yeah, I'll just bet," Jim replied dryly, smiling at the nurse.
     "Blair's been a model patient," Tina assured him, "but he's made
it very clear this is not his favorite place to be." She smiled and
released the brake on the chair. "You're going to behave yourself for
Jim, here, aren't you, Sweetcakes?"
     Blair winced.
     "'Sweetcakes'?" Jim's voice took on a teasing tone.
     Blair just smiled and shrugged as Jim shook his head in defeat.
There was no stopping the Sandburg charm.
     They reached the loading area of Discharge, and Tina set the
brake. Jim opened the truck's door, and the two of them helped Blair
into the vehicle.
     "See you Friday?" Tina smiled, as she closed the door.
     "It's a date!" Blair replied, leaning out the window for one
last, quick kiss.
     "You're incorrigible!" Jim laughed, pulling the car into the late
morning traffic.

                                   **********

     "It's good having you back home again," Jim said, holding the
door as Blair swung in on his crutches. "Place was kind of empty
without you."
     "Really?" The young anthropologist seemed almost surprised.
     "Yeah. Really." Placing his arm around Blair's waist, he guided
his friend over to the couch and wrapped a blanket around his
shoulders. "Just give me a minute to nuke the tea for you."
     Blair smiled as he watched Jim amble into the kitchen. He
returned shortly with a steaming mug. "Just as I promised."
     Sitting next to his friend, he watched carefully as Blair lifted
the mug to his lips and cautiously sipped.
     "Mmmm...that's great, man. Thanks." Wrapping his hands around the
warm ceramic, he leaned against Jim's shoulder.
     Taking the cue, Jim enveloped the younger man in his arms,
pulling him close to his chest. "Don't you *ever* do anything like
that again," he said, brushing stray strands of hair out of Blair's
face.
     "Cross my heart and hope to..."
     "*DON'T* say it, Chief. Don't say it." Jim wrapped his arms
tighter around his friend and held him as though his own life depended
on it.

THE END