His Master's Voice 14

By CatMoran

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. I don't own the canon characters or concept; I do own this story.

Summary: We continue with the saga of a sentinel and his vampire.

Warning: Not beta'd.

His Master's Voice 14
By CatMoran
*****

Jim's arms were shaking with exhaustion, and his fingers were completely numb. It had only been a minute since he'd heard the gunshot, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to hold on another minute.

"Jim! Thank God. I thought you'd gone over the side."

Jim groaned in relief when he saw Taggert peering over the low wall of the roof.

Taggert reached down and clasped one of Jim's wrists in both hands. As Taggert heaved him upward, Jim pulled as hard as he could with the hand he still clasped to the ledge.

After a pain-filled minute, Jim was safely on the roof, panting and slumped against the wall. It took several seconds before he was finally able to gasp out, "Perp?"

Taggert nodded in the direction of a nearby rooftop structure. "I barely winged him, Jim. But it was close enough that the impact drove him against the wall and knocked him out. Backup's on the way, and I've called for an ambulance."

"Good." Jim grimaced as the blood flowing back into his fingers created a burning sensation.

"You'll be ok for a minute? I'd better make sure he doesn't bleed to death."

Jim nodded. "Yeah, I just need to rest for a bit."

Backup and the EMTs arrived quickly. The suspect was taken into custody and prepared for transport to the hospital. One of the EMTs checked Jim at the scene, but failed to talk him into going to the hospital. Jim did allow Taggert to arrange a ride for him back to the station, and handed the keys to the truck over to the other man. If he was lucky, Simon would let him go home as soon as he completed his report.

*****

Jim had barely opened a new document to begin his report, when Simon called him into his office.

"Yeah, Simon."

"Have a seat, Jim." Simon looked him over critically. "Taggert tells me you had a little excitement this afternoon."

"I guess so."

"And when were you planning to tell me about it?"

"I just started writing up my report, Sir."

"Jim, I can see your desk from here. Your typing is measurably worse than usual, and that's saying something for you. If I'm not mistaken, you can barely move your arms."

Jim attempted a shrug, but his shoulder muscles merely trembled with fatigue. "Simon, I'll just finish this report, then you'll know everything there is to know about the bust."

"Bullshit. I'm not waiting around all night while you to play at typing a report. One of the uniforms will take your statement, then I'm taking you home."

"Sir-"

"Ellison, do I have to pull rank?"

"No, Sir."

"Good. Wait at your desk, I'll send someone to you."

Jim nodded and walked back to his desk.

An hour later, less than two hours after being pulled off a ledge 200 feet over the pavement, he was on his way home in the passenger seat of Simon's car. As they pulled onto the 800 block of Prospect, Simon pointed at a car pulling out of a parking space. "Hey, Jim. Isn't that Sandburg's mother?"

Jim glanced at the woman driving the dark blue late model Jetta. "Yes."

Simon chewed his cigar forcefully. "Damn. You didn't tell me she was in town already. I suppose she's going to want to know what we've done about finding Blair's body."

"I don't know, Simon. She hasn't asked me."

Simon pulled into the space Naomi had just vacated. "I've got a question for you, Jim."

"What's that?"

"Why haven't *you* asked about the investigation?"

Jim frowned and looked away.

Simon shut off the car and turned toward Jim. "Jim, we're all worried about you. Every time the kid's been hurt, you've gone crazy with worry. Last winter when he had the flu, we were drawing straws to see who would shoot you with the tranquilizer gun! Now he's dead, his body's missing, and you're acting as if you don't care-"

Exhausted and infuriated, Jim turned on Simon. "I don't *care*? How *dare* you say that? You don't know what I'm feeling!" He turned back, yanked at the doorlatch and stumbled out of the car, sick with sudden, blind anger.

Simon followed him, detouring for an instant to swing the passenger door shut. "Jim, *wait*. You didn't let me finish, dammit! I know you care--cared--about the kid. That's why the way you're *acting* has me and everyone else so concerned."

Jim paused as he opened the door to the building, his face smoothed into a calm mask. "I'm sorry, Simon. This week has been a little shitty. Just give me a few days and I'll be ok."

Simon followed him into the building. "In the state you're in, I'm following you to your door to make sure you get there ok."

Jim stepped onto the elevator. "Simon, I'm *fine*. Just give it a rest, ok?"

"You are not fine, you can barely push the button for the elevator. Humor me, I'll settle for making sure you can get the door to the loft open."

"Simon, you *cannot* come to the loft with that cigar."

"Jim, the cigar isn't even lit." Simon looked hard at Jim as they stepped off the elevator. "Why are you so adamant at keeping me away from the loft? You're acting like you've got contraband hidden in there!" Simon chuckled at his joke, then stopped abruptly at the look of horror that swept quickly across Jim's face before his mask snapped back into place.

"Jim? What the hell is going on?" Simon asked softly.

"Simon, could you please just leave?" Pain and desperation flickered in Jim's eyes.

Simon slowly shook his head. "No, Jim. I think you'd better tell me what's going on."

Jim tried to unlock the loft door, but his hands were shaking too hard. Simon had just taken the keys from him when they both heard footsteps crossing the loft. Jim closed his eyes and slumped against the wall, wishing to be anywhere else. He couldn't contain a desperate chuckle when he heard Blair's triumphant mutter, "I knew he'd lock himself out someday!"

He looked up in resignation as the door swung open. Blair flashed an angry look at Jim, which immediately softened to concern, before he turned his attention back to Simon. Simon turned an interesting shade of gray and dropped his cigar. With an air of futility, Jim levered himself upright and walked past both men, into the loft.

Blair was the first to speak. "Well, Simon. Won't you come in?"

The End
(c) CatMoran 2000