Title: Gladiator Daze

Author/pseudonym: Mereridkat/Margaret Newman

Fandom: The Sentinel

Pairing: Jim & Blair (duh)

Rating: PG

Status: new

Archive: Sure, I suppose. Let me know where?

E-mail address for feedback: mereridkat@aol.com

Series/Sequel: maybe

Other websites: n/a

Disclaimers: I don't own the boys, though I do dream about them a lot.

Notes: The extent of my knowledge about Roman times comes from the movies.

Summary: Jim dreams about life in ol' Pompeii

Warnings: none, really

Gladiator Daze

By Mereridkat/Margaret Newman

He stood on the balcony over looking his garden, and in the distance, his orchard. Far to the right were the stables where he bred and trained his horses. All was silent now; the day done. Most of the servants had retired for the day. He swished the wine around in his goblet before draining it dry. He contemplated the goblet. Nice, heavy, well crafted. The set had been a present from his wife's family on their marriage day. They had lasted longer than his marriage. Angrily, he threw the goblet out into the garden.

Damn the gods! He played by their rules, he had fought hard as a gladiator and won his freedom. He had saved his money, worked hard, and bought this house and land at auction. The former owner had been unable to pay his taxes. But he had paid, and paid in blood. For his freedom, for his wife. It wasn't his fault she had taken ill and died. Now her family wanted his son, and he'd die fighting before he'd let them take Stephenus from him.

"Shall I fetch the goblet, my lord? Or would you care for a clean one?" A voice asked from behind him. James turned around, frowning fiercely.

"What did you say?" He growled, irritated that he hadn't heard the slave approach. The new slave, one that the Moor Simon had bought in town this day. Simon complained that the reason he didn't have enough house slaves was because he scared them to death.

"I asked, my lord, if I should fetch that goblet back." The new slave stared at him evenly, without fear.

"No, leave it. Get a clean one. And pour me more wine. My head throbs." James turned back to surveying his land. He stood with feet firmly planted, hands on hips. He was an impressive sight that had often set women to giggling with speculation. But it wasn't just the women that speculated.

"Yes, my lord." The new slave disappeared. He was back within moments with several fresh goblets. "Sir?"

"What?" James snapped at him again.

"Your wine, my lord." The young man held the goblet out to him. James saw that the tray held three other goblets. He arched an eyebrow at the slave without taking the goblet from him.

"What is your name?" James glanced over the slave. He was passed the blush of youth with bright, intelligent eyes, long hair tied back from his face.

"Blair, my lord." The slave replied, glancing out the balcony and back. He continued to hold the goblet.

"Blair? What kind of a Hebrew name is that?" James took the goblet then.

"My mother named me after the only word in my father's language that she could remember. It was only later I learned it means 'peat moss' in his language." The slave smiled up at him, blue eyes sparkling.

"Where was he from?" James grunted, taking a sip of the wine.

"Britannia, according to my mother." Blair stepped back.

"Stay." James ordered without looking around at him.

"Yes, my lord." Blair replied dutifully. His master said nothing more so he busied himself by straightening up the cushions, and then the scrolls on the table.

"Where is your mother now?" James asked him some time later.

"I have no idea. She went on a pilgrimage a few years ago, and I haven't seen her since." Blair glanced up at the broad back. As he rolled up the scrolls, he couldn't resist reading some of what they said. There were offers to buy horses, an offer to buy the entire estate, and one was a long missive from a friend. The handwriting was terrible and Blair couldn't easily read what was written.

"Does my personal business amuse you, Blair?" James asked him, standing directly behind him.

"No, my lord." Blair shook his head, rolling up the scroll quickly. "I'm sorry, I meant no disrespect. My curiosity tempts me…"

"Simon said you were a scribe before. How came you to such a low position as slave?" James rested a hand on Blair's shoulder as he set the empty goblet on the table.

"I worked as a scribe for a rich man in town, Gaius Lasius. When I refused to be his lover, he accused me of stealing from him. So I was sold as a slave to pay him back." Blair stiffened as his master leaned close to sniff his hair.

"Did you steal from him?" James asked, stepping back. The slave smelled too good. If he was not inclined to sleep with men, then he had best keep a distance. He went over to the pile of pillows and cushions near the balcony and settled down on them.

"No, my lord. But he had eyewitnesses, and people who swore that I stolen from them in the past. I am only a scribe - a Hebrew scribe - with no real family. So it was my word against his, and you can see where my word got me." Blair waved his hands in the air. "Does the wine help your headaches, my lord?"

"No, not much." James shook his head. He had stretched out, ankles crossed, fingers laced and hands cradling his head.

"What causes them, do you know?" Blair drifted closer to him. Did the man not know the sight he presented? Such perfection in male form… Blair's fingers tingled, he wanted to reach out and stroke those muscles badly.

"No, Blair, I don't." James opened one eye to peer at the slave. "You ask too many questions."

"I am only trying to help, my lord." Blair replied, sitting on a cushion at James' feet.

"Next you'll be telling me that you were a herbalist before you were a scribe." James sighed, nudging Blair's arm with a toe.

"Well, no, but it is a hobby of mine. One of the men that my mother lived with when I was growing up was a herbalist. Quite a renowned one, too. Have you ever heard of Timonus? That was in Rome, though. I don't think he ever traveled to Pompeii." Blair kept his voice low and watched as James relaxed, muscle by muscle.

"Untie my sandals, will you? My feet are sore." James shifted, propping a large foot on Blair's thigh. "No, I have not heard of Timonus."

Blair untied James' sandals, tossing them aside, and then promptly began massaging them. James groaned in appreciation.

"Hand me the remote."

James frowned. What had the slave said?

"Jim, yo, Jimbo. Hand me the remote. The movie is over. You can quite playing possum."

Jim opened his eyes, frowning, blinking. There he was, in the loft. On the couch. His feet were in Blair's lap. Blair pointed to the remote on the coffee table on Jim's end.

"Hand it to me, please. Gladiator's over." Holding out his hand, Blair gave him an odd look. "What's wrong? You look all confused."

"I'm fine, Chief." Jim handed him the remote, and sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. He rubbed his head, yep. Headache. "Think I'll head to bed. You coming?"

"Yeah, give me a minute." Blair watched him checked the windows and door. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Just had a weird dream, that's all. Where's the Aspirin?" Jim hesitated by the bathroom.

"No way, man. You had enough wine. You just need to sleep it off." Blair turned off the tv, and took the Gladiator disk out of the dvd player. "Strip and stretch out on the bed. I'll give you a massage."

Jim nodded, and headed upstairs. Blair followed a few minutes later with a warmed up bottle of massage oil in his hands.

END