Title: "The Sentinel, Revisited" by Blair Sandburg

Series/Sequel: none.

Fandom: The Sentinel

Paring: Blair/Jim

Author: the.other.g.m.

Publication Date: 2000.05.30

Rating: PG

Status: Complete

Archive: Anywhere

Disclaimers: The Sentinel is the property of Pet Fly Productions.

Summary: This fic is the Forward to Blair's book "The Sentinel, Revisted" a publication of his original thesis 30 years after the events portrayed in TSbBS, and also contains material from his journal entries commenting on what happened to him and Jim in the decades following the press conference.

Warnings: Death of a main character.

Notes: "The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg" episode moved a lot of us, as evidenced by the numerous comments and fic postings whenever it airs. I knew I had to write this, and now it is done. I was so moved by TSbBS, that I channeled Blair for an entire day, as he dictated this to me. This fic is in first-person, which I never write in. My (male) muse suggested I use a three word limit on dialogue - anything someone says is always limited to three words. This posed some interesting challenges, but was definitely fun to do. The verb tense on this fic is somewhat erratic, as Blair constantly switchs from current to past events in his personal journal. Also, I want to say for the record that the condition Blair suffers from, never happened to me. I was moved by what had happened to MTV's obnoxious comedian Tom Green, and decided that someone in my fic needed to go through hell and back - as though Jim hasn't put Blair through enough of that recently. Also, couldn't resist throwing in a MCCoy-ism from Trek. "He's dead, Jim" just seemed so appropriate in that situation.

"The Sentinel, Revisited" by Blair Sandburg

authored by the.other.g.m.

FORWARD

Why.

Why did I do it? Why did I write a thesis, only to renounce it on national tv all those years ago? Was it really fraudulent? Why am I releasing it now?

These are the questions I have heard on everyone's lips for the past year. I have rolled the idea around in my head for some time, and I felt it was time that everyone should see the original work that ended my friendship with Detective James Ellison, formerly of the Cascade Police Department, Major Crimes Unit, and took my life in unexpected directions.

This is an updated version of my original doctoral dissertation, which was released to the media without my permission in the summer of 1999. This body of work has lain undisturbed in my safe-deposit box for almost thirty years, and it is only now that I feel that it can be released.

It comprises several years of detailed observation of The Sentinel, documenting all the known abilities, limitations and talents of research subject, and dear friend, James Ellison, as well as, historical and anthropological anecdotal information pertaining to the subject of Sentinels in general. The writing may be a little dry at times, because of the requisite nature of being objective, but, for me, I have to say that reading this still conjures up vibrant memories of many of the cases on which I worked with Detective Ellison. So, saying that, I leave you to peruse this voluminous work at your leisure.

Now, I want to devote the rest of this section to the man behind The Sentinel. I want to give a glimpse into my life with the man I called my best friend, my roommate, my occasional mentor and, at times, protector - Jim Ellison. Many myths and rumors surround details of our early partnership - ahem, on many levels - and I hope to clear up some of those mis-conceptions that still propagate through the newsgroups and elists. These excerpts are from my personal journals, and include recent additions for the sake of clarity.

What was Jim really like?

Many of you only know Jim Ellison through the paperbacks and ebooks, written by myself and co-edited by Jim in later years, and the WPN webcast series from a decade ago, which ran for 4 seasons - if memory serves me correctly. I may be biased, but in my mind I always remember Jim in this way. Yes, he really was that heroic, strong-willed, and compassionate. A man of few words, deeply felt beliefs, and strong passions. Yes, an actual ex-Army Ranger, who pointed out my mistakes without hesitation, and made time for me when I needed a shoulder to lean on. This man was my roommate for 4 years. This man was my friend.

I would have to say that my written versions of him in "The Sentinel" series of books were more in keeping with the real Jim, than the predominantly action-oriented series webcast every week by the "All Action, Allways" network WPN. Real life was just not that dramatic, and the cases usually stretched out for weeks at a time. Consequently, we actually worked on several cases simultaneously. But, such is screen life when condensed into a 45 minute episode.

A few other things I want to bring up about the WPN series:

No, the royalties were abysmal, hence the recent re-issue of "The Sentinel" novels by me. Even though Jim left me the loft, I do have bills to pay.

No, even though the WPN series was based on my novels, we didn't friendship kiss during the first season. And we didn't "dongle interfaces," as my son says, during the second season cliffhanger episode - that happened officially about a year or so after "The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg" book / final WPN episode.

Lastly, NO, I was NOT as short as the actor they chose to portray me. Jim towered above me by maybe 3 inches, not 6 or 8 inches like on the show.

The person that the character Simon Banks was based on was TALL. I guess he was a good 5 inches taller than Jim, but on the show the actors for Jim and Simon were similar heights. As for personality, Simon was a composite of several of Jim's former Captains, but oddly enough, each one thought that Simon was based partially on them, because the character fit their "unique" dispositions so closely. No, there were no legal actions because of this, all that the Captains wanted were bragging rights - and a complete, autographed set of all episodes on HDVD, in one instance.

What about all the Babes of the Week, during the first season?

Jim and I were kind of dense when it came to relationships, just watch any first season WPN episode and you can see how badly we were when it came to women - that material is straight from my novels. One area I do have to commend WPN on is portraying our true relationship pretty much as I had written it in the "Sentinel" books. Although, they moved up the romance by about three years, to season two.

Jim was somewhat embarassed, at first, that our personal life was on screen for everyone to see, but I reminded him that WPN was the only webcast network that agreed NOT to whitewash us as bed-hopping, str8 skirt-chasers.

I think he really worried what the guys on the force would think, but they had already suspected something between us for over fifteen years - meaning they saw us as a couple, even back when we were just roomies. I really wonder if we were that obvious the whole time. Why didn't WE see this, it would have saved years of pain and confusion.

Looking back after all these years, I think that is how you recognize true love. You never know where you stand emotionally; passion comes and goes repeatedly; you are never sure if this is the right person; the relationship is always off-again, on-again; but through it all, you have a deep-seated feeling of completeness when he is a part of your life. Does that make any sense? Well, it's not supposed to - that's the beauty of it.

During the entire four year period we were roommates, we had almost no dates, or sex for that matter, with women. I guess that maybe each of us thought that we just didn't like sex with people we regarded as outsiders. Anytime one of us had a date, the other would invariably sabotage it in some way. I don't think that this was done on purpose by either of us, it was just something we subconsciously felt we had to do - as though we were both defending a mutually shared, unspoken territory.

After a particulary bad double date, Jim and I went for a few drinks to relax and forget. The next morning I awoke with a hangover, and found someone sleeping with me in my bed - Jim.

I freaked and screamed out his name.

He jerked awake, realized where he was, and screamed out my name.

He looked under the covers.

I looked under the covers.

Both of us were nude.

"Blair, did you," he said, anger cutting off his words in mid-sentence. He gazed in my direction, the muscle on the side of his jaw twitched.

I felt the gaze burn a hole through my skull and out the wall behind me, a vaporizing beam of death and destruction as it carved a path through planets and moons on it's way out of our solar system.

"No idea, man," I said. I wasn't sure if it was safe to be around Jim, considering the "caught with pants around ankles and both legs up in the air" situation we found ourselves in.

I covered myself with a pillow and walked backwards to the bathroom. Jim muttered something to himself about shore leave and searched for his boxers.

Nothing felt different, but I still had to check and make sure I was unbruised - so to speak.

I heard Jim cussing loudly about finding his boxers in the kitchen, and something about a trail of discarded clothing leading back to the couch.

"You're dead, Sandburg," he said, yelling loud enough for me to hear him clearly in the bathroom.

I locked the door and waited.

A few minutes later, there was a gentle tapping at the door. I grabbed the first thing I saw - a plunger - and held it above my head, ready to swing at him if survival called for it.

"Nothing happened, Sandburg" he said. I knew it could be a trick to lure me out, but my instincts told me otherwise. I followed my gut instinct and unlocked the door.

I stood face to face with the boxer-clad man who wanted me dead.

"Nothing happened, Sandburg" he said. The same words, but the intonation was different.

It took a second, but I grasped his meaning. Whether or not something happened between us, nothing had happened. That was the way he wanted to remember things - or rather, forget them. Jim had said so, and now it was law. I knew I would likely face serious bodily harm if word got out about this, so the incident was mentally suppressed by both of us.

We were still friends, but we remained hesitant about drinking with each other for a long time.

It took years before life finally gave both of us a good kick to the head, saying to us that there was a reason we were together - because we belonged together.

That kick was my thesis.

Looking back on that event from almost thirty years ago, I am reminded of Romeo and Juliet and their tragic love, which in some ways mirrored our own predicament, though we were not aware of the full ramifications of our decisions at that time.

I had inadvertantly ended Jim's life as he knew it, and did the only honorable thing I could - I ended my own life, academically speaking. For a long time I keep telling myself that I did this solely out of loyalty to our friendship. More than a year later, with the death of our friendship, only then did I finally admit to myself why I had really done that for him.

I digress here briefly to comment on the WPN episode 'The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg.' Several weeks, not hours, passed before we actually reconciled, and it was back at the loft, not in a hospital. I have seen the unused footage, and the loft reconciliation scene was actually filmed, but cut due to time constraints.

The WPN 10 year contract ends this July, and I then have first dibs for my media company to license the filmed footage (aired, cuts, and outtakes) from WPN for a modest 75% royalty fee. Seasons one through three, and blooper vids are already for sale on my company site at:

www.TheSentinel.tv

Sentinel paperbacks and ebooks are on my personal site at:

iam.BlairSandburg.nom

After the press conference, I went back to the loft, packed a bag with minimal belongings, and took to the road, hoping to find myself.

Almost two months later, I showed up on Jim's doorstep to get the rest of my belongings. That was when he dropped a bombshell.

There had been a second press conference a few days after I had left. Cassie, or was it Megan, had given him the idea, but I think he just wanted to give back what I had given to him - some chance at a life.

Jim claimed to the press that my actual thesis was still in the working stages and what everyone had read was actually a work of fiction based upon the data. The only reason Detective Ellison was mentioned in it was because of a "personal fascination with the daring detective, with whom the impressionable observer had traveled with for the previous four years." Being a first draft, I supposedly had not gotten around to changing the character's name, as this copy was not meant for public consumption.

I am told that someone brought up the the fact that Jim and I had lived together the entire time, under the same roof, and were still single, but it was quickly detoured by a mournful Jim, who shrugged and replied "I fascinate him."

"The Sentinel" faded into obscurity.

I was stunned. I continued packing my things while I let the words sink in. This was the second time I had betrayed him, and that was two times too many. I didn't want it to happen again.

Jim watched me from a distance. I guess he didn't want to pressure me, or possibly spook me into leaving for good.

As I walked out the door, he said those words, now forever burned into my memory, "Blair. Stay. Please."

I turned and gazed into his blue eyes. Something was different.

I said what was weighing on my mind. "I did this."

I tried to walk away but couldn't.

My own heartbeat betrayed me. Sentinel ears heard what I could not say. Jim grabbed the boxes from my unresisting arms and sat them inside the doorway.

I let out a deep breath and stepped back inside the loft.

Jim raised a hand to my head, and mussed up my hair. "Welcome home, Chief."

I knew I had finally found myself, or at least that part of me that was absent - that part was my best friend Jim.

I followed big buddy Jim's lead and entered the Police Academy. The look on Jim's face at my graduation was priceless. I had never seen him prouder than on that day.

However, my brief stint as a policeman ended when I hesitated to shoot a perp, my blood-covered hand clutching my chest as I fell in slow motion to the ground.

I have vague memories of Jim hovering over my bed in the ICU.

I awoke with a strong hand holding my own, grasping, trying to keep what little remained of my life from escaping my weakened body. His eyelids were red and damp. To this day, Jim has never let me see him cry.

"Never show weakness," he used to say to me, on those occasions when he was in mentor mode.

"I failed you," I said to him. My voice a barely audible whisper through dry, cracked lips - words only a sentinel could hear.

I pulled myself back from the grave, and Jim was there.

I struggled through my recovery, with sweat almost blinding me, and Jim was there.

I hurt so much, I wished I could die - just to end the pain - , and Jim was there.

What was left of our friendship was dying. But Jim would not give up hope on me, or our friendship. He knew I had to find my own way.

"Stay true, Blair," he said one night, as he tried the best he could to reach out to me, by rubbing my shoulder.

I winced internally from the pain of the gunshot wound he accidentally squeezed, but smiled back at him. I didn't want to disappoint him again.

Ranier University wanted nothing to do with me, but I eventually found work as a part-time consultant for museums in the Cascade area.

Jim had been very secretive about something for the past week and I was starting to go crazy, wondering what was going on.

"Ball and chain," Jim said, handing a pen to me. I looked at the contract in front of me and couldn't believe what he had in mind.

On this day our friendship died.

Jim repeated the same words he had said to me one year ago to the day. "Blair. Stay. Please."

I was speechless. I stood there like an idiot with my jaw hanging to the floor. Jim may have mistook this for sheer disbelief at the corniness of the gesture.

Jim was determined.

"OK. Hard way," he said, lowering himself down on one knee. He pulled a man's wedding band, my ring size, from his shirt pocket and offered it to me.

"Yes, man. Yes," I said on September 7, 2000. Our friendship was no more. My former on-duty partner would now be my full-time partner.

"The dowry OK," Jim asked, pointing at the contract.

I guess some of my knowledge was starting to rub off. Although, I was confused by his use of the word dowry. The bride's father would traditionally offer it to the bridegroom as a wedding present. I doubt that Jim saw himself as my bride, so I didn't press the issue. I just lived the moment.

"Yeah, man. Forever," I said, signing the contract that united Jim and I as equal owners of the loft.

Jim surrounded me in a hug that lasted for an eternity and a day.

He pulled away, sensing something was wrong. He looked past my eyes, deep into my soul, searching for the thing that was interrupting this perfect moment between us.

"Blair Ellison-Sandburg," I said, the words rolling oddly off my lips.

The same concern spread to Jim. "Jim Sandburg-Ellison," he said with an odd twinge in his facial expression.

In the end, we decided it was best not to alter our names.

******************

"You have cancer," the man in a physician's white coat said.

The three most feared words in the english language - second only to "You're being audited" - had just been uttered to my face. The foundation and stability of my own sense of reality was thrown upside down, against a wall, and stomped on for good measure. I felt coldness surround me as the blood left my face, and my emotions went completely numb.

Jim and I were domestic partners, going on three and a half years together. I began to question our choice, viewing this as some kind of karmic punishment for my great betrayals against Jim. I panicked. I knew I needed to get out, to get away before something happened to him.

Jim literally shook some sense into me. He led me to the couch and held me through the night, and on until morning. "It's treatable, Blair," he said over and over to me, as I drifted off into a restless sleep.

"You two married," a nurse asked, trying not to offend as he filled out my forms. During the entire month-long ordeal, Jim had stayed at my side, work permitting. I guess everyone recognizes love when they see it.

Two surgeries later, one to remove a testicle and one to remove lymph nodes, and I was officially in remission - a fancy way of saying you're probably cured, but don't sue us back to the stone-age if you do get cancer again.

It never recurred.

I remembered how it used to be with two of the little guys down there, and I sometimes I felt like I was only half a man.

None of this even fazed Jim. He had seen actual combat as an Army Ranger and as a detective, and the mutililating injuries that accompany them. He kissed my scars.

"You're here, Blairbear," he said, whenever I needed reminding that life goes on.

**********************

"He's dead, Jim," I said to my dis-believing partner.

I expected Jim to be relieved, or maybe even happy about it, but I guess we all feel the loss of our father, no matter how badly he may have treated us.

I never knew the experience of having a father.

This was an unsettling event for both of us, but in different ways. This time, Jim was the one who needed a shoulder to lean on. I always knew him as the silent, ever-present monument of strength and stability in my life. But, for a single day, I became the protector.

I remember it vividly. That afternoon, he came by early for lunch, but neither of us made it back to work. We had stopped at one of the park vendors for a quick lunch, on the way from the museum to the truck. He was busy with condiments, and handed the ringing cellphone to me.

I repeated the news to Jim, who feigned ignoring me, and squirted an entire packet of mustard across his forearm. I handed him a napkin, but he didn't even realize why I handed it to him, until I pointed to the mustard bracelet he was wearing.

A few yards from the truck, Jim collapsed to his knees. I learned the folly of trying to lift 195 lbs of dead weight to its' feet. It took a moment of coaching before I finally got a response from Jim. I helped him to the truck, but he was still wobbly on his feet, so I had to drive us both back to the loft.

As we lay on the couch, he shivered in my arms. I felt what he must have felt when he comforted me a couple of years ago, during my crisis. There is no way to describe this feeling of offering total strength, total security, and total nurturing to another man. Thoughts of feeling like half a man never troubled me again.

"You're strong, Jimbro," I repeated to him over and over as daylight faded into the stillness of night.

I don't remember him getting up from my protective embrace.

I do remember waking up to the sound of bare feet padding across the wood floor, and Jim, in boxers, coming over to kiss me on the forehead.

*****************

JB Ellison Sandburg, our son, has turned 18.

I have told him the truth about his past, and he is OK with it. Jim was the proverbial panther in a room full of rocking chairs the whole time. I think he worried that JB might leave and never come back.

I have agreed to take JB on as co-author (read: apprentice writer) on my latest series of "Sentinel" books. He has watched me write, helped me edit, and read the books since before he started high school, so this is a natural progression for him.

Jim is indifferent to the books, although he does help occasionally with editing, when he thinks I have gotten the facts wrong on one of our former cases. I think he is actually upset that WPN is negotiating for a webcast rights for a series based on the books.

"It's just fiction," I keep telling him. After all, sentinels are just a myth. Right?

Time for the truth.

JB is not our adopted son. He IS our son. I.e., Jim and I are BOTH his biological father.

Remember the Recombinant Invitro Fertilization that was announced and subsequently banned almost 20 years ago?

I don't pretend to understand it. Sex cells only contain like half of the chromosomes, so basically you combine them and then insert into an empty ova. The process, as explained to me, was very involved and expensive.

When Jim and I heard about it we knew we had to do this. All of the monies from my previous books, and our joint savings, which we supposedly lost on bad investments, were actually used to finance the endeavor. The researchers were eager to try this, because both of the donors were of the same gender, and also that we were their only source of funding. The procedures were banned shortly after we started, and since we would lose everything if we pulled out now, we decided to go ahead with it secretly. A former co-worker of Jim's, and close friend of ours volunteered to be the birth mother.

It took several attempts, but Jim and I became proud new parents of a healthy baby boy, who we officially adopted as our son.

The most difficult problem was deciding on a name for him. Should he be an Ellison or a Sandburg? Or a combination of both? We finally chose a combined approach. His first name would be a merger of our first names - JB stands for Jim/Blair. Jim thought that Ellison sounded better for a middle name than Sandburg, so that left my last name to became our son's last name.

JB Ellison Sandburg reminds me so much of Jim, and takes after him a lot.

JB doesn't talk unless he has something important to say. He has that same determined edge to him, and watches everything like a hawk. JB has my sense of humor - much to Jim's horror - , and a more easy-going attitude about life, like me. He catches some hell from stern father Jim for the Blair-like attitude, and also, I think, for reminding Jim so much of himself. Jim can be a little gruff and short-tempered at times with JB, hey, we are talking former Army Ranger here, but I have to say that Jim has made a wonderful father.

JB has matured into a fine speciman of young manhood, in my totally un-objective opinion . He is tall and broad-chested like Jim, and has high cheekbones and a high hairline like him as well. He has my coloring, with dark wavy hair that he keeps in a ponytail . He's got that same permanent five o'clock shadow like I do; and let's just say that in the chest depatment, he favors me .

JB is a sentinel.

He is cool with it, and accepts it as a wonderful gift, though at times it does make his life complicated.

Jim's blood is mixed with mine, or should I say diluted by it, so JB only has three heightened senses. For a long time we thought JB was just a regular kid, but it seems that sentinel abilities don't manifest until after puberty.

I once again became shamen and guide to an inexperienced sentinel, and hope I instilled a strong ethical sense with the requisite training. After all, we were dealing with a teenager, who could potentially voyeur from a half mile away. I have to admit that I may have been a little over-protective in this area. Remembering my own teen-age years, the urge for union (or just relief) being so strong, I felt like I could put major dents in steel girders from the sheer hardness of my... ahem, determination.

Jim provided the practical day-to-day experience of actually using sentinel senses, with long family treks through the forest every other weekend.

For JB's high school graduation present, Jim took him out into the wilds of Cascade National Forest for a month long period of survival training - I call it an initiation. I could not handle all the peace and quiet (and raw grubs for dinner) for more than a few days, so I went back to the city and drove out to check on them twice a week. It was kind of cool in a way, walking into the woods for maybe half an hour and then suddenly finding yourself surrounded by two very attractive men in camoflage clothing and face paint.

Considering Jim's past experiences around another sentinel, I wasn't sure if these two could even stand to be in each other's presence. I think Jim regards JB, and myself, as part of his territory. Although, after JB's initiation into sentinel-hood, both men started performing a brief ritual to re-state territorial ownership, when they have not seen each other in a while. Jim with raised head, watching like a hawk. JB with lowered head, and raised palms. The whole display lasts for almost a second, then both men walk over, touch forehead to forehead, and hug.

JB wanted me to mention that he prefers the company of his fellow man (nod to Oscar Wilde). I knew one day that this topic would come up, and I happy to see the he has not gone through all the pain and confusion I endured before I finally found myself.

As a father, what can I say to my son except "I support you."

Gender is a non-issue. I only hope that he finds that one person, who completes the other half of his soul. And that he knows the happiness I have found being with Jim.

*****************

"A mild coronary," the man in a physician's white coat said.

I did for Jim what he had done for me all those decades ago.

I stayed by his side until he told me to leave so that he could finally get some rest.

"You look good," I said. For a man in his early seventies, Jim still looked very fit. I knew he saw the concern in my eyes. I ran a hand through his white hair and said goodnight.

I didn't see Jim again until the funeral, laid to rest in his finest uniform. JB was my strength during the service. I felt the decades of my life counting down. I sat silently and grieved for my partner.

We were still sitting there after everyone else had left. I finally composed myself enough to walk over to the headstone, whose wording Jim had grudgingly agreed to many years before. He wanted plain and simple. I felt he deserved more.

James R. Ellison

December 23, 1956 - July 8, 2028

Beloved Partner, Father, Protector

In the jungle of Cascade,
he fought for justice with heightened senses.
Detective James Ellison, Forever Our Sentinel.

****************

As I write this, columns of sunlight are streaming in through the loft's balcony windows. I feel the heat, but there is still an unending chill edge to the air.

I think of Jim.

I miss the smell of eggs for breakfast EVERY morning.

I miss the lingering bearhugs on the balcony at night, with a backdrop of illuminated office towers, and the red and white lights of traffic rushing to be somewhere, on the other side of the bay, away from us.

I miss the sloppy, wet kisses that go on for an hour.

I miss the firmness and warmth of his body, holding me while I slept.

Wherever you are Jim, "I miss you."

Blair Sandburg

May 30th, 2029

=30=