Unfinished
by Jedi Nic
February 2000

The phone call came at 3am and I guess even then Jim must have known. Not that he said anything to me. I only found out about his conversation with Simon years afterward, and that left me feeling hurt and betrayed for a while, until I realised that it was just Jim being Jim, and that hurt all the more.

Although it was so long ago, I can still remember it vividly. The sound of a phone ringing cuts through everything at night and I wearily stumbled out of bed, knowing that Jim was already answering it but I hadn't been sleeping that well anyway. Who could, after the day we'd just had?

It was one of the most momentous days, perhaps *the* most momentous, in human history. The day we discovered that we weren't alone in the universe.

Reading that sentence makes me laugh aloud: how many people have written that exact sentence, or a variation of it, since October 10 2001? It's always surrounded by words of awe, a reflection on just what that meant to the human race and to our future.

I'm not going to do that, though. This is a story about me and Jim. Or more accurately, about Jim. History has recorded him only as a hero and he was all over the news, in fact, we both were, and some of those memories make me smile.

And there are some newscasts I can't bear to watch again, but those are the ones that are imprinted on my mind forever.

It all started so innocently, a routine day at the station and we were both tired beyond belief. Fighting for justice was our entire life and we were the best team in the city and we never had time for anything more than that. Jim dedicated his life to serving and I - to be honest, I'd dedicated my life to him. Initially I found it hard to believe that I was even busier when I had just the one (and paying, thank God) job and part of me yearned for the freedom of academic life. I used to write a lot back then. Maybe that's why I need to write this now.

The phone call. As I stumbled into the living area and switched on a light (Jim might have been able to see in the dark but I certainly couldn't) I found myself wondering just what was it now.

I mentally ran through our cases, trying to guess which perp had struck again or perhaps someone had escaped and was now coming for our heads. Hey, it was 3am, you can't blame me for having dark thoughts.

Jim had the most intense expression on his face and it had nothing to do with the fact that I'd turned on the lights without warning him. It was a frown I'd rarely seen on my best friend, yet at the same time, his eyes were wide with excitement. For not the first time I wished my senses were enhanced like his so I could listen in on the phone conversation.

Every so often, Jim mumbled another affirmative and the conversation seemed to go on forever. I went to my room and retrieved a blanket, wrapping it around my shoulders because winter

was fast approaching and there was a chill I just couldn't shake off. Maybe it was my own premonition.

I sat beside him, just watching him, wondering when the endless conversation would end. By now, I knew it wasn't something to do with one of our cases, if the matter was urgent then we would have been out of the door ten minutes ago. And it didn't seem to be personal either; Jim was cool and in control, not closed off in the slightest.

"I see," he said for the hundredth time. And then - "What about Sandburg?"

The answer obviously didn't please Jim because he protested, "He's my partner, you can't send me into this without him."

More distant chattering and by then I was feeling a little creeped out. Especially when Jim said, "He's got a background in anthropology, he's perfectly qualified for something like this. Hell, he practically had his Ph.D."

And I think that was when it hit me. Sure, I'd publicly renounced my thesis on Sentinels but there were some who believed me (I even got fan mail upon occasion, proving that copies of it were

circulating somewhere). And of those who believed, well, didn't the government have a department on the unexplained? Didn't they have records of Jim's past aberrant behaviour? It wouldn't take much for someone to set up a file on him, and even less to get the proof. I'd seen to that.

So they knew Jim was a Sentinel but they'd left him alone and for that I was glad. It wasn't like he was the weirdest thing to walk this earth, there were plenty of stranger things out there and that didn't even include the aliens.

The aliens. Which had prompted this 3am phone call. Earlier that evening we'd sat stunned at the reports on television. The aliens had arrived and broadcasted a message of greeting in all the major languages at every country on Earth. It hadn't taken long for the networks to pounce on the footage (so much for national security) and it had been replayed a hundred times since then.

"Greetings," said the stereotypical grey alien, "we come in peace."

It had all the makings of a hoax but it wasn't because our satellite systems and radar and whatever else the U.S. uses for national security clearly recorded a UFO orbiting the earth in

amongst everything else. A small ship of unknown design carrying three extra-terrestrials who came in peace and wanted to discuss an exchange of knowledge and culture.

It was amazing news but I never thought it had anything to do with us. Naturally, I was wrong.

After what seemed forever, Jim put down the phone and turned to me with a stunned expression in his eyes. "What is it, Jim?" I asked, needing to hear confirmation, hoping that it was nothing.

"They shot it down." He said it without a trace of emotion, as if the knowledge hadn't quite sunk in yet. "They shot it down and they want *me* to go find them."

"What?" I said again. I lay a hand on his arm, feeling an irrational need to be closer to him even though he was right there. "Who shot it?"

Jim sighed, and then cursed, and I mentally cursed right along with him. This was the greatest event in human history and as usual, someone had screwed up big time.

"They don't know where the missile was coming from. Every damn sensor in this entire country was pointed at the alien ship, no one was thinking of national defence. It could have been the Middle East, or it could have been China. All we know is that someone shot it down and it just crashed in the Antarctic and I have to go on a rescue mission to save the aliens.

"God, what a mess," he finished.

I silently agreed with him.

"You know what the worst thing is?" Jim burst out suddenly and I just looked at him, my eyes wide. "This isn't some humanitarian rescue mission, although that's what they're gonna portray it as. No, it's because our government wants to get its hands on the technology before anyone else does. It's like a fucking race to find them." He jumped to his feet. "That's why I have to get going right now."

"I'm coming with you," I said, following him up. "Do you have thermal underwear and stuff, because it's gonna be *really* cold down there...."

He was halfway up the stairs before he paused and looked back at me. "You're not going."

"Oh yes I am," I immediately countered. I knew he'd need reasons so I said, "You don't know what might happen to your senses if you're exposed to extreme colds of that magnitude. You need me there. And besides, I'm an-"

"-anthropologist," Jim finished for me. "I already tried that. Blair," and there was a tenderness in his voice, "I want you along with me on this but it's just not going to happen. This is dangerous, they've got a specially selected team of professionals," and he must have seen the expression on my face because he quickly said, "not that you're not professional, Chief, but we're talking the NSA here. The big guns."

"So why you?" I protested even though I already knew the answer.

"They know what I can do." He fell silent then, we both did. It was confirmation of what I'd long suspected but to hear it out in the open, well, it changed things. It meant that we were no longer

so safe. Even if they promised not to reveal Jim's secret to the general public, they still had a hold over him, they would be able to almost blackmail him into anything they needed done. "Chief,

it's not all bad," Jim continued. "I managed to get some concessions - they've promised anything else I need - 24 hour radio contact with you, for one thing." He suddenly grinned. "If you can stay awake that long."

I pretended to be mildly insulted as I followed him up the stairs and helped him pack. But inside I was consciously aware of everything, the sense of loss because Jim was going on a hugely

dangerous mission and I wouldn't be there to watch his back. He hadn't zoned in months, but that didn't mean it wouldn't happen. Yet as much as I wanted to argue the point more I didn't, because when Jim decided that a situation was too dangerous for me then there's nothing that can convince him to let me go along and I didn't want to hear him say that out loud. I watched him, I

carried his bag down the stairs while he searched for his cell phone, and I noticed his last wistful gaze at the loft.

And I told myself it was just because it was the last time he'd be so warm for a while.

Within half an hour we were at the airport and Simon was there too, in furtive conversation with a couple of people in dark suits. He looked up the moment Jim and I approached and smiled widely but I could tell it was a fake smile.

"Jim, glad you could make it."

"Not like I had much of a choice," he muttered so that only I could hear. It was the head of national security who'd called him and that was a person you just couldn't say no to.

"You all set?" The small talk was so awkward and I was still seething inside that I wasn't going, but Jim had explained the details to me on the way over. One small plane heading for Antarctica, and with the extra hazards of extraterrestrial contact, they didn't have room for me. It was that simple. It was a truth I wish I'd fought.

I was only half listening as Jim was introduced to the agents and there was the necessary but boring polite conversation regarding each others' qualifications. It was a scenario that had been

played out a million times in the history of humanity and I just wasn't interested. These were, after all, the people partially responsible for taking Jim away from me and into a dangerous

situation.

"Hey Sandburg, could you do me a favour and get me a coffee?"

My head snapped up. Was Jim trying to get rid of me? He gave me his best smile and I knew I couldn't refuse him. "Sure, man," I said and wandered over to the nearby cafe, constantly glancing back over my shoulder at him. I don't know why I did it. Maybe I had an irrational need to hold on.

I ordered the coffee and when I turned again, the agents had greeted a third person and Jim was deep in conversation with Simon.

Their heads were close together, a trait Jim and I always had trouble mastering because of the difference in our heights, and even at this distance I got the impression that what was being said

was never for anyone else's ears.

Simon shook his head, laying a hand on Jim's arm, and then the expression on Jim's face changed from earnest to insistent. Neither of them said anything for a long while, they just stared at each other, and I stared at them until I heard the none-too-subtle voice of the waitress announcing that my drink was ready.

I fought the growing panic inside of me as I carefully made my way back over to them, noting how Simon managed what I would call a brave smile, and they gave each other a half-hug, the manly type of hug that people can get away with in public. Jim occasionally hugged me like that, but it was the first time I'd seen him do it with anyone else in what seemed eons.

"Blair," Jim said, his eyes avoiding mine when I rejoined them. "Thanks."

"Anytime," I replied, as flippantly as possible. I wasn't going to let him know how much the situation was bothering me. "How long until you leave?"

Simon inclined his head towards the agents. "If that's the pilot they're talking to, then now. There was some kind of delay getting the plane here, apparently it belongs to the Defence Force who

refused to let it be used unless one of their own was in command."

"So did they get command?" I asked, more for something to say than out of real interest.

Simon's face turned blank. "Uh, that's on a need to know basis. Sorry, Sandburg."

"Need to know?" I repeated incredulously, then whirled on Jim. "I thought I was supposed to be a part of this. You know, 24 hour contact?"

Jim still wouldn't meet my eyes and just shrugged instead. "I'm sorry," he said. "They probably don't want word getting out until the mission's underway. Maybe not even then."

"C'mon, Jim, Simon," I said, trying to make light of it, "who am I gonna tell?"

But they both remained silent. Silent over something that wasn't even important. So I stood there too, glancing towards the windows for any sign of the plane, wondering how it could be so bright here in the middle of the night when there were only a handful of people around.

I felt Jim's eyes on me and turned. He looked near zone-out but it was more than that, his gaze was flickering over me, over every inch of my body, almost as if he was trying to memorise how I

looked. The thought was chilling and when his eyes travelled up to my face I managed a smile. "Hey, man, is everything okay?"

"I'm fine, Blair," he replied. Blair. My name again, for the second time in only a few minutes. "There's more I should tell you." His face was so serious and I was missing 'my' Jim already.

My heart was thudding as I asked, "What is it?"

He paused before answering. "It's not just some short rescue- aliens-return-home mission. They have procedures for this, and that includes a period of quarantine."

I nodded slowly, saying, "That's perfectly understandable...how long?"

Jim looked away. "At least a month, probably more. Every germ that we exhale is going to be examined in minute detail before we're declared fit to return to society." His words were soft,

deliberately not betraying any emotion, but there had been more than enough emotional impact in what he said.

A month. Likely more. Without my partner. Already, I could imagine the situation at the station. Jim and I - we worked together like some kind of clockwork - and I couldn't really imagine doing the stuff we did together by myself. Not to mention how lonely I'd get. Sure, everyone else was great and I had a lot of friends there, but it wouldn't be the same. I'd truly have to stand on my own.

"You're okay with that, aren't you?" Jim laid a hand on my arm, his probing eyes filled with gentle concern.

"Sure," I shrugged. Then I shook my head. No, I was *not* okay with that, and it didn't have a thing to do with my job. We hadn't been apart for any length of time...since, well, since we met. The truth was I would miss Jim more than I knew how to deal with. But I would have to deal.

"Mr. Ellison!" One of the agents was waving him over and our conversation was abruptly truncated. "It's time."

I walked beside Jim as our party proceeded through the airport, bypassing security checks, until we were at the last door before the runway. Simon paused, placing a restraining hand on my

shoulder. "This is as far as we go," he said.

I stopped. "Well," I said, wondering just what the hell you're supposed to say to your best friend when you know he won't be back for a while, and there's a chance he won't ever be back. "Good

luck, Jim," I finally said, moving to pat him on the back. He surprised me, neatly dodging the anticipated movement and pulling me into a hug.

And this wasn't the macho type of hug he'd given Simon, this was a real embrace, an almost frantic and desperate one. His arms encircled my waist and I automatically reciprocated, revelling in the feeling of the warm solidity in my arms. He caressed my back and half buried his face in my hair, and we were so close I could hear his heart beating so fast and all I could do was just hold on.

I never wanted to let go.

It's an embrace I've dreamed of a thousand times since then, wanting to relive every tiny detail. How real he felt in my arms, the connection between us that went beyond anything else.

When he pulled back, just a little, I was stunned to see traces of tears in his eyes. "Blair," he said softly, touching my cheek. There was a flash of light but it didn't register until much later that the media had found out and arrived. I still have that picture. "I-" Jim broke off, seemingly struggling with the words.

"I know," I whispered and covered his hand on my cheek with my own.

"I'll miss you."

There wasn't time for anything else, already, the agents were frowning daggers at us and Simon was loudly clearing his throat. Reluctantly he pulled away, not before stroking my cheek with his

thumb one last time. Maybe he was wiping away a tear. Maybe in my heart I did know.

"Goodbye," he said gently, then turned, and walked out of the door.

I watched him the entire way, my nose pressed against the glass, but Jim didn't look back.

---

The NSA or the FBI or whoever was in charge set up a complicated set of radio equipment in Simon's office, complaining all the time that this concession shouldn't have been made because the mission was *far* out of our jurisdiction. They didn't know Jim was a Sentinel and we weren't going to tell them. Maybe we should have, at least then we might have gained a little more respect. As it was, the small team hovered almost obsessively over the equipment and monitored every word that was said. There were two similar setups in Washington and occasionally a four-way conversation was going on. The convenience of conference-call technology had become an annoyance.

The reports were always amusing to listen to from an anthropological point of view. The pilot gave answers that were purely scientific, and made a customary wisecrack at the end. The

male FBI agent loved to ramble on about his alien theories, having very little scientific data to contribute, and was always interrupted. His partner gave the concrete data. And the mission

commander aka official welcomer never said very much at all beyond the "Status OK" remark.

Jim, though, that was another matter. He was the last to speak the first time they called in and I didn't realise how worried I'd been for him until I heard his voice, vaguely tinny but still *Jim*

crackling out of the speakers. Only when I was actively talking with him could I truly believe he was safe.

Once his report was completed, he told me everything, from the moment he'd left the airport to his current status, and it was an amazing story. The journalists of the time recorded what they knew

and they managed an odd interview with Jim and the others, but as far as I know, no one else ever truly understood what it was like.

Imagine, being stranded in the Antarctic hunting for something no human has ever seen before. Not knowing what you'll find, or if it will kill you when you find it. Being under conditions more

extreme than anything you've ever experienced. And being alone.

Because Jim was lonely - I could hear it in his voice every time we spoke. The pilot, the agents, the contact team, they were friendly, but Jim wasn't a part of their world. I'm always amazed at his courage. And his story.

~~~

The flight, hours of tedium, was spent mostly in silence. Jim was introduced to Commander O'Neill, and along with the pilot, there were a total of five in the team. A back-up team was soon to follow once the situation was assessed. Obviously, the NSA was unwilling to risk more people until they knew exactly what they were dealing with.

Besides, it wasn't exactly easy to get to Antarctica. There had been a spate of unusual weather patterns in recent months, and with no clear landing zone in the southern continent, any descent was risky.

The cold was another problem entirely, and one that Jim tried not to think about too much as he sat on the plane, pretending to rest. Once they arrived every minute would be spent in pure action. He needed his sleep *now* but was unable to switch off his mind.

The pilot, naturally, didn't sleep; O'Neill stared pensively out of the window and the agents sat close together, Agent Mulder speaking at an excessive rate and his female companion tiredly nodding at every second sentence. Jim knew that they were the resident alien experts and was mildly amused that the government even recognised such a career choice.

"Mulder, go to sleep," Scully wearily said, and Jim smiled, thinking that it was almost like a situation at home where Blair, completely excited over some Sentinel or case-related discovery,

kept talking and talking while Jim drifted off with a pleasant buzz in his ear.

He missed Blair.

Thoughts of Sandburg eventually carried him to sleep, to awaken much later to a sunset as the plane left the last vestiges of known territory and crossed into Antarctic airspace. Jim watched the sun waning behind them, feeling a pang of loss. Even the sun wouldn't be present here; they were entering a completely unfamiliar environment under the ever-present blanket of night.

The pilot checked his data one last time and announced that they were near the crash zone and now had to find a landing site. He circled twice, the lights on the plane only dimly penetrating to

the ground below, before finally asking everyone to look out the windows for the best runway. They'd flown in quite a distance from the ocean but this region of Antarctic still contained hidden

dangers of unstable ice-sheets or snow-covered boulders.

Jim allowed the tiniest smile of satisfaction to cross his face as he heard the request; this was something he could do. It was becoming apparent just why the mission required a Sentinel even

though it wasn't stated in as many words. He scanned the ground, glad of his training and practise which allowed him to zoom in on the darkened sheets of snow and ice. The ridges weren't the

easiest thing to make out but when Jim was confident he'd located an area free of camouflaged traps, he pointed it out to the pilot, who obeyed Jim's suggestion without question.

And when the plane glided gently across the ice, coming to a complete stop with no mishaps, it was obvious Jim's choice had been perfect.

"You know the drill, you know the mission," Commander O'Neill said, "but regulations state that I must repeat it. So," he paused for dramatic emphasis, "this is a search and retrieval mission. We are to get in and out in the minimum time possible, bringing with us any survivors of the crash *and* any alien technology which may be of use."

"How do we tell what's useful?" countered Jim, still annoyed that the primary mission directive included what he considered was less important.

"Anything and everything," replied O'Neill, glancing at Mulder. "We are also under orders to retrieve the craft itself if possible."

Scully sighed, and Jim fought the impulse to echo her response. Instead, he shrugged on an extra jacket. Even before the hatch was opened, he could already feel the permeating *cold* that would be a constant companion until they left the barren region. He shouldered his pack, assisted O'Neill with his, and the five of them jumped outside.

"Back again," Jim heard Mulder mutter and glanced at the agents, who didn't seem the slightest bit awed by their environment. "What is it about aliens and Antarctica?"

Endless twilight. Or more specifically, dawn, because Antarctica was approaching the end of its long winter when night reigned for months on end. Still, the pre-dawn light felt closer to dusk when combined with the difficulty of the mission, and the exhaustion and corresponding frustration experienced by each of the team members after the endless flight.

"Where now?" Jim asked, deferring to O'Neill for the present. O'Neill checked his data, then grimly announced, "All we know is that it's somewhere within a five mile radius of that point," and

he pointed towards the pole, "half a mile away."

The pilot groaned, Agent Scully pursed her lips. "And just how are we expected to find this object? I didn't see any scanning equipment on the plane."

Jim had never been more glad of his proficiency at dialling up his sight. He found himself leader of the ground expedition, specifically because of his ability to detect the clearest and most

stable path through the ice. And his sense of smell led them directly to the alien craft.

But the constant concentration took its toll. Jim had never used his senses for such an extended period of time before: the plane had landed quite some distance from the crash site and it was pure luck they were even near it at all, given the inaccuracy of the satellite data.

"Is that it?" O'Neill sounded clearly disappointed, and tired, which was understandable since the hike had taken them a good six hours. He shot a look at Jim. "I hope you know what you're

doing."

"Trust me," Jim replied evenly, "this is it." They never would have recognised it, it was 80 percent buried in snow and approximated a large black rock. Had it not been for the distinctly foreign odour it gave off, the team could have been wandering around the ice sheet for *days*, possibly even walking past it without realising what it was. It was actually fortunate that the craft had landed in such an empty environment, because Jim wasn't sure he'd be able to detect the faint scent if it had been mixed with a myriad of other smells.

"Good work," granted O'Neill as he surveyed the object, pacing around it in a deliberate circle. Then he sighed. "Rabb!" The pilot snapped to attention. "We're going to need more than shovels

at the very least. Can you bring that plane closer? We may have to winch the ship out of the ice."

The pilot nodded wearily, before turning and jogging back in the direction of the plane.

Mulder, in the meantime, was already digging, carelessly throwing aside handfuls of the looser snow as Scully protested over the fact that he was potentially destroying evidence. Jim glanced at

O'Neill. "So we start digging?"

The nod was the only answer he received, and Jim sighed. It was going to be a long dig, broken up by infrequent reports and enforced breaks, during which they reported back to their superiors in the US who seemed a lifetime away.

Jim spoke to Blair as much as he could, often fighting the yawn in his voice. It seemed that other countries were also scrambling to get teams to Antarctica but no one else had detected the crash

site. It was something Jim was grateful for: he could concentrate on digging rather than the threat of attack. Still, he kept his hearing dialled up as much as possible and was always ready for action.

When it finally came, he hadn't spoken to Blair in what seemed forever.

~~~

The phone call came at 3am and I guess even then I must have known. I hadn't been sleeping well, but there's only so far you can go before you cave in with exhaustion even if your best friend's in a situation more dangerous than anything you can imagine and there's not a thing you can do to help him.

I answered the phone almost immediately, desperately hoping to hear Jim's voice even though I knew he wouldn't be calling me at this hour ("Get some sleep, Chief," I hear him say) even if he was able to. It was Simon on the other end, telling me that I'd better get down to the station. Now.

He hung up before I had a chance to ask him what was going on, and all I was aware of was the terrible hammering of my heart as a million awful thoughts raced through my mind. The car radio didn't help much, in fact, it made matters worse. "The Alien Recovery Team in Antarctica is under great duress. There are reports of an accident and a team from the Middle East has converged upon the site, making extraction the number one priority despite the condition of the team and our alien visitors."

It was the last thing I wanted to hear. All I wanted to do was be there, in the middle of it, yet I was stuck half a world away and there was absolutely *nothing* I could do except speed through the streets in the middle of the night and be thankful that I was a cop with a good excuse.

I sprinted from the car and into the station in the space of about five seconds and was greeted with Simon's grim face.

"What happened?" I managed to gasp, noticing a cluster of people around the radio, looking mildly frantic. I hadn't even suspected they had pulses, but presented with an out of control situation,

every one of them was worried.

Simon told me. "There's been an accident."

~~~

Jim was freezing. He'd been cold since the moment he'd left the Loft, but this was worse, this was the numbing of absolutely everything. The team had been outside for the past eighteen hours,

continuing the dig which had been going on for the past few days. There were no communications with the aliens and the team couldn't even be sure that they were alive.

But the directions from Washington had been along the lines of, "There's a motherload of alien technology just waiting for us. You must ensure it doesn't fall into the wrong hands." Hauling yet another pile of snow over his shoulder, Jim felt a tiny sense of satisfaction as he realised that the door was almost uncovered. He glanced at his companions, they were all digging with as much dedication as he was, even Scully who didn't seem to have the build for this type of work.

The back-up American Antarctic expedition team was still a good half-day away. They'd been instructed to join the ART ever since Commander O'Neill had reported the depth to which the alien craft had been buried, but Jim knew that by the time they'd arrived, the craft would already be practically free.

Not that there wasn't a lot of hard work in front of them, made increasingly more difficult because of the pressure of the deadline. Last reports had indicated that a team from China would arrive very shortly, although there was conflicting data in that respect.

All Jim cared about at this point was getting inside and then getting the hell out of there. He was there to *save lives*, if appeasing the government went hand in hand with that, well, that was okay, but if he had to spend longer in this godforsaken iceland for no good reason, Jim would make some serious complaints upon return.

"Jim, stop!" The radio in his ear crackled and Jim paused, realising that Mulder was telling him that the door was fully exposed. O'Neill bravely strode towards it and the entire group held their breaths as he lifted his hand and knocked.

There was no guarantee that the signal would be recognised for what it was, and Jim reflected that they didn't even know that this *was* a door aside from the fact that it was the only obviously

different part of the craft's exterior. Jim had used his senses to detect it, for only the tiniest pockmark was visible from underneath the snow.

The door slowly slid open and a warm yellow light immediately diffused into the dark surroundings. A corresponding blast of frigid air raced into the ship, but the alien appeared not to

notice. It stood boldly, its mouth attempting a parody of a smile as it said, "Greetings," in flawless English.

"Greetings," O'Neill returned, "and welcome to Earth." He took a deep breath, and what Jim heard next didn't resemble any of the prepared speeches O'Neill had rehearsed but it still got the

message across. "May I express my deepest apologies for the incident which caused your vessel to crash here. The human race has an arrogance that we have not yet been able to overcome,

nonetheless I would like to assure you that no further harm is intended. I hope that through careful discussion, we may reach a peaceful understanding."

"As you wish," replied the alien, nodding its head and moving back inside the craft, an implied invitation to follow. Strange how it appeared to harbour no resentment towards O'Neill, after all, he could have been the one responsible for the shooting for all the aliens knew.

O'Neill took a cautious step inside the craft. It was obvious he still had a lot more to say. "On behalf of the United States of America, I would like to invite you and your team to travel with us

today and continue the talks of peace you desired." A pause, and O'Neill added, "We are able to transport your ship as it is."

The alien stared at O'Neill for a long moment, a sorrowful expression on its face. "My team has perished, but I shall come. You may also bring my craft."

"Is there anything we can do?" asked Jim as he stepped forward, horrified to hear at the loss of life. The alien mimicked human response and shook its head. "No."

"I'm a doctor," said Scully, pushing forward. "Perhaps I can help."

"And I'm her -uh- co-doctor," Mulder hastily added and there was an expression of hope mixed with awe on his face as he approached the alien. "May we?"

The alien gestured beyond the group, towards the interior of the ship and Jim prepared to follow when O'Neill placed a restraining hand on his arm. "Ellison," he said softly, "I hate to spoil your

fun but we have a job to do. We can socialise with the alien later. Think you can help me with the winch?"

Scully booted Mulder back outside, and then there were four of them trying to hook chains onto and around the craft which seemed to be designed to avoid such capture. And there were worse problems on the way.

Jim took a much needed break inside the plane. Officially, he was checking in with the NSA, unofficially, the task was rotated to allow each person a brief respite from the cold.

"Jim, good to hear your voice," Simon said. "What's your status?"

"Still trying to get the chains 'round that damned ship," replied Jim, the weariness in his voice obvious. "Simon, this is a crazy idea. We don't have even half the equipment we need to do this

properly and we'll be lucky if it even fits in the plane."

"You mean you haven't dug the full object out yet?"

Jim's silence was the only response Simon needed.

"Geeze. Jim, listen to me. The brass are gonna be back in here soon - I sent 'em on a coffee break." "All of them?"

Jim could almost hear Simon grinning. "Yeah, all of them. Let's just say that federal types don't appreciate cigars, and since this is *my* office and you're *my* contact...."

Now Jim was smiling. "I appreciate the effort." He paused, glancing outside, noting that snow had resumed falling. "Listen, sir, while I've got you alone, how's Sandburg?"

"Fine, Jim," was the rapid response. "You spoke to him yourself, now, when was it?...two hours ago."

Jim gave a non-committal grunt. "Yeah, but it's hard to talk with people hanging off every word. Hell, I bet even this conversation's being recorded."

"And?" Simon didn't deny it.

"And...it means you can't say the things you want to say." A sudden burst of static interrupted the conversation, reminding Jim just how far away everyone was. "Did you say anything to him?"

"No," sighed Simon. "Come on, Jim, it's going well. You found the damn spaceship and that was the difficult part."

There was a raucous shouting from outside and Jim realised that his break was well and truly over. "I've got to go."

"Yeah, me too," Simon echoed. "It's the middle of the night."

But his words were unheard by Jim who was already outside, re-inspired by the sight of the craft *finally* all hooked up.

---

"Okay, it's away!" shouted O'Neill from the plane where he was busy guiding the controls. The spacecraft moved, shakily, towards the open cargo hold.

"It's never gonna fit," muttered Jim to himself, neatly dodging a protruding edge which had been buried deep in the snow. He kept a careful eye on the chains, focussing on the pressure points. The craft angled higher and higher, with Jim, Mulder and Scully adding guidance where they could.

The ship was approximately three quarters of the way into the hold when Jim heard the ominous creak. He zeroed in on the chain links, hoping that he wouldn't find what he suspected, but by the time he detected the fractured link he only had time to yell, "Scully!" before it gave and the ship went crashing down, wedging itself into the hold, rear end protruding, and Scully ruthlessly smashed beneath it.

"Shit..." A stream of matched curses fell from Rabb's and O'Neill's mouths, whereas Jim was too busy swallowing bile to even think of speaking. Mulder raced to his partner's side, his face an

ashen grey, and in the background the persistent radio crackled out a dire warning.

"Come in, Recovery! A foreign military armada is converging on your position. You must extract *now*. I repeat, position is compromised and contact will occur in 10 minutes!"

Finally, O'Neill moved, and when he did so, it was with the air of an old man who had no other choice but to give up the fight. He turned to Rabb. "Prepare for take-off."

"No! No way in hell," protested Rabb. "The cargo door's still open and given the way the ship landed, the door's aren't closing any time soon. Not to mention that Agent Scully is *trapped* under that thing...."

"Don't you think I know that?" shot back O'Neill, the anguish in his voice evident. "We are in a critical situation, so you will follow my orders, Pilot, without question. Is that clear?" The final words were a roar.

"Yes, sir," Rabb replied soberly.

Jim had already joined Mulder by his partner's side. "How is she?" he asked softly.

"Alive," came the weak response. A trickle of blood fell from the corner of Scully's mouth as she spoke.

"Scully," Mulder said tenderly, holding her free hand, "you have to hold on. We're leaving now...aren't we?" The latter question was directed at Jim, who grimly nodded.

"I'm gonna check the doors. See if I can jury-rig them shut or something." They could all see that Scully couldn't be moved, and she was trapped near the exit. If the ship crushing her body didn't kill her, the wind-shear would.

Jim heard the whine of the engines quickly segue into a dull roar. He jumped from the plane, racing around the outside to push at the left bay door, the one that would protect Scully. It swung

inwards, ninety percent closed before Jim heard the dull thud of metal on alien metal. He repeated the process on the other side, this door not even closing halfway.

But it would have to do. The wind buffeting him, Jim jumped aboard, grateful to find O'Neill and Mulder already lashing together the doors as best they could by way of loose cable. It was a rudimentary solution at best and as Jim added his power to the knot tying, he reflected that it would be a miracle if it held.

"Enemy on approach!" crackled the radio. "ETA five minutes."

And then the plane was gliding across the snow as fast as Rabb dared, racing for the 'runway' upon which they'd landed earlier. The wind howled, its changing direction blowing snow into the cargo bay. Mulder shielded Scully as best he could with his own body blocking the wind. Jim, after checking the security of the door one last time, headed up front.

The plane finally lifted off, but Rabb was far from happy and it shuddered, tilting from side to side. The tremors increased the higher the altitude. "I don't like this," Rabb muttered darkly as he fought for control. The wind continued to buffet the small plane.

"Recovery to home base, come in!" snapped O'Neill who'd finally made his way to the cockpit, instructing Jim and Mulder to watch the cargo bay doors. "Our situation is critical. Request

immediate assistance."

The response, finally intelligible through a cacophony of static, was even more sobering. It echoed through the plane's loudspeaker and Jim suppressed a groan as he heard the news that massive thunderheads prevented any air assistance. They were cut off from everything but the enemy on their tail.

"There's got to be somewhere we can land!" O'Neill shouted. "What about Australia? New Zealand? We have treaties with those countries..."

"We'll let you know." The voice at the other end had lost all pretence of protocol and now sounded almost concerned. Next came directions and course corrections, but these meant little to Rabb who already knew he was on the edge of a storm front with next to no navigability and a dead weight pulling down the plane from the rear.

The engines where whining even more loudly than before. Mulder, still by Scully's side and holding the door as best he could, turned to meet Jim's eyes. "We're not going to make it."

Jim knew that Mulder was telling the truth. The plane was barely holding together, they had no real idea of their course, so all they could do was hold on and ride out the storm for as long as

possible. Looking at the whiteness of his fingers clenched on the chains, Jim vowed that he would *not* give up, and wished that his Sentinel abilities were useful for something more than detecting

the exact moment when the cargo bay doors would go.

Scully moaned again. "Hold on," Mulder whispered, but it wasn't likely she heard him. The plane dipped wildly to the side and Jim suddenly found himself plastered against the wall. The doors

creaked open another inch.

"Hold tight." Now more reassuring words were being played over the loudspeaker, no one Jim recognised, but probably someone important. Yet this wasn't the time to be talking to the top brass, this was a time for family. Given the highly classified nature of the mission it was likely that only Jim had friends who knew where he was.

And as he thought of Blair, he knew his premonition had been right and they would never see each other again.

A blinding white light suddenly filled the sky, sending an electrified shockwave through the entire plane. Not even a moment later, the accompanying crack of thunder deafened Jim and the plane

wrenched itself in a 180 degree turn, dropping a hundred meters and swinging the cargo bay doors wide open. The chain slipped through Jim's fingers and he knew they'd soon be raw and bloody but he didn't care, he had to hold *on*, but the ship was already sliding out the door.

There wa sa heart-rending yell of, "Scully!" and then the ship, Mulder, and Scully, were gone, plummeting thousands of feet down to the ocean and leaving Jim hanging from a useless piece of chain.

The plane was in a spin and Jim suspected Rabb was fighting for control, but that wasn't Jim's problem. With near-superhuman strength that had made him a legendary copy, he hauled himself

upwards, out of the wind, climbing higher and higher into the relative safety of the now-empty and severely damaged cargo bay. A gaping hole to the left indicated that the alien ship had taken

part of the plane with it. Jim could only hope that Mulder, Scully and the alien had died quickly.

Fighting the growing nausea, Jim stumbled through the plane to the cockpit. He didn't even have to tell O'Neill and Rabb what had happened; if they didn't already know, the look on Jim's face was all they needed to see.

"What's our status?" Jim gasped, realising that the air inside the plane wasn't too good.

Rabb held out his hands in a defeated gesture. "I'm sorry," he said. "The control's gone and so is our fuel supply. I managed to get us into some kind of glide, but there's nothing below us but

ocean. And at this speed...."

He didn't need to finish the sentence. Another flash of lightning illuminated the sky, another gust of wind caused the plane to tilt dangerously once again.

"Parachutes?" Jim asked, not really expecting a positive answer."

"They were out back," Rabb said grimly. "We probably lost them along with everything else, and besides, it'd be more dangerous to 'chute down in these conditions."

"So this is it?"

"Yeah."

Jim stared out the front window, seeing nothing but blinding rain and fog. His senses told him that they were going down, down at an incredible rate and there was no stopping. No time for any regrets, no last minute rescues, all they could do was stand together, bravely , to face their fate and dream of what might have been.

And then the radio crackled again and with it came the only voice Jim wanted to hear.

~~~

"Jim!"

"Blair, oh God..." There wasn't time for any words, I knew it the moment I heard his voice.

"Jim, they're gonna get you out of this, okay?" I promised, lying through my teeth because no one had told me anything except for Simon who'd said that the plane was going down and there was

nothing anyone could do about it. I refused to believe it, I refused to believe that Jim could die when there was so much between us that remained unsaid.

"Altitude 1700 feet," I heard the pilot say and I grabbed the mike again.

"Jim, I-"

"I love you, Blair," he said, and there was such a sense of finality in those words.

"No way, man, don't you say that. Don't you *dare* say goodbye, Jim, listen to me, you are going to get out of this!" I was shouting by the last word and I must have sounded hysterical, but hearing Jim's voice, saying *those* words, and knowing he was so far away sent me almost over the edge.

Then he said it again. "I love you." And that was when I *knew* with absolute certainty that he wasn't ever coming back.

I could only stare at the radio in horror as the screaming noises - the wind? - began and I could hear Jim's breathing and his heartbeat and I could see him in my mind, sitting there so calmly,

accepting his fate, and just waiting, waiting for the plane to smash into the ocean.

There was another frightening burst of static, a muffled crashing sound, and then nothing but an empty hiss. I stared at the receiver where Jim used to be and forgot to breathe. All I was aware of was the thudding of my heart and the knowledge that Jim's heart beat no longer.

The room began to spin and I think I stumbled backwards. I remember someone's hand on my arm, probably Simon's, and the words, "Easy, Sandburg." I'm sure his voice cracked on the last word. I was unable to speak.

Slowly, I sat down, and stared at the receiver as the NSA officials started talking and wildly gesticulating, speculating on where the alien ship (not the plane and the people, but the *ship*) had gone down and I let the world go on around me 'cause I knew the world would never be the same again.

***

They never found Jim's body, nor either of the crafts. It became an international search and rescue event and it was barely three hours before the media got wind of the whole thing and Jim's and my last conversation was being played all over the airwaves. It broke people's hearts, they said. Heroes facing their deaths, only one with words of goodbye.

Jim, naturally, became a hero and with it I achieved some kind of fame. "Jim and Blair - a love story," one magazine proclaimed, using the picture from the airport. And when I can bear to look at that picture, I can see such love between us and I wonder why we never realised it before.

And that's the heart of the matter, I think, it's why I'm writing this. It's to tell the truth about us and show that Jim was just a man doing his job. He and I were special to each other, but what's most painful, and what I have to accept, is that our story ended too early.

We were unfinished.

---

End.