Title: Everything Wrong
Author: Natalie L
Author Email: nat1228@comcast.net
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Written: May-July 2000
Revised and expanded: January, 2002
Previously published by Agent With Style
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.
Episode related: Warriors
Warnings: lyrics, m/m
Author's notes: Many thanks to Becky for the use of parts of her episode transcripts for "Warriors." You made my job much easier.
Thanks also to my intrepid betas: Allison and Heather-Anne, for the original version, and Heather-Anne and Kimberly for this revised and expanded version. Couldn't do it without you!
Summary: Prologue to Make It Go Away
EVERYTHING WRONG
by Natalie L.
nat1228@comcast.net
But tonight you're where I belong
You're everything right
When I'm everything wrong
=====||=====
It was late. Blair fidgeted in the truck as Jim drove past the loft for the fifth time, searching in vain for the Chopec shaman.
"He couldn't have gotten far," Jim muttered. "Just one more time around the block."
Blair sighed in exasperation. "We've been around the block five times."
"I know we can find him," Jim insisted.
"We got to go meet Janet. I told her fifteen minutes."
"All right. I'm not getting anywhere this way," Jim reluctantly agreed.
Blair looked over at the man behind the wheel. "You know, I'm really wishing you had your senses back."
"It's over. The sentinel thing is dead." Jim stared out the windshield, concentrating on his driving.
"Dead." Blair stared in shock at his friend.
Jim paused, recognizing the unspoken words wrapped in that one, flat statement. "All right, man. What's bugging you?"
"What's bugging me?" Blair seemed surprised that Jim had noticed.
"Yeah."
Finally managing to animate himself, Blair spoke with passion. "Do you think Simon Banks is going to let this partnership continue if there's no legitimate reason for me to be here?"
Jim smiled patiently. "I don't know. I think the Captain's developed kind of an abiding tolerance for you."
"What about you?" The anguish in the younger man's voice was barely masked. "You sure as hell don't need me if you don't have sentinel abilities."
Jim turned to look at Blair in surprise. "What? Were you worried you're not going to complete your dissertation?"
"Come on, Jim," Blair said with a sigh. "I got enough information for ten dissertations. I could have finished months ago."
"So, you've been stalling?"
"Yeah," Blair confessed. "You know, I mean, what do you expect? For me to just jump back into my academic life? Come on--that would be like jumping off a roller coaster and spending the rest of my life on a merry-go-round."
~~oO0Oo~~
Rainier University, two weeks later:
Blair felt the beginnings of the familiar pounding in his temples. Thoughts of that night, a mere two weeks ago, stirred the persistent pain. That was the night Blair had realized, that the thought had truly crystallized in his mind, that he was in love with Jim Ellison. Hopelessly, madly, irreparably in love . . . with a man who wouldn't love him back.
Digging in his desk drawer, he withdrew the migraine-strength ibuprofen and popped two pills dry. He crossed his arms on the desktop and lowered his head to wait for the pain reliever to kick in.
A knock at his office door elicited a groan. "Come in." He lifted his aching head to see one of his students, Bill Wayans, come bounding in, arms loaded with books and papers.
Bill balanced the stack on the corner of Blair's desk, digging through the loose papers until he found several sheets clipped together. He let the research paper slide down to settle in front of his teacher.
"I just had a couple questions about the assignment," he began, then actually looked at the man seated at the desk. "You look like shit!" he exclaimed, then covered his mouth in embarrassment. "Sorry."
Blair waved off the comment, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. "It's okay, Bill. I feel like shit right now."
"Hey - hey . . . I can come back," Bill said hastily, gathering up the listing pile of books and reports. "Paper's not due for another week, anyway."
"No, that's okay," Blair said, a wisp of resignation in his voice. "That's what office hours are for." He picked up the paper, put his glasses back on, and squinted through the pain. "What was it you wanted to ask?"
~~oO0Oo~~
Blair gathered his coat and headed for home. Even a second dose of the pain reliever hadn't completely eliminated the throbbing pulse behind his eyes. As he drove through the late afternoon traffic, he tried to concentrate on what to fix for dinner. It was his night to cook, but he sure as heck didn't feel up to anything ambitious. Spaghetti it would be, then. Jim had taken a real shine to his homemade sauce, and that, at least, was easy to make.
He pulled into his parking space outside the warehouse apartment building and climbed out of the Volvo, stopping to steady himself against the door before slamming it shut and heading straight across the lot to the haven of the lobby elevator. Pressing the button for the third floor, he leaned his aching body against the cool metal wall, letting it support him.
To be continued in Make It Go Away...
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