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.

Acknowledgments: I wish to thank Annie for the great beta on these chapters.

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Summary: Brief glimpses into the lives of our favorite Sentinel and Guide.

Comments welcome and appreciated!

Chapter 1: House Rules

Jim bent down to pick up a stray argyle sock that was lying on the floor between Blair's room behind the stairs and the bathroom. Turning to his roommate, he growled, "What have I told you about picking up after yourself? I shouldn't have to be retrieving your dropped socks."

Blair looked over his shoulder from where he'd been trying to get an African tribal mask hung on the wall over the stereo system. "Sorry, Jim. I was taking a load of laundry to the hamper, and it must have dropped out of my arms."

"Be more careful next time," Jim admonished. "And who said you could hang that monstrosity in my living room?"

Blair centered the mask so that it was hanging straight before he turned to frown at Jim. "This mask was too big for my room," he explained, "and I thought the loft could use a little color. If you don't like it, I'll take it down."

"Then take it down, please," Jim requested, stalking into the bathroom to deposit the sock in the hamper for the dirty clothes.

"Okay. Sure. Fine." Blair turned back to the mask and lifted it off the wall, heading back to his own small room to put it where the finicky Sentinel would no longer be bothered by it. "You know, Jim, I've tried hard to abide by your house rules since I moved in here, but sometimes it's hard. Very hard. I feel like an intruder in your home. There's nothing on display in the main room that reflects that I even live here. Maybe it's time I start looking for a place of my own. You know, get out of your hair and let you have your space back."

The anger and hurt in Blair's voice stopped Jim dead in his tracks. "I never said you had to move out."

"But you're not very receptive to me staying, either," Blair stated. "If you were, you wouldn't mind the occasional dropped sock, or some tribal knick knacks tastefully spotted around the room. If you wanted me here, you'd allow me to add a few touches of my own to the decor."

"I never said you couldn't put something out here," Jim responded, his heart beginning to pound out a tattoo of fear. "I just would like to be asked first."

"Would you mind?" Blair asked, his anger melting in the face of Jim's obvious upset. "I don't really want to leave; I just thought maybe you'd be happier if I did."

"No, Blair! God, no. I never said that, never meant that. I want you to stay. Really. Please."

"Are you willing to let up a bit on the rules? The sock really was an accident," Blair said softly. "I'm not a child. I'm an adult. I do half the cooking here, I help with the clean-up, and I buy groceries when I can afford it. This is your home, but it's mine too. I'd just like for you to acknowledge that."

Jim nodded. "Yeah." His face colored slightly with embarrassment. "Then you'll stay?"

"Of course I'll stay... if you want me to."

Making quick tracks to the kitchen, Jim grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge, twisting off the tops and handing one to Blair. "Are you kidding? You're my Guide, Lee Brackett said so." He herded Blair to the sofa with a gentle hand against the younger man's back. "I need you. I still haven't learned control of my senses."

They sat down together and Jim picked up the TV remote, flicking through the channels until he came across a football game.

"And the mask?" Blair asked, taking a sip from his bottle.

"Can hang over the stereo, if you want," Jim answered. "And you can put out a few more things, if it would make you feel more comfortable here."

"Really?" Blair turned his attention from the game to the man sitting next to him. "You'd do that for me?"

"Sure. Why not? I mean, what can it hurt?" Jim took a drag on his bottle of beer before turning casually to look at Blair. "I want you here," he said, his voice holding a measure of sincerity that his partner hadn't heard in a while. "I want you to stay and to feel comfortable. This is your home too." Having spoken his mind, Jim's attention was drawn back to the football game.

Blair nodded and smiled, and turned his attention back to the TV as well.

Chapter 2: "Stay in the Truck"

"Stay in the truck." Jim gave Blair a stern look as he pulled up to park next to the abandoned building. They had been chasing a suspect in an armed robbery of a convenience store. Not normally Major Crimes material, but Jim had been the closest when the call came in. "I mean it. This guy is armed."

Blair's lips were pressed together in a thin line, but he nodded as he watched Jim get out of the truck.

A flicker of a blue blazer disappeared behind the far side of the building. Jim's sharp eyes caught the movement and he gave chase. Rounding the corner and out of sight of the truck, Jim stopped once more, stretching out his senses. His quarry was inside. Sprinting around the next corner, he spotted a door, slightly ajar. He entered cautiously, gun drawn. Keeping close to the walls, Jim swept the large room with all his senses. Wooden crates were stacked in random towers and groupings, giving the perp many hiding places from which to ambush an unwary officer. Jim was determined to not give the man that chance.

A flash of light, like the sun reflecting off the barrel of a gun, drew Jim's attention. Cautiously, he began his approach. Senses extended to the maximum, Jim was taken off-guard when a sudden multitude of bright flashes overwhelmed him.

+++++

Outside in the truck, Blair began to fidget. Jim had told him to stay in the truck, but when had he ever listened to Jim when his heart told him otherwise? Jim had been gone longer than it should have taken for the Sentinel to track down and capture an amateur burglar. He might be in trouble, and it was Blair's responsibility to see to his Sentinel's safety.

Opening the passenger side door, Blair dropped lightly onto the bare dirt. He headed toward the building, going around the opposite way from Jim's approach. A door on the side of the building gave entrance to the determined Guide. Slipping inside as quietly as possible, Blair stooped to pick up a fist-sized rock that lay next to the doorframe. Moving slowly, he rounded a pile of wooden crates to see the sight that he had most feared.

Jim stood, facing the armed suspect. The man had a gun pointed directly at the Sentinel, but Jim didn't move, didn't flinch. Blair recognized a zone when he saw one; Jim was deep within a trance created by his own senses.

Hefting the rock to get a feel for its weight and size, Blair pulled back and let fly with a pitch that would have made Cy Young proud. The rock hit the suspect in the back of the head, sending man and gun flying forward.

The gun hit the ground at Jim's feet, but still the Sentinel did not flinch. Blair stepped over the unconscious body of the robber to grasp at Jim's arm. "Hey, Jim! C'mon, wake up, man. You scare me when you do this, you know."

Slowly, the Sentinel reacted to the soft words spoken by his Guide. Jim's eyes blinked and then focused on Blair standing next to him.

"What happened?" Jim asked, looking around. He spotted the unconscious man on the ground and his protector instincts kicked in. "Why didn't you stay in the truck like I told you?" His fear redirected itself as anger toward his partner.

"If I'd stayed in the truck, you'd be dead," Blair stated calmly, bending over to pick up the gun at Jim's feet. "Next time, trust me to have your back, okay?"

Jim grunted what could have been taken for reluctant agreement as he bent down to slap handcuffs on their suspect and pull out his cell phone to call in the arrest.

Chapter 3: Who's the Boss?

"Oh my God, she's going to kill me!" Blair stuck his head out of the Major Crimes bullpen and into the corridor, looking both ways for a safe escape route.

"Who's going to kill you, and why?" Jim asked, coming to stand next to his partner, an amused grin on his face.

"Samantha from Forensics," Blair explained. "We've been dating and today is our three-week anniversary."

"Congratulations," Jim said facetiously, his grin still firmly in place.

"Condolences might be more in order," Blair said. "I forgot to get her a gift."

"A gift for a three-week anniversary?" Jim's amusement threatened to bubble over into outright laughter. His partner had a way with women - a way that usually ended up with Blair in the doghouse.

"Here she comes! Help me hide, Jim!" Blair backed himself up behind the larger man as the dark, petite woman came around the corner of the hall.

"I don't know what I can do for you, Romeo," Jim admitted. "You can't keep hiding from her."

"I can try," Blair said, scuttling beside the donut cart as it exited the bullpen. "Keep her busy until I get back."

Jim watched as Blair crouched down, following the cart into the elevator just before Samantha arrived at the doors to Major Crime. "Is Blair around?"

"Haven't seen him," Jim lied glibly. "He said he had an errand to run before he could come in this morning."

"Did he say what the errand was?" Samantha's voice dripped with false sweetness.

Jim shrugged. "Can't say that he did. It's none of my business anyway."

"What's up?" Joel Taggert came out to stand in the hall next to Jim.

"I was just asking Jim if he'd seen Blair here this morning," Samantha supplied when Jim remained silent.

"Oh, didn't I just see him -" Joel began before Jim quickly interrupted.

"Blair hasn't been in yet this morning, Joel. He had that errand to run first, remember?" Jim gently reminded the bomb squad Captain. "You must have seen Lucy. Her hair is a near match to Blair's."

"Huh? Oh, yeah," Joel said, playing along when Jim nudged him gently in the side. "Sorry, I haven't seen Blair this morning."

"Hmmm... Yes, well... Have him give me a call when he comes in," Samantha said, skepticism written in the fine lines on her face.

After Samantha was gone, Jim exhaled deeply. "Whew! That was close."

"What's up?" Joel asked. "I could have sworn I saw Blair in the bullpen this morning."

"You did," Jim explained. "It's his three-week anniversary with Samantha, and he forgot to get her a gift."

"For a three-week anniversary?" Joel said, astonished.

Jim nodded. "That's what I said. But Blair was in a panic. This woman has got him so twisted around her little finger that it just isn't funny, Joel."

"I pity the poor kid," said Joel. "Samantha can be a real bitch."

"Tell me about it."

The two men chuckled in agreement as they re-entered the bullpen.

+++++

Twenty minutes later, Blair returned with eighteen yellow roses on long stems. "Did you manage to convince her?" he asked breathlessly.

"Just barely," Jim admitted. "I think she's on to you. She asked for you to call her when you got in."

"Good idea. Better to have her come up here, on our turf, rather than for me to go down to Forensics and meet her on hers."

"I remember the time before when you stood her up," Jim said, nodding grimly. "She nearly singed off your eyebrows."

"I'd better make that call," Blair said, laying the roses across Jim's paperwork.

+++++

Five minutes later, Samantha was out in the hallway, impatiently tapping her foot. Blair approached, offering the roses. "Happy anniversary."

"Oh, how nice. You remembered." Samantha's voice dripped sarcasm. "And yellow roses. How sweet." Her face turned sour. "Just what kind of anniversary gift do you think yellow roses are, anyway? Don't you know that yellow is the color of friendship? We're more than friends, aren't we? Well, aren't we?"

"Y-Yes," Blair stuttered. "Sorry. I thought you'd like them."

Samantha shoved the flowers back into Blair's arms. "If you want this relationship to continue, get me a decent gift," she commanded.

Jim and Joel had wandered to the doorway to watch the bloodbath play out. Jim reasoned that he might just have to step in and rescue his hapless partner if things got too bad.

"Now, just a minute," Blair said, anger welling up inside him. "You're not my boss, you're my girlfriend. Those roses were expensive. I'm just a graduate student on a grant stipend. The work I do here at the station is unpaid. I went out of my way to get you something nice for our three-week anniversary." He stopped to take a breath, righteous indignation overcoming his anger. "Which, by the way, isn't even an anniversary. 'Anniversary' comes from the Latin meaning to recur annually... once a year, not once a week.

"I like you, Samantha, but I can't afford you. It's damn inconsiderate of you to expect a gift every week that we're together. I don't have the time or money to indulge your self-gratifying ways." He pushed the bouquet into her arms and backed off three steps. "Take the flowers and consider us friends. I can't date you anymore; I just don't have the stamina for it." He turned on his heel and started down the corridor.

Jim grinned and turned to Joel. "Looks like the boy finally grew a backbone."

Joel chuckled and nodded his agreement. "About time. I wondered how long he was going to let that go on."

"Wait." The soft call made Blair stop and turn. The hardness had left Samantha's face and she graced him with a genuine smile. "I'm sorry. I know I've been a bitch and I'd like to make it up to you."

Almost of their own accord, Blair's feet began the slow walk back toward the beckoning woman.

"How about dinner at my place? Tonight at eight? Let me make it up to you. We can start off on a new foot," Samantha suggested.

"Yeah, well, okay," Blair agreed, his reluctance melting as hormones kicked in once more. He accompanied Samantha to the elevator and the two rode down together.

"I hope the boy knows what he's getting himself into," Joel said, grinning and turning back to the bullpen.

"I'll let you know in the morning," Jim promised.

Chapter 4: Happy Holidays

Halloween

Blair walked into the loft and deposited his backpack beneath the coat hooks. "Hi, Jim, I'm home!" he began as he peeled off his coat and hung it on one of the hooks. "What are you up to?" He wandered over to the dining room table, where Jim had newspapers spread on the surface and was busy decapitating a large pumpkin and scooping out the insides.

"I'm making some jack-o-lanterns," he said, looking up from his task.

"I can see that," said Blair, a bemused smile on his face. "The question is: Why?"

"I thought they'd look nice out on the balcony. We need a little Halloween decoration."

"I repeat, why?" Blair circled the table to examine one of the finished pumpkins.

Jim sighed and set down his carving knife. "If you have to know.... When Steven and I were really little, Mom did up Halloween big time. It was second only to Christmas in our house. We'd carve pumpkins, make caramel apples and popcorn balls, and we'd always dress up and go out trick-or-treating. But after Mom left, that all stopped. Dad didn't want to bother. Sally helped with the jack-o-lanterns for a couple of years, but since Dad disapproved of all the fuss, even that stopped eventually. I guess I was just in the mood to bring back a little of the old feeling of the holiday."

Blair had listened raptly to Jim's story. It wasn't often the stoic man said anything about his mother or his days as a child. This was an insight too precious and rare to make a joke about. "Are you going to a party tonight?" he asked instead.

Jim shook his head. "Nothing going on. I thought I'd light the pumpkins and then settle down with some popcorn and beer to watch the monster movie marathon on cable."

"Isn't Major Crime throwing a party this year?"

"Nah. The new Chief of Police put the kibosh on any group celebrations down at the station. Just as well," Jim said, turning back to his work. "I don't have a costume this year anyway."

"There's a big party going on at the Rainier campus," Blair said. "Faculty, students and guests are mixing it up. There's going to be a live band and everything!"

"You go. Have fun," said Jim. "I'll stay home and watch my movies."

"No, I think you should go with me," Blair insisted. "It would do you good to get out and mingle."

"Like I said, I don't have a costume this year."

"Not a problem. You could wear your camouflage pants and a white muscle shirt. Throw on that head scarf thingy I see you wearing sometimes, and the girls will be flocking all over you!" Blair grinned, imagining the reaction of the coeds upon seeing his muscular partner. "You could throw a couple of temporary tattoos on those bulging biceps of yours, and you'd be set."

"What are you going as this year?"

"Oh, I've got it made!" Blair said, grinning. "I'm going as Dracula. I had some custom fangs made from a mold of my teeth. They fit like caps over my canines and, man, do they ever look real! All I need to finish it off is my tux and this great cape I got that has a red satin lining."

"I don't know..." Jim procrastinated. "I'm not really the party type."

"Come on!" Blair urged. "It'll be fun!"

+++++

The party proved to be all Blair had said it would be, and more. As the two men stumbled back into the loft after midnight, Jim still had a satisfied grin plastered on his face. As he began to climb the stairs to his bed, he paused and called down to Blair. "Thanks for convincing me to go tonight."

"I knew you'd have a good time," Blair said, grinning back at the Sentinel.

"It was the most fun I've had at Halloween since I was a kid," Jim admitted.

"Good," Blair declared. "Good night, Jim. Sweet dreams."

"Good night, Count." Jim made his way to bed, feeling like a kid again. He was surprised at just how good it felt.

Thanksgiving

"Oh no! No, no, no!" Blair cried, running toward the oven that had black smoke issuing from around the door's gaskets.

"What's that smell?" Jim asked, coming downstairs. "It's everywhere!"

"That was our Thanksgiving turkey," Blair moaned. Just then, the water on the potatoes boiled over, extinguishing the stove's pilot light. "Damn! I give up!"

"You try too hard sometimes," Jim said, putting on oven mitts and pulling the burnt turkey from the oven. "This is a lost cause. We'll have to figure out something else." He turned on the exhaust fan to help clear the air of the smoke.

"The entire dinner is ruined!" Blair's distress was obvious, even to the casual observer. "It's too late to try and get any dinner reservations. The restaurants will be full all day."

"All is not lost," said Jim, getting out the bread to make sandwiches.

Minutes later, the two men sat down with peanut butter sandwiches and chips. A can of cranberry sauce had been opened in honor of the season, despite the fact that the turkey was in the garbage.

"It doesn't take a turkey or stuffing or pumpkin pies to be thankful," Jim reminded his depressed roommate. "I'm thankful we have a roof over our heads and enough food to eat, even if it is PB&J on Thanksgiving," he stated. "Most of all, I'm thankful I have you."

Blair looked up from his plate. "You are? I thought maybe I was more trouble than I was worth."

Jim shook his head. "I'll admit, you have your moments," he said, grinning. "But without your help with my senses, I would have been dead or insane by now. I can't thank you enough for helping me to get my control back."

"T-That's okay. It's nothing," Blair murmured.

"It's more than nothing," Jim asserted. "I just don't tell you often enough. All right. I don't ever tell you; so I'm telling you now: I'm thankful for your presence in my life, despite those things you do that drive me nuts."

"Like burning the turkey?" Blair asked, a ghost of a smile beginning to curl at the corners of his lips.

"Like burning the turkey," Jim agreed. He looked over at Blair's empty plate. "Need another sandwich?"

"Yeah," Blair said. "I think I'm getting my appetite back."

"I didn't know you'd lost it," Jim quipped, heading back into the kitchen. He really did appreciate having Blair with him, he realized, and he didn't say so often enough. Maybe a burnt turkey was what it took to make him realize that thankfulness was in the eye of the beholder.

Hanukkah/Christmas

Jim watched silently from the shadows as Blair, decked out with a yarmulke and some sort of sash hung around his neck, lit the first Hanukkah candle and recited a quiet prayer in Hebrew. When he was finished, Jim approached.

"That was beautiful."

Blair started and turned around. "Geez, man, you scared me. I didn't hear you coming!"

"Sorry," Jim apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you." After a short pause, he held out a small wrapped package. "I have a gift for you."

"It won't be Christmas for another week," Blair reminded him, giving Jim a puzzled look.

Jim shrugged. "It's not a Christmas present; it's for Hanukkah. You do give gifts on Hanukkah, right?"

"Well, yeah..." Blair conceded. "But I don't have anything for you. I didn't know you were interested in my celebration."

"You participate in Christmas with me every year," Jim explained. "I figured it was time that I got involved a bit with Hanukkah. Open it."

Blair tore at the blue and white wrapping paper, and opened the box to find an old, hand-carved wooden top nested inside some crumpled tissue paper. "This is my old dreidel! How'd you get this? I haven't seen it for years!"

Jim's grin of satisfaction reached from ear to ear, crinkling the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes with delight. "I wanted to get you something special," he explained. "So I tracked down your aunt Rachel. Apparently, she's the keeper of a lot of Naomi's things when your mom is off on her trips. She had this, and said you'd probably appreciate having it back now that you're grown and Naomi is gone so much. Bring back a bit of your childhood."

Blair's eyes were misty, but he made a gallant effort not to cry. "This was my favorite Hanukkah toy," he admitted. "Mom would let me play with it every year, but then she'd pack it away with the menorah when Hanukkah was over. I never thought I'd see this again! I can't thank you enough, Jim. This is the perfect Hanukkah gift!"

"Don't go getting all mushy on me now," Jim said, trying to displace the emotions that throbbed between them like a heartbeat. "It's just a toy."

"It's more than a toy, Jim," Blair said, getting his emotions under control as he looked up at the Sentinel. "This is about friendship."

At that moment, the love that shone between the two men - a love of brother for brother - outshone the menorah candles.