DISCLAIMER: The Sentinel and its characters are the property of Paramount Television and Pet Fly Productions. No money has been or will be made from this work of fiction. This story belongs to the author. Permission is given to archive.

RATING: G

THANKS TO: The many friends, fans and writers in the Sentinel universe for friendship and inspiration.

This story was created in answer to a challenge on the SentinelAngst List. the challenge was to write yourself into a TS story, without taking over the story or making yourself a classic MarySue. I'm sure you'll let me know if it works.

Feedback is always welcome.

"Jim, I'm beat.  Can't we just order out tonight?"

Blair rubbed a hand over his tired eyes as he climbed out of the truck.  The day was fading into gloom, a thin mist falling from leaden skies, and they had been working for almost 16 straight hours.  He slowly followed Jim as he led the way across the parking lot and into the grocery store.

"You're the one who started talking about food and wouldn't let it go, Chief.  It's not my fault that the stakeout lasted longer than we thought and we'd be tied up for another two hours at the station.  Since you brought it up, and it's your turn to cook, your Sandburg Special Six-Cheese Vegetarian Lasagna will do just fine.  And I said that I'd spring for all the extras, didn't I?"

"Couldn't we drive through a Wonderburger, just this once?"  Blair asked hopefully.

"Not this time.  But now that you mention it, I'll definitely take a rain check," Jim grinned.  "I won't forget it."

The battle definitely lost, Blair hung his head and followed Jim into the Safeway, snagging a grocery cart just inside the door and grumbling out the first items needed for his recipe.

Five minutes later, in the midst of a friendly debate about low-fat versus regular ricotta, Jim raised a hand and cut Blair off in the middle of a sentence.

"What is it, Jim?"

"Hold up a minute, Chief…come on."

Blair followed Jim at a trot toward the front of the store, stumbling to a halt against a broad back when Jim turned a corner and stopped abruptly.

An elderly man, stooped and leaning heavily on his cane, was loudly exhorting a cashier for a phone as he gestured with his free hand.

"I'm telling you, there's a man out there with a gun!  Standing on the sidewalk, waving it around and yelling.  He's crazy, I tell you!  Call the police!"

Jim pulled his badge from his pocket and showed it to the cashier and the distraught customer.

"I'm the police.  Detective James Ellison.  Where is this man?"

The elderly man pointed out the front of the store.

"On the sidewalk!  Right out there, on Cherry Street."

Walking to the front and peering cautiously through the glass, Jim quickly stepped back and pulled out his cell phone.

"Here, Chief, call it in.  One male, armed with a handgun.  Ask for the Watch Commander and tell him the situation and the address.  Make sure that he understands that there's a store full of people here, and a busy intersection out there."  He handed the phone to Blair, then turned to the cashier.  "I want you to tell all of the employees what's going on, but that the police are here and handling it.  They need to stay calm and keep everyone inside and away from the glass.  Is there another exit?"

"Uh, yeah, back behind the meat section.  You can get in and out that way."

"Good.  Sandburg, stay in here and keep people away from those doors until backup arrives.  Stay put!"

Blair barely had time to nod before Jim jogged toward the back of the store, pulling his weapon out as he went.

"Jim, come on, wait for backup!"

Not getting a reply, not that he expected one, he opened the cell phone and dialed as he edged up to the glass front wall of the store and peeked out, trying to spot the suspect.

"Dispatch, this is Blair Sandburg…" 

They followed the uniformed officers into the hospital, guiding the handcuffed prisoner with firm hands on his upper arms.  Heading through the wide door and into the emergency room, a man in maroon scrubs walked around the counter and met them.

"Officers, go ahead and take him right into room four."  One officer escorted the prisoner into the small room, while the other waited outside to speak to the tech.  "Do we need to get the restraints?"

"Oh, yeah, Mr. Sikes is having a bad night tonight.  He's definitely intoxicated and who knows what else he's got on board, too."

Blair watched from a safe distance as the second officer joined his partner in the small room, empty except for a wheeled gurney.  The tech spoke briefly to a couple of nurses, then retrieved the padded leather restraints and a hospital gown and all three of them joined the policemen.  It took only a few minutes for the prisoner, loudly muttering and less than cooperative, to be undressed, gowned, and stretched out on the gurney in four-point restraints.  As the officers left the room and gave information to the attending nurse, Blair turned back to his partner.

Jim flashed his badge at a nurse behind the raised counter.

"Detective James Ellison.  Can we speak with the doctor?"

"Just a moment, Detective Ellison.  Dr. James will be right with you."

"We'll need to call mental health, too.  I think he's one of theirs."

"Actually, Detective, I'm pretty sure that C.J. from mental health is already here.  Let me check, but I think that she's still with the patient in room 7."

Blair noticed Jim shivering slightly, both of them soaked to the skin from standing out in the rain for the hour that it had taken to get the gun-waving man into custody.  Jim had been uncharacteristically quiet and moody ever since the man had been apprehended, and Blair hadn't been able to figure out why.  The weather didn't bother Jim much, usually.  No one had been hurt, even though it had taken an hour to get the man to give up the gun. It had been a long and nervous hour, there had been several times that Blair had been certain that an officer was going to have to shoot to bring the standoff to an otherwise safe conclusion.

"Hey, Jim, why don't I find us a couple of cups of coffee?  I don't know about you, but I could use a little something to warm me up."

"I'm fine," Jim replied curtly, crossing his arms over his chest and staring through the plexiglass window at the prisoner in room 4, making it obvious that he was not in a talking mood.

"Okay, whatever."

The activity of the ER ebbed and flowed about them as they waited for the doctor.  Patients, family members, nurses and techs went about their business, a restrained patient in room 4 all too typical for this emergency room. 

The clearing of a throat behind him roused Blair from his musings.

"Gentlemen?  I'm Doctor James.  I understand that you brought in the patient in room 4.  What can you tell me about him?"

"The prisoner's name is Robbie Sikes.  He was outside the Safeway over on Cherry, ranting and raving and waving a gun around, drunk.  He was threatening to shoot himself and the officers that responded.  I've seen this guy before, I'm pretty sure he's a mental patient.  It took us an hour to get him to give up the gun and take him into custody.  I'd like to have the MHP evaluate him for commitment, but if he doesn't go to Western State Hospital, we'll pick him up and hold him on charges."

The doctor nodded in familiarity.

"Robbie.  Yes, we've seen him before.  All right, I'll make sure that we get a note on his chart that he's got a legal hold pending the MHP evaluation.  Did he have any injuries?"

"A couple of officers tackled him to take him down, but I don't think he was hurt.  I did see some scratches on his wrist, looked like he might have cut on himself before going out with the gun."

"OK, we'll check that out.  Have you had a chance to talk with C.J. yet?"

"No, we were just told that she's here and already with someone."

"She should be done shortly, she's been here a while and that case isn't anything too serious.  If you gentlemen can wait a few minutes, I'm sure she'll want to get your report.  If she's going to be tied up for a while, I'll have a nurse let her know that you're waiting to talk with her."

"Thanks, Doc."

After shaking their hands, the doctor headed over to room 4 and peered through the window before consulting with the nurse.  Orders having been given, he picked up a chart from the counter and returned to the small office behind the ER nursing station to start his dictation.

Blair returned to his observation of the ER activity, glad that he was only there as an observer, not a patient, for a change.  He kept an eye on room 7, hoping that the mental health worker would be out soon.  He also kept an eye on his partner, still too quiet and not chatting up the nurses as he usually did on their occasional ER visits.  Jim seemed lost in thought, staring off into the distance, a stony expression on his face.  Something was wrong there, he mused, but felt still clueless as to the cause.

Finally the door to room 7 opened, and the awaited MHP edged out with a smile and a nod to the patient inside as she left the room.  She was a heavyset woman, just his height, with startling white hair and glasses.  As he remembered from meeting her before, she was dressed casually in slacks and a sweater, and stopped to speak for a moment with a nurse before approaching them in front of the nursing station.

"Gentlemen, I understand that you have someone for me?  I'm C.J., the MHP on call."

Jim straightened up and reached out a hand.  "I'm Detective James Ellison, and this is my partner, Blair…"

"Sandburg," she finished for him with a smile as she reached over to shake Blair's hand.  "I remember you well, Mr. Sandburg.  You asked more questions during our training for law enforcement than all of the others put together.  Nice to see you again."

"Well," Blair apologized, "I was really enjoying your presentation.  I hope you didn't think I was giving you a hard time."

"Not at all.  They were good questions and they stimulated some good conversation.  I just wished that you would have come to the other trainings, maybe we would have had fewer officers and deputies sleeping in the back row.  Maybe you could come to all of the training sessions this year?"

"Well, I don't know if I could make all of them, but I hope I can come to at least one."

"Good.  Listen, I have to give a brief report to Dr. James on the patient in 7, then I'm all yours.  I promise it will only take me a moment."

Leaving them, she walked quickly around the counter and to the small doctor's office.  Blair couldn't help but strain to listen in curiosity as the doctor listened attentively.

"…she admits that she's been increasingly depressed over the last few weeks, with a lot of stress coming from her daughter's drug use, problems on the job, and pressure from her boyfriend to marry him and let him move in.  The fight with her boyfriend tonight was just the last straw.  I really believe that her overdose, as small as it was with only 10 pills taken, was a cry for help.  She agrees to that and denies any real suicidal intent.  I've spoken with her father, and her parents are willing to come and pick her up and let her stay with them for a few days, and she agrees to see me tomorrow at the mental health center to set up some counseling for her.  I think she'll follow through.  I'll also try to talk with her own doctor tomorrow and see if he'll get her started on an antidepressant…"

"Hey, Sandburg, I'm gonna use the restroom, I'll be right back."  Jim strode off down the hall as the MHP returned, pad and pen in hand.

"All right, Mr. Sandburg, what do we have?"

"Well, we should wait for Jim, he'll be back in a minute.  And it's Blair, please, just Blair."

"Okay, Blair.  Look, I've been here for a while, and I could really use a cup of coffee.  How about you?  You look a bit wet and cold to me, and I bet we can get some of the good stuff from the staff lounge, not the cheap stuff that they have on hand for patients' families."

"That would be great.  I'm sure Jim could use a cup as well."

"Great.  Let me check with one of the nurses, and I'll be right back."

She walked over to one of the nurses and said a few words, gesturing back toward the staff lounge.  The nurse looked back at Blair and smiled, then nodded her agreement.  C.J. returned to his side.

"They just made a fresh pot.  Why don't you come on back with me, you can fix it up just the way you want it.  And you can get a cup for Detective Ellison, too."

They walked around to the back hallway and entered the staff lounge.  The white-haired woman made a beeline for the coffee pot and poured three cups of coffee, adding creamer and sugar to hers before taking a tentative sip.

"Mmmm.  I needed that," she murmured.

Blair added creamer to his as one of the techs entered the room and handed him a couple of towels.

"You look like you could use these, pal."

"Thanks, I appreciate that," Blair replied.  He ran one of the towels over his head and neck, gratefully eliminating the irritating trickle that had been dripping from his soaked hair down his neck and back.  He left the towel wrapped around his neck and across his shoulders.  "Hey, C.J., before Jim gets back, I wanted to talk to you a minute."

"Sure, Blair, what about?"

Blair hemmed and hawed for a moment, pacing.  "I'm not sure, but Jim seems really upset about this case.  He won't tell me what it's about, he just won't talk, period.  It's not like him.  Usually, once a case is wrapped up, he can just let it go.  Maybe you can talk to him, get him to open up about what's bothering him…"

A loud voice from down the hallway interrupted them.

"Sandburg?"

"In here, Jim," Blair called out quickly.  "We're getting a cup of coffee, come on back."

Jim strode into the room, glaring at its two occupants.

"Can we talk about Sikes, so we can get out of here sometime tonight?"

The mental health professional stepped back involuntarily at the harsh tone of Jim's voice, and Blair quickly spoke up.

"I was just grabbing a towel and a cup of coffee for us.  Here you go, Jim."  He walked up and handed his partner the cup of coffee, looking pointedly into his face.  "We were just waiting for you."

Jim wiped a hand across his face and accepted the cup of coffee, taking a quick sip before speaking up in an apologetic tone.

"Sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounded, it’s been a long day.  Can we go ahead and get through this?"

"Sure, Detective.  Why don't we go down the hall and use a room there?  I'll let the staff know, just in case, but that way we shouldn’t be interrupted, and you two can get on your way as soon as possible."

"That would be good, thanks."

After a brief conversation with a nurse, C.J. led them down the hall and ushered them into a small, comfortably furnished and softly lit room.  Blair recognized it from previous ER visits as one that was used for families and friends of patients.  It was a place to get away from the hubbub of the emergency room, a bit of momentary calm amid the whirlwind of ER activity when a life was in the balance.

"This should be quieter and a little more private."  She sat and waved them towards the sofa and chair, then picked up her pad and pen to take notes.  "So tell me what happened, Detective."

Jim began reporting on the incident, slowly and hesitantly at first, with an occasional addition from Blair.  As he got rolling, Blair kept quiet as Jim spoke louder and faster, even getting to his feet and pacing as he told the story.  The woman from mental health said little, letting Jim run with his story.

"...and he shouted, "You can't kill me, I'm the one," swinging his gun around, pointing it at one officer after another,"  Jim spat out, his voice loud and his hands clenched in fists as he stared out of the window into the evening dark outside.

"He almost got himself killed, didn't he," C.J. interjected softly.

"Yes!" Jim practically shouted, turning back into the room to face them.  "That idiot, that God damned lunatic!  I almost killed him!"

Blair, startled, began to interrupt Jim's rant, embarrassed at his less-than-politically-correct description of an obviously mentally ill man.  He held back as the mental health professional held up a hand toward him and shook her head slightly.

"He almost forced you to kill him," she reiterated.

"And it wasn't even a real gun," Jim ground out as he dropped into the chair.  "It wasn't even a real damned gun."

Blair blanched as he heard the part of the story that he hadn't previously been aware of.

"Oh, man, it wasn't a real gun?"

"It was a pellet gun, it just looked like a real gun.  He almost made us shoot him over a damned pellet gun," Jim groaned, his head falling forward into his hands.

The sudden silence in the room was deafening as Blair realized what had so upset his partner.  He'd only been working with Jim for a couple of years, but he had become well aware that participating in a "suicide by cop," when a person forced an officer to kill him by threatening with a weapon, was one of the greatest fears for any law enforcement officer.  He glanced over at C.J., and was gratified to see from the compassionate expression on her face that she understood Jim's anger and frustration as well.

"He didn't get shot, and you couldn't have known that it wasn't a real gun," she said quietly.

"I should have known.  I should have known!" Jim said, raising his head and searching to meet Blair's eyes.

Blair realized the other part of Jim's distress, the deeper part, that part that the woman trying to debrief them couldn't know.  Jim felt guilty that he hadn't been able to sense, somehow, that it wasn't a real gun.  Something that only a sentinel could do.

"Jim," he said softly, "you couldn't have known.  It was dark, you were trying to engage him, you were watching out for all of the officers and citizens in the line of fire…"

"And I should have been able to tell the difference between a pellet gun and a real gun.  A man could have lost his life because I wasn't paying close enough attention."

"But he didn’t.  You kept control of the situation, you took as long as it needed, and you talked an intoxicated, mentally ill man into giving up his weapon.  It sounds like you handled an extremely difficult situation well, Detective," C.J. insisted calmly.

"She's right, Jim, let it go.  He's here and no one got hurt."

Blair watched as Jim stood again, turning to stare out of the window for a moment before sighing and turning back into the room.

"Is there anything else you need to know?" Jim asked, glancing only briefly at Blair before focusing on the woman in the other chair, his tone making it clear that the discussion was over.

"No, Detective, I appreciate all of your information.  Once he's sober enough to participate in an interview, I'll talk with him and see what there is to see.  Does he have charges pending, should I call you before making a disposition?"

"If you decide to commit him, you can go ahead and send him, just let the hospital know that there's a legal hold on him.  If you can't commit him, call and let us know, and we'll pick him up and take him to jail."

"Fair enough, Detective."  C.J. stood and shook their hands.  "Blair, Detective, nice to see you again.  I'll leave you a voice mail and let you know."

"Thanks, C.J.  Let's go, Chief."

"And Detective…"

They paused to listen to her as they reached the door of the room.

"For what it's worth, I know Robbie.  I know how hard he can be to deal with when he's under the influence.  You did a hell of a job.  Thanks for not letting him get killed."

Blair turned as he left the room, meeting the counselor's eye with a slight shrug, and followed Jim from the room.

Headed out through the parking lot, Blair watched as Jim walked toward his truck.  Stiff with tension earlier, now there was a decided slump to Jim's shoulders as the long day finally caught up with him.  Blair was pleased, pleased to see that Jim had allowed himself to let at least some of his anger and frustration go, but still determined that there was more discussion to be had at another time.  He joined his partner in the truck as Jim started up the engine, barely suppressing a yawn.

"Hey, Jim, we never did get that lasagna.  What do you say we drive through Wonderburger on the way home?"

THE END