DISCLAIMER: The Sentinel and its characters are the property of Paramount Television and Pet Fly Productions. No money has or will be made from the use of these characters or stories. 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. Special thanks to Barb for beta reading, guidance, and especially friendship.

This was an October themefic for the Sentinelangst list. This one's for Ceci.

Feedback is always welcome!

Just as he’d settled himself comfortably on the sofa, afghan around his chilled shoulders and hot tea and tissues at the ready, the phone rang.  Grumbling at having to leave his warm nest, just now getting comfortable after a long day of trying to fight off a cold, Blair shuffled over and reached for the receiver.

“Hello?”

/”Sandburg, it’s Simon.  Can you come over to Cascade General and pick up your roommate?  He…”/

“What happened?  Is Jim all right?”

/”He’ll be fine.  He caught a bullet in the arm, they’re working on him now but the doctor said they won’t need to keep him.”/

“Thank goodness.  I’ll be there in a few minutes.  Thanks for calling, Simon."

---------------

Shaking the water off his jacket and sneezing loudly as he entered the hospital, Blair spotted Simon and Henri in a corner of the ER waiting area and headed over to join them.

"Hi, guys.  How's Jim?"

"The last time I checked they were bandaging him up, so he should be done soon.  We still haven't heard much on Rafe."

"Rafe?  What happened to Rafe?"

Simon removed his glasses and rubbed his temples tiredly.  "He got shot in the chest, I don't know how bad it is.  The shooter was just a kid, couldn't have been more than 12 or 13 years old, and hyped to the gills on crank.  Jim had to take him out."

"Jim had to shoot a kid?  Oh, man..."

"He didn't have any choice, Blair.  That "kid" would have killed Rafe if Jim hadn't been there."

"Hey, guys, I'm gonna go and see if I can find anything out about Rafe, and I'll let you know."  Henri headed over to the admissions desk, just as Jim appeared in the hallway, tugging at the sling supporting his left arm.

"Jim!  How are you doing?  How's the arm?"

Jim joined them in the waiting area, glancing at Henri's departing back.  "Not too bad, although it'll probably be pretty sore once the anesthetic wears off.  It was a clean in-and-out, the bullet didn't hit anything major.  So how's Rafe?"

"We still haven't heard...wait, here comes Henri."

Henri walked up, a smile of relief spreading across his face. "They think he'll be okay.  They're taking him up to surgery right now.  The doc said it was close, but it looks like the bullet missed his lung and any major blood vessels, so it should be a fairly straightforward surgery.  He'll come and talk with us afterward to let us know how it went."

All three men sighed with relief.  Simon patted Henri on the back in reassurance, and then began buttoning his coat.

"I've gotta get back to the office, I'm sure the Mayor's office and the press will be all over this soon.  Jim, go home before the press gets here.  I'll get your report in the morning."

"Simon, I'm fine, I'd rather wait here with Henri..."

Simon cut him off with a wave.  "That's an order, Detective.  Sandburg, take him home.  I'm sure Henri will call you as soon as he knows anything.  And you two might want to turn your answering machine on to screen your calls, you know how persistent reporters are."

"All right.  Come on, Chief, let's go home." 

---------------

Blair closed the loft door behind them in relief.

"I don't believe those people!  I thought that one cameraman was going to knock you down, he was in such a rush to get into position.  Are you okay, did anyone bang into your arm?"

"No, I'm all right," Jim answered wearily.  "I'm sure they just think they're doing their jobs."

"You'd think they'd show a little more respect for an officer wounded in the line of duty."

"No, they're just looking for a hot story.  You know, white police officer guns down black child, news at eleven."

"It's not like you had a choice, Jim.  I know you, you wouldn't have fired if you didn't have to."  Blair helped Jim off with his jacket, then shooed him toward the sofa.  "Why don't you take it easy and I'll order something for dinner.  Pizza?  Chinese?  What sounds good?"

"Whatever you want, Chief, I'm not that hungry."  Jim eased himself down onto the sofa with a grunt.

"Whether you're hungry or not, you need to eat.  Your body needs the fuel to heal," Blair chided.

"Yeah, yeah..."

An hour later both men were full, Jim having discovered his appetite once the odor of Cashew Chicken and Mongolian Beef hit his sensitive nose.  Sitting side by side on the sofa, Blair decided to lend a supportive ear in case Jim wanted to talk about the incident.

"So what happened, Jim?  I only got the abbreviated version from Simon at the hospital."

Jim stood slowly and walked over to the balcony windows, stopping in front of them and staring out at the lights of the city.  Just as he opened his mouth to reply, the ringing of the cell phone in his jacket pocket interrupted.  He walked over and wrestled it out with one hand, pulling the antenna out with his teeth and flipping it open.

“Ellison…hey, H, how’s Rafe?…that’s great, man…okay, we’ll stop by and visit him tomorrow.  You need anything?…okay, take care.  Bye.”  He closed the phone and set it down on the counter top.  “That was Henri.  Rafe came through surgery just fine.  He lost a lot of blood, but the bullet didn’t hit anything major.  A few days in the hospital and a couple of weeks recuperating, and he’ll be back on light duty.  And that lousy new aftershave of his will be back to giving me a headache.”

“That’s great, Jim, just great.  We could take him a CD player and some books tomorrow, if you’re up to it.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“So tell me about the bust, man.  What happened?”

Wandering back towards the balcony windows, Jim rubbed a weary hand over his face.  “It was a bust on a crack house, an old abandoned building on the west side.  We got a tip that one of the local gangs was meeting to split up their weekly profits.  That gang has been recruiting younger and younger kids, working on the junior high crowd.  We were just getting into place when one of the uniforms put his foot right through a rotted floorboard.”

“Oh, man, what a lousy break.”

“No kidding.  One of their lookouts heard the racket and everything went crazy.  They were almost as well-armed as we were.  We were lucky that it wasn’t worse.  Several of the gang members were wounded, but they were sent to Jackson Memorial instead of Cascade General, it’s closer to lock-up.”  He sighed loudly and stared out the window.

“Tell me about the shooting,” Blair said quietly.

“I ran into the room just in time to see Rafe fall through the doorway at the other end.  The kid came running in after him, I didn’t have a choice.  He was so hyped, he had to have been on crank, I had to practically empty my clip into him before he dropped.”  He  suddenly turned and headed for the stairs, avoiding Blair's concerned glance.  "Look, Chief, I'm really tired, my arm's starting to ache, and I think I'm gonna take a pain pill and crash.  Right now I feel like I could sleep for a week."

"Sure, Jim, no problem.  Get some rest.  I'll clean up.  Good night."

"Good night.  Don't stay up too late, your cold doesn't sound any better and I'm sure you could use a little extra rest yourself."

Blair watched worriedly as Jim slowly ascended the stairs to his room, then stood and began cleaning up quietly.  He hoped that his roommate would be able to sleep and put the disturbing events of the day away for a few hours, but he doubted that it would be that easy.

---------------

The morning dawned far too early for Jim's taste.  The night had been a long one, his injured arm awakening him several times when he rolled over in his sleep.  And when he did sleep, his dreams were occupied with the hate-filled features of a twelve year old boy, pointing a gun at Rafe's writhing body on the floor of the abandoned building.  Over and over again, in slow motion, he saw his own gun rise, heard his shout of "drop it," and then watched the bullets leave his gun on its way to the small chest.  He finally gave up and just lay in bed, waiting for the day to arrive.

He was just about to get up when he heard two loud sneezes from the bedroom below, then sniffling, grumbling and the rustling of bedclothes as Blair got out of bed.  Listening to the pad of Blair's bare feet down the hall to the bathroom, Jim decided that he might as well get up himself.  He pulled on his robe, then carefully adjusted the sling on his left arm before heading down the stairs.

Heading into the kitchen, he automatically reached for the carafe to begin making coffee, cursing when he almost dropped the carafe when it was full of water, used to having both hands to balance the weight.  He heard Blair shuffle up beside him, getting the coffee out and filling the filter basket.

"Morning, Jim.  How's the arm?"

"Lousy.  How's the cold?"

"Lousy.  Why don't you take the first shot at the shower, and I'll scramble us some eggs for breakfast.

"Sounds like a plan."  Jim meandered down the hall, and a few moments later Blair heard the shower turn on.  After taking some herbal supplements that were sure to help with his cold, he proceeded to ready toast and eggs, stopping to take a couple of phone calls.

When Jim had dressed and returned to the kitchen, Blair dropped the bread into the toaster and turned the heat on under the eggs.

"It'll be ready in a minute, Jim.  Oh, I took a message for you from Simon.  He said that you need to come in to give your statement sometime this morning, but that you're on medical leave for the next three days until your doctor clears you to return to work."

"I could do desk work today, I don't need three days off," Jim replied in disgust.

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger, pal.  And he also said that you have an appointment with the psychologist this afternoon at 3:00.  Since the department shrink is on vacation, you'll be seeing her backup, a Dr. Miley, at Cascade General.  He said to remind you that it is not optional."

"Yeah, I know.  Any officer involved in a shooting has mandatory counseling. I've been there before."  Jim sipped at his glass of juice.  "Well, since the truck is still in the shop, can you give me a ride to the precinct and the hospital?"

"Sure.  Just let me know when you want to go.  I don't have anything I can't cancel today, so just consider me your personal chauffeur for the day."

"Thanks, Chief."

---------------

Jim stood and reached over to shake the psychologist's hand.

"Thanks, Doctor Miley.  So do I have to come back and see you again?"

"Gee, Detective, you make it sound like a death sentence," the dark-haired woman in the wheelchair teased.

"Nothing personal.  Actually, you were very easy to talk with.  It's just that, well, it's all I've done all day, talk about the shooting.  I want to put it behind me and move on."

"I can understand that.  But as I said, it's important that you deal with it before you put it behind you, or you may end up with some unresolved issues that catch up with you later.  As an experienced officer, I'm sure you've heard that before.  Just know that my door is open any time you need, or want, to talk about things."

"I know, and thanks.  I guess I'd better see if my ride is here to pick me up.  He was planning to run an errand instead of sit and wait for me."

He walked over and opened the door to the waiting area, looking at the empty chairs around him as he left the office.  Dr. Miley had followed him out and stopped beside him.

"Looks like your friend may be late.  Why don't I buy you a cup of coffee, Detective, while you wait.  I can tell my secretary to let your friend know where to find us when he shows up."

Glancing at his watch, Jim looked around once more before accepting the offer.

"All right.  Maybe we'll even get a fresh pot."

Dr. Miley laughed as she wheeled beside him down the hall toward the elevator.  "You can always dream.  But don't worry, now we have an espresso cart in the cafeteria, so you can get the good stuff if you like."

Ten minutes later they had found a table near the windows that overlooked the bay, and Jim moved a chair aside to make room for the doctor's wheelchair.  They were chatting about the typical fall weather, cold and wet, when Blair came breezing in, out of breath and blowing his nose on the way. 

"Hey, Jim, sorry I'm late.  You should have seen the crowd at the natural foods store.  I think half of Cascade must be sick, I was lucky to get the herbs and teas I was after for my cold."

"I'm sure the drugstores are well-stocked, Chief, they always are this time of year."

"Please!  You know what I think about some of the junk they push on people that's supposedly good for them."  He reached over and held out his hand before taking a seat.  "Hi, I'm Blair Sandburg."

"Sorry, Chief.  Dr. Miley, this is Blair Sandburg.  Sandburg, this is Dr. Miley, the psychologist."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sandburg.  And I have to say that I agree with you about much of the over-the-counter medicine that is so highly advertised, especially now that some solid medical studies are demonstrating the efficacy of many natural and herbal products."

"Right!  And it's Blair.  See, Jim, lots of people are giving up that techno-crap that the drug companies push on us.  I'm not as far out there as you think."

Jim was just about to reply when the doctor snorted into her latte.

"Techno-crap!  That's the second time in two days that I've heard that term used.  Someone was talking about techno-crap in an internet chat room that I was visiting last night."

Blair sat up, a look of astonishment on his face.  "Which chat room?"

"The "Only Natural" room.  Do you mean...?"

"That's the chat room I was in last night.  I'm Sandy."

The look of astonishment on Dr. Miley's face matched that on Blair's.  "Oh my God!  I'm Syd!"

"I thought Syd was a man."

"My first name is Sydney.  Sydney Miley."

Jim looked back and forth between the two.  "You mean that the two of you have chatted on the internet?  How weird is that?"

"This is so cool!"  Blair beamed.  "That the two of us would both live in Cascade, and meet in the same chat room.  Unbelievable!"

"No kidding!  Sandy, I mean Blair, if you're not in a hurry, why don't you join us for coffee?  I'd love to talk with you about what you're taking for your cold, and how it's working for you."

Jim sat back and sipped his mocha, quickly losing interest in the conversation as it swirled around him.  Watching Blair in action, he could see the telltale gleam in his eye as he warmed to the discussion.  Yes, his roommate was definitely attracted to the psychologist.  She was just the kind of woman he liked, smart and attractive. 

Oh well.  He stood up, practically ignored by the eager conversationalists, and wandered over to the cafeteria line.  If he had to sit and listen to a discussion on health food and herbs, at least he could fortify himself with a donut or two.  Smiling, he spotted a cinnamon roll drenched in butter - just what the doctor ordered.  He took his prize back to the table and prepared to defend himself.

THE END