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. Special thanks to Barb, as always, for beta reading and all the rest.

This little short was written as a Mother's Day gift.

Feedback is always welcome.

He didn't know how much more he could take.

Time slowed as his ruthless attacker continued the assault.  Had it been five minutes, or fifty, since the torture had begun?

Arms pinned by his sides, regardless of his best efforts, Blair could not free them to defend himself.

Exhausted and aching muscles trembled and spasmed, and his body jerked uncontrollably as he fought to regain any semblance of control.

His legs flailed wildly, but he was unable to strike any meaningful blow, and his head whipped wildly from side to side in denial, thumping occasionally on the polished wooden floor.

"No…please…" he moaned.

Blair's assailant continued, if anything more energetically, and Blair's breathing became more labored as the pain increased in his sides, abdomen and ribs.

Struggling to ease his breathing, he tried to take the deepest breaths he could through his nose, his teeth clenched tightly.  Eyes squeezed shut, a single tear nevertheless escaped and trickled down his flushed cheek.

Where was Jim when he needed him?

"Jim…" he gasped out, then clenched his jaws closed again.  He could feel himself weakening, unable to keep enough oxygen coming in to keep up the struggle.  There was no sound to indicate that his friend and roommate was racing to his rescue this time.

"Tell me," his attacker insisted again, and Blair felt his resolve fading with his strength.

Finally, he reached his limit.  The limit of any sane man, he told himself.

He gave in.

With a massive gulp of air, he finally released a whoop of laughter as he opened watery eyes to look up at the face of his torturer.

"I give, I give!  I'm *not* too old to be ticklish!  I'm *not* too grown up to wrestle with my mom!  I give, Naomi, I give!"

With a grunt of satisfaction, Naomi climbed off of her son, wiping the hair and sweat from her brow with the back of one hand.

"And don't you forget it!  No matter how grown up you are, you're still my little boy, Blair, and I still know all of your ticklish spots."

Still gasping for air, Blair sat up and joined his mom in leaning back against the sofa.

"I promise, mom, I'll never forget."  He leaned over and kissed her quickly on a rosy cheek.

Both slumped back, regaining their breath after the struggle.  A soft chuckle drifted down over them as Jim came down the stairs from his bedroom.

"Well done, Naomi. Chief, I think you're losing your touch, there."

"Hey, man, where were you?  What happened to the cavalry?"

"No way, buddy.  You know, the very first house rule…you *never* get between a guy and his mom."

"Thank you, Jim," Naomi smiled.  "It's nice to know that there are still gentlemen in the world."

"Any time, Naomi," Jim grinned in return, ignoring the glare of his best friend and roommate.

THE END