FIC: Baby Steps (TS PG-13 (for language) slash)
Title: Baby Steps
Fandom: The Sentinel
Rating: PG-13 for a leeetle bit of language; G otherwise
Category: slash
Wordcount: ~1300
Summary: Blair angsts over the composition of a board of directors. I kid you not.
Author's Notes: Okay, here's the thing. I don't slash Jim and Blair, for many, many reasons. But in my Teen Sentinel series, which is set in the present day (more or less), I'm looking at the guys and thinking, what's *up* with them?
I don't know yet if this is completely in-series canon, or a branch-off. But it had to get writ, so here it is.
It won't make much sense w/o some knowledge of the series to this point. In Chiefly, Jim has to decide whether he's going to become Cascade's police chief or move up to a facility Blair and some other therapists run for people with heightened senses. Sunday at the Camp is about a few teens at the facility watching the SGA episode Sunday. In Tumble, one of these kids falls out of a tree, and I have an oops-he's-a-Mary-Sue character lecture Blair a bit on the care and feeding of sentinels who aren't Jim. In From the Rather Orderly Files of Mr. William T. Ellison, the kid and my Mary Sue end up in Bill Ellison's den; Jim's POV of the events of this story are in The Other Side.
Without further ado...
Baby Steps
by Helen W.
Blair let himself into the loft and nodded a quick hello to Jim in the kitchen, who appeared to be wrist-deep in chicken guts, before trudging into the study to deposit his overnight bag, client briefcase, and the macramé bag he kept legal paperwork in. The latter was pink, purple, orange, and yellow; rather hideous, actually, but it was the least legalese-looking thing he could find that could carry a file folder without destroying it. There was no way Jim could miss that he was hauling it around today - it even stank a little - so Jim was going to be curious, oh joy.
The little room lifted Blair's spirits as it always did. For four pretty incredible years, it had been his. And though he'd moved long ago, first to a small place around the corner, then out to the camp, he still felt proprietary about it, and always stashed his stuff next to Jim's desk, even though he slept upstairs of course.
"Seeing your lawyer tomorrow?" Jim asked as he emerged. Jim seemed to be done with food prep, and Blair had to admit that whatever he had going smelled great.
"Donna? Saw her this afternoon."
"Wagner business?" Jim asked.
The liberation of Jason Wagner from the wholly inappropriate school his parents had enrolled him in, and the consequent assault on school personnel and disappearance of one of Blair's more troubled clients, the nineteen-year-old near-sentinel Lenny Ki, had indeed generated its share of legal headaches. But for the moment things seemed to be quiet on that front, so Blair shook his head no. "Kind of related, though, I guess," he said after a moment. "Donna's pushing hard for us to set up a nonprofit for the stuff we do that's not directly related to the business. And maybe a co-op structure for the family housing. She's been after me about this for a while, but now she's got the whole Wagner-Coleman-Ki thing on her side."
He sank into his usual spot on the sofa. "She keeps saying Lenny Ki's parents could sue me out of business if they wanted to. I think they gave up any rights regarding him years ago."
"And setting up some sort of nonprofit would… what, stop them from suing you?"
"I don't really understand it," said Blair. "Maybe limit what they could take? Or my personal liability? Man, if I understood this stuff, I'd be a lawyer, not an overpriced nanny."
That had come out much more bitterly than he'd meant it to; he let his head fall back onto the top of the sofa's cushion. "Sorry, Jim. I need a drink."
A moment later Blair had a beer in his hand and a quizzical Jim Ellison in the easy chair staring at him. "I think I'm missing something here, Chief," said Jim. "Why not just set up the nonprofit?"
"Too complicated. For one thing, I'd need bylaws and shit."
"I bet you could find some on the internet. Or, you know, you could ask your lawyer."
"Gee, thanks, Jim, I hadn't thought of that."
Jim shrugged. "So…"
"And a board of directors."
"And you don't want people looking over your shoulder? I understand; complete control's hard to give up."
"Naw, man, I'm not stealing your issues today."
Jim grinned at the barb; familiar territory. "So then what is it?" he asked. "Blair, if we put some thought into this, we could have a board put together before the chicken's done. One or both of the Colemans, maybe my father, me of course. How many people do you need?"
At Jim's suggestion of himself, Blair put down his beer and closed his eyes. Jim noticed, of course. "You *don't* want me on your board?"
It looked like Blair was going to have to spell things out. Shit. "I'd love you on the board. Don't be crazy. Just, we'd have to be up front about - you know - potential conflicts of interest. Personal relationships. You know - stuff."
"So?"
Jim just didn't get it. "There's nothing confidential about it. It's not just a matter of everyone at the camp having access. Which would be bad enough. But these things are public records."
"So?"
"So I'm not comfortable lying."
"What exactly are you afraid of people finding out?"
Blair stared at him. "Everything."
"Well," said Jim, "I assume you'd come up with a dignified term. What's appropriate these days? Life partner? Lover? Main squeeze? Anything but 'fuck buddy', I'll sign off on."
"You would? Just like that?"
"I would."
"But…"
"Blair, You know I've been sick of the closet for years. Sick of watching ourselves so carefully when we're any place but here. I don't think it's good for you or for me, and I know it's not good for the kids."
"You think Cascade wants a gay police chief?"
Jim shrugged. "Said it before, I'll say it again - I don't give a shit. Don't you dare make this about me."
"Well, maybe I can't afford to be so reckless."
As soon as he said it, Blair wanted the words back, because that wasn't it at all - was it?
Jim just chuckled. "If that's where you're at, I'm not even going to argue. I know you're scared, chief, but I don't know of what. Never really thought it was my place to try too hard to figure it out. Never thought it mattered."
He sighed and stood, holding out a hand to Blair. "Come on, chief, let's finish getting dinner ready."
Blair took the hand, and wasn't at all surprised to be pulled into a tight hug. "Wish I could solve this for you," Jim murmured into his hair, and Blair nodded, his feelings for Jim almost overwhelming him.
For an instant, he wanted to shout to the world, this is the man I love. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling; and as always, it was followed by near panic, his heart pounding, something deep inside him screaming to never, never cross that line. He knew plenty of people assumed that he and Jim were together, had been thinking they were since long before their first kiss. But they'd always kept up appearances, always, always…
Jim stepped back, held him at arm's length and seemed about to say something more about - it - then released him. "Come on, you grab the plates," he said instead.
- - - - - -
Later, curled up in Jim's ridiculously huge bed, the thought came from nowhere. Blair sat up and grabbed one of the pillows, holding it close. Some things in life just required a pillow.
"I get it now," he said.
Jim, who always became alert and functional faster than Blair could ever hope to, rolled onto his side and propped his head up with one hand. "Do tell."
"I've always told myself, you and me, we're role models more than anything. You're what a sentinel should be, or pretty darn close. And I'm trying to be what someone who hangs with a sentinel should be, in as much as some sentinels seem to need a guide of some sort. And I've always wanted to keep sex out of that. Too, you know, co-dependent and needy. And I'm working with kids, mostly. I didn't want it to be part of the equation they were seeing."
Jim nodded. "So what do you get now?"
"That we are what we are. That reality is what it is. And maybe it's meant to be. And if we're involved, we're involved. I really, really don't think it's critical for what we do, but to hide it - well, it really is living a lie, modeling a lie, isn't it?"
"Blair, earlier - you were skating close to a panic attack."
"Yeah…" said Blair. "Okay, I have issues. But I can fill out a conflict of interest, or whatever, form. And if someone reads it, they read it."
Jim was smiling. "Still no sex at the camp, though?"
"Jim, half the place would be listening!"
"Okay, baby steps it is," said Jim.
"Thanks," said Blair.
He lay back down. Yeah, no way he was going to have sex within earshot of a camp full of people with heightened senses. But maybe he could replace his cot with a bigger bed…
* * * THE END * * *
All feedback welcome; seriously, you don't have to be nice to me.
More fic at http://www.murphnet.org/fanfic.
Fandom: The Sentinel
Rating: PG-13 for a leeetle bit of language; G otherwise
Category: slash
Wordcount: ~1300
Summary: Blair angsts over the composition of a board of directors. I kid you not.
Author's Notes: Okay, here's the thing. I don't slash Jim and Blair, for many, many reasons. But in my Teen Sentinel series, which is set in the present day (more or less), I'm looking at the guys and thinking, what's *up* with them?
I don't know yet if this is completely in-series canon, or a branch-off. But it had to get writ, so here it is.
It won't make much sense w/o some knowledge of the series to this point. In Chiefly, Jim has to decide whether he's going to become Cascade's police chief or move up to a facility Blair and some other therapists run for people with heightened senses. Sunday at the Camp is about a few teens at the facility watching the SGA episode Sunday. In Tumble, one of these kids falls out of a tree, and I have an oops-he's-a-Mary-Sue character lecture Blair a bit on the care and feeding of sentinels who aren't Jim. In From the Rather Orderly Files of Mr. William T. Ellison, the kid and my Mary Sue end up in Bill Ellison's den; Jim's POV of the events of this story are in The Other Side.
Without further ado...
Baby Steps
by Helen W.
Blair let himself into the loft and nodded a quick hello to Jim in the kitchen, who appeared to be wrist-deep in chicken guts, before trudging into the study to deposit his overnight bag, client briefcase, and the macramé bag he kept legal paperwork in. The latter was pink, purple, orange, and yellow; rather hideous, actually, but it was the least legalese-looking thing he could find that could carry a file folder without destroying it. There was no way Jim could miss that he was hauling it around today - it even stank a little - so Jim was going to be curious, oh joy.
The little room lifted Blair's spirits as it always did. For four pretty incredible years, it had been his. And though he'd moved long ago, first to a small place around the corner, then out to the camp, he still felt proprietary about it, and always stashed his stuff next to Jim's desk, even though he slept upstairs of course.
"Seeing your lawyer tomorrow?" Jim asked as he emerged. Jim seemed to be done with food prep, and Blair had to admit that whatever he had going smelled great.
"Donna? Saw her this afternoon."
"Wagner business?" Jim asked.
The liberation of Jason Wagner from the wholly inappropriate school his parents had enrolled him in, and the consequent assault on school personnel and disappearance of one of Blair's more troubled clients, the nineteen-year-old near-sentinel Lenny Ki, had indeed generated its share of legal headaches. But for the moment things seemed to be quiet on that front, so Blair shook his head no. "Kind of related, though, I guess," he said after a moment. "Donna's pushing hard for us to set up a nonprofit for the stuff we do that's not directly related to the business. And maybe a co-op structure for the family housing. She's been after me about this for a while, but now she's got the whole Wagner-Coleman-Ki thing on her side."
He sank into his usual spot on the sofa. "She keeps saying Lenny Ki's parents could sue me out of business if they wanted to. I think they gave up any rights regarding him years ago."
"And setting up some sort of nonprofit would… what, stop them from suing you?"
"I don't really understand it," said Blair. "Maybe limit what they could take? Or my personal liability? Man, if I understood this stuff, I'd be a lawyer, not an overpriced nanny."
That had come out much more bitterly than he'd meant it to; he let his head fall back onto the top of the sofa's cushion. "Sorry, Jim. I need a drink."
A moment later Blair had a beer in his hand and a quizzical Jim Ellison in the easy chair staring at him. "I think I'm missing something here, Chief," said Jim. "Why not just set up the nonprofit?"
"Too complicated. For one thing, I'd need bylaws and shit."
"I bet you could find some on the internet. Or, you know, you could ask your lawyer."
"Gee, thanks, Jim, I hadn't thought of that."
Jim shrugged. "So…"
"And a board of directors."
"And you don't want people looking over your shoulder? I understand; complete control's hard to give up."
"Naw, man, I'm not stealing your issues today."
Jim grinned at the barb; familiar territory. "So then what is it?" he asked. "Blair, if we put some thought into this, we could have a board put together before the chicken's done. One or both of the Colemans, maybe my father, me of course. How many people do you need?"
At Jim's suggestion of himself, Blair put down his beer and closed his eyes. Jim noticed, of course. "You *don't* want me on your board?"
It looked like Blair was going to have to spell things out. Shit. "I'd love you on the board. Don't be crazy. Just, we'd have to be up front about - you know - potential conflicts of interest. Personal relationships. You know - stuff."
"So?"
Jim just didn't get it. "There's nothing confidential about it. It's not just a matter of everyone at the camp having access. Which would be bad enough. But these things are public records."
"So?"
"So I'm not comfortable lying."
"What exactly are you afraid of people finding out?"
Blair stared at him. "Everything."
"Well," said Jim, "I assume you'd come up with a dignified term. What's appropriate these days? Life partner? Lover? Main squeeze? Anything but 'fuck buddy', I'll sign off on."
"You would? Just like that?"
"I would."
"But…"
"Blair, You know I've been sick of the closet for years. Sick of watching ourselves so carefully when we're any place but here. I don't think it's good for you or for me, and I know it's not good for the kids."
"You think Cascade wants a gay police chief?"
Jim shrugged. "Said it before, I'll say it again - I don't give a shit. Don't you dare make this about me."
"Well, maybe I can't afford to be so reckless."
As soon as he said it, Blair wanted the words back, because that wasn't it at all - was it?
Jim just chuckled. "If that's where you're at, I'm not even going to argue. I know you're scared, chief, but I don't know of what. Never really thought it was my place to try too hard to figure it out. Never thought it mattered."
He sighed and stood, holding out a hand to Blair. "Come on, chief, let's finish getting dinner ready."
Blair took the hand, and wasn't at all surprised to be pulled into a tight hug. "Wish I could solve this for you," Jim murmured into his hair, and Blair nodded, his feelings for Jim almost overwhelming him.
For an instant, he wanted to shout to the world, this is the man I love. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling; and as always, it was followed by near panic, his heart pounding, something deep inside him screaming to never, never cross that line. He knew plenty of people assumed that he and Jim were together, had been thinking they were since long before their first kiss. But they'd always kept up appearances, always, always…
Jim stepped back, held him at arm's length and seemed about to say something more about - it - then released him. "Come on, you grab the plates," he said instead.
- - - - - -
Later, curled up in Jim's ridiculously huge bed, the thought came from nowhere. Blair sat up and grabbed one of the pillows, holding it close. Some things in life just required a pillow.
"I get it now," he said.
Jim, who always became alert and functional faster than Blair could ever hope to, rolled onto his side and propped his head up with one hand. "Do tell."
"I've always told myself, you and me, we're role models more than anything. You're what a sentinel should be, or pretty darn close. And I'm trying to be what someone who hangs with a sentinel should be, in as much as some sentinels seem to need a guide of some sort. And I've always wanted to keep sex out of that. Too, you know, co-dependent and needy. And I'm working with kids, mostly. I didn't want it to be part of the equation they were seeing."
Jim nodded. "So what do you get now?"
"That we are what we are. That reality is what it is. And maybe it's meant to be. And if we're involved, we're involved. I really, really don't think it's critical for what we do, but to hide it - well, it really is living a lie, modeling a lie, isn't it?"
"Blair, earlier - you were skating close to a panic attack."
"Yeah…" said Blair. "Okay, I have issues. But I can fill out a conflict of interest, or whatever, form. And if someone reads it, they read it."
Jim was smiling. "Still no sex at the camp, though?"
"Jim, half the place would be listening!"
"Okay, baby steps it is," said Jim.
"Thanks," said Blair.
He lay back down. Yeah, no way he was going to have sex within earshot of a camp full of people with heightened senses. But maybe he could replace his cot with a bigger bed…
* * * THE END * * *
All feedback welcome; seriously, you don't have to be nice to me.
More fic at http://www.murphnet.org/fanfic.