Sentinel Fan Fiction Page || Fanfic -- Missing Scenes Collection

Summary: Jim to the rescue... Spoilers for Cypher.

You know, I had told myself when I first started writing TS fanfic that I was not going to write any kind of missing scene for Cypher since there are so many excellent ones already out there. So much for good intentions.....

And We Shall Overcome
missing scene from Cypher
by Becky
April 1998

Jim stood and stared at the fallen enemy for long moments before he carefully made his way down around the broken and rotten planks of wood to where Lash's body had landed. Five bullets. He should be dead. Very dead. Beyond dead. But deciding not to take any chances, Jim didn't lower his gun as he slowly approached the body. With one hand holding the gun steady, he squatted next to the body and reached out his other hand to check for a pulse, even as he checked with his sentinel hearing as well.

Nothing. And nothing.

Shuddering with a tremendous relief, he slumped into himself briefly before standing, groaning as muscles and joints again sent up their complaints. Falling through several floors and fighting with one very strong, very crazed madman hadn't done him any favors. His body was definitely not happy with him.

But he would do it all over again if he had to. Not only had Lash killed people in his city, he had the audacity to pose as a profiler, working them, trying to find . . . himself. He had probably laughed at them the whole time. And then, after being exposed for who he was, Lash had run, hiding. And then had chosen and taken his next victim . . . .


Jim turned and headed back the way he came, looking for a stairwell in the darkness. Finding one, he took the stairs two at a time. He fumbled for his ear piece radio, but it was gone, most likely ripped off in the struggle. Swearing, he moved faster. Hopefully Simon had started moving another team into position once he realized his contact with Jim had been cut off.

As he neared the landing where he knew his partner was, Jim reached out with his senses, listening for a heartbeat and breathing. He found both in a matter of moments. The heartbeat was a little fast and the breathing a touch irregular, but Jim attributed those to panic and stress. And if he's awake, it must mean that Lash didn't get too much of that drug in him. Good. One less thing to worry about. As he focused in further, he heard Blair's voice rambling on in a low tone.

Please, please, please, please be all right, Jim. Oh, God, please, please take care of him. He fell. I heard a gun. He can't be dead. Please, Jim, please be safe.

Realizing that his young partner was terrified that Lash would come back and finish the job, Jim moved faster. At the bottom of the last flight of stairs, Jim paused to call out to Blair, hoping to reassure him as quickly as he could. "Sandburg! I'm all right. I'm coming up. Just hold on a little longer."

A pause, a loud double-thump of Blair's heartbeat, then, "Jim!?!"

"Yeah, it's me."

He heard Blair breathe out in a rush, almost a sob, then his voice took up another streaming prayer of words. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. Somehow Jim didn't think the words were aimed at him and he sent up his own quick prayer of thanks that his partner was still alive, that he'd gotten there in time, that he was still alive.

Finally he re-entered Lash's den. He took a quick look around as he strode across the room to the dental chair his partner was chained in. Candles decorated nearly all the surfaces, though quite a few had been knocked over and gone out when he and Lash had fought before going through the window. He stumbled to a stop when his eyes lit on the three hanging . . . things. Items in each were familiar to him and he realized that they were Lash's trophies. Trophies and representations of the people he killed, of the personalities he had assumed. Abruptly he remembered the wig Lash had been wearing earlier -- it had looked like Blair's hair. And the clothes. He had recognized those as well. They were either exact duplicates of the ones Blair owned or he had been in the loft and stolen them.

Sandburg was almost one of them. A trophy to hang from a ceiling. Nothing more than another victim to add to his ghastly collection. He was almost dead.

"Jim? Are you all right?"

Blair's shaky, concerned voice dragged him back to his surroundings instead of dark thoughts. "What? Oh, yeah, sorry. You probably want out, don't you?'

The younger man nodded rapidly, shifting vainly in the chair. "Very much so, yes. I would really like to get out of this chair, out of the building, out of this area, just .... out."

Jim nodded, striding with determination over to a workbench. He shoved things carelessly aside until he found a heavy key that looked like it would fit the padlocks on the chains, then rejoined Blair. The younger man watched him for a moment, then asked, "Is he ...?"

"He's dead."

"Are you sure, man? I mean ...."

"I shot him five times, Chief. And I checked for a pulse. I don't think he could get any deader than he is." He paused and looked up, meeting Blair's eyes. "Trust me."

"I do. Really. I just needed to know."

Jim went back to work on the locks, pulling one off, then unlocking the other. "I know, Chief. But, believe me, he won't be hurting you or anyone else ever again."

Locks open and tossed aside, Jim began unwinding and untangling the heavy chains, dropping each length to the floor with a loud clank. Once his arms were free, Blair pulled the yellow scarf from around his neck and threw it as far away from himself he could. Then he started to help Jim with the chains . . . or at least tried to. His hands were shaking and his movements jerky and frantic. Jim finally had to grab both of them and gently press them down on the armrests. He held them there for a second, ignoring Blair's attempt to move.

"Sandburg, I'll get you free. But you're not helping here, okay? Just relax. I'm not gonna leave you here or anything. Okay?"

Blair swallowed hard, nodding once. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Just ... hurry. This place gives me the creeps."

Jim released Blair's hands and started on the chains again, moving down the chair and Blair's body. Blair hands fidgeted on the armrests for a moment before he drew both arms around his torso, hugging himself. The younger man started to talk again and Jim listened, knowing that Blair was reacting to the stress of the last several hours, hell, the last several days, in his own way. Talking without a real direction, rambling really, talking to fill the silence, saying whatever was uppermost on his mind. And right now, nothing was more uppermost than Lash.

"He was crazy, man, absolutely crazy. I thought I was seeing things when I saw this ... reflection on a window at the University, but then I saw something, heard something at the loft. Before I could do anything he just busted through the door like it wasn't even there! I fought him, I did, really, but he was just way too strong. I tripped over something, hit my head, next I knew I was here."

Blair squeezed his eyes shut, rocking a few times in the small confines of the chair. Jim looked up at him, worried at the sudden stop of words, but then he started up again, voice quiet at first but intense.

"He was wearing my clothes, man, talking about his friends, saying it could be me. I couldn't do anything, couldn't say anything. Then he yanked off the gag, told me he needed to hear my voice. I started yelling, but he yelled with me. Then, then I started telling him he couldn't be me, daring him, making fun of him, I guess." Eyes open again, he paused and laughed once, sharply, a laugh with no humor, only pain.

"Probably a really stupid thing to do, but it was the only thing I had left. I was not gonna just sit here and die like some spineless, terrified little wuss. He can't, couldn't, be me; I couldn't let him. I thought maybe I could, that I could, oh, I don't know what I was thinking. All I did was make him mad. He ...."

The chains all off, Jim rose up to his feet and leaned over Blair, putting a hand on either shoulder. He could feel the tremors and shaking rolling off every muscle fiber in the younger man's body. Like a leaf in a breeze, ready to fall at the slightest hint of a stronger wind. Damn. He took a breath and shook Blair slightly, interrupting his fall of words.

"Chief, listen to me. You're alive. You survived. Lash is dead. You're okay. We're both okay. You did everything right. All of it."

Mouth hanging open a little, Blair blinked at him. "I, I did?"

"Yes, you did. You didn't freak, you didn't panic. You remembered who and what you were and you used every bit of yourself against him. Lash only thought he knew you and that was his failing, his mistake. He didn't know you. He didn't know you at all."

Blair took a breath and let it out slowly, firmly. "No, no, he didn't. He didn't know me."

"That's right. So he couldn't be you. No one can ever be you except you." Blair didn't say anything, just nodded in agreement. Jim smiled gently at him, then backed up slightly, removing his hands. "Think you're ready to get out of here now?"

Realizing abruptly that he was free, Blair shoved himself forward and nearly jumped out of the chair, bumping into Jim. Steadying his partner with a hand on his arm even as he backed up into one of the swinging trophies, Jim said, "Whoa, easy there. I think I've fallen through enough floors today, thank you." Blair wavered on his feet and Jim shifted his hand to Blair's back, "You okay to walk, buddy?"

Blair swallowed, closing his arms around his torso again as he shivered, eyes darting around the room. "Yeah, I can make it. Can we go now?"

Jim directed him toward the stairs, keeping right behind him, the hand still on his back, "Yeah, we can go. I hear a few cars pulling up outside. Let's get out there before they come hunting for us." At the top of the stairs, just before exiting, Blair halted. Jim stopped beside him, frowning. "What is it, Chief? Are you dizzy? How much of that drug did you get in you?"

Blair shook his head. "Not much. Really, I'm okay. I just ...." He hesitated, then looked up at Jim. He whispered, "Thanks. For, well, for saving me. For finding me. For not letting me die. I don't how you did it, and right now, I really don't care. But, however you did it, thank you."

Smiling, Jim carefully draped his arm around Blair's shoulders, wary of any potential bruises, and gently moved them forward through the doorway. They left the unnatural darkness of Lash's trophy room, lit by yellow candles, behind them. Together, they walked, side-by-side, toward the exit of the building, to where the more natural darkness of all-encompassing night, lit only by the stars shining high and free in the sky, awaited them.

"You're welcome, partner. Let's go home."

- The End -