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

Summary: Blair catches a ride with Simon after Jim takes off to see his father. Spoilers for Remembrance.

A Little Solace
missing scene from Remembrance
by Becky
March 1998

Blair stepped back out of the way and watched as Jim's truck wheels spun in the mud for a few moments before Jim successfully maneuvered the truck to the road leading away from the crime scene. He watched as the blue and white Ford disappeared around the corner, beyond the trees, then let out a heavy sigh, running a hand over his face.

Man, I really hate it when he does that to me. Pushing me away like I'm some unhelpful annoyance or something. He took another breath, moving his hand to push back strands of hair that were blowing into his eyes from the wind. And I really hope I didn't do the wrong thing by pushing him to go see his dad.

Shaking his head, he turned around, looking back at the crowd of reporters and photographers surrounding Simon, all clamoring for gory details and a statement, official or otherwise. Blair had to smile at the way the captain was handling them. Especially the more persistent ones who got right up in Simon's face, almost daring him to react.

To react like Jim did.

Blair glanced behind him again, to where Jim's truck had vanished, then resolutely turned away, finding Simon's car among the other police vehicles and picking his way over, avoiding the other officers and stray reporters. Upon arriving, he tried the handle of the passenger door out of habit and to his surprise, it was unlocked. Simon, Simon, Simon, leaving your door unlocked. Not a good thing. Then again, who's gonna steal a police vehicle in the middle of a crime scene? Chuckling to himself, he opened the door and sat down on the seat sideways, stretching his legs out past the open door.

Now, we wait for Simon to finish getting rid of the wolves. Later, with luck, I can catch up to Jim at some point and get him to talk to me. Blair leaned his head against the seat back, eyes staring blankly out toward the trees as he let the noise and commotion of the crime scene wash over him. With lots of luck and a good deal of persuasion.


Chomping down hard on his unlit cigar, Simon strode past the departing reporters and the rest of his officers toward his car. His men would handle the rest of the scene clean-up. Forensics was already hard at work. And he had left Brown and Rafe in charge -- they would get everything in order and back to the station in good time.

Right now I need to get back to my office and find a certain detective and have a little chat with him about his attitude toward the press.

As his car came into sight, he paused, seeing the passenger door open. He slowed up a little, but kept walking, frowning as he pulled the cigar from his mouth. Who . . . ? Then he got close enough to identify the dark curls and pensive profile. Sandburg! What's he doing there? And where's Jim? He looked around quickly, but didn't see the familiar older truck that belonged to his best detective.

Eyes going back to his own car, Simon quickened his pace again, coming around to the driver's side of the car and opening the door. Sliding inside, he demanded, "Sandburg, why are you in my car?"

Blair shifted in his seat, drawing his legs inside and pulling the door shut. "Because I didn't think you'd want me to sit on the hood?" He smiled hopefully at Simon, eyes glittering in soft amusement.

Simon grunted. "That's not what I asked. Why are you here? Why aren't you with Jim? And where is Jim, by the way? I need to have a little talk with him."

Blair's smile faded and he looked away. "Jim is, well, he went to see his dad. He didn't want me with him and told me to catch a ride with you. Hope you don't mind, Captain."

Simon stared, not knowing quite what to say. Didn't want Sandburg with him? That can't be good. He cleared his throat, answering Blair's unspoken plea. "No, that's fine. I'm going back to the station, however, so . . ."

"That's okay. My car's in the garage. I can, uh, I can go back to the University. I have some things there I need to do anyway."

Nodding once, Simon started the car and pulled away from the crime scene. Soft strains of jazz music filled the interior of the car, layering itself over the silence between the two men. Halfway back to the station, Simon finally spoke up softly. "It's not you, Blair, you know that, don't you?" Out of the corner of his eye, Simon caught Blair's nearly unnoticeable flinch. The younger man was still concentrating on the scenery outside the windows of the car, the fingers of one hand worrying at a corner of his jacket.

When Blair replied, his voice was soft, almost too soft to be heard above the music. "Yeah, I know. It's just Jim and the way he deals with stuff. I mean, I should be used to it by now. Things get too much for him, he pulls away or at least tries to. I don't let him go and he pushes back harder until one of us gives in or he runs. Just like . . ." He stopped abruptly, stiffening in his seat.

Ah-ha! There's the answer to this puzzle. Simon finished for him. "Just like he did today."

Blair nodded. "Yeah, like he did today. I mean, I thought we were friends. I told him before that it's not just about the paper anymore. It hasn't been for a long time. I only want to help him."

At a stoplight, Simon looked over at Blair, reading his frustration in the dejected slump of his shoulders and and the way his fingers never stopped creasing that corner of his jacket. The kid's really bothered by this. Unsure of what he should do, he hesitated. Oh, hell, just do what your gut tells you to do, Banks! He removed his hand from the wheel and placed it on Blair's shoulder, squeezing once. "Sandburg . . . Blair, look, it'll be okay. Jim just needs some space right now. Give him that. And when you do see him, then you can remind him that he does have friends. And that they do care. And then he'll talk to you."

Blair turned his head, meeting Simon's eyes as Simon moved his hand back to the wheel as the traffic light turned green. He didn't say anything at first, then quietly he asked, "You think he'll listen to me?"

Simon snorted in amusement. "He always listens to you, Sandburg. More than he does to me. More than he does to anyone else."

A grin of embarrassment and laughter lit up Blair's face. "Oh. Yeah, well, he has to listen to me. Never know when I might say something important. Plus I think it's his way of keeping track of me. When I'm not talking, he worries."

Clenching his teeth around the still unlit cigar, Simon laughed, shaking his head. "We all worry, Sandburg. You being quiet usually means you're thinking. And that's a dangerous thing."

Blair laughed out loud, eyes crinkling. A moment later, he started chattering about the song currently playing on the jazz station, reciting similarities to older music from some tribe in a foreign country, the name of which Simon knew he had no hope of remembering, much less pronouncing.

Simon smiled to himself, half-listening to Blair's mini-lecture as his drove that last few blocks toward the station. Very good job, Banks, if I do say so myself.

- The End -