Title: Waiting at the Gate

Author: Katz

Disclaimer: Don't own anything but the emotions

Warnings: Sept 11 attacks

Beta: No

Archive: Ask first, please

Notes: For my Mike. Come home soon.

Waiting at the Gate

Blair tapped his foot quickly. It was 11:41. Only 19 minutes until the bus pulled into Cascade North American Bus station.

Only 19 minutes until his life kickstarted back into motion.

It had been on pause; frozen in grief and shock for so long.

Four days.

96 hours.

5,760 minutes.

Ever since he stood in this exact stop on Friday at noon and watched as Jim boarded a bus. A bus full of firefighters and rescue equipment. A bus bound for New York.

Blair glanced at the clock on the wall. 11:47. Only 12 minutes left of this weekend. This weekend may have been horrible. But honestly, he couldn't remember. Most of the four days was a blur. Vague images and scenes played through his memory.

He remembered waving goodbye to Jim. He remembered standing on the curb watching the bus travel down the street until it turned onto the highway. He remembered going to the truck and staring at Jim's keys in his hand. He remembered Simon covering him up with a blanket.

Blair's brow furrowed as he tried to pin down that particular memory. Why had Simon been in the loft? Had he spent the weekend there?

Blair sighed as he began to remember. He had been staring at the keys for only a few moments before Simon had placed his hand on his shoulder. He had forgotten the Captain had come to see Jim off as well. They had both stared at the truck for a moment longer and then Simon had steered him into his sedan. The two of them had spent the weekend at the station. Simon was busy; airport security had to be increased. The traffic of the feds in the city tripled. They had 5 false alarm evacuations and each one had to be investigated thoroughly. The mayor wanted him to show up for memorial services, the commissioner wanted him to investigate hate crimes. And Simon? Simon had just wanted to watch the television. And pray that his fellow LEO's would make it out alive.

Blair himself had been a zombie. He had nodded at people, answered rote questions, checked his email, spoke on the phone. But it was all just window dressing. His mind was hiding. He sat in front of the TV in Simon's office and watched the live footage of 'Ground Zero'. Once in a while he would think he would catch a glimpse of a familiar head. A stance that cried out Jim's name. A shuddering shoulder that seemed so similar.

He saw a bit of Jim in every rescue worker. He saw him in the workers who toiled for hours hauling bucket after bucket of debris away. He saw him in the firefighter who spent the night in the hospital and came back the next day to work. He saw him in the ironworkers that waited 7 hours just to get the chance to help. He saw him in the police officers whose bloody fingers were wrapped hastily so they could continue the search. He saw Jim in the people who placed candles in parks. He saw him in the teenagers whom made sandwiches and handed them out to anyone who needed one.

He had thought for so long that his Sentinel was a hero. Turns out, he was one of many.

Blair watched those heroes all weekend. Stopping only for tears, sleep, and once to give blood. But even as he sat in the chair with his arm propped on the side, he watched the tiny TV in the corner. Hoping to see a glimpse of Jim. Praying that he wouldn't.

You didn't see very many up-close shots of the workers. You didn't hear the firefighters and police officers and volunteers that often. They were busy. They were tired. They were fighting.

But you did see lots of smiling faces. In photographs. Of the missing. Of the wounded. Of the dead. v Blair prayed, pleaded, begged *not* to see that picture of Jim. Not to turn to the TV and hear them praising another fallen hero. Not to feel that empty place inside him that he knew would be there if Jim never made it back.

So he sat. He turned off his emotions as best he could. He still was heartbroken at the act of terrorism. He still mourned the loss of life. He was still terrified at the threat of war.

But missing Jim overshadowed all those. He *felt* for the nation. He *ached* for Jim. He needed to know he was safe. He needed to know he was well. He needed Jim to be home.

Blair had understood when Jim volunteered to go as a security escort with the bus of firefighters. He knew that Jim planned on staying to help. He understood that. He 'heard that'.

But that didn't stop him from warning Jim, or stop him for trying to convince him otherwise. It didn't stop him from giving him a thorough lecture on the reasons he shouldn't go. He knew Jim could help. Sentinel abilities aside, Jim was a great asset. He was strong. He was intelligent. He had quick reflexes. He was a leader and a follower. He never gave up and he had the stamina to do that.

And above that, he had his senses. He could hear the heartbeats of those trapped. He could feel the vibrations in buildings about to fall. He could smell leaks of gas. He could spot clues in the piles of debris.

But as special as those abilities made Jim, they made him vulnerable as well.

He could see a clue in the debris, but he could zone on the massive amount of input.

He could smell leaks in gas tanks or buildings but be incapacitated by smoke and dust.

He could feel vibrations of buildings but be extra sensitized to the heat of the burning metal.

He could hear the heartbeat of those trapped but he would be unable to get to them. Forced to listen as the cries for help faded and the heartbeats faltered and stopped.

Blair knew of all these possibilities, all the pitfalls. All the pain that this could cause Jim. But he knew why he went in spite of all those reasons.

It was the same reason that he gave blood. The reason that candles stood sentry in windows and in parks. The same reason that the Red Cross recruited medical students to help draw blood during the massive donations. The same reason American flags sold out all over the country.

Some gave all. All gave some.

Whether it was a smile to a grieving stranger, or pulling twisted metal off a victim, people helped. By donating money, clothes, time, or by wearing patriotic colors, or crying for those lost. All gave some.

And going to New York was the way Jim gave. To help give a resting place to those who gave all.

Blair was proud of him. No doubt about that. He couldn't wait to tell Jim that. He couldn't wait for him to be home.

The sound of a door opening shook him from his thoughts and he watched as a line of tired firefighters staggered inside. He vaguely registered the cries of family members rushing to meet them and the swell of music from the high school behind him. He started forward slowly, his feet heavy like lead, his eyes racing from one scruffy face to the next. African-American, Hispanic, Middle Eastern, Asian American, European-American. It was a mixed group wearing the shirts of Cascade Fire Department, a group that may have held a multitude of races, held only one nationality - Americans.

And in the rear, there was one person not clad in the blue of the fire department shirts. Jim Ellison walked into the bus station wearing a dirty white "I Love NY" T-shirt and sporting a few days worth of beard on his chin and a Band-Aid across his brow. Blair walked towards him, cataloging the way he held his shoulders, the tilt of his head, the look in his eyes. Standing just in front of him, they stared at each other silently. Each trying to judge the mood of the other. With a strangled sound deep in his throat, Jim leaned forward and Blair met him in the middle. With a fierceness that surprised them both, they hugged, confirming the solidity of each other in the crowed, noisy bus station. Blair whispered quietly into Jim shirt, positive that Sentinel ears could pick up the words.

"Welcome home."