TITLE: Genesis

AUTHOR: Victoria May

SEQUEL: To "Into The Beyond"

RATING: PG-13 (swearing)

WARNING: swearing

CATEGORY: angst, post tsbybs

ARCHIVE: Ask first

FEEDBACK: yes please

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I wasn't going to write a sequel. I wasn't--really. But I had a couple people ask for more and the plot bunny was still lurking about, so here's 'more'. I may write another story in this universe in the future, but we'll see. For now I have other bunnies waiting to be petted. So enjoy and let me know what you think of this and if it was worthy as a 'sequel'.

SUMMARY: The poker party.

Genesis
By Victoria May

Boy oh boy. I have been waiting forever to win my money back from Brown, and tonight is the night. That man is a card shark—no doubt. They should have put a warning label on him when they shipped him from the factory. `Danger! Do not feed. Do not engage in gambling activities. Keep you hands and feet out of the water.' Yep, that'd have done it. Oh, I know. My own fault. Letting the boy sit there all calm and cool, letting us think he was bluffing. Bluffing my a. . . anyway, I'll know better tonight. Henry Brown is going down.

I let my eyes wander over the snacks spread out on the counter. Chips, pretzels, pork rinds—I shudder at that. How Ellison can eat that crap is beyond me. How that man has lived this long without sporting a pot belly is a mystery—and when someone finds the answer they need to bottle it and sell it to overworked police captains like myself. It's not like I have time to sit at the gym and actually burn off the excess. And besides, I'm a man. I shouldn't have to be counting calories. I should be able to eat what and when I want. Eyeing the spread hungrily, I open the fridge and begin to stack a row of lite beer. Oh well, can't beat `em all.

I pull open a drawer and rummage through the mass of hooks, miscellaneous tools, rolls of tape and twine and finally wrap my fingers around a pack of cards. About time. I've been looking for these things all night. Can't play poker if you can't find the cards. I shuffle into the dining room and throw the deck on the table. It slides into the chips and send a few flying across the table. I quickly do an inventory in my head; cards—check. Chips—check. Snacks—check. Chairs—oh crap. Ellison's bringing someone with him tonight. He won't say who, but my money's on his new girl. Won't say who it is, but he has definitely been seeing someone. Showed up last month to Rafe's with this shit-eating grin on his face like he'd just won the lottery.

He denies that he's got a new woman in his life, but all the evidence points to the contrary. He's smiling—a lot. He's been solving case after case, making Brown and Daniels wonder what the man has been taking recently. Oh, I'm positive he's clean. No uppers, or downers for that matter, for Jim. Not with those senses of his. Sure, he's got them in control. Had them working for him instead of against him ever since Sandburg left. Makes you wonder. But drugs? I don't think so. Control only goes so far. From what he and Sandburg told me when they first started working on his senses, drugs either don't work or incapacitate him. God forbid anyone ever figure out that little dandy.

I'm sure it's a woman. The guys have a pot on whether she's a blond or a red head. My money's on a sultry red head. Taggert swears he saw Ellison with some bronzed goddess a few weeks ago. Long flowing hair, legs that go on forever. The man was literally drooling as he described who he thought to be the lucky little lady. I guess we'll find out tonight. Jeez, I hope the man isn't getting married. He's come a long way, but that—he's just not ready.

The last few years, Ellison just . . . blossomed. There's no other way to put it. The man was good before—better than anyone else at the PD. But now, he's magnificent. In line for promotion, but he doesn't know it yet. The chief's still working out a few details before offering Jim the captain's chair in Homicide. Hell, they'd give him Major Crimes if they thought they could get me out of it. But I'm just not ready to call it quits yet. I run a tight ship, and we have a hell of a solve rate. There's no way I'm walking away from that just yet. Ellison will just have to wait `till I'm ready to kick back and enjoy the good life.

If Jim comes in here tonight announcing an engagement, I'll congratulate him. I'm not a spiteful man. I'll wait until later, when he's all alone, and corner him. Preferably somewhere they won't hear the commotion when I ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing. It's not that I don't want him to be happy. I do. He deserves as much happiness as the next guy. But I haven't sat back and watched him make so much progress just to watch him sabotage it with a foolhardy thing like marriage. Oh sure, someday. I'll even stand at his side and be his best man. But not today.

Jim Ellison may look like a full grown man. He may act like he knows what the hell he's talking about when he opens his mouth. He usually does. He may live on his own, pick out his own clothes and feed himself. But despite his forty-one years, Jim Ellison is an adolescent. If Jim were as old chronologically as he is emotionally, he couldn't buy a beer. Oh sure, he's an adult. In fact, I think he's more mature now than he's ever been in his entire life. But he's just getting the hang of it. He has finally found and embraced a confidence that just makes him radiate. Some days he's blinding to look at. He's enjoying what he's doing, he's better at it than ever before, and he seems adapted—finally—to taking care of himself.

I don't want to bad mouth Sandburg—it's rude to think ill of someone who's not here to defend himself, but what the hell was going on with those two? I've never seen any two grown men so dependant on one another in my life. I honestly don't know who to blame and who to pity between the two of them. That was the most textbook example of a love-hate relationship I've ever been forced to witness. I have only myself to blame. What was I thinking when I let Jim talk me into a ride along? I should have seen how unhealthy their relationship was. To think I'd enabled them for almost four years.

Part of me wants to blame Jim. He played on the delusions of some wide eyed college kid who'd looked like he'd found his pot of gold. In fact he had. When I heard about his press conference and his refutation of his dissertation, I couldn't believe my ears. I thought the publication of his paper, the money, the movie rights—the whole kit and caboodle was what the partnership was all about. I guess I thought wrong. I've never been prouder of anyone as I was that day. Blair Sandburg had finally become a man in my eyes.

I guess that's why I have a hard time placing blame. As much as I want to put this all on Ellison, I'm not surprised that he took the kid in. He's a bleeding heart. He was as needy, if not more so, than Sandburg. He gets attached—men, women, children. It doesn't matter. I'm sure it has something to do with feeling abandoned himself. Estranged from his father and brother, losing his mother early—it's hard on a man.

I should have bought a clue when Naomi Sandburg barged into my office demanding that I keep Blair out of the action. I don't know what I was thinking. I was in as deep as Jim. To let an unarmed observer go undercover. Against everything I had ever learned, but what did I do? Yep, let the dynamic duo walk all over me and convince me he had to be there. Ha! That's a hoot. Jim has shown beyond a doubt that he never needed Sandburg tagging along like some lapdog.

I realize I have been standing in the middle of my dining room, quickly becoming another piece of furniture when I have guests arriving any minute. Looking around, I remember what I was about to do and shake my head. Must have Sandburg on the brain. Strange, I haven't thought about him in months. Yeah, months. I felt pretty bad when he up and quit. I guess I never saw it coming and then he was gone. To be honest, I don't know if I would have fought very hard to get him to stay. Jim didn't seem to need him, and he didn't seem very happy. But I have my suspicions that too had more to do with Jim than the job. So yeah, I couldn't help but wonder what happened to him after he resigned. Far as I know, he hadn't contacted anyone since the day he left. Even Jim didn't know where he went.

I walk out to the kitchen and grab one of the chairs from the table. Whoever Jim is bringing, they'll either have to just sit and watch or hope someone wants to sit out. We have a full table tonight. I snigger as I realize I hadn't even finished my own thought about why Jim shouldn't get married. I must be getting old to let my thoughts ramble on like that. Oh well, things to do, people to greet.

I'm just squeezing the aluminum framed chair between two oak chairs when the doorbell rings. I rub my hands together and grin. Oh yeah, I can feel it. I'm going to be lucky tonight. I school my face into one of welcome and open the door.

"Brown! My man—looking good," I greet the nervous man on my stoop and I can't help myself, I taunt, "Feeling lucky?"

"Uh, Captain. Good to see you too." Brown quickly catches his bearings and smiles wickedly. "Lucky? Me?" he queries as he ducks under my arm—my arm so placed across the door jam to intimidate, frighten, make grown men wimper. But not Henry Brown. Oh no, the man just grins and ducks on through. We'll see who's so cocky tonight, won't we?

Rafe nods in the humble fashion I was aiming for and I pull my arm away. "Rafe," I greet.

"Captain," he replies as he begins stripping out of his trench coat. Ever the fashion model, Rafe is decked out in tie and sports coat. Oh, he'll strip down to his shirt, undo the top button and lose the tie. But not until the pressure's on and the sweat begins to drip down his face. He has an image to maintain after all.

Another car pulls up and Joel eases himself out from behind the wheel. He's still recovering from the bypass. Jeez, that news hit like a ton of bricks when he told me he had to have bypass surgery done on his heart. It was no surprise though. The man worked a high stress job and had been overweight for years. But he pulled through it like a trooper and is back at work. I can't believe he's back in the bomb squad though. But, as he says, it's behind the desk. We've talked about it and he's planning on retiring soon. But he has three more years to go before his penchant kicks in. I just hope he lives that long.

"Simon!" his voice booms from down the walk.

"Hey Joel, how're you doing?" I ask as I pat the approaching man on the back.

"Doing good, doing good," he answers as he hands me his jacket. I'm still taken aback every time I see him. Sure, he'd lost weight before, but the surgery took so much out of him. The man's slender frame looks sickly still.

"Simon, I'm fine. Quit worrying," Joel assures as he catches my concerned look.

"Yeah, yeah. Just help yourself to some of that chow in there. I can't believe I'm saying this, but you could use a few pounds."

"You don't have to tell me twice," he says as he heads into the kitchen. He'll fill his plate with some of the snacks, but in the end he'll end up pulling out some of the veggies I keep in the drawer and help himself to one of the lite beers. Who can blame him—I'd be shaking in my boots at the thought of having to go through another one of those surgeries.

I'm just closing the door when something blocks it. I pull it back open and wave my hand impatiently. "Come on, holding up the game," I mutter as Daniels and Taber push their way through.

"Sorry Captain, got held up Iverson's," Taber apologizes. "He had to have those little barbecue weiners," he adds as he shakes his head.

"Yeah, and I'm sure I won't see you eating any porky," Daniels chides the pudgy man he arrived with.

I hold up my hands before these two get any uglier. Trademark Daniels-Taber. Taunt until one of them gets upset. Like five year olds, I swear. "What is this, a daycare? Can't you two just get along for five minutes?" I ask, aiming my most intense Captain glare at them.

"Sorry sir," I hear in stereo. I nod towards the dining room. "Now get out of here and get some food, before Brown eats it all." I grin as I watch the two detectives scurry out of the room. Not the sharpest on the block, but they're good people.

Now where the hell is Ellison and this mystery date of his? I pull a cigar out of my pocket and light it. Oh, I know it'll drive Ellison batty, but hey, it's my house. And right now, the suspense is killing me. I perk up as I hear the rumble of Ellison's Excursion pulling up on the street. Finally.

I pull open the door, anxious to get a glimpse of the lady. I chomp on my cigar and nearly take a bite off the end when I realize it's not a lady climbing out the passenger side. What the? I catch sight of a short guy who's dressed as impeccably as Rafe. A short black pea coat and a blowing black scarf cover the man's face too much to see who it is. I don't think it's Ellison's brother, but I could be wrong. As the pair draw closer the the door, I see that the guy has on slacks and from what I can see appears pretty conservative. Trust Jim to bring some stiff to poker night. The man has come a long ways, but he has his moments.

"Jim," I call out and he raises his hand in a half wave. The two pause and I can see Jim leaning down to talk to the other guy. Jim straightens up and puts his hand on the guys back, ushering him along. Something about that gesture, about the guy is starting to nag at me. It's familiar—like maybe I've met this guy before.

"Holy shit!" I exclaim as I realize who the little guy is. Sandburg. I cast a quick glance up to see if I can see any pigs flying out there. Nope. I can hear the guys' voices behind me growing louder as they come to see what the commotion is.

As they crowd around, I can tell that they haven't figured out who's standing on my porch yet. Before I can say anything else, Sandburg steps forward and sticks out his hand.

"Simon, how're you doing man?" he asks with a tentative smile on his face.

I stare at his hair—even shorter than I remember, then at his clothes, then at his extended hand. I don't know what he's been up to, but this is not the Sandburg I remember. I'm not sure if I should be worried or happy for him. Shake his hand or grab him into a bear hug and never let go? I'm surprised at my own reaction, but until now, I hadn't realized how much I missed the kid. For all the trouble he got himself into and all the smart ass comments he made, he was a good man. I wonder just what life held for him after he disappeared from Major Crimes and my life. I wonder now if I should have taken the time to track him down, see if he was alright. See if he needed any help. But he looks okay. He looks great in fact. But he doesn't look like Blair Sandburg. Whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, I guess we'll find out as the night goes on.

My eyes skip over to Jim who's standing stiffly behind Blair. How in the world did these two meet back up? Is Sandburg the reason Jim has been floating on clouds the last few weeks? I'm going to have to rethink my whole opinion on destiny, sentinels and the cosmos if this is how life is going to continue. I groan inwardly. I'm getting too old for this.

I glance back at Sandburg as his smile starts to slip even more and his hand starts to withdraw. I shake myself out of my fugue and grab onto his hand with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. "Geez Sandburg, what the hell happened to you?" I growl as I pump his hand.

His smile spreads as he visibly relaxes and he jokes back, "Thought I'd try something new."

Suddenly Brown and Rafe and Joel are crowding forward to get a look and I can hear several muted exclamations of amazement. Taber and Daniels hang back as they don't know Sandburg—transferred in after he left. I turn to them and make the introductions, each man stepping forward to shake Sandburg's hand.

I step back and make room for Jim to come in. "Well gentleman, let's say we move this party into the dining room and Sandburg can fill us in on his adventures as we play," I say, giving Jim a questioning look as I lead the way to the back room.

We settle into our seats and I deal the cards. Sandburg and Rafe are sitting this hand out. I think Rafe is in seventh heaven, having found someone with his fashion sense. Of course, I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that it's Sandburg—but who am I to question the passage of time? People change.

"So, Blair, what've you been up to man?" Brown questions over his cards.

"Yeah Blair, you had us worried up and leaving like that. Everything okay?" Joel asks with concern.

Blair squirms in his chair and glances quickly at Ellison. I follow his look and Jim is looking pretty guilty. Jim catches my eye and mouths `later'. I can do later. I'm a patient man. I turn my attention back to Blair as I hear him clear his throat. I've been waiting to hear this for over two years and I'm scared at finally hearing the truth.

Blair begins his story, "Long story short, I realized being a cop wasn't for me. Don't get me wrong, being a cop is great. Helping people, putting slimeballs behind bars and all that. You guys are great. But once I was there, actually doing it—I knew it wasn't meant to be. It just wasn't who Blair Sandburg is—was."

"And Blair Sandburg is Mr. GQ?" Brown snorts. "Never saw that one coming," he adds as he quickly raises his cards to shield himself from the duel glares coming from his captain and from Jim.

"There's nothing wrong with looking nice," Blair defends. "I'm not in college anymore—I have a job where I have to make a good impression. I represent an entire corporation and if I don't impress, the company doesn't impress."

I'm still recovering from the college remark when Joel asks, "So what's this corporation you're talking about?"

Blair throws him a grateful smile and launches into a whole spiel about The Redwood Corporation and his position there. I have to admit it. I'm impressed. Cultural Attache for a major corporation. That's some rebound. But somehow I have a feeling it's not as easy as that and that the cost was high.

The guys seem to accept Sandburg's explanation and the night progresses smoothly. We hear all about Sandburg's lady—turns out the lady Joel spotted talking with Jim is actually Sandburg's girlfriend, and the two are pretty tight. I'm relieved to hear things turned out so well for Blair. But I'm still curious what happened between him and Ellison, and this is one bone this old dog is not going to drop. So I wait until the guys drift out, one by one, until finally I'm alone with Jim and Blair. Ellison and Sandburg. Sentinel and guide.

We clean, making amiable chit chat and when we're done, I grab three beers from the fridge and lead the way into the living room. I wait until their comfortable before I begin my interrogation.

"What the hell is going on?" I growl, and immediately feel sorry. Blair reels as if slapped and Jim's face freezes.

"Sorry," I apologize holding up my hands placatingly. "It's just that Sandburg here disappears from sight for almost three years, and now, out of the blue, here he is. I want to know just what happened three years ago."

As Jim opens his mouth, I hold up my hand and say, "Don't even go there detective. It is my business. You made it my business when you trooped into my office with a cockamamie story about thin blue lines and mother's begging. You made it my business when you confided in me that you have super senses—that you're a sentinel, and told me you needed the kid there to help you with those senses. You made it my business when you swore me to secrecy and begged me to sign the kid on for the unending ride along pass.

"When we talked about Sandburg's contributions to the department, how valuable he was to you, and we—you and me Jim, decided to offer a gold badge to the kid—you made it my business. So yeah, I think you owe me an explanation why as soon as the kid starts his new career as Mr. Police Officer, he's finding his own place, looking like a kicked puppy, finally disappearing into Never-Never Land."

I stop my speech and draw in a long breath—I surprised myself with that one. Jim's posture has relaxed and I can tell he's thinking about what I said. I glance at Blair and he also looks deep in thought, but he has a worried frown on his face. It was bad—whatever happened, it was bad, and he doesn't want to tell me. Well tough luck kid, cuz I'm going to find out, one way or another.

Surprisingly, it is Blair who speaks first. "I won't lie Simon, and say that I had it all planned out—that everything was fine. I was stupid; Jim was stupid. We let things build into something that had no business being. We were partners—we'll always be partners. But we weren't supposed to be cop partners. That was a mistake, and it cost us both dearly. We lost something important and were lucky enough to find it again three years later."

As Blair stops talking, he looks over at Jim and smiles. I'm awed by the strength of the feelings between these two men who admittedly haven't seen in each other in years. Jim returns the smile and continues the tale.

"I was an asshole Simon," he pauses and looks at me. "I'm sure you figured that one out. Blair told me once that I had fear-driven responses, and he was right. That was my biggest mistake. I let those responses—instincts, destroy us, little by little. I read his dissertation and instead of talking to him, I shut him out. I acted like I was okay with it after awhile, but then I turned my back on him again as soon as another sentinel entered my territory. I let him die. That was my fault Simon. I should have been there—to protect the guide. To protect my friend." Jim stops talking and draws in a ragged breath.

I glance at Blair and he is sitting quietly. I'm surprised he hasn't jumped in yet, but something tells me this new Blair knows when to let blame fall where it belongs. I turn back to Jim and wait. Finally, Jim continues.

"After that, I denied him. I denied the sentinel—guide bond. I told him I wasn't ready to go there with him yet. What I didn't tell him was that I never intended on letting it get that far. I didn't believe I needed him then. I didn't think I needed him when I told him to move out. When I ignored him at the station, it was because I didn't need him. Or so I thought. Everything around me told me I was right. Blair was gone. My senses were stronger than ever. I felt like I was coming into my own. I was happy—I felt confident to form a new relationship with my father. I didn't need his acceptance—his approval to be happy. I thought, I didn't need Blair. But I forgot the most important lesson."

I sit forward, intrigued. Jim is staring off into space and doesn't appear as though he is going to continue. I turn to Blair and raise my eyebrows. Blair pulls his legs up into his chair and crosses them. I can't bite back the smile that escapes at seeing something so `Blair'. I sober as he rubs his hands over his face and picks up where Jim left off.

"I'm happy for Jim. He's right. He needed to be independent. He needed to know he could do it and be as good—better, on his own. I don't begrudge him that. But my road wasn't as smooth. I felt betrayed. I could handle having the rest of the world turn against me. I couldn't handle being rejected by Jim. That's what it was. And he's right—it was a fear based response. We both knew—instinct I guess, that I wasn't supposed to be a cop. That was Jim's destiny. But there was no handbook to tell me what I was supposed to do. Instead of talking about it, we both ignored it until it was too big to ignore. Jim was barely talking to me by then.

"He'd go off on calls alone—you'd send him out alone . . ." I'm stunned as clear blue eyes swing my way, and I feel my own guilt surge. "He'd go out and prove he didn't need me there. I wasn't sure how I fit in. Sure I had the badge, but when I doubt myself, I really doubt myself. You guys would plan poker games or go to Jags' games and I would wonder if those invitations included me. So I didn't go and no one ever asked why. It finally got to the point where I didn't know why I was there. I thought Jim needed me—he didn't. I never set out to be a cop—if I wasn't needed in the way I thought I was supposed to be needed, I didn't see the reason to stay."

"So you quit," I say, quietly.

"So I quit," he repeats. "I didn't leave. But no one came to ask where I was. So I set out to find a new path. I flipped burgers, can you believe it?" he asks, laughing sharply. "Finally, a really nice woman took a chance on a professed fraud and hired him. Fairy tale ending."

I look at the man in front of me and don't know if I should congratulate him or cry for all he has lost. He's overcome so much. I know, some of us are destined to have crap thrown in our paths our entire lives. But for some reason, I wish that weren't so for the man in front of me. But we can't all have what we want. I just hope that the worst is over and he's allowed to have some happiness.

I feel ashamed at myself—at the way I have treated this man for so long. I treated him like he was a nuisance. I never tried to hide that I felt he didn't belong at the PD. And when he finally earned that right, I let him down. I didn't do what a good captain should do. I threw him in and ignored him when he sank. Oh, I could kid myself and say I had the utmost confidence in him. But I know better. I knew this kid was as naïve as any other rookie. Riding along for three years, and waiting in the wings is not the same as being a full fledged detective.

I should have noticed that his partner had turned his back. I should have noticed that he was floundering. Why didn't I? I honestly don't know. Not that having the answer would help him now. Without me and without Jim, he fought his way back and survived. Like Jim, he finally came into his own. I just wish he hadn't had to do it alone.

"Simon," I hear break into my thoughts.

"Quit it," the voice says. I look up and Blair is staring at me.

"What?" I stammer.

"Quit feeling guilty man. I appreciate the sentiment, but it's not helping me or Jim. I won't say that what happened didn't suck, cuz it did. Royally. But it wasn't the first piece of bad luck I've had, and I'm sure it won't be the last. I just chalk it up to growing pains. It hurt, but once I got through it, I was taller, stronger, and more confident. So I guess it was worth it."

I hear a guffaw from the couch.

"Taller, chief?" Jim asks, laughing.

I watch, stunned, as Blair sticks his tongue out at Jim. I don't understand how or why Blair even wants a part of Jim or me or anyone at Major Crimes. The whole situation makes me angry—damned angry at Jim but even more angry at my own role in this whole thing. As if sensing my thoughts, Blair says,

"I think we could have got to where we are a whole lot easier. But we were stubborn. Both of us. So it happened this way. But Jim and I weren't meant to be separated permanently. We just needed our space. We were stifling each other. Getting in each other's way. We both have things we're meant to do. Perhaps some things together, but mostly on our own. We were never meant to be one being. We forgot that. I forgot that. It helped that I had friends helping me to forget. But it doesn't change the truth." Blair stops talking and looks at Jim.

"Our final mistake—my final mistake, was thinking that on our own meant alone. It doesn't. I'm still his guide . . ."

"Oh, dear lord," I mumble. I'd hoped this meant the end of all the sentinel mumbo-jumbo.

Blair sniggers and repeats, "I'm still his guide. We still need each other. But we don't need to be in each other's faces to do that. That's not what it's about."

I slump in my seat but my ears pick up and I ask, "So what is it about?" I think maybe I'm finally going to understand this whole sentinel thing.

"Friendship." It's Jim who answers and he's grinning at Blair like an idiot. He is an idiot. They're both idiots. I'm ready for bed.

"That's it. Both of you—out. I'm going to bed." I push my tall frame out of the chair and walk towards the door. I can hear the two of them behind me laughing and whispering. I pull open the door and wait.

Blair walks up and stands in front of me, a silly look on his face. I know that look . . .. Suddenly I have an armful of Sandburg, but tonight I give in and hug him back.

"Get out of here," I grumble as he steps away. He flips me a jaunty salute and walks onto the porch. Jim comes up and open his arms as if to give me a hug. I push him out and close the door.

Idiots.


END