FEEDBACK: Fine by me, public or private.

ARCHIVE: PEJA requested the following: "…only thing I ask, if you do a story with this, do let me archive it, please." Fine with me! Thanks for the challenge! Okay to archive to the WWOMB and PEJA's Fanfic. Post it to other lists, whatever; do with it as you wish, PEJA!

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Echoes of Voices Lost
By
SentSlashFan (SSF)
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"Mayday! Mayday! Come in, dispatch! This is Detective Blair Sandburg, requesting assistance. Two officers down, need backup and medical assistance immediately at Dock 17! Come in, dispatch!" The voice came across the radio's speaker, loud and clear, despite the obvious pain the man was in. Then, softer, as if the speaker had forgotten he was holding the mic open, "God, Jim, hold on, man! No one is answering! No one is coming! Damn, how can they do this?" Then, again, louder, "Please, somebody! Anybody! We're hurt! Goddammit! We're going to die if you don't come and help us! God, what kind of people are you, anyway?!" The voice cracked with anger and frustration. Then the speaker was silent.

Captain Simon Banks stared at the radio in shocked horror as he gripped the wheel tightly. No, not again! Please, god…

"Shall we respond, sir?" came the anxious voice of Detective Robert Allen. He was new to Major Crimes, having served four years in uniform in Seattle with an exemplary record. He had moved to Cascade to be near his recently widowed mother, and had transferred in to Major Crimes, under Simon's command, three months ago. As he was new to both Cascade and the position of
detective, he was still learning the ropes. Normally Rob teamed with Joel, but Joel was on vacation with his family for two weeks, and Simon had decided to ride with Allen to see how he acted and responded on the street. Simon believed in knowing his people; he could best serve them--and the public--if he knew their reactions, strengths, weaknesses, idiosyncrasies, preferred methods of working, and their personalities.

Now, Allen was staring at him, confused. They were less than a mile from the dock this Detective Sandburg had indicated. The man couldn't understand why his captain wasn't already speeding toward the two downed officers. Wasn't that of prime importance?

"No, son." Simon looked incredibly sad. His expression was almost haunted. "Won't do any good."

"...Sir?"

"There's no one there to help. Those two men died, six years ago."

Allen looked at Simon as if the older man had lost his mind. "Sir??"

Squeezing his eyes shut against tears that threatened to spill over his cheeks, Simon shook his head. "No, it's... it's a long story."

"Well, we do have several hours left, sir. Perhaps you could tell me, and... maybe we could cruise by the dock, just in case?"

Finally, Simon nodded. He turned the wheel toward the waterfront. As they drove slowly toward the docks, he told Allen the story of Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg. "Well, Rob, there were two incredibly fine officers who used to work in Major Crimes. Detective Jim Ellison was with the department for ten years, and his partner, Blair Sandburg, was with us for five. The first four years he was an observer, working unofficially with Jim; the fifth year he completed Academy training and was hired as a detective; he was finally Jim's official partner.

"Jim and Blair," Simon's voice cracked, then he cleared his throat and continued, "Jim and Blair were fine men. They had the best solve rate in the entire police department. Great detectives, fantastic men. Good friends, the best I ever had." Simon's voice trailed off. It seemed he was lost in thought, then finally he spoke again. "'Most everyone on the force admired them. They were heroes. Then, one day, word got out that they were lovers. Rumors had flown for years, but after four and a half years they finally were tired of hiding their love from others. They 'came out.' And died because of it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Six years earlier ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Come on, Jim, time to go! This is going to be terrific!" Blair bounced up and down on his toes, a grin on his face and his eyes glowing, as he waited for his lover. He had been showered and dressed in his tux, ready to go to the benefit talent show--where he was going to perform a song with Rafe--for almost an hour. Jim was moving a bit more slowly, having leisurely showered and dressed following the long, tender lovemaking that had stretched across the afternoon.

Jim grinned at his enthusiastic partner. "I'm almost ready, junior. Cool your jets!" He finished tying the bow tie, smoothed his shirt, checked the adjustment of his weapon in its holster at the small of his back, and slid his arms into the silk-lined sleeves of the tux, shrugging the finely-tailored garment over his well-developed muscles. Blair looked at him appreciatively, his eyes wide with lust and love.

"How can I cool my jets when you are so damned sexy?" Blair leaned forward and claimed a kiss. Jim's fingers slid into Blair's luxurious curls, the silky strands caressing his sensitive skin. He tenderly held Blair's head as they kissed. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss and straightened up, releasing his hold on his lover's hair.

"Ah, Blair, I love you so much."

"I love you, too, Jim." Blair smiled his wonderful smile at Jim, who felt as if his heart were melting into a warm, gooey puddle.

"We'd better get going, Chief."

"Yeah...." Blair cheerfully followed Jim toward the door.

~~~

Jim had his right turn signal on, preparing to head toward the Cascade Fine Arts Performing Center, when a call came across the radio.

"Attention, all units, attention all units." The dispatcher's voice crackled across the radio in Jim's truck. "All available units report to Dock 17. Reports of screams and gunshots. Repeat, report to Dock 17, reports of screaming and gunshots. Please respond."

Jim and Blair exchanged a quick glance. The talent show was waiting, and it was their night off. But Jim, as Sentinel of Cascade, found it difficult to ignore a threat to a member of the city he considered his 'tribe.' Blair smiled, his devotion and understanding shining in his face; grinning back, Jim flipped on the lights and siren. He turned toward the left and raced toward the waterfront.

Blair picked up the mic. "Dispatch, this is Charlie Echo 7. We are responding to the call at Dock 17. Repeat, Charlie Echo 7 is responding. ETA two minutes."

"Affirmative, Charlie Echo 7," dispatch replied.

Blair checked his weapon, tucked in its holster under his left arm. He verified that is was loaded, then returned it to its home, hoping he would not need it. He had gotten used to carrying it after several uneasy months. But he doubted he would ever be as comfortable with a gun as Jim was.

They pulled to a halt in front of the indicated dock. The warehouses fronting the dilapidated area were dark, broken windows staring back at them dolefully. Jim climbed out of the truck, pocketing his keys and drawing his weapon. Blair slid out his door and quickly joined his partner, weapon in
hand.

"See anything, Jim?" Blair whispered. He touched the taller man gently on the arm, grounding Jim as he used his senses. As a Sentinel, Jim could see, hear, smell, taste, and feel things at a level of sensitivity well beyond a typical person. But if he didn't have his Guide--Blair--with him when he
used those senses, he sometimes over-focused on one sense and 'zoned out.' But Blair could prevent zone-outs simply by touching his partner or speaking softly to him.

"No. Can't hear anything, or smell anything, either." Jim started moving silently toward the nearest warehouse, motioning for Blair to stay behind him. The younger man automatically took his position behind his Sentinel, watching his back, as his predecessors had watched their Sentinels' backs through past millennia.

Jim suddenly froze, his head cocking at an angle that indicated he was listening with his hypersensitive hearing. "Heartbeats, three--no, four--of them."

"Should we wait for backup, Jim?" Blair peered behind them, wondering why no other police cars had appeared yet.

"No, I think I hear a hostage, he's... begging them not to hurt him; yes! One of the others is threatening him. They're going to kill him!" Jim took off running, crouched down with his weapon in front of him, blending into the shadows with the skill of long practice. Blair dashed out, following him closely.

They carefully approached the door. Jim tried the handle; it opened easily, noiselessly. They slipped inside. Blair clutched the back of Jim's belt; Jim could see in near darkness, but Guides weren't blessed with superb sight. Without Jim leading him, he would have been blindly stumbling around in the dark warehouse.

There was a sudden flooding of light. It blinded Jim, whose eyesight had been opened fully to allow him to see in the darkness. He threw his hands in front of his face, crying out in pain. Blair grabbed Jim's arm, shouting, "Dial it down, Jim!" and pulled him back out into the darkness outside. Jim stumbled out the door after his Guide, and they moved as best they could, half-blinded and stunned from the sudden attack of bright light.

They could hear footsteps and cursing behind them. They had almost made it back to the truck when the air was rent by the roar of firearms. The blasts continued for what seemed like forever. When they ended and the footsteps retreated at a run, Jim was lying on the ground, blood oozing from several bullet wounds to his back and arms. Blair, sobbing with fear and pain, was similarly wounded.

He touched Jim's cheek gently, not believing what had happened. He reached up shakily and opened the truck door--it was difficult, given the strength needed to push the lever in to release the latch and the weakness of his injured body. Finally it opened and he fell across the seat, reaching desperately for the mic. He dully noticed his blood dripping onto the seat. Jim was going to be mad that he was bleeding all over the treasured truck's upholstery, he thought irrelevantly as he thumbed the button on the mic. It was hard to make his voice work; it hurt to breathe. "Mayday, dispatch, this is Detective Sandburg. Detective Ellison and I have been shot. We need
immediate help. Please respond."

Silence. Blair stared dumbly at the radio. He coughed, not noticing the bright red splotches of blood that splattered across the dashboard. "Jim! Jim, are you still with me?" he gasped, straining to look back at his partner. Jim moaned, but did not move. "Oh, god, please, no." Faintness washed over Blair. He struggled to stay conscious, listening for a response to his cries. Nothing.

He stared at the radio; he could plainly hear other calls coming and going. The radio was working. He peered at the instrument in the dim light of the interior bulbs that had automatically turned on when the door had opened. He could see no bullet holes or other indications of damage.

He tried again, "Mayday, dispatch, anyone, can you hear me? This is Charlie Echo 7." He sobbed, dropping his head onto his arms. "Oh, god, what's going on? Jim?"

He glanced at his partner. Jim was lying silently on the cold ground. No! No, he couldn't let Jim be alone, not now, not here, not like this! He had to help him, to be with him. Together they were strong. Together... they had to be together!

But first, one more time, he had to try... "Mayday! Mayday! Come in, dispatch! This is Detective Blair Sandburg, requesting assistance. Two officers down, need backup and medical assistance immediately at Dock 17! Come in, dispatch!" When he got no response, he spoke to his injured friend. "God, Jim, hold on, man! No one is answering! No one is coming! Damn, how can they do this?" Then, he called into the mic again, louder, "Please, somebody! Anybody! We're hurt! Goddammit! We're going to die if you don't come and help us! God, what kind of people are you, anyway?!" His voice cracked with anger and frustration. He threw the mic at the radio in frustration, then crawled back out of the vehicle.

His knees collapsed when his feet hit the ground, and he fell. His body was almost numb, and he hardly felt his body crash to the cold concrete. He found himself a foot away from his partner. Using all the strength he could muster in his broken and bleeding body, he pulled himself over, next to his Sentinel, his friend, his soulmate, his lover.

"Oh, god, Jim, I love you," he sobbed as he leaned his head against Jim's chest. "Oh, god, don't leave me here, don't leave me alone."

Jim's arm came slowly up around Blair until he was holding his Guide in a loving embrace. His voice, when it came, was soft, whispery, almost ethereal. "I love you, too, Chief. I won't leave you. We'll be together, always. I promise."

Blair nodded, then closed his eyes and rested against the warm body of his friend. The two men gently entwined their hands, and Jim slowly stroked Blair's hair.

Then, unseen by anyone--for there was no one there to see--a brilliant flash of light exploded silently from the spot where the two lay, still holding each other tenderly. The two men, Sentinel and Guide, stopped breathing at the same moment, and their hearts ceased beating together. On another plane, a spiritual plane, a black panther and a wolf stood next to each other. The cat screamed and the wolf howled. Then, partners now and forever, they loped silently into the waiting jungle--together.

Back on the dock, three police vehicles screeched to a stop. Simon, Rafe, Henri, and Joel poured from the cars. A minute later, a black and white squad car pulled up behind them. The dilapidated dock was garishly lit by the various flashing blue and red lights.

The four men, who had been waiting for the two detectives at the benefit and had only just heard about Blair's call for help a couple minutes before, now stared in horror at the scene before their eyes. Jim and Blair, lay next to each other, unmoving. Blair's head was nestled against his partner, and Jim's arm was resting loosely over his back. A huge puddle of blood lay around them; it was blood from both of them, mingled together, joined as one, as the two men had been in life.

But there was no life in them now. They did not move or breathe. Their eyes were closed. Moving nearer, Simon noticed a look of perfect contentment on the two men's faces. They were gone. But they would never be forgotten. Tears welled up in his eyes, then spilled, unnoticed, down his face. A huge hole was ripped in his heart at the loss of his friends. And he knew the world was now much poorer, without its Sentinel and Guide.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Present ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"God. No one responded? They just let them die?!" Allen stared at Simon. They had reached the dock and were sitting in the car as the captain finished his story.

The tall man turned off the vehicle and got out, stretching slowly to his full height. "Yeah. Shocked the hell out of most of the people in the department. Dispatch got no responses from any other units after Jim and Blair said they were responding. We never did find out for sure why no one else responded. Never found the perps." Simon sighed, his voice heavy with loss and pain. "Blair's call for help did come through; it was recorded in the documenting tapes. The dispatcher said she never heard Blair's call. She was busy with another call; and that was true, we have that call on tape, too. We never learned a damned thing about who killed them, or why. We suspect it was... retaliation."

"Because they were gay?"

"Yeah. Goddamned fucking shame. They were the best." Tears rose in Simon's eyes. He let the salty drops run down his cheeks, making shiny tracks on his skin that glimmered in the dim light. They dripped off, falling to the cold ground where his friends had died. He quietly moved over to the spot where he had found them, six achingly long years ago. He could almost see them lying there, a slight shimmer in the light making it look as if two bodies were resting together. He could almost see Blair's long curls fanned over Jim's chest, and Jim's well-muscled arm resting protectively over the younger man. Then the moment passed and the shimmer faded, dissolving into the night.

Allen stood, silently. He could feel the reverence with which Simon held their memory, and respected it. There was no excuse, in his book, for cops to abandon their own. This was a tragedy. Then, "Sir?"

"Yes, Rob?" Simon asked as he shook himself from his memories.

"The message, sir, why did we hear it tonight? I mean, if this happened six years ago...."

Simon stared at him for a long moment, then he looked out over the ocean. The long, slithery, silvery trail of the moon's reflection danced teasingly across the surface of the dark water. "Every year, on the anniversary of their death, the call comes through. Same time, same words, same damned everything. It's almost like they return for a moment to remind us of our shame. To remind us of the pain. We relive it every year." His sorrow was palpable. He shook his head. "God, I miss them."

Allen was silent. He followed Simon as he walked back to the car. They climbed in and shut the doors. The engine came to life and they slowly drove away.

The angry scream of a large cat and the mournful howl of a wolf echoed off the walls behind them.