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calic0catYes, we have ficcage. Short, but ficcage. And for The Sentinel, no less, which I haven't posted anything for in... well, way too long. *relieved sigh*
Title: Making Destiny
Author: Calic0cat
Category: slash, AU
Pairing: J/B
Rating: FRT (Fan Rated for Teens)
Warnings: Swearing
Challenge: #146 "It seemed like a good idea at the time..."
Wordcount: 2295
Website: http://www.calic0cat.net/
Author's Note: This (well, part of it) has been kicking around on my hard drive for a while. While skimming through my random scribblings looking for something to kick-start the muse, I realized that, with a few more paragraphs and a little editing, this particular little bit would work for this challenge. Thanks to the lovely folks at SenBetas (in particular: Jen, Sheila, Annie, & T.W.) for the beta assistance.
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"Ellison! Sandburg! My office!"
Jim and Blair exchanged a half-amused, half-resigned look in response to the bellow that greeted their arrival at the Major Crimes bullpen. "Alright, Chief, what'd you do this time?" Jim kidded as they changed direction, heading for Simon's office instead of Jim's desk.
"What'd *I* do? What makes you think this has anything to do with *me*?" Blair countered, raising his eyebrows. "Maybe he heard about *your* little 'incident' with the surveillance van while he was on vacation..."
Jim's stride faltered at the suggestion. "Low blow, Sandburg," he protested, lengthening his stride to catch up again as his partner looked back over his shoulder and laughed.
Chasing the perp when he'd made his move early, before the SWAT team was in place, had seemed like a good idea at the time.
Not that Simon was likely to see it that way, considering that this was his third 'seemed like a good idea' so far this quarter. Mentally, he crossed his fingers and hoped that this summons was about something else entirely.
The instant that Jim saw just who was waiting in Simon's office, he changed his mind and wished that this *had* been about the van. A visit from representatives of the United American Sentinel-Guide Union rated even higher on his 'things to be avoided' list than another tirade from his boss regarding the longevity of vehicles driven by him.
"Sentinel-Detective Ellison, Guide Sandburg, we have wonderful news for you."
The hair on the back of Jim's neck bristled in automatic response. News from the union was *never* good news. It was almost invariably some piece of bureaucratic crap that accomplished nothing more than making his life more difficult. Well-meaning bureaucratic crap, but crap nonetheless.
There was a damn good reason that union representatives were exclusively guides. Sentinels would never take this kind of shit from another sentinel, but guides had a way of soothing even the most belligerent individual, be they sentinel, guide, or neither. Of course, some guides - like his own partner - were better at it than others.
These two were definitely not among that select few.
"Now that the international Sentinel-Guide database link is fully operational, we've finally found matches for you both."
The instinctive urge to grab his guide and hold on tight in response to the woman's blithe announcement was almost too strong to resist, but Jim managed to restrict himself to reaching out to lay a hand on his partner's shoulder. He didn't have far to reach, as Blair's automatic response had been to take a step back and sideways, leaving them standing side-by-side.
"I thought that profiles of unmatched sentinels and guides were already shared internationally," Blair remarked. His guide's tone was one of casual curiosity but, senses automatically expanding in response to his increased adrenaline, Jim could see and feel the tension in Blair's muscles, could hear the concern in his voice and accelerating heartbeat, could smell the anxiety rolling off his body in waves.
"Yes, in theory, they were," the female union rep agreed readily. "However, searches for matches had to be performed manually within each country's database and comparisons were based on the most basic data sets. That meant that only a small number of profiles were actually processed, very few of which resulted in matches.
"The new system is fully automated, includes *all* unmatched candidates, and uses the complete profiles - genetic data, personality traits, occupation, areas of interest... the entire workup - as the basis for comparison. It combines the most advanced matching techniques from each of the countries involved, and the success rate is phenomenal. Why, we've reduced the number of unmatched individuals by nearly 75%, and we haven't had a single mismatch yet!"
Very definitely not liking the direction that this conversation appeared to be heading, Jim said belligerently, "I don't see what this has to do with us; we aren't unmatched. The union wasn't able to find matches for either of us, but we managed just fine on our own. Sandburg and I have been working together for nearly three years now, and..."
"Sentinel-Detective Ellison," the male representative interjected, "while it is a credit to your control and Guide Sandburg's creativity that you have been able to use your senses on the job with his assistance, a chance meeting is highly unlikely to result in a true pairing. Yours is no exception; your profiles are wildly incompatible in nearly every aspect. You'll understand the difference once you meet your true matches; they are perfect fits for you both in every aspect. Ideal partners and lifemates."
Icily furious at the condescending dismissal of a solid partnership, Jim began, "We're not interested in..."
Blair elbowed him sharply and interrupted, "...wasting any time. So, when do we meet these paragons of perfection?" The feeling of betrayal didn't get a chance to set in before Blair hissed, sentinel-soft, "Trust me."
With Blair's shoulder still tense and solid beneath his hand, weight leaning very slightly and very trustingly into him, Jim thought about all the times that this 'wildly incompatible' partner had come through for him over the past three years. The times that he had jumped out of planes, had taken bullets, had put his own life on the line over and over again. Had simply been there, a supportive, sympathetic presence. From the moment the gutsy grad student had saved him, a complete stranger, from an oncoming garbage truck, Blair had never let him down when it really counted. Difficult as trust was for him, Jim had to believe that his partner's track record wasn't about to change now.
Blair wouldn't desert him. Not as his guide, his best friend, or his lover. So, he bit back his instinctive response and simply gave Blair's shoulder a squeeze of reassurance and confirmation.
"They are scheduled to arrive late this afternoon, so we will bring them by your residence..."
"No way, man." Blair's refusal rang out in unison with Jim's own flat "No". The loft was their space; neither of them wanted these interlopers intruding in *their* home and invading *their* privacy.
Both union reps frowned, and the woman opened her mouth to speak. Blair beat her to it. "Neutral territory would be better. We'll meet them for dinner. Our treat. Seven sharp, at Stazi's - it's in the phone book."
Jim kept a neutral expression, but it was an effort. They never ate at Stazi's, though they occasionally picked up takeout from there. The food was incredible, but everything on the menu was hotter than hell. Very definitely *not* standard sentinel fare. Jim had always loved hot and spicy foods but, once his senses came online, he'd been resigned to giving them up - until a certain stubborn anthropologist had come along and made it their shared goal to make Jim's senses fit his life, rather than adapting his life to suit his senses. Now... well, the hotter and spicier, the better.
He doubted that the other, guideless, sentinel would agree. Nor would the restaurant's smoke-filled, spice-scented, noisy, obnoxiously decorated atmosphere go over very well; even with his guide at his side, Jim didn't expect to find it a pleasant experience. Dining at Stazi's should be one hell of a start towards alienating Sandburg's union-picked sentinel right from the get-go.
As an off-the-cuff plan, it made a lot of sense. The Sentinel-Guide Union could make life very difficult for the two of them if they simply flat-out refused to meet with these so-called 'perfect matches'; union certification was just as essential as firearms certification for a Sentinel-Detective. So, they'd play along for now. If worst came to worst, they'd refuse their matches and fight the union head-on. But, with a little luck, they wouldn't have to. The matches would do the refusing for them.
Welcome to the Sandburg Zone, domain of misdirection, obscure facts, and general weirdness that nevertheless had an uncanny tendency to just *work*. Jim had learned to appreciate the Sandburg Zone; it had saved both of their asses more times than he really wanted to think about. Not that his appreciation stopped him from bitching and complaining about it, of course.
This time, however, it might - almost - be fun. Watching his partner obfuscate circles around some poor schmuck until the sucker cracked and ran should be... entertaining, to say the least.
Of course, alienating his own so-called match would probably be a little bit more challenging; guides tended to be pretty easygoing people. But, considering how many people he managed to piss off on a regular basis, Jim was sure that he could handle the task.
***
They hadn't even placed their orders and they were already running out of things to say. Having completed the introductions outside, the union reps had left them on their own to 'get acquainted'. Or not, as the case might be. Blair had made a valiant effort to talk to the sentinel seated across from him, but she couldn't seem to focus on his voice amidst the racket of the busy restaurant.
Strange, Jim wasn't having any problems whatsoever. He smirked internally.
Grasping at conversational straws, he said loudly, "So, you're in law enforcement too."
"Bloody right I am, mate," Megan Connor shouted over the noise of the crowded restaurant. "First female Inspector in New South Wales."
Jim cringed at the annoying twang. God, she sounded like a character from that Crocodile Dundee movie. He couldn't imagine coming out of a zone to *that* voice.
Sure, he had to admit that, generally speaking, she was his type - strong, confident, a redhead... and she certainly had more in common with him than Blair had had three years ago, when they'd first started working together as sentinel and guide... and, hell, in spite of the woman's complete lack of fashion sense, annoying voice, and generally irritating attitude, there was actually a bit of a 'pull' on the sentinel-guide level.
Maybe even a stronger 'pull' than had been there when he'd first met Blair.
Maybe even enough of one that, if he *hadn't* met Blair, he would have learned to live with her less than attractive qualities. Maybe, if he hadn't met Blair first, she would have actually been the 'destined' partner that the Union claimed her to be. Maybe.
But he *had* met Blair first, and they'd had three years of working together as sentinel and guide - three years as friends, partners, and lovers - in which to strengthen the bond between them. Three years to make their *own* destiny.
Comparing Connor's 'pull' to that of Blair *now* was like comparing the strength of a single strand of cotton thread to that of high-tensile steel cable. She was no threat whatsoever to the bond between him and Blair.
Jim just hoped that Blair's attraction to Alicia Bannister was equally weak. The well-built blonde was very much the type that Blair had tended towards prior to their first meeting; he'd met enough of his partner's past conquests to be sure of that. Bannister was intelligent, sexy, and thoroughly immersed in the academic world. The union rep’s introduction had revealed that, while employed as a professor of art history at Oxford University, she put her sentinel abilities to work authenticating art and artifacts for museums, galleries, and insurance companies around the world. A near-perfect match for Blair's background in anthropology. While Jim didn't precisely doubt Blair's commitment to him, he couldn't help but feel a bit concerned about just how much better a 'fit' Bannister would be for Blair because of their similar backgrounds.
A waiter squeezed through between the crowded tables, wafting a powerful scent of spices over their table as he went. Automatically, Jim turned and leaned over, dropping his nose into his guide's mass of riotous curls and inhaling that familiar scent deeply to counteract the nearly overwhelming spicy odour. Across the table, the other sentinel doubled over in a fit of coughing and sneezing, involuntary tears streaming down her cheeks in reaction to the strong spices.
"Unmatched, my Aunt Matilda," Connor snorted, shaking her head as she looked back and forth between the two sentinels. "I'd say *this* meeting was a bloody waste of time."
Turning back towards her, Jim just shrugged, hyper-aware of Blair's hand resting lightly on his arm and Blair's knee pressed reassuringly against his beneath the table. "Hey, don't look at me. Tell it to the union; I'm not the one who set this up." His voice and gaze were clear, breathing and vision unaffected by the powerful spices that permeated the air. “Regardless of what their beloved data analysis has to say on the subject, my partner and I have been breaking department case closure records for the past three years. Seems like a pretty damn good match to me.”
The Inspector gave an appreciative whistle. Beside her, Bannister flinched from the sound and continued to sneeze. Connor rolled her eyes and stood, dragging the sentinel to her feet as well. “Well, mate, I’m convinced, and I’ll wager the lady here is, too.”
Bannister nodded, swiping ineffectually at her face with a napkin. “Yes,” she managed to wheeze between sneezes. Pointing shakily towards the exit, she added plaintively, “Can we go now?”
Jim exchanged a quick glance with his partner. Blair flashed him a thumbs-up. "Why not?" Jim agreed cheerfully, clapping his hands and rubbing them together with satisfaction. "I think our work here is done. Chief, want to tell the waiter to make that 'to go'?"
"Sure, Jim." Turning towards the women, Blair shrugged. "Sorry, ladies, nothing personal. I'm sure that you two will find your perfect partners someday, just not today. The Union needs to realize that destiny is what you make it."
Draping an affectionate arm over his guide's shoulders, Jim concluded simply, "We've made ours. Good luck with your own."
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Date: 2006-06-27 03:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-27 04:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-27 04:31 pm (UTC)Yep.
Oh I do love a take-charge Blair.
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Date: 2006-06-27 05:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-27 04:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-27 05:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-27 05:29 pm (UTC)Devious Blair and pissy Jim... great!
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Date: 2006-06-28 01:42 am (UTC)Glad you enjoyed it.
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Date: 2006-06-27 05:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-28 01:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-27 05:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-28 01:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-27 06:19 pm (UTC)Excellent story!
Greetings from Dany
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Date: 2006-06-28 01:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-27 10:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-28 02:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-28 01:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-28 02:04 am (UTC)