Disclaimer: The Sentinel, Blair Sandburg, Jim Ellison, Simon Banks, and all other characters are property of Paramount and Pet Fly. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money has exchanged hands.

Summary: Missing scenes and some not so missing from Siege.

Notes: Don't ask me where this came from...sometimes some very strange things pop into my head LOL. I guess this is more humor than angst...but there is some in there.

My Buddy and Me

by Twilight (Dawn)

********************

"Shit..." Blair dropped the knife and bagel, dribbling blood all the way to the sink, flipping on the faucet and sticking the broken skin under the cool running stream. The water sluiced over the oozing finger, stinging and burning.

He grabbed a hand towel, pressing the mostly clean cloth into the wound to staunch the flow.

The doorbell rang and he hurried to answer, wondering who would be visiting at eight in the morning.

"Morning, sir." A UPS man held up a clipboard, a large package tucked under his arm.

Blair reached forward, taking the offered pen and signing his name. "Thanks, man."

The box was post marked New Mexico but the handwritten address was familiar and he smiled. "Mom."

Taking the box into his makeshift living room, he tossed the towel toward the kitchen counter, examining the small cut on his finger.

The bleeding had stopped but a bandage would have to wait since he was pretty sure he didn't have any in his bathroom cupboard.

Patting his pocket, he found his Swiss army knife and pulled out the blade to cut the shipping tape. A small envelope rested on top of the packing and he pulled the note from it.

Hello Sweetie,

I came across this while I was cleaning out the attic and thought you might like to have it. You used to take him everywhere, remember?

Love you,

Mom

Blair dug through the packing and pulled out a long forgotten treasure. Smiling he took it to the adjoining room and placed it on the bed with a few other old mementos.

"Well, what do you think, buddy?" He looked toward his price. "I'm a little nervous today...I found him, man...the real deal. He's a cop and he's trying to get me in so I can ride along and study him. We're talking my doctorate, here."

Blair wandered over to his dresser and picked up his wallet and keys. "You should hear the lame story he wants to feed his boss...like the man would believe I'm his nephew, but don't worry buddy...I got it all figured out...it's the thin blue line all the way...I'm going to have his boss eatin' out of my hand."

********************

"Trust me." Blair shouldered his pack, hurrying to keep up with the longer stride of his new subject.

"It's still not working. Let's just go over it again." Jim slowed and turned.

"Again?"

"Yeah."

He had to resist the urge to sigh or find a convenient wall to bang his head on. They had gone over it a hundred times at dinner the night before. "What's the problem now?"

"You got to drop that "thin blue line" routine, okay?"

He was already shaking his head...was the guy crazy. "Oh, no, no, no, no. That's some of my best stuff, man."

Jim looked over his head, mouth pressed into a thin line. "I'm telling you, drop it."

They started toward the elevators again, passing some uniforms milling around. "Look, I may be a rookie in your little dirty Harry world here but I'm telling you, man, when it comes to thesis speak, I am a pro."

"In anthropology." Jim shot back, pointing his finger at him. "The trick is to convince the captain that you're studying police science."

"I will dress up in an evening gown like J. Edgar Hoover if you thought it would help. I want this partnership..."

Jim turned on him, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop right there, Chief."

"Yeah, I know." He raised his hands in surrender. Man this guy was anal. "I'm never to refer to us as partners."

"That's right," Jim smiled.

"I'm strictly the observer." He parroted reciting the words Jim had repeated several times the night before.

"Right. This sentinel stuff stays between us. I don't want anybody finding out what's going on with me."

"Okay, fine!" Anal with a capital "A".

"All right?"

"Yeah." Man, once he got a hold of something, he held on like a bulldog.

********************

"The central hypothesis to my dissertation is how the quality of evidence gathering at a crime scene can affect the capture of a perpetrator and ultimately the outcome of the trial." Blair delivered his well-rehearsed speech, still thinking about how Jim could pick up the scent of blood after having washed his hands and applying a little disinfectant.

The man across from him nodded, his eyes sharp and focused on Blair. This was the first time that he had met Jim's boss, but he seemed like a pretty fair guy.

"And you're requesting full access credentials to observe Detective Ellison on the job?" The captain nodded toward Jim, who was leaning casually against the bank of windows that overlooked the city.

Shooting a quick look toward him, Blair said, "Yeah. He is the best on the force, isn't he?"

The captain frowned, looking toward Jim. "Did you tell him that? Look, Mr....Sandburg, is it? You don't seem like the law enforcement type. What got you interested in this field?"

Finally...

"Well, I've always been fascinated with the concept of the thin blue line." He smiled toward Jim, but the man didn't seem too pleased, his mouth dropped open and he shook his head.

"The thin blue line?"

Ready to launch into another practiced speech Blair began, "It's that slender thread that separates the lawful and the criminal elements of our society. It's a concept that dates back..."

The captain held up his hand, stopping him in mid sentence. "I'm familiar with the concept. Could you excuse us a moment? I'd like to talk to Detective Ellison alone."

Blair looked to the man, but couldn't tell from his expression how he thought it went. "Yeah. Sure. No problem. I'll be right out here, man. Thanks. Great." He reached for the knob, careful to close the door quietly behind him.

********************

"Well?" Blair hurried along after Jim, following him down the hall.

It was hard to believe that the captain bought the nephew story over his.

After a quick trip to the men's room, Blair joined Jim in front of the personnel office. It looked like all the other rooms on this floor. Probably like all the other rooms in this whole building.

The clerk smiled, giving Jim the once over as they approached the kiosk desk. Jim filled her in on Blair's new status, handing over the forms that the captain signed.

She explained the forms and applications to be filled in and passed over a huge manual. Blair looked over each, nodding as Jim told him they would meet up later.

"Vera, is that White Shoulders that you're wearing?"

Blair glanced at the women as she blushed, raising a hand to her face.

Classic sign...

"It's not too much, is it?"

"No, not at all. It's just that whenever I smell White Shoulders, it reminds me of my grandmother."

God...smooth Ellison...real smooth.

He watched the detective scurry out of the office, trying hard not to laugh.

"Now, Mr. Sandburg, the department requests all incoming personnel to submit to a drug test. I hope that's not a problem for you."

Why did people always assume he was a druggie...come on...

She held up a little plastic cup and pointed to the direction of the bathroom.

Man, he just went...

********************

Blair slipped into the stall, sliding down his jeans and sitting on the toilet, figuring that it might take a while. He unwrapped the sample cup; breaking the seal when he took off the cap...nothing was happening.

The room was cool, the walls were silver gray and he tried to conjure up images of water. He imagined the slow drip, drip of his bathroom faucet; the steady beat of water from his shower after splurging on a new showerhead, the pounding of the waves at the Sound.

No good...

Looking around again he started to tap his feet, humming a soft tune. "Hmm, hmm, hmm, wherever I go, you're gonna go..."

A loud pop coming from the hall startled him and he stood quickly, hiking up his jeans and throwing the lock on the stall. He walked slowly and quietly to the door and peeked out. A parade of people marched down the hall and in the middle was the cop he had met before...the one who took his camera.

"Back off. If you weren't a captain, you'd be dead right now. Let's go."

A queasy, sick feeling formed as a lump in his stomach and he quickly tiptoed back to the stall, locking it and propping himself up, feet against one wall and rear end against the other, praying his legs didn't get tired.

The door opened seconds later and he could hear heavy booted feet move along the tiles that traveled the length of the floor.

Sweat broke out all over his body; tiny beads peppered his face and ran down his neck and he held his breath until the footsteps moved the other way and he could hear the door closing again.

Man...what did I get myself into?

He stayed as still as possible, straining to hear any sound that would indicate they were coming back.

It seemed like he was in there for hours, his back was spasming and his calves stung and ironically, he really had to pee.

Inch by inch his feet slipped lower and he had to adjust his weight to keep himself up.

He was so low down now his rear was below his feet and he thought about standing back on the toilet seat and stretch out his legs, but the door opened again. He listened to the man beyond the stall stop and the scraping of metal teeth.

He was slipping slowly, but couldn't do anything about and of all the luck, his sneaker caught the handle.

Crap...

The loud flushing sound filled the room and he panicked, trying to think of a way to survive. He suddenly flashed on an old Harrison Ford movie and grabbed the sides of the stall, kicking out before the guy could open the door.

A loud thump and then the clattering of the gun got Blair moving. He tiptoed over the fallen body and to the door, nearly tripping in his haste to get around the corner and find someplace else in the unfamiliar building to hide.

A door on the right was open and Blair spotted a coffee machine and some old kitchen chairs around a small square table. A few large vending machines covered a whole wall and he shimmied behind one, blowing out a shaky breath.

Seemed like a good time to pray...

"God... god, please... Please, I promise, If you get me out of this, I will stop lying. I'll stop lying to Denise. And Jill, and, um...oh, yeah, and Ann, and Ann too, right." He could hardly hear over the thundering of his heart, his words stuttered and sharp.

No sooner had he stopped talking, heavy booted footsteps came into the room.

Man, not very stealth...can hear these guys coming from a mile away.

A few coins dropped into the machine with a little clunking noise and then someone was banging. A quick rat-tat tat followed and Blair acted on instinct, pushing the heavy machine away.

To his utter surprise, the thing up ended and crashed forward with a soft thump. He hurried around to see the man laying very still, worrying as he fled that he had killed him.

All the doors along this hall were closed and locked, he stopped for a second to get himself together, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. "It's okay. Just do your kundalini breathing."

At the end of the hall, a door started to open so he ran around the corner, hearing a few guys talking. He chose a door and tried the knob, practically crying with relief when it opened.

Great, now what? Think...

He looked around, not bothering with the phone. Chances were they would be dead.

Dead...don't even go there.

Glancing out the large window he could see something attached to the building a few stories down, remembering that Jim had mentioned that the windows were being washed all the week before.

He would need something heavy.

He spotted the office chair and picked it up, heaving it over his head and at the window, but it bounced right back.

Damn.

He looked around again, seeing a large orangish marble ball on a platform. It felt heavy in his hands, so he reared back and tossed it toward the glass panes, stepping back and covering his face with his arms as they shattered.

Glass lay all over the floor and on the sill, but he didn't have a choice, knowing that the whole building had to have heard the mini explosion.

He cleared as much glass as he could, using the sleeves of his coat to protect his hands, trying very hard not to look down. "I don't believe this. I don't believe this!" He hung by his fingers for a second, the gusty wind blowing his hair into his face. "Okay, just picture yourself there."

He let go with another little prayer, hitting the platform hard, falling down to his ass, and then all hell broke loose. Bullets flew around him, bouncing off the metal, ricocheting to hit the building.

The shooting stopped suddenly and Blair looked up, feeling a blazing pain in his arm, twisting it to see a hole in his jacket.

Another pop sounded and the platform was falling fast, he hung on until it jarred to a stop and Blair stood on wobbly legs, hands raised in surrender.

The whole way down the stairwell he was frog marched between two goons with tree trunks for necks, desperately trying to think of a way to bullshit himself out of his current predicament.

He was manhandled out the door and through the deserted halls, hands taped in front, the guy hanging on so tight to his arm that he was sure he would have the bruises for weeks.

The hall gave way to the bullpen he had been in earlier. It was filled with frighten faced people sitting on the floors. The big black guy was clearly bleeding and Blair knew that this had better be the best performance of his life.

A man stepped forward snarling, "Are you the mole that took out two of my men? In this militia, that's a capital offense."

Blair swallowed, trying to calm himself even as the barrel of a very large gun came into view. "Hey, man, you don't want to do that, believe me. I'm worth more to you as a live hostage than a dead body."

The guy held his ground, waving the gun a little to make his point. "What makes you think that your sorry ass is worth anything to anybody?"

He said the first thing that popped into his head. "Banks sent me in."

"You're a cop?"

Him? He wasn't even allowed to refer to himself as a partner...okay, okay, he could do cop...

"Yeah. Lieutenant Sandburg, Narcotics. I've been teamed with Ellison."

The injured man on the floor made a comment, but Blair didn't really catch it, so caught up in what he was going to say next and before he knew what was happening the lunatic told him he could use a man like him...what the hell did that mean?

They dragged him up the steps, the faint sound of a helicopter loomed in the distance. All the way up his anxiety grew and soon he was hyperventilating.

What the hell was he thinking?

They forced him through the door and he turned, screaming at anyone who would listen, but they didn't believe him.

"Shut up, kid."

"I was lying." He pleaded, not sure if being honest would actually help him out.

Someone grabbed him by the scruff of his coat and pulled him into the chopper, Kincaid slammed the door shut and banging on the front seat to signal the pilot to take off.

They just cleared the roof, but Blair was trying hard not to look down. A sudden thump had his heart in his throat.

"What was that, Walters?" The whacko next to him hollered into his headset.

Blair couldn't hear the answer as he didn't have one, but something was up as they continued to list to the right.

Kincaid looked out the window and said something before the pilot pushed the throttle forward and Blair's stomach came up to join his heart. He was sure he was going to make a mess all over himself.

Kincaid gave some other order and opened the door, pointing a gun down.

That could only mean one thing. Hope surged as Blair just reacted, throwing his weight against the man in the seat next to him.

Kincaid tumbled out and Blair spotted a box of flares near his feet. Fumbling the gun in his hands until he got a good hold, he forced his way into the front seat, pinning the prisoner against the window with his body.

"Take us back."

The pilot eyed the gun in his face, shaking his head. "No way. Kill me and we're all dead."

"I don't think so, punk. I flew Apaches in Desert Storm. Now turn it around! Now!"

Blair could tell he was thinking it over, so he shoved the gun a little closer to the side of the guy's head, hoping like hell the man didn't see his hands shaking.

After a second, he turned around and within minutes they were landing. People stormed the small space, pulling out the other men and cuffing them.

A couple of dudes in black hauled him out, but they didn't let go. "I'm not with these guys! I'm Detective Ellison's partner...colleague." His heart was pounding so fast it hurt his chest.

The captain held up his hand, "It's okay, guys. He's on our team!"

"Did you say I was on your team?"

"Strictly as an observer."

"Right, right. As an observer. Strictly. Of course."

Simon and Jim moved away and he found himself standing by some women. "Hi. Would you mind?" He held up his wrist, a small smirk on his face, glad that the whole thing was over.

She gave him a strange look, but helped pick the corners of the tape.

"Thanks."

Jim stood along the far side of the roof, talking with the captain and Blair had a sneaking suspicion as to the conversation. He waited until the other man walked away before approaching the detective. "You told him, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I had to."

"What happened? Did he, like, freak or what?" Blair didn't know the man very well, but he didn't seem like the type to believe so easily.

"No. I actually think it's all going to turn out to be just fine."

Well, that was something at least. Would make his job a lot easier.

Something suddenly popped into his mind and he had to ask, "This wasn't like a typical day for you, was it?"

Jim laughed and turned to go.

"Well, is it? Come on!" He jogged along side of him, smiling and happy just to be alive.

********************

The jeep pulled up in front of the warehouse and Blair jerked his head up, wiping sleep from his eyes. Who knew how much paperwork was involved with Jim's line of work. It was worse than his own paperwork and talk about repetitive. How many times can you say the same thing?

"You going to be okay, Chief?"

"Oh yeah. Thanks man." He opened the door, giving a little wave before climbing the steps to his place. The cavernous room was dark except for a little light over the stove. He shed his jacket, feeling a tiny pull to his skin, turning his arm to see a nasty red streak.

He used the towel from earlier, wetting it under the faucet, kicking his shoes off on his way to the bedroom. He managed to get a better look at the scrape along his forearm, sitting heavily on the mattress when he realized what made the mark.

The doll his mom sent earlier slid down the pillow and Blair grabbed it up, smoothing back the bowl cut brown hair, fingering the tiny divots along the dirt stained left ear and cheek, running a hand gently over the blue overalls and faded strip shirt, remembering all the time he spent playing and talking with Buddy.

Remembering how upset he was when he lost Buddy's little ball cap.

He laughed, sitting the toy on his dresser, shucking his shirt. "Jim would really flip if he saw you, buddy. I bet he never had a little friend like you." He moved around the room, pulling some clean boxers from a basket in the corner, finding an undershirt in a pile on the floor, heading to the shower.

The water was hot and soothing, the adrenaline leaving him making him sleepy. He took his time, making a mental note to get some bandaids the next day. "I bet Jim keeps bandaids at his place."

They were going to have dinner over there the next night and he was curious to see how the man lived.

Water rolled down his back and he tilted his head, letting it massage his neck and shoulders.

This was the real thing...

He started to hum again, thinking he would have to call his mom to thank her.

"Hmm...hmm...hmm...My buddy....my buddy...my buddy and me..."

********************

The End

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