Pairing : Gen

Disclaimer : The Sentinel and its characters are the property of Petfly Productions. No copyright infrigement intented.
This text is a work of fiction made by a fan, for the fans, to keep this beautiful tv show alive. I do not make any money with it, only a lot of fun !


Many thanks :  To Dwelf and am.viviani, for their comments on my French story, the beginning of a great journey. To Bardicfaerie and Mary Ellen, for their proofreading of my English translation of. It looks way much more readable, thanks to you. Last, but not least, to my wonderful Mom, my first beta ever.

Any remaining errors are mine only. Feedback would be greatly appreciated, only if it is courteous and respectful.

Warning : I am a sucker for deathfic, so be warned, this is one of them.  If you don't like it, please, don't read it.
Otherwise, enjoy !!!!

Jim’s Theory

He told me it would end up like this, but I didn't want to believe him. His theory seemed impossible to me, so unfair. He had, however, told me about it with much seriousness. He was convinced he was right. I couldn’t listen. It was his own death he was talking about. A premature death.

And today I am standing by his grave. I would like to cry and let all of the suffering flow out of me, but I can't manage it. Because I knew. Jim had told me.

I'm so angry at myself for not having thought about it. Me, a former anthropologist who became a police detective, but who was always a researcher at heart. Me, the specialist in Sentinels, and the Guide of the only one known. Me, who had spent hours theorizing and analyzing, this idea didn't even cross my mind. Jim had it for me. He, who was always so reluctant to discuss anything having to do with his senses.

Even if he never said it, I knew that they frightened him. They put a distance between the world and him that he couldn’t manage to overcome. He was too scared that people would only see him as a monster. And despite all those years of friendship, and my repeated efforts, I could never convince him of the contrary.

His words still resonate in my head. Everything, around me, seems only to exist to revive this voice that I try so hard to silence. It haunts me. It tortures me. It's so dear to me that it's consuming me. I close my eyes and I see his face again. I see his blue eyes again, as hard and cold as steel and so bright when he laughed, staring intensely at me as he spoke.

"It is certainly more your domain than mine, Chief, but I have a theory on Sentinels."

I remember laughing at him. Jim didn’t often spontaneously share what was in his head or his heart. But he wore this expression that always told me that either the situation was serious or that I wouldn’t like what I would hear. So I shut up.

"If I understood you correctly, being a Sentinel is genetic. My senses are registered in my genes and there is nothing I can do about it. And a Sentinel's mission is to protect its people of the danger, whatever the risks. It's some kind of instinct, isn't it?"

I agreed.

"In that case, I could never refrain from it. As soon as there will be something wrong, I will feel obligated to repair it?"

Once again, I answered in the affirmative. He looked at me sadly.

"Then, I will not live to get old, Chief."

My heart missed a beat and I began to protest. How could he think like this ? After all he had lived, all he had survived. If there was a thing which I knew with certainty, it is that, unlike the criminals whom he pursued, James Ellison always pulled through.

"Blair, listen to me", he insisted. "I just mean that I won’t live to grow old, even though I want to. I will fight as long as I can to protect the citizens of Cascade. You see, in the Army, I took the oath to defend my country against all its enemies. By becoming a cop, I swore to serve and protect the inhabitants of this city. It is all I ever knew to do, I don't know anything else. It is what makes me live, and it is unfortunately also what can kill me too. I know you don't want to hear it, Chief, but it’s the truth. I’m not the superhero you think. I’m not invincible and I’m not eternal. I’m just a cop like all the others. And it’s possible that one day, I’ll take too many risks and that I won’t get back on my feet."

I couldn't let him talk like this. So, I did what I knew best. I argued. He quickly cut short my stream of words. He knew that I understood, that he wasn't wrong. But it was too hard. To think that Jim could die was too much for me. He was everything to me. My best friend, my partner, my Sentinel. The older brother I never had. He shared my joys and my griefs, he supported me in my moments of distress. He was always there, for everything and anything. I couldn’t conceive of losing him.

Jim was right, I had a tendency to see him as an indestructible superhero, even if I knew he was only a human being. He was not almighty, he was not bulletproof. I had spent too much time worrying in the emergency waiting room to know it.

Suddenly, I couldn't breathe any more. Fear and denial encircled my throat. I needed air. I slammed the door behind me, under the surprised eyes of my partner, and I drove for several hours randomly.

When I returned, he didn't say anything and we never talked about it again.

Jim Ellison was not a hero. He was an exceptional man who gave the best of himself everyday to do his job well. He, however, left like a hero, at the dawn of his forty-first year.

"Heroic." That's how the press qualified his death. It spoke about it for days. The journalists literally harassed us to know all the details of our failed intervention in a clandestine drugs laboratory. Five policemen were hurt. Jim was the only one killed. It was a scoop, a police drama not to be missed. I have never hated a profession as much as I did the press.

That evening, we entered the abandoned warehouse which sheltered the clandestine laboratory, noiselessly. Unfortunately, we were spotted and gunfire rang out. An officer was shot and Jim rushed to pull him to shelter. A bullet went through the old cardboards, behind which they had found refuge, and pierced the throat of my best friend.

He saved a man's life and paid for it with his own. The kevlar jacket he wore didn't change anything, nobody could do anything to save him. I couldn't do anything. I could only watch him collapse, shout his name and dash to hold his lifeless body in my arms. I don't remember the end of the shooting. Everything seemed unreal to me. I felt like I was dreaming and the only thing I wished was to wake up. To see Jim smiling to me and telling me that everything was okay.

It's only when they put his body in the medical examiner’s truck that I realized he was gone. And that this theory he told me about some weeks earlier had come true.

They are wrong. All those newspapers that proclaim that Jim died like a hero. They are wrong.

James Joseph Ellison lived like a hero. He wasn't conscious of the courage it took to be a Sentinel. The world was not adapted for him. Too much noises, too much pollution, too many chemicals. He could have given up his gifts. He had that possibility, in the jungle, when we went to rescue Simon and Daryl. But, in spite of his desire to get rid of his senses, he never did. I believe that he more or less ended up accepting himself as he was.

He insisted that his senses remain secret, and he was right. The fiasco of my disseration proved to us that our society wasn’t ready to accept Sentinels. Only Major Crime knew to put things in perspective. A lot of the detectives knew Jim well enough to know that he was different, but they never said anything about it. For his colleagues, Jim was as normal as any of them. He just had a small advantage.

I could never thank them all enough for it. Their acceptance meant so much to Jim.

I have known a lot of people, but I have never had a real friend before meeting Jim. I have had numerous girlfriends, but, in spite of my efforts, our relationships have never lasted. My mother is always gone all over the world and gives me her news when it fancies her.

Jim had fallen out for years with his father and his brother. He had suffered numerous betrayals, abandonments and the death of almost all of those he loved.

Our two solitary souls crossed and, although they seemed like polar opposites, they recognized and understood one another. I taught to Jim to open his heart to the others and he tried, without big result, to make me more orderly. If he knew how much I miss his bitching about my chaos.

I couldn't stand his death. I collapsed. The void he left behind him was too hard to face day after day. Then, after some months, I fled. I had nothing to lose anymore, if not my position as a detective. But, even that meant nothing without my partner. Simon didn’t want to take my badge and gun when I resigned. Instead, he helped me get a position with the Seattle PD. I admire his courage in staying at his post. Jim was also his friend. I wasn't able to. I wanted to see if I could leave everything behind me and pursue my life somewhere else. Only my sorrow followed me. It has never left me.

I thought that everything was over with Jim, the day he died. I was a broken friend and Guide. I still am today, and will probably be for the rest of my life. But moving away allowed me to get my bearings and to find a reason to live. I will follow the way Jim paved for me when he gave me my detective's badge, hoping I’m worthy of it. I will protect the people of Cascade. It's where my place is, I know it at the bottom of myself.

And today, after three years of flight, I came back in this city that was so dear to me. I am standing on his grave. I look at this inscription carved in the stone.

James Joseph Ellison

June 15th, 1963 - January 6th, 2004

It testifies that he lived, but says nothing of whom he was. An exceptional man.

Simon joined me silently and, little by little, all of our friends of the Major Crime join us. It has been three years since Jim left us, and none of us have forgotten him. It warms me to the heart. The captain turns to me and says "Lets go".

We will go on, each in our way. It's for life and justice that Jim fought, and it's for them that we will also fight.

I am moving away with the others. I am back at home, for good.