Progression Series 20 Legacy (Final)

  Disclaimer: The characters depicted within this story do not belong to us, but are the property of Pet Fly, UPN, Paramount and The SciFi Channel. No money has been made from the writing of this story.

  Note from the Authors: In our Sentinel universe, the events depicted in "The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg" did not occur. Therefore, any "canonical" references that may be found in this story are related to episodes up to and including "Most Wanted."

  Dedication: This series is dedicated to friendship, for only through caring for others can we truly find a sense of peace and belonging.

  Legacy

  Part Twenty (Final Installment) of "The Progressions" Series

  by Beth Manz and Shiloh

  Part One

  With a small grunt of exertion, Blair Sandburg hefted the bound volume of anthropology journals up to the top shelf of the bookcase. Wiping his hands against his khaki shorts, he stepped back to the center of his office and gazed up at the shelves. He nodded his head in approval as he scrutinized his work, pleased with the progress he'd made at organizing his books and journals. Mentally crossing the task off his internal "to do" list, he moved to his desk and lowered himself into his chair.

  A sharp twinge in his upper left arm reminded him that he'd exerted himself a bit too much, and he rotated his shoulder in an effort to ease the aching. It had been almost a month since he'd been shot by George Mitchell and spent a horrifying week in a mountain cabin with Marcus Grant. For the most part he felt good, both physically and mentally, but from time to time--like today when he'd done a bit too much lifting--his shoulder reminded him that the healing process was still taking place.

  In an attempt to push the lingering ache from his mind, he surveyed the top of his desk, taking in the stacks of mail and paperwork that had accumulated over the summer and were now awaiting his attention. With a weary but determined sigh, he pushed his glasses onto his face and pulled a lesson plan book from atop one of the piles.

  "Well now, that doesn't sound very encouraging," a warm, teasing voice reached him.

  He looked up and offered his visitor a crooked smile. "Hello, Dr. Stoddard." Leaning back in his chair, he motioned his mentor in.

  The chancellor made his way across the small office. "School hasn't even begun and already you're sighing like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders," he commented lightly as he took a seat in front of the young man's desk.

  Sandburg chuckled a bit and waved the professor's concerns away with one hand. "No, I'm good. I think I just got too used to having so much free time over the summer. Makes all this work I need to do seem almost overwhelming."

  The older man grinned. "Don't worry about it, my boy. You'll be burning the candle at both ends again before you know it."

  "No doubt," Sandburg retorted with a smile. He sat forward and leaned his arms on his desktop. "So what brings you to campus today?" he asked, changing the subject. "I thought you were taking a few days off."

  "Yes, well, so did I. Unfortunately, our esteemed Board of Directors had other ideas."

  Blair grimaced. "Meetings?"

  "Meetings," Eli confirmed. "Take a bit of advice from an old professor, Blair," he said, waggling his finger. "Never let them talk you into giving up teaching and going into administration."

  Blair narrowed his eyes and gave the kindly chancellor a knowing look. "Nah--you aren't fooling me, Dr. Stoddard," he replied with a chuckle. "You love it and you know it."

  The professor laughed. "Yes, I suppose I do." He leaned forward. "So tell me, how was the trip to Duke?"

  A wide smile made its way across Blair's face as memories from the time spent in Durham washed over him. A couple of weeks after the incident with Grant, Blair had felt well enough to honor his promise to Darryl Banks and accompany the young man to Duke for a few days of sightseeing and orientation. He'd returned home to Cascade two days ago feeling rested, happy with the enthusiasm he'd seen Darryl exhibit during the trip.

  "It was great," he replied to Eli's question. "Fantastic, actually. We got to take a tour of the campus and check out Darryl's dorm. But the best part was meeting with his advisor--she told us the University has found a bit more grant and scholarship money for him. Looks like Simon isn't going to have to pay as much as he originally thought."

  "Well, that's wonderful. When does Darryl leave for school?"

  "Two weeks. They start the same time we do."

  "I'm sure he can't wait."

  Blair grinned conspiratorially. "Well, he did tell me he's been packed for over a month!"

  Stoddard laughed. A moment of comfortable silence descended upon the two men, then Eli looked over at Blair again, fatherly concern coloring his expression. "And what about this other thing?" he prompted quietly, studying Blair. "Are you doing all right?"

  Sandburg dropped his gaze to his hands and inhaled softly. He knew what Dr. Stoddard was referring to...the shooting of Marcus Grant. He was quiet for several seconds and then he looked across at his mentor. "Actually, I think I'm doing pretty well with all that. I mean, it's difficult to deal with at times, but I know I had no choice."

  He picked up a pencil off his desk, toyed with it absently. "I think the worst times are when it really hits me that I've actually killed two people." He shook his head as he stared down at the pencil. "I just never thought I'd ever have to do anything like that, you know?" He raised his eyes and looked across at Eli. "It seems...well, it seems sometimes like it was another person who did those things." He sighed deeply as a familiar sadness crept over him. "I wish it had been another person who did those things."

  Eli reached across and rested his hand on Blair's forearm. He gazed steadily at Sandburg, his expression one of confident determination. "You were thrust into two very difficult situations, Blair," he said with conviction. "Situations over which you had no control. You shouldn't chastise yourself for acting in a manner that saved your own life and Jim's."

  Blair nodded slowly. "I know. Jim keeps telling me the same thing."

  "You should listen to him," Eli instructed. "He's right. And don't let what you had to do change who you are."

  "I'm trying." He smiled sadly. "I'm just happy the commissioner was able to keep my name away from the media. I'm sure the powers that be here at Rainier would have booted me out for sure if they'd found out I shot Grant."

  Eli removed his hand from Blair's arm and settled back against the chair. "Never happen," he said emphatically.

  Blair snorted softly. "No? Killing one man was bad enough, even if it was self-defense. But two?" He shook his head and laughed--the sound cold and bitter. "The Board members would have packed my office for me!"

  Eli gave him a kind smile. "You forget that you have a friend who has a bit of influence around here, my boy." Again, the old professor leaned forward, pinning Blair with a confident look. "And I can assure you that no matter what happens, you're going to be at Rainier for just as long as you want to be."

  /

  /

  /

  "Sandburg's just coming in, Dad," Jim spoke into the receiver. "Let me ask him about it and get back to you." He hung up the phone as the loft door opened and Blair walked inside. "Hey, Chief," the detective said in way of greeting. He placed his hands on his hips and surveyed his obviously weary partner. "Good first day back at Rainier?"

  "Tiring first day back." Blair tossed his keys into the basket by the door before dropping his pack and shrugging out of his light jacket. "I'd forgotten how much planning and paperwork goes into each school year."

  Jim leaned his hip against the kitchen counter and folded his arms across his chest. "You pr
obably don't have time to go with me to my dad's tomorrow, then."

  Sandburg stared across at Jim with wide eyes. "Your dad's?"

  Ellison nodded. "He just called. He's decided to move into one of those new condominium complexes over on the river. I guess the house is getting to be too much for him to handle on his own." Jim shrugged. "Anyway, he wants me to come by and go through some of the stuff in the attic and basement, see if there's anything I want to keep."

  Blair's eyebrows shot up in surprise and he moved over to stand in front of his partner. "You're going to go through your dad's old junk? Your old junk? And you want me to come along?"

  "Yeah, I know. Pretty dull, huh?"

  "Dull!?" Blair bounced up on his toes, spreading his arms wide. "Dull!?"

  Jim smiled at his partner's obvious enthusiasm over the invitation before reaching out to tap playfully at his forehead. "What's the deal, Chief? Why so excited? You hoping I kept a couple of polyester jackets or tie-dye shirts you can add to that mess you call your wardrobe?"

  "Funny, man," Blair retorted, undeterred by Jim's ribbing, "but I'm not looking for additions to my wardrobe."

  "What, then?"

  Blair stared up at him incredulously. "Are you kidding? Jim, I'm an anthropologist. We study the 'old junk' of civilizations in order to learn more about those civilizations. But a chance to study you, man--your childhood, your interests and accomplishments.... This kind of opportunity...." His eyes went wide as he considered the possibilities. "This is a chance to look more deeply into your past, delve into what makes you tick. I mean, think about it! The stuff we find at your dad's could tell me more than any textbook...."

  Sandburg moved away as he continued to talk, now pacing the length of floor that ran between the dining room table and the living area. Jim watched with amusement. It was like he'd handed Blair a million dollars. The kid was gesturing wildly, walking back and forth, his gaze shifting from side to side as each new possibility went through his mind.

  "Sandburg," he cut in as Blair finally took a breath. He stepped in front of the smaller man and looked down at him. "Does this mean you do want to help?"

  Part Two

  "What's this?"

  Jim looked up at the sound of Blair's voice, glancing briefly at what he held in his hand. "It's a part from one of my old chemistry sets."

  "You wanna keep it?"

  "No need. The rest of the set is gone. Dad threw it away."

  Sandburg's eyebrows arched in question. "Threw it away? That's cold, man."

  "No," Jim countered, "cold would be the neighbors' attitude after Stephen and I used the set to blow their mailbox into the next county."

  Blair gawked at Jim, then laughed out loud. "You didn't."

  "Did," Jim confirmed. "We were grounded for a month, plus we had to apologize and pay for the new mailbox." He frowned and shook his head as if perplexed. "The neighbors moved shortly thereafter," he added absently.

  Again, Blair laughed. "You just make an impression everywhere you go, don't you?" he teased as he tossed the part into the pile of junk they would be discarding later.

  Jim grinned as he turned back to the boxes before him. He and Sandburg had been up in the attic for nearly two hours now, sorting through years and years of Jim's childhood.

  As Jim had worked through box after box, memories from the early years of his life had flooded his mind. A worn leather mitt from his years in Little League, a uniform from his days playing football, the toy gun he'd been given on his seventh birthday.

  He reached into the open box before him and picked up a pair of red dice, so worn that the white pips were all but faded from view. Absently he fingered the dice, remembering the board game to which they belonged, the winter evenings sitting at the dining room table playing the game with Sally and Stephen. The memory was distinct--so real he could practically hear the dice rattling against the solid wood surface of the table, the inevitable laughter that always accompanied the hours of play. And the silence...the underlying silence of a father who was never home, who was so involved with his business interests that he had no idea what occupied the days and nights of his two sons.

  Jim squeezed hard at the dice, trying to remember if there had ever been a time when his father had been caring and available. If there had ever been a time when business hadn't taken precedence over family....

  A gentle hand gripped his shoulder. He jumped at the unexpected touch, torn away from his troubling thoughts.

  "Hey, man.... You okay?"

  He nodded and looked up into the concerned eyes of his guide. "Yeah, just...remembering," he admitted reluctantly. He glanced down at the dice he still held, then tossed them carelessly into the pile of items considered trash. He sighed as he shifted into a more comfortable position on the rough, wood plank floor.

  Blair glanced around the cluttered room then looked at Jim again, affection and concern evident his expressive eyes. "I guess going through all this stuff brings back some pretty painful memories, huh?"

  "One or two," Jim understated. He was quiet for a long moment. "I was just trying to remember if there was ever a time when my father wasn't the hardass he is now."

  Blair frowned and sat down on a stack of boxes beside Jim, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered his partner's words. "I don't think he's that bad now," he said after a few seconds. "From what you've told me, I think he's mellowed with age. A lot."

  Ellison nodded and exhaled a slow, thoughtful sigh. "He has. I guess it's hard to separate who he is now from who he was when we were growing up. I look at him and my eyes see a tired old man but my heart still sees the distant, cold person he was when we were kids." Jim shook his head and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to fully separate the two."

  Blair reached over and touched lightly at his partner's arm. "You will, Jim. You've already begun the process. You wouldn't be here now, helping him, if you hadn't made progress. You need to give yourself some credit here."

  Jim looked up at him, smiled a bit. "Yeah, I suppose you're right." He looked around, surveying the clutter that surrounded them. "I just wish I could remember the early years--Sally told us hundreds of times that Dad was different before our mom left. Never especially open or warm, but not nearly as distant or cold as Stephen and I remember him being."

  Blair was quiet, thoughtful, for a moment, then he said, "A spouse leaving, Jim.... Leaving not only her husband but her two small boys...." He shook his head. "That's gotta have an impact on a man."

  "I'm sure it did," Jim agreed quietly. He frowned deeply, closed his eyes as the reality he'd been pushing away forced itself to the forefront of his mind. "But that was only the beginning," he admitted softly. "Things got worse after...."

  "After?" Sandburg prompted softly when Jim didn't continue.

  Ellison drew in a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes. "After I started telling him about my heightened senses." He stared past Blair, at the junk strewn attic and the remnants of his childhood, and for the first time in his life finally put voice to what he'd always known: "My father changed when I started to exhibit signs that I was a sentinel." He shifted his attention back to his guide. "When I told him about things I'd seen or heard that I couldn't have possibly seen or heard...that's when he became even more cold and demanding toward me. He began to accuse me of lying and he wouldn't allow me to talk about what was happening.

  "He made it pretty clear that he didn't even want me thinking about it. He did everything he could to make me suppress who I was. I just knew--knew from the way he reacted to the entire thing that it was a closed subject." He huffed out a derisive breath. "I learned very quickly that I'd better shove my 'abilities' to the back of my mind and forget about them if I didn't want to pay the consequences with my dad."

  Blair's forehead creased in concern. Softly, he asked, "Why do you think that was?"

  Jim shrugged. "I think it was his way of dealing with what was happening to me. He didn't understand it, didn't
accept it, so maybe he felt that if he treated me harshly enough I'd be so afraid of exploring or showing my heightened senses that they'd go away." The sentinel shook his head. "I don't know. I don't think I'll ever know."

  "But that doesn't explain him pitting you against Stephen."

  "No, it doesn't." Jim rubbed absently at his temple. "I don't understand it either, Chief.... Maybe he was afraid Stephen would exhibit the same...problem. Maybe he thought we both needed to be tough, to learn to deny who we were." He paused briefly, considering all he'd said. "I just don't understand why my senses were such a threat to him," he said finally. "I mean, I know he was worried about his reputation in the community but it wasn't like I was planning to set up a circus tent and start performing."

  "Every parent wants their kid to be 'normal,' Jim," Blair responded, his voice low, careful. "Your father felt threatened by what he perceived as something 'abnormal' in you. Consequently, he denied it and pushed you into denying it as well. And the only way he knew how to guarantee that that denial took place was to make sure you weren't allowed to deal with what was happening with you."

  "So instead, he set up a situation in which I could only focus on the anger and isolation he created for me."

  "Which you did," Blair confirmed softly. "I'm sure it wasn't intentional on his part...."

  "Doesn't matter," Ellison countered. "The damage was done either way." Jim was silent for several seconds, then he reached over and squeezed gently at Blair's knee, giving his friend an apologetic grin as he did so. "Don't pay any attention to me, buddy." He glanced around the attic. "I think going through all this stuff has just put my memory on overload." He looked back at Blair, his smile widening. "All in all I've got to say that everything's turned out for the best."

  Blair offered Jim a wide smile. "Are you kidding? I think it's worked out great!"

  Jim laughed at the kid's enthusiasm and conviction. "Yeah," he agreed with a crooked smile, "fortunately for me a stubborn, hyperactive anthropologist came along and helped me realize that my abilities not only exist, but that they can be used in a positive manner." He became serious and patted gently at Blair's knee. "I don't even want to think of where I might be right now if that hadn't happened, Chief."