Disclaimer: The Sentinel and its characters are completely the property of Paramount and Pet Fly Productions. I use them out of reverence, solely for fun and not for profit.
Author's Notes: This was originally posted for JAC as a Gift Fic for Julie, fellow SA listsib. Posted here with JAC's permission (thanks, JAC!).
Blair Sandburg was pooped. It was Friday afternoon, and just by his face you could see he was too pooped to party, and for Blair Sandburg, that was being POOPED.
Everyone in the bullpen had been waiting for the crash. Now everyone in the bullpen was watching for it. Of course, his partner was not there to watch. Jim Ellison had had to be finessed all week to keep him from interfering. The Sentinel was far too much of a mother-hen to have allowed his Guide to get into this state without stepping in and DOING SOMETHING.
So once the rest of Major Crimes had gotten a really good look at just how wiped Blair was when he trudged through the Department's doors, his backpack trailing on the ground and only still attached to the Guide by a grip Death itself could not break (kinda like the bond he had with Jim, come to think of it), Simon had hurriedly arranged for Jim to take a suddenly-crucial witness interview in a pickpocket case and shooed him out before he could see just how far down Blair was.
"What's the pot?" murmured someone wearing brown.
"Two fifty," came the whispered reply from the blonde holding the bucks.
"Who's out of it?"
"Duh!" sounded a bunch of voices far too loudly, and Blair looked blearily up for a second before succumbing to overwhelming fatigue and plopping himself at Jim's desk.
"Shhh!" the blonde cautioned. "It's down to Simon and Joel. Simon's got him until 4:30. Joel's got him 'til 5:00. If he lasts any longer than 5:00 p.m., it's all bets off."
"'Kay," came the muttered agreement from all around. Papers were shuffled, chairs adjusted, and watches checked as the sweep hand moved on the department clock overhead. It was quarter past four.
Tick. Blair blinked at the screen and tried to make sense of an arrest report Jim was working on when Simon booted him from the program.
Tick. The screen didn't change when Blair shook his head, trying to make the words go away.
Tick. Blair put his hands on the keyboard and that was it.
The system crashed.
BAM! Retribution walked in.
"What the HELL did you do to him?" thundered Thor, striding over to where his partner had collapsed facedown on the desk. He picked up the Guide's head by its long locks and noted absently that the symbols F4, F5, and all the F's through 11 were imprinted on Blair's forehead. Then he put it gently down again, turning it compassionately so that Caps Lock, Shift and Ctrl could press gently against his partner's cheek.
"I'm waiting," Thor said, tapping his foot in time with the tic in his jaw.
There was dead silence.
"I'm still waiting," Thor announced, crossing his massive arms to great effect, "and I'm getting impatient." Blue eyes shot lightning bolts across the room and stabbed one Henri Brown straight through the conscience.
"Uh, he's okay, r-right, Jim?" H faltered.
"He's out like a light, dead asleep, and I want to know WHAT THE HELL YOU DID TO HIM... NOW!" Thor trumpeted.
Simon stepped bravely forward. He outranked Thor, after all. He was safe. He thought he was safe. Oh, dear lord, maybe he wasn't so safe after all. Thor was making his way over to him.
"Simon?" Thor purred like a great cat.
"It was just, just, um, a little practical joke, that's all. A little, teeny, tiny practical joke. Just teeny-weeny..."
Thor was not buying it. He grabbed Simon by the shoulders and very nearly shook him like a rat. Simon knew just how close he had come to being ratted out by his best detective.
"The truth, now! Captain!"
The words were a torrent of floodwaters. "Energizer Bunny. How long could he keep it up. Found out how busy he was at school. Scheduled you for double shifts, one of 'em stakeouts so he'd be out with you, and called him to come in for paperwork backlog when you were off. Figured he'd conk out in a day or two. Surprised us all." Simon finally had to stop for breath. Thor let him go.
Heads were nodding around the room. Thor didn't seem to be in a homicidal mood, yet. Maybe honest confession would get them off the hook.
"Started Monday," Rafe hastened to unburden himself.
"Figured he'd crack by Wednesday," Joel muttered, "but he kept going."
"And you replaced the bets, right?" Thor demanded to know with all self-righteousness.
"Uh, yeah, everyone replaced their bets," Rhonda said, showing the slightest corner of one green bill in her folded hands. She had the sense to throw the cash in the air when Thor swooped down upon it, and cower in her chair.
"And just who won this pot?" This time Thor was being polite. He was slightly busy counting the cash.
"Uh, I did," Simon asserted, checking the time. Yep, it was not yet half past.
"Wrong!" Thor smiled triumphantly. "HE won the pot. On Wednesday. You losers!"
The bullpen began to simmer silently but Thor swept it with an icy glance and all was still again.
"We are taking the whole of next week off," Thor explained to the people who owed him and his Guide both for a week of hell. "We may take the whole of the following week off."
Major Crimes was a little peeved, but knew better than to contest with Thor in this mood.
"You will catch all the bad guys, the bombers, the mad serial killers, the warmongers and arson attempts and sieges of the P.D. Not us. We are on vacation. Losers."
Thor strode back to the desk, pocketing the money, picked up his partner in a fireman's carry and lugged him out into the hall.
"How'd I do?" whispered the Energizer Bunny too softly for anyone but a Sentinel to hear.
"Great. Good plan. Shut up. We have fishing to do and we haven't ditched the losers yet."
The bunny kept silent as he was carried from the field of victory.
~ End ~
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Page last updated 8/15/03.