This was first posted without a title, but a couple of nice people suggested this one. I can't remember who, but if you did, drop me a note and I'll put your name in. =) Thanks!

As he crept into the sinisterly dark loft on bare feet, slipping the keys as quietly as he could into the basket and hoping very much that he hadn't woken his grumpy room-mate, the first thing that entered his mind was, "Shit."

James Ellison, ex-Ranger, former Covert Ops guy, one-time Cop of the Year, Detective of Cascade PD Major Crimes Department, Sentinel of the Great City, Blessed Protector, Master of Repression, Lover of Dangerous Women, Frightfully Reckless Driver, Devotee of Wonder Burgers, and a whole lot of other even less wholesome things, was stationed on the couch, stiff-backed and facing the balcony.

"Uh, Jim," he began uncertainly. "I told you not to wait up for me, didn't I?" When his tentative attempt at breaking the chilly silence met with no response, he placed his backpack carefully on the floor and sidled carefully around the couch to see Jim's face, muscles tensed and ready to make a run for it if necessary.

The face in question was blank of all expression, eyes fixed on some point on the balcony that was shrouded in deep shadow, at least for his own non-Sentinel vision. "Jim, what are you doing down here like this?" he asked, wondering if the Sentinel had zoned. He cautiously put his hand on an unmoving arm, anxiety growing as he felt the coolness of the skin. How long had Jim been zoning here, in the unheated loft and wearing only his T-shirt and boxers? "Jim, come on, listen to me. Follow my voice back," he called softly, his voice beginning to take on a plaintive note as he rubbed the arm lightly, trying to get some measure of warmth back in his friend.

Thus he was fairly surprised when after a moment, without any of the usual signs that he was coming out of the zone, Jim said quietly, in a voice altogether too calm for the situation, "I'm not zoning, Chief." He remained frozen in place, still ignoring Blair.

"Jim? What is going on?"

"Shh, I'm listening to something." About to press him for further details, Blair subsided at a raised hand and settled uneasily down beside Jim to wait for his explanation. Minutes passed before Jim finally spoke again, still in that calm, almost whisper. "They're discussing supply problems. Someone's been interfering with their food sources; removing some, and replacing others with poisoned goods." Blair took in a sharp breath, wanting desperately to ask more, but Jim still held a listening posture. "Nurseries have been broken into and all the children destroyed. They're planning to move the ones still left before they are found." Jim finally closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, let the breath out, and looked at his wide-eyed, frightened Guide.

"They know I'm a sentinel, Chief. They think I'm responsible for what's happening to them, that I want to kill them all."

"Are you? Do you?" asked the stunned anthropologist, then dismissing the idea without another thought, continued breathlessly. "What are they going to do? Do you know who they are? Why would they think it was you? Man I can't believe this is happening! What is going on here? Where are they? What are you going to do?"

"Breathe, Chief. I can't answer all that at once," he said tolerantly, watching as Blair automatically obeyed, his worried gaze fixed on his Sentinel. He was amazed, and not a little touched by the innocence, the absolute trust in the younger man's face. If only he didn't have to disillusion him...

"Blair," he said soberly, looking into the unhappy blue eyes of his closest friend, willing him to stay calm and hear him out. "I did try to cut off their food supplies and destroy their nurseries. I didn't plant the poison. I'm allergic to the stuff. But I do want them dead. All of them," he added emphatically.

"Jim?" the confusion and pleading in Blair's voice was heartbreaking.

"They deserved it!" he tried to defend himself, though there was no accusation in the eyes of his Guide, only bewilderment and deep concern. How could Blair still look at him like that, after what he had confessed to? "They sneaked into the loft, stole the lasagna you left for me last week and left their mess all over the place! And," he inhaled deeply before revealing the worst crime of all, "they got into your room and absolutely wrecked the place! I barely managed to clean it up before you got back," he growled, enraged. Blair's gaze flicked to his room for only a moment, remembering the night when he had returned to find everything in suspiciously perfect disorder, the way he always left it. He'd wondered then why Jim hadn't seemed to have made his usual surreptitious attempt to twitch his things into some pretense at order.

He sat breathing quietly with Jim, waiting for the big man to calm himself down and trying to keep his own heart from hammering out of his chest. "Jim?" he asked again, uncertainly. "Can you tell me just who they are?"

"On the balcony," pointed the Sentinel carefully. "See, in the shadows? Make sure you don't attract their attention." Blair followed the direction indicated, and as he drew nearer, he saw three cockroaches huddled with their heads together, seemingly intent on whatever the subject of their discussion was, to the extent that they ignored him even when he gently nudged one with his foot, that one barely bothering to move out of the way.

He cast a glare back at Jim, certain he'd been made a fool of, only to see the same fierce intensity mirrored in the look of murderous loathing the Sentinel fixed the trio of black shapes with. "You can hear and understand them?"

Jim studied the earnest face illuminated by the lights from outside, marveling at the quick play of emotions over his expressive features, wanting to believe him, suspicious that it was all some strange trick, afraid his friend had gone insane. A smile began to grow on his face as the silence stretched, and Blair closed his eyes for a moment, perhaps to pray for patience.

If he had, the prayer went unanswered, for the next instant Jim was smacked in the face with a hastily grabbed cushion, and Blair was gone, retreating into his room with a "YOU SHIT!" echoing loudly about the room behind him.

Jim stretched, idly considering ways he could make up for the night's anxiety, then smiled coldly at the oblivious insects on his balcony. "There's nowhere you can hide from a sentinel," he whispered, secure in the knowledge that Blair would accept whatever strangeness this sentinel business could throw up.

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