Archive of Our Own

Standard Disclaimer. My parents actually pulled this one. Hope everyone else had a better experience, my sympathies to those who didn't. Please send comments, questions, compliments, and otters to [email protected].
I apologize for the list overload, but please bear with me (feel free to send angry emails and fling inanimate objects) until I catch up. Keep in mind that internet is a two hour bus ride away at the moment and I have to boil my water before it's safe to drink. Gotta love rural Ecuador!
In memory of September 11, 2001 (or at least my memory of that day).

"Fuck."

"Yeah, man."

"Fuck."

Behind him he could hear someone praying. Probably Joel. Yes, Joel. He could tell by the pauses. The television they were all standing around was tuned to CNN, not that it would matter really since almost every station had been preempted and most of those that hadn't were simply off the air for now.

They watched in shocked horror as the second airplane's attack was re-shown.

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

He couldn't take it anymore. Every protector gene that Blair had ever written about was pulling him in a different direction. Like all the others there was nothing he could do. He was grateful at least that everyone he cared about was safe. Blair was here, Simon was on the phone with Daryl, all of Major Crimes had checked in, Steven was probably in his office, and Jim had left a message for him to talk. Even Naomi had already checked in. His father was in Paris, but Jim was almost sure that he hadn't been on any of the four planes that had gone down. Besides, he'd left over the weekend, right? He shouldn't have been leaving until that next weekend. Right?

Definitely better to make sure. Just to be . . . safe. It was about 8 pm in Paris, so he must have heard about it by now. Jim checked his cell phone for messages and called the loft, checking the messages there. Nothing. He had just hung up when the phone rang again.

"Dad?"

"Hey Jim, it's me."

"Oh, Steven. You okay?"

"Shaken yeah, but I'm fine. My secretary's got family in New York. Thank god they're all fine."

"You heard from Dad yet?"

"No, and I'm surprised I haven't. Do you have his number there?"

"No. Maybe he left it with Sally. I'm sure he's fine. He wasn't leaving until Sunday right?"

"That was the plan. Let me know if you get a hold of him, okay?"

"Sure Steven. Be careful little brother."

"You too, Jim. You too."

He checked his email, hoping that maybe phone lines had been busy. Nothing. Frustrated he called the house, getting the answering machine. Checking his address book he dialed Sally's family, leaving a message there as well.

Hours later Sally called back, telling him that everything was okay. Relieved, he called Steven, even though Sally said she already had.

They talked for several minutes signing of when it was time to go to bed.

The next morning Jim woke up, and he didn't remember. The first thing he heard was Blair downstairs with the news radio on, and only then did he remember the events of the previous day. Work was strangely subdued as if even the criminals were walking around in a daze. Everybody lined up to give blood, and all available cops were on duty. The university remained closed because of the risk at the research buildings involved in disease containment.

He kept checking his email and both his cell and the loft answering machine for any communications, but the only messages he received were other people checking in and checking up on him.

He and Blair pulled a full shift, arriving home after 12 hours on duty. During dinner his father finally called, and that's when Jim lost it.

"Hello Jimmy."

"Dad? Are you okay?"

"Of course son. I don't know when I'll be allowed to go back to the states, but I'm fine.."

He gulped and watched Blair watch him from the table. Not wanting Blair to see him he turned away. "Why didn't you call?" His voice cracked slightly, betraying his concern, but his father must have attributed it to static or something.

"I went for a walk after I heard. I did leave a message on the answering machine at the house for Sally."

"Dad, Sally was with her family, remember? Since you'd be gone all week?"

"Oh yes. Well, I've got to go Jimmy."

"Call Steven, dad."

"All right son. Goodbye."

"Bye." Jim hung up the phone, expecting to see Blair watching him with pity in his eyes. He wasn't crying. Of course not.

He was grateful that Blair played along and began washing the dishes. Sensing that Jim wouldn't be able to eat anything more, Blair put the leftovers in the fridge and tossed the dish towel on the counter.

"I'm gonna, I'm gonna take a shower."

"Sure Jim."

In the shower he turned the hot water up as far as it would go and stood under the spray, hoping that the water would relax his neck and shoulder muscles. A few minutes later he stepped out, remembering to leave some hot water for Blair.

Later that night he found it difficult to sleep. Staring at the ceiling he thought about the difference between those people that worried about you even when you weren't in danger, and those that didn't. "It didn't occur to him to call?

This next part may be too much info, but I wanted to explain why I wrote this. On my way out to class that morning I remember overhearing something about planes between two of my roommates who were having breakfast. My first class went normally, but as I arrived at my next class the professor said that, "in view of the tragic events of this morning," class would be canceled. Thankfully someone else asked the inevitable question of "so what happened." That's when I heard. I don't know if I quite believed it, but I went to the student center. On the way there, I began a mental checklist of anyone I knew who might have been anywhere near NY, DC, or PA or on a plane. I wasn't sure of when my parents were flying out to Paris, but I was pretty sure they'd left on Saturday or Sunday, and either way they would have no reason to be on any of the particular planes that went down. I was pretty sure that they were okay, but I did want to make sure. It took me a few hours to get a hold of either of my sisters to confirm their location. My mother said she called my older sister, but that she had been at work. The thought of leaving a message on her answering machine or calling my little sister or my voice mail or even email doesn't seem to have occurred to her. My uncle in Italy emailed us to see if they were all right, and he was much closer to their location than the three of us in the States. On every list I was on, people were checking in and checking up on others. For me, the reaction among fans was much more thoughtful than that of my parents.

End the check´s in the mail by silvina: [email protected]
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: The Sentinel is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.