Disclaimer see the FanFiction Page

Warning: Canine Squicks (near end of Chap. 2)/Slash/Threesomes

The Sentinel
-- Sentinel Evolutions --
written by Roy's Girl, Scribe and Kata (October 2002)

"Are you all right, lady?" H. asked an older woman, who had a distinctly greenish cast to her face and throat. She was gray-haired, and looked very queasy.

"I think I hit my head," she answered, swaying dizzily. "I'm not supposed to be in here, I'm supposed to be out there--writing. You're H, aren't you? And there's Simon Banks. Oh SHIT! I am in SO much trouble! She's GOT me! She sucked me up, chewed me up, and spat me out in the Sandburg Zone while he's in the middle of a Fart War with Ellison! OH CRAP!"

"What's your name, ma'am?"

"Scribe."

"Uh, yeah. Right. I think you'd better come with me." H. stared at her, knowing the truth when he heard it. "I think I'll just drop you off at the loft, and let Blair handle this."

*****

H. had left the loft with its shell-shocked new female while she was still being eyed eagerly by Blair. Jim had his nose dialed down since his Guide was still spitting out the occasional squealer. Unfortunately this woman, this Scribe, didn't have that luxury. She spotted a bag of charcoal and before Jim could react, had shoved one of the larger broken bits into Blair's mouth. The surprised young man swallowed without thinking about it, and stopped Jim before the Sentinel could tie the woman into a human pretzel.

Thoughtfully, Jim looked at her. "Well, maybe you're right. Charcoal IS a known cure for gas... but don't EVER do that again--at least not when I'm within arm's reach of you."

"It wasn't MY fault. SHE made me do it--I KNOW what you are, and I know all about the Blessed Protectoring thing. I know better than to piss you off over Blair. Anything else, I don't really care, though. After all, I'm one of the writers who GAVE him to you. The thing is, I can't get out of here until SHE allows it, not even if I write myself out of it, since she'll just put me right back in here. I guess I sorta accidentally volunteered."

"First rule in the Army: Never, ever, volunteer, for anything, lady," Jim chided. "I think you're about to find out why, too--since it's MY turn to nail Blair... although I think I'll wait until he isn't *quite* as alert for it."

She stared at him in amusement for a moment, then turned her eyes to the watchful ones belonging to Blair Sandburg. He tried to hide behind an innocent smile, but she snorted. "Don't even try. I know both of you far too well for *that* to work. Does he actually think you going to miss anything important?" she asked in disbelief.

"I've been known to."

"You are a bright, caring, lovable young man. There are an awful lot of us writers out there who know both of you better than you know each other. Every time you two screw up, we correct the matter." Scribe wasn't entirely stupid so she didn't tell mention that she and her fellow writers also 'caused' the 'screw-ups', and hoped like hell that Jim, at least, never found that out.

*****

Blair (temporarily on hold in his methane production, which proves that prayers ARE answered, and a natural disaster CAN bring about a religious revival) was sitting on the couch with Jim. Jim was watching a Jags game--Blair was watching the door to his room.

Jim didn't turn away from the television set, but said, "All right, Darwin, what's the matter? Why are you staring at that door like you expect David Lash to come busting out, with Garrett Kincaid hot on his heels?"

Blair gave him a disbelieving look. "Jim, I thought I explained to you just who that is."

"You said a fanfiction writer."

"So?"

"So what? She writes articles about conventions, speculates on how the hell they managed to do up those Star Trek uniforms without zippers, tries to get phone interviews with supporting cast members..."

Blair was shaking his head. "You weren't LISTENING! I said 'fanFICTION' writer, not 'FAN' ! writer. There's a big difference."

Jim cursed when someone missed a three pointer. "Yeah? How so?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "A Fan writer does the stuff you listed. A fanFICTION writer writes..." He took a deep breath. "Jim, you know the Greek myths about the Fates? The three women who spun the thread of each human life, wove the pattern of it's existence, and cut it off at the appointed time?"

"Yes?"

"Multiply them by several hundred thousand, give them access to alcohol, drive them insane, wait till they're horny, then turn them loose on keyboards to create The Universe As We Know It."

Jim stared. "You're kidding."

"Fanfiction is NOT a joke..." Blair paused, smiling. "Well, except some scattered cases. I still love the MarySue where we lure Scribe in with a Pop Tart, then jump her." He sighed. "Whipped cream."

Jim was looking interested now. "Tell me more about this."

*****

Giggling could be heard coming from Sandburg's bedroom. A little later Scribe emerged. She was looking smug, and was wearing a set of Jim's sweats. "Hi. Hope you don't mind my borrowing the duds, and if you do--tough. Mine now qualify as a biohazard, and I bagged them. You now need another box of trash bags."

Jim looked confused. "I just bought a fifty count box yesterday." She looked at him. "Right--layers." Pause. "How much did you have to roll those cuffs up, anyway?"

She looked down. "About a half foot, I think. If I let my arms dangle, it looks like I'm wearing an unbuckled straight jacket. It played hell with my typing, let me tell you."

Blair looked apprehensive. "You didn't, like, curse my laptop, did you?"

"Perish the thought. It would go against my code of honor to sabotage anyone else's lifeline. Well, except maybe Bill Gates, but my mother would disapprove. Speaking of which, I TRIED to reconcile myself to this hair color. I DID have a dye job in the late eighties that was, um, ALMOST sparkly. At least that's what my Mom said. Actually, there was some mention of Bozo the Clown, but I forgave her for that. When am I going to get back to my normal color? I only have a couple of strands of gray right now, but if things keep going like this, they'll multiply like plot bunnies."

"I called the chem lab. They're working on it."

"How do you get them to do all this stuff for you, anyway? You're too perpetually broke to bribe them." Her eyes narrowed. "With money, anyway." Jim looked at Blair. Blair whistled. "I checked your bookmarks." She grinned and shook her finger. "Naughty, naughty."

Jim looked even more interested. "What are they?"

"Don't you know? You use the laptop occasionally."

"I just play fantasy sports."

*snort* "Figures."

Jim shrugged. "Anyway, Blair has been explaining fanfiction to me."

"And do you understand it?"

"I'm getting a grasp. He said that you aren't entirely unfamiliar with what's happening to you."

She sighed. "Not entirely. But in the Proverb Series I was trapped in my own MarySue Universe. Here, I'm trapped in SOMEONE ELSE'S fanfiction universe--someone I seriously suspect of being deranged." She winced. "And I'm probably going to catch it for that."

"But what's the difference?" Jim asked.

She thought. "Sort of the difference between lucid dreaming and having night terrors."

"Sad." Jim and Blair exchanged looks, then got up and sidled toward her. "So, all that nice personalized porn Blair has been giving me has been downloaded off the net?" She smirked. "And you wrote a good bit of it?"

She noticed that they had split up, and now one was approaching from each side. "Kind-a."

"Come, come," Blair purred. "Don't be so indecisive. Three series and at least two dozen stand alones or sequels, ninety percent of which are graphic..." he was leaning toward her, his voice dropping. Her eyes got wider, "hard core..." She stared backing away, "N--C--17."

She was so busy worrying about the Guide that she made a very basic mistake--she forgot about the Sentinel... and backed right into him. It felt like hitting a slightly padded, heated brick wall. She turned with an eep.

Jim smiled down at her. "Hi."

She thought of jaguars.

She gulped. "Are you two sure you want to do this? I'd HATE to have to sort out unanticipated angst later. Not that I'd really have a choice, since she used the opportunity to slide in another damned rabbit," she muttered.

"We're sure. You're one of the few people on Earth who really, REALLY understand us--ME," Jim told her softly. "And who won't freak out."

"Especially since you just may be in here with us for a while." Blair commented as he gently moved the neon hair away from the left side of the stranded writer's neck. "Times like this, it's nice to be bi," he stated as his full lips nibbled a trail along the woman's jaw.

"You got that right. Besides, as much as she's tortured US, it's time for a little payback." He was rapidly stripping the dazed woman right down to her birthday suit. "We'll let you get a nut, eventually, but first you're gonna sweat some," Jim told her as he sank to his knees to put his mouth at pussy level. "Amazing. The hair here is a bright, neon BLUE."

Jim licked her then, and deliberately allowed himself to Zone on her flavor. He knew damned well he'd fight his Guide on this issue. He wanted to drive her insane... why not? THEY were, thanks in part, to Scribe herself....

Scribe looked down at Jim, who was quite still. "Um... Okay, granted I'm still a physical virgin, but I'm not ignorant (rah, rah Internet!), and I believe there's supposed to be more activity than this."

Blair, who had his face buried against her throat, attempting to give her a whisker burn, looked up, then sighed. "Damn it--he zoned! I TOLD him not to concentrate too hard."

"This is either a huge compliment, or a great insult. I don't know which."

"Compliment--trust me. Crap. Now I have to bring him out of it. That puts a kink in things."

"Well, if you'll help me pry his hands off my ass, I'll get out of the way."

After a bit of straining and grunting, Scribe managed to step away from Jim, rubbing at a couple of faint bruises on her hips. "Damn, the man must be great for opening pickle jars. What a grip! And I think it's sweet of you to want to wait till he's back in action."

"What sweet? Do you have any idea what he'll do to me if I proceed without him?"

Scribe, very familiar with 'Blair's Been Naughty' fiction, winced. "Um, yeah." She glanced down. Jim's head had been blocking her view, and she'd been... distracted before. Now she gave a banshee shriek. "~BLUE?!~"

Blair looked again. "Wow! Cooool. But the rug doesn't match the drapes now. I wonder how...? I don't think that the soap's chemical make-up would have been different enough from the shampoo to cause THAT drastic a difference. Did you use any other product?" She stared at him. "Oh, c'mon! This is no time to be shy, unless you want to go through the rest of your life with short-and-curlies that glow under black light."

"Oddly enough, I don't anticipate encountering that situation much in my life. But if you must know..." She cleared her throat, then whispered.

"What?" She whispered again. "HE'S the Sentinel, sweetheart. Speak up, 'cause my hearing could be better. Just remember how loud I was playing my music in Switchman."

She rubbed a toe on the floor. "Deodorant."

Blair's grin widened. "What?"

"Honest, I figured it would be safe for him, if you had it in there. I had no idea it would kick him over the edge."

Blair shook his head, kneeling beside Jim to start talking him out of the zone. "That deodorant generally IS safe. Nope, it was you."

Her forehead puckered. "Are you SURE that's a compliment."

"Shut up and let me concentrate, or I'll risk his wrath by tackling you myself. You really don't want to see me get screwed into oblivion because I couldn't wait, do you?" Silence. "Don't answer that question."

Scribe's nature surfaced at Sandburg's nervousness. He shivered at the unholy grin on her face. "You know good and damned well that there is NO way he'd ever harm you, so don't try THAT as an excuse. Tell you what--I'll use my mouth on him, while you show me what the 'fuss' is all about. Just don't do anything that'll make me swear off men, okay?"

"Um...." He hesitated. "No, I can't leave him in there. But as soon as he surfaces..."

"Deal." She smirked at him. "And remember, you just gave your word."

He winced; she would have to put it that way. "Okay," he sighed, then turned his attention to his Sentinel. Finally Jim's eyes focused, and he realized the wet suction around his cock was the woman's, not Blair's. Blair was face first between her thighs, his tongue lapping her wildly. The woman's churning hips left NO doubt of her enjoyment, while the uncontrolled sucking she was giving him left him no choice at all.

"Christ, she's eating me alive!" he gasped as he thrust into the welcoming wetness of her passion-opened throat. "This is what happens when a woman waits until she's MY age to get her cherry popped, and then gets Sandburged. Ohhhh Godddd, Blair DO something else, ANYthing else! I can't last like this!"

Blair was about to when both men heard a smothered scream of outraged denial and she swallowed Jim to the root, and even managed to wrap some of her tongue around his left nut. He howled as he past the point of no return, spewing salty semen right down her throat.

A moment later Scribe let him go, smacked her lips in lusty delight, looked up at him and said. "Delicious. Now, what ELSE do you have for me?"

Blair answered by spreading her legs, and getting into position. "This," he said softly as he gave one, fast, deep thrust. He wanted her hymen pierced with a minimum of pain for her, and that meant abrupt penetration, then holding on with iron control until Jim had a chance to bring her past the pain. He did just that, waiting with the patience and restraint that ONLY a Guide can muster.

Fifteen minutes later, when her body was responding to the light caresses and firmer touches of Jim's hands and lips, Blair began to move at last, grinning at the astounded and pleased expression on her face.

"Dear Sweet God In Heaven..." She cried out and shouted, "...if my mother ever finds out about this she's gonna lock me in my room till it's time for me to collect Social Security, but I DON'T CARE!"

Blair yelped as she grabbed and pulled. "Wow!"

"Save your breath--you need it!"

Things got very active.

"Ow!" Jim sat back, rubbing his forehead.

"Sorry, man," Blair panted, "But things are getting a little hectic here." He looked down at the now very active fanfiction author. "Crap! I KNOW you were a virgin a second ago. Where the heck are you are you getting this from?"

"Jane," she said shortly. "No, wait... it's my turn."

"You damn betcha it is!"

*humphumphumphump*

There was a duet of howls. "Damn," Jim said admiringly. "Simultaneous orgasms on the first try!"

*pantpant*

Blair pillowed his head on a heaving bosom. "Why so pensive, oh recent lover?"

"You tickle, do you know that?"

He wiggled his eyebrows at Jim. "So I've been told."

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "a couple of things. First off, THANK YOU!"

"You're welcome."

"Second," she looked up at the ceiling (not too hard, considering the position she was already in). "Jane, my first time and I don't get a BED? Sure, it's Ellison and Sandburg, and I suppose the rug is nice..." She looked at Jim. "I think you're gonna have to shampoo, though." He shrugged, "But I could have at least had the freakin' futon." She sighed. "Then we have the fact that I waited this long, and the first time definitely DOES live up to and beyond my expectations." She grinned. "WAY beyond. However, this is a pretty damn high standard to start out with. Well, if I'm lucky, I can tell subsequent lovers, and they'll hurt themselves trying to clear the bar, so to speak."

Jim pushed Blair's shoulder so that he vacated his place, then hauled Scribe up to sit in his lap. "You two are a good match. You talk nearly as much as he does, and make almost as much sense."

She raised an eyebrow. "When the heck did you get totally naked?"

"When you weren't reading. You're the one who insisted on taking a long nap before you continued this shindig. Is that all you have to snark about?" His hands stared to wander. "I have an agenda to attend to."

"One last thing." She looked up again. "Jane? There damn sure better be no unplanned pregnancies in this universe, cause I'll have you know, hon, that even while being jumped by Jim and Blair, I'D HAVE REMEMBERED THE DAMN PROTECTION." She looked at Sandburg. "I know what causes babies. I read books."

Blair, on his tummy, propped his chin in his hands and prepared to watch what a lust crazed Sentinel, overdosing on pheromones, would do with a recently de-virginized author. "Hurrah for education," he murmured.

*****

**Jane stares at print with arched left eyebrow, types furiously, and then she hits "Enter". HARD!**

^ZAAAAAPPP!!!!^ Kata materializes right from thin air not three feet in front of Simon and H., right in the middle of the Bullpen, startling a yell of astonishment from both.

"God-damn it! Here's *another* one!" H. bellowed.

From the speakers on Sandburg's computer, came an unknown voice. "Not making any sense, are we? Visualize an evil grin, Kata. Scribe's at the loft where she's trying to recover from...well, no doubt you read that part. Visualize an Un-Holy Grin. Wait until she sees 'you'. Visualize grin consistent with a mean little kid."

*****

*Oooh, damn, do I ache. What the HELL did I do yesterday?* Scribe shifted uncomfortably, eyes still closed. *Lessee... Hm, it was a typical day. Got up late, turned on the 'puter, fed the cat and dog, brought my toast and diet Coke to the computer, started checking email... Blah, blah, blah.* *snicker* *Jane's really been going great guns with that Sentinel gas passing story. Whoo, that last one was a rip. Melting artificial plants.* *snickertitter*

"Wha's so funny?"

The voice was sleep blurred, but definitely masculine, and since she figured that the tom cat wouldn't have a voice that deep after 'the operation' (even should he learn to speak)... Eyes still closed, she reached out carefully and encountered what felt like a broad, rather hairy chest. At about that moment someone on her other side grunted and shifted, and she found herself pinned down by an arm and a leg thrown over her. Her still questing fingers encountered something cool, hard, and circular. She gave a gentle, experimental tug.

"Mmm, you can do that again, if you want to."

Her eyes snapped open. She had her fingers carded into Blair Sandburg's chest hair. That meant that the limbs currently draped over her (she now realized) naked body had to belong to Ellison. "Eep."

There was another grunt and a snort, and Jim spooned up behind her. Blair observed, "You might not guess it to look at him, but Jim is a hell of a snuggler in bed. If you'd been on your back instead of your side, you'd have probably had him as a blanket."

"Oh, geez, it wasn't a dream."

Blair smiled roguishly. "Do you often have dreams about having multiple orgasmic sex with two guys?"

"I refuse to answer on the grounds that you probably already think I'm a slut."

"I had physical proof that you aren't, if you recall."

"Eep."

"What now?"

"He's, um..."

"Ah, the traditional morning Ellison boner."

"It's just because he needs to pee, right?" The hand dangling before her drifted up and squeezed her breast. Jim humped. "Or maybe not."

"Hey."

"HEY!"

The duet was because Jim was grumpy about suddenly losing his nice cushion, and Scribe managed to narrowly miss important bits of Blair with her knees when she scrambled over him. As she scampered downstairs she heard Blair saying, "I don't think she's a morning person, Big Guy."

"C'mere, you."

"Oof. Well, helloooo, Jim Junior..."

She slammed the bathroom door. "Why do men feel the need to NAME their private parts? I've never done that," she looked down at her breasts, "have I, girls?"

She used the facilities and brushed her teeth, making note of which toothbrush she used, because she had a sneaking suspicion that Jim would be squicky about someone else using his toothbrush, *Though how he'd have the nerve after some of the places I KNOW his tongue has been...* she thought, getting a robe off the back of the door and donning it. This one actually fit, so it was probably Sandburg's.

When she left the bathroom, she didn't need Sentinel hearing to catch the sounds of the headboard thumping against the wall, much less the groans and muttered words. She grinned. *Would that be called vulgar endearments, or endearingly vulgar?* She stepped out into the middle of the apartment, stood on tiptoe, and squinted up at the upper level. She could barely make out something rising and falling, but at that angle there was no way of telling who or what it was. *My guess would be Jim on top, but I think that if I want a chance to walk straight today, I'd better stay down here.*

*grrrrrrowl*

Her eyes widened, and she started looking around for a spirit Guide.

*grrrrrummmblegrowl*

She looked down. "Oo, right. Last meal was a bit ago, and we HAVE had more exercise than usual, haven't we? I'd say this calls for breakfast." She turned toward the kitchen, rubbing her hands together. "And I'm feeling ambitious."

*****

*thump*

"She's raiding the refrigerator."

"Jim, she's entitled to a good meal, dontcha think?"

"You're right."

"Get back to what you were doing, man."

*humphumphumphump*

*glug*

*sniff* "I just hope she leaves some orange juice."

"Jim, we have almost a half-gallon. I think it will be safe. Now, do you mind?"

*thrustthrustthrust*

"The room temperature went up. What can she be cooking? We have plenty of cold cereal, why should she cook?"

"Christ, don't get into that 'my kitchen' bullshit NOW!"

"Okay, okay."

*humphunchhumphump*

*sniiiiiiiiff* "Cinnamon?"

"JIM!"

*HUMPHUMPHUMPHUMPHUMP!*

*yelp!* *purrrrrrr*

*pantpantpant*

"Hand over the Wet Naps, Darwin."

*tug* *tug* *wipewipeclean*

"God, I LOVE these things," Blair sighed.

"Yeah, except that you'll smell like a lemon half the day," Jim commented.

"Only to you or anyone else who will put their nose less than a foot from my crotch." Blair peered down into the apartment. "She's in the kitchen, all right." *sniff* "And even I can smell something interesting. Do you think...? Hey!" Jim was almost dressed already, pulling a turtleneck down over his head.

"I love you, but if you think I'm hanging around for you to dress while there's cinnamon in use in the kitchen, you're crazy." Jim hustled down the stairs and across the floor to the sounds of Guide cursing.

He stepped into the kitchen area just as a wave of heat and sweet scent rolled over him. It wasn't quite strong enough to be unpleasant. Scribe was pulling a pan of puffy roles, each with a golden-brown swirl, out of the oven, and she said, "If you goose me and make me drop these, I'm making you WEAR them."

"You're supposed to know me pretty well. Would I endanger pastry?"

She shook her head. "What was I thinking of?" She put a plate over the pan, glanced at him and said, "Pray."

"Huh?"

She reversed the positions of plate and pan, then shook both a little, then s-l-o-w-l-y lifted the man. There was a neat circle of perfect cinnamon rolls resting on the center of the plate. "It worked! Go, me!"

"Those look..." Jim reached toward the plate.

Scribe hugged it back toward her chest. "Don't MAKE me slap you! Those look UNFINISHED, over-eager." She pointed at a small bowl containing what looked like paste.

Jim picked up the empty cardboard box sitting nest to it. "Scribe, I have no idea HOW old this powdered sugar is."

"I didn't find any expiration date, hon, and I seriously doubt it'll cause anything even approaching what you've lived through the last couple of days. Anyway, it tasted fine to me." She started slathering the icing on the rolls, and it began to melt, turning translucent. "Digger needs to get down here, pronto. They're best with a little butter melted on them, and microwave warm-ups are SO chancy."

Blair came trotting in. "I'm here! Is there any of whatever it was left?"

He leaned over Scribe's shoulder.

"Watch the hair!" she ordered. "Powdered sugar icing is NOT good for styling--though come to think of it, it might be the secret of some of those big ass hair-doos they wear in my neck of the woods."

Jim was rummaging in the cabinets. "I'll get the plates and forks. Blair, you pour the milk."

Scribe was running water in the icing bowl. "Do y'all have any Diet Coke?" They both stopped what they were doing and looked at her. "What?"

"A Coke at..." Jim started to consult his watch.

"I'm from the South, hon. There IS no such thing as too early for a Coke, but milk will do, if that's all you have."

"I think there's a pack of Kool-Ade in here left over from the last time we helped out with that kindergarten tour through the station," Blair volunteered.

Scribe made a face. "Kool-Aid in the morning? That's just weird." She deliberately ignored the looks they exchanged.

They all sat at the dining room table, munching and sipping. Jim finished a third cinnamon roll, sat back, and sighed. "You now, I hate to admit it, but this is kind of cozy."

Blair nodded. "She's funny, she knows about the Sentinel thing, she humps like a mink, and she COOKS. Can we keep her?"

Scribe sprayed milk. "DON'T SAY THAT!" She looked around furtively, giving the ceiling particular scrutiny. She hissed, "You never know WHEN she's listening. You two are liable to be stuck with me indefinitely." Jim looked thoughtful. "And get that speculative look off your face, Ellison. I have sixteen fictions in the works right now. Fan readers would hunt me down. Granted, you'd be safe from the Sentinelbabes, but the X Files and Dracula ones could be dangerous."

"We can discuss this later." Blair brushed crumbs off his hands as he stood up. "We're about the same height, and I wear some of my shirts baggy, so some of my stuff should fit you. C'mon."

She followed him up into the loft. He heard Scribe saying, "Look, much as I hate to admit it, my butt is bigger than yours, so..."

"But I bought these baggy. They should just fit you nice and tight."

*grunt* "Fuck. I'm telling you they won't..." *zip* *silence* "So help me, Sandburg, if you ever do that again and pinch skin I'm going to write you into a fiction with Jabba the Hut." A little later they trooped back downstairs. Jim stared. Scribe held up her hand. "Don't say it."

Jim looked between them. "Oh, man. If it wasn't for the hair color..."

"Jim? Don't go there, okay? She's a little on edge right now."

"It's the jockey shorts," said Scribe. "I can deal with all the masculine attire cause, shoot, let's face it--women wear most of men's clothes already," she sighed. "But I don't care for the jockeys." She plucked at the seat of her pants. "They migrate."

"You could have dispensed with those--it's not like anyone would notice," said Blair.

"It's like they better damn well NOT notice," growled Jim.

Blair's eyebrows went up. "Wow, territoriality." He looked at Scribe. "I had to be with him a full month before he started growling and muttering about people leering at my ass."

"Do I HAVE to go out? Can't I just stay here and get on the net? Maybe I can get hold of Jane and talk her into getting me out of here. I can try to bribe her with ficlets."

"You're new to this world," Jim said firmly, taking hold of her arm and leading her out of the loft. "We can't leave you alone too long. Someone might grab you."

"That's so totally ridiculous," Scribe protested as she was hustled out to the truck. "I mean, what are the odds on any particular person getting kidnapped? They have to be..." She looked at Blair and trailed off. "Never mind."

Right about then the phone rang. Blair answered it. "Ellison, residence, you got Sandburg here." He listened. His eyes got big. He looked over at Scribe and Jim. "Um, Scribe? Do you know someone named Kata?"

"Only by reputation, and maybe a couple of emails. She's been involved in an online dialogue with the same maniac who popped me into this situation."

"Well... We'd better get to the bullpen, ASAP. That was H. (and why he was calling from the coffee bar, I don't know), and it seems that he and Simon got another visitor."

Jim groaned, covering his face, and Scribe patted his shoulder. "This just isn't your millennium, is it?"

Meantime at the BULLPEN--

The woman walked into the Bullpen alone, looked around, then grinned. "Ah, there you are, Kata. Scribe's on her way. I'll give you three guess as to who *I* am, and the first two don't count." She smiled evilly at the other woman's consternation. "Yep, that's right. With me in here, too, NONE of us can get out." Jane smiled at the horrified gasps from the men.

"You're supposed to be in the *other* story," Kata pointed out suspiciously. "Then again this is your fic line, so you could be..." She thought for a while. "But then Blairette would be here too, and the other Jim and Blair."

Jane smiled evilly.

"Great, two Jims arguing and two Blairs talking about alternate realities and layers of possibilities." Kata issued a quiet prayer to the patron saint of writers. "Throw in the usual CPD insanity and I'm definitely going to sit this one out." Kata buried herself in her book. Ignoring the suddenly ringing cell phones and the shouts from the hallway.

"Nope, I wouldn't do *that* to myself. It would be *way* too much of a headache. But this way, you're gonna be too distracted to try to kick me out of the other one, which, by the way, didn't work," Jane stated. "You can still tamper with it, though." She smiled evilly. "I brought some of my favorite *pets* along. Here's one with her babies, how do you like her? I'm going to give the Blue Merle to Blair..." She stepped back to allow Kata to see a full-grown, purebred female wolf with a litter of five cubs following their dam. The largest male had a bluish tinge to his fur, and there was *no* doubt as to the identity of that animal."

She looked at Jane. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Yup, I have four wolves, and they are excellent guardians when needed. God knows Blair needs a babysitter half the time. That's the only *odd* cub, though. His siblings are normal wolves, and I think that little silver-tipped one likes you." Jane smiled indulgently at her friend. "He's called Surefoot, and he's yours. A gift, free and clear." Then she handed the furball to the other woman, and watched the baby wolf cuddle close to her.

"I'll give Scribe this little female," She said as she picked up a reddish one, "I think little Heart will like her. Oh, and the name is "Heart, as in Captain Planet."

"Great," Kata said less than enthusiastically. She was eyeing the cub that was wriggling in her arms. "Just put them there. And what the fuck is everyone fussing about?"

"So what? You're going and that's it!" Simon's bellow could be heard from the hallway.

"Did you- Figures." Jane was nowhere to be seen. H was trying to calm someone on the phone, on the few occasions that someone actually shut up, which was not that often. Simon burst through the double doors to the Bullpen, followed by still arguing Jim and Blair wearing his 'patient Guide' face. The odd colored female trailing behind them was actually giggling. Simon froze when he saw wolves gathered at Kata's feet.

"What. Is. That?"

"Wolves, you know, wild canines. The dam and a few of the cubs are Blair's."

Everyone turned to stare at Blair.

"I have no idea. I'm totally innocent. Blameless, pure as the driven snow," Blair said with his most innocent face.

The heads turned to look at Kata.

"And the red one currently inspecting Rafe's coat is Scribe's. She's called Heart."

"My new leather coat!" Rafe screamed. Yes, he screamed. Scribe hastened to rescue the poor cub.

"And that one?" Simon asked pointing at the cub that was snoring in Kata's lap.

"Mine. He's called Surefoot."

Simon sighed. The cubs were getting curious with their new home, and had started to inspect all the neat places.

"Great, just great," Simon sighed and flopped into a chair. "First Jim collides with a bakery truck and scratches the mayor's new sports car, then there are two wacky ladies in our midst, my detectives are chasing cubs when they should be chasing criminals. And to top it all, the new DA is coming today to inspect the CPD."

"Well, at least you don't have any lunatics running around here," Kata comforted him.

"Er, actually..." H started, but halted at the panicked look Simon threw at him.

"Uh, there are three ladies..."

"Jane will snap your head off if you call her a lady," Scribe offered loudly, kissing the puppy on the nose. Jane nodded emphatically.

"Okay--two ladies and a woman. And the desk sarge says he saw the third one appear the same way the other two did," H. stuttered. "He also says he's taking a two-week vacation since Ellison Weirdness usually is over by that time." H. shook his head. "Jim, this is strange even for you two."

Streeter leaned against the wall listening and watching until she felt a large presence behind her; she turned her head and sighed.

"Hi, Jim." She greeted the big cop. All heads turned to watch the two. "There IS a reason we have to be here, and since I didn't tell these two what it was, don't get too pissed at them. The fact is, you and Blair are NOT a complete 'set'. Sentinel Cores are groups, not pairs." She smiled gently at the stunned group, and indulgently at the nervous writers. "A complete Core includes one Alpha Male Sentinel, Two Shaman who may or may not be Guides as well, and several Solid Guides, meaning that they are anchors and nothing else, and a Sentinel Mage, who is beta." She watched dawning comprehension spread over Blair's face. "And at least two Mentors. Scribe and Kata will serve in that capacity. I'm the Mage--the other Shaman, and the Anchor are in route from Los Angles, so, you get your Core Group. The two men who are on their way are fire-paramedics, primarily search and rescue personnel." She shrugged, looked at the other two writers and smiled. "This AU just went XO as well... have fun ladies, since this time you get to direct from the inside."

She smirked at them all. "The firemen are my lovers, but I'm willing to share."

Scribe scooped the chubby reddish-brown wolf pup up into her arms. "Stop it, Rafe!" she scolded. "She's a wolf, you can't blame her for being interested in dead cow. Besides, what have you got to complain about? YOU ended up with a relatively normal looking hair color." He unconsciously smoothed back his now shining strawberry blond hair. She sighed. "I end up looking like a Times Square hooker, and the supporting cast gets good hair color."

*SLAM!*

"SANDBURG, YOU BLOODY GAS FACTORY, YOU'RE IN DEEP SHIT!"

Scribe winced. "Oo, that would be the Thunder from Downunder. I'd duck if I were you, Blair."

Blair slipped behind Jim, managing to hide completely behind the larger man. "Oh, great," muttered Ellison. "Make me a target."

Megan stomped into the Bullpen, eyes flashing with righteous rage. "You little git! My hair is fucking GREEN!"

Scribe peered at her. "Actually, it's sort of browny-green. You know, that's the exact shade I picked for baby Impetua's hair in my Love and Mischief series." When Megan gave her a blank look, she explained, "Infant Goddess of Jealousy and Envy."

Blair peeked from behind Jim and nodded. "Child of Strife and Cupid. Basically a comedy, but with some nice smutty bits."

Megan scowled. "Strife and Cupid's baby? How the hell do two blokes have a baby together?"

"Looooong story," said Scribe.

When she squinted at her, Megan growled, "What?"

"I'm just trying to picture you topless, with silvery-gray wings."

All the men in the room looked thoughtful. "Now, there's a mental image," Simon muttered.

Megan tossed him a glance, then did a double take. "Shite, Simon. Are you going for the Dennis Rodman look?" Simon's hair was a bright marigold color.

"I don't want to discuss this. If any national or natural disasters happen, I'll be in my office." He went into the office and slammed the door.

"Coward," said Scribe cheerfully. The wolf cub wiggled. "Jane, what are you doing saddling me with a wolf? You know darn good and well that I have a cat, a weenie dog, and a mother--none of which would be happy with this. She might eat Snicklefritz when she gets big, Inga will love to play with her, but die of jealousy, and if wolf pee gets on the carpet... Well, I love my mother, and don't really WANT her to have a stroke." Jane just grinned. Scribe sighed "You're going to stick me here for an extended period of time, aren't you?"

She was half listening to Simon grouse about the upcoming inspection, and H's revelation about the desk sergeant jumping ship. Then Jane went into her explanation about what was going on, and who was coming.

Scribe's eyes got wide, and she squeaked, "Johnny and Roy are coming? Oo, tell me they're not bringing Chet with them! Jim would kill him, you know that, don't you?" Jane smirked. "I'm hoping that's a no, but I have absolutely no confidence in that possibility. Sooo, I'm a Mentor now? I don't suppose that means I'm going to just be allowed to sit back and herd plot bunnies toward other people, offering constructive criticism, and the benefit of my wisdom in all things fanfictionish?" Jane shook her head slowly, her grin becoming, if possible, even more evil. "I think I'll just avoid finding that out for the time being and ask one question: Can you do the whole 'time compression' thing, so that when I eventually get home, my Mother won't know I've been gone? She knows my transportation troubles, and if I have an unexplained absence of more than an hour or so, she'll have the National Guard called out."

"I might be able to arrange something," Jane conceded.

"Fine. Then I'll try to just relax and enjoy the madness." She set the pup gently on the floor.

"So you're not going to attempt to give the wolf back--and notice that I said 'attempt'."

She glanced down at the pup. It regarded her with golden eyes, and said, *urf?* "Not likely. You know how I feel about all fuzzy baby animals." She looked down just in time to see the pup starting to squat, with an intent look on her furry face. "HEART! NO!" The pup froze, giving her a hurt look. She picked it up and cuddled it. "No, baby, I'm not mad at you. You can't help it when nature calls, but I DO have an idea." She looked at Jim. "Carolyn works here, right?"

"Yes, in Forensics."

"Could you direct me to her private office?"

"You go down to the basement. It's down the right hand corridor, third door on the right. But I think she's out."

Scribe started toward the door, and she was smiling. "That's okay." She snuggled her nose into the wolf's fur, and received a canine kiss. "You just hold on for a short elevator ride, sweet Heart. We're gonna go see if you can see your reflection in Carolyn's desktop. Then we'll see how closely her chair resembles a training potty..."

============ End Part Two ============

Simon stared at the group of humans and wolves that had clustered next to Jim's desk. A motion caught the Captain's eye, and he saw the one solid white wolfling in the litter crawling toward him. It sat at his feet and looked up at him wistfully, making him sigh and pick the pup up. "Okay. Fine. WHY NOT?" He idly scratched it behind its ears, took a quick look to sex it, and smiled at the little bitch. "Guess I'll call you "Star".

Two days later MC learned the true meaning of the word "Stink". The new water caused a normal and temporary change to the puppies' stools. The Squirts. And every canine as well as every other animal there had them. The squirts and gas. OH GOD, they had gas. It loomed, it billowed, it HUNG there like a cloud of toxic fumes. It peeled paint right off the new drywall, it melted the grout under the floor tiles and loosened them so that they broke free underfoot. The foam removable tiles of the ceiling dumped dust on all heads and in the jail, new steel bars were rusting.

"Nothing, and I do mean NOTHING smells quite like dog shit!" H. howled when he sat in the stuff for the fourth time in one day. By day's end, every soul in the CPD was weeping in desperation to get out of there. Outdoors the new bricks were crumbling into sand. The tough plants that Blair had spared were withered and blackened. And Jim and Blair had BOTH long since fled to the Cascadian National Forest, taking the women writers with them.

The final insult took place when the Commissioner surprised, and scared, a large skunk in the garage. The result cleared the area for five miles in all directions. Everything alive that could move did, in about, oh---ten minutes.

The True Stink King had reclaimed his crown!

*****

*whine*

Scribe, perched between Jim and Blair in the truck cab, peered back over her shoulder, peeking through the glass into the enclosed bed. She looked at Blair, on her right. He cocked an eyebrow silently. She looked at Jim.

He didn't take his eyes off the road. "Don't start."

"But she's scared. Why can't she ride up here with me?" Scribe asked, trying for plaintive, but coming off whiny.

"Why?" Jim glanced at her briefly. He couldn't take his eyes off the road long. He was following the bright red Range Rover driven by Jane, and it took all his concentration. The woman drove like a lunatic, even on this narrow, twisting road. "I can tell you why in two words--wolf pee."

"But it was just a few drops, and she was scared when you came to that abrupt stop."

"It was either that or go up Jane's tailpipe."

"Well, ~I~ was the one she peed on. If I can wear it, I'd think you could..."

Jim was gritting his teeth. Blair patted her leg. "Scribe? Sentinel sense of smell, okay?"

She wilted a little. "But this is so unfair!"

Jim sighed. "We've been over this. Yes, it's unfair. I'm not particularly enamored of the idea, either, but you don't hear me bitching about it."

"No, but you can do 'pissed off silence' louder than ANYONE I've ever known, man," Blair said. "Scribe, we're all stuck in this situation--we just have to make the best of it."

"Have you got any idea how SICK I am of being told that?" she snapped. "It's all I've ever heard, my entire life. The kids in your class torture you? Make the best of it. Have to quit college for a year because you don't qualify for a grant and they won't give you a loan? Make the best of it." Her voice was rising. "Minor problem with your car that you can't afford to fix now, but it's going to get worse if you don't? Make the best of it. Dropped into an alternate universe and told that you're about to completely change your life, probably for one that will be a lot less comfortable? Well, I don't WANT to be brave and stoic about it, damn it! I'm pissed, and I feel like whining!"

There was silence for a moment. Finally Blair said, "Got that off your chest?"

She glared at him. "Don't think it's going to be that easy. If you don't want to listen to it, turn me loose." "Okay, Scribe. Let's say we turn you loose." She looked at him suspiciously. "We pull over to the side of the road and put you out--WITH wolf. Do you have any idea how far we are from civilization? We left the main highway almost an hour ago. That last town was about thirty miles back, and it was a feed store, a gas station, and a Quik-Stop. We haven't been on paved road for the last fifteen minutes, the woods keep creeping in closer and closer, and I have a feeling that the road is going to peter out pretty soon. Now, where, exactly, do you think you'll go?"

Her voice was smaller when she spoke. "You could let me take the truck back."

The look he gave her was incredulous, and Blair put his hand over his face. "Let's put aside for a moment the fact that I don't like ANYONE else driving my truck. You don't have a license. We can't even be sure that there are the same traffic laws here that there are in your home world. Where would you go?"

"I... Well, I guess I couldn't realistically make it back to Texas." She winced. "And I'm not sure I'd want to find out if there was another version of me sitting there, typing away. I could go back to Cascade."

"And I suppose I'd let you have use of the loft, but how would you live there? There are bills to pay. You'd have to eat. And how would you support yourself? You can't very well get a job with absolutely no proof of identity or paperwork." She sat back, expression blank. "You didn't think of that, did you?"

"Jim," Blair said quietly. "Ease up."

"She has to deal with this, Blair." His voice softened. "Scribe, I'm not unsympathetic. I know a little about being suddenly thrown into a strange environment, completely cut off from your former life, remember? But honestly, can you think of an alternative?"

She drooped even farther. Her voice was desolate. "No, I can't. And if ~I~ can't, there probably isn't one."

Blair slid an arm around her shoulders, shaking her lightly. "It'll be okay. I'm glad you're with us." He leaned close to her ear and whispered, "Frankly, I think we're going to need all the back up we can to deal with that lunatic up ahead."

She gave him a faint smile and a doubtful look. "And you think I'm going to be much help in that area? Optimistic little thing, aren't you?"

"You have no idea." He nipped her earlobe.

She giggled, hunching one shoulder to push Blair back, and Jim felt relieved. She was an odd woman, but then, Blair was an odd man. He'd also been a little befuddled and annoyed by his neo-hippie witchdoctor punk when he'd first met him, but now he couldn't imagine life without him. Well, he could, but he didn't WANT to.

She was giggling again, and Jim risked another glance. Blair was licking her ear now. Her expression was caught somewhere between pleased and flabbergasted. Jim knew how she felt. Being the focus of Sandburg's undivided attention was exhilarating, and perhaps a little daunting if you hadn't been actively pursued before. He figured that, for a middle-aged virgin, it had to be mind-boggling.

She pushed Blair away. "Stop it--that tickles."

"Put you in a better mood, didn't it?" He was just the tiniest bit smug.

"Yeah, well, that was an easy one. Wait till we run out of toilet paper--THAT will be a challenge."

Blair laughed, and Jim couldn't resist a chuckle. Even Scribe smiled again, but it faded. "Um, I think we're here."

They had just turned a sharp corner. A few yards ahead the road ended in a roughly cleared area no bigger than half a tennis court. It was going to be crowded, because Jane's Ranger was already parked there, next to another large truck. The woman was currently in a three-way hug with two men--one with reddish, sandy hair, and the other one with Indian dark hair. As they slowed to a stop, the trio looked up. Jane started pointing and speaking rapidly.

The three in the truck examined the three standing under the trees, and were examined in turn. Scribe said softly, "Son of a bitch."

Blair said, "What's up? They look perfectly normal to me."

She was shaking her head. "She told me, but I didn't really think about it. It's really them. I had SUCH a crush on Johnny when I was in junior high."

Jim looked at her in disbelief. "You went to school with them?"

She took a deep breath, but Blair cut her off. "I think it's that alternate universe, fanfiction thing again." She nodded.

Jim's eyes narrowed. "Exactly how deep WAS this crush?"

"My hormones had just made themselves known, and I didn't know what to do with them." She sat back a little, giving him an arch look. "And what's it to ya?"

She and the Sentinel exchanged a long look. Neither one seemed to be willing to break it. Blair sighed. "I can see that there's a LOT of talking to be done. First things first, though. Let's go introduce ourselves."

Jim grunted, and they piled out of the truck and began walking to the waiting trio.

THE END

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