Title: Jim versus the Volcano

Author/pseudonym: Tinnean

Fandom: The Sentinel

Pairing: Jim Ellison/Sandy, Jim/BJ Sandburg, Jim/Blair Sandburg

Rating: NC-17

Email address: Tinneantoo@earthlink.net

Disclaimer: The Sentinel belongs to Petfly, and Joe versus the Volcano 
belongs to Warner Brothers. Jordan is Jordan Cavanaugh, of Crossing Jordan, 
and belongs to Tim Kring. No volcanoes or medical examiners were injured 
during the making of this story.

Status: new/complete

Date: 10/02

Series/Sequel: no

Other Web Site:  http://www.angelfire.com/fl5/tinnssinns
        
Archive: OK, I surrender. Yes to all the list archives. (I'm so easy!)

Summary: Wealthy businesswoman Naomi Sandburg makes former police detective, 
Jim Ellison, an offer too good to refuse. On his travels, he meets three very 
different men, with one thing in common: they all resemble each other.

Warnings: m/m, spoilers for the movie.

Notes: I've used the fine store, Mark Cross, although this in not the store 
Joe buys his luggage in. This is an homage to my Dad, who worked for Mark 
Cross for twenty-five years. Douleur dans l'ane translates literally to pain 
in the ass. The song Joel mangles is Jamaica Farewell. #### denotes change of 
POV. ~~~~ indicates a dream sequence. This first appeared in the MME zine, 
The Many More Movies of the Sentinel. Thanks to PattRose for the heads up 
regarding Taggart and Brown. As always, a **huge** thank you to Gail for the 
handholding and the marvelous beta.


Jim versus the Volcano 

Prologue -Cascade    

I had a really good job, a job I loved, a job I was good at: I was a police 
detective. I worked out of Major Crimes in Cascade, Washington.

I'd been named Cop of the Year, and I was in line for a major promotion.

But then there had been that hostage situation; a spurned boyfriend who 
snatched the woman's three kids and swore he'd kill them, cut their throats 
like butter, if she didn't take him back. 

Yeah, I know. That would make *me* want to take him back in a heartbeat. Go 
figure.

The captain of the SWAT team fired a tear gas canister into the crackerjack 
box of a house, and it had burst into flames. I could hear them screaming 
from three blocks away.

By the time my partner, Brian Rafe, had pulled our car to a screeching halt 
across the street, the house was almost completely engaged. 

"Why aren't you going after the kids" I demanded frantically.

"They're dead, Jim. They're all dead!" The captain put his hand on my 
shoulder and gave what he thought was a comforting squeeze.

I knocked his hand off my arm and dashed into the house. How could they not 
hear the screams of those little kids? The smoke was thick and black and 
suffocating. I dropped to the floor and crawled to where I could hear the 
whimpers.

"I'm here, kids!" I scooped up the two smallest. "Grab my shirt tail and hang 
on, okay, honey?" I told the oldest one, then I started out.

"Fucking hell, how did you know these two were still alive, Ellison?" the 
captain demanded.

I was coughing out smoke that seemed to have taken up residence in my lungs. 
My partner was pounding my back in an attempt to restore normal breathing, 
and cursing me out under his breath. "Fucking hero! Could have gotten 
yourself killed! Goddamn it, Jim, you had me so scared?" 

"Could...couldn't you hear them? Wait a minute, *two* of them? Where's the one 
who was holding my shirt?"

They looked at me as if I was nuts, and I gave the two boys to the paramedics 
who were waiting impatiently to take them from me. Before Rafe could stop me, 
I wheeled around and bolted back into the house.

She was in the hallway, just outside the door to the room where I'd found 
them. I grabbed her up and turned, and the blast from hell hit me in the back 
and threw the two of us forward. Somehow I managed to turn in midair so that 
when we landed, I took the brunt of the fall, and then I began the nightmare 
crawl out into the sunlight and the sweet, untainted air. 

I collapsed on the sidewalk where a piece of glass was just in my line of 
vision. The sun bounced off it. I stared at it, lost in the prism of colors 
that seemed to stream out of it. I was sucked into it.

"Ellison! Ellison! What the fuck is wrong with him?" I could hear the voices, 
but it was as if I was enveloped in a thick cloud. "Jim! Don't do this to 
me!" They were muffled and barely distinguishable.

Abruptly I came out of it. I looked around me. The house had been reduced to 
rubble and black ash. The children had been taken to the hospital accompanied 
by their Mom, while the boyfriend was in a body bag, waiting for the 
coroner's wagon.

"Jesus, Jim! That was the bravest, *stupidest* fucking thing I have ever 
seen!" Rafe knelt beside me, stroking my arm with one hand, while the other 
scrubbed at the tears that were drying on his cheeks. "I thought you were 
dead for sure!"

But all I could think of were those words: 'What the fuck is wrong with him?' 
Why had I heard what they hadn't? Why had the odor of burning flesh nearly 
overcome *me*? Why had the sparkling piece of glass sent me to a place where 
there were only shades of grey?

The events of that day began to haunt me. Mornings, when I was scrambling up 
some eggs. What was wrong with me? Afternoons, when I was testifying in 
court. //What was wrong with me?// Evenings, when I should have been making 
love to Rafe.

*//What was wrong with me?//*

I became sure that the problem was that I had some rare disease. I didn't 
want to think that I was losing my mind.

And then I nearly cost Rafe his life. When you're on a stakeout, and your 
partner is depending on you to watch his back, you can't start daydreaming, 
staring off into space. Someone could wind up dead. Rafe very nearly did. 

Oh, he never blamed me, but I didn't trust myself any longer.

After that, I left the police department and my lover, although he pleaded 
with me not to go. I couldn't bear the pitying looks I got from colleagues 
and friends, and I left Cascade as well. I went as far away as I could, 
stopped only by the Atlantic Ocean?

//Once upon a time, there was a guy named Jim…

//Who had a very lousy job?//


Part 1—Staten Island


It took me three and a half years, but I finally found a place that didn't 
cause my senses to jump off the charts, and I finally found a job, in the 
advertising department of American Panascope, the country's leading producer 
of anal probes.

Although my senses calmed down, I could never shake the feeling that 
something was seriously wrong with me, and so I began an endless round of 
finding another doctor, another test.

The only thing that made my days bearable was the young secretary who manned 
the front desk. Sandy had long curly brown hair and blue eyes. More than 
anything I wanted to ask him out, but I was wallowing in such a cesspool of 
despair. I couldn't subject him, I couldn't subject anyone, to the shell of a 
man that I was.

So each day I would come in and mumble a hello, then go to my cubicle and 
think of what it might have been like with him…

####

Staten Island—Sandy   

I'd worked at American Panascope since I'd graduated from high school. I'd 
wanted to go to college, but my Mom insisted I could never make a living as 
an anthropologist, and so I took the first job that I came across in the want 
ads. I hated my boring job, and I hated my boring life, but I knew I would 
never leave. It was a scary world out there.

From behind the closed door of her office, I could hear Ms. Plummer, my 
acerbic supervisor, on the phone. 

"I know he can get the job, but can he *do* the job?"

I sighed. She would spend the next twenty minutes repeating this. "I know he 
can get the job, but can he *do* the job?" Then she'd call me into that 
dreary office, and for another twenty minutes she would rant about how she 
had never said that, and if she had, she would be wrong, but she *wasn't* 
wrong, because she *hadn't* said it. I'd have to sit on the other side of her 
desk, taking notes, and trying not to let her see how much I didn't want to 
be there. 

My nose was running, and I sniffed hard. The door to our department opened 
and *he* walked in. James Ellison. The most gorgeous man I had ever seen. 
Even though it was against company policy, I wished he would ask me out on a 
date, but he never noticed me beyond wishing me a brief good morning, every 
morning.

"Good morning, Sandy."

I sniffed and ran the side of my hand under my nose. "Morning, Jim." I 
gathered up my courage and managed to say more than my usual two words to 
him. "How are you feeling today?"

"I feel like garbage, Sandy."

"What's wrong, Jim?"

His smile was wry. "I'm losing my soul, Sandy." Oh, the poor man! But then he 
held up his shoe, displaying the ragged, torn leather of his sole. "My 
clothes feel uncomfortable against my skin, my sense of smell is going wonky 
on me, I'm seeing weird shit." His complexion was grey, and he hacked a bit 
as if to clear his throat. "And my hearing?" He flinched. "Jesus, is Ms. 
Plummer still having that same fucking conversation?"

I thumbed the intercomm. Sure enough, the boss was still going strong. "I'm 
not saying that. I'm not saying that! If I had said that, I would be wrong, 
but I did not say that! I *know* he can get the job! But can he *do* the 
job?" How had Jim been able to hear her?

Jim reached out his hand, and for a minute I thought he would ruffle my hair, 
but he didn't. He turned away and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot 
that had been sitting on the hot plate since I had come in. I knew the 
powdered creamer must be clumping in his cup, just as it always clumped in 
mine, and yet he always put in a teaspoon. I wondered if he did that in hopes 
that maybe this time it would be fresher? Only it never was. 

He walked down the short corridor that led to his cramped cubicle, pushed 
open the swinging doors, and disappeared through them. 

I'd peeked into his personal file once, and I knew that at one point he had 
lived on the West coast, which was so glamorous. I didn't understand what 
kind of lure Staten Island could hold for him or why he would take a dead end 
job at American Panascope, but I was happy he was in my life, even if it was 
in such a minor way. 

I'd been in his cubicle once, too, delivering a message I had taken for a 
cancellation of one of the seemingly never-ending doctors' appointments he 
made. "That's such a pretty lamp, Jim," I had whispered after I had handed 
him the slip of paper. I had been desperate to start up a conversation, and 
so I remarked on the lamp that sat on his desk.

"It's a music box too. See?" He'd switched it on, and the shade turned 
gently, displaying a panther stalking through a lush rainforest. Soft strains 
of a melody I felt I should have been able to recognize filled the room and 
seemed to keep him calm and grounded. He'd looked at the fluorescent lighting 
overhead and said sadly, "I feel like they suck the moisture right out of my 
eyeballs. Do you understand what I mean, Sandy?"

I nodded, but I didn't, not really. I wanted to know why he stayed here, but 
I was always afraid to ask, in case it gave him the idea that maybe he should 
leave. I sighed and opened a window in Excel. 

Ms. Plummer came barreling out of her office. "Where is he?" she barked, and 
I cringed in my chair.

"Wh… who, Ms. Plummer?" I stammered.

"Wh… who?" she mocked me. "That fucking waste on the face of the earth! James 
Ellison, that's who!"

"Um… he's in his office, ma'am." I sank down, trying to make myself as tiny 
as possible. I didn't deal well with confrontations, and my boss always 
managed to make me feel about two inches tall.

With a final sneer in my direction, she stormed through the swinging doors. 
As they swung back and forth, I could see the subdued lighting Jim had been 
able to provide for himself. 

Ms. Plummer's voice was so loud I had no trouble hearing the conversation out 
at my desk. "I've got eight orders here, Jim. Each order needs five 
catalogues!"

"There are only twelve catalogues left."

Our boss stalked out of Jim's office, hurling abuse back over her shoulder. 
"You asshole! Why didn't you inform me?"

"I told you they needed to be ordered three weeks ago, Ms. Plummer." Jim 
followed her out, still speaking in a subdued tone. "I told you again two 
weeks ago. Last week I put the requisition on your desk and it's been sitting 
there since then!" 

"Did you *tell* me last week?" He shook his head. "See? This is why I can't 
give you that promotion! I *wanted* to give you that promotion, but you're 
just not flexible, Jim! You have to get into a flexible frame, or else you 
are no place!"

"Yes, ma'am." He wasn't really paying attention to her, I could see that; his 
eyes were darting all over the room. He cleared his throat and licked his 
lips nervously. "I… uh… I need to take some extra time during lunch."

"Another doctor's visit? Get with the program, Ellison. There's nothing wrong 
with you beyond the fact that you're a lazy shit!"

"I'm not lazy. I just don't feel good."

"Nobody feels good! After childhood it's a fact of life!" Jim bowed his head 
and let Ms. Plummer's tirade flow over him. Finally our manager wound down, 
having expended her bile. "Oh, all right. But you won't get paid for this. 
You've used up all your sick time, as well as all your personal days!"

"I understand, ma'am. Thank you."

I stared at Jim in shock. After Ms. Plummer had returned to her office and 
slammed shut the door behind her, I whispered, "Why do you let her talk to 
you like that?"

Jim's blue eyes looked into mine, and they were so filled with sadness I 
wanted to cry out in protest, but he just shrugged and said nothing. His 
shoulders were slumped, and he went back to his cubicle to do the best he 
could with the few supplies he had available to him.

****

I pulled the brown paper sack from my bottom desk drawer and set my lunch on 
my desk: a stale sandwich, a mealy apple, and a thermos of coffee that had 
sat on my hot plate overnight and tasted scorched.

Jim came out of his cubicle, buttoning his overcoat.

"See you later, Jim," I said quietly, and he offered a bleak smile, then 
walked out of our department.

"Sandy!"

I jumped, and I spilled some of the coffee down the front of my moth-eaten 
sweater. She was always making me do that. "Yes, Ms. Plummer?" 

"Get in here. Now!"

I swallowed hard and entered her office, dragging my feet. I stood by the 
door, my adam's apple bobbing nervously.

She rose from her desk and walked around it, studying me carefully. Then she 
shook her head. "I just don't get it."

"Get what, ma'am?"

"That fuck Ellison has been watching your ass. Did you know that?"

My heart leaped with pleasure. "Really, ma'am?" I breathed. Jim had been 
sneaking peeks at my ass? 

"We don't allow fraternization in this company, Sandy. Especially *that* 
kind!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ms. Plummer. Jim has never asked me 
out."

"Yes, well, from the looks he's been giving you, it seems like he's finally 
working up the nerve. You will turn him down. If I find you've been meeting 
after hours, I'll have no qualms in seeing you transferred to the Bronx!"

I had taken a breath, about to flout her, but the threat being sent to the 
Bronx terrified me, and I sagged in defeat. "Yes, ma'am." I couldn't meet the 
triumph in her eyes. 

"Good. Now, get back to your desk!"

I scurried out of her office and slunk into my seat. My lunch looked even 
more unappetizing, and I dropped it into the wastebasket under my desk. I 
pulled up another window in Excel and began keying in an invoice for a dozen 
cartons of the lubricant that usually accompanied American Panascope anal 
probes. The delivery would be going to San Francisco.

#### 

Staten Island—Jim       

Why wouldn't the doctors believe me when I told them that there was something 
wrong with me? Didn't they understand that I would know if I wasn't feeling 
well? What did they think I was, a hypochondriac? 

Take the last doctor I had seen. When he said he couldn't find anything, and 
I insisted I had a problem with my senses, he'd thrown his hands up in defeat 
and given me a referral to a doctor who, he assured me, could find the 
problem if anyone could. //If there even is a problem.// 

He didn't realize I had heard his snide remark, and was shocked when I 
growled at him as I stalked out of his office, "That's hardly professional of 
you, Doctor!"

Because Dr. Simon Banks was the leading authority in strange and unusual 
diseases, I expected to have to wait months before I'd be able to see him. To 
my surprise and gratification, he had taken my call himself and made the 
appointment for the beginning of the following week, apologizing profusely 
that it couldn't be sooner. 

I had arrived a little early, and Dr. Banks had drawn blood, asked for a 
urine specimen, and run a battery of tests. He told me he was putting a rush 
on it, and the results would be compiled within the hour. 

Now I sat in Dr. Banks' waiting room… waiting. I'd been sitting there for 
more than two hours, and I knew Ms. Plummer would be ready to fire me because 
I'd be returning so late from my lunch hour.

I was so scared; he was my last hope. If he couldn't tell me what was wrong, 
I might as well put my head between my legs and kiss my ass good-bye, because 
I didn't know where else to turn. I stared at a dust mote, not realizing that 
I was losing myself in the nooks and crevices that I could actually see.

"Mr. Ellison. Mr. Ellison? *Mr. Ellison*!"

The irritation in the voice finally broke through to me. I jumped and shook 
myself. "I'm sorry. What is it?"

"Dr. Banks will see you now."

I licked my lips and rose, and went into Dr. Banks' office. On the walls were 
diplomas from Johns Hopkins, Cedars-Mount Sinai, Walter Reed, the most 
prestigious hospitals in the country as well as the leading medical 
facilities in Great Britain, France and Germany. I was certain he would be 
able to tell me what was wrong with me.

Simon Banks was a big, black man with a commanding presence. He stood before 
an illuminated square, intently studying the X-rays that were slotted into 
it.

"Have a seat, Mr. Ellison. May I call you Jim?" Before I could tell him yes 
or no or fuck you very much, he went on. "You used to be in the police 
department, in Cascade, Washington. Am I correct, Jim?"

"Well, yes. But I left the force eight years ago. What…"

"Bear with me, Jim. What did you do on the force?"

"I was in Major Crimes."

"So you arrested murderers, chased drug dealers, maybe went undercover? 
Dangerous, rough stuff?"

"That went with the job, Dr. Banks. I guarded the occasional visiting 
dignitary also. What does that have to say about anything? I used to be a 
cop; I'm not any more."

He turned around to face me, and his face showed such concern that I tensed 
up. "I have the results of your tests, Jim."

I swallowed, my mouth dry, my gut turning to water. Here it was. I gripped 
the seat of the chair I was sitting in so tightly I knew I'd leave 
fingerprints. "I'm losing my mind." I had to know. 

"No."

"I have a tumor on the brain; that's why there's something wrong with my 
eyes, my hearing, my sense of taste."

"No."

I became annoyed. His expression told me there was something abnormal going 
on. "But my senses are so enhanced, Dr. Banks…"

"Don't get me wrong, Jim. There is a problem. What you have wrong with you is 
very real… very rare… very destructive. Incurable, in fact. You have a brain 
cloud."

"I… A *what*?"

"A brain cloud. This is a black fog of tissue. There are no symptoms. As a 
matter of fact, you would never have been diagnosed with this if you hadn't 
been seeking an explanation for your enhanced senses."

There was something wrong, and I was going to die. I couldn't catch my 
breath, couldn't even force out the words, 'How long?' 

But it was as if he knew what I had to ask. "You have about six months. It 
isn't painful, just… messy."

"Dr. Banks, what's going to happen?"
 
He sat down and folded his hands sedately on the desk before him. His eyes 
were dispassionate. "For the first four and a half to five months, everything 
will feel okay." 

"And after that time?"

"Your brain will fail, followed by your body. You'll regress to infancy. 
You'll drool; you'll lose control of your bladder and bowels. As I said, 
messy."

I felt myself turn pale. To be so out of control of my body, to be so 
helpless. I didn't think I could face that. "I'll become a goddamn 
vegetable!" I swallowed hard. "And then…?"

"And then… pffft. You're dead. Of course, you can," he looked at me out of 
the corner of his eyes, "get a second opinion."

I scarcely paid any attention to his words. "I knew it. I didn't *know* it, 
but… Oh, fuck. What am I gonna do?" 

"Jim. You have some time left. You have some life left. I suggest you live it 
well." He extended his hand to me. "Oh, and this visit isn't covered by your 
HMO. Pay the bill on your way out, please."

I left the Medical League Building and began to walk, just walk, aimlessly. I 
was going to die. In six months, I will have left the planet. James Joseph 
Ellison was no longer going to be a viable member of the human race.

It hit me with painful realization that I hadn't been a viable member of the 
human race for the past eight years. I had been so afraid of dying that I 
never stopped to think that from the moment we're born we begin to die. 

Wasn't it the lead singer of one of those acid rock bands who said, 'No one 
gets out of this life alive'? And then he'd died choking on someone else's 
vomit. No, wait a second, that was Eric 'Stumpy Joe' Childs, one of the many 
doomed drummers of Spinal Tap. 

Eventually I found myself back at American Panascope, walking the crooked 
path that led into the main building. I passed the little security booth with 
the guard who spent the day sound asleep. I went down the stairs to 
advertising.

Ms. Plummer was waiting. She might have been an attractive woman if it hadn't 
been for the perpetual petulant sneer that twisted her lips. "Jim! You call 
this a lunch *hour*? You've been gone more than three hours!"

"Three hours." I just stood there looking at her, thinking about it. "Yeah, 
that's about right." I licked my lips. "Listen, Ms. Plummer. Carolyn." She 
froze at my use of her first name. "I quit."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Sandy sit up, his pale blue eyes enormous. 
Another regret, that I'd never asked him out.

I went past him to my cubicle. Ms. Plummer followed me, sputtering in 
indignation. "You're quitting? Just like that? You can't do that!"

"No? Watch me!"

I regarded her with disinterest. Her cheeks turned an unhealthy shade of 
puce, and her mouth opened and shut futilely. She was doing a pretty fair 
imitation of a hooked fish. Finally she snarled, "Well, let me tell you, my 
friend, you'll be very easy to replace!"

"You think I don't know that, Carolyn?" I yanked open a side drawer and 
stared down into its depths. "You think I don't know… I've been here for 
years, doing work that could have been done in five or six months. Wasted 
years, Carolyn. If I had them now…" I closed my hand as if I could retrieve 
them, hold them forever in my palm, then slammed the drawer shut. There was 
nothing I wanted in there. I unplugged my lamp, stroking the music box base.

"Go on, if you're going! Get out!" Carolyn Plummer's voice was shrill. "We 
don't need your kind here! Talking crazy, giving people ideas!"

I paused by Sandy's desk. He looked as if he was having trouble catching his 
breath. One of the things I'd learned as a cop was how to perform CPR. Oh, 
how I wanted to lay Sandy down on a flat surface and cover his mouth with 
mine.

"Do you know, every morning I'd walk past your desk… You were the only thing 
that made this godawful place bearable. I'd come to work, and I could smell 
you, like a flower. I could taste you, like sugar on my tongue. I could hear 
the rustle of your clothes from that goddamned little broom closet that tries 
to pass itself off as an office. Oh, god, Sandy, did I ever tell you, the 
first time I saw you, I felt as if I had seen you before?"

Sandy's eyes seemed to swallow his face. "Really, Jim?"

I stroked his cheek. "And I never had the guts to ask you out. I let my life 
be ruled by yellow, freaking fear." I turned to Carolyn, who was staring at 
me as if I had sprouted a second head. "I was too chicken shit to live my 
life, so I sold it to you. You're lucky I don't…" I clenched my fists in an 
effort to control the anger that was boiling up inside me.

"Get out, Jim!" She backed away from me, and I suddenly felt powerful. The 
woman who had been tormenting the life out of me, who had taken such pleasure 
in making my life miserable, was now terrified of me. "Get out! Before I call 
security!"

The stink of terror rolled off her, overwhelming the scent of the perfume she 
always doused herself with. I was surprised Sandy didn't seem affected by it. 
"I'm going, Carolyn. I'm leaving you here in your cheap, three-piece Sears 
suit. You might want to eat a little more frequently, too. You look like a 
bag of bones! It's not healthy, and it's not attractive!" 

She scurried into her office and slammed the door behind her.

"Wow!" Sandy exclaimed. "You are really intense!"

I could hear the lock click as she threw the bolt. I could hear her pick up 
her phone. I could hear her whisper, "Security, we have a situation in 
Advertising! Send someone, send a *bunch* of someones, *now*!"

I took Sandy's hand and ran my thumb over his knuckles. "Will you have dinner 
with me?"

"Yeah!"

"Do you like Mexican food?"

"Yeah!"

"I'll meet you at the Casa del Buen Alimento on Hylan Avenue at seven, okay?" 
I smiled at him and placed the lamp gently on his desk. He had always liked 
it. "Here. I want you to have this, Chief." 

I was out the doors of Advertising when a couple of men in the grey uniforms 
of security came stalking toward me, their hands on their side arms, their 
expressions meant to be fierce, but looking like nothing so much as 
constipated bullfrogs. "There's a problem in there?" the bigger one asked, 
gesturing toward the department I had just left.

I made my eyes wide. "I just came from there, and there was nothing wrong. I 
think I heard Ms. Plummer saying something about shaking up Security, because 
you guys had it dead easy." I leaned closer. "I've worked in law enforcement, 
guys. You men are the backbone of a place like this! She just doesn't realize 
how much guts it takes to be a security guard!"

"It was a false report?" They traded glances, settled their holsters on their 
hips, and strode through the doors, intent on confronting my former 
supervisor.

I might only have six months to live, but damn, I felt pretty fucking good.

****

It was still early when I got home. I did a fast clean-up of the apartment 
and put my spare set of sheets on the bed. 

Well, I could dream, and I'd often dreamed of Sandy, although his face had 
been rather vague, and somehow I couldn't get past those layers of flannel 
that he always wore to imagine the body underneath.

I showered and put on a nice suit, and then it was time to drive to the 
Mexican restaurant. I was looking forward to my date with Sandy.

tbc