Disclaimer: Don't own them, but then again, who does now? (Well, at least Pet Fly does. Go Pet Fly!!) Don't sue. I'm in a bad enough mood already. I swore I would be sick if they canceled the show, so please don't block my way to the bathroom.

I applaud all those who are making their voices heard. I've faxed, e-mailed, and sent letters myself. We won't let The Sentinel "go quietly". Here's a bit of fluff that contains NO spoilers, though it does mention Megan. I just needed to write something myself and offer it to you. Hope you like it.

Thank you to Mercury for the comments. You're the best, sweetie!

This is for DannyD: We're half a world apart, but I can't help but feel a special kinship with you. Thanks for being such a great friend!

Firing Range
By Tate

"He's where?" I ask, unbelieving. I had only left the station for a couple of hours to meet with a jittery snitch, leaving Sandburg with some paperwork. I must have heard Rafe's answer wrong. Yeah, right.

"The range, Jim, you know, the firing range," Rafe offers, as though it's the most natural thing in the world. He should know better. Blair's never gone down there to shoot. Hell, the few times he's even held a gun have become legendary at the station.

I step toward the detective's desk, not wanting my voice to carry through the bullpen. "Is this some sort of joke?"

Rafe leans closer to me as he answers, suddenly serious. "Sandburg came to me and asked what he needed to do. I took him down there and showed him the basics, let him borrow a gun. He wanted to stay and practice for a bit. He said," Rafe clears his throat before he continues, "he said he needed to."

It occurs to me that Rafe could actually believe Simon or myself had put the kid up to this. I shake my head, incredulous. Just the thought of Sandburg practicing with a gun is enough to send alarm bells off in my head. What on earth could have gotten into him?

The need to know outweighs any need to continue with the present conversation. "Well, he doesn't need to, and I can't believe you left him alone down there," I say, a bit too angrily and turn to walk toward the elevator. I hear Rafe call my name, but ignore him.

The crack of a gun greets me as I enter the firing range. Blair's the only one present at this odd hour. He doesn't know I'm there. Instead, he aims at the cut-out and fires off another shot. Another miss. What kind of basics did Rafe teach him?

I walk up behind my partner. Yes, my partner. I remember how I'd asked, or rather, told him not to refer to us as being partners when we first teamed up, but now I do it without a second thought. Now, especially with Megan around, I wouldn't think of referring to him in any other way.

I try not to startle him, being that he does have a loaded gun, but I'm not successful. At my light touch, the only way I can catch his attention while he has the protective headphones on, he jumps. But the gun stays at his side. If I were there to hurt him, if I'd been some psycho, he'd be down by now.

"Jim," he says, and half-smiles as he pulls the headphones off with his free hand and places them on a table in the booth.

Without a word, I hold my hand out in front of him and, unquestioningly, he gives me the weapon. I click on the safety and tuck it in my belt. "What do you think you're doing down here, Sandburg?" I try to keep my voice as steady as possible, though the whole scene has unnerved me.

He falters under my gaze. "I was--I wanted to--"

"You shouldn't be down here by yourself," I say. "This is no place for an untrained shooter."

Unexpectedly, he laughs. "And I thought this was where you got better at it."

I can feel my jaw muscles tighten, my forehead crease. "And why do you want to get better at it, Sandburg?" Not 'Chief', 'Sandburg', so he knows I'm serious.

He turns serious as well. I wonder if our emotions can stand turning on the same dime. "Because I need to know how to back you up like Megan can."

His first name slips out of my mouth before I can stop it. "Blair--"

Sandburg interrupts me. "You might need me to know how to use more than just a cell phone, Jim. If I'm there, and I can't stop something from happening, I can't," he takes a deep breath and tries to continue, "I can't--Jim, I need to be able to do this."

I'm angry now, more at the situation than anything else. At his perceived need. I don't want my life to change him. As always, my anger is misdirected. "Turn around," I say sharply.

For a second, I see the confusion in his eyes before he does as I ask. Behind him, I grab his shoulders and position him in front of the distant target. I pull the gun out and place it in his hands. My arms come around him, chest pressed against his back as I lean forward to look over his shoulder. Both of my hands cover his.

Something's not right. With one foot, I kick his shoes farther apart, explaining, "You need more balance."

Enfolded by my larger frame, Blair seems all the more fragile. I can feel his heart beating fast and the tension in his muscles. I tell myself that this is what he wants as I help him take aim. His hands tremble slightly beneath mine. I click off the safety. "Fire," I bark in his ear and he does, hitting the target. But Blair flinches at the sound of the gun, his body jerking in my arms. I suddenly remember that I didn't replace his headphones. That thought alone is enough to make me hate myself. Those that follow threaten to make me sick.

Ever so gently, I disengage his fingers from the weapon and flick the safety, putting the gun away before I move to turn him around. My hands remain on his shoulders as he looks up at me with an open-mouthed stare, his face only inches away.

"I'm sorry," I say softly as my breath stirs his hair. "Chief, I'm so sorry. I don't want you to do this for me."

He looks so sad and when he speaks, his voice is equally hushed. "I don't want to be the one to mess up. I need to know that if --that you won't die because I can't shoot."

My hands move up Blair's shoulders to hold his face. My thumbs trace a path beneath his impossibly large eyes. He's willing to sell his soul for my life. "It won't happen, Chief. I won't let it." I allow my hands to fall to his shoulders and pull him into an embrace, one far gentler than before. My arms encircle his back. "You don't need any of this," I whisper, as I feel his hands clutch my sweater.

When we part, I manage to keep hold of his shoulder. The eyes that stare up into mine seem more peaceful. I nod toward the exit. "Let's go give Rafe his gun back, huh? I think I owe him an apology too."

"Oh, Jim, you didn't," he says, managing a smile.

"I did," I reply, pulling him along with me.

THE END.

Note: I have no idea what kind of clearance it takes to enter a firing range or if Blair could actually be there by himself. I don't even know where the place is in relation to Major Crimes. I'm sorry, but research is beyond me at this point. Thanks for reading.