Backstreet Love

Fandom: THE SENTINEL
Pairing: Jim/Blair
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Yes, the WWOMB. Anywhere else is fine as long as you contact me for permission
Series/Sequel: no way of knowing, is there?
Disclaimers: They are not mine....no matter how much I pretend....
Notes: This is another AU set in dark and dangerous times. Blair is a hooker, guys...Not a grad student. Jim is a cop, but not who he is in canon.
Summary: Jim stops the beating of a beautiful hooker......and the rest is fate.
Warnings: Be prepared. Do not come here expecting to find the Jim and Blair of old....I never write them just so, do I?

Jim Ellison slowed. There it was again. The soft thud of flesh on flesh. An agonized groan. The smell of blood in the midnight air. Drawing his gun, he padded toward the dirty alley and pressed his back against the storefront. He forced himself to take several calming breaths then peered around the corner.

One victim down.

Long curls hid the vic's face but the deep moans were definitely male. Young, but most certainly male.

A gang-banger, maybe.

As Jim assessed the scene before his eyes, the prep reared back and kicked the downed youth in the side. The boy curled tighter in on himself, whimpering.

Had that been a rib cracking?

Unable to wait for putting in a call for back-up, Jim stepped around the corner, his gun held rigidly before him. "Cascade police. Freeze."

The prep swung around in mid kick. Scowling angrily, he whirled back on the young man. "Stay off this street, whore," he ground out, then spun on his heel and darted into the shadows.

"Damn," Jim snarled, sprinting after the runner. A low moan brought his attention back to the victim and he whirled around.

The young man was dragging himself into the dark recesses of the alley, making for the shadows behind a heavily loaded, foul smelling garbage container.

"Whoa up there, chief," he said, hurrying to the injured boy's side and crouching down on one knee.

The boy shook Jim's hand off. "Let me...go, man," he gasped. "....didn't do anything."

"Relax. I'm not holding you for anything, kid," Jim assured him.

The injured youth shrugged him off again. "Leave me alone. I didn’t do nothing."

"Come on, Chief. Relax." He reached for the boy again.

"No, don't touch me. Don't. I didn't do anything. You can't prove...."

Jim retreated, his hands held at shoulder height. "What the hell is wrong with you, kid? I'm just trying to help you, for Christ's sake."

The youth began pulling himself through the grimy alley again, muttering, "Yeah, right. The righteous cop wants to help the fucked up street runner." He snorted. "Right into a fucking jail cell. Well, I'm here to tell ya, I ain't going."

"This is enough." Jim caught his arm, halting him and rolled him over on his back. "Lie still," he commanded as the boy continued to squirm. "Dammit, I said lie still and let me check your injuries."

The boy stilled on the second warning, but Jim could feel him trembling under his hands. "It's okay," he murmured, running his hands over the victim's body. "No one's going to hurt you now."

The boy snorted. "As if."

Jim's glance darted to the boy's face and his breath froze in his chest. Even with the swelling eyes and busted lip the boy was the most beautiful thing he'd seen in this lifetime.

"Pretty terrible, huh?" The boy whispered, touching the bruise forming on his high cheekbone. "There goes my gig for tonight."

Jim blinked. "Huh? No, no, kid. You look fine. You'll be all right."

"Yeah, right," the kid said. "Standard cop double talk. They got a course at the cop academy called tell the vic what they want to hear, right?" He lifted his hand, revealing a bloody gash across his stomach. "Fuck....I've been gutted."

Instantly alert, Jim tore the boy's shirt apart without hesitation. A quick examination of the wound eased his fears. "It's not very deep. Needs cleaning and bandaging, though."

"Like you would know."

"Yeah." Jim met the boy's eyes. "I know. Did some medic time.... Look, Kid, think you could tell me your name? It would be easier talking to you if I had a name to attach to the face," Jim flipped open his cell, speed-dialing a number he used way too often. "Kid? Your name?"

Blair tried a sullen frown without success. He sighed shortly. "Blair."

Jim smiled, patting the boy's arm and spoke into the phone, demanding assistance and an ambulance.

"No," Blair cried out, hissing through clenched teeth as his injuries jangled his nerve-endings. "No ambo."

Jim cut his call, turning a concerned gaze on the boy. "It's all right, Blair."

The youth's eyes glazed with panic. "No." He pushed up clumsily. "No ambulance." Then slumped back down. "No hospitals." He got his arms awkwardly under him. "No doctors." One arm went out and he crashed back down, groaning against the pain that seared him. "No, please."

"Easy, Blair." Jim resettled Blair, easing the weight of his limp body off the bleeding arm. "Now look what you've done to yourself," he murmured, ripping open the boy's sleeve to find yet another tear in pale skin. "That guy who assaulted you was out to inflict major damage, Blair. You need medical attention."

"I won't," Blair husked. "I won't go. I won't stay. You can't make me."

"What? I should let you die from injuries that could be handled easily? These cuts will very likely putrefy if you don't take care of them."

"I'm fine, man," Blair protested. "Just need to slap a little antiseptic on and ...."

"You are going to the hospital, Blair. No arguments."

The boy's hair swung in a wide declining arch. "Won't. No way. You ain't my mama."

"Okay, Blair." Jim laid a restraining hand on the boy's shoulder. "I can't force you to go."

"Damn right, you can't."

"Listen, Blair, you're the victim and a witness in this crime."

"I didn't see nothing."

Jim frowned. "So that's how it is? Okay...you're in curfew violation, kid. I can hold you until your parents come in to pick you up."

Blair glared. "Lots of luck."

The comment spiked a red flag. "What do you mean, Blair."

Blair fingered the edge of the gash in his stomach.

Jim shoved the picking fingers away. "Stop that and answer my question, Kid...."

Blair turned his head, staring toward the street. "I ain't got no damn parents, okay? That what you want to hear?"

Jim touched Blair's arm. "You're living on the streets."

Blair went still for a long moment, staring at the hand touching his arm. As if by magic, the sullen youth vanished. Blair lifted smoldering blue eyes to the worried gaze. A sultry smile curved his generous lips. "I got a room, big guy." His unbloodied hand toyed with a button on Jim's shirt. "A nice one." He slanted his blue flame glance over Jim's muscular body and moistened his lips. "Want to see?"

Jim reared back, his eyes narrowing. "Jesus, kid...."

"What?" Blair turned a look of pure innocence on him. "What did I say?"

Whatever Jim might have said was lost in a flurry of activity as the EMTs arrived and shoved him back out of the way. Blair's desperate glance met Jim's once, then turned down, closing everyone and everything off.

Jim took a step forward, intending on reassuring the boy, but a hand caught his forearm and he was suddenly locked into directing the blues on the search for the prep.

The slam of ambulance doors brought his attention back to Blair. He excused himself from the official huddle and dashed across the alley to intercept the med tech climbing into the passenger side.

"You're taking him to Cascade General?"

The medic shook his head grimacing. "Stubborn kid refused. We got him bandaged up...for what it's worth and on his feet."

"Where is he?"

The medic shrugged. "Jetted while we were packing up."

Jim scored the man with a laser glare. "You let him go?"

"Not my job to keep him here."

Jim raked through his longish hair. "I ought to take you in."

The medic lifted a skeptical brow. "On what charge?"

Jim scoured him with another laser glare then whirled on his heel, scanning the area for any sign of the runaway vic. Nothing. He narrowed his focus without thought. Sight failed to find anything, but....the slight metallic copper blood scent tickled his nostrils.

He did not stop to ask himself why he was suddenly able to identify the elusive odor. He just sprinted off in its wake.

"It'll be a miracle if he gets four blocks, you ask me," trailed after him.

******************

Blair staggered against the wall sucking a hash breath through clenched teeth as his ribs grated against each other. "Damn cop," he grumbled, slumping heavily. "Damn Papa Jack." He rubbed his eyes, trying to force back his narrowing vision. "Damn fucking worthless idiot bitch whore Sandbu...." His knees unlocked and his body began a slow slid toward hard sidewalk.

"Whoa up there, Chief." Strong arms caught him up and lifted him high to cradle his tender body against a warm, hard-soft chest.

"Ah....fuck...." His vision shut down as he slid behind the dark veil of unconsciousness.