J/B Snippet: User (PG)
Oct. 6th, 2007 07:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arrow00Title: User
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
arrow00
Pairing: Jim/Blair
Rating: PG (language)
Wordcount: 530
Categories: pre-slash
Summary: Jim is a little down on himself.
Also, he's a tiny bit religious in this one.
Notes: This was prompted byjanedavitt's
Call of Duty.
User
By Arrow
I'm using him, and the kid just doesn't see it. Sandburg can't see it, because if he did, he'd have to admit to himself that he's letting me. That he's that obsessed with his Sentinel.
The funny thing is, he thinks he's using me. Oh, I let him do his tests, let him hang out with me, live with me. Hell, I pay for the odd vegetarian pizza or Jags ticket. So he thinks he's floating the gravy train. On his way to that brass ring.
When, in actuality, I'm the cold son of a bitch who's using him. Not just for dealing with the senses—and God knows I need him for those, for every new twist they throw me—but also on the job. Jesus, he's working, unpaid, as a quasi-cop in one of the most dangerous cities in the nation, and he thinks he's getting away with something.
I'm using him every time he doesn't stay in the truck. And he never does, and I count on that. I count on him every time I pull my gun and he pulls some crazy trick. He doesn't even blink when I put his life at risk. Christ—I even put him undercover.
And he might seem a little nervous, might bounce around a little, but he always does what I ask. Always. Follows me in, follows me down, follows me over the line. And he always acts so goddamned grateful at the end, even when he's getting the stitches put in.
God help me if he ever figures it out. And he will, someday. Someday, hopefully a long time from now, he'll wake up and realize I'm the bastard who's been using him all along—to prove to my father I'm not a loser, to prove it wasn't a mistake that I survived when all my men died.
That's what all this is for. At first I wondered if I'd been left alive as a just form of punishment for being a dupe, for letting them die. I thought I'd go insane from the guilt and regret. The only peace I found was being a cop, throwing myself in the line of fire—trying to make good on that debt, even though I never can.
Without Sandburg, there'd be no more opportunities for redemption. I'd be sitting in the nut house, drugged to the gills and staring at the pretty fingerpaintings. Broken, useless, my debt unpaid.
Without Sandburg...I can't think of being without him. And that's another way I use him, because he made his way in somehow, and I don't want to shake him loose, even though it's the right thing to do. I like it too much—having him close.
I think about having him closer.
I love him, selfish prick that I am. And, fortunately for me, he's obsessed with his Sentinel. He's finally got one of his very own, and is completely oblivious to anything but that. A childhood dream made real, his luck by Grace making him blind.
Grace of God, or the Devil. Maybe they're together on this. The one testing Sandburg's faith, and the other seducing me to sin.
Blair's faith. My sin.
....................
2007.10.06
Author:
arrow00Pairing: Jim/Blair
Rating: PG (language)
Wordcount: 530
Categories: pre-slash
Summary: Jim is a little down on himself.
Also, he's a tiny bit religious in this one.
Notes: This was prompted by
janedavitt's Call of Duty.
User
By Arrow
I'm using him, and the kid just doesn't see it. Sandburg can't see it, because if he did, he'd have to admit to himself that he's letting me. That he's that obsessed with his Sentinel.
The funny thing is, he thinks he's using me. Oh, I let him do his tests, let him hang out with me, live with me. Hell, I pay for the odd vegetarian pizza or Jags ticket. So he thinks he's floating the gravy train. On his way to that brass ring.
When, in actuality, I'm the cold son of a bitch who's using him. Not just for dealing with the senses—and God knows I need him for those, for every new twist they throw me—but also on the job. Jesus, he's working, unpaid, as a quasi-cop in one of the most dangerous cities in the nation, and he thinks he's getting away with something.
I'm using him every time he doesn't stay in the truck. And he never does, and I count on that. I count on him every time I pull my gun and he pulls some crazy trick. He doesn't even blink when I put his life at risk. Christ—I even put him undercover.
And he might seem a little nervous, might bounce around a little, but he always does what I ask. Always. Follows me in, follows me down, follows me over the line. And he always acts so goddamned grateful at the end, even when he's getting the stitches put in.
God help me if he ever figures it out. And he will, someday. Someday, hopefully a long time from now, he'll wake up and realize I'm the bastard who's been using him all along—to prove to my father I'm not a loser, to prove it wasn't a mistake that I survived when all my men died.
That's what all this is for. At first I wondered if I'd been left alive as a just form of punishment for being a dupe, for letting them die. I thought I'd go insane from the guilt and regret. The only peace I found was being a cop, throwing myself in the line of fire—trying to make good on that debt, even though I never can.
Without Sandburg, there'd be no more opportunities for redemption. I'd be sitting in the nut house, drugged to the gills and staring at the pretty fingerpaintings. Broken, useless, my debt unpaid.
Without Sandburg...I can't think of being without him. And that's another way I use him, because he made his way in somehow, and I don't want to shake him loose, even though it's the right thing to do. I like it too much—having him close.
I think about having him closer.
I love him, selfish prick that I am. And, fortunately for me, he's obsessed with his Sentinel. He's finally got one of his very own, and is completely oblivious to anything but that. A childhood dream made real, his luck by Grace making him blind.
Grace of God, or the Devil. Maybe they're together on this. The one testing Sandburg's faith, and the other seducing me to sin.
Blair's faith. My sin.
....................
2007.10.06
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-10-07 07:05 pm (UTC)The first thing I did when I met Jim Ellison was lie to him. The man was terrified he was gravely ill, and I played on his desperation and spun him a bullshit song and dance. I've been lying ever since, a lie of omission--the truth is, I don't know what I'm doing. He trusts me every day with his senses, his sanity, his life and his career, and I'm making all this shit it up as I go along.
I've always been a liar. An obfuscator. Naomi taught me just how to get what I needed out of people--a place to stay for the night, for a week, for a month; an extension on a paper; twenty bucks for food. I've been mooching off of Jim for three years now--this must be a record for me.
And you know, he just takes it, man. He needs me, and I play that. When some whacked out shit happens with his senses, and his reaction is "Oh God, what's wrong with me?" my first reaction is "cool! More data!" It makes me ashamed, but I can't help it--the scientist in me is numero uno. I see him through that lens, first. My pet lab monkey. My Sentinel.
It sucks, because I can see he needs more from me, when he's blind and scared, or when he's crushed by the input. Help me, he says, and I know he needs more than flippant reassurances and tissue-paper theories. He needs a friend. But a scientist has to be objective, right?
Oh, God, what am I doing?