Fic: Mistaken Profession 1/1
Title: Mistaken Profession
Author: Werewindle
Website: http://www.squidge.org/werewindle
Fandom: Sentinel
Pairing: Jim/Blair
Rating: pg-13
Category: humour
Word Count: 611
Disclaimer: If they were mine it wouldn't be called *fan*fiction would it?


Summary: for Boys of Summer Fest - prompt : "Anthropologist, or porn star?"




Jim cursed the construction going on the floor below and turned his hearing down - again. The whine of a saws-all was causing his current head-ache to throb worse. Between paperwork and the lack of lunch Jim was not in a good mood. In fact his stomach was starting to complain that dinner time had come and gone.

Maybe he could pick up some Wonderburger on the way home. Blair was helping tend bar for a bash at the park to make a little extra money, so the Anthropologist wouldn't be there to bitch at him about eating healthier.

With something to look forward to Jim attacked his reports with renewed vigor. He'd just sent the last one to the printer when a comment from the newest Major Crimes detective, Inglebocke - "It's pronounced N-gl-bock not Ing-l-bock" - caught Jim's attention.

"Shouldn't Vice be handling hookers?"

Jim turned to look at the elevators. Blair was making his way down the hall flanked by two burly patrol officers; one male, one female. And he was missing his shirt.

Jim shucked his sweater off and held it out to Blair as he and his escort enter. Blair snagged the garment. "I don't even want to talk about it, man."

Jim raised an eyebrow at the patrolman who started filling Jim in what had happened. The sentinel listened with half an ear while taking in the wreck that was now Blair's favorite pair of jeans. The frayed knees were ripped out - one leg almost to the hem, and some kind of pink sticky mess down the right side. What looked like his back pocket was dangling on the left, and the grad student had grass stains across his ribs.

"We arrived at the location of the noise disturbance. An out-door party was getting rowdy. My partner and I split up to find the host and the dj. I neared a couple of pick-ups where a bar and food tables were set up. Before I reached them three women pulled Mr. Sandburg out of the bed of one of the trucks.

The women were rather inebriated and had mistaken Mr. Sandburg for a stripper."

Jim sighed, only his guide. The man had trouble written on his soul.

"The women who molested your observer are in the drunk tank, Detective Ellison, and we shut the party down. Mr. Sandburg isn't pressing assault charges."

Inglebocke made a choking sound, Jim ignored him. "Thank you, Hodges, Riggs. I'll see he gets home."

"Good night, Detective, Mr. Sandburg." The Hodges waved at them and her partner nodded, following her out. Jim wondered if Blair was going to add anything to the brief description when the sentinel noted the broken blood vessels along the younger man's jaw. He decided to let the interrogation go for now.

"Come on, Chief. I'll buy you diner - I was thinking Wonderburger." Jim put his hand on Blair lower back and guided him back out toward the stairs.

"Jim, man, you're going to harden your arteries before you hit fifty. We can go by Luisian's and get some great fish and salads, they even make their own sarsaparilla soda."

"Their own what soda? That sounds a little too ... herbal for my taste. Probably green and smells like lawn clippings."

Blair smacked Jim, "Think root beer, man."

Jim growled under his breath when he heard Inglebocke mutter to himself about porn star ride-alongs. "You know, Chief," Jim interupted the grad student's discourse on the health benifits of sarsaparilla. "I don't think Inglebocke is going to last very long."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I just don't think he's cut out for Major Crimes."