Control Issues
Rated ADULT
Angst Ahead! Character rape, social issues, sexual content, de facto slavery

THIRTY SIX
***
"Eli?" Blair called softly as he stuck his head through the open door. The heavy cherry furniture and large windows with a view of Rainier's manicured lawns were unsubtle reminders of Eli's power both at Rainier and in the larger anthropological community; however, the piles of random papers and journals and dusty books showed just how little he cared.

"Blair?" Eli said as he looked up from his computer. He was a thin man, still holding on to the last of his athletic build, even now when he had to be approaching seventy. "Don't tell me you're here to give me the 'take care of my Sentinel or else' speech. I imagine Captain Ellison would be less than amused by any such gesture," he said with a smile, but the expression quickly faded as Blair came in the room and closed the heavy door.

"Blair?" he asked again, this time pushing back from his computer.

"They took him," Blair answered as he stepped into the room. The despair washed over him, leaving a cold fury behind.

"What? Who?"

"The SI," Blair snapped. "And it's bogus. I mean, this guy at work called them just because he's pissed at me because I busted a buddy of his. But I'm getting Jim back."

"Wait," Eli shook his head and came out from behind his desk. "Blair, if the SI took him, there has to be some sort of charge. Why did they take him?"

"Aldo told them I was putting him in danger. And those idiots came and put chains on him, and that is totally not fair." Blair sighed and let himself lean on the arm of a couch covered in boxes that spewed plastic packing material and tissue paper. "Man, I'm going to make Aldo sorry he ever picked up the phone. Just as soon as I get Jim back, I am so totally coming up with some sort of legal charges or an official complaint or something." Blair reached back and pulled the tie out of his hair so he could run his fingers through it.

"Oh my," Eli said as he shifted and rolled forward in his chair.

"Yeah, hey, I just wanted to let you know that Jim wasn't going to be able to do the whole interview thing today. I'm really sorry."

"I'm not really worried about that," Eli said slowly. Blair looked up and could see the worry on Eli's face.

"Hey, I'm getting him back. You don't have to look all worried because I'm so getting him back."

"Blair." Eli sighed and then stopped.

"What is it?" Blair asked, suddenly worried that there was something even worse going on with Eli, and Blair really wasn't up to much more stress right now.

"Blair, don't take this the wrong way, but have you taken any drugs today?" Eli asked with such a serious expression that for a second Blair could only blink in surprise.

"Have I what?"

"I fully understand stress, but if you…"

"No way," Blair interrupted, holding up a hand to keep Eli from saying anything else. "Man, no way would I risk losing Jim by showing up high. Why would you even think that?"

"I certainly didn't mean to upset you, but your eyes are quite dilated," Eli said quietly as he stood and came to the front of the desk, pushing a pile that threatened to fall closer to the center of the desk as he passed it.

"Oh man." Blair rubbed his hand over his face and retreated to the window where he could watch underclassmen wander the campus. He remembered when he'd first come to the university back when things looked so damn simple. His eyes were dilated. Bond stress. Blair nearly laughed as he considered just how much his world had changed since he was that 16 year old kid who knew everything on his first day of college. He'd been so sure he would have his PhD by 22 and be changing the world by 25. Instead, it seemed like the older he got, the less he knew about anything. Dilated eyes. Yeah, that figured. With his luck, the judge would take one look at Blair and order a drug test.

"If there's some sort of problem, you know I'll help."

"Eli," Blair said helplessly. He took a deep breath as he thought through his options. At the top of the list was eviscerate Aldo. Without him around, Blair would have Jim to talk this through with. Almost immediately, Blair felt that familiar doubt leech into his mind. Since when did he need to discuss his plans with someone else? Blair turned to face the office and leaned back against the cool glass.

"Eli, if I told you something really unbelievable, would you try to keep an open mind?" Blair chewed his lip and watched as Eli considered him in serious silence for a long moment.

"I would certainly try," Eli agreed solemnly as he leaned forward in his chair. "I have a very high opinion of your judgment, so I would at least consider anything you said."

"Yeah, well maybe you shouldn't have such a high opinion of my judgment because it's been pretty wrong for a very long time." Blair took a deep breath. Right. Now or never. He pushed aside a need, like spiders under his skin, to talk to Jim before taking a step like this, especially after they'd agreed that telling people was probably a pretty bad idea.

"When Jim lived with the tribe in Peru, the shaman told him that Sentinels could bond to anyone, but that some people, he called them Guides, actually bond in return."

Blair bit his lip and glanced up at Eli nervously. He really didn't want his mentor to think he'd lost his mind. Much to his surprise, Eli just nodded slowly.

"Burton's manuscript references the companion several times, and the Isandi diary certainly implies the partner has some sort of spiritual connection; however, most modern anthropologists have explained those through simple sexual dynamics. Sexual partners develop feelings for each other, even without the biological imperative of a true bond. However, like I've told you many times, good anthropologists challenge assumptions."

Blair felt the choking fingers of fear loosen as he realized that Eli wasn't just dismissing him.

"Man, this is more than sexual dynamics, especially since I haven't even gotten with the sex yet." The moment the words were out of his mouth, Blair felt himself blush deeply enough to make his whole face hot, but Eli just chuckled.

"Ignoring the sexual comment, do I take it that you see yourself as Captain Ellison's Guide?"

"Man, his stressed Guide. I haven't taken anything, but I imagine if we did some tests, I'd have all sorts of physical bond-stress symptoms. Eli, I sound like a nut, talking about myself having bond-stress when I'm not a Sentinel. Man, if Chancellor Edwards could hear me now, I would so be out on my ear."

Eli shook his head. "The Chancellor is so busy with the politics of the university that she has forgotten that research has any end other than providing an interesting topic for a fund-raising dinner. I'm not worried about her. Now, as for this revelation of yours--let's approach this like the scientists we are. The hypothesis is that Guides are biologically determined and capable of bonding. How do we test this theory of yours?" Eli asked calmly. Blair took a deep breath and allowed himself to see it as a scientific puzzle and not his own very twisted life.

"I did a ketosis test. Man, let's say that the SI would have a Sentinel on some good sedatives with those ketone levels," Blair said wryly.

"You've already tested yourself?" The mild curiosity of a second ago transformed into something more intense. "Proof of a reciprocal bond could open an entirely new field in Sentinel studies. Of course, with a sample of one, the results are little more than an anomaly, but if you truly have formed a secondary bond to a Sentinel, then surely others have as well." Eli stood up and grabbed a notepad off the top of one of the stacks on his desk. "If we sample long-term Sentinel-guardian pairs who have mutually high ratings, we should be able to determine a protocol for testing for a bond and bond strength, probably some variation on the testing done with Sentinels. We may need to publish preliminary work with just your recorded data before we can establish the need for testing."

"Whoa, hey, Eli," Blair interrupted slightly desperate to cut this off at the pass. Eli was actually freaking him out a little. "I'm not okay with that."

Eli blinked at him owlishly, and Blair cringed back from the disappointment he could feel from his mentor.

"Eli, I get it. I know this is big. But right now, I totally need to focus on Sentinels."

"Blair, the truth…"

"Hey, the truth will set you free. Totally. I get that. But the system sucks, Eli. If we prove Guides are biological, the system is going to just broaden out and suck more. My goal is to give Sentinels back their rights—"

"Not give the SI the power to deny another group their rights?" Eli finished. "Not give them power over you?"

Blair stopped and just stared at Eli who stood next to his desk, pen in hand.

"I suck," Blair admitted softly. "I sent how many people into the system? And yeah, it would be total karma if I ended up losing my rights to the SI."

"Blair, no!" Eli dropped the pen and paper on the desk and moved forward, his hand resting on Blair's shoulder. "You have done nothing except act in the best possible manner to protect human life. You have nothing to apologize for. I simply wished to make the point that you have a cause for fear, and fear can lead to irrational choices."

"Oh, I have a lot to apologize for, and I'm trying to atone for that. And yeah, there's fear in there too, but I think the guilt is outweighing the fear." Blair whispered his confession.

"Academic twelve step? You're going to admit you have a problem and then try to make it up to anyone you've affected?" Eli asked with a sad smile. "Blair, you aren't an alcoholic, and you don't have anything to atone for. However, the existence of biological Guides does impact Sentinel studies rather significantly. Have you considered the ramifications of this?"

"You mean the part where I could end up in the SI? Once or twice," Blair admitted. "And then there's the part where I wonder how much of my brain is hardwired because it's kinda freaky knowing that something primitive is pushing your emotional and hormonal buttons."

"Have you considered the impact of Guides on your Sentinel research? Your theory is that the SI is promoting a lack of control by removing responsibility."

"Totally. Man, learned helplessness would account for a wide range of anti-social behaviors seen in Sentinels, especially American Sentinels."

"Yes, but have you considered that one of the uncontrolled variables here might be the presence of a Guide?"

Blair shook his head even as Eli said it. "No way. Jim had his control long before he met me."

"Yes, but how does possessing a Guide affect control? And if a Guide can bond and maintain control, how can the SI deny the possibility that Sentinels could do the same?" Eli took a step back. "Blair, I'm appealing to the scientist in you. I know you are passionate about your research into Sentinels, but can you truly deny the possibility that research into Guides might be just as valuable? That is," Eli slid his glasses down and considered Blair over the top of them, "assuming that you are right and that Guides bond."

"Eli… I just…"

"When is Captain Ellison's hearing?"

Blair didn't answer right away, he struggled with a reason to just cut off this whole conversation, but he honestly couldn't come up with one. "Jim, he wanted you to call him Jim," Blair finally said. His brain chased the logic of Eli's argument through his brain without finding any holes, but a little part of his soul still shriveled away from the idea of drawing official attention.

"When is Jim's hearing?" Eli asked.

"Tomorrow. I stopped by to pick up some research. I know that the judge is going to throw the book at Aldo for using her court to get his petty revenge, but while we're there, I'm going to ask permission for Jim to do undercover work. A local thug thinks that Jim is a criminal who uses a removable collar to hide illegal activities."

"Oh. And does Aldo know that Jim has been talking to criminals?"

Blair snorted. "Hell, no. But really, it wasn't anything either of us planned, so the judge can't blame us either. But Jim could do a lot of good going undercover."

"And it might get that collar off him," Eli said gently. He sighed and turned back to his desk chair, settling into it slowly.

"Yeah. Man, I'm still not feeling good about the fact I helped them put it on him."

"I understand your concern, but Blair, you need to approach the work scientifically. You have a theory: Sentinels are capable of a high-level of self control. You have a second theory: the SI undermines their control. Jim can certainly give you anecdotal evidence, but if you want to change the system you need to focus that incredibly sharp mind of yours on finding these in-control Sentinels and recording the data."

Blair nodded as walked back to the couch. He pushed the packing materials away from a corner and sat. "I know. And Eli, I will help with the intake interviews at the SI and the follow up interviews. I will do all the testing of the identified Sentinels, and I will totally look the other way while Jim helps you with the runners."

"But you won't do your own research, and you really don't want me to pursue any research along the lines of Guides if it means pulling you in as a research subject," Eli summarized. He pulled his glasses off and rested his chin on his fist. "Blair, your decisions are not in the best interests of the science."

"But they are in the best interests of keeping Jim. If I'm doing something illegal, Aldo is going to bust me in two seconds flat, and if the SI starts looking at me, questioning my judgment because I have a bond, then Jim and I are going to end up under a microscope. Man, let me just say that our relationship is so not going to handle that."

"So, your concern is for Jim?" Eli asked. Blair nodded. "Okay, the second part I can easily address. Blair, I will not release your name or any identifying information. We have worked together long enough that I think I have earned your trust on that issue."

Blair cringed and focused on the decorative trim on the front of Eli's desk instead of looking at the man. "I know you'd protect a research subject. I totally didn't mean to imply you wouldn't."

"And as for the first part. You need to decide how you can best protect Jim, if that's your goal. Certainly, by acting within the constraints of the law you are protecting yourself from SI action, but if you want to convince society to give Jim more rights, you may need to take more risks."

Blair looked up at Eli, studying those blue-grey eyes that studied him right back. "Eli," he said helplessly.

"Young Mr. Sandburg," Eli started, a term he had first used on Blair when Blair was sixteen years old and staring wide-eyed at the campus. "You have choices, and you need to think about what you want and how you are going to get it."

"Man, you're playing dirty," Blair complained softly. He did want Jim to have the same rights as everyone else. And yeah, Sentinels who had learned to be helpless would probably still need the structure of the guardian system, but treating Sentinels like children shouldn't be the default position. And Blair didn't even want to think what sort of indignities and disrespect Jim was suffering back in the SI again. Blair could feel his heart start pounding at the thought.

"While I would like to say that fighting dirty is beneath me, it clearly isn't," Eli agreed. "Blair, the truth is always better than even a misguided attempt to try and control the flow of information. Researching the possibilities of Guides and Guide-bonds will not hurt Jim's chances at being recognized as a full citizen."

Blair sat back and stared at the ceiling. The anthropologist in him already agreed with Eli. But he couldn't avoid the small fear that at this point any knowledge would just end up twisted if the SI got a hold of it. And a huge part of him just wanted to talk this over with Jim since this really was his fight, his and the other Sentinels who could maintain self-control.

"We could do some tests with you this afternoon, see if we can get an MRI over at the hospital even. I would have you home in time for a good night's sleep, and tomorrow you can go get Jim back."

"Man, am I this pushy when I'm trying to get someone to work with me?" Blair asked with a snort.

"I remember a young man who took on a local's challenge and spent two hours balancing on a sacred rock just to get the tribe to introduce you to their Sentinel."

"You know, you could have told me the rock wasn't sacred and they were just pulling my leg," Blair said as he looked at Eli. The old man had an amused expression.

"Yes, but you earned their respect. I think stubbornness is the first requirement in anthropology."

"And when we finish the tests, maybe you can help me find a few case studies that would support the idea that a Sentinel can work undercover?" Blair asked.

"Deal," Eli agreed with a smile as he stood up and walked around his desk with his hand out to shake on it.

Blair took his hand and finished the deal. "Man, I never thought I would be on the other end of Sentinel testing," he mused as he pushed himself up using the arm of the couch.

"Karma is a bitch, my friend," Eli agreed. "Give me a second to gather some notes, and we're going to see whether you have the biological evidence of a bond."

THIRTY SEVEN
***
Walking into the familiar courtroom, Jim sighed at the sight of his supposed social worker sorting through papers at the table. The bailiff led him to through the low swinging door and guided him to a chair next to her.

"I have your file right here," she said in a distracted voice as she kept flipping through papers. Jim realized he'd forgotten her name and he couldn't come up with a polite way to ask for it. Of course, at another time he might not have worried about being polite, but right now he needed to make the system happy, and being rude to the social worker was not on his agenda.

"Have you talked to Blair?" he asked, trying not to give voice to the panic he could feel curling in his guts.

"I didn't have a chance to call," she gave him an apologetic look and a shrug as she pulled out a file. "Is he a good guardian?" she asked, looking at the papers in her hand. Jim could tell that she was paying more attention to him than she seemed to be, though.

"He's a very good guardian," Jim agreed. "He leaves his towels on the floor, but no roommate is perfect."

The woman abandoned the pretense of reading the file as she looked at him in surprise.

"Do you want to go back with him?" she asked, and Jim could almost read her train of thought. If Jim liked Blair, why wasn't he panicking over the chance of being taken away? Jim focused on the woman.

"I know I'll go home with Blair. The guy who filed the complaint…"

"Detective Aldo," the social worker filled in for him, as though Jim didn't know the name of the asshole trying to ruin his life.

"Detective Aldo has an ax to grind with Blair; Blair busted a dirty cop inside Internal Affairs, and ever since then, he has harassed Blair to the point that Captain Banks has complained about his lack of professionalism," Jim quickly summarized, trying not to show his aggravation that the woman hadn't investigated any of this herself.

"So he's wrong about Detective Sandburg taking you to the scene of a pedophile's attack and murder of a little girl?"

"We went to the scene, but only long after the event. There was no chance of the suspect being on scene."

"And yet, he was," the social worker pointed out.

Jim stared at her, calmly marshalling his arguments while trying to not scream in frustration. No wonder Sentinels went on rages.

"He wasn't there at the scene I was asked to cover. Neither time. I picked up on his scent when Blair and I went to inform the detective in charge of the scene that we were leaving. It was just dumb luck, and the sort of dumb luck that leads to a pedophile and murderer being arrested," Jim pointed out. He would have crossed his arms and glared, but the shackles made that impossible. Instead, he curled his hands into fists as they lay in his lap.

"So, Detective Sandburg did break regulations," the social worked concluded.

"His captain didn't say so," Jim said, shifting slightly so he could stare at the judge's bench instead of the social worker who sat beside him.

"Captain Banks did file a petition in favor of Detective Sandburg," she admitted. Jim glanced over, surprised that Banks had gotten so involved. While he had shown Jim more respect than most people did, Jim hadn't expected him to get involved. The moment the back door to the courthouse opened, Jim knew it was his Guide.

"Blair." The whisper escaped before he could think about it, and the social worker glanced back.

"It is him. Your rating must be quite high."

Jim continued to stare forward, struggling to keep his control firmly in hand. The familiar heart pounded just a little too fast, and the scent that now teased Jim smelled of adrenaline.

"All rise," the bailiff ordered. "Judge Brampton presiding." Jim struggled up, his chains making it hard to move the chair far enough to comfortably stand. A familiar face appeared in a door behind the judge's bench and the judge walked to her chair and sat.

"Be seated," the bailiff ordered. Jim sat as the judge flipped through a file matching the one his social worker had.

"James, this makes three times in as many months. What am I going to do with you?" the judge asked in exasperation. Since the question sounded rhetorical, Jim ignored it and focused on Blair whose heart beat dangerously fast.

"Steph, what's up with my favorite Sentinel?" she asked. The social worker stood up.

"I received a very serious complaint from Lieutenant Aldo in Internal Affairs. He claims Detective Sandburg illegally included Sentinel Ellison in the pursuit of a pedophile, putting both the suspect and Sentinel Ellison in significant danger. James insists that he was simply checking a scene and that the presence of the pedophile was coincidence, but Detective Sandburg took him to the scene of a child's murder, an act which appears illegal on the face of it."

"Not illegally," Jim interrupted. He expected someone to tell him to shut up, but the judge looked over at him.

"James?" she prompted.

Jim took a deep breath. He hadn't expected to be heard, but he knew he had one chance at this. "At most, this was a breach of policy, and that's something Blair has addressed with his captain. But he never broke any Sentinel law or any other law."

"Illegal might have been too strong a word," the social worker said, her lips getting thin as she looked over at Jim with clear aggravation. Too damn bad for her. "However, Detective Sandburg clearly put his Sentinel in harm's way and violated department policy by allowing contact between Sentinel Ellison and a pedophile. The emotional damage Sentinel Ellison could have suffered if he'd gone into a rage and killed the suspect…. Your honor, this is clearly not a healthy situation for Sentinel Ellison."

Jim gritted his teeth as his social worker described the situation in the worst possible terms. His opinion didn't actually count; Jim pulled at the chains until the wrist cuff bit into his skin, the physical pain pulling him back from the cold fury that left him ready to snap the woman's neck. And from the way the judge considered Blair through narrowed eyes, the social worker was going to get her way. Jim's fists curled around the chains as he considered just how little choice he had.

"Your honor," Blair called from the seats behind the rail.

"Detective Sandburg, it's so nice to see you fully conscious, but I am wondering what the hell you were thinking—if you were thinking at all," the judge demanded, her voice sharp.

"Neither of us expected to find the suspect on scene. We were just investigation the crime scene, not actually pursuing Kari Taylor's killer." Blair pulled out the same arguments he'd used with Simon, but the judge looked significantly less impressed with them, and that wasn't an easy task considering how uniquely unimpressed Simon had been.

"So, you were investigating the child's death without pursing the suspect?"

"Exactly." Blair nodded enthusiastically as the back door on the court room opened. Jim's eyes opened wide when he recognized his father's face. He was older, deep lines highlighted his eyes and age spots mottled his skin. His hair had turned white, but the square jaw and hard eyes hadn't changed at all.

"Detective Sandburg, that sounds suspiciously like equivocation," the judge continued, and Jim pulled his attention back to the proceedings.

"No, your honor. I already talked to my captain after we did the first sweep of the area, and that was when Jim identified clues that led to a whole new line of investigation. Two new lines really, three if you count the ceramic dog, but the point is that the investigation at the scene led to the arrest of Antonio Herrera."

Blair had started babbling, and Jim prepared himself for the worst. They were going to lock him in a little cell and then, depending on who was in charge, they would either just let him stew for several weeks until the need to find Blair was overwhelming or they would bring in someone who would verbally attack Blair until Jim felt that same overwhelming need to find his companion. At least this time, he'd be locked up by people who knew the dangers of a Sentinel who was suffering a broken bond, so there wouldn't be another disaster with a guard or even a chance of him having a stroke, at least not a large chance. Jim almost wished he could just have a stroke and avoid the breaking bond, but the worst part was knowing that Blair would suffer the same, only he'd have to do it alone.

"This seems like a lot of fast talk for you putting James' needs one step behind your desire to catch this killer. Detective Sandburg, while I admire your dedication to your job, I would remind you that as a guardian, you must always put your Sentinel's needs first. Always."

"I totally get that." Blair nodded his head until the flash of the earring reflecting the florescent lights just about made Jim zone. Control shifted, abandoning Jim as he clutched the wrist chains.

"No, you obviously don't get that," the judge snapped. "If you did you'd avoid putting James in a position where he could have lost control—and then he would have to live with the knowledge that he had killed someone."

"Your honor, I know. It was really stupid," Blair immediately changed tactics.

"Stupid doesn't cover it," the judge interrupted, clearly not impressed. "You're just lucky that James has so much control, and I'm just not sure I can trust you to put James' needs above your own work as a detective."

"I never…"

"Thought about James' needs as a Sentinel? *That* is clearly evident," the judge snapped.

"He's thinking about Jimmy's needs more than anyone else in this room," a voice called from the audience. At first, Jim didn't even recognize his father's voice. The confidence Jim remembered had become the tremulous thread of an old man.

"This is not an open hearing," the judge cut him off and the bailiff started walking toward the audience, ready to enforce the judge's order.

"I'm William Ellison, Jimmy's father," he said as he stepped to the rail that divided the front of the courtroom from the audience.

Jimmy. His father hadn't called him Jimmy since he was twelve years old on that football field. After that it was 'Jim, act your age' or 'James, show some self control.' And yet, now that he had proved every one of his father's fears true by sitting in a Sentinel court in chains, his father came in and called him Jimmy.

"Mr. Ellison, if you think your position is going to convince me to alter my decision, I can tell you that your money means less than nothing to me. My job is to defend your son's best interests. As of right now, you don't have any part in that."

Jim watched his father step forward, a hand spotted with age resting on the rail between the seating and the front. "If you're concerned about my son, then let him do some good work. You take away his chance to make a difference in the world, and you'll destroy him quicker than anything," William said calmly, and Jim found himself suddenly confused. In all him imagined reunions with his father, he had envisioned accusations and recriminations, but never this unfamiliar old man trying to stand up for him.

"Your honor," Jim started, not sure what he was going to say.

"Jimmy was a Ranger, or have all of you forgotten that? He's earned fifteen service medals. He served as a commanding officer."

"Mr. Ellison, I know that James has served his country…"

"No!" William slapped his hand down on the rail, and the bailiff took an involuntary step forward. Twisting in his seat, Jim glanced back toward Blair, trying to decide if this was one of his Guide's hair-brained ideas, but Blair looked just as confused as the rest of them.

"No, you know nothing," William said more calmly this time. "He was always a Sentinel. You folks think that he developed late, but he developed sight when he was twelve. He had all five senses by the time he was sixteen, and I have the medical records here. Dr. Vogt has died since then, but his records are legal documents."

Jim stood, the chains digging in his wrists as he moved too quickly, and his father's eyes focused on him.

"Roy," the judge said, and the bailiff stepped between Jim and his father, motioning Jim back to his seat.

"Dad," Jim said quietly, but the bailiff's hand on his arm pushed him back, and Jim had to either sit or fight. He sat.

"Mr. Ellison, you are confessing to a felony here."

William nodded. "Yes, your honor. I already told my lawyer what I was doing. But Jimmy is a soldier, and now he's a cop. You take that away from him and you'll take something important. If his partner took him to the scene, then it was because his partner knows that Jimmy has control. He's had control for twenty years, and that's not going to change just because you lot finally figured out that he's got the senses."

Jim looked up at the judge who had a shocked expression and then back toward his father who stood with his fingers wrapped around the rail as he leaned forward.

"I'm taking this to chambers. I want the two Ellisons and Detective Sandburg in my chambers now," the judge demanded. And then she was up and out of the room before the bailiff could even call for people to rise.

"Roy, should I…?" the social worker asked, waving a hand toward the door to chambers.

The bailiff came around the table and got a hand under Jim's elbow, pulling him up, and Jim gritted his teeth at the overt show of control. "Nah, the judge was pretty specific," he said as he pulled Jim toward the door behind the judge's desk. "You two, come on," he said to Blair and his father who still stood in the audience. Blair practically scrambled to come through the gate, his father was a little slower. The few other people in the room, probably other social workers or lawyers sat and whispered to each other as they all headed to the judge's chambers. Jim shuffled down the hallway, the bailiff's fingers firmly pulling his arm and Blair's fingers brushing against his back as they walked.

"Is this some scheme of yours, Detective?" the judge demanded when they reached chambers. She sat on the sill of her window, the screen pulled out and laid on the floor and a fan pointed at her as she took a deep pull at her cigarette and then blew smoke outside.

"No your honor," Blair quickly said as the bailiff pointed Jim at a chair and pushed him down. The bailiff stood behind Jim, arms crossed, but Blair still slid closer until he could let his hand rest on Jim's arm. The warmth centered Jim even as the bailiff's cold glare in Blair's direction made him want to back the tall guard into a corner and have a few words with him about picking on someone his own size.

His father took a seat as far from them as he could. Jim was still trying to figure out what his father's game was.

"So," the judge said after another drag at the cigarette. "If I have Roy open that bag of yours, is he going to find more of these mysterious medical records that prove James has been a Sentinel all along?"

"I have the medical records, if that's what you want to see," William said as he pulled papers out of his briefcase. "My lawyer has the originals, but if you need to see them, you can."

The judge glared at him for a second. "Detective Sandburg, this is your one chance to convince me that you aren't just unfit as a guardian but also trying to pull some con that will get you held in contempt of court."

Jim yanked at his chains hard enough to make them rattle, and the judge glanced over at him, her brows lowering in a frown.

"You honor," Blair said, and Jim could hear the tremor in his voice. Holding his backpack with one hand he started rummaging around in it with the other. "I never thought you'd take Aldo's charges seriously. I didn't even bring anything to defend against those because I didn't think I needed defending. I brought case studies, several Sentinels in World War II, a few who from Europe and one in Asia. I wanted Jim to have the right to work undercover, and so all the evidence I brought, it's all to convince you to give Jim more freedom." Blair stumbled to a stop, papers clutched in his hand, and Jim could smell the panic.

"So, you have no problem endangering your Sentinel and you want my permission to endanger him more?" The judge's eyebrows rose.

"Man, I would never do anything to put Jim in danger, and yeah, the whole scene of the crime was pushing the rules a little bit, but it was totally not against regulations, and I knew Jim wouldn't have trouble."

"How did you know that?" the judge asked, leaning forward while she hung the hand with the cigarette out the window.

Blair glanced down, but Jim could only look up and hope that the kid's tongue could get them out of this.

"He told me that he'd been a Sentinel the whole time. He was ordered to work with a general who had slaughtered a village, including all the children. No way would he have gone off the deep end. And he so didn't. When he found the suspect, he didn't use excessive force, not even excessive for a non-Sentinel. Man, he was totally in control."

"So, you're buying this story about him developing in adolescence, too?" the judge asked before she transferred her gaze to William. "Okay, so either convince me you committed a felony twenty or so years ago, or I'm going to assume you are pulling a very strange con."

"Your honor," William held out the papers. "I have his medical records. Dr. Vogt kept Jimmy's original tests, but he would always substitute other figures for the school records."

"I really should be advising you to not say anything more until you're represented by a lawyer, but I have to ask. Why would you do that?" The judge leaned farther out the window and took another deep pull at the cigarette, but Jim focused on his father. For twenty years he'd wanted to ask that question… more than twenty years. Some nights he would tell himself that his father was afraid for him, but others he would remember that angry expression, his father bending over him, yelling, and he couldn't imagine any love in that face. Then, the lessons on control seemed more about William Ellison protecting himself and the reputation of his youngest son from the taint of the elder. Now, his father's hands shook slightly as he put the medical records down on the chair next to his.

"His mother and I didn't want anyone to know."

"Mom?!" Jim demanded angrily. Even though he knew he should stay out of this, he just couldn't. "Mom left when I was a kid; she didn't have anything to do with this."

His father shook his head. "Your mother didn't know you were a Sentinel, but we knew you or Stevie might inherit the gene. We didn't want you stuck in the system."

Jim could see his father's eyes brighten with tears that the stubborn old man wouldn't cry, and Jim just didn't even have an answer to that.

"Jim's mom was a Sentinel," Blair said quietly. William nodded.

"She did develop late… after Stevie was born. We hid it as long as we could, but when it got too dangerous, she headed for Canada."

"So, you drove your wife out of her home and away from her children and left her vulnerable to slavers or maybe just the weather as she ran from the law?" the judge demanded. "Do you even know if she's alive?"

William shook his head, and Jim clutched at the chains, struggling to even understand everything his father was saying. How many times had his father yelled at him and Stevie to stop talking about their mother? He'd pulled down every picture of her, locked them up like he wanted them to forget her. And she had run to hide being a Sentinel? "She had an aunt," William finally said. "She was in the system, and her guardian beat her to death. And the only thing the law did was call it an accident. The woman didn't have any rights," William snapped back.

"You were her husband. Unless you planned to beat her to death, that wouldn't have been an issue. And while the system does sometimes fail, any Sentinel is entitled to protection, even from a guardian." The judge paused long enough to look at Blair. "Especially from a guardian."

"But there was no guarantee that I would get custody. I had a couple of convictions for insider trading and unfair business practices. We couldn't stand the thought that some judge could give her to another man like a piece of property. And if she were a registered Sentinel, they'd look at the boys even more closely. We knew we'd never be able to protect them if they developed senses." William stopped and took deep breaths, obviously struggling to control his emotions. "Jimmy grew up fine. He never needed the SI to learn to control himself or his senses."

"This is ridiculous." The judge put the cigarette out on the window sill and tossed it from the window before coming over and picking up the medical records from the chair next to William.

"I did the best I knew for my family," William said softly.

"Yeah, well you fucked it up on all counts from where I'm sitting," the judge said without a whole lot of compassion. She flipped through the records slowly, scanning each page as she slowly backed up until she could sit on the edge of her desk.

"Do you have any idea what these records show?" the judge demanded as she pinned William Ellison with a furious expression.

"They show he was a Sentinel even back then."

The judge snorted. "They show he was a highly disturbed and distressed Sentinel. His tests are all over the map. He has no consistent levels, and his control varies widely from one test to another. If I had a sixteen year old with these records, I would remove him from the family and put him into an Institute two years early."

"He was fine. He controlled himself," William objected, but the judge just gave him a withering look.

"Okay, so based on the evidence, I would have to assume that Detective Sandburg and Mr. Ellison are right. James developed his abilities in adolescence, which does suggest that he has a higher level of control than these tests would indicate. These tests show a Sentinel on the verge of disaster."

"Your honor, may I?" Blair asked as he held out his hand. The judge considered him for a second and then surrendered the records. "Jim, would it bother you?" Blair asked as he looked down, and Jim gave a little shake of his head.

"Go ahead and knock yourself out, Chief," he offered. Blair already knew more about him than anyone else, and if anything, it bothered him that the judge and his father had seen something that Blair had not. Blair stood and flipped through the pages of medical records describing the worst years of Jim's life. Jim had been happier lying in his own waste in an eighteen inch high shelter trying to kill a man with a long-range sniper rifle.

"Your honor, my father…" Jim paused. "My father made some mistakes."

The judge snorted, her fingers working nervously as though she wanted another cigarette.

"But Blair has been nothing like that. Blair has listened to my concerns, and if anything, he has held me back. He tried to keep me from going after the murder suspect. And if he'd had any idea that the suspect would still be right there at the same place where he'd left the body, he never would have taken me back there. My only complaint with Blair is that he sometimes forgets that I was a captain in the Rangers. I commanded men and made life and death decisions on a regular basis. I watched men die in my arms because of the decisions I made, and I collected their dog tags and went on with the mission objectives." Jim kept his voice calm, and he focused on the judge, trying to force her just through will power to see past Jim the Sentinel and see Jim the man.

"And you had your senses?" she asked, her hands reaching for the cigarette pack on her desk.

"Yes, ma'am. Sometimes they would fade, but there was always some of it there. The guys used to call me 'Radar' because I would hear things coming."

The judge retreated back to the window as she lit the second cigarette. For a long time, she smoked and stared out over Cascade, and Blair's fingers tightened on Jim's arm. Jim wished he could reach up and take Blair's hand and promise him that it was okay, but he didn't have the power to do either. He strained at the chains, even knowing it was hopeless, just because he didn't have any other way of letting Blair know how much he wanted to be free to take Blair in his arms. Jim shoved aside the whole question of his father because that emotional tangle was simply too snarled for him to even try and figure out right now.

"Your tests from childhood. They show some numbers higher than on your SI jacket, and that jacket is pretty impressive," the judge finally said to the skyline. However, Jim knew exactly where she was going.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered.

"You were tricking the tests," she accused him as she finally looked back into the room.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Damn it, this is so far out in left field that I don't even have a precedent for it."

"Man, I am taking my job as guardian seriously," Blair interrupted her thoughts, and she focused on him. "I'll do anything to keep custody. You tell me what I have to do and I'll do it," he vowed.

"You aren't taking him undercover," the judge started, and Blair nodded immediately. "And he needs to be retested. I want true numbers on his senses, and I want to make sure they're stable. These older records show evidence of psychological trauma, and I want a full series to make sure that isn't still lurking in there."

"Dr. Stoddard at the university is doing a study on Sentinels and control," Blair quickly offered, although Jim did notice how the man edited himself out of the picture. Then again, the judge hadn't been impressed with Blair's judgment, so that was probably a smart obfuscation. "He could do a full set of tests on limits and control."

"James, no more tricking the tests," the judge warned, pointing her fingers at him with the cigarette still between them before she dangled the hand out the window again. The smoke detector gave a little chirp.

"Yes, your honor," Jim agreed, the coils of steel fear in his stomach slowly unwinding as the judge finally relented.

"And Mr. Ellison, your callous behavior toward your son is, quite frankly, shocking. I am entering a protective order, and you are not to have any contact with James. None. I get wind of one letter, one phone call, one accidental meeting on the street and you will be in jail for contempt of court, got it?"

"Yes, your honor," William nodded. He glanced over toward Jim, and for the first time since entering the service, Jim found himself wishing he could spend time with the man. He had made so many decisions in his mind about why his father would have done what he did, and now Jim found himself questioning all of them; however, his father's eyes slid down to the floor. "I haven't had contact with him for twenty-six years, your honor. I won't challenge the order."

"You're going to be lucky if you don't end up in jail," the judge pointed out. "Okay, I'm awarding probationary custody to Detective Sandburg on the condition that I get a new set of tests that align with these tests from his childhood. I also plan on making sure Steph pays you a few extra visits, and I want to see you back here in four weeks for a reevaluation. Please try and not end up back in my courtroom before then, gentlemen. Roy, process James into Detective Sandburg's custody, please."

The judge turned her back and returned to her cigarette, and Jim found he could finally breathe without the pain in his chest. Beside him, Blair gave a strangled sound and his fingers tightened into Jim's arm.

"Let's go home, Chief," Jim said as the bailiff caught his other arm and pulled him upright. Jim shuffled along with him to processing. "I'll meet you around the side," he said as Blair silently tried to follow. Not only would they not allow Blair there, but Jim didn't exactly want his Guide to see what the Institute uniform hid. For a second, Blair blinked as though in a trance, and then he nodded his head.

"You got it. I'll pick you up," he smiled.

THIRTY EIGHT
***
Jim let his hand rest on Blair's shoulder as his Guide unlocked the door to the loft. Home. Jim let his senses out as he scanned the familiar territory. The loft smelled of incense and burned grilled cheese sandwich.

"Blair," Jim said as Blair locked the door behind them. Blair turned and looked at him with dark eyes for a brief second before he stepped into Jim's arms. Jim held Blair's trembling body close, letting the warmth between them chase away the cold fears that had crawled into his soul in the last twenty four hours.

"I thought. Fuck, I don't even want to say it out loud," Blair gave a weak laugh and then he tilted up his head to look at Jim. "Welcome home."

Jim took the opportunity to press his lips to Blair's, to taste and nibble and feel the heat as Blair opened his mouth and tightened his arms around Jim's waist. Jim didn't want words, not now. He had his Guide, and he needed something other than words.

Blair moaned into his mouth, fingers pulling up at Jim's shirt, and then warm hands quested over his skin. Now Jim moaned as he pulled them toward the couch. He had more layers to work through to find his way to Blair's skin, and he pushed Blair's vest off.

Blair broke away from the kiss, panting, his eyes black with lust and he hauled his shirt over his head and flung it out of the way.

"Shh. Calm down," Jim murmured as he pulled Blair back into an embrace. He could feel Blair's heart pound and the blood rush through the skin so that his whole body pulsed in time with the hands that pulled at Jim's shirt.

"Shhh," Jim soothed again as he pulled his own shirt off with one hand, his other arm still wrapped around Blair.

"I could have lost you," Blair gasped, his fingers working the button on Jim's pants with a silent desperation, and Jim reached down and captured the wrists in his hands, maneuvering Blair back toward the couch until the backs of his legs pressed against the cushion.

"But you didn't," Jim pointed out. "I'm here. We're together." Blair opened his mouth, and rather than get distracted with 'could haves' and possibilities, Jim kissed him again, this time aggressively exploring, pressing his body to Blair's, smelling the dark musk that rose between them, tasting the coffee and the lingering remains of panic. Letting go of one captured wrist, Jim wound an arm around Blair's waist before pushing him into the couch, forcing him down. Blair went without complaint, ending up on his back, and Jim let his own body rest on top of Blair's.

Jim put his hands on either side of Blair's face, holding him in place as he deepened the kiss, sucking and nibbling and tasting everything he could, and Blair bucked below him grunting as his hands clutched Jim's back.

Pulling back, Jim smiled at the glazed expression on Blair's face. Brushing the curls back from the neck, Jim started tasting the skin, sucking gently until he could feel Blair shiver and tremble below him as he worked his way down over the chest.

With a quiet litany of "oh mans" punctuated by grunts and gasps, Blair twisted under Jim's hands as Jim explored all that exposed skin. His nipples were dark points by the time Jim reached them and he took one in his mouth, pressing with his teeth until he heard Blair suck in a breath and then soothing the skin with small kisses.

Blair's hands fluttered around Jim's head and shoulders, brushing lightly and then flying away to fist the native blanket thrown over the back of the couch or to grab the cushion. Ignoring the needy noises and heavy lust, Jim let himself linger over Blair's stomach, fascinated by the ripple of muscle and the way the hair follicles contracted when the cool air stroked the moist trail left behind by Jim's kisses.

Jim pressed his hand into the bulge in Blair's jeans, and the man bucked up and cursed vividly, accidentally pulling the blanket down on both of them. Jim shoved it to one side and unbuttoned the jeans, slowly unzipping them so that he could see the cock stretching the white cotton of Blair's briefs.

Lifting his hips in invitation, Blair's hands tried to reach for the jeans, but Jim got there first, pushing the jeans and the underwear to Blair's knees. Another day he wanted to map every millimeter of Blair, to taste and tease and examine each square inch until Blair squirmed with need, but now he couldn't wait, and Blair couldn't either. Blair panted, his head thrown back and his Adam's apple bobbing.

Blair's shiny cock head pushed out the end of the foreskin, and Jim fingered the unfamiliar skin. The only cocks he'd ever touched, his own and Keith's, were both circumcised. However the simple touch made Blair gasp and thrust, the precum gathering in the crease of skin around the head of it. Jim glanced up and Blair was clutching the couch cushion in one hand and had his arm flung up and over the end of the couch with his other. Jim quickly unfastened his own pants and shoved them down.

"Missed you," Jim admitted as he let his weight again pin Blair to the couch. He lined their cocks up so that he could hold both in one hand while he supported his weight on his other elbow.

Blair wrapped his arms around Jim's shoulders and thrust up, his mouth open and gasping in air heavy with pheromones. Jim let his own eyes close as he lost himself in the movement of cock against cock. Jim just tightened his hold as the lust increased, taking control of his muscles. He thrust down, his motion timed with Blair's now rhythmic motions, and Blair gave a strangled shout as he came.

Jim thrust twice more and then came in a rush that left him physically dizzy and exhausted. He sank down, ignoring the stickiness between them as he allowed Blair to carry his weight.

Lying limply on the couch, one arm thrown out, Blair didn't complain. He simply brought his other arm down and started tracing circles on the back of Jim's shoulder. They lay there, sated and drowsy as the light in the loft softened and turned to the reddish glow of sunset.

"Man, you're going to smother me here," Blair finally said softly. He didn't sound like he was in any immediate danger, but Jim pushed himself up. As they separated, the smell of semen and lust thickened like a fog in the air, and Jim could feel himself harden again.

"Making up for lost time?" Blair teased as he sat up and let his hand rest on Jim's thigh.

"Something like that," Jim agreed as his cock reached half-mast. However, Blair wasn't recovering as fast, and so he pushed his own need aside.

"Totally time for that later. Lots of time. I'm thinking laying on the edge of a lake having sex pretty much 24/7 sounds good to me. We've got to make some plans first, though. I mean, with the judge keeping an eye on us, I don't know that we can use a whole lot of your money. I suppose we could write checks on the account, but we have to make sure that we're out of the country before she catches on."

"What?" Jim's brain was still sluggish with the lazy aftermath of orgasm, but he had obviously missed some important bit of conversation.

"Canada, man. We have got to make plans." Blair stood and pulled his jeans up, tucking himself away when Jim really wouldn't have minded a day or two playing nudist camp. But then again, that just might be his Sentinel instincts talking.

"Wait, what about changing the country being as important as defending it?" Jim asked. Okay, so he had questioned that logic at the time, but Blair seemed to have done a 180 somewhere and Jim wasn't sure where.

"Oh man. She was going to take you. We hadn't done anything wrong, and trust me, I've done plenty wrong so I know what breaking the regs looks like. And still, she could take you." Blair started pacing.

"Blair, calm down." Jim pulled up his own pants and went to grab Blair. Blair ducked out of his reach, and it took Jim several minutes to corral him near the stairs and finally wrap his arms around the man, who still trembled, but this time with an anger Jim could almost taste.

"It's not fucking fair. And man, I'm thirty fucking years old. When am I going to get it through my head that life isn't fair? I thought we were safe if we just played by the rules. And she would have taken you. Man, if your father hadn't come in there she would have put you back in that place. It's not fucking fair."

The words tumbled out of Blair so fast that Jim had trouble even catching them all. "Chief, come on, deep breaths," Jim said as he could hear the heart race and smell the panic that was quickly overriding the scent of lust that still clung to them. Blair did take several breaths as his heart slowly came back down to normal levels. This wasn't the post-sex scene Jim had in mind, but Jim tried to focus on Blair and the twists in that brilliant mind that sometimes seem to leave Jim and logic far behind.

"We have to leave," Blair said.

"Okay, slow down here, Chief," Jim said. Yeah, he agreed with the judgment, but no way was he going to take Blair away from everything, including his chance to undo the harm he'd done in the Sentinel division, and then live with Blair slowly self-destructing over that. "Help me understand what you're thinking, Chief. You wanted a chance to try and fix things, at least make a dent on the system."

"Man, you were all for running. You know we have to do this, and why did you let me get away with that utter crap about changing the world?" Blair aimed a mock punch at Jim's chest and then squirmed to get away, but Jim held on. Right now, Jim didn't trust Blair to pace the apartment without breaking something so he pulled Blair back to the couch with him.

"Okay, we need to sit and really talk about this," Jim said calmly as he sat and pulled Blair down next to him. He was already considering any number of plans, but with the two of them, the situation was changed.

"Oh man, Canada," Blair insisted. "Do you want me to break out into verses of O Canada? I'll do it. We can get across the border tonight, or we can write some checks against your account and then run for it, but that's the best bet."

"That's the fastest bet, not the best one," Jim countered.

"It's where you were going before," Blair said as he aimed a punch at Jim's leg. Jim let it connect, but then he caught the wrist before Blair could pull it back.

"It's where I was going when I was a Sentinel who had no guardian. Other countries weren't going to let me legally emigrate by myself, and I didn't have a chance of convincing them I wasn't a Sentinel, not with my fingerprints and military ID in all the systems," Jim countered. "The situation is different now. We have other choices."

"But legally emigrating… man, that takes time. And it's not that easy. There are waiting lists and rules and we don't have time."

"Okay, let's look at what we really need," Jim said quietly. "Absolutely, I need to have my Guide."

"And I need you. When I thought she was going to take you away…" Blair stopped. He yanked to get his hand free, but Jim didn't let go.

"I'm still here, Blair," Jim reassured him.

"Because your father showed up. Man, he had the judge so shocked, I don't think she knew what to think, but what about in a month?" Blair looked up at Jim, and he could see the honest desperation in the expression. "How did he even know?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't know, Chief. My father has money and lawyers. I suppose he could have been keeping track of me since the SI grabbed me."

"Since I grabbed you," Blair corrected him, his voice tight. Jim pulled his Guide closer so that they sat on the couch hip to hip, Jim's arm around Blair's waist holding him close.

"You were trying to help."

"Yeah, just like your father was," Blair snapped as he struggled again to get up. Jim held on as Blair fought to run away. Jim wasn't letting it happen.

"Damn it, let go," Blair finally demanded. Jim did, but when Blair burst off the couch and headed for the kitchen, Jim followed.

"You are not my father."

Blair grabbed a beer out of the fridge. "Oh, your father, me, the SI, we all just love trying to do the right thing for you, and we all have fucked up your life. Tell me how I'm any different. Fuck." Blair opened the beer and went to take a drink, but Jim was not having this conversation with a drunk guide. He plucked the beer from Blair hand before it got to his mouth.

"Damn it, Ellison," Blair snapped.

"The difference is that my father would have told me I was a fuck up for causing this and the SI would put chains on me and patted me on the head. Compared to them, a good honest fight about what the hell we're doing looks pretty good, Chief."

"I can't lose you. Do you really think I give a damn about saving the world when I could lose you?" Blair asked, his voice trembling. Moving cautiously, Jim let his arm slip around Blair's waist.

"Yeah, I do, Chief. I think you're going to end up hating yourself if you walk away from this fight."

"Try me," Blair challenged him, looking up with the world's most stubborn expression.

"I'm not buying the act, Junior," Jim said confidently. "I'm not saying we should give up and put up with the bullshit, but we need to sit down and look at the situation, really look at it, before we go rushing off into a decision that might not be the best decision."

"Why can't we just run for Canada?" Blair asked, his body slumping as he closed his eyes. Jim gathered Blair into his arms, feeling Blair's guilt as though it were his own.

"Always start a mission by reviewing the objectives and the resources, Chief," Jim said quietly. "I know I need you. I need you, I need the right to make my own decisions, and I need to be able to function without someone always threatening to take you away."

"Man, I need you, and I can't take this again. I'm serious. I can't bear that they have the right to just take you."

"Okay, so that's a start," Jim said calmly, but he held onto Blair fiercely. This time, instead of fighting the embrace, Blair held him back just as tightly. "What about Kincaid?" Jim asked.

Blair laughed. "You know, for once, I can honestly say I don't actually care. Okay, I care. I would pay good money for front row seats to his evisceration, and man, that is so bad for my karma." Blair sighed. "Take him out and more slime will just fill in the hole. We can't stay around here just for him."

"Okay."

"Unless you need to," Blair quickly added. "Shit. Man, this is your call because what he did to you… and thinking about what he did to you, I really am thinking he might be worth sticking around for, but then I think what would happen if we broke some precious regulation trying to get him, and I am right back to wanting to get as far away from him as possible. I think I need therapy," Blair finally concluded.

"You're fine. A little dingy, but fine," Jim promised. "And we aren't going after him just because of what he did to me."

"Just?" Blair asked.

"Just. We've had this discussion," Jim said, making it clear that he was not having this discussion again. Of course, that had never stopped his Guide in the past, so Jim quickly changed the subject. "You need your PhD."

"No way, man. That is so not important," Blair objected and now he tried to pull away. Jim was stronger, though.

"Yes, it is. If you want to convince people to listen to your theories, you need a PhD and access to Sentinels to do your research. That might be in Canada, but not if we run now."

"Jim, that whole bullshit about changing the world was just some naïve fantasy. Blair Sandburg saves the day. Bullshit. The world is too damn big and right now I just want to save us."

Jim shook his head. "You say that now, but every time you pick up a paper and see some story about the Institute, it's going to rip your guts out. You finish your PhD, and even if you don't change the world, you'll know you went down fighting."

"Jim, that could take months."

"Chief, five months in the Institute, over two months with Keith, seven months on the run before that. I have the patience."

"Yeah, well I totally don't. We have to go see that harpy judge in a month. Oh man, I'm freaking here." Blair's arm's tightened around Jim's waist, and Jim stroked the trembling back.

"I know fear, Chief. I lived with it for a long time, but you're too strong to let it rule you. Come on, what do you really need, Blair. We need to be together, and…"

Blair shuddered and refused to answer for long minutes as they simply stood and held on to each other. Eventually, Blair sighed. "Man, I hate when you're right. I can't walk away from the fact that I fucked up, and I screwed up a lot more lives than just yours."

"Okay, so we make one month our goal. Can you do your dissertation in a month?" Jim asked. Blair gave him a look of such incredulous despair that Jim pretty much took that as a no. "Okay, so we get through the judge's reevaluation. Chief, if she thinks she has us scared enough to toe the line, we'll be fine."

"Fuck, you play chicken with those big rigs on the freeway, don't you?" Blair demanded, but at least the humor was reasserting itself. Jim loosened his grip.

"Nope, but I have played Russian roulette with a drunk Russian."

"You… what?!?" Blair jerked back with a yelp.

"I stole the bullets out of the gun first," Jim admitted with a shrug. "So, how long to finish your dissertation?"

"You're like a dog with a bone."

"You've said that before," Jim agreed. "So stop stalling and give me a time frame."

"All the research, identifying subjects, doing the testing, writing up the results. Maybe two months if I totally haul ass, and that's taking a couple of weeks off work to do the actual writing. I'd quit, but it'd be hard to justify having a big bad FBI-trained Sentinel if I was holed up in here on the computer."

"Yeah, not fair to adopt a Sentinel if you're not going to take him for walkies," Jim sighed. Blair shot him a look liberally laced with guilt. "I'm not talking about you," Jim reached over and gave Blair a noogie, and Blair gave a sharp "Hey!" as he retreated.

"Okay," Jim mused. "You have two months to get the dissertation done. So, whatever paperwork you need to line up, do it. I may not be able to contact my father, but if he really is on my side, I might be able to use his law firm to transfer some of my military money into overseas investments. I'll do some research on Sentinel laws and see if there aren't places that are a little more accommodating. Canada doesn't allow you to stay if you enter the country on a visitor's passport, but some countries do."

"Oh man, we go there on vacation, and then just forget to come home?"

"It's a lot easier than trying to run the underground railroad," Jim agreed. "We just need to find the right country. And if you have your PhD, that's going to make it a lot easier for you to get work."

"What about you?"

"I'm flexible," Jim smiled. "With my training, I could do security or private investigations or work in any number of fields where I could use the senses, and I would enjoy the work as long as I didn't have to wear a fucking collar to do it," Jim pointed out as he reached up to touch the warm metal. "Eight months with this thing, and some days it's like I don't even remember that it's on; it's too easy to just focus on life and forget what this means. And other days, it's like it weighs a hundred pounds and I'm struggling with it every single fucking step."

"God Jim, I'm so sorry."

"Hey, knock it off or you're going to get the world's worst wedgie," Jim threatened. "That's the other reason why you're finishing your dissertation and following through on your plans to try and change the world. If you don't, I'm going to have fifty years of guilt trips to deal with and that's not going to happen."

"Yeah, yeah, it's all about you, Ellison," Blair joked weakly. "Man, we're going to do it. We're going to play chicken with the semi truck and hope we don't splattered like a bug across the windshield. Shit. If we get caught…" This time Blair moved into Jim's space, reaching up and resting his hand on Jim's arm, his eyes pained.

"Not going to happen," Jim said, sincerely hoping he wasn't lying. "Besides, what did you call me? Scary covert-ops guy? If we do get caught, you stay right here and I will come find you," Jim promised as he pulled Blair into a hug. Even if they did get caught, he knew he could keep that promise because nothing would keep him from his Guide. They stood in the relative silence with the refrigerator humming away and distant traffic rumbling and the light of sunset slowly slipping away. They simply held each other.

"Plan?" Jim finally asked.

"It's a plan," Blair agreed. "It's not a particularly good plan and I'm scared shitless here, but it's a plan."

THIRTY NINE
***
Jim wandered up the stairs wearily; the bed was still rumpled exactly like he'd left it the morning Simon had woken them.

"You didn't sleep up here," Jim observed. Blair walked up the stairs behind him, already in boxers and a t-shirt.

"Nope," Blair answered as he detoured around Jim and flopped down on the bed. "Don't think I slept much at all."

"Chief," Jim sighed. "You can't let yourself get worn down, especially in enemy territory."

"Enemy territory?" Blair turned an amused look toward Jim before the expression faded into something more thoughtful. "Man, we are in enemy territory here, aren't we? Mom always said the system sucked, but we are taking that to whole new levels that not even she would have dreamed of. Of course, if she did dream of any of this, she so would have organized a whole peace-out, sit-in meditation on the SI lawn."

"Your mom sounds like an interesting woman." Jim crawled in bed, and Blair shifted around so that Jim could spoon around his back. Slipping an arm around Blair's waist, he pulled his Guide close and slipped his thumb under his t-shirt so that he could stroke a small bit of bare skin.

"Yeah, she's interesting. I mean, she is great, but she never does what you'd expect. She totally would have hid me from the SI if I had turned out to be a Sentinel, so she's a little like your dad on that front."

Jim froze.

"Oh man, I was right, you are totally avoiding the subject, aren't you?"

"I'm not avoiding; there's just nothing to talk about," Jim said. "Now go to sleep."

"No way. You know how you could spot my bullshit from a mile away? Well, it works both ways."

Jim sighed but didn't answer as he closed his eyes and feigned sleep. Blair himself admitted he didn't have patience, so the guy had to give up eventually. Jim yanked his arm back when Blair ripped out several of his arm hairs.

"Hey!"

"Ignoring me is hazardous to the health," Blair said with an overly sweet smile as he rolled to his back and blinked up. Jim just rubbed the sore spot on his arm. "Talk." Blair punctuated the word with a poke at Jim's chest.

"Blair, there's nothing to talk about. My relationship with my father essentially ended the day I turned eighteen. Actually, I was seventeen when I graduated and walked out, but you get the picture."

"Yeah, and now he's come back in and thrown himself on the judicial sword. Come on. You have to be feeling something, here."

"I'm feeling like those medical records are going to sink us. I wasn't old enough to control myself when the senses first came on line, so some of those are probably pretty close to my true range. That's another reason for not going underground; there's no guarantee I can outmaneuver the police any more."

"But staying for my dissertation… and no fucking way. Oh you are totally changing the subject on me, and I am not done pointing out that you are avoiding talking about your father."

Jim sighed. He'd spent years trying to even forget his childhood, and dragging it all back out now wasn't sounding like the best idea. "I’m not avoiding it," Jim said slowly.

"Liar," Blair muttered as he shifted himself around so they could lie in bed face to face. "Oh man, if my mom had done something like that, I would be meditating for hours. Come on. If you don't let some of these emotions out, you're going to get emotional constipation and explode when you turn fifty."

"Chief, not wanting to talk about something is not the same as denial."

"Yeah, that's what everyone in denial says," Blair nodded knowingly. Jim reached out and tugged a curl.

"Hey!" Blair retaliated with a poke at Jim's stomach. "So, how do you feel about this whole thing with your father? I mean, he totally dropped a bomb with that bit about your mom. Wow. She was a runner. Well, still is a runner, hopefully."

Jim sighed. "This isn't the kind of conversation to have when I'm exhausted."

"Too tired to come up with good excuses to avoid talking?" Blair asked, the words completely negating the apparent sympathy in his tone. "Come on. If my mom showed up with some story about my father, I would be hanging on every word. And you can't tell me that it's not just a little odd, her running by herself when your father's got money."

Jim rolled to his back and stared at the ceiling. "That's about the only part that does make sense to me," he admitted. He dialed his sight back until the loft faded and he was left with the same murky grayness that Sandburg could see. "You don't take kids on the run."

"You don't really think…."

"Think about it. If her and my father had taken us, Stevie and I wouldn't have had any home or stable environment or school."

"Which is sounding a little like my childhood," Blair pointed out quietly. Jim thought about that one for a second.

"Yeah, but if my parents had been caught, Stevie and I would have ended up in some foster care system." That made Blair fall silent for several moments.

"Man, she must have broken her bond to your father, being married to him and all. I think I know where you got your bullheaded strength."

Jim lowered his vision a little more so that the darkness surrounded him, but his senses tricked him, automatically focusing on hearing so the world suddenly became a rush of sounds: traffic from the street, Blair's heartbeat thumping, the scratch of fingernails against cotton, the clock downstairs ticking away.

"I don't remember that much. She laughed a lot." Jim fell silent, focusing on the sound of the city like a river rushing past the loft. Blair was silent for so long that Jim thought he'd fallen asleep, but a quiet voice slipped into the dark.

"This sucks. I mean, I know the system puts a lot more emphasis on family connections now, but still. I was a cog in the wheel that totally ran over your family back then and is trying to roll over you now. And I don't think I ever stopped to really think about Sentinels as mothers or soldiers or just people. Man, my next life is totally going to be as something that licks its own butt."

"Keep the guilt down, Sandburg," Jim suggested. A warm hand brushed against his stomach tentatively, and Jim reached out and captured Blair's hand, letting their linked fingers rest on his stomach.

"We both have issues, man. Serious, fucking issues."

"Speak for yourself."

"Oh I totally am speaking for myself. No wonder my mom burned buckets of sage trying to cleanse my aura every time she visited." Blair sighed. "This restaurant downtown has turkey with sage dressing, and every time I walk in there, I think of mom and her sage."

The silence thickened, and Jim stared into the unfamiliar darkness. In the past, he would slip away from the lanterns of camp and let the black of night leech away the horrors he fervently wished he'd never witnessed. Or he would leave base and drive to the nearest dirt road where he could park and sit on the warm hood of his car and nurse a single cold beer for hours. Since Peru, his Sentinel vision normally made any glimmer of light into a shining beacon.

"I think of my mom when I smell lemon cleaner," Jim finally said. Blair's body warmed one side of Jim, their linked hands still rested on Jim's chest so still that Blair might have been asleep. "She used to tease me, asked how many feet I had because I made too many tracks across her floors to have just two."

Jim took a deep breath and held it for a second. "I don't want to talk to my father because it's easier being mad at him," Jim finally admitted, glad that only the darkness stared back.

"Yes and no. Yin and yang. Black and white. Oh man, it's a lot easier not looking at all the gray in between," Blair agreed. Then he moved, shifting slightly so that his body draped over one side of Jim, a leg coming up to pin one of Jim's legs to the mattress.

"I know he did what he thought he had to…" Jim stopped, not sure how to end that sentence, but Blair simply waited, uncharacteristically silent. The clock ticked away the time, a metronome that tranced Jim. "You're afraid that you're my father, screwing up my life with your good intentions," Jim said quietly. He reached out and stroked Blair's curls. Despite the temptation to raise his vision to Sentinel-normal and study Blair's face, Jim kept his vision low. "I'm afraid that I'm going to be my father and do something to ruin every relationship I have. When Incacha told me to leave, I felt like it was proof that there was something wrong with me."

"That's why you were ready to stay," Blair said with quiet confidence. "You thought you had to if you wanted to keep our relationship because your father always made you feel like there was something wrong with you."

Jim snorted. "I don't think that was running through my head at the time," Jim said, the solemnity of the moment suddenly broken by the image of himself brooding about his father and self-analyzing his motives in relation to his childhood trauma. That wasn't exactly his style. "I don't want to do something that makes it impossible for you to… I just don't want to end up with a Guide who hates me and stays because of the bond. I didn't think any farther than that."

"I'll never hate you." Blair's hand slipped away from Jim's grip and reached around Jim, pulling him close. "If you wanted to run tonight, I promise I wouldn't ever hate you. In fact, it would probably be better for my blood pressure than the current plan."

"Yeah, but then you'd have to live with the guilt of being a cog in the wheel and never even trying to undo the damage you did, and I would have to live with knowing that I walked away from my country without even trying to change the system I thought was important enough to risk my life defending. And Blair," Jim said quietly, "I do think you can make a difference. Someone has to start somewhere, and you have the guts to take that first step."

Jim waited in silence. Blair's heart has sped up, but without raising his vision, Jim couldn't see anything beyond vague shadow, so he didn't know how to interpret that.

"You really think… ?" Blair stopped, but Jim could follow that thought pretty easily.

"I really think you could," Jim agreed. Blair had laid on one of his arms, and Jim used that arm to slip his fingers under the waistband of his boxers. The musk smell that clung to Blair's body had never completely vanished, but now it brightened. Jim smiled as he leaned over and kissed Blair.

His lips found a chin with a five o'clock shadow, and Jim kissed up Blair's cheek until he found open, inviting lips. Jim kissed Blair softly this time, the desperate urgency of earlier having evolved into something slower and deeper.

Jim explored Blair's mouth unhurriedly this time, his tongue tasting and feeling everything as Jim reveled in just being able to touch his Guide. The river of city noises faded to some distant thrumming as Jim twisted so that he was now half on top of Blair.

When Jim pulled back a little, Blair's panting gasps drowned the sound of his pounding heart. Jim smiled knowingly and slid down far enough that he could taste the musk clinging to Blair's neck as he worked his hands under the annoying t-shirt that kept him from his Guide.

"Oh fuck," Blair breathed, arching his back and grabbing at Jim's shoulders. Jim didn't answer as he sat up and pushed the t-shirt up to Blair's armpits. Blair took over from there, yanking it off and flinging it away. Still staring at the old familiar darkness with his vision turned down, Jim started mapping Blair's body with his fingertips. Starting at Blair's shoulders, he stroked the collarbones, letting his thumbs linger in the hollow formed between the shoulder muscle and the collarbone before he bent over and placed a kiss on the spot.

"Fuck, yeah. Oh man." Blair's hands migrated south, pushing Jim's boxers down over the swell of his ass so the fabric caught around his thighs. A little voice in Jim's head pointed out that he could get rid of them altogether if he just stopped straddling Blair's legs, but Jim had other concerns right now.

Jim let his hands stroke Blair's hot skin, down the arms and then up again as goose pimples dimpled his arms. Closing his eyes, Jim focused just on the feel of the flesh under his hands: the slide of tiny hairs against his palms, the heat that soaked into him, the curve of muscle under skin, the tremors as Jim leaned down and sprinkled kisses down Blair's arm.

"Jim," Blair breathed, the name a sigh, and Jim returned to kiss the lips that called his name so softly. By the time he pulled back, Blair was speechless and panting and clutching at Jim's back as he humped up trying to rub his hard cock against Jim. Instead, Jim remained straddling Blair's legs, making it nearly impossible for his Guide to get the motion right.

He would just have to wait, Jim thought evilly as he moved down to the now-exposed chest, tracing the pectoral muscle down to the hardened nipples. Jim sucked at one, using his thumb to massage the other as Blair alternated gasping with cursing. Blair dug his heels into the mattress and arched up as Jim ran fingertips over Blair's stomach. Sucking and tasting and nipping back up to Blair's shoulder, Jim left a damp trail behind.

"Fucking..." Blair's curse disappeared into a sigh as Blair reached up and caught the back of Jim's neck and pulled Jim down into another kiss. Jim groaned as Blair tugged at his lip with blunt teeth. The arms around him pulled, and Jim resisted for a half second before allowing Blair to reverse their positions so that Jim lay on the bed and Blair hovered over him.

In the darkness, Jim could only wait to see what Blair had in mind. Those long curls trailed down Jim's chest, each strand sliding like silk across his hot skin, and Jim hissed and arched up into the sensation. He could feel Blair pause and then the hair reversed direction, teasing Jim's skin to tingling life until they reached Jim's neck.

A warm tongue flicked across Jim's shoulder and then Jim groaned as Blair sucked at his neck, the blood rushing to the spot as Jim hardened. It was his turn to clutch Blair's back as Blair nuzzled his neck and then kissed his way over to the other side.

"I have never wanted anyone as much as I want you," Blair whispered as he pulled back so that the curls brushed against one of Jim's cheeks. This time, Jim reached out and caught the back of Blair's neck, pulling him in for another kiss.

While Jim distracted Blair's mouth with a kiss, his hand slipped into Blair's boxers and found the hot, hard cock waiting. He tightened his grip and slowly stroked up and down. Soon, Blair arched up and away from Jim's mouth as he gasped for air, thrusting down into Jim's body.

Jim could feel the tremors that warned of the coming orgasm, but then Blair was shimmying down out of Jim's reach. Just as Jim opened his mouth to complain, a hot mouth closed over the head of his cock, and Jim nearly choked as he tried to suck breath in and shout at the same time. His hands grabbed at the sides of the mattress as his vision returned with a startling pop.

He looked down to see Blair's cheeks rounded, his lips stretched around Jim's cock as he moved up and down, his eyes closed and the muscles of his shoulders rolling under the skin. Blair hummed, and the vibration made Jim's entire body tighten in anticipation, his fingers digging into the mattress.

Sinking down so that more than half of Jim's cock was in his mouth, Blair sucked, the cheeks hollowing as Blair pulled back and worked the head with his tongue.

"Blair," Jim gasped the warning and then he started coming in waves so intense that his vision grayed for a second as he lay limp and sprawled. By the time Jim had gathered enough brain cells to think of Blair, the man was crying out, the smell of his semen joining Jim's own as Blair collapsed on the bed next to Jim.

Jim reached out and pulled Blair close to his chest, the sweat of their bodies mingling.

"Going to be a mess in the morning," Blair muttered as he reached down and adjusted the boxers that had never actually come off. Jim could smell a fresh burst of semen as the fabric shifted.

"Don't care," Jim answered sleepily as he pulled Blair closer dropping another kiss on Blair's lips. The man now tasted of salt and musk and Jim.

"Yeah, yeah. Say that tomorrow when you see the sheets, Mr. Anal Retentive." Blair squirmed in Jim's arms, twisting until he could grab the edge of the sheet where it had landed on the far side of Blair and pull it over both of them.

Jim didn't answer as he tightened his hold on his Guide. Blair shifted until he had his head resting half on the pillow and half on Jim's shoulder. Considering he had his Guide and his plan, semen-stained sheets didn't phase Jim at all. Blair's breathing evened out to the steady rhythm of sleep and Jim finally closed his eyes and let himself follow his guide into sleep.

When Jim woke sprawled under a tree, the moss under him smelling of earth and rain, Jim couldn't even gather the energy to care.

"I found him," Jim told the air as he rolled to his back. He stretched out, wiggling when a stick found his thigh and poked him.

"Who did you find, Sentinel?" Incacha appeared on a branch above Jim, crouching there with his face painted for war.

"My Guide."

Incacha nodded. "I knew you would. I would not have sent you away if the spirits had not promised that your Guide needed you. He has the strength to drag you where the spirits would have you go. But he needs your power to shelter him."

Jim pushed himself up to his elbows and frowned at the shaman who peered down at him.

"Where they want us to go?" Jim asked. "I'm done being controlled, so why don't you just tell me what the spirits want?" Incacha's face remained impassive as the shaman looked down for several minutes. Finally he answered.

"I cannot give you answers you do not already have."

"Meaning you're a figment of my imagination, my subconscious or something," Jim translated. Again, Incacha stared at him with an expression that Jim couldn't read. During his entire time in Peru, Jim had never learned to recognize Incacha's moods, not the way he could read every other member of the tribe.

"Where is your Guide?" Incacha asked as he looked around. Jim sat the rest of the way up and examined the blue jungle around him.

"I don't—"

"Come on. Man, if we're late, asking Simon for time off is definitely not going to go well, if you know what I mean," Blair complained poking at Jim's stomach. "What happened to getting up at the crack of dawn shit, anyway?" Blair asked.

Jim blinked and looked over at the alarm clock which accused him of sleeping through the alarm. He turned and saw Blair, already showered and dressed.

"Are you okay?" Blair asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed and reaching out as though to feel Jim's forehead.

"I'm fine. Just strange dreams," Jim said as he grabbed Blair's wrist to keep him from making the overly maternal gesture. Instead Jim used the arm to pull Blair close and steal a kiss. Kissing Blair was quickly becoming one of his favorite hobbies.

"Shit. We are so going to be late, aren't we?" Blair sighed as Jim finally released his lips.

"No. We have a plan, and that means keeping Simon happy enough to give us time off," Jim answered as he firmly pushed Blair back a step so he could get out of bed. "Give me fifteen minutes, and I'll be ready for work." Jim headed for the stairs. New day, new plan, and this time, Jim planned to show everyone who got in his way exactly what a Ranger-trained Sentinel could do.

FORTY
***
Jim followed Blair into the bullpen, his stomach tight until he could see the room was clear of Aldo or SI goons and their chains. Rolling his eyes at his own dramatics, Jim headed for his desk where he eyed the edge where Aldo had sat.

"I need disinfectant," Jim commented wryly.

"Aldo cooties?" Blair asked in sympathy as he sat at his chair and flipped his computer on.

"That man is slime," Jim agreed as he came around and started sorting through the paperwork that had landed on Blair's desk during their suspension. Most were standard lab tests, and Jim quickly sorted them and filed each into the front of the various files that now sat in his desk drawer. At the same time, he cast his hearing out farther, searching the floor above for the cootie-bearer in question. No way would he overlook his sneak attack.

"Don't let slime catch you saying that. Total insult to slime everywhere," Blair snorted. Jim nodded his agreement as Brown and Rafe came in through the doors, manhandling a cuffed suspect who seemed more drunk than argumentative.

"Walk. One foot, other foot. Geez, some people should never touch the hard stuff," Brown complained as he aimed the suspect toward the chair next to Rafe's desk. "Hairboy, Jim, nice seeing you guys back.

"Yeah, yeah, you just didn't like having to pull your own weight around here," Blair teased as he opened his department email.

"Hey now, I resemble that remark," Brown laughed.

"Henri!" Rafe snapped as Brown's distraction gave the suspect a chance to lurch to the side.

"Shit." Brown grabbed at the suspect just a second after the drunk guy spun out of his reach and then kept on spinning, a hip bouncing off a desk as he spiraled off-balance toward Simon's office.

Jim leaped out from behind his desk and caught the guy by his jacket as Brown grabbed his arm. The suspect lost his balance and careened right into Jim's chest, and Jim wrapped his arms around the guy to hold him still as Rafe and Brown got firm grips on his arms.

"Maybe we should put him down in the tank to sober up some," Rafe suggested, sounding a little aggravated, like maybe he had made that suggestion before.

"Yeah, maybe we should," Brown shrugged. He hesitated just a second before giving Jim a manly arm-slap. "Thanks for the assist," Brown offered.

"No problem," Jim answered as he headed back for his desk with a small smile. Teach Brown some manners today, teach the rest of the world tomorrow. Jim glanced over at Blair and wondered just how badly his Guide would take it if his crusade to teach people about Sentinels failed. Well, he'd worry about that if the day came.

"Blair, Jim," Simon called as he stood at the doorway to his office watching the scene. "My office."

Blair sighed and whispered just loud enough for Jim's Sentinel hearing. "Man, this time it is totally not my fault. Aldo just sucks, and I do not mean that in the sexually satisfying way."

"We need to talk to him anyway," Jim pointed out as he headed for Simon's office, Blair trailing behind with a quiet litany of tortures he would like to inflict on Aldo. Jim gave the kid points for creativity and imagination.

"Simon, I know this was a whole mess," Blair said before Simon had a chance to say anything.

"Save the spiel, Sandburg. I don't blame you for Aldo's obsession, although it would be nice if you could do something to appease the man... or hide the body, either one works. After your little run in with Dessy, the department put a surveillance team on him. He threatened to kill a cop, which means he's looking to play with the big boys. And Monday, they picked this up." Simon pushed a stapled packet across the desk, the familiar heading showing when and where the surveillance had been recorded.

Standing next to the window, Jim focused his vision and immediately spotted the reference to Kincaid. Simon was sharp, too sharp to put this off as coincidence, and Jim found himself praying that Blair would sweet talk their way out of this one. One official reprimand for going vigilante and the judge was going to shove Jim back in the SI and shove Blair under the jail for contempt. Just because waiting was the best plan didn't make it a particularly safe one.

"Oh man," Blair breathed, sounding absolutely shocked as he dropped into one of the chairs across from Simon's desk. "Dessy's going into trafficking? But he has a Sentinel working for him. How the hell could someone work with Sentinels, see them function, talk to them and really see them as human beings, and then trade them like..." Blair voice broke off.

"You didn't know?" Simon asked, his eyes narrowing.

"I was doped up and fading in and out of consciousness. I don't know, maybe I heard something about Dessy and maybe I was just hallucinating. Simon, I was watching a damn wolf wander through solid walls at one point, so my whole mental state was—" Blair made a whistling noise and held up his hands in a gesture that made it clear Simon should just not go there.

"A wolf?" Simon asked. Jim just narrowed his eyes and looked at Blair a little closer. Blair hadn't mentioned a wolf before, but then he clearly thought the animal was a hallucination. Jim remembered someone else who insisted a black panther was a drug induced hallucination, until the damn thing started showing up without Incacha's spirit walk tea.

"Yeah," Blair gave a disgusted snort. "I was totally out of my mind. But this is... oh man, I hope they hang Dessy's eviscerated body from the castle tower, and for the first time since taking that class on medieval society, I totally understand why people felt the need to do shit like that."

"So, why would a white supremacist get involved with Dessy and his crew?" Jim interrupted. While he wouldn't admit it, this bloodthirsty version of Blair left him a little unsettled.

"Apparently Dessy has access to Sentinels and Kincaid wants Sentinels to trade for weapons." Simon took the transcript back from Blair. "Creeps like Kincaid only care about their cause if it gets them what they really want: money, power, and a chance to play their sadistic games. But we wouldn't have gotten this if you hadn't spotted Dessy's number two guy as a Sentinel. The team had to use a piezoelectric crystal recording device." Simon nodded to Jim, and Jim felt an unfamiliar sense of satisfaction. It'd been a long time since he was praised by anyone in authority for anything other than his damn senses.

Jim nodded back at Simon, accepting the praise without leaving his spot next to the windows.

"So," Simon started as he glared at Blair suspiciously, "You aren't going to give me crap about the fact that you're too personally involved and I’m pulling you from the Dessy case?" Simon asked as he leaned forward and studied Blair.

Blair shook his head. "The way things are going at the U, I needed to talk to you anyway."

"Problem?" Simon picked up his coffee mug and frowned at Blair over the rim.

"The chancellor is starting to question why I'm still around when I should have finished my dissertation like ages ago. Eli Stoddard, you know, the professor I'm writing that article with?" Simon nodded at Blair's description. "He says this is pretty much my last chance to get my act together or I'm going to find myself tossed out with an ABD, All-But-Dissertation, instead of my PhD."

Jim listened as Blair obfuscated the truth, skirting around the edges of it without actually saying anything untrue. And his heart beat steadily through it all. That ability truly made Jim doubt just how accurate his senses were at spotting lies because in his mind, Blair was lying through his teeth.

"So, what are you saying?" Simon asked, setting the cup down.

"Man, I'm going to have to actually work thirty hours instead of my normal obsessive-compulsive thing, and then in a month or two, when I have my research lined up, I’m going to have to cash in all my vacation time."

"All of it? What? Three weeks? Blair, this is not a good time..." Simon immediately started, but Blair held up his hand as he scrambled out of his chair.

"Totally. I totally get that, but this is crunch time, Simon. I can't lose my PhD after working on it this long. If I have to quit, I will, but man, please don't put me in that spot." Blair had backed up a couple of steps and had an expression like a puppy that's just been told it's getting sent to the pound. And obviously Simon wasn't immune to the expression because he sighed.

"Blair, this Ms. Bennett has already been down here asking about Jim's working conditions. If you quit, if you even stay home for three weeks, the woman is going to start asking what Jim is doing when you're working on your dissertation."

Jim stepped forward. "Blair needs time to work on his dissertation, but even if he quits, that doesn't mean I have to. You have another Sentinel who works with a partner who isn't his guardian."

"You mean Jamal Brown? He works with his brother who used to be his guardian."

"I'm capable of working without Blair babysitting me, and if it keeps Ms. Bennett happy, I'll work with Henri Brown or Rafe."

Simon leaned back in his chair and pulled his glasses off, tossing them on the desk. "I don't know how to keep Ms. Bennett happy right now, but making huge changes in your schedules isn't the best idea."

"Simon," Blair said, his voice strained, but Simon held up a hand.

"I get it, Blair. Joel is thinking about coming back to detective work, so he'll be covering vacations. Jim, if you and Joel get along, we can try that. But if Ms. Bennett or that judge start making noises..."

"I'll be out the door before you'll have time to say anything," Jim nodded in agreement. "I just wish I knew what would keep these people happy and away from me," Jim gave a sigh as he realized that they would have to walk a tight-wire until they were ready to run.

"Totally sucks," Blair agreed. He stood behind one of Simon's guest chairs, and when Jim glanced over, he could see the purpling mark on Blair's neck. Jim pursed his lips and felt an unfamiliar rush of need, which he pushed aside, promising himself that he could ravish Blair later.

"Blair's PhD could change things for the better for a lot of Sentinels. We need to take the chance," Jim finished.

"You're finishing your dissertation on tribal Sentinels?" Simon asked, his brows drawing together in confusion.

"No way. Man, that topic has been done to death. That's not just beating the dead horse, that's beating the dead horse's bones. It's scattered, desiccated bones. No, I'm doing research on Sentinel control. I wish I had time for some data collection overseas, maybe in Russia where Sentinels have no legal protections, even when provoked. But even without that, I totally think this could be amazing. In fact, if the operation closes up in the next week or two, I would love a shot at interviewing Jake Washington."

"Sentinel Institute already picked him up," Simon said. "We can't keep something like a runner a secret from the Sentinel division. They took him in yesterday."

Jim curled his hand around the back of the chair, not sure how he felt about that. Washington deserved prison. The steady hand on the gun that had pointed right at Jim's head suggested that this man had a lot of experience with that gun. He wasn't afraid of threatening someone's life, and he wasn't afraid of killing. But Jim couldn't help thinking that not even Washington deserved the life he'd woken up to this morning.

"He should be in jail," Jim commented.

"Yes, he should," Simon sighed. "But sometimes this world isn't fair. So, he gets a walk on who knows how many years of being one of Dessy's enforcers, and then if the SI signs off, he gets a brand new life working in some position where he's supposed to protect people. It's not a perfect system."

"Simon, I hear you. I so totally hear you," Blair nodded. Simon rolled his eyes, and Jim got the feeling that there was some history there.

"Just get out of here. Go introduce your partner to Joel and get something accomplished. I'll try to keep new cases to a minimum until you've got your schooling done, but I need you to be really on the job, not just punching a time clock," Simon said as he pinned Blair with a sharp look.

"No way. No way would I do that to you. You totally have me for thirty hours a week," Blair agreed.

"Great, that's only twenty hours a week less than I normally have you. I knew it couldn't last forever, but it was nice to feel like I had enough man hours in the department to actually get the work done for a change."

"I'll be back to working craploads of unpaid overtime before you can finish a box of cigars," Blair promised, but this time his heart pounded out an irregular pattern. Jim moved in, pushing his Guide toward the door.

"Oh, and sir," Jim said to Simon when he reached the door. "The commissioner is here, upstairs," Jim's eyes wandered up toward the ceiling.

"Oh fuck, not today," Simon groaned.

"He may be busy for a little while," Jim shrugged as he finished pushing Blair out the door. His Guide was too busy looking at him strangely to walk, so Jim just guided him toward their desks.

"He's going to be busy? What are you up to?" Blair asked.

"Just being a Sentinel," Jim answered with a wicked smile and a wink before he headed out of the bullpen.

"Jim?!" Blair called. Jim passed the elevator, and threw open the door to the stairs and pounded up the stairwell, the metal treads ringing under his heavy feet. "Jim!" Blair called from below as he ran to catch up. Jim stopped on the seventh floor landing and pushed into the hallway, looking either direction with an intentionally wild expression that sent police and one stray suspect in cuffs pressing themselves to the walls to escape his notice. Yep, an out of control Sentinel they knew how to handle, and Jim heard one officer call for someone with a tranq gun.

"Jim!" Blair called as he came storming out of the stairwell exit, and Jim took off for IA's offices as he heard the voices he wanted.

Around him, people scattered, and Blair grabbed his wrist, but Jim kept right on going, charging through the doors to IA, essentially dragging Blair with him.

"Jim, man, come on!" Blair cried out, but Jim executed a quick flip of his wrist with a sidestep guaranteed to break anyone's hold, and Blair stumbled back as Jim pulled free. Jim moved quickly, spotting Aldo and storming past a stunned redhead who sat at her desk with her mouth open.

Taking great pleasure, Jim grabbed Aldo by the front of his shirt slammed the man into the wall hard enough to make a file from on top of a cabinet flop to the floor. Jim jammed one thumb into the soft spot just below Aldo's ear, and the man made a strangled cry as he went onto his toes, squirming to get away from the pain.

"You just wanted revenge. Banks told you to back off. The judge sent me home, said you were wrong. You just keep coming after Blair. You wanted that Sentinel to listen illegally. You yelled about that. You keep coming after my guardian. Mine!" Jim roared, his face an inch from Aldo. Jim could breathe the terror-scent and see every blood vessel in the white of his eyes as Aldo's blinked as fast as his heart pounded. And best of all, Jim could hear the commissioner demanding to know what was going on. Aldo's stupidity wouldn't stand up to a close examination, and Jim knew that he was about to get examined very closely.

"Jim, come on, what are you doing?" Blair demanded as he pulled on Jim's arm. Jim drove his thumb a little harder into the pain point at Aldo's neck, and spit gathered at the edge of the man's mouth before Jim let Blair pull him away.

"Come on, Jim. Just chill out." Blair sounded desperate—desperate and confused—as he shoved Jim toward a corner of the room, blocking Jim's half-hearted attempts to get around him with his own body.

"I heard you. You wanted an illegal search. You wanted an illegal surveillance. Stay away from my bondmate," Jim shouted over Blair's shoulder.

"What is going on here?!" the commissioner bellowed, his eyes going from Jim to Aldo and back to Jim.

"He's mine," Jim snapped as his back hit the wall. Blair's hands fluttered from Jim's shoulders to his chest and back to his shoulders as Blair tried to figure out how to deal with this sudden shift in mood.

"I never... I didn't," Aldo stuttered out.

"I heard you. You're angry with my bond-mate. You said you'd get him back. Touch him and I'll break every bone in your body," Jim snapped. In another lifetime, Jim might have said those words and had the other person take them as exaggeration—hyperbole just to prove a point. Now Aldo lost all color, his face going white.

"Sentinel!" the commissioner murmured in a 'soothe the madman voice.' He stepped between Aldo and Jim, and Jim let himself focus on the man. The commissioner might have been athletic at one point, but now his wide shoulders were balanced by a wide belly and thick glasses made his eyes seem beady.

"He tried to take my bond-mate," Jim said, letting himself show a little more control before he overplayed his hand. A patrol officer showed up at the door with a tranq gun and the commissioner and Blair both held out hands to keep him from firing.

"He's okay, no tranq," Blair said.

"Hold position," the commissioner ordered. The officer kept the weapon trained on Jim, and Jim didn't even bother rolling his eyes at the incompetence. If he was truly a danger, letting him stand hip to hip with Blair's service weapon wasn't exactly smart.

"Sentinel, what did Detective Aldo do?" the commissioner asked softly. Blair glanced over his shoulder once before turning back to Jim and muttering softly for just his Sentinel's ears.

"Come on. So not worth it. You have more control than this. Whatever he said, man, it's not worth doing this. Just let it go."

Jim reached up and slipped an arm around Blair's shoulders, pulling him close as though he were a stressed Sentinel clinging to his bond-mate.

"I heard him three days ago. He asked some woman to use her Sentinel to spy on us." Jim watched while everyone in the room turned to the red-haired woman he'd stormed past when he first came charging in.

"Detective Irwin?" the captain of Internal Affairs asked, frowning as he took a step toward her.

Her eyes darted from one side of the room to the other until they came to rest on her captain. She sighed. "Yes, sir. Ray asked me if he could have Leslie listen in on Detective Sandburg and Sentinel Ellison. When he told me he had no warrant and no cause to get a warrant, I told him to back off this thing with Sandburg."

"I was doing my job," Aldo snapped, the color suddenly returning to his face with a flush of red.

"I could smell you," Jim said. "You liked seeing me chained. You want to get rid of my bond-mate. You lied to the judge."

"I did not!" Aldo said as he stepped forward, intent on defending himself. Jim snarled and pushed Blair a good two feet forward and Aldo retreated to the far wall just before Jim allowed Blair to manhandle him back.

"Detective Sandburg?" the commissioner asked. Blair wiggled around so that his back was to Jim, but Jim kept his arm around Blair, reinforcing the illusion that only Blair's presence kept him from ripping Aldo limb from bloody limb.

"He told the judge I had taken Jim in pursuit of a pedophile. I had obtained express permission that day from Captain Banks to take Jim out to the scene of the Taylor murder. The scene had already been cleared, there were no suspects on site, and other officers had secured the area. With a dozen uniforms and detectives around, there was no expectation that the pedophile would be anywhere near," Blair answered. All true, and all making Aldo look like the world's most manipulative son of a bitch, a title Jim was more than willing to nominate the man for.

"He chased the pedophile down. That's against the rules." Aldo defended himself from his corner without trying to come forward and challenge Jim again.

"That was an accident, Jim kept control the whole time, and my captain had already cleared the situation when you went to the judge," Blair practically yelled at Aldo. "Considering you were already trying to get other people involved in some illegal attempt to frame me, I don't think Jim's assumptions are that far off. You harassed me in the hospital when I was still drugged up to my gills, you threatened to make me miserable if I didn't resign, you implied that I couldn't do my job, and you did it all in front of Jim. Man, you spied and harassed and generally made a nuisance out of yourself because I busted your buddy. Boo fucking hoo!"

Now Jim tightened his arm, holding Blair back as his temper flared.

"You're hurting my bond-mate, and you came after me because it would hurt him... or maybe just because you got some sick thrill out of seeing me chained. I smelled the lust on you. You like controlling others? You like using chains in your bed?" Jim snapped. Immediately Blair abandoned his own anger and his hands stroked soothing circles on Jim's arms.

"Hey, it doesn't matter, okay? He's so not worth it. Totally not worth it. Just walk away," Blair urged him.

"Detective Sandburg, maybe you should take your Sentinel down to one of the Sentinel rooms. Detective Aldo should have his desk cleared out in an hour, and when he's gone, I'm sure Sentinel Ellison will feel much better," the commissioner offered. The room went silent.

"You can't fire me because of this long-haired hippy!" Now Aldo came out of his corner, his anger directed toward the commissioner, and Jim allowed Blair to carefully herd him back toward the door and away from the brewing confrontation. The officer with the tranq gun paced them, moving back to allow Blair and Jim to get to the door.

"I can certainly transfer you to another precinct while this is investigated. Firing you may come later."

Jim listened to the blustering and subtle threats of legal action and unions and federal charges as the elevator doors opened. Aldo and the commissioner were still going at it when the elevator doors slid closed and Jim and Blair were alone in the small space.

"Man, Aldo is not worth it. I mean, I want to gut him and hide the body, but he's totally not worth it." Blair still clung to Jim, as though expecting another explosion.

Jim bent over, scenting Blair's neck as he whispered in his Guide's ear. "That is how a Ranger gets revenge. Use every available resource, take advantage of misinformation, target what the victim values the most, and walk away without a scratch," Jim confided. Blair tipped his head up and looked at Jim with wide, shocked eyes. Jim also noticed it made the hickey on the side of his neck much more visible.

"Oh man, you are like... damn."

"Yep, aren't you glad I'm on your side?" Jim asked with a smile. The elevator opened onto the second floor, and Jim followed with his most meek expression as Blair led them toward the Sentinel rooms.

The attendant waved them through and Jim found himself in a Sentinel room with Blair, who stared at him with undisguised awe.

"He's toast, isn't he?" Blair asked.

"He's exiled to another precinct, and when the paperwork is done, he'll probably be out of a job without any pension or unemployment," Jim agreed. Blair smiled.

"Damn. Have I told you today how much I love you?" Blair asked slowly.

"Nope, but since we're stuck in here for an hour, feel free to show me any way you like," Jim offered as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

FORTY ONE
***
"Ruby!" Blair called joyously as he walked in through the rear entrance to the kitchen. Jim had braced himself for an olfactory attack, especially considering the run down neighborhood. Instead, he found himself in a gleaming kitchen. Even with the steam curling up to the ceiling and the sound of knives against cutting boards, the kitchen had an order to it that put Jim at ease. Ironically, that set off warnings right there.

"Blair, Sweetie, you are just in time. I need someone to run food to the front, my two volunteers from the high school didn't show up. Grab some gloves and an apron and get your ass in gear," a large black woman issued the order with a casual familiarity as she brushed past, stopping to give Blair's cheek a pat. Jim stepped forward, annoyed by the casual touch. But Ruby had already gone, depositing a pan full of chicken parts next to a woman before looking over the shoulder of a young man on the cook top.

"Hey, no problem. Always happy to help my number one lady," Blair said enthusiastically.

"Sweet talker. Devil's in that tongue of yours," Ruby said as she wagged a finger towards him on her way back to another prep table with the empty pan. The older woman making fried chicken laughed and chucked an apron at Blair before she went back to her own work. Ruby cocked her head toward the door that led out into the busy dining room of the free kitchen she ran. "They're out of mashed potatoes on the line. Get your sweet ass in gear."

"Potatoes," Blair said with a helpless shrug. "I can do that." Jim watched as Blair slipped on the apron and grabbed a huge pot that another volunteer offered him. "Be right back, Jim."

"No problem, Chief," Jim said, his gaze focused on Ruby. Blair had admitted before they came that she was, in fact, his contact to the underground. And what Jim found even more disturbing, Blair met her because she would call in reports of runners in the neighborhood. Every time Blair started in with the bit about some runners needing the SI, Jim just wanted to bop Blair upside the back of the head for being so naïve. But apparently, this woman had the same opinion. Jim was all set to dislike her.

For her part, she crossed her arms and studied him right back.

"Ruby Washington," she finally offered. She pulled off a plastic glove and stuck out her hand.

"Jim Ellison," Jim put out his own hand, and she took it in a firm grip that lasted just a half-second too long for comfort.

"Got work to do here, so take a seat or go help the cutie, your choice." Ruby walked past Jim to return to what was obviously her work station at a prep table on the opposite side of the kitchen from the cooking stations. A large steel prep table running down the middle of the kitchen separated the two sides. Jim glanced toward the far side where a young man worked at the huge cook top and the older woman at the fryer. Two men who had to be at least sixty operated a commercial dishwasher, one rinsing and shoving racks of dishes into the monster while the other pulled them out the opposite end.

A quick scan of the dining room with his hearing told him that Blair was deep in conversation with a man who thought he'd been in Napoleon's army. Territory checked, Jim turned toward Ruby and leaned against her steel prep table.

Ruby had plopped down on an old stool repainted white with flecks of sixties-green showing through as she started working on the mountain of raw, whole chickens.

"The stores send up their stuff on the last day before it goes off," she said as she picked up a knife and started cutting them with efficient strokes. The woman who was working the fryers coughed, the sort of cough that provided a not-so-subtle disapproval or perhaps a reminder of some sort for Ruby. Jim glanced toward the woman who stared back at him for a second with a suspicious expression and cold green eyes, before turning away so that he couldn't see much except her salt and pepper hair and her stiff back.

"Efficient," Jim commented as he looked around. Blair came back through the doors with the empty potato pot, but by the time he got it to the dishwasher, the younger man on the cook top thrust a pan of something into his hands. Blair shot Jim a helpless look and then headed back out front.

"Boy's a good sport," Ruby commented. With three sure knife strokes, she had halved the chicken and cut off the neck. She switched to a slightly smaller knife and quickly separated drumstick from thigh from wing from breast. "So, I hadn't heard he'd started working with a Sentinel."

"Blair and I started working together after we both decided we could do more together than apart," Jim said vaguely. Ruby studied him as she neatly butchered the next chicken.

"You feel like an apple?" Ruby asked with a nod toward the refrigerators. "Think there might just be one in there."

"Nah, I'm tempted, but I just had lunch," Jim fed her the second half of the code Blair had explained before they'd decided to come here together. Ruby narrowed her eyes and studied him.

The kitchen noise faded. The fryer woman paused, a chicken leg in her hand hovering over the oil. The dishwasher guys stared. The young man turned and stared at them with wide eyes. Then the moment passed and the kitchen bumped back to full efficiency.

"You look familiar." Ruby brought the knife down, calmly halving a chicken.

"Blair tells me I was famous down in Houston. They called me some sort of avenging Sentinel for taking out some terrorists on the trains," Jim admitted.

Ruby's knife thumped down again and then she paused and really studied his face before nodding. "The Ranger-boy. Magna had you coming through a day or two after..." Ruby made a vague gesture with her knife. Jim looked over at the kitchen staff in concern.

Laughing, Ruby halved another chicken. "Honey, if any of these were going to turn my ass in, they would have done it a long time ago."

"Don't think we aren't considering it after you made us clean all the grease traps," the young man teased as he opened a bag of peas and dumped it in boiling water. Jim could smell gravy starting to burn in another pan just as the kid pulled it off the burner.

"Peter," the older woman hissed, clearly shocked.

"Let the boy play, Rhonda. He knows that if he ever tried, I'd have his balls as a new coin purse," Ruby laughed even louder. The older woman gave Peter a nasty glare before she came over to grab a new pile of chicken parts.

"You're a Sentinel," Jim said confidently. Ruby's knife work was too confident, too quick to slip between the bones without more than a glance down, the kitchen was too clean, despite all the activity. Rhonda stopped, the pan of chicken parts in her hands and an expression like she was ready to attack Jim with her bare hands in her eyes. "No skin off my nose. I admire that you've steered clear of the SI," Jim hurried to add. He could easily take a sixty year old woman whose only weapon was a pan of raw chicken, but he didn't exactly want to. Ruby looked at him for a second, and then put her knife down.

"You're good. I don't usually get spotted so quick."

"Clean kitchen."

"I know you're not suggesting that a woman can't keep a clean kitchen without being a Sentinel," Ruby said dryly.

"To clean the inside of the light fixtures and to have drains so clean that I can't smell any mold from them... that's a level of clean that I only expect from a Sentinel," Jim explained.

"Guess you'll just have to ease up on how much you make us clean, huh, Ruby?" Peter asked with undisguised amusement.

"Just you mind your own business," Ruby answered. Just then Blair came back through and dropped the new pan at the dishwasher and avoided Peter as he came over to where Ruby and Jim sat talking.

"Ruby, hey, we need to talk."

"I've been having a good talk with Jim here."

"We've been talking about how Ruby is a Sentinel," Jim agreed.

"Ruby... what?" Blair did a double take so comical that Jim bit his cheek to avoid laughing. "Ruby?!" Blair blinked.

"Oh honey, I told you that I didn't ever have to worry about bein' arrested," Ruby shrugged as she pulled another chicken out of the quickly diminishing pile. "Did you think I meant that the police are so fond of black folks that they'd go out of their way to not arrest me?"

"Jesus." Blair breathed the word and took a step backwards so he could lean on the center prep table.

"You watch your mouth," Ruby threatened with the point of her knife. "I won't have you using the Lord's name in vain in my kitchen."

"You're a Sentinel and you turned other Sentinels in," Jim commented calmly. The kitchen staff and Blair all glared at him, but Jim focused on Ruby. She pursed her lips and considered that for a second.

"Ruby saved me when I was ready to tear my own skin off," Peter snapped as he abandoned his station and came around the center prep table. Jim stood up straight, and he noticed that Blair stepped forward as the young man came toward them, stiff with anger. "It kills her every time she has to call those assholes, so don't come in here and pass judgment on her," Peter snapped.

"No one's judging," Blair hurried to say, holding out one placating hand toward Peter while his other hovered near his waist where he had his weapon.

"Like hell." Peter still sounded furious, but he stopped near the corner of the prep table.

"I have a right to my opinion. I've been in the SI. I know what they do," Jim defended himself, despite Blair's unhappy noise.

"And do you know what it feels like when your own skin is on fire?" Peter demanded angrily.

"Yes." Jim stared back.

"Hey, hey, let's all calm down here," Blair interjected.

"No, let 'em have their say. I've questioned myself often enough that Jim's got a right to do the same."

"Ruby, you only call the goon squad when they're half out of their mind. Mr. IntheSystem here doesn't get that." Peter glared toward Jim.

"Peter, I've been the one who came when Ruby called. I saw them." Blair said quietly, and then Jim felt the hand on his arm. "Man, when Ruby calls, they're out of their minds. You remember that Sentinel who was so confused that he couldn't tell me Kincaid's guys were there? Remember me telling Aldo how he knocked me into the wall and made me lose my gun when the gunmen came at us?" Blair asked. Jim glanced down at his partner. He did remember that, and the memory of the fear that had come from Blair as he described that moment... Jim let his arm come up and rest across Blair's shoulders, pulling him in toward Jim's body, and even now, Jim could feel a slight tremor in Blair.

"When Ruby calls, they're hurting so bad they're past rational thought. I don't know what Kincaid did, or I do with all the drugs and those god-awful pits we found at the warehouse, but Jim," Blair paused. "Sometimes they do need drugs. The ones Ruby calls on can't be rational, not right then."

"Blair," Jim said tensely. He didn't want to have this conversation here, not now.

"Guess it comes down to the fact that all God's children do what they have to, what they think is right," Ruby interjected, her knife coming down on another chicken. "Peter, you have food on that stove, and if you burn it, you will be scrubbing my pans all night. Blair, they need more chicken on the line. Rhonda's got some ready."

"I'll get it," Jim said before Blair could answer. "Blair needs to talk to you." Turning away from Peter's hot glare, Jim headed around the table and grabbed the chicken from the station next to Paula. Ironically, her stare had softened some.

Jim headed out to the front of Ruby's little kingdom, and here, not even a Sentinel's cleaning standards could dampen the stench. Over a hundred bodies pressed into the space. Dirty children, drunk men, a woman who wore a dozen layers of clothes and stunk so badly of sweat and urine that Jim had to brace himself for a second, his eyes watering.

"Hey, you're new," a younger woman with plastic gloves said as she grabbed the pan from him. "Thanks."

"No problem, you need help?" Jim asked. He narrowed his eyes and ruthlessly tamped down on his sense of smell as an old man with a snarled beard came up and held out his plate with an almost toothless smile.

"I told you Rhonda did a killer fried chicken," the woman offered the man as she handed over a drumstick.

"I should marry the woman," the guy answered, smiling even wider.

"Yeah, well I think Jeb might have a thing or two to say about that since he got her to the altar first," she laughed as the old man wandered away and the line of customers he'd broken into resumed.

"I'm Alicia," the girl offered as she used her shoulder and upper arm to push her thick glasses higher on her nose. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and Jim guessed she was in her early twenties.

"Jim Ellison."

"Nice to meet you," she said, handing out chicken with one hand and mashed potatoes with the other. Spoons clattered as she dropped one into the potatoes and used another to offer gravy.

"Talk later, serve now," said a sour faced man in a priest's collar. He was busy cutting pieces of bread from stacks of French bread loaves. At the same time, he was trying to hand out the bread, serve vegetables to the few who would accept them and drop a little plastic wrapped brownie on each tray.

"Let me help," Jim offered as he stepped between them.

"Grab me a pile of brownies. I can do brownies and chicken while you do potatoes. Father Joe can handle the rest," Alicia suggested.

"Right now, I'll happily hand over any part of this. The next time your volunteers don't show up..." Father Joe sighed and picked up the box of prewrapped brownies and brought them down to Alicia's end. "Who am I kidding? The next time your volunteers don't show up, I'm hanging a sign on the church and coming down here again. Ruby really should have been a nun. I've never known a woman to be that pushy without being a nun," he muttered as he took up the bread knife again.

Jim slipped on the gloves Alicia tossed his way and scooped out portions of mashed potatoes and offered gravy as the plates now slid past him a little faster. Several frowned at his collar or hesitated, but the lure of food was more powerful than the vague fear. Jim wondered if they were more afraid of the urban legends about Sentinels going on rampages or the very real fear that he probably worked with the cops. Jim knew he would have taken off if he'd seen a Sentinel working any of the soup kitchens he'd ever stopped at. In fact... Jim watched as a woman stood and slipped half eaten food into oversized pockets before heading for the door.

Jim noted her face as he focused his hearing on the kitchen behind him.

"... on Sentinels. Jim's right. The whole Sentinels can't control themselves myth is giving people an excuse for the sort of prejudice that we totally wouldn't put up with if it were any other group. I mean, people who tried to claim women are inherently emotional and irrational were pretty much laughed out of science back in the... okay, so it wasn't that long ago, but still."

"Slow down there, Sweetie. You don't have to convince me of that."

"Shit. I can't believe. I mean, how many times did you have me and Rick in here? Damn you have..." Blair's voice trailed off, and Jim nodded and smiled at the woman in line in front of him. Most of the people at the tables were women, quite a few with children.

Ruby laughed, and Jim focused on that sound so that the steady roar of the voices in the dining room faded. "Honey, just because I don't have cojones doesn't mean I don't have cojones. But your friend is right; I've made some choices that keep me up at night."

"No way. You're putting your neck out there, and I've seen the Sentinels you call for help with. And Jim is probably out there growling at me because I know he's listening, but you totally did not have a choice. Totally."

Jim rolled his eyes and gave the next person potatoes, taking over the chicken and brownie station when Alicia went to the kitchen for more chicken. As far as he was concerned, a good night's sleep, clean clothes, and a good meal could solve most any problem a Sentinel had. The silence from Blair and Ruby gave Jim a chance to scan the dining room. Jim had eaten in plenty of places like this during his run, but he had to admit that Ruby ran the best one he'd seen. The place was clean if you ignored the filth the customers brought in with them, the food wasn't burned, and there was enough that no one seemed to be fighting over it.

Ruby sighed as she finally answered Blair, her voice soft. "Sweetie, if the answer were that easy, I wouldn't spend so much time wondering about what I've done. But it's water under the bridge. Grab that pan."

"Oh man, I wish I could see it that way. Yeah, I've done rescues from some slavers, but I've brought in runners..." Someone in the kitchen dropped a pan and then was mighty noisy about picking it up. Jim guessed Peter. Jim flinched at Peter's obvious anger being so near his Guide.

"Blair?" Ruby asked as Blair turned uncharacteristically silent. Jim could hear him move around, but he didn't try and pick up the conversation where Peter had cut it off.

"Ruby, we need more?" Rhonda asked in the awkward silence.

"They sound pretty full out there. I don't think we need to dig into the emergency supplies tonight." Ruby was all business, but the moment she started speaking to Blair, Jim could hear that softer tone sneak back into the woman's words. "Blair, if you came looking for some answers, I'm sorry to say I have more questions than answers myself."

"It's not easy," Blair finally admitted, and Jim knew that tone. That was Blair's monstrous guilt climbing out of his soul. "You know? Totally not easy knowing that you took people who were doing fine and handed them over to the SI."

Another pan went south, and Jim couldn't decide what bothered him more: Peter's pan banging or Blair's guilt.

"Can you guys finish up?" Jim asked as he eyed the remaining line. Peter was far too close to his Guide to be trusted.

"Great. You're leaving us," Father Joe said with a pained sigh.

"I'll try to come back and help another day," Jim apologized as he backed away. He'd been to church often enough growing up that the guilt of abandoning the priest bothered him; it just didn't bother him enough to leave his Guide with Peter.

"Ad praesens ova cras pullis sunt meliora," the priest muttered, and Jim could only hope he wasn't getting cursed out in Latin as he backed through the door into the kitchen. Peter was moving pans from his cooking station to the dishwashing station with a maximum of slamming, and Blair was wandering the prep table, picking up the stray utensils and dishes that had migrated to the center of the room.

"Ruby," Jim said as he walked over toward the woman. She stood by the back door, empty boxes near her feet. "I apologize. I don't agree with what you've done, but you've put your life and your freedom on the line to do the right thing, and that counts for a lot. It's more than most people will do." Jim held out his hand as a peace offering to Ruby, but her eyes flicked toward Blair. Her lips twitched as she held out her hand, still looking at Blair.

"Apology accepted. We all do what we have to in this world, and hopefully we end up doing right, but until we get to the good Lord, who knows. We might all just have our heads up our asses. Part of being human is admitting that you aren't God and don't have the answers and forgiving yourself when you think you might have made a mistake." Ruby kept her gaze on Blair, and when Jim glanced over, he was hiding behind those long curls of his. Ruby sighed. "You look like the least likely of us to get mugged, so you get trash duty, Ranger-boy," Ruby gestured toward the stack of boxes on the floor before heading back toward the door to the walk-in refrigerator.

"So, I know you didn't bring your cute ass over here to save me from a lack of volunteers, and I hope you didn't come here to wail about the unfairness of the universe," Ruby said to Blair. "What brings you down here, tonight?"

"Oh man. You may question what you've done, but I know I fu... screwed up," Blair cringed back away from his own admission. Jim paused in the middle of crushing a box and considered going to his Guide's side, but then the man shook off the heaviness and gave Ruby one of his impish smiles. "But hey, owning your own mistakes is the first step toward fixing them. And yeah, I can't undo them, but I can try to make the world better, which is why I'm writing a paper on Sentinels."

"You mean, Sentinels as guinea pigs?" Peter demanded. Jim crushed the potato box just a little too enthusiastically in warning.

"No way. I would never treat a Sentinel that way. Eli Stoddard and I have co-written a paper on how the SI is messing Sentinels up, sheltering them so much that they don't have the control when they come out. And I'm writing my dissertation on Sentinels and control, and my hypothesis is that this whole society is so screwed up that we're teaching young Sentinels to not have any self-control. I mean, no way can anyone claim American Sentinels don't have anger-management issues because I've seen the stats, but maybe we can show people that any group of teenagers who were told they could get away with throwing fits would get a little... you know..."

"Obnoxious?" Ruby finished for Blair, giving Peter an amused look that made it very clear there was a story or two there. Peter blushed.

"Totally." Blair nodded. "I went to the university at sixteen, and I was a complete goober because my mom wasn't there with this disapproving, disappointed look she always used when I was a goober around her."

"Yeah, but the parents of Sentinels are told to just let them do anything," Peter said softly. "It's hard to know right from wrong when no one will tell you when you're wrong."

"Exactly," Blair agreed. "And someone has to start somewhere, so I'm going to start by proving that the whole system is looking at this wrong. I don't know if it will make any difference..."

"Baby, I think Martin Luther King himself must have had that thought a time or two. But change has to start somewhere. You have a problem, though. You make waves, and they're going to make you sorry." Ruby leaned against the refrigerator door and looked meaningfully at Jim.

"Yeah, it sucks. So, dissertation and then maybe a nice long trip to the South of France," Blair shrugged.

"I'd suggest somewhere a little farther... more like Mars," Ruby muttered, as she pulled open the refrigerator door.

"Ruby, Rhonda and I need to head home. The grandkids are coming in tomorrow," one of the dishwashers said as he pulled off his apron. The woman who'd made the fried chicken moved close to his side.

"Thanks for the help, Jeb," Ruby called without coming out of the refrigerator.

"Mr. Ellison, Mr. Sandburg, if you need anything, Ruby has our number," the man said as he turned toward Jim. Jim looked at him for a moment, and he must have had a confused expression because the man shrugged and answered Jim's unspoken question. "The Quakers have been fighting slavery for three hundred years. The church has publicly taken the stand that what is done to Sentinels is immoral in the eyes of God."

"Thanks," Jim said as he accepted the hand Jeb held out.

"Let us know if you need anything," Rhonda agreed with her husband before they both headed out through the front. Out there, spotlights discouraged any crime, and Jim realized that Ruby probably used her hearing to keep track of the area. She was a true tribal Sentinel with her own little territory in the heart of the city. He crushed the last box and pulled the back door open before scooping an armful up so he could drop them in the dumpster.

"So, why come to me with this story of yours?" Ruby called from inside the refrigerator. Jim could hear her shove boxes from side to side as he hurried to finish his chore and get back inside.

"I was hoping to test some runners, to show that they have control over their senses and instincts. I know it's just step one, but..."

"Testing?" Ruby came out of the refrigerator, her mouth opened and closing before she finally spoke. "Blair, most of us living outside the system—we've spent a lifetime trying to avoid testing. That kind of paperwork trail..."

"No way. No. That would not happen."

"Honey, don't be so quick to dismiss it. I've seen the government do some pretty ugly shit. I'm old enough to remember the dogs being turned loose on protesters. Don't just tell me it won't happen." Ruby came out of the refrigerator and pushed the door closed behind her.

Now Blair chewed on his lip.

"Blair asked me once if my country was worth trying to change. If I would risk my life to make the country better the way I risked it to defend the country," Jim interjected. Ruby's eyes came to rest on him, and Jim waited as she thought that through.

"America never was America to me," Ruby said, her distant voice making it clear she was quoting something or someone.

"Could this change things? Change the way the SI tells people to treat their kids?" Peter asked. The young man had to be in his early or mid-twenties, but the way he asked the question, all big blue eyes and open vulnerability, he looked about sixteen.

"Maybe," Blair answered. "It would get another story out there. Yeah, the SI would probably still tell parents to do the same stuff, but maybe parents would read a magazine article or see someone on some news program talking about this new study. It might give people the idea they should at least think about it. Or it might just get buried in some academic journal that everyone ignored," Blair admitted the last part sadly.

"You can test me," Peter blurted quickly. "I don't always have the best control, but Ruby says I'm getting better."

"You are, Baby," Ruby reassured him. "Blair, how are you going to keep Peter out of danger? If he gets picked up because of something you write or say, I swear, I'll make a coin purse out of your cojones."

"No names. There won't be anything in any paperwork with names. And I'll make up enough details to throw off anyone who tries to backtrack me. And no one will see this except Eli until I submit it to my committee. And yeah, there's some danger there, but these are anthropologists. And legally the committee can't do anything with it until I defend. And trust me, the day I defend, I am so out of here. I won't be around for the cops to threaten with contempt."

Ruby gave a huff. "You do remember you are a cop, right?"

Blair paused. "I just wanted to help people. I'm starting to think becoming a cop wasn't the best way to do that."

Jim couldn't stand back any more. He moved forward and caught Blair around the shoulders, pulling him into a one-armed hug. Blair leaned into that embrace, closing his eyes for a second, and Jim wished he could carry this guilt for Blair. The young man he'd met at the airport had been so confident, so pure in his intentions. And that kid had annoyed Jim with his naïve world-view, but sometimes Jim wished he could find a world where he could let Blair stay that kid without being weighed down with guilt and uncertainty.

"I'm going to regret this," Ruby sighed. "I'll do your tests."

Blair smiled weakly. "Hey, thanks. And I didn't know you were a Sentinel, so I actually wanted permission to talk to people in your dining room. Eli thinks that other Sentinels are probably living on the streets."

"I think I spotted one. A young woman, maybe twenty-five, shoulder-length blonde hair, brown eyes," Jim added.

Ruby nodded as if she knew the woman in question. "I'll talk to a couple of people, but you don't go to my customers, not in here and not near here. If you scare them away, they won't have anywhere else to go," Ruby warned.

"Deal," Blair quickly agreed, holding his hands up in surrender. Then one hand slipped around Jim's waist, hugging him in return.

"You do know it's not all about the Sentinel, right?" Ruby asked. "You've got your own thing going on here too." Ruby waggled her finger between Jim and Blair.

"You mean they're kudari?" Peter asked, his voice now taking on the bright tones of a child at Christmas. "The way you and..."

"Kudari?" Blair immediately pounced on the word, stepping forward out of Jim's embrace.

Ruby smiled, her face going from tough broad to a stereotype of a grandmother in a blink. "Old word for bonded. Only, it means more like a mutual embrace. It's what happens when a Sentinel finds his Beshte."

"Beshte?" Blair did a little bounce.

"His friend, his companion," Ruby clarified. "They're old words, from before the slave ships even."

"Oh man. You mean... African Americans have kept some of their pre-slavery stories of Sentinels?" Blair demanded, and all the guilt and uncertainty vanished under that enthusiastic light that would infuse Blair when he found that one bit of information that really intrigued him. Jim smiled fondly at his Guide.

"Oh honey, blacks have held on to more than a few stories. You ever notice that there just aren't that many black Sentinels around, especially not from my generation?" Ruby asked. Jim watched, amused as Blair's brain slipped the puzzle pieces into place. He spun around and slapped his hand on the prep table, all the time with a huge grin on his face that made Jim want to fuck the man.

"They're hiding them. Oh man. The whole subculture. It's got a different set of rules. Fuck. What is wrong with me? I so should have seen that. I mean, look at Simon. He totally hates that Sentinels aren't held responsible. Man, most people wouldn't even consider blaming a Sentinel, but Simon totally does. And Joel. Oh man. Shit."

Blair leaned back against the prep table, his heart pounding as he breathed hard.

"Everything okay?" Alicia asked as she stuck her head in the kitchen.

"We're fine. You okay on the line?" Ruby asked, her voice shaded with laughter.

"Other than being stuck with Father Sour, it's all good," Alicia said before she disappeared back through the door.

"Now Blair," Ruby said. "Don't you go lumping all us folk together. There are plenty of black folks who have their heads just as far up their asses as white folks. And in the last forty years, some of the old ways have just been forgotten. It used to be that the black schools didn't even look for Sentinels because we weren't considered anything more than niggers." Ruby spat the word, and Jim could see both Blair and Peter flinch. "But now, they're all interested in finding and properly training our Sentinels to be good law-abiding collar-wearing citizens. And young people are growing up not even knowing the way it used to be, especially up here in the north. Well, I tell you what. If you were black and you lived in the south, you counted on your Sentinel to protect you from the law."

"And the Sentinels had to have control. Man, no way would someone back then have given an African American Sentinel a pass." Blair nodded thoughtfully.

"They'd end up strange fruit hanging from a tree, just the same as any other nigger who got an attitude," Ruby agreed. She sighed, and the anger that had slowly gathered in her now quieted.

"I marched. I was out there trying to claim my rights. I was so proud when it was a woman who started the bus boycotts. You're right," Ruby turned to Jim. "Some things are worth fighting for, even if you risk everything to get them." Ruby took a deep breath and looked at Blair. "I'll find you runners. But as much risk as they're taking to give you this data, you take just as much to keep the cops off their back," she said, poking her finger toward Blair.

"Totally," Blair agreed solemnly. "Oh man. I feel like Howard Carter discovering King Tut's tomb," Blair breathed reverently. "Whole new world. It's a whole new world, man."

"See if you're still this enthusiastic after you've figured out about spirit animals," Ruby suggested dryly. "There are parts of this world that are a giant pain in the ass."

"Spirit animals?" Blair asked, his face tilting toward Jim.

"Don't ask," Jim quickly said, "One paradigm shift at a time, Chief. We don't want to fry that brain of yours before you have a chance to single-handedly save the world."

Blair snorted. "Okay, should I point out that the African American community has had it right this whole time and the Quakers are right there with them, and then there are all those websites I ran across when I was researching, and at the time, I thought they were crackpots, but..." Blair fell silent for a second. "It's all there right in front of our faces, and people still don't see it," Blair said softly. Once again, Jim glimpsed the naïve purity in Blair's heart--the total confusion that people couldn't or wouldn't see the world as he saw it. Jim remembered that look when the judge had considered taking Jim: a total bewilderment that not everyone could see his truth. Jim wasn't even sure if Blair knew how much he'd changed, how much he'd lost touch with his world. Jim slipped his arm around Blair and remembered the words from his dream. What had Incacha said? Blair had strength, but he need to be sheltered. Jim tightened his arm around Blair and vowed that he'd do that.

"Thanks Ruby. We'd better get going," Jim said.

"Nice, duck out right before dragon lady starts demanding the grout be bleached," Peter grumbled good-naturedly. His anger from earlier gone.

"You let them alone. Besides, you can consider this practice for one of Blair's tests. Use that nose of yours to get this place clean enough that I don't have to come back here and make you bleach it," Ruby said. "I have people to check in with."

Ruby disappeared through the door into the dining room, and Jim pulled Blair toward the back, leaving Peter to deal with the last of the cleaning chores. Blair definitely needed some time to process.

FORTY TWO
***
"Man, this sucks," Blair walked in the door to the loft and aimed his backpack at the couch with enough force to send it crashing into the arm and then sliding down to the floor. Jim tried and failed to avoid a smile. "Yeah, yuck it up. I am so doing some sort of testing with you next, buddy," Blair threatened. "Test your control during an air raid siren or something."

"Come on. It's only fair for Eli to get in a few of his tests since you're testing the others," Jim commented as he headed for the refrigerator and grabbed two beers. Blair was on the couch glaring at him when Jim handed over the bottle.

"Keep it up, and next time Eli arranges one of his near-accidents for you, I'm pushing you in front of the garbage truck," Blair growled. Jim's smirk grew into outright laughter, which he struggled to cut off as Blair's frown deepened.

"Come on, Chief, your face when something comes flying out of nowhere..." Jim let his words trail off, but after the SI had spent time doing tests that left Jim's ears ringing and his skin trying to crawl off his body, he couldn't actually summon too much sympathy for Blair.

"I'm going to have a heart attack. A fucking heart attack," Blair complained as he took a big drink from his beer. "And why can't I have nice little senses to test? A nice little salt tolerance test, a few strobe lights... but no... Eli is left testing a Guide's ability to fucking freak out." Blair took a bigger drink from his beer.

"We could have the spirit animals talk with him. Maybe if he tortured you a little, that wolf would show up, and he could test that," Jim suggested sarcastically.

"Okay, Eli already thinks I'm a little eccentric, let's not give him the impression that I'm a total lunatic. And I'm still on the fence about whether or not you and Ruby are just shitting me on that one. Peter has never seen strange wild animals wandering through walls."

"He's young," Jim shrugged. "Besides, his guide might be a mouse for all we know, something he wouldn't even notice."

"He'd notice a mouse in Ruby's kitchen." Blair gave a little laugh. "Ruby would have him scrubbing the floor for a month if anyone spotted a mouse."

"Right, so we let Eli stick to testing your ability to fucking freak out." Jim mimicked Blair's words from earlier as he leaned against the wall next to the window and drank his own beer to hide his grin.

"You suck. I can hear you smirking from here," Blair complained as he let his head flop back onto the couch so he stared at the ceiling.

"I certainly can be convinced to suck... and swallow." Jim tried for thoughtful, or maybe salacious, but he just couldn't hold back the laughter.

"Ellison, it's been a bad week and your weird-ass sense of humor is not helping things," Blair complained, but Jim also noticed that the edge of his mouth twitched.

"You should try a week in the desert on survival training. Eating bugs, drinking bitter cactus juice... it gives you perspective on having a bad week."

Blair raised his hand and made a 'blah blah blah' gesture with his fingers for a few seconds before flipping Jim the bird. "One-upmanship. Oh man, stereotypical alpha male behavior. Totally predictable."

"I offer to suck and swallow and you accuse me of being a stereotypical alpha male. Sometimes your brain confounds me, Sandburg," Jim commented. Blair's head tilted up so he could give Jim a longer look.

"A month. Come on. Don't tell me you aren't just a little completely freaking pissed."

"It's one more month. You've already waited years for your doctorate, so I don't think a few more weeks will kill you."

"Eli is totally going overboard. I could finish now. I so do not need to spend a week in Georgia," Blair had a good whine going now, and Jim knew how to cut this complaint off before it went too far. He took a big drink of beer and set the bottle down on the table before stalking toward the couch. Blair had let his head fall back again so he stared at the ceiling, and Jim made sure to move silently. All the better to pounce on his Guide.

"I mean, yeah, under other circumstances, I would totally love to really do an in-depth investigation of the whole subculture, but I could defend now without that. I can't believe Eli is blocking my committee. It's blackmail. Blackmail. I could arrest him for that. I should arrest him for that." Blair tilted his head and looked at Jim, but there was nothing inviting or sexual in the look he gave his Sentinel. Jim sighed.

Giving up on seduction, Jim went back for his beer before he sat on the couch next to Blair. "Is that what you want? Do you really want to push this with Eli?"

Blair sighed. "Man, I hate it when you're right." Blair sat up and let his head rest on his hand. "What we're doing... the dissertation I'm writing... it sounds so close to what the crackpots are out there are claiming that the committee is going to look for ways to shred me." Blair sat up, took a deep breath, and looked at Jim.

"I may not get the dissertation. I mean, that article comes out next week, and I know that's going to get some people talking, but what Eli and I are finding... it's antithetical to everything Sentinel psychology claims right now. I know I need to take this extra time if I hope to actually survive defending, but I'm just not sure it's worth it." Blair didn't voice his fears, they had both learned to avoid saying certain truths and fears out loud, but Jim didn't need Sentinel hearing to hear what wasn't said. He reached out and slipped his arm around Blair's shoulders.

"You just do your thing. Don't worry about the rest," Jim said. "Look, we take the week, we go down to Georgia and do your control tests down there, we let Eli set up a near-accident or two for me and watch your heart stop, and we come home. No big deal."

"I just..." Blair stopped. His hand reached out and rested on Jim's knee.

"Eyes on the prize, Chief," Jim said softly. Blair turned and looked at him with a small smile.

"From stereotype to cliché," he teased. Now Jim rolled his eyes.

"Whatever." Jim threw one of Blair's favorite words back at him, and Blair poked him in the stomach in return. "Besides, I want to meet Maury."

"Okay, that's another thing. I mean, if we really put his name in this paper, the SI is so going after him."

"I think he knows that," Jim agreed. "Chief, he's 82 years old. His Guide is dead. The most the SI can do is move him from a retirement home to a Sentinel retirement home. And this gives him a chance to do one last thing to try and protect his community, to try and fix this whole mess. Besides, the ACLU will drool over a case like this; they'll sweep in there and turn him into either a spokesman or a martyr." Jim could see Blair flinch at the idea of the gentle old man who had guarded his town through the worst of the Civil Rights Era martyred for the cause of Sentinel rights. "He knows the risk. He wants to do this. I'm sure he knows younger Sentinels, ones that he wants to protect from this system."

"You Sentinels and your protective instincts," Blair took another swig of beer.

"You Guides and your protective instincts," Jim countered. Blair choked on his beer.

"Shit. Do you think... I mean, it makes sense. Sentinels are protective of the tribe and Guides are protective of the Sentinels maybe. Oh man, I wonder if Eli is working with that hypothesis."

"You could ask him tomorrow," Jim pointed out. They had two interviews for tomorrow, a Sentinel-Guide pair, or as everyone in Ruby's circle called them, a kudari couple—mutually bonded. Blair had raved for hours when he'd traced the roots of the term back to the Swahili 'kumbatia' meaning to be embraced.

"Oh man, when it comes to Guides, as far as Eli is concerned I am just one of his test subjects. No way will he risk contaminating his results by discussing his hypothesis with me. No, he'll just keep trying to give me a heart attack and record how freaked I get."

"Not feeling the sympathy here, Chief," Jim admitted.

"Even taking into account that it's possible--just possible-- that my protective instincts are going off here, I'm still not okay with outing Maury."

"He's a grown man, Blair, give him the right to make his choices. You're putting your career, your degree, even your own freedom on the line, so respect him enough to admit he has the right to do the same."

"My mom's friend Jim?" Blair asked, smiling at their personal joke.

"Exactly," Jim agreed as he pulled Blair into a hug. "Blair, it's just a month. One week of that will be in Georgia, and another week, you'll be locked in the office cursing at your computer and mumbling vague references to Vygotsky. And then we have the weekend fishing trip with Simon and his son, so it's going to fly by, and before you even know it, you'll be in front of those sharks at the university defending your dissertation."

Blair laughed softly. "You do realize that you're supposed to be the illogical one, right?"

"There's a one weirdo per kudari couple rule, so I'm just trying to keep us within regulations," Jim teased as he ruffled Blair's long hair. "Now, I do believe I made a rather sexually suggestive offer earlier," Jim pointed out. He let his fingers trail through Blair's hair and trace the edge of his jaw. His Guide was a beautiful man.

"Oh, did you?" Blair asked, a smile turning up the edges of his mouth before he licked his lips. Jim watched the tongue appear and disappear. Leaning forward, he claimed Blair's lips, tasting the coffee and the chocolate from a brownie and the musk that was just Blair. Jim moved forward until he pressed Blair back into the couch, the warm body firm and twisting under his hands until Jim was ready to just let go and bury himself in the sensory input. But if he did, he'd come in his pants, and Jim wanted more than a quick rub on the couch. He pulled back.

When Jim sat up, he could see Blair's flushed face as he gasped for breath. "Oh yeah." Blair paused for a second, his eyes skittering away, and Jim cocked his head. Blair still smelled interested, but that was not an interested expression. That looked more worried.

"Blair?"

"Do you think that maybe we could try something different?"

"Different?" Jim echoed. Blair looked up with just a touch of frustration in his eyes.

"Yeah, different, as in not the same."

"You don't... what?" Jim felt vaguely offended. He certainly hadn't heard Blair voice any concerns last time they'd shared blow jobs.

"Man, you have that look, that defensive look," Blair sighed. "You know I love what we do. Love. I'm not just in love with Jim Ellison, I'm head over heels in lust with him, too."

"Which explains why you don't want a blow job?" Jim asked, aggravation starting to worm its way up through his fears.

"Hey, I'm not saying no to anything, but I just thought we might try doing something more," Blair shrugged. Something in Jim's expression must have warned him to back off because Blair held up his hands in surrender. "Bad idea. Totally a bad idea, so just erase the last five minutes, and let's get back to the kissing part." Blair leaned forward, his hand coming up to brush against Jim's cheek, but Jim leaned back to avoid the kiss.

"You want to have sex," Jim said quietly.

"Jim, we already have sex. We've had sex in just about every corner of this apartment. Hell, we embarrassed the hell out of that social worker when we didn't get the place cleaned up fast enough, but hey, that's one way to prove we are well and truly bonded. And right now, you propositioned me, and I'd like to have more sex." Blair's voice lowered in a husky promise, and Jim could feel himself respond to the tone. He stood up and backed off a step before his brains could short circuit with all the blood going south.

"You want penetrative sex," Jim corrected his wording. Blair flushed, his skin pinking.

"Want, yes. Need, totally not. However, I'm going to explode if you don't get over here. Come on, I already said to ignore my big mouth."

"We should talk about this, Chief."

"Talk?" Blair asked, his voice sounding a little shrill. "You want to... talk? Now?"

"Talk," Jim agreed. Blair threw himself back onto the couch and gave a long-suffering sigh. "I'm so horny I could explode, and Mr. Stoic Taciturnity decides we need to talk. You're sadistic, man."

"Blair," Jim said helplessly. He took a step forward, bothered more than he could say at the accusation that his behavior was hurting Blair.

"No, hey, talk. I can do talk. Of course, usually when I do talk I have more blood in the big head than the little one, but I'm there with you, man."

"Forget it," Jim said as he turned away.

"Hey, you brought this up."

"No, you did," Jim reminded him.

Blair stopped for a second and thought about that. "Okay, I did, but I also said to forget it."

"Forget that what we do isn't enough," Jim snapped as he grabbed another beer out of the refrigerator.

"Whoa. Put the brakes on that right now. No way did I say that. What we have is like sexual fillet mignon."

"Which you don't seem to like any more."

"I like it a whole lot more than starving," Blair complained as he pulled at the crotch of his pants. His desire might have cooled, but Jim could still see his hard cock pressing against the seam. Jim's own erection had faded. "Okay, this isn't going well. Nice timing Sandburg," Blair accused himself, and Jim took a drink of his beer as he watched his Guide.

"Okay, take two. Jim, I love what we do and you are like sex on a stick. I mean, walk in the room and I'm pretty much ready to go. Hell, I'm ready to go now, and getting kinda freaked because the chances for go seem to be dwindling."

"But you want penetrative sex," Jim finished.

"I just suggested we try it."

"And who bottoms?" Jim asked. He leaned back against the refrigerator and crossed his arms.

"Is that the bug that crawled up your ass and died?" Blair asked. "Oh man. Stereotypical alpha male. Taking it up the ass does not make your testosterone levels drop. I will bottom if it means we're back on track." Blair threw his hands up in exasperation with the whole situation.

"How many men have you been with, Blair?" Jim asked calmly as he took another drink of beer. This was territory he definitely didn't want to get into, but they had to deal with this.

"Three, okay? You need names? Addresses? Personal references?" Blair turned and headed back for the couch where he threw himself down still muttering curses, and Jim knew that he was meant to hear every single one of them.

"How many of them did you bottom for?" Jim asked as he followed. He stood near the chair staring at the colorful Navaho blanket hung on one wall.

"Whoa, that's a little personal. How many have you bottomed for, Ellison?"

"One." Jim answered quietly, his voice little above a whisper, and the color drained from Blair's face as he figured out the only man to ever do that with Jim. Of course, the better description would be the man who did that 'to' Jim.

"Fuck, Jim, I'm an asshole."

"Answer my question. How many of those guys did you bottom for?" Jim asked as he stepped into the living room and sat in the chair.

"One."

"And how many times did you bottom with him?" Jim pressed. He had a pretty good idea about the answer. Blair glanced up, his expression caught between a glare and guilt.

"Twice, okay?"

That was actually once more than Jim expected. "I bet you didn't even enjoy it that much," Jim mused. "Chief, you're a top, and I'm a top. Blair, this is one place where we probably shouldn't go," Jim said softly.

"Hey, I came," Blair protested. Jim looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Okay," Blair admitted with more than a little cranky in his voice, "I wasn't all that thrilled, but sex is in the brain, man, and I could not let go that much with him. Jim, I'm serious. Yeah, I'll admit that I'm normally a top, but I'm more than willing to bottom. I just want us to take this to another level."

"I don't want you making compromises in bed to try and please me."

"Oh man, the only compromise I'm making here is to not tackle you and rip your clothes off because you offered sex, and I'm feeling a little neglected here. Look, Jim, I do want penetrative sex, and man that is the most unsexy term I have ever heard, but right now, I just want you. However you want."

"Chief, this isn't just about what I want."

"Oh man. Don't go there. You know that whole spiel you just gave me about Maury and choices? Do not assume I can't take care of my own interests. If I didn't want to bottom, I'd tell you. Yeah, it hasn't been my favorite position in the past, but I've never been with you before... well, not like that, so I'm perfectly willing to do a little experimenting.

"And if you don't like it?" Jim asked.

"Then we're right back to fillet mignon," Blair quickly answered. "No problem."

Jim shook his head. "This isn't a good idea. Trying to do something just because of someone else..."

"Get over yourself, Ellison. If I didn't want it, I so wouldn't offer," Blair said as he got up and started stalking toward Jim, his body language mirroring the sexy approach Jim had tried to use just minutes ago when Blair had chosen to ignore him in favor of worrying.

"Oh, so I'm just supposed to flip a switch and turn on the sex?" Jim asked in a teasing voice.

"Yep," Blair agreed. "Fuck me."

"That's about as sexy as calling it penetrative sex," Jim complained as Blair straddled his knees and sat on his lap. "I want to touch you, to slide inside you and make love to you and leave you a puddle of hormones that has lost the ability to form coherent words, but I don't want to 'fuck' you, Blair."

"Words, words, words," Blair dismissed Jim's complaint as he leaned down and initiated the next kiss. Jim let his hands reach up and cradle the sides of Blair's head, fingers tangled in the long curls. Feeling the heat soak into him, Jim bucked up into that firm body. Blair sat up.

"No more words," Jim promised as he stood, half lifting and half pushing Blair so that they stood chest to chest. "Upstairs."

"That's a word," Blair teased. His pupils were so dilated with need that his eyes were almost black, reflecting the light from the kitchen. Jim leaned down and captured that mouth as it opened to say something else. With one arm wrapped around Blair's waist, and the other at the back of Blair's head, Jim took control in a way he never had before. This time when he finally pulled back, Blair looked too stunned to come up with a smartass remark.

Jim reluctantly let his hands fall away from Blair's warmth as he turned and headed for the stairs. He was halfway up before he heard Blair's footsteps following him.

Standing by their dresser, Jim pulled his shirt off, dropping it in the hamper as Blair shed his clothes at the foot of their bed. Another time, Jim might have taken the time to slowly strip Blair, maybe do a strip tease for his Guide, who spent a lot of time watching Jim's body. Jim had started lifting weights with his shirt off because of the way Blair would stop and watch, mesmerized by the muscle. But today, Jim had equal parts excitement and nervousness rattling around in his guts and he let Blair quickly strip before he moved in.

With his palms pressed to Blair's ass, Jim pulled his Guide to his body and lowered his mouth to his neck where he slowly tasted up to Blair's ear.

"Oh fuck," Blair breathed and hands grabbed at Jim's back. Jim squeezed, and Blair gasped. Pushing forward, Jim pressed Blair so that the back of his legs touched the mattress, and then he wrapped his arm around Blair's waist as he dropped them onto the bed.

Jim held Blair close as they bounced and then settled onto the mattress. While Blair watched with dark eyes, Jim shifted them both up the bed until they rested comfortably in the middle. Words never had been Jim's strongest suit, so he went with what he knew. Barely skimming his palms over Blair's exposed body, he felt the subtle tremors as he allowed his fingers to linger over one spot or another. He caressed the curve of a hip. He lightly ran a fingernail over a nipple. He tickled the spot where hip and leg met.

By the time Jim finished, Blair had reached up to grab the railing. His eyes were closed, and his whole body twisted in time with his labored breathing. Jim pressed a kiss to the head of Blair's swollen and moist cock. Before Jim could take it in his mouth properly, Blair bucked up and came, his come splattering over his own stomach.

"Bu... Wha..." Blair managed to mumble in confusion as the blood slowly returned to his brain.

"Shhhh," Jim said, reaching up to run a finger over Blair's lips, stroking the soft skin for a second before reaching over to the bedside table. He retrieved the lube and opened it while Blair watched silently, sated and more curious than lusting now. That's what Jim wanted. Jim didn't want his Guide so lost in the need to come that he would do anything. And Jim really didn't want Blair tense and tight with lust... not this first time.

Jim reached down, and Blair bent his legs, and tilted his ass. When Jim glanced up, Blair was watching with a small smile that gave Jim all the permission he needed.

Jim slipped a slicked finger inside easily, watching Blair who wasn't particularly aroused, but he wasn't bothered by the contact either.

"God, you're gorgeous. I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you," Jim whispered as he started pressing deeper in Blair's body, searching for the prostate gland. Yep, Blair sucked a deep breath and the smell of pheromones blended with the musk of Blair's come. Jim felt the small gland and teasingly ran his finger over it as he leered at Blair's body spread out for him.

Blair sucked in another breath, his cock not hardening, but subtly darkening.

When he pulled his finger out, Jim could see Blair shift, nervousness or desire or maybe just an itching shoulder prompting a series of small movements that made his muscles shift under his skin. Jim watched, the shadows playing over the dips and curves as Jim pressed two slick fingers in.

"I wish you'd take off your shirt when you lifted," Jim whispered. "I'd like to watch you. I'd like to see the sweat caught on your arm hairs, a bead running down your exposed backbone. I'd watch the muscles tighten under all that warm skin." Jim temporarily lost track of his own thoughts when Blair moaned and tightened his ass around Jim's fingers.

Jim braced his hand on the mattress and took a few deep breaths to force back his own need to come.

"Oh yeah," Blair encouraged, and Jim started working his fingers in and out. Blair slowly relaxed, and Jim's fingers moved more easily. With a quick bit of clever work with the lube, Jim worked a third finger inside, and now Blair threw his head back, breathing in both lust and discomfort, his throat arched out, his feet pressed into the mattress.

"So sensual. So sexy," Jim assured his lover, struggling to find the words because Blair wanted them. Blair's hands flew to the railing, strong fingers wrapping around the steel as his back arched.

"Do it," Blair hissed. Jim could smell the pheromones, watch as Blair's sated cock slowly filled, hear the wild pounding of his heart and the breathy moans.

Jim pulled his fingers out and took just a second to enjoy the sight of a debauched and hungry Blair stretched across the rumpled white sheets.

"Not lasting long," Jim said as he put lube on his own aching erection and pressed slowly at Blair's entrance. Blair braced his feet on the bed, physically lifting himself and exposing his ass as Jim inched forward. The pressure on Jim's cock was so intense, the heat so immediate that Jim stopped, struggling to dial down before he came.

"Jim?" Blair strangled the word, making the syllable foreign and exotic, and Jim started pressing forward again. He focused on Blair's neck, the curve, the goose pimples that made the tiny hairs stand on end, the Adam's apple traveling his neck with each nervous swallow.

Eventually, Jim had pressed all the way in, and he let himself rest, hands on either side of Blair's body, head hanging as he struggled to get some control.

"Oh god," Blair made a mantra of the phrase. "Oh god. Oh god." Feet brushed against Jim's legs as Blair twitched under him. Closing his eyes, Jim pulled back, his whole body tightening in anticipation as Blair squeezed. Slowly, Jim started thrusting, listening to the ragged breathing and feeling Blair's breath skim over his skin and hearing Blair's heart pound and the blood pushing through his veins.

Shifting, Jim felt when he hit the right angle. Blair gasped and stiffened, fingers scrambling at Jim's shoulders as he finally loosened his own control and started thrusting faster now. Blair's mantra speeded up with him.

"Oh god. Oh fucking.... oh yeah. God." Blair twisted, and a foot landed on Jim's calf, the heat of Blair's body searing him as Jim lost all coherent thought and rammed into Blair, his desire overwhelming every sense as he sank into Blair, became a part of the heaving body below him. Blair came again, a weak spray of come joining the drying splatters already on his stomach, and Jim felt himself fall over the edge with his Guide. He pressed deep into Blair and came in powerful waves that sent the world spinning.

Sill buried deep in Blair, Jim collapsed, his trembling arms refusing to hold his weight. He laid still, his own racing heart in sync with Blair's, their musk so heavy that Jim imagined he could see the cloud surround them. Slowly, Jim rolled, pulling free of Blair and that enveloping heat that had surrounded him. He landed beside Blair. Blair lay on his back, his eyes still staring up blankly, and Jim spooned to his side, draping a leg over Blair's thighs.

"You okay?" Jim finally asked when Blair showed no signs of immediately recovery.

"Told you so," Blair finally managed, a wicked smile slowly creeping in place as he turned and looked at Jim.

"You told me so?" Jim asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Totally, man. You were worried that we wouldn't work, but that... fuck... that worked," Blair nodded. "That totally worked." Blair paused for a second. "Totally."

Reaching up, Jim brushed sweaty strands of hair away from Blair's face. "Yeah, you told me so," Jim admitted with a smile of his own. "I have to let you be right every once in a while or you'll get a complex on me."

"Booger," Blair accused him with a random poke to the stomach. Jim might have continued the fight, but he suddenly felt so tired, he didn't care about being called a booger. He didn't care that the light on the dresser was still on. He didn't care that his beer was sitting somewhere downstairs and the loft would probably smell like a brewery tomorrow. All he cared about was the man dozing contently in his arms in the middle of a sticky mess. Jim reached down and pulled the sheet up and over them as he wrapped his arms around Blair, listening as Blair slipped into sleep.

FORTY THREE
***
"Hey hon," Ruby called as Jim came through the back door. "You bring the annoying one today?" she asked with a narrow-eyed glare. She crossed her arms, a spatula in one hand so that Jim thought of a warrior brandishing a sword.

"You're safe from testing," Jim promised with a laugh. "He's finishing up with the last bit of his dissertation. It's my day off from work, so instead of sitting around and watching him obsess over that computer, I thought I'd give you a hand," Jim offered. He grabbed an apron from the hooks on the wall.

"You're always welcome." Ruby paused a second before sighing. "Course, Blair is always welcome, too, but I don't mind saying that I appreciate a break every once in a while. I swear that boy is hard on me just so I'll find some other guinea pig for him to test and give me a break," Ruby complained as she turned back to the grill.

"He didn't make you try to count flashing red lights while running the treadmill," Peter complained. "I'm still trying to figure out what that means other than I can't run and count, which is a little like when my father used to tell me I couldn't walk and chew gum."

Peter had the fryers today. He used a French fry cutter to quickly slice potatoes before throwing them in.

"Kitchen or line?" Jim asked.

"Start by getting two more pans of those carrots going; I ran out of time. A little orange juice and some butter'll give 'em a nice glaze, but watch that butter. Johnston's store has been sending some supplies that are already off."

Jim didn't point out that as a Sentinel he knew rancid butter just as well as Ruby. This was her kitchen and her kingdom, so he just sniffed the yellow sticks as she watched him, her spatula flipping the sandwiches all lined up like soldiers on the flat grill.

"We ready to open the doors?" Rhonda asked as she stuck her head in from the dining room. Her gray hair was pulled back into a bun and Jim could see Jeb standing behind her.

"The first sandwiches are coming off now," Ruby agreed as she started flipping the food off onto flat pans. "Peter, that first bunch of carrots ready?"

"Yes, ma'am," he quickly agreed. He took a fork and stuck it into a pan already bubbling on the stove.

"Well, get them out on the line then."

Jim listened as a much smaller lunch crowd came through the doors, lured by a spot out of the foggy drizzle and the promise of good food. Most of Ruby's regulars would stay out begging over lunch, though. They'd come tonight.

"So, does he think his dissertation is going to get past those great stuffed shirts?" Ruby asked.

"If he's half as enthusiastic with them as he is around the loft, they'll give him the degree just to shut him up."

Ruby laughed. "The boy does have what my grandmother would have called an excess of conviction."

"That's one way of putting it. Annoying little shit would be the other way," Jim pointed out dryly.

"Yeah, but you love the annoying little shit anyway." Ruby nodded knowingly. "It was the same with Roger. I used to tell that boy he was going to get his ass killed if he didn't stop doing stupid shit, and then he has to go and get killed by cancer." Ruby paused, her spatula drifting over the grill. "I always told him I'd chase him to the next world and kick his ass if he went and got dead on me." Ruby fell silent. With jerky motions, she started flipping sandwiches with a single-minded focus.

"One of these days you can follow through on that threat," Jim said softly, moving over to the cutting board and tackling the potatoes Peter had left uncut. Ruby reached up with a hand and wiped her eyes.

"Oh honey, I plan to, as long as the idiot managed to get himself up to St. Peter. Otherwise, I'll have to head down south and drag his ass up there myself."

"I hurt when I had to leave Incacha, but if I lost Blair..." Jim allowed his words to fade away, not even wanting to look at the black hole that would leave in his soul.

"Know what you mean," Ruby nodded. "I would have laid down and died, just followed Roger to the next world out of grief, except this place wouldn't hold together for five minutes without me to kick some ass."

Jim focused on the potatoes, not even wanting to imagine being caught between following your Guide to the next life or leaving your territory where people depended on you. Jim had no problem with leaving Cascade. He'd transferred most of his money through his father's lawyers and Blair had already applied for visiting professor status at three different universities overseas with Eli's blessing and help. Jim could do that. He wasn't unique in Cascade... the people didn't actually need him.

But if Ruby left, people might go hungry. The free kitchen might not survive considering that it was Ruby's forceful personality and the subtle application of her considerable skills as a Sentinel that kept the place going. God help the store owner who lied to her about not having any produce to donate. But to keep going after her Guide died... the last of Jim's reservations about Ruby had faded when he'd heard that story. She was a strong woman.

"Sometimes I still hear him, you know?" Ruby finally asked, her spatula clicking against the flat griddle. "I see his owl more often than I see my own spirit guide, so I guess cancer didn't really take him away, but sometimes it does feel like it. I would have liked being able to tell people about Roger, about him being my Beshte. If Blair pulls this off, maybe I can."

"Maybe you can," Jim agreed.

"You think he has a real chance?" Ruby sounded hesitant.

"Him alone, no," Jim shook his head. "But I had no idea, Ruby. I had no idea how many Sentinels were living under the radar. Georgia was an eye-opener." Jim dropped a load of fries into the fryer and struggled to explain his thoughts on Georgia. "They aren't just doing okay, they're valued."

"It was a different world, honey. I grew up knowing to always protect our Sentinel and trust our Sentinel to protect us from those ugly honkies with nothing better to do than hassle us."

"Maury," Jim said.

"Yeah, Maury. He was a tough old bird. Watched him crawl through a muddy river with twigs stuck in his hair for camouflage to rescue a couple of twits who tried taking on the Klan back in the day. He and Delia were quite the pair. Gram described Delia as having a belly full of fire and Maury as being the rock that didn't mind a few scorch marks."

"When this comes out, the SI is going to take him." Jim knew that Ruby was well aware of that fact, but the man was her uncle. Despite his earlier lecture to Blair about letting the man choose his own path, now that he'd met the man, he felt more than a little guilt. Knowing what they did in there... Jim grimaced in disgust.

"Don't you worry. If Maury ever has a bad day in there, he'll make sure their day is three times worse. He might not have a mean bone in his body, but the man has a wicked sense of justice."

"Out of fries," Peter said as he stuck his head through the swinging door.

"Two minutes," Jim said as he focused on his work. He could hear Jeb talking to Rhonda out on the line. "Ten minutes on more carrots," Jim added, listening to a woman asking Rhonda for more.

"Got it." Peter headed for Ruby who held out a pan loaded with grilled cheese sandwiches before heading back out to the serving line.

Jim went back to Ruby's original question about whether or not this whole thing would actually work. "Blair's article with Eli has gone over better than anyone expected. Newsweek called him for a comment, and I thought he was going to bounce out of his skin. Both Blair and Eli insist their research with the free Sentinels is bullet-proof, and Maury is going to be a serious blow to the SI. They may claim Blair and Eli made up all the other figures, but they can't ignore an actual Sentinel who has done what he did. When Blair started this, I really thought he was pissing into the wind." Jim smiled and shook his head. "But now, I think there's a chance. Given everything Blair and Eli are pulling together, it's going to be hard for them to deny reality."

"Oh honey, never underestimate the average person's ability to deny reality." Ruby dropped the last of the third set of sandwiches onto the grill before poking the spatula in Jim's general direction. "Don't you turn those carrots into mush."

"You would've made a great drill sergeant, Ruby."

"Bite your tongue."

Rhonda's voice called shrilly from the front. "What are you doing?" Jim glanced toward Ruby, but she was already heading for the door to the dining room.

"What do you want?" Jeb demanded. His voice was calm, but Jim could hear the strained stress-tone. Something was seriously wrong. If Jim had a weapon, he'd investigate. Instead, he pulled the fries up and headed for the back door. Slipping into the alley, Jim pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

"911 emergency, what's your emergency?" the voice on the other end asked politely.

"Decker and 9th, the soup kitchen..." Jim paused, struggling to come up with a cover story that would get someone there fast. "Guys came in with guns," he improvised. Straining his hearing forward, he could hear the sharp orders. If they didn't have guns, Ruby would have told them to shove their head up their asses for talking to her like that, so chances were he was telling the truth.

"How many men?" the 911 operator asked.

"At least three. I snuck out the—" Jim froze. Shit and more shit. He listened as the intruders separated Peter and another Sentinel who had come for lunch. Even worse, they called them Sentinels.

"Sir, sir, are you there?" the voice on the phone called. Jim dropped the phone behind the dumpster, leaving it on so the station could trace it. However, now he had to get Peter and Deborah away from the gunmen before the police showed up. Otherwise, the two of them would go from being in slavers' custody to being SI custody, and in Jim's mind, there wasn't a lot of difference there.

Looking around the alley, Jim found a big nothing available as a weapon. Once again, he cursed a system where an Army Captain could be found incompetent to carry a handgun, but not much he could really do about that now. He had a job. Jim picked up a fallen slat from a wood pallet and tested the weight as a club before he headed for the mouth of the alley.

Now the intruders seemed to be going through the rest of Ruby's customers. Ruby was soothing some crying woman, probably Sierra who had a bad habit of seeing goblins and fairies when she got stressed. This qualified.

At the end of the alley, Jim pressed himself to the brick and glanced around the corner. A white panel van sat in front of the soup kitchen, looking like any other delivery truck dropping off donated supplies. However, this time, the truck was clearly making a pick up. The front of the truck faced Jim, so a surprise attack was going to be impossible.

Jim dropped the board to the ground as he modified his plan. A rusted metal bracket lay on the ground, dropped from some load of trash, and Jim picked it up. Hiding the metal behind his leg, Jim casually walked out to the street, wandering toward the van with the aimless gaze of a random pedestrian. The driver, a Hispanic man with a thin face, glanced toward Jim before focusing his attention back on the door to Ruby's place.

Jim reached the van. Because of how they had parked, Jim was on the passenger side, so this would be a tricky attack. He'd prefer to attack from the driver's side where he could reach in and grab the guy, but people in hell wanted ice water. Turning down his sense of touch, Jim brought his hand up and smashed the metal brace right through the van window.

The driver jumped and cursed, giving Jim time to reach in, pull the lock and yank the passenger side open. Scrambling over the seat, ignoring the scent of his own blood as he went right over the shattered glass scattered across the seat, Jim grabbed the driver's arm just as he reached for a weapon.

Inside the back of the van, Jim could hear scuffling and then the thunk of the van door opening. Pulling back his fist, Jim punched the driver as hard as he could. The man's skull thumped off the driver's side window and his muscles went slack. Jim had the goon's weapon out and pointed at the open passenger side door as Dessy's face appeared.

"Back off," Jim ordered as he twisted around. His position was dangerous: close quarters with a dazed but not unconscious perp at his back and Dessy staring at him with wide eyes. Jim started sliding over the seat back toward Dessy, forcing the man to step away from the truck. Jim got just enough room to swing and brought his elbow up hard, smashing the driver in the side of the head so that he went down for the count.

"Hijo de puta" Dessy cursed.

"He'll live," Jim said coldly. If he'd chosen to land a strike to the man's nose, he wouldn't have, but even now, Jim could hear the irregular breathing as the man struggled toward consciousness. "When your goons get out here, you tell them to let the hostages go." Jim listened as the two gunmen inside finished their task of checking everyone in the dining room. From what Jim could hear, they had separated out three Sentinels: Peter, Deborah, and an old man everyone called Creepers.

"Hostages?" Dessy asked incredulously. "They're Sentinels. But then, so are you, aren't you Mr. Jim Lawson?"

"If they don't let those three go, I will shoot you between the eyes," Jim calmly answered. The weapon was heavy in his hand, but the weight reassured him.

"You really are planning to shoot me, aren't you, amigo?" Dessy pursed his lips and looked at Jim with an almost amused expression. Jim didn't plan to shoot Dessy; he planned to simply hold him here until the police arrived in a matter of seconds. However, he just gave Dessy a small smile that made it very clear he would be willing to shoot the man if he had to.

The door of the soup kitchen came open, and a huge man pulled Peter out into the sunshine, the young man's hands bound behind his back and orange glaze from the carrots splattered across his apron. Jim recognized Dessy's number two guy, Inzunza, from the tattoo crawling up his neck even though he had on a ski mask. A second gunman came out herding Deborah and Creepers with him.

They both stopped at the sight of Jim holding a weapon steadily at Dessy's head. Dessy glanced at Jim and then over towards his goons.

"Shoot them," Dessy ordered. Jim took a step toward Dessy, tightening his finger on the trigger.

"They do it and I'll kill you," Jim snapped.

"Better you than Kincaid. Put the weapon down or I'll have them execute the freaks, you'll shoot me, and then someone else can clean up the mess," Dessy said calmly. Jim tightened his jaw; he'd seen that expression before, the look of cold acceptance.

"Shoot them," Dessy repeated. Jim heard a weapon cock.

"No!" Jim shouted as he raised his weapon, pointing the barrel toward the sky and holding his palm out toward Dessy.

"Put the gun on the seat of the truck and step away," Dessy ordered. Jim obeyed as slowly as he could, praying for the distant sound of sirens, but police just didn't respond that quickly in this neighborhood. Ruby had complained about that often enough. It's why she played peacemaker and enforcer for the three blocks around the soup kitchen.

Dessy nodded, and Inzunza and nameless goon number two pushed the three Sentinels into the back of the van.

"Jim?" Peter called, sounding on the verge of panic as Inzunza forced him up into the open side door.

"You're dead, Dessy," Jim said calmly, his arms hanging loosely at his sides although he was ready to throw himself at any opportunity.

"If I disappoint Kincaid, I will be," Dessy agreed. "I promised him Sentinels, and I expected to find a few more. I guess I'll just have to add you to the collection list. Inzunza had stepped back out of the van, his gun pointed right at Jim.

"I should have fucking killed him. I bet he gave up Washington."

"Probably," Dessy agreed. "However, a live sub is worth more than a dead one." Dessy turned cold eyes to Jim. "Turn around and put hands behind your back."

Jim hesitated for a second, watching the gleeful anticipation in Inzunza as the thug waited for the order to shoot Jim. As Dessy opened his mouth, no doubt to give that order, Jim turned and put his hands behind his back. The goal was survival, and he'd have another shot at taking the assholes down.

Standing silent and searching the streets for sirens that had to be coming, Jim ignored the cold plastic strip zipping closed around his wrists. Inzunza pulled on his arm, and Jim resisted for a second. In the distance, he could hear the faint wail of the police.

"Move it," Inzunza growled, pulling his ski mask off and driving his fist into Jim's side hard enough that Jim suspected he would pee pink the next day. Jim allowed himself to fall to one knee, exaggerating his pained gasps as he struggled to catch his breath.

"He's stalling. He hears cops. Get him up or shoot the pendejo in the head." Dessy hurried around to the driver's side of the van and shoved the still-dazed driver over before he got behind the wheel himself. This time when Inzunza grabbed Jim's arm, Jim stood without complaint. Any excuse and Inzunza was going to leave him lying dead on the sidewalk, and more than anything, Jim did not want to imagine Blair having to see that.

Inzunza pushed him toward the van, shoving him in before jumping in and pulling the van door closed. "Get him in place," Inzunza ordered thug number two, a young man with a hawk-bent on his nose. The van pulled out so suddenly that Jim stumbled and went to one knee again as the guy yanked on Jim's shirt so that Jim went from his knee to his side.

"Get up!" The man pulled on Jim's arm, and Jim got his knees under him and did his best to not flop around helplessly as the thug pushed his back to the side of the van so that he was pressed up against Creepers, shoulder to shoulder. Inzunza crouched near the front and watched, his gun dangling from his hand, as thug number two grabbed Jim's legs and put them on a bar that ran down the length of the van. Jim's calves rested on it, his feet now in the air as the thug used a quick twist of a new plastic zip to secure Jim's legs.

Jim had to admit that the operation had the mark of good planning. With his hands tied and his feet elevated, Jim had no hope of freeing himself. He glanced over, and Deborah had tears streaking down her face. Peter stared at the far wall.

"Is it real this time?" Creepers asked softly.

"Shut up old man," Inzunza ordered, pointing his gun in their direction.

"It feels more real that last time. I keep telling the worries to stay out of my head, but they just creep back. Creep, creep, creep." Creepers started his soft chant, the one that had given him his nickname.

"Shut up," Inzunza snapped as he stood.

"He's mentally unstable. Yelling at him won't change that," Jim snapped. He wasn't in a position to do anything, and common sense told him to shut up, but instead he glared at the gunman. Inzunza stepped closer and pressed the barrel of the gun to the underside of Jim's jaw.

"Are you arguing?" Inzunza demanded.

"Hey," the young goon protested softly, but Inzunza ignored him. Jim stared up. He was worth too much on the black market for Inzunza to kill him for no reason.

"Pendejo," Inzunza snarled as he backhanded Jim hard enough that Jim blinked to clear his vision. Peter called out and the gun swung toward the young Sentinel who struggled against his bonds.

"Calm down, we're all fine," Jim said, tasting the blood from his split lip.

"Yeah, we're all fine," Inzunza mocked. "You'll be fine. Kincaid is only going to sell your asses to the highest bidder after breaking you... turning you into animals," he sneered. Deborah cried even harder, her breath coming in sobs now.

"Sooner or later, you're going down," Jim promised.

"Not before I see you crawl for your Master, little sub," the goon taunted before he went back to his spot near the front of the van. The other man already stood there, talking through a small opening to Dessy in the front seat. Jim let his head fall back against the side of the van. As a Ranger, he prided himself on being physically and mentally strong, on being able to think through a dangerous situation and keep his head. So why did he seem to keep getting captured lately. Blair would call it karma. Jim was thinking he just had some damn bad luck.

FORTY FOUR
***
Jim watched Inzunza. The van stopped and he pulled on a mask and disappeared out into the sunlight. "There's a slaver coming, run for it," Jim said in a normal tone of voice, hoping any Sentinels would hear him.

Dessy appeared at the open door to the van. "Do that again, and I'll put a bullet in your brain. Right now you're just goods, Mr. Lawson. If I can get money for you, good. If you cost me money, I'll put you down." The man's voice had a calm cheerfulness to it that suggested he meant every word. Jim clenched his jaw and stared at the man.

"Please let us go," Deborah pleaded weakly. Tear stains glittered in the sun that came in through the open door. "Please."

Dessy looked toward her coldly. Even if Jim wanted to offer a word of comfort, he didn't have any, so he remained silent until Inzunza and the henchman came back with one woman between them.

"Two or three did a runner," Inzunza said as he pushed the woman into the van. She was dirty, a streak of brown down one brown cheek.

"Please, you don’t have to do this," she pleaded in a Hispanic accent, echoing Deborah's words from just a second ago.

"Let the other vans pick up the rest. We seem to have a talkative group here."

Dessy looked at Jim, but Jim remained silent as Inzunza secured the woman in place next to Jim. Nothing he said would help their situation, and he wasn't about to give the bastard the satisfaction of begging. With a final glare, Dessy slid the van door shut. A second later, they were moving.

Jim's legs throbbed. The angle reduced the blood flow, and he couldn't steady himself so the straps dug into his legs at every turn. Next to him, Creeper's chant grew louder. "...creep away, creep away... not real... creep away, creep." Jim wondered what demons chased the man, but his eyes were closed, and his heart beat steadily, unlike the other three. Whatever nightmares Creeper was seeing, they were familiar enough that the man was used to their presence.

"Shut up," Inzunza snapped. Jim rolled his eyes. Creeper just chanted louder, and Deborah cried with broken sobs.

"Shhh. It's okay. They'll find us," Peter whispered so softly that only the Sentinels in the van could hear.

Eventually, the van stopped again, but this time when the van door opened, only shadow appeared outside the door. Dessy's footsteps rang sharply on the concrete, and the sound echoed. It was a large room--lots of metal. Jim guessed a warehouse.

The younger thug pulled out a knife and started cutting the plastic ties that connected Sentinel legs to the bar. He started with Peter and worked down, and the second he cut Jim's legs loose, Jim brought his feet up under him. Almost immediately, his sense of touch reeled out of control as pins and needles coursed through his legs. Deborah was crying harder than ever, so Jim guessed he wasn't the only one in pain. Ruthlessly forcing away all touch, Jim watched as the young man grabbed the Hispanic Sentinel and pushed her out the door to waiting hands. Jim was next, and he struggled to keep his feet under him as he landed on the concrete floor.

Two men waited, and one slipped a dog's choke chain around Jim's neck and pulled him to the side while another goon stepped up to take control of Creeper. The one who now held Jim's leash was large, a black man with muscles that suggested he'd spent some time in jail with nothing to do other than lift weights. Now wasn't the time for any move. Jim could barely shuffle his legs which had taken damage first in scrambling through the glass to attack the driver and then from behind lashed to the bar. He needed to heal, but Jim also knew he had to move before he could be starved into compliance.

Checking out the room, Jim guessed they were near the ocean. The air smelled of salt and rust, and overhead, a few broken windows allowed shafts of light into an otherwise dim building. The smell of rats and bugs made Jim want to sneeze, but he controlled the urge, not wanting to draw the attention of his 'keeper' who was already holding the chain around Jim's neck tight enough that Jim could feel the individual links pressing into his neck.

Peter stumbled out of the van and fell to the floor, his head nearly cracking against the concrete as one of the 'handlers' caught him. "Careful! I don't want that pretty face ruined before auction," a voice called out. Jim tightened his jaw as he recognized Kincaid's voice just as the man appeared around the front of the van. Kincaid eyed the broken window and turned to Dessy.

"Problems?"

"None I couldn't handle. I got five, the other two vans got four and eight."

"Not as many as I wanted," Kincaid said softly. Dessy didn't answer right away. He watched as Kincaid squatted near Peter and put a hand under the man's chin. Peter glared up, but at least he had the sense to remain quiet. Like Peter, the other three Sentinels had collapsed to the floor where they still sat or lay. Peter and the Hispanic woman had both come through with some control, enough to sit up and glare. Creeper lay on his stomach muttering to himself, and Deborah just lay on her side and stared at the far wall, shock setting in.

"If we could have gone in at night, we could have grabbed ten or fifteen from Ruby's place and another twenty from that abandoned building."

"That many Sentinels in one place is dangerous," Kincaid said as he finished his inspection of Peter and stood up.

"They're just people... no more dangerous than anyone."

"You haven't worked with them. They're tough. If you try to take fifteen or twenty at once, they'll rip your head off," Kincaid said as his eyes finally found Jim. "Oh, what have you found me?"

"He was at Ruby's; he's the one who took out my driver. Washington said he wasn't a Sentinel when we first met him a couple of months back, but he sure knew exactly what was going on in the warehouse." Dessy turned and took a few steps toward Jim.

"Oh, he's a Sentinel," Kincaid agreed. "He belongs to Sandburg, and there for a while, he was mine. They must have broken his bond to me. Did you cry for me to come and get you while the bond was breaking?" Kincaid's voice had the saccharin sweetness of an adult speaking to a crying child, and Jim just glared.

"Don't you remember me?" Kincaid stepped forward and cupped Jim's cheek in his hand in a parody of tenderness.

"I remember you raping me while Blair struggled to reach me," Jim said calmly, ordering the fear that uncurled in his belly back to the shadows. Peter gasped.

"Oh, no need to worry, boy. Jimmy here just has his memories messed up a little because the SI has gone and rewired his brain. Before long, he'll be eating out of my hand." Jim didn't flinch as Kincaid stroked his cheek. "I know I said you could keep one of the Sentinels, Dessy," Kincaid said without taking his eyes off Jim, "but this one is mine. I'll have to make sure to send Sandburg pictures once I have him nice and trained."

Jim glared down at Kincaid, grateful for the two inches and the illusion of superiority that allowed him. All he had to do was hold out until Blair arrived with the cavalry. As much as Jim hated passively waiting, he really didn't see other options right now. And until that time came, Jim focused on just surviving.

"He's got a little too much control right now. Put him in the tank, put the others in the main room. They need a little time to think about their situation." Kincaid kept his voice friendly, so friendly that it gave Jim the creeps, especially since he understood what Kincaid meant. They'd be chained in some dark corner until they were nearly insane, and Kincaid would come in with his friendly voice and act like he cared. Sentinel instincts to bond plus the Stockholm syndrome plus Kincaid's own mix of drugs and the Sentinels would bond to whoever paid top dollar.

The goon with Jim's leash yanked hard enough that Jim nearly lost his balance before he could turn to follow. He'd get his chance. One way or another, he was going to snap Kincaid's neck.

Blair cursed and slammed the laptop shut. "Just walk away. Send it to Eli and walk away," Blair ordered himself. But every time he reread the text, he found something else to change: some ambiguous comment or some phrase that he knew related to something in the literature, which sent him on a hunt through the papers and books now scattered on every flat surface in the Sentinel-safe room and over half the living room. Eyeing the laptop with suspicion, Blair opened it.

"Don't read it. Just send it to Eli," he chanted over and over as he opened the email program. "Don't read it."

Blair hit send and then slammed the laptop closed again, dumping it on the bed before getting up and heading for the kitchen. "God, no wonder Jim ran away from home. I don't even like living with myself right now," Blair muttered as he went for a beer. He had half down before he headed back for his laptop. This needed to be perfect. Too many people on the committee would want to discredit this research, and with Newsweek writing an article, no way would they fail to mention that little fact. And really... Blair was not into public humiliation.

Blair dropped on the edge of the spare bed and opened the laptop again. In the distance, a dog howled and Blair chewed on his lip as he reread the second paragraph on cultural stresses within the African American Sentinel community.

God, how could anyone have missed these numbers? If one out of four hundred whites had some level of Sentinel abilities, of course one of four hundred African Americans would. How the hell did everyone miss the fact that out of an estimated 90,000 African American Sentinels who should exist, only a little over 20,000 were in the system?

And of those, nearly half were non-functional Sentinels who lived in institutions because of their unstable senses or aggressive traits. Over a half-million white Sentinels were in the system, but of those only thirteen percent were non-functional. But, if Blair was right and the missing 70,000 African American Sentinels were out there functioning without the SI, then all the figures matched. It amused Blair no end that if his research in Georgia could be duplicated, he might take away one of the racists biggest arguments. Blacks didn't have fewer Sentinels. Their Sentinels weren't more likely to be non-functional. They were just a lot better at hiding from the SI.

Blair opened his dissertation to the implications for future studies portion of the document and started rereading. Yeah, he had a lot of assumptions in there, but assuming that African Americans and white Americans had similar genetic pre-disposition towards Sentinel genes wasn't that big of a leap, especially considering the one in four hundred figure was true in Africa.

The dog howled again. "Geez. If you buy a big dog, don't leave him locked up inside. It annoys him and everyone who has to listen to him," Blair complained to the air as he read the next section. He might want to tone down the section on the ineffectiveness of the African American community to deal with the non-functional Sentinels, many of whom did become very violent and anti-social. Blair reached for the phone to call Eli and run his ideas past his mentor.

He yelped and jerked his hand back as a timber wolf sat looking at him. "Shit." Blair dumped the laptop on the floor as he scrambled back across the bed. The wolf just stared at him. "Nice doggie," Blair tried with a weak smile. He liked animals fine as long as they were on the other side of a fence, but this was a little too close for comfort. The wolf looked at him with something that came close to disgust before he turned and walked out of the room, right through the closed door.

"Oh fuck," Blair breathed. "Okay, one this is not happening. Two, this is not happening." Blair grabbed the phone and dialed the soup kitchen. Maybe he had just fried his brain with too much studying. Getting his master's, he had once done 39 hours of statistics, and he'd seen all sorts of strange things that time. Of course, the hospital insisted the caffeine overdose had caused most of that.

"Blair?" the voice at the other end of the phone answered before Blair could open his mouth.

"Ruby?" Blair asked.

"Who do you expect to be answering my phone?" Ruby demanded with her normal attitude. "Honey, get yourself down here now."

"How did you..."

"Some assholes kidnapped Jim. Of course you called."

Blair opened his mouth, but no sound came out. In the background, he could hear the familiar sounds of police chatter from a radio. "They.... What?"

"Honey," Ruby's voice lowered. "I don't care what you're seeing right now. You tell the spirits that they can just chew on their own tails and wait a bit. You get your white ass down here, and I do mean now. Do you understand?" Ruby demanded.

"Oh God," Blair breathed.

"That better be a prayer and not you taking the Lord's name in vain, Baby because you have enough trouble without pissing Him off."

"I'm coming," Blair answered as he dropped the phone and bolted off the bed. The wolf was in the living room, pacing from the door to the couch and back again. "Ruby first," Blair told the animal as he grabbed his weapon and clipped the holster to the belt. Normally he put his gun on with reluctance, but today, he could see himself shooting someone—happily even. He slipped on his vest and grabbed his phone and keys before bolting out the door.

The wolf waited by Blair's car. Blair pulled the door open, and he pointed his nose toward the sky and howled. "Shit, that's not good, is it?" Blair said as he started the engine. He shoved his police light in his window and peeled out of the parking lot. Cursing the traffic, Blair dialed Simon with one hand while navigating around cars that moved aside just a little too slow.

"Banks," Simon answered sharply.

"Simon," Blair breathed, and suddenly he wasn't sure what to say. He spotted the wolf pacing him on the crowded sidewalk.

"Blair? What's wrong?"

"Simon, you lived in the South."

"I.... What? Sandburg, I have work to do here, even if you've taken the week off."

"Did you know Sentinels and guardians who sometimes did things a little different?" Blair asked quickly.

"Different?" Simon echoed.

"Kudari. Did you know any kudari?"

"Where the hell did you hear that word?" Simon demanded, and now Blair could tell he had all of Simon's attention.

"Did you know any?" Blair detoured around a bus, and then slammed on the brakes when the wolf darted in front of his car. "Son of a—" Blair dropped the phone on the seat as the animal darted down a side street. "Forget it. I'm going to Ruby's you overgrown Chihuahua."

Blair grabbed the phone, Simon's voice shouting through the earpiece. "Sandburg? What the hell is going on?"

"Simon, just if you knew any, if you know what that means, just meet me at Ruby's." Blair clicked the phone off and tossed it into the passenger seat as he focused on getting to Ruby's as fast as possible.

By the time Blair pulled up in front of the soup kitchen, the number of cops outnumbered the homeless two to one. Blair flashed his badge at one of the officers before heading inside.

"If you'd get out there and look for the van or for someone who saw the van, you might actually get something done," Ruby was berating a police officer. "Instead ya'll stand around here waiting for these assholes to just show up again. If ya'll would have come the minute Jim called you, you'd have been here. But no. Crime down here don't matter much to you lot, does it?" The detective taking her statement kept opening his mouth as if to defend himself, but Ruby was in full-attack mode and not about to be cut off by someone half her age. "Blair!" she called when she saw him. She abandoned the other detective and immediately came over and hugged Blair. "Oh Honey, you know we'll find him," she assured him.

"All witnesses need to be interviewed outside," the other detective said as he reluctantly stepped closer. Blair looked over at the man.

"I'm not a witness," Blair said reaching for his pocket.

"Then how'd you get in here?"

Blair showed the man his badge while talking to Ruby. "What happened?"

Ruby set her mouth in a thin line and took a deep breath. If Blair were Dessy or Kincaid or even the other detective who was trying to take her statement, that look would scare the shit out of him. "Two gunmen with masks came in. When the commotion started, I headed up front and Jim headed for the back to dial 911. They had pictures, kept comparing us to the pictures, and they used 'em to single out Peter, Deborah, and Creeper."

"Shit," Blair breathed as he recognized the names. "And Jim?"

"He tried to stop them out front, Honey. He got the drop on them, had a gun to them even, but the man in charge, a greasy accountant looking guy, he said he'd rather leave a lot of bodies on the street than disappoint Kincaid. Jim had to give up his weapon or they were going to kill Peter and the others." Blair could feel panic wrap around his lungs as he recognized the description. Dessy. Dessy had Jim.

"And they took Jim," Blair said flatly. He could visualize it in his head with a painful clarity.

"Yeah, they did. But we'll get him back."

"Okay, I really need your name," the detective interrupted.

"Blair Sandburg. I work Major Crimes in Central Precinct."

"This isn't a major case," the detective said in a confused voice. Blair glared at the man.

"Blair, Honey, killing the detective is just going to slow you down," Ruby said as she started pulling Blair toward the door.

"We aren't done with the interview," the detective protested. Outside, Simon was just pulling up.

"Sandburg?" he called when he opened the car door.

"Simon, thank god. Slavers raided. They took Jim. It was Dessy, which means he's going to get handed over to Kincaid," Blair said as he closed in on his captain. Behind him, the detective still trailed.

"This is the Nineteenth's case. Major Crimes has no jurisdiction here," the other detective protested. Simon glared at the man.

"I'm Captain Banks, and as the only captain on scene, this is my jurisdiction until the commissioner tells me otherwise." Simon used a tone of voice that even made Blair pause. Then he grabbed his radio and called for backup from Major Crimes. "Blair, we'll find him," Simon promised when he finished calling for Rafe and Brown. However, Blair focused on the wolf that paced on the far side of the yellow crime scene tape.

"Blair? You see something?" Ruby asked.

"He's that way," Blair said, nodding toward the wolf.

"What's that way?" Simon turned and looked down the street, but from the confused look on his face, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary, nothing like a wolf winding through the crowd and randomly growling at the air.

"Right, let's go," Ruby agreed.

"Hold on there," Simon said as he stepped away from his car door and physically blocked Ruby from getting in the back. "This is a police investigation."

"This is a kudari pair; the police don't have much of anything to do with this," Ruby corrected him.

"I don't know what—"

"Honey, you either drive where Blair points or we'll take his car, but we need to find Jim now, and standing around here isn't getting it done." Ruby crossed her arms so she became a mirror of Simon.

"Blair?" Simon asked in confusion. Blair headed for the passenger side of Simon's car. "She's coming, Simon. I need her to come."

"This is a bad idea," Simon protested, but Ruby neatly pushed him to one side as she pulled the back door to the car open.

"Simon," Blair said desperately.

"This is a bad idea," Simon repeated as he got into his car. He pointed a finger toward the detective from the Nineteen who still stood on the sidewalk. "When Henri Brown and Brian Rafe get here, the scene is theirs. One of ours is missing in this mess, and Major Crimes is taking jurisdiction," Simon growled before he put the car into reverse and backed out of the maze of police cars all parked in front of the soup kitchen.

FORTY FIVE
***
Jim finally gave up trying to get comfortable in a crouch. He slid to his stomach so that the short chain connecting his neck to the bolt in the floor wouldn't pull at him. With each wrist chained to a thigh, he couldn't move well, and now the cold concrete chilled his whole body. However, the cold wasn't as dangerous to long-term escape plans as a sprained back so Jim ignored the uncomfortable feeling of the rough, cold concrete against his bare skin.

The heavy door to this room, which used to be a walk in freezer, opened, and Jim could see the light behind the trio of men.

"You get a roommate, one said with a sneer. He pulled another into the room.

"Still creeping. In the dark creeping. Little feet creeping creeping," muttered a voice.

"Gee, thanks," Jim commented as they moved Creeper into position next to Jim. There was only one bolt on the floor, so they locked Creeper's leash to the same bold with a large padlock.

"Creeping cold. Cold cold cold." Creeper muttered as the goon gave him a slap on the shoulder and then got up and left. The door closed again, and Jim tried to estimate how much oxygen he now had with a second prisoner in here with him. Denying a person access to even basic needs was the oldest brainwashing technique in the book, but this was the first time Jim ever had his oxygen threatened.

"Creeping feet," Creeper muttered.

"I'm Jim," he tried. Creeper kept his eyes closed, but this close, Jim could smell the disease from his body. In the soup kitchen, there had been so much body odor that Jim hadn't noticed it, but Creeper smelled of fungus and disease. "They're going to find us and get us out of here," he promised. Jim stretched out with his fingers and brushed the back of Creeper's hand. Creeper jerked away.

"Little feet creeping over me. Little feet in the walls."

"No, no little feet," Jim promised. He could hear rats far off, but this part of the warehouse wasn't attractive to them. They congregated around the areas where the goons sat and ate candy bars and dropped wrappers smeared with chocolate. There weren't any around here.

"Little feet. Little feet little teeth creeping creeping creeping." Creeper started rocking, the neck chain jangling against the cold concrete.

"Shit. You've been in this situation before," Jim let his head rest against he concrete as he studied Creeper using only the dull glow of a single light that seemed to warn that the freezer was too warm to meet code. Thank god for that. The only thing worse than lying naked and chained on a concrete floor would be doing it with the freezer turned on. "We'll get out of here. We'll go back to Ruby's, Jim promised."

Creeper shook his head. "Never. Never get out. Never have. Never will."

Jim gave up. Whatever reality existed in Creeper's head, he couldn't do anything about it. Creeper started to softly cry. Jim turned his head away, trying to give the man as much privacy as he could. Now he could see the huge paw of a black panther.

"Nice, you finally show up. If you've got any suggestions, I'd appreciate them," Jim told the spirit animal. It sat down so close that the tail brushed against Jim's thigh. "Not really the help I wanted. That's actually pretty annoying," Jim complained. His roommate started chanting louder. Now he was almost yelling, his rotten breath making the air smell. Jim pushed away his sense of smell as the sweet scent of starvation ketosis and the stench of tooth rot drifted through the air.

The tail swept the back of Jim's knee, tickling the skin in a really annoying way, especially since the chains kept him from itching. Jim shifted slightly towards Creeper. The cat moved with him.

"Damn it, give me a break here," Jim complained as he braced his toes on the cold concrete and shifted another painful inch away. His fingers brushed across Creeper's hand, and it was colder than it should be, but Jim only had a second to notice before Creeper screamed and wiggled away from Jim.

"Creeping creeping creeping creeping. Can't eat me. Can't have me."

"Trust me, I don't plan on eating anyone," Jim sighed. He felt a slight temperature difference, a tiny spot even colder than the floor he lay on. Jim inched his fingers over the concrete searching for the source. He shifted a little farther and cursed the fact that he couldn't twist well enough to see what he was doing. Pulling until the cold steel links that connected his wrists to this thighs dug into his legs, Jim felt the circular edge of a drain.

Jim lifted himself and shifted a couple of inches so that he could explore this new feature. A metal grate covered it, rusted screws still holding it firmly in place. "Shit," Jim breathed as he used short finger nails on first the screw and then the edge of the grate. Nothing gave. "Fuck." Jim gave an aborted punch, the chains stopping him from moving more than a couple of inches. "Right, use what you have," Jim said to no one. The cat just stared at him, and Creeper had fallen into a tuneless chant without actual words.

Lifting his arm the few inches he could, Jim brought it down on the grate. Metal clanged against metal and Jim felt the grate. It was old, parts rusted, and now a small section had cracked. Jim traced it with his fingers before slamming his chains down on it again. This time, a small bit broke away. Jim pulled on the thin strips of metal and pulled. One broke into a piece no more than an inch long, and Jim let it drop into the drain, hearing the soft plop when it hit the muck at the bottom of the drain. Smashing the grate again, Jim yanked a larger chunk free this time.

Rolling to one side, Jim struggled to separate the long strip of metal from the cross-pieces still stuck to it. Eventually, he was left with a piece of metal still too fat to make a lock pick. Shifting away from the grate, Jim settled back down onto his stomach and started rubbing the strip on the floor, using the concrete as a sharpening stone as he gave the metal a sharp enough point to use it as a pick.

"Creeping creeping," his roommate whispered.

"Yeah, this works and we're going to do some creeping out of here," Jim promised as he set to work.

Jim was working on getting the first lock open when he heard Blair's voice slam into his consciousness. He glared at the cat. "You just had to tell him, didn't you? Shit. Just let me get free before he comes in here," Jim said to the cat as he worked a little faster. Yeah, Blair could take care of himself, but Jim loved the naïve way Blair always expected the good guys to win. He loved the simple faith Blair showed in life, and what he wanted to do would tarnish that.

Working the lockpick, he listened as Blair talked to other people.

"He's in there. Man, I know he is."

Someone must have disagreed with him. "Then find the owner and get permission. If Ruby's right, there are squatters in there. Shouldn't the owners want squatters out?"

Jim closed his eyes at the simple naiveté in that one statement. The chances were that the owners were renting this building out under the table, but Blair always expected the best of human nature.

"I'm going in."

There was another pause, and Jim could only hope someone out there was talking sense to his Guide. The lock opened with a click, and Jim jerked his first hand free with a relieved sigh.

"You can't be serious, Ruby."

Ruby? What the hell was Blair doing with Ruby? Jim rolled to his back and started working on his second hand. That one went faster with the full use of one hand.

"But he's in there," Blair protested vehemently. And if Jim knew that tone, his Guide was about to leave no matter what Ruby said. The second lock came off and Jim rolled to his knees so he could work on the lock around his neck.

"That will take hours," Blair snapped. Okay, that sounded like someone was arguing for doing it by the book, but Jim couldn't imagine Ruby making that argument. The lock around his neck came free and Jim reached over to unlock Creeper. The man gave a blood-curdling scream. When Jim's attempts to reassure him caused the man to start hitting his head against the concrete floor, Jim just backed away until Creeper returned to his tuneless chant. In the shelter, Creeper had certainly been strange, but Jim had somehow missed the fact that the man was clearly nuts.

Jim stood up and let the chains from his thighs fall the floor with a rattle now that they weren't locked around his wrists too. Jim moved to the door, listening to the silence on the other end before he tried the door. Luckily, it opened without protest.

"Ruby," Jim said in a conversational tone. "If you can hear me, tell Blair to chill out and stop assuming I need some sort of rescue here," Jim whispered. Okay, he was naked in a building full of armed terrorists and thugs, so that might be worded a little strong. "Okay, some help would be nice, but I'm safe right now," Jim amended himself.

A second later he could hear Blair. "Safe? You're sure he's safe?" Blair squawked. Jim focused his hearing in the direction now that the freezer didn't distort the sounds.

"Honey, I said I'm *sure* he's safe." Ruby's voice came through clearly now.

"Oh, you're sure. Okay. But we need to get that paperwork before the people in there aren't safe any more."

"And the probable cause on that would be?" a deeper voice asked. Simon? Blair brought Ruby and Simon? Jim shook his head. Sometimes his Guide's logic escaped him totally.

"I don't know, make something up." Jim could just imagine the expression Simon had just given Blair. But as long as Simon kept Blair outside until Jim could take care of Kincaid, Jim would forgive Simon for glaring at his Guide. Hell, Jim did it enough. Scanning the building, Jim couldn't pinpoint the leaders; however, he started moving in the opposite direction as the Sentinels he could hear crying to his left. Kincaid wouldn't want to be near the Sentinels, not until he came in to play mind games with them.

Jim slipped out of the small area into the main room, his bare feet quietly slapping against the cold floor.

"We can't just stand out here." Simon protested.

"Man, you have to get a warrant."

"The Nineteen is sending over a Sentinel. Until he can confirm that the hostages are inside, I don't have probable cause."

"I could," Ruby started.

"Don't," Simon snapped. "Just don't. Blair, the way you've put me in the middle here..."

"Jim's doing fine, Honey," Ruby assured him. Jim followed the shadow of the far wall toward a single bored guard who stared out toward the street through a cracked door, a cigarette hanging from one hand.

"Please stop saying things like that," Simon growled.

"You're going to give yourself a heart attack if you don't stop gettin' so uptight," Ruby admonished Simon.

"Jesus Christ," Simon breathed. Jim flinched as Ruby erupted into her lecture about taking the Lord's name in vain. However, they must have been pretty far away because the bored guard stared out onto the city. Jim struck, his arm wrapping around the man's neck and putting pressure on the artery that fed the brain. The guard's foot kicked the can he'd been using as an ashtray, making the metal rattle across the floor. Jim flinched, but no one else in the building reacted.

"There. Did you see that?" Ruby demanded.

"What?" Simon asked.

"Yeah, I saw it," Blair quickly agreed. "What did I see?" Jim rolled his eyes. Blair wasn't winning points for subtlety.

"Someone just yanked that guard right out of the doorway."

"I'm goin—" Blair voice cut off as though he ran out of air, and Jim was guessing that either Simon or Ruby had sat on him. Even with those two out there, Jim knew he had a limited amount of time to act before Blair came in here. Jim didn't want Blair to see him taking care of business, and Jim sure didn't want Blair talking him out of it, so Jim grabbed the guard's weapon.

A silencer... oh yeah, these guys were running a serious business. Somehow Jim didn't think Kincaid planned to leave Dessy alive when he left town. All his guards were white, and despite Simon's insistence that money spoke louder than beliefs, Kincaid struck him as a true believer. And having silenced weapons would make it easy to execute people within the building without their compatriots finding out. Well, Jim didn't plan on giving him a chance to carry out that massacre. He headed for the stairs without bothering with clothes.

Kincaid's security was even more lax this time, maybe because he didn't have a cop chained up in his room, but Jim managed to get upstairs to the offices that ran along one side of the warehouse without being seen.

"I'm calling in for a warrant based on Ruby assessment of the neighborhood and the fact that you witnessed that attack in the door, but Blair, you'd better know what you're doing."

"Jim is in there," Blair said, his voice still strained, so someone was probably still physically restraining him. Jim let that voice fade to the back of his consciousness as he focused on the offices. Padding down the carpeted hall, Jim stopped when a door opened. Some heavy backed out of the room, joking with whomever was still in the room, and Jim slipped into an empty room. The guy closed the door and headed for the stairs.

Jim didn't have much time. He moved confidently down the hall and opened the second to the last door. Jim held the weapon on Kincaid who sat on a couch, a plate of fries and a burger balanced on his lap.

"Jim," Kincaid said as he slowly lifted his hands. "I'm not any danger to you."

"You think that will save you," Jim said quietly.

"You know I'm not a danger. I wanted you from the minute you rushed to Blair's defense. And Blair's a good man. I wouldn't hurt a hair on his head. I just admire your strength and your loyalty. But if you shoot me, you know someone is going to find out. One of the men out there will see you, will hear me cry out. Let me have the gun, and you'll find that working for me is very pleasant. I would even let you have any girls you wanted. We need to build the master race, and you are far too fine to allow your genes to go to waste." Kincaid spoke softly, clearly convinced that he could talk his way out of this. "You were bonded to me once. You could feel the connection between us then, and you can feel it now," Kincaid almost crooned.

Jim listened without much emotion. "You commit the same sin everyone else does," Jim said calmly.

"What's that?" Kincaid asked with false sincerity.

"You think of me as a Sentinel who just happened to be in the armed services. You should think of me as a Ranger who just happens to have Sentinel genes." Without waiting for the confused expression to clear Kincaid's face, Jim put two bullets through the man's neck. He never did cry out. He gurgled for a few seconds, the food flying to the floor as his body flopped.

"You would never stop. You'd never stop holding a grudge against Blair and you'd never stop attacking young people who deserve to be protected from slime like you. A Ranger protects those who can't protect themselves. Rangers lead the way." Jim watched as Kincaid's body slowly stilled, his eyes glazing over into death. Jim backed away and headed for the door.

Outside, he could hear Ruby talking about weapons fire even though people inside hadn't heard the muffled gunshot. Blair sounded ready to bolt, and Simon had clearly given up trying to keep any control at all.

Jim moved down the hall, closing the door to Kincaid's office behind him. If he could reach them, he could cut the Sentinels free before the SI showed up. A thug came out of a room without warning, and Jim brought the gun up and fired before he could even scan the area. The man fell backwards with a cry and Jim followed him into the room.

"Someone call?" another voice yelled from farther down the hall. Jim kept his hand over the mouth of the man he'd shot, feeling the struggles grow weaker as the man lost blood. The blood loss would slow once the guy stopped fighting, so he might make it if the cops showed up fast enough.

"Something wrong?" someone else called from downstairs.

"No. I thought I heard something, but it's probably just Sims and his music. I hate that shit."

The guys downstairs laughed and walked away. The one upstairs closed his door again. Jim stood. The injured man had fallen unconscious, and Jim slipped out the door and hurried downstairs--toward the place where he could hear crying and smell unwashed bodies. Jim had to press himself between a steel girder and the corner as a guard walked past him. Someone had to find one of the bodies soon.

When the area was clear, Jim trotted toward the prisoners. He opened the door to the Sentinel room, and stepped back away from the stench. Human waste and fear made the air thick and unpleasant to breath. Shit. Jim had been lucky to get dumped in the freezer.

"Jim?" a voice called. Jim looked over to see Peter, naked and chained by his neck and his wrists to a ring in the floor.

"Do you know where the keys are?" Jim asked. Around him, other Sentinels started sitting up.

"On the hook there," Peter looked to Jim's right. He glanced over and spotted the keys. Jim headed for Peter.

"Get everyone loose and then head for parts unknown. The SI is on its way."

"The SI?" Peter asked, swallowing with fear as Jim worked the lock. "I'm going to stand guard, so get everyone else loose," Jim repeated the directions. Peter was a good kid, he'd survived a lot but he was also looking a little shocky.

"Let me out. I'm not going with those pendejos," the Hispanic woman who had been brought in with them insisted. She was chained near Peter, and he got her loose before moving down the rows, unlocking forty-two Sentinels, some of whom had clearly been here a while. More than a few simply scooted backwards toward the corner of the room, their wide eyes staring at the others. Jim tightened his jaw at a boy who couldn't be more than fifteen flinching away from all touch and sliding along the far wall with a wild look in his eye.

"You have to listen. Listen for the heartbeats, for the footsteps. Then run in the shadows," Jim advised as he inched the door open. Peter looked toward Jim hesitantly. "Ruby is waiting for you out there. Listen for her," Jim advised the boy. He could hear Ruby talk to Peter.

"You hear me, boy? You get out here because you are not getting out of the dishes that easy. The filth is going to be caked on by now, and I'm too old to scrub my own pans."

Peter glanced at Jim and then in the direction where Ruby waited. "Just listen for guards, run when they aren't near," Jim advised. He opened the door and Peter took a deep breath and raced out. Six Sentinels including Deborah and the Hispanic woman followed him.

"I can't hear the guards," an older man said, clearly desperate. Jim glanced toward him and the couple of dozen Sentinels who stood staring at him.

"You can stay here and wait for the SI, or band together. Listen together for the guards. It's your life, so you decide," Jim said. He could Dessy's voice in a far corner of the warehouse now.

Jim slipped out of the Sentinel room and slid along the wall as he headed deeper into the warehouse. A few more Sentinels ran for the door. More stayed. Jim heard the police sirens several minutes before the first sound of cursing came from upstairs. Someone threw a white noise generator, and a blanket muffled the building. Jim paused. The best course now was to wait it out. Jim glanced back toward the door the now-dead guard had been watching. He could go to his Guide.

Jim realized his mistake when he heard the muffled sound of a gun cocking. Cursing the white noise generator and the momentary loss of concentration, Jim raised his hands in surrender as he turned to face Dessy.

FORTY SIX
***
"Dessy," Jim said calmly even though he had every expectation of being shot. The longer he could stall Dessy, the greater the chance that he'd get medical help before bleeding out.

"You are a tough son of a bitch, you know?" Dessy asked, that familiar friendliness still in his tone. Jim kept his weapon pointed harmlessly at the ceiling, as though surrendering, without actually putting it down.

"Make a run for it now or you're going down with Kincaid's men," Jim advised him.

"Kincaid's an asshole, but he's a scary asshole. He'll have a backup plan."

"Which he has no intention of sharing with you. You were going to get a bullet in the back of your head before he took off with the Sentinels," Jim said with confidence. "He came to you because you traffic them, don't you?"

"Only a few. Washington always spotted them for me, but I didn't have the customers lined up like Kincaid. Now, let's you and I go find Kincaid before he uses his backdoor to leave us behind.

"He's not leaving at all," Jim said without moving. "I killed him."

That made Dessy stop and stare at Jim with narrowed eyes. "You're lying."

"He was my first stop," Jim said calmly. Dessy studied Jim for several seconds. "Well, shit. My horoscope today, it told me to beware of old acquaintances."

Jim could hear feet pounding over the concrete as police shouted.

"I really should have just shot you when I first met you," Dessy offered with a small shake of his head. Metal screeched as someone forced the far door open. Gunfire echoed against the walls, despite the white noise generator. "I guess I can correct that oversight now," Dessy said as he brought his weapon up.

Jim threw himself to one side, bringing his own weapon down as he fell. White fire burned his side, and he gasped as he shoved away the pain, focusing on returning fire. Jim hadn't gotten off more than one shot, which landed low in Dessy's gut before a familiar figure flew past him.

With a jerk, Jim sent his second shot wide as Blair threw himself at Dessy, taking the man to the ground with a startled yelp. Jim got up, his side bleeding sluggishly from a shallow graze.

"Blair," Jim called. Blair had managed to toss Dessy's weapon across the ground and now had his hands wrapped around the criminal's throat.

"You fucking shot him," Blair snarled as he lifted Dessy's head and slammed it back into the concrete.

"Blair!" Jim shouted as he grabbed his Guide around the waist. Blair fought him, his fingers pressing into Dessy's throat until the flesh turned white around Blair's fingers and the man opened his mouth in silent, pained gasps.

Jim grabbed Blair's wrist and pulled one hand away while Dessy struggled with Blair's other hand.

"Blair, let go."

"He shot you." Blair's voice hovered between fear and fury, and Jim tightened the arm around Blair's waist, pulling him back.

"Not nearly as well as I shot him. Come on, let go," Jim urged quietly. Blair turned to him with eyes nearly black with emotion and adrenaline. "I'm okay, Blair. I just want to hold you. Come on, let him go," Jim urged a little more insistently as other officers started coming toward them. Fair or not, Jim could shoot anyone he wanted. Blair, however, could end up in jail. Even worse, Blair would have to live with himself later. Jim had killed more than once, and could justify every kill. They were dirty and he would have preferred any other solution, but he accepted that sometimes death was the least messy solution to an ugly problem.

Blair's hands relaxed, and Jim pulled Blair back.

"Oh god, you're naked," Blair finally said.

"Obviously I've lost some of my appeal if you're just noticing now," Jim said dryly. Blair looked at him blankly for a second before a uniformed officer rushed up, pointing his weapon at them.

"I'm Detective Sandburg, Major crimes," Blair immediately turned so the officer could see the shield clipped to his belt. The uniform's eyes darted to Jim, and Jim immediately held his own weapon out for Blair to take.

"He's my Sentinel," Blair said possessively. Jim let his hands rest on Blair's shoulders as he watched the uniformed officer finally glance toward the real threat.

"That's Tomas Dessy, one of the targets," Blair introduced the officer. For a second, the officer looked down at Dessy who was now moaning and holding blood-stained fingers to his gut shot.

"I've got Dessy!" the uniform shouted as he aimed his weapon at the thug.

"Kincaid," Blair suddenly said, his eyes darting around the room as though the man had appeared.

Jim tightened his grip on Blair's shoulders. "He's taken care of," Jim promised.

"Taken care... you didn't." Blair turned around and looked up. Jim refused to feel guilty for what he had done. However, he did worry as he waited for the emotional explosion. Instead, Blair sighed. "God, we're a bloodthirsty pair. Man, my karma is like... whoa. Our karma is whoa. We're going to be volunteering at a monastery for a year just to get back to square one," Blair sighed as he leaned in, letting his head rest on Jim's chest. Jim wrapped his arms around Blair and just held on.

"Blair, Jim," Simon called from the other side of the room. Behind him, the white-uniformed SI workers followed in teams of three.

"Shit. Did Peter get away?" Jim whispered to Blair.

"What? You mean the red-haired, thirty-four year old construction worker Peter who volunteered in Ruby's kitchen and got taken by slavers?" Blair blinked up. "Yep, he got clean away. Hopefully with a description like that, the SI will catch him very, very soon."

Simon heard the last part as he walked up to them. "Okay, whatever that means, I am officially ordering you to stop talking about this in my presence. Sandburg, you are bad for my ulcer."

"You don't have an ulcer," Blair answered confidently.

"By the time you and Miss Ruby are through, I will," Simon insisted as he held out a white gown that looked a lot like a hospital gown without the slit in the back. "Please, just put it on and complain about the lack equitable dignity later. The robe is more dignified than being naked," Simon said as he held it out to Jim.

"I could argue that," Jim said as he pulled the cotton gown over his head. He looked like a cross dresser with bad taste, but at least he had clothes on. "Simon, we do have a small problem."

"I've got a whole lot of small problems," Simon corrected him. "Just add it to my pile."

"Kincaid and at least one guard are dead. I shot Kincaid with this weapon," Jim said calmly as he took the gun from Blair and held it out for Simon. "If you have an evidence bag, I'll unload the weapon." Jim waited as Simon stared at him incredulously for several seconds.

"You what?"

"The guard from the door. He tried to reach his weapon, and I crushed his windpipe. I shot Kincaid. There's a second guard upstairs who caught me in the hall. I don't know if he's still alive. And I shot Dessy," Jim nodded toward the man who was now moaning and handcuffed as the uniformed guard waited for paramedics.

Simon didn't answer right away. When he did, his lips were tight. "You cannot play judge, jury, and executioner." Jim fought not to flinch in the face of that quiet anger. This was Simon who had accepted Jim and gone fishing with them. But Jim wasn't about to hide what he did, either.

"Kincaid was the only one I killed like that, Simon. The others were no different from any other cop being caught in a life or death situation with civilian hostages at risk."

"But Kincaid?" Simon demanded.

"He made it clear that he considered Blair and me a project. He had every intention of breaking our bond. He wanted Blair to watch me suffer. He was never going to stop being a danger."

"I'm not okay with this," Simon said slowly. "Damn it. I'm really not okay with this. And the fact that you're never going to have to face the consequences of this decision, that makes this feel like you're taking advantage of this whole situation."

Jim nodded his head. "I respect that. Just know that I made the decision as a soldier, not as a Sentinel. I didn't go off the deep end and mindlessly kill."

"Is that supposed to make it better or worse?" Simon demanded.

"It makes it no different from all the other times I've been called on to kill someone to protect my country," Jim said calmly. "And yes, I am taking advantage of my Sentinel status. I can kill Kincaid without legal consequences, and that was part of my decision, but there are still consequences for that. There are always consequences for something like this," Jim corrected the captain.

Simon blinked and stood silent for a moment before he reached for an evidence bag. "I have to report this to the SI," Simon said as he held the bag open and allowed Jim to pull out the ammunition and drop it and the gun into the plastic bag.

"I know, Simon," Jim agreed. "And I know the risk that entails for us right now, but some things just have to happen."

Jim could feel Blair shift uncomfortably in his arms. "And I know that neither one of you agree with my decision," Jim said as he looked down toward his Guide. He could feel a cold ache of fear settle in his stomach.

"Man, I'm totally not okay." Blair chewed his lip as the paramedics went past them to tend to Dessy. "But I get it. And we're still good, right?" Blair asked as he looked up at Jim.

"You're my Guide, my beshte, we're always going to be good," Jim agreed, the fear vanishing as Blair tightened his arm around Jim's waist.

"You two have to stop using words like that," Simon growled softly.

"Oh, they may become more common than you would think, those words," Blair smiled at Simon. "That is if the committee doesn't boot my dissertation."

"They're going to love it," Jim said. He watched white uniformed SI workers guide a few white-robed Sentinels in chains out of the room. Other SI workers started arriving with stretchers to get the ones who had been drugged. Jim considered his options before he let go of Blair and walked over to the closest SI worker.

"There's one more, and he's in bad shape," Jim said. The man looked over at him and blinked in surprise.

"Were you taken, aren't you..."

Jim shook his head. "My bond-mate is here. The slavers took me from the soup kitchen where I was volunteering, but Blair Sandburg who has custody is right there, and his captain is Simon Banks. But there is someone you do need to take custody of."

The SI worked looked at Jim with concern and then over toward Blair and Simon before finally making up his mind. "Charlie, Diane, can you come with?" they guy called to two other SI employees. Diane had the chains and Charlie had the tranq gun. Jim tasted bile in his mouth as he led them toward the freezer room. Maybe everyone would have passed Creeper and Jim could free him later, but Jim suspected that the man couldn't survive on his own any more than he could survive slavers.

"Shit, they have him in there?" the first worker asked, clearly upset as Jim pulled the freezer door open.

"Creeping feet creeping mouths you can't eat me go away," Creeper immediately wailed as he struggled back the inch he could. Jim watched as all three SI workers froze for a half second faced with this obvious terror and physical illness.

"Shit," Diane breathed so soft that only a Sentinel could hear.

"Creeping creeping always creeping."

"Hey, no creeping. Creeping bad," Charlie agreed as he pulled a tranq dart out of the gun and moved slowly forward. "No more creeping, kill the creeping creeping," the man crooned softly, sitting on the ground inches from Creeper as he reached out showing the man an empty hand.

"Creeping feet creeping teeth."

"Burn the feet. No creeping. No more creeping," Charlie assured him softly, inching forward on his butt. "No more creeping. Creeping gone. No more creeping."

Creeper strained his head up, looking at the SI man in confusion. Just then Charlie reached out and pricked Creeper's shoulder with the tranq.

Creeper went wild. He bucked up and arched his back as he gave a scream that made Jim take a step back.

"Creeping teeth!" he wailed.

"All gone. No more creeping. Creeping gone," Charlie promised as he rubbed Creeper's shoulder where he'd jabbed it with the needle.

"God, how long has he been down here?" Diane asked.

"He was at the shelter with me a few hours ago," Jim said. "We all knew that he had mental health problems, but none of us knew he was a Sentinel."

"God, living on the street. He can probably feel the lice crawling on him. No wonder he's in so much pain."

Jim shook his head. "I lived on the streets for over a year without any problems. The streets don't to this to you. When they brought him in here, he said he'd never left, that he'd always been in a place like this. I think someone used him and dumped him when he finally lost his mind," Jim said quietly. The two SI workers looked at Jim with a little concern. Jim had no idea if they were bothered by the idea of someone dumping Creeper on the street to suffer a broken bond after torturing him or if they were bothered by the idea that Jim had lived successfully on the street. Jim didn't care. They could think whatever they wanted. "I have to get back to Blair."

"I'll walk you," Diane offered, as though Jim couldn't be trusted to walk through one room and half way across another when the whole building was thick with cops. Jim headed back the way he'd come without comment. Diane followed in his wake until Jim reached Blair and they slid their arms around each other.

"Let's go home," Jim whispered as Blair leaned back into him.

"God, home sounds good," Blair nodded. Simon turned and looked at them.

"Jim, I can't have you at the station tomorrow," Simon said.

"I understand," Jim agreed quietly.

"One week suspension, and even when Blair comes back on duty, I don't want you in my department until you've talked to the psychologist."

Jim studied Simon's face. It was the sort of punishment a cop might get after a questionable shooting. Legally, Jim didn't have to go to a psychologist or stay out of the station when his guardian was there, but Jim nodded his agreement.

"You two... you're going to give me gray hair." Simon complained. "Get out of here," he ordered. "Blair, you're back on Thursday, but if you bring Jim, I swear, you're going to be directing traffic."

"Got it," Blair agreed. "And Simon, man, thanks."

"Don't thank me yet. You know you're going to end up in front of that nut-case judge of yours again."

"It may not be fair, Simon," Jim said, "but the fact is that she's going to see this as normal behavior. Kincaid threatened my bond-mate. I killed Kincaid. If I'd killed every guard in the building and the first three cops through the door, the judge would still say I was acting within reason for a Sentinel."

"And I'm not okay with that, either," Simon said quietly.

"Me neither, Simon," Jim agreed.

"Okay, get out of here. I've got a mess to coordinate and you two are officially in the way," Simon said brusquely, the moment of contemplation and sharing obviously over as he turned to bellow at an officer.

"Oh man, I didn't drive," Blair suddenly said.

"So we find a patrol officer with a car. Let's just get out of here before every cop in the precinct gets to see my bare knees," Jim suggested as he looked down at himself in the SI gown. This wasn't a look he really wanted anyone else to spot.

"Good idea," Blair agreed.

FORTY SEVEN
***
When Blair opened the door to the loft, Jim wandered in and dropped onto the couch exhausted. "Ruby and Simon?" Jim asked.

"Hey, someone taught me that you use what you have, even if it seems pretty stupid at the time," Blair defended himself as he came and dropped onto the couch next to Jim. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I think we're even on kidnappings now," Jim smiled wryly and looked at his Guide.

"We're keeping track? Oh man, I say we call this one a draw and take up darts or something," Blair joked back.

"Bowling."

"No way. I suck at bowling. Curling."

"Curling? I have the world's strangest Guide. He doesn't bowl but he curls."

"You love me anyway," Blair said smugly. Jim reached over and draped an arm around Blair's shoulders.

"Yeah, I do."

Blair didn't answer; he just let Jim pull him close, shifting so he could lay his head on Jim's chest. Brushing his fingers though Blair's curls, Jim realized that the man would have killed for him. He imagined Blair would have been devastated tomorrow, but at the time, he had wrapped his hands around Dessy's neck with every intention of killing him. On the one hand, Jim could appreciate having a partner who he trusted at his back. His Guide was clever and skilled and willing to do what it took to protect their relationship. Sure, he took risks, but overall, his risks were planned and reasonable. He would have made a good officer.

But on the other hand, Jim didn't want to see Blair struggle through the aftermath of having taken a life. Jim had seen too many young men and women self destruct. And if Blair had gone though with killing Dessy, Jim suspect that innocence that still clung to Blair despite everything, it would have shed like a snake's skin.

"Thanks for saving me," Jim whispered.

"Hey, you'd already shot the idiot," Blair pointed out. "And you're bleeding. Shit. Let's look at that." Blair sat up to look at the small spot of red that had soaked into the white gown.

"It really is just a scratch. I've cut myself deeper playing paintball in the forest west of Bamburg when I was stationed at the garrison there."

"Yes, oh great superhero who never gets and infection. Because the judge wouldn't be upset at all if I ignored a gunshot wound and brought you to a hearing with a raging infection."

"Smartass," Jim complained, but he let Blair go so Blair could get supplies. "I'm going to get some pants. I really do feel like an underprivileged transvestite in this thing." By the time Jim got back downstairs in a comfortable pair of sweats, Blair was laying bandages and antibiotic creams out on the coffee table.

"It's a scratch, not surgery," Jim commented as he eyed the piles of gauze and medical tape.

"I can't believe Dessy shot you."

"I can. The man is a sociopath."

Blair laughed. "You know, I normally have this whole speech about how unfair it is to apply psychological terms like 'sociopath' to someone just because you don't like them, but this time, I'm totally agreeing with you. The man is nuts."

"Nuts... another psychological term?" Jim asked with amusement.

"And you call me a smartass." Blair sighed dramatically as he knelt in front of Jim and applied cream to the injured side. "This is almost more like a burn," Blair commented as his fingers slowly smoothed the cool balm on the hot skin.

"Friction burn," Jim agreed. "It probably won't even leave a scar."

"You killed Kincaid," Blair said calmly in a compete non-sequitur.

"Yeah," Jim agreed. Blair finished with the cream and sat back on his heels. "Why?"

Jim sighed, not sure if he could give Blair an answer that would satisfy him. "Kincaid was dangerous."

"So are most of the people we arrest. Herrera was dangerous. The recidivism with true pedophilia, not just with underage sex, but with pedophilia.... whoa. Seriously not good."

"The system can deal with Herrera."

"But not with Kincaid?" Blair demanded.

Jim couldn't find a quick answer to that, and Blair picked up a gauze pad and covered Jim's the injury. "The system is set up to deal with Herrera. Kincaid was smart. Last time, the building was thick with cops and he walked away. He had dedicated followers who were willing to kill for him. He would have gotten out of jail."

"So, you're killing to protect me?" Blair asked, pulling off a strip of medical tape from the roll.

"No." Jim quickly said. Blair didn't need that guilt. Besides, Blair could take care of himself. He remembered Incacha's words in his dream: Blair would drag him where he needed to go, and he would shield Blair. Not protect... shield.

"If you were in the heat of the moment trying to protect me, I could totally understand. I mean, it doesn't say much about my own self control, but I was ready to pull Dessy's head off. He shot you. Man, that's seriously not okay with me. But I don't think that's how it went. Was it?" Blair stopped taping and looked up at Jim. For a half second, Jim considered lying to his partner.

"No," he admitted. "I found him, he told me to give him the gun and he'd bond with me himself and I'd love it, and I shot him. Not really much emotion there at all."

"Man. How could you?"

"How could I execute a man who sold explosives to the terrorists who helped coordinate the Pan Am 103 bombing? I did that too, and in that case, I didn't have the evidence. I couldn't know for sure that the man I saw thought my sniper rifle was dangerous, but I believed the intel. Blair, I know that this isn't how you would handle things, but I am who I am."

"A killer?" Blair asked. The words were harsh enough to make Jim flinch, but the tone was more confused than angry.

"A soldier," Jim corrected him. "I protect people; it's what I do. And as long as Kincaid was alive, he was more than just a slaver. His people nearly worshipped him. He would have gotten out of jail."

"And you're sure of that?"

"Sure enough that I know I made the right choice," Jim nodded. "And I know I'm not a soldier any more, and maybe that's what Incacha meant about following your lead, but I couldn't turn my back to a danger like that." Jim reached up ran his fingers through a curl, staring at the hair rather than see the expression on Blair's face. Blair's fingers curled around Jim's hand.

"Incacha told you to follow my lead?" Blair stared at Jim with undisguised suspicion.

"I had a dream or maybe a vision," Jim admitted.

"Okay, before you go any farther, I am all mysticalled out for the day, possibly for the year. Man, when Naomi goes on spiritual trips, at least her spirits don't show up with four legs and scare the shit out of you."

Jim laughed. "I think I said something like that to Incacha once. But the mystical side is part of being a Sentinel and Guide."

"I think I'll leave that out of the dissertation."

"Yeah, you probably should," Jim agreed. "Including it would make you sound like more a fruitcake than you are."

Blair glared at him as he pressed the last strip of medical tape in place.

"Hey, anyone who drinks algae for breakfast should know what people think of him," Jim defended himself from Blair's glare.

"It's healthy."

"Yeah, for fish maybe. So, my lawyer dropped another hint from my father. He's going to be visiting Canada next week, which is I think a hint that he would like to meet. Funny. When I first figured out you were a cop, the reason I didn't run was because I was sure I didn't have any place to go. Turns out I could have gone to my father all along."

"Man, you are so changing the subject," Blair accused him has he stood up.

"From what?" Jim asked innocently.

"I don't even know. Kincaid? Near death experiences? Incacha's mystical message? Man, you are the master of non-communication when you put your mind to it."

"Blair." Jim held out his hand and for a second, Blair just looked at him. Then, shaking his head with amusement, Blair took his hand and settled down on Jim's uninjured side. "I did what I had to with Kincaid. You don't need to agree with me or condone what I did, but I made that choice. I didn't have a near death experience because Dessy is a crappy shot when it comes down to it. And Incacha's mystical message was that I was a stubborn son of a bitch, and the spirits had told Incacha I had to come back here and find a Guide bull-headed enough to drag me where I needed to go."

"And you believe that?" Blair asked as he kicked his shoes off and pulled his feet up onto the couch.

"I don't know," Jim admitted. "I found you. You are pretty damn bull-headed. And if I hadn't found you, I would have made my goal just escaping the system." Jim reached up and brushed his fingers across the warm metal of his ever-present collar. "But you're right about some things being worth fighting for, so maybe this is where the spirits wanted me."

"Next time Naomi drops by, I'm going to ask her to thank the spirits for me, then," Blair said, his hand sliding over to Jim's stomach. "I thought I was going to lose you."

"Aren't you going to thank them yourself?"

"Hey, that would include the whole mystical trip, and I am officially swearing off the freaky, thank you. Man, Simon must think I totally lost my mind. Man, I think I might have lost it there in the middle."

"Assuming you had one to being with," Jim teased.

"Keep it up, Ranger-boy, and you will not be getting any desperate, hard sex here." Blair stood up and gave Jim a meaningful look before he headed for the stairs.

"Desperation sex never sounded so good," Jim answered as he got up to follow.

"Oh, I'll make you desperate all right," Blair said in a thoughtful tone, unbuttoning his shirt as he headed up the stairs. "Man, I wanted to do it on the floor of that warehouse. It's like nothing else would convince me you were still alive."

"I'm still breathing. It really isn't a serious injury at all," Jim assured his Guide.

"Man, that's logic. I am so not talking about logic here. The emotional brain is more about touching and smelling and the hindbrain which doesn't really take logic into account. Emotion is about hormones." Blair reached the top of the stairs and started back up toward the bed.

"Hormones?"

"Oh yeah. Testosterone released during competition, adrenaline released by fear. It's all hormonal."

"I really did get the odd Guide."

"And I got the scary Ranger-Sentinel with a Superman complex. And let's not talk about my mom's friend Jim, because my mom so does not belong in this conversation right now."

Jim closed in on Blair, and Blair's hands came up to rest on Jim's waist above his hipbones. Jim brought his hand up and gently stroked the side of Blair's face. Slowly, Blair's right hand slid up until it brushed the side of the dressing.

"Walking wounded," Blair whispered.

"Oh for god's sake..."

"Nope, this time you just lie down and let me do the work," Blair said as he tried to use his hands to guide Jim to the bed. Jim set his feet, his erection sagging.

"Blair, I'm really not ready for..."

"Oh man, I am totally not saying you should bottom. Geez, give me some credit. I'm just offering to do more to the heavy lifting here. Trust me."

Jim resisted for a split second and then allowed Blair to guide him to the bed. Blair's hands urged Jim to lie back and traced the waist of his sweats. When Jim finally relaxed into the middle of the bed, Blair started by kissing Jim's stomach, slowly moving down inch by inch as the tension gathered. Shit. Jim was used to being the seducer, or laying a woman out before him and working her body, but never before had he had someone seduce him.

Blair's hands fluttered up to Jim's chest, thumbs massaging circles in the muscles as Blair carefully sucked the soft skin just above the waistband of Jim's sweats. Even though Jim struggled to control his sense of touch, it continued to open to Blair's gentle touches, desperate for more as Jim fisted the edges of the mattress.

Slowly moving his hands down, sliding over Jim's stomach, Blair hooked fingers under the sweats and started pushing them steadily down, revealing new skin which he kissed with warm lips that made Jim's cock ache. When the tip of Jim's hard cock appeared, Blair sat up as though considering it for a second before he bent down and placed a kiss on it.

With a gasp, Jim thrust up, and Blair opened his mouth, sucking as Jim arched up into his mouth. Blair pulled back with a satisfied grin, and Jim groaned at the loss of contact. Instead of taking a hint, Blair leaned over, the heels of his hands braced on Jim's hips, holding them down as Blair reached up to suck on a nipple.

Running his hands through Blair's hair, Jim let go of his sense of touch which immediately amplified every touch until Jim writhed in need and threw his head back.

"Do it," Jim gasped, not even sure he care what it Blair was aiming for as long as it pushed him past this sharp edge of burning need and into completion. Blair sat up, his hair now tangled as he pushed it away carelessly. Reaching for the lube, Blair put some on his hand and reached around with his right hand. Jim watched as Blair slipped fingers into himself.

"I could—" Jim started to say. Blair cut off the suggestion with a passionate kiss that stole Jim's every thought. Blair ended the kiss and started sucking on Jim's lower lip, a move that made Jim grab Blair and pull him down on top of him so their bodies pressed close together. He could feel their heat, their musk, their need. A slick hand slipped between them and grabbed Jim's erection and Jim threw his head back and clutched Blair's shoulders.

When Blair wiggled down, Jim reluctantly let go. Through almost closed eyes, Jim watched Blair rub Jim's erection slowly, too slowly to get him off. Jim thrust up in a silent plea for more, but Blair just gave a wicked grin and let go altogether. Before Jim could complain, Blair straddled him, crawling up to give Jim a quick kiss on the lips before he reached around and grabbed Jim's erection.

Jim figured out Blair's plan two seconds before Blair slowly slid down onto Jim cock.

"Oh fuck," Blair gasped as he sank all the way down.

"Are you okay?" Jim had the presence of mind to ask as he grabbed Blair's thighs.

"Shit. So good. Oh, so doing this again," Blair gasped out as he threw his head back and knelt up only to let his weight fall back onto Jim's thighs. Jim clutched Blair's thighs, lost in the sensation as Blair rocked up and down, the heat and tightness finally forcing Jim to join his partner, timing his thrusts with Blair's own motion.

Jim could feel Blair tighten, his legs trembling, and he reached up and grabbed Blair's erection, feeling the foreskin slip over the shaft as Blair lost the pattern and just writhed and twitched. That pushed Jim over the edge as he came. Digging his heels into the bed, Jim thrust up, lifting Blair into the air. The warm scent of Blair's come filled the air and warm drops splatters across Jim's stomach.

"Fuck." Blair panted, collapsing next to Jim.

For long minutes, they lay side by side, Jim's fingers combing through Blair's messy hair. "Felix and Oscar," Blair said, his breath ghosting over Jim's still-sensitive skin.

"What?" Jim asked, too tired to follow Blair logic down the rabbit hole.

"The Odd Couple. Totally different, but still best friends, you know."

"Yeah," Jim agreed as he tightened his arm. "I know." It was early... not even dark yet. Still, Jim settled in, no intention of getting out of his bed and his Guide's arm until morning.

FORTY EIGHT
***
The judge looked up from her files. "Wait a minute. Weren't you two just in here because of that idiot who tried to kill you?"

"Kincaid, your honor," Blair offered quietly. "That was two weeks ago."

"Two weeks." The judge rested her chin in her hand as she looked at them. "Are they offering free frequent flier miles or something at the front desk? I mean, I don't think I've ever had clients who enjoyed spending quite so much time with me."

Jim clenched his teeth and ordering himself to not say how much he did not enjoy being in her court. But the wolves were circling, and plan A involved legally leaving the country--hopefully before the damn press figured out that Blair had filed for permission to teach overseas. Jim's plan had definitely not taken into consideration that so many parts of Blair's dissertation would get leaked early or that Maury would turn out to be so damn good in front of the camera. With that little blonde ACLU lawyer fluttering around him, he alternated between looking like the lord of the domain ruling from the wheelchair and a pathetic old man with a shiny new collar. Jim almost felt sorry for the SI. Almost.

"Your honor, I've finished my dissertation, and Utrecht University has offered me a visiting professorship in Sentinel studies," Blair said neutrally.

"You know, I have gotten more calls from politicians in the last few days than I did before the last election. Only this time, I'm actually getting the politicians on the other end instead of some teenager who can't pronounce the word 'imminent' who wants me to vote for their candidate."

"Your honor," Blair started, but the judge held up her hand to stop him.

"Let me finish, Dr. Sandburg. Right now, it's running about three to one against you. Now, your old boss in Major Crimes is in your corner as is Dr. Stoddard and a half dozen others, but other interested parties have informed me that you're disruptive, dangerous, and threaten to undermine the entire sanctity of the Sentinel Institute. Mind you, any time someone starts appealing to the sanctity of anything, I start wondering what they find so damn sacred."

"I've never advocated disrupting the system," Blair protested.

"Only that the system is completely blind to the needs of Sentinels. Yes, I read that." Jim could see the blood drain from Blair's face. The judge steepled her fingers and looked down from the bench. "And since everyone seems to know you were requesting out-of-country travel, I have been subjected to a dozen arguments about why you are an inappropriate guardian for James."

Jim sat up, his fingers tightening on the edge of the table. No. No fucking way. Not now.

"So, I thought I would perform a little preemptive judicial discretion and deal with the issue of appropriate guardianship and out of country travel at once. It'll save the taxpayers a few dollars later."

"Your honor. I haven't had time to—" Blair started, his voice high and strained. The judge waved her hand dismissively.

"As a matter of fact, I do find your work highly disruptive, and from a judicial standpoint, annoying as hell. Your work makes my job exponentially more difficult, and I personally groan every time I read some new bit leaked by the media. Personally, I hope someone finds that your science is as questionable as your courtroom manners because I don't want to think that you might be right. However, I can't find that you've threatened the sanctity of anything in particular. You just challenge the status quo."

"I am trying to—" Blair tried to break in again, his heart racing. The judge glared, and he fell silent. Jim started calculating escape routes in his head. The bailiff wasn't a problem; the courthouse full of guards were.

"Given that I've made a legal determination that you are disruptive, I have the matter of custody to decide. And on this matter, my hands are clearly tied. The law does not provide for removing a guardian on the basis of annoyance. If it did, you would be in serious trouble, Dr. Sandburg. However, the law recognizes only a limited number of cases for removing a bonded Sentinel: moral turpitude, conflicts with the Sentinel or clear unfitness. James is healthy, productive, and in excellent spirits, and annoyance does not rise to the level of moral turpitude." The judge sighed and looked at Blair. "Not even the level of annoyance you represent, Dr. Sandburg. Therefore, I find that there is no legal basis to remove James from your guardianship."

"Thank you, your honor," Blair breathed, his heart slowing as Jim reached over and rested his hand on Blair's arm.

"The issue would have ended up in front of me at some point given the way some old men seem to enjoy complaining," the judge vaguely warned with a shrug. Jim smiled at her gratefully, but he must have had some murderous glint in his eye because when she caught his eye, she slowly smiled evilly. "Some people really should mind their own business," she said as she pursed her lips. For a brief second, Jim spotted the rebellious warrior inside the seemingly flippant exterior; her smile was just as calculating and knowing as his own.

"Now, on to the issue of travel," the judge sudden said, the conspiratorial tone scattered by her sudden shift into the business of the court. "Dr. Sandburg clearly identified anthropology as one of the fields with which he required Sentinel assistance, and his field is Sentinel studies, and the Netherlands certainly have Sentinels. I'm not seeing any reason to stop what is normal travel for Dr. Sandburg's lawful employment, despite the number of Amicus briefs I seem to have accumulated. I swear, Dr. Sandburg, I never would have known my court had so many friends if not for you."

"Your honor," Blair said slowly.

"Thank you, your honor," Jim interrupted.

"I assume your travel arrangements are made," she commented.

"Yes, your honor," Jim answered.

"Well, the Appellate Court takes a long weekend every weekend, and those judges don't give up their golf lightly. That gives you three days to hire someone to deal with the appeals that will no doubt be filed on James' behalf within the next hour," the judge offered as she shuffled the papers on her desk.

"Yes, your honor," Jim answered. Blair was obviously still struggling a little to get totally caught up on the subtext, and Jim found it amazing that even now, even though Blair knew the unfairness of the system intimately, that he could still be so shocked at one more example. Powerful people were moving against them, unseen in the shadows of the legal system, and Jim suddenly found himself wishing he had the judge's home address so he could add her to his Christmas card list, not that he sent cards, but for her he'd make the effort. "My father's lawyer will be able to recommend someone," Jim promised.

"I'm sure he'll be able to defend your rights," the judge said as she looked up.

"Yeah," Blair now added, obviously done with his 'processing.' "He'll be able to handle whatever needs handling."

Jim slipped his arm around his companion. Blair's university was here, his friends, his life. Jim felt a twinge of guilt in his gut. The judge couldn't have been clearer if she'd hung a neon sign over her head; if they wanted to fight the system, it was time to do it from the outside.

"Okay, then. Next case!" the judge cheerfully called. Jim stood, his hand still resting on Blair's arm as the man stood up and gathered various papers describing his project in the Netherlands. He hadn't presented a single one.

"Oh man," Blair breathed as they headed out the courthouse doors.

"We're leaving tonight, Chief. I don't care if the only flight is to Tajikistan, we can catch a flight to Utrecht from there."

"Hey, no arguments here. That was downright freaky in a secret handshake sort of way. Man, she is going to be on some serious shit lists tomorrow."

"Yeah, which is why we're getting out of here tonight. I'm not so sure those guys won't give up their golf," Jim whispered as they headed out into the twilight. The traffic in front of the court was at a near stand-still as going home traffic fought with released jury members and court workers who were all trying to crowd onto the already crammed street.

"You don’t have to go," Jim said quietly. He found himself thrown off balance when Blair froze in the middle of the sidewalk, and the hand Jim normally rested against the small of Blair's back forced Jim to stop too.

"Don't even start, Ellison," Blair warned.

"You have a life here. Once I'm set up in Utrecht, you can come back here and keep working on your research."

"Or I can go there and work on my research. Man, it's going to be years... maybe decades before this country is ready to make real changes. You just take all the Sentinels out of the system now, and there'd be chaos, and you know it. We can't stay here."

"Blair, I can't stay here; you can," Jim tried, in his most calming voice.

"Use that patronizing tone on me again, and you will be sleeping on the couch, cliché or no cliché," Blair threatened. "I'm as sick of this as you are, but if your dad's lawyer can get us some legal protections, I'll still come back here for my research… maybe. But let me tell you--right now, going somewhere else would be good. Man, there is way too much stupidity floating around this place."

"There is, isn't there?" Jim admitted.

"Oh man, totally. I look back on who I was a year or two ago, and I flinch. How can people who are so totally clueless be so totally convinced they know what they're doing? And now I can't change the rest of the world fast enough. I mean, come on." Blair demanded. Jim used his hand on Blair's back to push his lover into motion.

"Pretty damn clueless, Chief. You've seen that."

"Over and fucking over. I'm ready for a little less cluelessness."

"Don't count on it," Jim warned. "Just because the Netherlands has a better system doesn't mean they aren't stupid about something. I'm sure when we get there, you'll find some injustice to rail against."

"You're such a pessimist."

"Just a realist, Chief. One of us has to be."

"I am not that much of an idealist. I do live in the real world right next to you."

Jim reached over and ruffled Blair's hair until he darted away, his hands flying around his head in an attempt to defend himself.

"Geez, you're an army Ranger, aren't you supposed to have some sort of non-touchy-feely man rule?" Blair demanded as he smoothed his hair back down with his fingers.

"Nope," Jim smiled as he reached out and caught Blair's neck, pulling his companion back to his side. "But seriously, Chief, if this legal crap doesn't go our way and you still want to come home…"

Blair slipped a hand around Jim's waist. "Okay, you remember how we had that deal where you would bop me every time I said something stupid about my mom's friend Jim?" Blair asked. Jim gave him a gentle bop on the back of the head as an answer. Blair sank an elbow into his side, making Jim huff. "Well, we have a new rule. Every time you forget the following, I'm going to smack you. I want to be with you."

"Even if it means giving up your work?" Jim asked.

"Oh man, I am so not giving up my work. Utrecht University is a great chance to study a population of Sentinels under one of the most liberal systems in the world. We could see the Finnish system, maybe convince them to loosen up a little more. I might write some efficiency comparisons because I know Dr. Stoddard would gather data on Sentinels here. And if your dad can come up with a good enough lawyer, the big guys just might go down. That's the beauty of the court system; it can level some pretty big mountains. Hell, the courts jump started most of the civil rights we have today. Anyway, I am so not giving up my work for you. However," Blair added, "if it ever did come to choosing between work and you, you'd win."

"Sappy, Sandburg," Jim complained, but he couldn't stop a smile so wide that made his cheeks ache.

"Yeah, yeah, you love me anyway," Blair said confidently.

"I have to, no choice in the matter with the bond," Jim teased. "You, on the other hand, have fallen for me solely on the basis of my good looks and charm."

"Asshole."

"Dork."

"Nice, do you have any idea the etymology of that word?"

"Nope, but I know that if we don't hurry up and get to the airport, we're going to end up choosing between the flight to Tajikistan and the one to Laos."

"We're doing this."

"Yep."

"Funny, I always thought it would be you driving, me in the trunk, heading for Canada."

"I think first class might be a little more comfortable," Jim said as he looked at his companion. He still twitched at the idea of putting his Blair in a stuffy, dark trunk, and twitched even more at the idea that Blair had honestly thought him capable of that.

"Probably. So, it's back to the airport, right where we started this whole thing, huh?" Blair asked.

Jim didn't answer right away as he remembered that day in the airport when Blair had first appeared, lying through his teeth to the airport guard. "Yeah, back to where it all started, but this time, we're on the same side," Jim agreed as he tightened his arm around Blair.

Jim hurried his steps, and Blair matched him as they headed for the car and headed for a life that Jim couldn't have even imagined a year and a half ago when he'd huddled under a bridge and the best future he could imagine was living life with a Canadian tribe, alone and mourning the loss of Incacha for the rest of his life. Yeah, life hadn't been easy, but Jim was a soldier. He didn't expect easy. And the fact was that never in his dreams or fantasies had Jim ever expected life to be this good. He tightened his arm around Blair, and Blair's arm tightened around his waist in return.

Ficlet

Control Issues Epilogue
Rated ADULT
"Letting Go"

"So, how is my hero tonight?" Blair asked with a smirk as he came through the back gate into their small garden terrace off the back of their place. The sun was just a sliver in the corner, while the rest of the terrace was in shadow, but Jim sat reading his paper anyway. Blair sometimes marveled at how easily he used his Sentinel senses now, after years of turning on the lights even when he didn't need to.

"Stuff it, Sandburg," Jim warned in his best cranky voice. Blair just smiled more.

"Not a good day? That Van Dijk case still giving you grief?"

Jim looked up from his newspaper, put his coffee down on the small mosaic table and pinned Blair with an evil glare. Blair bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

"The Van Dijk case is giving me grief because I can't investigate it. The whole point of a private investigator is to have the matter stay private. It's hard to be private with half the fucking city following me. One of the vultures actually fell in the Oudegracht trying to get a picture of me."

"Okay, ick. That's not the cleanest water in the world," Blair said as he let the garden gate latch and lock behind him before dropping his briefcase on the table and taking the chair across from Jim. "Did you fish him out?"

"He got himself in, he got himself out," Jim said darkly. "I'm not some caped crusader who rescues kittens from trees and idiot reporters from canals."

"No, you're just the guy who single-handedly took out a terrorist group who had taken hostages and shut down the Utrecht Zuilen station. I think that qualifies you for caped status, so would you prefer red or blue? A nice superman theme might look nice with those legs of yours." Blair gave his lover a wink and then grinned at the feral expression that might have sent lesser men running away while peeing their pants.

"Sandburg," Jim snarled. "I can't get my work done. Johan Van Dijk can't wait for the information he needs." Scrubbing a hand across his face, his anger suddenly turned to worry.

"Oh man, yeah. You're right," Blair agreed as he remembered the old man who had shown up on their door, which doubled as Jim's office for his very discreet detective agency, staff of two. Okay, staff of one and a half because the university kept Blair busy enough researching Sentinels and speaking at fundraisers and presenting research that he didn't get to work with Jim nearly as much as he would like to. He adored his research, and he could see the changes slowly seeping into society as more and more researchers turned their attention toward innate Sentinels, but he missed the adrenaline of police work. "I don't think you're getting rid of the paparazzi any time soon, not unless someone else takes on terrorists and saves a bunch of children single-handedly," Blair mused.

"I'm about ready to volunteer with a terrorist group to help them plan something just so someone else can play hero," Jim sighed.

"I hear you," Blair nodded. "Can I help?"

"If you have some time tomorrow, I could use some help on the Van Dijk case."

"Cool! What time to you need me?"

"When are you free?"

"Name the time, man, and I'm all yours." Blair held his arms out to indicate just how much of him belonged to Jim.

"Listen, Chief, I know you have meetings tomorrow, so I'd rather work around your schedule."

"Oh man, no problem. I do have a legal right to take time off for any Sentinel-related business, so meetings-schmeetings."

"Junior, I am not playing the Sentinel card," Jim almost growled. Blair blinked at the sudden anger, but then it wasn't like he didn't have a hang-up or two himself. Jim had certainly earned his right to be a little overly sensitive on this issue, even if he didn't have to wear a collar or sign all his money over to Blair. His driver's license still labeled him as a Sentinel and restricted him from driving during any police or government declared emergency, and he couldn't carry a weapon, not even when he held a private investigator's license.

"Jim," Blair said carefully, "this is so not about you. I want to use the Sentinel card because I have a meeting with Kees Rotmensen to talk about department budgets, and man, I just don't care. However much they give me, I'll spend, but this happy shit with politicking to get more just gives me indigestion."

"Chief, I'm not saving you from Rotmensen. I just need about three hours of your time tomorrow, so let me know when you're free."

"I suppose if I come home at four that will give Rotmensen an hour to torture me with budget numbers," Blair sighed. "You know, feel free to have those Blessed Protector instincts kick in here," he suggested. Jim just picked up his coffee and started drinking again, the paper still draped over his lap.

"When a gunman grabs you, I'll get right on it, but you're on your own with Rotmensen. The man gives me the creeps."

"Nice, he gives the special ops soldier the creeps, and you still throw me to him," Blair said with exaggerated resignation.

"Yep. You can take care of yourself, Chief."

"So, do you need help with your senses or do you want me to play decoy for your fan club?" Blair asked as he kicked off his shoes. Leaning back in the chair, he stretched out a leg and let his socked foot rub Jim's thigh. Jim's eyebrow went up, and the corners of his mouth twitched. A little more, and Blair'd get an honest smile out of him.

"I think Van Dijk's oldest is the one selling the company secrets. I planned on staking out Han's place, but he has white noise generators all over that mansion of his. I need this taken care of because I have a new client: a teenage girl disappeared during a summer trip. Her friends last saw her at Dom tower, and the police have told the parents that they've run out of leads."

"Oh yeah, it's time to take care of the Van Dijk case," Blair agreed. The industrial espionage case wasn't like most of Jim's cases, but the old man's pain had really bothered Jim, so he had taken the case. "So, we go and you listen right past those white noise generators of Junior's. Man, those things are like pointless with Jim Ellison, Sentinel extraordinaire on the job."

"Extraordinaire?" Jim sounded almost amused. Okay, there was more exasperation than amusement, but there was some amused in there.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, but this is my fantasy here, so just go along with it," Blair suggested as he moved his foot to the inside of Jim's thigh, pressing closer to the growing bulge he could just imagine. The newspaper rattled as Blair's foot moved.

"Despite the fact that Eli has identified two innate Sentinels with senses just as powerful if not more powerful than mine?" Jim asked, his lips twitching again as Blair stretched as far as he could without falling out of his chair.

"Whatever," Blair dismissed them. "Man, they are not nearly as cool. I bet they never saved a whole train station full of hostages from terrorists. They don't have their own entourage."

"Let's not bring that up, please," Jim said dryly, and then Blair's toes reached home, and he made a little strangled gasp. Blair smiled.

"What the Sentinel wants, the Sentinel gets," Blair agreed.

"What about what Jim wants?" Jim asked, the amusement gone as something shifted just below his psychological landscape. Blair hesitated and then pulled his foot back so he could stand up.

"Oh man, I'd do anything for Jim," Blair said as he walked around to Jim's side and let his hand rest on Jim's shoulder. "What's up?"

"Nothing, Blair."

"I'm not buying it, Ellison."

"Just drop it." Jim stood up, dumped the paper on the table and headed into the bedroom through the double doors.

"Oh no," Blair said as he grabbed his briefcase and darted after his lover. "Don't shut me out, Jim. You know I get all insecure and weird when you shut me out."

Jim stopped near the tall dresser, his hand resting on the top as he stared at the wall.

"Oh man, who did what to you today?"

"It isn't that."

"Okay, so no one did anything to you. Who said what to you today?"

Blair watched Jim pick up an envelope from the dresser and tossed it at him. Blair dropped his briefcase as he caught the fluttering paper in both hands. Pulling the flap open with trembling hands, Blair tried not to think about all the things that could have gone wrong: his mother, Jim's father or brother, the Dutch citizenship process. When he finally got through the first paragraph, his heart started to slow down.

"Hey, we so knew this would happen," Blair said gently.

"You have now officially given up your life for me," Jim said, his voice tight and clipped.

"Hey, you officially gave up your life when the military figured out about your senses. Me? I just changed locations. I'm still researching Sentinels. I'm still getting my adrenaline fix, although not as much as I might want, but hey, I can always spend more time working with the agency if I want to. My life is nowhere near given up, man."

"You can't go home."

"I am home," Blair said as he dropped the nasty, but ultimately powerless, letter from the Sentinel Institute on the floor and stepped to Jim's side. They hadn't planned to go back to the states, and the Netherlands wouldn't extradite for contempt of a Sentinel court summons. "Man, I am going to go all sap and mush on you if you don't get that truth through your head, Ellison, and I'm not sure you're going to survive a full case of Sandburg sentimentality."

"I don't know, I survived your mother," Jim pointed out dryly.

Blair smiled, and Jim finally answered with a smile of his own. "Yeah, yeah, you saved her baby from being a cog in the machine," Blair nodded, "but that was Sandburg sap turned on 60%... maybe 70%. I'm threatening to give you both barrels of lovey-dovey mush about how you are my life, so don't make me go there."

"Blair, I shouldn't be your life. And by choosing me… that warrant takes away some pretty important choices."

"You are an important part of my life, but does it occur to you that I like the fact that when we work on cases, it's one at a time and not like when Simon would dump a dozen active cases on us at once? And then the university… oh man, it is so much better to be a respected professor than a teaching fellow. And you know I loved teaching, but really, focusing on research and writing and playing guest lecturer--I'm in fucking heaven. And I love this city. The homophobia and xenophobia and general lifeophobia in Cascade sometimes drove me totally nuts. So, don’t go playing the martyr, Ellison. I didn't give up much to be with you, and I got a thousand times more than I lost."

"Sandburg sap?" Jim asked, but at least now he asked with a smile.

"Hell, yeah. It's also truth." Blair reached up and rested a hand on Jim's chest, feeling the warmth from his partner and wondering what it would be like to be a Sentinel, to feel the blood throb and hear the heart beating and identify every fiber under your fingers. Blair could only feel the smooth cotton of Jim's shirt and study his partner's face for some sign that he'd cut off Jim's incipient attack of guilt.

"Utrecht has been good to us," Jim offered.

"Totally…. that café in Rotterdam."

" Kroket," Jim agreed, licking his lips as he mentioned the deep fried meat and bread treat that Blair still called a stick-shaped heart attack. Blair rolled his eyes.

"The National Library," he countered.

"Inspector Visser over in Apeldoorn."

"Wait, I'm happy for one of the best known collections of rare manuscripts in the world, and you're thankful for stick-up-his-ass Visser?"

"He's a good cop," Jim shrugged, but his smirk grew. "Besides, you just like the banned erotic section." It didn't take a Sentinel to know that Jim was now officially screwing with him.

"Asshole," Blair huffed as he started fingering the buttons on Jim's shirt, plucking them open one at a time, tugging when they didn't come open quite fast enough for him.

"Mevrouw van Wingerden over on Poortstraat street."

Blair stopped long enough to give Jim a curious look on that one. He shrugged. "She does great work with torn shirts and ripped buttons."

"Okay, those get ripped more from the chasing and jumping hedges and occasionally taking out armed terrorists than me," Blair complained, but he did slow down on the last button. Jim's shirt fell open, and Blair traced the strong muscles, letting his finger follow one valley to the center of Jim's chest where he then traced the line down the center of his chest to his pants.

"However things get ripped, I'm grateful to mevrouw van Wingerden," Jim whispered as he brought his hands up. He brushed Blair's hair back with one hand and loosened his tie with the other. "You look uncomfortable in your professor getup," Jim commented as he pulled the tie off.

"Oh, man, you have no idea," Blair answered as his cock throbbed in his pants, but from Jim's smirk, he just might know. Blair slipped his fingers into Jim's waistband, pressing until his fingertips just brushed the curled hair inside and then waiting as Jim unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it down off his shoulders. Jim bent down and kissed Blair's shoulder, and Blair took the opportunity to open Jim's pants.

"Whoa, playing naughty, Jim?" Blair asked when a thick and heavy cock immediately appeared. "The commando going commando."

"Can the jokes, Junior. I didn't exactly have time for laundry this week."

"Oh yeah, you were busy being the big hero," Blair said as he pushed Jim's shirt off and started pulling Jim back toward the bed.

"Do you have to keep bringing that up?"

"Yep," Blair cheerfully agreed. "Jim Ellison—soldier, hero, son, lover, occasional asshole. I love every part of you."

"Blair," Jim said, and then he fell silent. Blair tilted his head back, inviting Jim to show how he felt since the big man was never going to enjoy words as much as Blair did. Immediately, Jim brought his mouth down over Blair's, kissing Blair until he couldn't do anything but ineffectually cling to Jim as every bit of blood disappeared south.

When Jim finally pulled back, he had a calmer expression, and Blair just about ripped the button off his own pants as he struggled out of them. With a knowing smirk, Jim pushed his pants off, leaving them on the floor as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Oh man." Blair stopped himself there. He didn't say how he had never still wanted someone so much two years into the relationship. He didn't say that he still needed Jim as much as he needed to breathe. He didn't say that the look of love in Jim's eyes still made him want to cry with joy. Being raised by a mother, Blair sometimes talked too much, but with Jim sitting naked on the blue bedspread, Blair decided that words just didn't explain enough.

Blair stood with his legs straddling Jim's knees as he bent down to kiss him. Jim leaned back, returning the kiss so enthusiastically that Blair's hands reached out for some support, landing on Jim's shoulders and then slowly pushing the other man to his back. Blair hummed into the kiss and then ended it only to place a series of kisses along Jim's shoulder.

Jim's cock was hard and thick, but Blair just ignored it as he caressed Jim's shoulders and hips and tweaked Jim's nipples and reverently kissed Jim's neck. Blair allowed himself to indulge in a feast of touching and tasting, hands and mouth skimming over skin that turned to gooseflesh under his lips.

"Chief," Jim sobbed the word. Blair took a deep breath and stopped before he made Jim come before even getting to the good part. Normally he would love to see Jim that out of control, but today he wanted something more. Today, he wanted to make Jim forget anything except how lucky they were to be here, to be happy, to have a home and a bed together. Blair used his hands on Jim's hips to urge him to turn, and Jim rolled and then crawled to the center of the bed. When he spread his legs, Blair hissed as he fought to find his own control.

"Problem?" Jim asked in his sarcastic voice.

"Go on, laugh it up, Ellison. If I come all over the bedspread, you're the one who's not getting any," Blair pointed out as he grabbed the lube from the side table.

Jim opened his mouth with some retort, but Blair slipped a finger inside and pressed hard against that small raised gland with the power to distract him. Jim gasped and his whole body shuddered as he lowered his head onto his forearms and started panting.

"Shit," Blair said softly. Jim's back rolled as the muscles tensed and surged under the skin. Adding a second finger, Blair moved to kneel between Jim's thighs. Now Jim rocked slowly forward and back in time with Blair's fingers. With his free hand, Blair stroked a rounded hip, resting his palm on the skin as he felt the muscles contract.

Hurrying now, Blair added a third finger, and Jim arched his back like a cat, the muscles standing out as he strained. He knew what Jim needed. Blair hurried a little more, spreading his fingers as Jim's body opened.

"Do it already," Jim hissed.

"Fucking backseat driver," Blair complained with a smile as he grabbed the lube and slicked it over his own erection. The feeling of his hand over his sensitive cock nearly made him come. He gritted his teeth and ordered himself to not come the second he was inside Jim. As a grown man, he shouldn't have this much trouble with control, but he did. Every damn time, he did.

Blair lined up and slid slowly forward. The head of his cock slid past the muscle before Jim thrust backwards, arching his back as he impaled himself on Blair's cock. Blair's hands landed on Jim's ass as he struggled to show a little restraint. Jim pulled slowly forward, rocking toward the head board, and now Blair took control of their coupling, driving forward with enough force to really make Jim feel it. Jim's head came up as his back arched.

"Yeah. Fuck yeah," Jim groaned and Blair started thrusting, gripping Jim's hips for leverage as he rammed in as hard as he could without hurting himself. Blair could feel it the moment Jim slid away from conscious thought and existed only in the moment. The muscles in his back contracted, making a landscape of perfection as Blair set a brutal pace. Blair's eyes watered from the pleasure and pain of needing to come, but he held off as Jim made small incoherent noises and fisted the bedspread.

With one hand braced on Jim's back, Blair reached under and grabbed Jim's neglected cock in his lube-smeared hand. Lost in some sort of sensory moment, Jim didn't move. He just breathed harder and his ass tightened around Blair's cock as Blair pumped it a few times. Then Jim started coming, and the strong, still body stretched and writhed, every muscle clenching until Blair cried out and started coming.

Jim bucked, forcing Blair still deeper and then he collapsed onto the bed. Blair collapsed on top of him, his long curls sliding across Jim's back and making him shiver. Still trying to catch his breath, Blair started squirming back.

"Shhh," Jim muttered, and Blair stilled. Jim's hand lay on the bed, his fingers stretched out, and Blair put his own hand over Jim's as he relaxed, allowing his shrinking cock to slowly pull from Jim's body without helping it.

"Love you," Jim said into the pillow.

"I love you too," Blair said as he kissed a strong shoulder. Laying on their bed in the fading light of day, Blair could honestly say that he loved Jim more than anyone else in his life. He finally slipped free, and Jim slowly stirred. Blair shifted to the side so Jim could roll to face him. The same hands that had killed Kincaid slowly stroked Blair's cheek.

"Feel better?" Blair checked. Jim had a pretty blissed out expression, but Blair had learned that appearances sometimes deceived.

"It got the job done," Jim said as he pursed his lips in amusement.

"Asshole," Blair huffed before Jim pulled him into a one-armed hug.

"That's what you get for fishing for compliments on your mind-blowing sexual skills," Jim pointed out.

"Whatever, man." Blair let his arm rest against Jim's waist as he dozed in the arms of his Sentinel.

If you enjoyed a little angst and a difficult relationship , considering supporting your hard-working fanfic writer by buying one of her original titles.

Dylan Carter has always played second fiddle to his perfect older brother, but now that brother is implicated in a terrible crime, and Dylan's family is imploding. Dylan can’t hide anymore. Knowing he’s falling apart, he searches for something or someone to hold him together—and lands in a BDSM bar called the Stonewall.

Dylan doesn’t understand Miss Dolphinia, the hard-drinking queen who seems determined to play matchmaker. But more confusing is the way the powerful men in leather make him feel. In her wisdom, Miss Dolphinia sends Dylan off to a back room for his introduction to the world of erotic spankings and bondage.

Dylan’s teacher—for want of a better word—is the very dominant Vin Hauser. Vin likes to play hard, but he’s honest with himself—he knows all those men want is a strong hand, not a long-term relationship. Yet Vin can’t help but hope Dylan might be different.

With controversy over his brother’s sins stirring up danger around him, Dylan needs Vin’s support more than ever. But until he and Vin learn to trust each other, Dylan will have to face his fear and the growing threats alone.

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