Disclaimer:The main characters are not mine, this is an amateur

effort written purely for the fun of it, no money has exhanged hands, and it is not intended to breach the copyright of Paramount and Pet Fly Prouductions.

 

Thanks to my alpha reader Sue and my beta reader Stormwolf  for all their help and advice.

 

Also my thanks to Ophite for allowing me to use elements of her work in the Dark Sentinel Series.

 

This story is AU, set in the near future, and follows "Opposites Attract."

 

 

Claimed and Marked

<Dark Sentinel Fiction>

 

 

 

Destroy the slavers

free the sentinels

SLF

 

 

The words were spray painted onto the walls of Hargrove Hall. The Chairman of the Council had personally called the Mayor about the outrage, and he in turn had called Captain Simon Banks of Department 51, Major Crimes. Calling in the elite Headhunters, to investiate was the Mayors way of showing the university, and their powerful  backers that he was not going to have this outrage treated as a trivial crime, but an affront to the whole of the city.  The nickname of the Headhunters was one that was given to all of Major Crime, but in fact applied in particular to the three Lieutants under Captain Banks, each of them had the additional police powers of arrest crossing state and zone lines, each where ex-miliary and where the last resort, always bringing back their man, either dead or alive.

 

 

Jim Ellison moved back from the wall, the paint fumes were getting to him so he dialed back his sense of smell.

He could not help but admire the sentiment of, if not the manner in which, the SLF, the Sentinel Liberation Force, went around promoting their cause. 

 

Hargrove Hall, the old Anthropology building, was the main location for Sentinel studies and the students there still did cross over studies, with anthropology.  His guide's office, nothing more than a glorified artifact storage room, was on the third floor. Ellison allowed his senses to tune into him. Sure enough, through the sound of other heartbeats, a photocopier, a kettle brewing, and hundreds of other noises, he could hear the steady pound of Blair Sandburg's heart.  

 

 

In the three weeks, since they had met and bonded, Blair had become one of the most important factors in his life. Ellison glanced around at the other headhunters. These people had protected the secret of his sentinel abilities until he had been forced on-line by a Black Ops Doctor. Shipped secretly to Rainer University, his planned bonding to a Black Ops Guide was upset by a chance encounter with Blair.  The other headhunters had been very hostile to the young student in the beginning, and some still thought of him as an interloper in their world. But Jim Ellison, in his own very up front and personal way, had soon made it clear that *his* Guide was off limits for harrasment. Simon Banks had backed the message up with a short and sharp lecture that the quickest way to a bodybag was to mess with a sentinel's guide. No one in their right mind would openly go after Blair,  they had learned very quickly that Ellison, in a  protective mode was lethal.

 

Brown came up, "can you sense anything?"

 

"The paint is nothing unusual, just a commercial spray paint".

 

"Slavers', they mean the guides."

 

"The same."

 

"Well here's your slaver now", Brown's voice was light and joking. He and Rafe actually liked the kid, but his comment still got them treated them to an icy Ellison stare, before it softened when it came to rest on Blair Sandburg.

 

As a matter of course, his senses wrapped themselves around  the energetic bundle that was his guide until Jim was satisfied that he was okay.

 

"Any luck, Jim."

 

"None, they know what their doing, Sandburg."

 

"The SLF." he saw Sandburg shiver. "You okay chief," his voice softened as he detected the sudden elevation of heart beat and and the increase in respiration. The Guide was heading towards a full blown panic attack. 

 

Jim's hand tightened on his arm. "Easy chief, breathe, nice and deep. That's it." Gently, he coached Blair's breathing back to a more normal pattern. Blair's gaze was fixed on the writing, "This is crazy Jim, they've never got this close before."

 

His heart began to pound again; then he felt his sentinel's hand on his face, turning him so that he was looking at Jim and not the wall. The concerned look on his sentinel's face seemed to focus him. "Sorry Jim." 

 

 

"It's okay, Chief", Ellison released his hold on his Guide but made a silent note that he would get to the bottom of Blair's near panic later.

 

The investigation turned into the usual hunt for witnesses.            But apparently no one saw who did it; or if they did, they were sympathetic to the SLF and not talking..

 

Finally he had to ask. "Mind telling me, Chief, why the other students give me the impression that they would cheerfully set fire to Hargrove Hall and dance around it while it burned?"

 

Not all the students who apply are accepted. Those who do make it into the program are on constant probation. If for any reason the Reviewers believe that the would-be guide is not fully committed, he is washed out. Some are within six months of their degrees when they get switched to anthropology; their minor becomes their major subject." 

 

"No appeal allowed," Jim sounded suprised.

 

"Nope. Council decision is final; they can't risk allowing anyone against whom there is even a question mark becoming a guide."

 

Blair seemed to have gotten over whatever had spooked him, and was chattering away as they walked out of the building.  Blair hitched his backpack up higher on his shoulder. Suddenly, he received a none too gentle blow to the back of the head. It was nothing like the playful swat that Jim would give him. This was done with enough force to snap his head forward. His assailant gave a cry of pain as his throat was caught in an iron grip that threatened to cut off his air supply.

 

Blair quickly caught his Sentinel's arm, "its okay,Jim.  Let him go, he did'nt mean anything. Come on, let him go." He had dropped his voice to his Guide tone and felt the Sentinel respond to the soothing sound. Muscles slowly relaxing under his touch, his sentinel finally released his grip and gave the man a push. As he planted himself between  the newcomer and Blair, he snapped out,"You know this guy, Chief?"

 

"Philip Reeves, he was my roommate when I first started here." Blair swallowed, before saying,"Its been a while, Phil."

 

Reeves was a good five inches taller than Blair's five foot nine with a hefty build. There was a tone in Reeve's voice that made Jim's hackles  rise as he said, "I heard that you got bonded, this  your Sentinel?"  He looked Jim up and down. "Introduce us, Sandburg."

 

It was not a request; it was a demand.

 

"Philip Reeves, Lieutant James Ellison. Jim, Philip Reeves". 

 

The sentinel pointedly ignored the hand that was offered him. He did not like Reeves, and his Guide's reaction to the man was enough to put him on alert.

 

"You can catch up on old times later,Chief. Simon wants us down at the station."

 

As they walked off Reeves called, "See you later, Sandburg."

 

 

Blair was miles away, walking on automatic. *It could not be happening again, he could not let it happen again.*

He glanced at his sentinel,this was something that he had to do himself.

 

 

Blair settled onto the futon he used as a bed and pulled the blankets over the layers of clothes he was wearing. The three space heaters did little to cut through the chill of the warehouse, but it was his; home, as long as he could pay the rent. Wool cap on his head, and fingerless gloves on his hands, he picked up the anthropology book that he was reading. It contained an interesting interpretation of Burton's work on sentinels. His lecturer had accepted his proposed thesis on  Dark Sentinels; it would get him his Ph.D. and, more importantly, give him access to the labs that he needed to help Jim. He reached for his notebook on the floor and settled in to study.

 

He was just nodding off to sleep, when he heard the noise, for a moment he froze, then it came again. Slowly  he reached under the fulton for the baseball bat that he kept there. For all his none violent nature, he had soon realised that there where times when he couldnot talk his way out of trouble, and this could be one of them.

 

He moved quietlyinto the darker area of the warehouse. A noise made his head snap around; a rat, a big one, ran past him. He repressed a shudder. Then his head exploded; he didn't even feel it when he hit the concrete.

 

Jim sat up in bed and grabbed the phone, cursing the shrill sound that had pulled him from his well deserved rest.

The voice on the other end of the line banished all thoughts of sleep and he was dressed and out the door in five minutes.

 

Ellison's truck screeched to a halt at Cascade General Hospital. Parking in a no-parking zone; a scant minute later he was waving his badge at the nurse and demanding, "Blair Sandburg, where is he and what happened?"

 

The nurse was trying to block him away from the treatment rooms, when a doctor came up, "Lieutant Ellison?"

 

"Yes, I need ...." The Doctor cut him off, " this way, Lieutant. Mr Sandburg is in a private room. We'll be keeping him overnight, and we've  already placed a cot for you in his room".

 

"What the hell are you talking about?"

 

"Lieutenant, Mr. Sandburg's medical file is heavily flagged. He is a Guide, and you are named as his Sentinel. I have treated guides and sentinels before, I know what it's like when one of them is injured".

 

"What happened to him?"

 

"Mr. Sandburg was attacked in his home this evening. He received a heavy blow to the head. He does have a  concussion, but there appears to be no other damage. We should be able to release him tomorrow."

 

"Has he been conscious at all?"

 

"In and out, but he hasn't been coherent."

 

The doctor carefully checked Blair before nodding in satisfaction and leaving them alone. Jim leaned over his guide and gently put a hand out. He let his touch go hypersensitve, and then glided over his guide's head until he was sure that the doctors hadn't missed anything.

 

While he was bent over the bed, deep blue eyes flickered open, the gaze unfocused. Blair's voice was almost dream like. "Jim?"

 

"Right here, Chief", he perched on the edge of the bed and    went on, "you're okay. You're in the hospital."

 

His partner struggled to sit up, but the sentinel held him down, "you're not going anywhere until tomorrow".

 

"Kay Jim," was the drowsy reply as Blair drifted off again.

 

The sentinel spent the night in the chair, ignoring the cot. When the nurse came in she found Jim asleep, head resting on his forearms only inches from his guide.  His head lifted as she entered, and icy blue eyes looked at her for a moment. She must have passed some sort of test because his head went down again.  But she was sure his senses followed all her moves until she left.

 

Outside the door, the nurse exhaled slowly.She had treated guides before and knew how touchy the sentinel could be. It was the reason she had been called in to work this wing tonight; to anyone not used to them it could be unnerving.

 

 

Jim looked round Sandburg's appartment, and his face reflected his concern. Spray painted across the wall and floors was "SLF- Destroy the slavers." Blair's laptop was on the floor; it was not just broken, it was destroyed. Someone had taken great pleasure in reducing it to spare parts.  The kid didn't have any money, aside from an old car, the laptop was the most expensive thing he owned.  Jim could feel the anger building in his soul.  He scooped up the SLF leaflet from the floor, nothing unusual there, the same party tract. He threw it down in disgust,and looked over the warehouse. He found himself becoming angry at his guide's living quarters; he wouldn't dignify them with the label "home." Rats skittered in corners and the warehouse would be even colder and darker when...if... Blair returned. Lamps and salvaged space heaters were in pieces on the floor. Jim slowly scanned the make-do living area then started collecting his guide's things. Dumping the boxes in the back of the truck he drove back to his loft for some serious thinking.

 

Jim took a pull at his coffee, and studied the small pile of boxes in his hall. The kid's whole life was in those boxes. He justified his removal of the kid's belongings on the grounds that the area was not safe anyway. And if Blair had been targeted because he was a guide, his attackers might be back. The loft's spare room was useable; okay, he would need to move some of the stuff down to his part of  basement storage,but he had blankets, sheets and pillows for the futon.  The doctors had said that Blair could leave the hospital only if there was someone to look after him. The blow had been a nasty one, and he would feel the effects for several days.  Simon had put him on desk duty, muttering something about standard procedure for sentinels with injured guides, so he might as well get the kid settled. Quicker the kid was on his feet, quicker he'd be off desk duty.

 

When Jim entered the hospital, he found the same the nurse was still on duty. She was the motherly type, her cheerful smile meant to reassure the sentinel. "Hello Lieutant, Guide Sandburg is just receiving a last check up by the doctor, then you should be able to take him home." She patted his arm gently before saying, "he will be all right. While you're waiting for Guide Sandburg we could do the paperwork, it will save time."

 

 

 

 

The paperwork was finished just in time for Jim to lend a hand to his shaky guide. Sandburg was suprisingly quiet as Ellison escorted him to the truck and got him settled for the ride home. Whatever medication the doctor had given Blair had the young man floating by the time they got to the loft. Blair peered rather shortsightedly at the building in front of  him, "Er.. Jim, this isn't my place."

 

"Very good Chief, it's mine."

 

"We picking something up?"

 

"No," Jim got out of the truck and moved around to carefully help his guide out. The smaller man wilted at the knees and he was brought upright by a strong arm around his waist. In the elevator the sentinel kept a watchful eye on his guide. Blair had pushed away from him, trying to pull his muddled thoughts together enough to ask why he was at Jim's place. Jim watched as Blair slowly sank toward the floor again; with a tolerant shake of his head, he pulled Blair back up again. 

 

Jim dropped his keys on the table inside the door, and manhandled Blair to the sofa, allowing him to sink down. His eyes where closed before his head hit the cushions. Jim hesitated, then prepared the futon before returning to scoop up the now sleeping guide. He took him to the onetime spare room and put him on the bed. Jim eased off Blair's ratty sneakers and long coat, shirt and jeans, making sure that he was comfortable. Only then did he leave his guide and return to the living room.

 

The backpack was on the floor by the sofa, where he had dropped it off this morning. For the first time he noticed the black and red colored paper peeking out of the top and pulled it out. It was another SLF leaflet,  only this one had a  message scrawled across it REMEMBER. Jim looked across at the spare room, and then screwed it up, and binned it.  He lined the pills up on the kitchen table. Self-appointed chores done, he put the television on to watch the jags game.

 

The first thing Ellison realized when he woke was that for once his senses were not going haywire. He had not admitted it to Blair, but first thing in the morning one or more of his senses were usually on the blink. This morning everything was online; a quick instinctive sensory sweep of the area and he knew his territory was secure and his guide was sleeping but...not soundly. What had awakened him was his guide's distress; his heart was beating too fast and his breathing was quick and uneven. He was out of bed and on the way down the stairs before he was aware of what he was doing, never even realizing it was only 3am.

 

Blair was huddled on the futon, talking in his sleep, "No don't, please don't." "No!" the pitch of his voice was rising in terror. He began to move as though trying to pull away from someone or something. Jim caught one of his arms. "Sandburg, Blair, it's okay, come on, wake up." Suddenly he found himself trying to hold onto a twisting and turning bundle of guide. Blair was screaming at him; a fist lashed out and caught the sentinel across the jaw, hard enough to snap his head around. Jim ducked another punch and changed his grip, managing to pin Blair down. Ellison leaned his weight on his guide as deep blue eyes flew open, wide with fear.

 

"Chief, it's okay. Easy, it's just a dream. It can't hurt you. Nothing's going to hurt you."

 

Ellison eased back, releasing his hold, not wanting the smaller, younger man to feel trapped.

 

"Jim?" The voice sounded lost. Then the sentinel was taken aback as he found himself with an armful of  guide, slender arms locked around his chest, hands gripping against his back. Only a short time ago, Jim's reaction would have been to push him away, hating any display of strong emotions. But now, Sentinel instincts overrode a lifetime reserve to protect the life clinging to him. He closed his arms around Sandburg and pulled him close. It felt right to do this, to offer physical reassurance. 

 

He tucked his guide's head under his chin, and with one hand stroked Blair's back, feeling the tension in the smaller body. Slowly, his guide relaxed under his soothing; he moved his hand up to the back of Blair's neck, easing the tightness there as well.

 

Some of the pieces of the sentinel puzzle started to drop into place for Ellison. He had woken from the most sound sleep he had enjoyed since his senses came online because the kid was having one hell of a night terror. The last time he had slept at all well was in the Hotel after he first met Sandburg. Sharing that room with the younger man he had experienced a feeling of calm, of control, that had allowed him to drift off. That feeling, he now knew, was connected to the kid; his territory was secure and his guide safe.  When Blair was not near him, his focus started to slip. During the day he could control it, but at night, asleep, apart from his guide, he couldn't. Jim swore violently, silently.  They were linked, had to be. It made sense, he was searching for the kid in his sleep, extending his hearing and smell to locate his guide. That's why, in the morning, his senses were hypersensitive.  

 

Sandburg's shaking was slowing down. Blair tried to push away but Jim would not let him. Ellison knew he was right to hold on when the younger man moved closer to him.

 

Blair's mind was groggy, he had seen them. He had been back in *that* room; naked, his hands cuffed behind his back, a dog collar uncomfortably tight on his throat. The collar's lead was tied to a bracket high on the wall, he could not lay down without choking himself. He was cold and hungry, hurting from the beatings they had given him. Then they had come in, the faceless men. They had come in, he had seen them circle him. One of them had grabbed his arm, moved closer. Terror had flooded his mind; he struck out at them, his hands miraculously freed.

 

Then, somehow, he was out of his prison, clinging to his Sentinel for dear life. His Sentinel would make them go away. As the nightmare receded and he woke to where he was, who was holding him, he had panicked, his face flushing. Jim would not want him any more. He was a wimp, couldn't even stop his nightmares coming back. Even knowing the SLF attack on the University could trigger one had not done him any good. When he finally pulled away to look fearfully at his Sentinel, all he saw was concern in Jim's eyes. That was all the encouragement he needed to huddle up closer against him.  His eyes closed; he was safe now, he could sleep. 

 

Jim felt the curly head against his shoulder become heavier, and the slender body go limp in his arms as Blair surrendered to sleep. The older man allowed his instincts to govern his actions; allowed the Sentinel to do what he knew he must.  Once he was sure his guide would not awaken, he scooped him up and carried him up to his own room. Gently laying him down on the side of the bed away from the stairs, he pulled the comforter over him, then sat next to the kid, watching him sleep. Blair whimpered as nightmares threatened and his hand sought his Sentinel. As Jim grasped that searching hand, the younger man settled down. Guarded by the wall on one side and his Sentinel on the other, Blair fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. It soon became clear that Jim had lost the use of his hand for the rest of the night. Trying to break that desperate grip only disturbed his Guide's sleep. Shrugging at the absurdity of the situation, Ellison carefully stretched out on top of the covers and allowed his senses to open up and take in his guide before falling asleep. 

 

Blair woke up and stared with unfocused eyes at the ceiling. That had been one hell of a nightmare before it had turned into an even wierder dream of comfort and safety. Blair's ruminations broke off as he realized that what he had taken to be his pillow, wasn't. He turned his head and felt the heat of a blush flood his face. His pillow was Jim's chest; the cop would kill him.

 

He tried to move off Jim without waking him up; then a warm hand on his head pulled him back into place. A sleep-heavy voice murmurred, "It's alright, Chief, everything is okay. Go back to sleep." Wrapped in the security of his Sentinel's hold, Blair complied.

 

 

 

 

Next time Blair awoke he was on his own, and the smell of coffee was filtering through to him. He tried to sit up and  his head exploded with pain.  Carefully, he got to his feet and, leaning heavily against the wall, eyes half-closed against the painful light of day, made his way down the stairs. A strong arm caught him around the shoulders and guided him to a kitchen chair.  A glass of water and his pain medications were handed to him and a voice ordered, "Take those."

 

"Thanks," Blair managed to mumble, looking with blurred vision at his host. Then he noticed the bruise on Jim's jaw. "What happened to.." His voice trailed off as he remembered the nightmare, remembered lashing out at one of his tormentors. Lowering his gaze to his hands, he saw the bruising on his knuckles...and knew.

 

"Jim, I am sorry, man. I never...."

 

His protest was waved aside. "Accidents happen, Chief, mind telling me what it was all about?"

 

Blair looked down at the table top and shook his head, his breath catching as his temples throbbed.

 

Jim exhaled, he wanted to know but decided not to push, it was too soon for Blair to trust him. But, Jim promised himself silently, if these nightmares kept happening he would make the kid open up.

 

The grad student looked around him and noticed the boxes. "This is *my* stuff, what......"

 

"You're moving in, Chief." Jim's tone of voice was uncompromising, stopping Blair before he could start arguing, "until we get to the bottom of that attack your place is not safe. They got in once, they could do it again. And  the doctor only let you out because I said that I would keep an eye on you.  So you're stuck here, Chief, for the duration. And since Simon's grounded me until you're fit, well,let's just say that getting you well is a priority for me."

 

"Jim, I can manage. I don't need a nursemaid."

 

"Your headache is a killer, I can *sense* that. Do I need to give you all the facts?"

 

 

At another time Blair would have been interested in the abilities of his sentinel, but today he just could not keep his mind focused. It was easier to just drift off, just let Jim take care of him. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had taken care of him. Couldn't remember the last time he had been warm....

 

 

The day passed quietly, with Jim making sure that he ate even if he didn't want to; invalid fare, soups and juice, tea and toast. 

 

Blair was curled up asleep on the sofa with the afgan thrown over him when Simon visited. The Sentinel led his captain to the kitchen, to lessen the chances of waking his charge.

 

Simon began his report bluntly,  "nothing, Jim, whoever attacked him wore gloves, the paint is the same make as that used at the University. Forensics is trying to match it, but it's commercial, and you can buy the stuff anywhere. It's still a needle in a haystack."

 

 

"Simon, can you do a search on Sandburg? The kid's acting really spooked since the attack on Hargrove Hall".

 

"Jim, he's a Guide. Of course he's going to be spooked.  He's spent years of his life training for this moment, and these people...", his words trailed off.

 

"No, there's  more than just the normal *kill the slavers* crap going on here, Simon. There was something personal about that attack on Blair."

 

"Okay, I'll get right on it personally, let you know what I come up with." At the door the captain said quietly, "You still alright with him?"

 

"He's my guide," Ellison flashed a rare grin and shook his head in bemusement, "and he grows on you."

 

 

After Banks had left, the Sentinel settled himself on the other end of the sofa and switched on the television. He  surfed the channels until he picked up the local news station; the broadcast suddenly had his undivided attention. It was a recording of a fire in the warehouse district. The fire fighters had contained the blaze, but the old Wright and Co. warehouse had been burned to a shell.

 

*Blair's warehouse*, Jim thought grimly, *his home* was gone. He looked across at his guide as he noticed a change in Blair's respiration and heartrate. Jim switched the television off just as his guide woke up.

 

For a moment, Jim could tell, Blair was completely lost, then he remembered where he was. "Sorry, Jim. Didn't mean to sleep."

 

"No need to be sorry, if you're tired, sleep. Why don't you call it an early night?"

 

 

He got a nod in return, and with Jim's steadying hand Blair  got to his feet and headed to his room. *Blair's room,* Jim mused, *the other day it had been a junk room, now it was Blair's room.*  Jim began to wonder if all guides got under the skin of their sentinels this quickly or just Blair Sandburg.  As the younger man detoured towards the bathroom, Ellison said, "don't lock the door." Blair looked as if he might protest, then just shrugged and nodded.

 

Jim justified his eavesdropping on his guide as a safety measure in case Blair had problems from the concussion.  He only relaxed his guard when his guide finally dropped off to sleep. He switched the TV back on in time to catch the end of the Jags match. He made a mental note to get the fire report for the warehouse; the blaze had followed too close after the attack on his guide for it to be coincidence.

 

 ooooo

 

Blair looked wildly around. He was chained to the wall so he couldn't lay down; he needed to lay down. Pain was burning through his back where the lash had sliced his skin open each time he had been too slow following their instructions; he was always too slow. He watched in terror as the door opened and the men entered. He reeled from a savage blow to the head, the collar tightening on his throat. His vision darkened but he could *feel* hands on his body, pinning him down. Then there was pain and burning and he began to scream, scream until his voice was so raw  it was no longer human. 

 

Blair jerked awake. Rolling onto his side he threw up the small amount of food that he had managed to eat for dinner. He was still dry retching and shivering violently when a  hand on his shoulder made him jump. "Easy, Chief, it's okay. I've got you." The calm voice steadied him as much as the warm hands gently rubbing his back, supporting his forehead. As his stomach settled and his breathing and pulse slowed, that voice ordered him to stay still.  Footsteps receded toward the kitchen. As if he had Sentinel ears, Blair heard the water go on. He shuddered, tried to think what he would say, what he could say, when Jim got back.

 

Jim returned with a wet towel, and gently eased him onto his back.

 

"Jim, I..." he hated that his voice sounded shaky.

 

"It's all right, Chief, I'll take care of it."  Ellison carefully wiped the grad student's face, taking the sweat and vomit away.  He helped the younger man sit up and get out of his sweatshirt, cleaning him up.  Blair was still shuddering, his eyes wide and unfocused. Jim disappeared and returned with one of his old Cascade police sweatshirts; it was much too big and made Blair look like a lost child.

 

The living room was cold, so Jim helped him up the stairs to his room. "You need to stay warm while I get things cleared up in your room."

 

Blair tried to pull away. "No. I did it.. Let me.."

 

Ellison said in his best "don't mess with me" tone of voice, "You're dead on your feet. Listen to your sentinel on this one. Okay, kid?"  Jim gave the shaking shoulder a firm squeeze and eased his guide under the covers.

 

Blair settled down into the warmth of the comforter as the older man moved the wastepaper basket near the side of the bed, just in case.  "I won't be long. You just rest."  Ellison could tell that the younger man still was not ready to talk; whatever was troubling him seemed to have gotten worse.  Blair watched him leave, then huddled up, pulling his knees close to his chest. He could feel the tears gathering under his eyelids. If Jim ever found out he would not want him as his guide. How could he? Everything would be over before it started.

 

Downstairs, Jim was cleaning up. He had turned down his sense of smell as he bagged the sheets and blankets. He smiled slightly as he heard his guide falling back to sleep. The Sentinel exhaled slowly, it looked as if he was going to be a human security blanket again tonight.  He just hoped that Simon found something to explain it all, he wasn't sure how long his Guide could keep this up.

 

Tomorrow, he would take Blair into the station for a few hours for a change of scenary. It might do him some good and it would give him a chance to catch up with the arson investigator. She had a reputation as a hard nose but she was good at her job. Ellison smiled, last time they met there had been definite sparks between the two of them. It could prove interesting.

 

 

 

Jim had been called into Simon's office, so Blair swung a second chair around and settled down cross-legged at Jim's desk.  He opened the bottom drawer and extracted the anthropology book that he had stashed there, a new release  dealing with the sentinel myth and legend.  He noticed the piece of paper sticking out of it and opened to that page, and found himself looking at a leaflet for the SLF. His hand was trembling as he reached for it, he looked around the bullpen to see if anyone was watching him. It was a pointless exercise, it could have been any of them. He crumpled it up and threw it into the bin.

 

Jim broke off what he was saying to Simon and turned to look out of the window.

 

Banks said "Jim", and then louder, "JIM".

 

"Sorry, Simon, Blair's heartrate just when up like a skyrocket."

 

"The kid's just nervous, he probably thinks that he's going to be slammed into a wall and frisked any minute."

 

"The kid's clean, Simon, I would know if he wasn't."

 

"A joke, Jim, that's all it was."

 

Blair looked up and saw his sentinel studying him. He tried on a smile as he realised that Jim must have caught his fear. "I'm okay, Jim, I'm fine," he spoke softly but knew that his sentinel could hear him.

 

Reluctantly, Jim returned to his conversation.

 

Pushing the book to one side, Blair made himself consentrate on the paperwork laid out on Jim's desk, running through the file numbers he realised that one was missing, with a look towards the Captains office, he decided to get the file himself, to save Jim a trip down to records.

 

As he walked off the elevator, he heard someone call his name.

He turned clutching his backpack, almost protectively in front of him.

 

"Sorry if I startled you. Dr. Cusack told me to look you up."  What Blair saw was a young man, another student but more smartly dressed, his expression was smug, as if he took some pleasure in the fact he has made him jump.  

 

It took a moment for the other man's face to click in his memory, "Lee Evans." He noticed the Guide pass on the other's shirt front. It surprised him, he didn't think the other man had bonded with a sentinel.

 

"Yeah, long time no see. Dr. Cusack thought you could help me out with a problem.  I'm having trouble with a sentinel, his senses keep fading in and out."

 

Blair was thoughtful, "that would indicate that he's not fully bonded. The bonding usually brings them on line. Is he a latent sentinel?"

 

"No, he was born in the program."

 

"Then I can't understand what's happening. He bonded with you and you have been reinforcing the bond? Sometimes it can take a while to build up, and does need continuing work."

 

"We're not bonded, Blair."

 

"But you're his guide?"

 

"He's been attending the police academy to become an officer. He posted out, or whatever they call it, six weeks ago, and he's had no luck finding a guide.  Dr. Cusack thought it would be too dangerous for him to go out without some help, so she gave me the job." Evans grinned.  "Someone has to hold their leashes, you know what I mean? His partner's pissed off about me, but I figured, what the hell, as long as he's a good little sentinel and I can get some extra credits out of it, what's the harm?" Evans frowned, "But with his senses on the fritz he could screw it all up for me."

 

Blair was appalled by Evan's attitude. He never had liked the man, now he remembered why.  He tried to keep his reaction to himself as Evans went on, "So I was hoping you could take a look at him tonight.  Rainier about 8:00?"  Blair nodded, "Lee, in the meantime, keep him centered and don't push him with his senses."

 

Lee clapped his shoulder hard, "I knew you would work it out. By the way", he grinned, "I saw Phil today, he's transfered back to Rainer. It's been a while hasn't it, Blair?"  The grin turned wolfish.

 

 

Evans was making him uncomfortable, bringing up memories best left forgotten. "I have to get going, Lee. See you tonight." Evans gave him another whack on the shoulder before he turned to go. Blair watched until he got on the elevator and the doors closed.

 

Blair was lost in thought as he walked away. He collided  with a solid hulk of a man and papers went flying in all directions.

 

"Sorry, man, didn't see you. I'll get those for you." Blair bent to retrieve the papers. Even as he did so a large hand grabbed onto the back of his neck and yanked him to his feet. Then his feet were kicking in mid-air before he was slammed against the wall, the back of his head making hard contact with the wall. 

 

"Watch where you're going, you little hippie freak." Each word was punctuated by contact with the wall. 

 

Blair pushed a hand against the man's chest, "Sorry, man, my mistake, I'll fix it, okay? Chill out."

 

His offer was rewarded with a hard shake before he was thrown to the floor. "Then do it, *guide*," the man snarled. Blair shivered as the man made the word a curse.

 

The young Guide glanced around.  There were only two uniforms present and they seemed to be enjoying the show. No help there. Blair gathered up the papers and got to his feet.  The man grabbed them off him. "Now keep out of my way, you freak." He barrelled past, pushing Blair against the wall.  Blair tried to steady his breathing, the last thing he needed was a full blown panic attack.  All he had to do was get to his sentinel and everything would be okay. Blair turned toward the bullpen, the file forgotten.

 

Almost to his sentinel, almost to safety, Blair chanted silently as he got back to Jim's office. Then he stopped cold in the doorway to the Bullpen. There was Jim, talking to the mammoth from hell. Not just *talking* but clapping each other on the back in the hearty way that said the more painful the embrace the closer the friendship. Before he could retreat, Jim noticed him and motioned him over.

 

Blair approached slowly, almost reluctantly to where the two mens where standing.

"Jim," he kept his voice steady with an effort.

 

"Hey, Chief. Want you to meet someone. Clark, this is Blair Sandburg. Sandburg, Jim Clarkson."

 

Clarkson's gaze slid over Blair as if he were a worm that had just crawled out of the woodwork.  Then he totally ignored him.

 

"Tough luck, Jimmy, I heard you got bonded. This your slaver?  I heard the place was crawling with them." Blair felt his stomach lurch, this guy was a friend of his sentinel?

 

"He's my guide, Clark."

 

"Sure he is, Jimmy, just your sort."  Clarkson laughed as if it was the biggest joke around,"see you later."

 

"Jimmy?" Blair asked.

 

"Leave it alone, Sandburg."

 

"I haven't seen him before."

 

"Lieutenant Clarkson is a headhunter, Sandburg. He's just come in from the outer zone; he got his fugitive.  He's a good man."  

 

For a moment Jim just stood there, lost in thought.  Blair was worried that Jim had zoned, and put a hand on his sentinel's shoulder, massaging with his fingers, "Jim?"

 

Jim suddenly jerked away from him and clipped the back of Blair's head. "Hey, keep your hands to yourself, Sandburg." The clip had been playful but Blair could not stop a cry of pain as it caught a tender area from his run in with Clarkson.

 

"Sorry, Chief, forgot about that concussion of yours."  Jim looked very concerned.

 

Blair did not want to talk about Ellison's old friend's contribution to his headache. Let Jim think it was the concussion. "It's okay, Jim, what're we doing?"

 

"Simon wants us to talk to Miss Matterson, so grab your bag, and put your book away. I don't need your stuff all over my desk."

 

Blair nodded and pulled the drawer open, and stopped. Where his book had been was a colorfully wrapped box. Carefully he pulled it out and looked at Jim, unsure.

 

"Jim?"

 

"Go ahead, open it," there was a smile in Jim's voice.

 

With a shrug, Blair did. And pulled out a new laptop computer. His mouth opened, but nothing came out of it.

 

"A first! Sandburg speechless!" his Sentinel said with a grin.

 

The younger man ran his fingers over the computer, "I don't understand?"

 

"Your laptop got destroyed when you were attacked. You need it for your thesis, don't you?"

 

"Yes, but, Jim, I can't afford this! I hadn't even paid the other one off." It was a new model, faster, with more memory and top-of-the-line modem. 

 

Blair reluctantly looked up from the computer and tried to hand it to Jim. Ellison shook his head slowly, for such a smart man, his Guide was a bit slow at times.

 

"It's yours, Blair." Sandburg was shaking his head in confusion, still trying to give it back. Jim put his hands over Blair's, forcing the kid to hang onto the computer.

 

"You're my guide, right?"

 

"Right."

 

"This thesis is all about Dark Sentinels, right?"

 

"Right."

 

"Then you're helping me, so all I am doing is looking after my own interests. Right?"

 

"Mine?"

 

Jim rolled his eyes, "Yes, yours."

 

For a moment it was debatable as to what he was going to hug, Jim or the computer. Ellison was pleased to see him gather the com