Disclaimer: This is an amateur effort written purely for the fun of it, and no money has exchanged hands. It is not intended to breach the copyright of Paramount/Pet Fly Productions or CBS Productions/Studios USA.

Warning: Adult language and situations.

The Reflection in the Mirror Series: Part 7 (September 28, 2006)

By Maedoc

Grasping At The Shadows

Beware that you do not lose the substance by grasping at the shadow.

- Aesop

Sarah stood and watched them load Blair into the emergency squad. Blair was half awake, moaning a bit, but his sentinel had a good grip on him and Blair settled down when his sentinel murmured to him.

Hunter was talking with Captain Banks, his voice clipped and business-like. Monica was on her way to be treated for her superficial gunshot wound and then she would be booked for attempted murder. Sarah shivered in the cool night air. Her wet jeans and clammy shirt and jacket were starting to feel uncomfortable.

“Guide Freeman.”

Sarah spun around in surprise. Two GDP officers stood there, one holding a leash.

“On your knees,” the second one commanded in a neutral voice.

Sarah looked around frantically for her sentinel. Where’s Hunter? Oh God, where is he?

“Once rogue, always rogue,” the first man sneered, and before she could cry for help, Sarah was forced to her knees. The leash went around her neck and Sarah screamed in terror. When a rough hand pushed her face into a rain puddle, the scream was cut off abruptly as the water went up her nose and choked her.

Hunter woke at the first sound, and dashed out into the hall. His guide sat upright in her bed, shaking and staring unseeingly.

“Sarah,” the voice finally penetrated the fear, and Sarah woke to find herself wrapped securely in her sentinel’s arms, her head tucked under his chin.

Sarah clung to him, so cold her teeth were chattering. Her body temperature was just shy of hypothermia and her face and hair were soaking wet. She coughed several times and spat up some water that smelled faintly of asphalt and gasoline.

Hunter’s teeth bared as he stared around the room, sentinel senses on full alert. Nothing. No stir of anything except....the hair rose on the back of his neck. He growled and the shadow faded.

“No you don’t.” he whispered. “I’m not playing that game again.”

He waited until he was sure it was gone, then hauled Sarah into the bathroom and dumped her, pajamas and all, into the tub. He shampooed and rinsed her hair like a child, while Sarah sat docilely. Finally, she seemed to comprehend what was going on.

“Hunter?” She looked down at her soaking pajamas. “Why am I in the bathtub?”

“You had a nightmare. You were cold, so I brought you in here. Can you get undressed and manage from here?”

Sarah looked at him, then at her wet PJs. She flushed in embarrassment.

Hunter made an irritated sound of impatience.

“I can manage,” she mumbled.

Hunter stared at her and then abruptly stood up. “I’ll wait outside for you. Make it snappy.”

Sarah stood up as soon as the bathroom door closed and stripped off her wet clothes. She coughed twice and wondered if she was coming down with a cold. She remembered the fear, but not the dream. After a quick lathering, she grabbed her towel and dried off. She wrapped another towel around her hair and opened the bathroom door. Hunter handed her fresh pajamas which she took and dressed rapidly. She was still wringing out her hair when the door opened and Hunter stepped in. His timing was always spot on.

“Hair dryer,” Hunter handed it to her. “While you do that, I’ll get you something hot to drink.”

Sarah stared after him as he exited. What on earth was going on?

Sarah’s hair was mostly dry when Hunter returned with a mug of hot cocoa complete with mini-marshmallows. She sipped it as Hunter steered her to his room. He slipped her into his bed with a minimum of fuss and protest, and then made her nervous when he checked the gun in his bedside table.

“Hunter, what happened?”

Hunter didn’t answer immediately, which made her even more nervous.

“Just a nightmare, Sarah. Last night was a bitch.”

“Is Blair okay?” she asked urgently.

“He was as of midnight. I can call the hospital again.”

“No, I think we’d know if something...right?”

“Yeah, we’d know.” Hunter got into the opposite side of the bed and drew his guide close. “Finish your hot chocolate. Then go to sleep.”

Sarah wrinkled her nose but complied. Hunter was upset about something, but she doubted she’d get anything out of him tonight.

“Will you tell me later?” Sarah asked, her eyelids heavy, not realizing Hunter had slipped something into the cocoa to help her sleep. She almost dropped the empty mug and Hunter caught it and set it on the night table.

“Later,” Hunter promised. The house was free of any unwanted presence, but he still kept watch until dawn.

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

The room was quiet and private, the only light the bit of illumination from the bathroom nightlight and the weak glare of the outdoor safety lights which leaked through the curtains at the window. The man stood at the open doorway and gazed at the young man lying motionless in the bed. His exhalations were slightly raspy above the faint hiss of oxygen bubbling through a humidifier and into the plastic prongs in his nose.

The man sitting beside the bed was slumped back in the chair, exhaustion having finally caught up with him, but a slight shift in the doorway woke him and he jerked upright, his nostrils flaring in aggression. Then he relaxed again.

“Hey, Stevie,” Jim whispered, before remembering how their last meeting had ended. He locked eyes with his brother before Steven looked away.

Steven’s face was, if possible, paler than Blair’s. “Jim.” He walked over to where the guide lay so quietly. Steven’s hand shook as he reached out to almost touch Blair, then pulled back, afraid to offend the sentinel who watched over him. “I never meant for anything to happen to him.”

“I know that, Stevie.”

“Is he okay?” Steven asked urgently, once more reaching out, but again aborted the gesture at the last minute.

“He will be, eventually.” Jim ran a hand over his guide’s head, savoring the contact with his guide. “He was clinically dead, you know.”

“He won’t, he won’t be....” Steven didn’t voice his worst fear: brain damage.

“No, I don’t think so. There were...extenuating circumstances.” Jim gave a half smile at that, and Steven wondered what the hell he was talking about.

“I just wanted you to know that I’d never want anything to happen to the kid,” Steven repeated, miserably unhappy with both Jim and himself. “I’m sorry.”

Steven left as quietly as he had come in, again leaving things unsettled between them.

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

The man sat at the bar and leaning over his drink. Tossing back the whiskey, he signaled the bartender for another drink. He didn’t notice the older man who came to sit next to him until the other man spoke.

"Nasty night, isn't it?" The older man ordered a Scotch, and settled down to enjoy his drink.

The first man didn't answer. He continued to gaze into his drink.

"You look a little bit down," the older man observed. "She dump you?"

The younger man finally turned to look at his uninvited drinking companion. "Fuck off."

The gray-haired gentleman merely chuckled. "Now, now, rudeness never gets you anywhere, Mr. Snow. “

Snow jerked in surprise. How did this man know his name?

The man lit up a cigarette and blew a few lazy circles of smoke. “I have a business proposition for you."

"I said: fuck off."

"You work in Internal Affairs, and you've been having some problems with management." The cigarette smoke circles widened as the man exhaled with a sigh of pleasure.

Snow was drunk, but not so drunk that he did not hear the warning bells. "Just who the hell are you?"

"A businessman, Mr. Snow, with a business proposition." He smiled genially, his aristocratic features marred only by a small scar above his right eyebrow. "You of all people should know the difference between survival and getting ahead."

"Yeah? So what's it to you?" Snow shook his head, trying to clear the alcohol induced fog from his brain.

"You've been having a rough time lately, Mr. Snow. With the new captain, and your performance slipping, you're going to be out of a job before long."

Snow's mouth tightened. "I said: who are you?"

"All in good time, Mr. Snow. I would like to talk to you about this business proposition. If you are interested, then we can talk about me."

Snow leaned back dangerously, almost tipping off the bar stool. A strong hand stopped his fall.

"It's about getting even, Mr. Snow. One might even say getting ahead. Surely that is something worth consideration?"

Snow shook his head, but couldn't seem to clear his brain. The older man's gaze was hard to break; it was almost like being hypnotized. "Okay, so talk."

"Not here, Mr. Snow. We need to find a more private place."

"Like where?" Snow asked belligerently.

"I was thinking of a booth in the back. Would that be agreeable?"

Snow got up very slowly and stared at the stranger, who merely waited until Snow began moving toward the booths.

With a single graceful movement, the stranger got off his stool and followed.

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

Sam walked into the apartment while Martin hung up his jacket and turned to look at his guide. His guide. Finally. Martin had tried to bond with Sam, brutally, and forced Sam to run from the GDP. If it hadn’t been for Captain Hunter and the Sentinel Prime intervening, Sam would have been in Corrections, and he’d be without a guide.

Martin flushed a little remembering being talked through the bonding process by the older sentinels. Captain’s Hunter’s derision had been almost palpable, and the disapproval of the Sentinel Prime had made him feel about ten inches tall. Martin Hopkins had a lot to make up for, and most of it to his guide.

Sam looked around cautiously, but it seemed like your average apartment, one of six in the old building that had enough age to charm and not enough to forgo modern conveniences. The old trees around the building and the communal yard behind it looked promising.

“What do you want from me?” Sam knew from his guide training that each sentinel had their own particular quirks on what constituted appropriate guide behavior and duties.

“We can discuss that a little later after you settle in,” Martin said, trying to sound reassuring. He had a long way to go to make up for his first barbaric attempt to bond with Sam. He pointed down the narrow hall to the left. “Your room’s that way.”

“My room?” From what Sam had heard in training he expected to be relegated to a sleeping bag on the floor.

“Yeah. You think I was planning to chain you to the couch?”

Sam flushed. “I don’t know what to expect.”

Martin sighed. “I understand. I haven’t exactly been a stellar sentinel candidate for you, have I?” He rubbed his neck in frustration. His guide didn’t trust him, and he couldn’t blame him for it.

Martin led the way, and opened the door of the guest bedroom. It had a comfortable looking double bed and a dresser, a papasan chair. The curtains and bedspread were a subdued blue, the hardwood floors covered with a few area rugs in blue and brown. A framed poster of Mt. Rainier hung on one wall. There were some empty shelves that could hold books, and the closet was narrow but long - leaving plenty of room for clothes, not that Sam had that much.

“I figure you’d like to get some other things later - you know, maybe books and stuff, but at least it’s a start.”

Martin’s voice made Sam jump a little and he took a deep breath to calm himself. The guy promised you he’d never hurt you again. He promised.

“You hungry? I have some subs I could fix.”

“I don’t know,” Sam said, still looking around the room that would be his for the rest of the time he was with this sentinel.

“You don’t like the room?” Martin looked worried.

“It’s not that.” Sam walked around, running his fingers over the bedspread, the top of the dresser and the blinds on the large window overlooking the garden. He turned around to look at his sentinel. “I had a house. I inherited it from my grandmother when I was nineteen. I had a good job at the factory until I was laid off. When I applied for another job, they found out I was empathic. The GDP came and told me that I had two choices: undergo guide training, or be placed in the corrections facility.”

Martin cleared his throat, uncomfortable. 

“I thought about running, but the second day at the institute, they brought in a rogue guide from the corrections facility. It was just for the four of us who weren’t there willingly. They....” Sam swallowed, “They demonstrated what would happen if we ran.”

“I won’t let them touch you.” Martin’s voice was strained.

Sam didn’t believe that, especially not after what had just happened on campus. If the Shield hadn’t been there, the story would have had a much different ending. And he’d be in a cell, where no one gave a damn whether he lived or died.

“The GDP confiscated my car. They took away my house and all my possessions were put in storage for my future sentinel.”

Martin reached out, and aborted the gesture when Sam pulled back from him.

“So guess who owns my house now? My house, my CD collection, the furniture my grandmother brought from the old country - every damn thing I had was taken away from me, including my choice on how I would live my life, and now they all belong to you.” The bitterness was in Sam’s voice and in his scent.

“Jesus, Sam. I had no idea. Nobody at the GDP told me about this.” Martin paused, trying to figure out what to say. “I admit: I haven’t read your file. We just bonded, so I’ll do that once our bond week is up. I’ll check where they put your stuff, and I’ll get it back for you.”

“Don’t you get it? I can’t own anything anymore. I can’t legally own anything because I’m owned myself.” Sam slumped into the papason chair and shivered slightly. “It’ll never really be mine again.”

Martin winced. “Maybe not legally. But as far as you and me, it’s still yours.” He tried a smile. “With any luck, you’ll be one of the grunge band junkies, music I can’t stand, so our musical tastes will never conflict.”

Sam shifted in the chair that threatened to swallow him like a Venus Fly Trap. “I don’t want this.”

“The bond? Or me?” Martin asked quietly.

“I don’t want to be a guide.” Sam almost spat the words.

“I know. But I need a guide, and this has to be better than being in GDP custody, right?” Martin wanted to reach out to his guide, but knew the younger man would feel threatened if he did.

“Is it?” Sam asked pointedly. His expression was hostile and half-afraid. “Tell me how this is supposed to be better.”

“I won’t hurt you again.”

Sam made a rude noise of disbelief.

“I mean it, Sam. I’m not a violent guy. I have no explanation other than I couldn’t get the sentinel in me under control. That’s my problem and I’ll deal with it.”

“Until you lose control again,” Sam muttered.

“We’ve bonded, for better or worse, so can we just see what happens? I’m not exactly the font of all wisdom on sentinel-guide bonds, but I’d like to try.” Martin tried his best reassuring look, while trying not to condescend.

Sam really didn’t have a choice, despite how the sentinel phrased it. But the eyes looking into his were kind, and Sam supposed it could be worse.

“I think the Sentinel and Guide Prime might be able to help us try to make the best of this situation. Sound fair?” Martin was feeling more than a little insecure about allaying his guide’s fears. Captain Hunter had already chewed him a new rear end, and the Sentinel Prime was less than impressed with the newest clan member.

Sam got out of the chair and stood up facing his sentinel. The man was only about four inches taller than he was, but considerably broader in the shoulders. If it came to a physical showdown, the sentinel would win. He’d always win.

“Sam?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Sam shrugged, but his eyes were still wary. “What kind of subs?”

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

The familiar, watchful presence beside him lured him back from the gray fog he had been floating in. The muted gray gave way to the remote sounds of machines beeping and the clatter of wheels and feet moving in the distance. Blair woke in the unfamiliar bed and blinked until the blurred image coalesced into the sentinel snoozing in the chair next to him.

The sentinel stirred and then sat up abruptly. “Chief.”

“Hey,” Blair croaked, wincing at his sore throat. He had pulled off the oxygen cannula during the night and Jim had seen no need to replace it.

Jim ran a hand over his guide’s head. “It’s about time you woke up, kid. It’s almost noon.”

“Yeah, well, you have a near-death experience and see how early you wake up.” Blair sat up, wincing at the dull ache in his chest. He looked down. “Hey, they fried some of my chest hair!”

“It’s not like you don’t have enough to spare,” Jim jibed. Then more seriously, “Are you in pain?”

“Just my throat. And my chest feels like somebody jumped up and down on it.” Blair took in a deep breath - it didn’t hurt too badly.

“CPR. No cracked ribs, though.” Jim gripped Blair’s shoulder reassuringly. “How much do you remember?”

“Well, I remember being in my office when Monica and her goon showed up. It’s pretty fuzzy after that until they put me in the water. I remember the water.” I remember drowning.

“No white light?” Jim leaned back, quietly curious.

“Just an endless ocean. I was sinking down into the dark; then running through the jungle. It was so surreal, man.”

“I guess everybody sees something different. I can understand the jungle, but why the ocean?”

“Beats me,” Blair shrugged. “Those sharks were nasty.”

“You seem pretty blasé about it, Chief.”

“I don’t think it’s sunk in yet.”

“Or you just don’t want to discuss it now. Right, Chief?”

Blair nodded gratefully. “It’s just...it was like a bad dream. One of my nightmare specials. But you came for me. You and Hunter did. So... thanks.” Blair cleared his throat, more to control his emotions than anything else.

“Like I said before, this partnership is for life, Chief.” Jim pulled Blair to him in a modified bear hug until the younger man calmed down. After a while, Jim eased his grip. “Things are going to change, Blair.”

Blair’s eyes were almost iridescent. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

“Somebody must have thought you were. You’re the metaphysical expert, Chief. Why else would this have happened?”

Blair retreated into moody silence while Jim fussed over his guide, refilling the water pitcher and straightening the sheets.

A brief knock on the door heralded the arrival of Dr. Lambert. “Mr. Sandburg.”

“Hi,” Blair croaked.

“That tube caused some irritation, but there’s no water in your lungs. You have slight rib bruising from the chest compressions, but your lab work, CT scan and echocardiogram were completely normal. I ordered an MRI and pulmonary function tests for today, but I have a sneaking suspicion they’ll be fine too.” Dr. Lambert flipped through the chart, scribbling as he spoke.

Blair shrugged sheepishly and coughed.

“Mr. Sandburg, I’ve seen a lot in my twenty five years in medicine, including some very unusual sentinel and guide anomalies, but I’ve never seen anything quite like this. According to the paramedics, you had beamed back to the mothership.”

Jim snorted at the science fiction reference.

Blair just stared down at the blanket covering him, not knowing what to say.

“The medics said there was some mysterious ritual performed, complete with stunning CGI light effects and then you were back amongst the living. I can’t claim to not be curious about it, but something are best just left just as they are.” Dr. Lambert sighed as he flipped the chart closed.

“That being?” Jim asked.

“Miracles, Detective. They do happen, you know.” Dr. Lambert leaned in to give Blair’s heart and lungs a quick listen. “I’d be a pretty poor physician if I didn’t acknowledge that there are far more things in this mysterious world of ours that I’ll ever understand.”

Jim seemed satisfied by that.

“If things look good after testing, I think I’ll release you tomorrow. You may suffer some aftereffects from the near drowning - lung irritation and some throat soreness from the tube, chest discomfort and so on. You’ll heal in time.”

“Gentlemen, we can rebuild him,” Blair mimicked the prologue of an old science fiction series.

Jim rolled his eyes and swatted his guide over the head with a section of the Cascade Times. “Stop being such a smart ass, Chief.”

“They say that near death experiences change people, Mr. Sandburg. I wonder what you’ll discover about yourself.”

Blair inhaled and exhaled on command, then turned his attention back to the subject at hand. “Are you a spiritual man, Dr. Lambert?”

The physician paused from his check to think about the question. “What an interesting way to put that. Spiritual, yes, religious, no.” He glanced down at his patient with a faint smile. “But then, you’d know more about that than I would, right?”

Blair squirmed slightly, but nodded.

“Welcome back, Mr. Sandburg. You have your work cut out for you.”

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

Jim had finally been persuaded to run home a grab a shower and a change of clothes while Blair had his MRI and pulmonary function tests, and when Blair was brought back to his room he was exhausted. He barely registered the uniformed police officer standing guard outside his door, and dozed until a stirring in the doorway woke him.

He opened his eyes to see Sarah watching him worriedly, a small bouquet of flowers clenched in her hand.

“Hey, Sarah,” he smiled, marginally less croaky than earlier.

Sarah tip-toed in, unsure exactly what to say. She was followed by Hunter who immediately headed over to do a quick sentinel visual and tactile scan, which Blair tolerated with good humor.

Hunter sat down in the chair next to the bed.

“We brought you some flowers,” Sarah offered, holding out the cheerful bundle.

“Nice,” Blair smiled, and then he coughed spasmodically. “Sorry, bit of a frog.”

Sarah hesitated, then sat down on the edge of the bed and wrapped her arms around Blair and hugged him fiercely. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Blair hugged her back, expecting Hunter to make some wisecrack about guide solidarity, but was surprised at the searching look the Shield gave him.

“I have plans for you, Sandburg. You’re not bugging out on me.” And that was about as mushy as Hunter was going to get.

Jim walked in to see Sarah perched on Blair’s bed, combing out his hair while Hunter read out loud from the sports pages and made various pithy comments on the Jags’ chances this year.

“So now you’re holding court, Chief?” Jim slapped Hunter on the shoulder in a surprisingly friendly gesture and then ruffled Sarah’s hair.

Sarah was working on snarl and smiled briefly at the Sentinel Prime before returning to her task.

“Chief, I brought some of your conditioner with me. With that rat’s nest you’ll have Sarah breaking the comb trying to get you untangled.”

“Thanks, man,” Blair sighed, wincing as she tugged again. “How about I go ahead and wash my hair now?”

Jim helped him over to the bathroom and made sure he was steady before closing the door. “If you fall and crack your skull, Chief, I’m gonna break your legs to go with it.”

Both sentinels clearly heard the put-upon sigh and minor grumbling that followed.

“So, any news, Ellison?”

Monica Lutrell had been responsible for Blair’s kidnaping and near death, and even though she was in custody, bail was unfortunately a strong possibility. Both sentinels were pissed about that, but they didn’t make the law.

“Nothing so far. She turned rat on her goons, but we still don’t know who put her up to this.” Jim stretched. “I haven’t had a chance to talk with H about what else she might have said. She clammed up once she realized she was going to take the fall.”

“When’s the bail hearing?”

“I think H said at two. He doesn’t think she’ll talk.”

“Oh, I think we’ll be able to change her mind,” Hunter said, with enough predator edge that Sarah looked up in alarm.

“She tried to kill my guide. There’s nothing to stop the vendetta once we get what we need from her.” Jim sounded just as dangerous as Hunter, and the Shield looked at him with renewed interest.

“We just need a lead on who he is,” Jim continued. “He’s probably connected to the sniper. It’s damn frustrating trying to piece this together.”

“I saw him,” Sarah said softly.

“You what?” Jim stared.

“I think it was him. When I looked inside her mind, I saw someone. He was dark.”

“Dark-skinned?”

“No – dark,” Sarah gestured over her face. “He made me feel cold inside.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed. “What did he look like, Sarah?”

Sarah closed her eyes, remembering. “Uhm...almost as tall as you. Fifty, sixty? Gray hair and gray eyes. Sharp cheekbones. A little scar above his right eyebrow. Snake smile.”

“What in the hell is a snake smile?” Hunter asked in exasperation.

“You know, like Kaa. ‘Trussst in me.’” Blair had emerged from the bathroom with dripping hair. “Only I don’t think his irises did that cool kaleidoscope thing.”

Jim swallowed a chuckle at Hunter’s expression.

This time, Sarah was able to comb through Blair’s hair and since both guides were occupied, Hunter gestured to Jim to follow him.

“Ellison, let’s grab a cup of coffee.” Translation: I need to talk to you.

“You okay for a few?” Jim asked both guides, and after an affirmative noise, walked out into the hallway with Hunter.

“You know, Sarah did a pretty good job with that description. This police business must be rubbing off. Think she can work with our police sketch artist?”

“I’ll just have her draw him for us,” Hunter answered, throwing some change into the coffee vending machine.

“Sarah draws?” Jim sounded surprised.

“Pencil, some pen and ink. She’s not half bad.”

Jim got his own coffee and mulled that tidbit over. There was obviously more going right in the Shield’s relationship with his guide than Jim suspected. Better and better.

Sarah paused in her combing, and Blair who had been lulled into a half-doze, opened his eyes.

“Blair, what did you see?”

“The ocean, the deep, deep ocean. Then the jungle, where animals chased me. Then the panther and the tiger came to save me. No pearly gates or fluffy clouds.” Yet something that I’m not entirely sure I understand, much less know what to do with.

Sarah sighed and then combed more intently.

Blair’s voice was still scratchy, but there was tenderness there. “Looking for white shores and a fair green country, Sarah?”

Sarah’s eyes stung. “I just wish...maybe...that you might have seen my mom.”

“Aw, Sarah.” Blair felt her rest her head against the back of his shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re still here with me,” Sarah whispered.

“Me, too, kiddo. Me, too.”

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

Monica was escorted from her cell. Her bail hearing would begin in less than 20 minutes.

She had been to the hospital to have her superficial bullet wound cleaned and dressed, and then she had been brought to the Cascade city jail. Her one phone call to her mother had gone unanswered. And there had been no sign of the mysterious man who had offered her the opportunity to get back at the Sentinel Prime.

"Let's go, Ms. Lutrell." The police officer cuffed her with minimal concern for her injured arm.

They walked down a long hallway, the afternoon light from the large windows burning her eyes. No one spoke, the only sound the clicking of her heels, and the duller thump of police issue shoes. She watched the shadows on the floor, almost mesmerized by the dust motes.

The sound of glass shattering pulled the police officers short. They looked over at the window, then heard the thud. Monica lay on the floor unmoving.

“Prisoner down!” Weapons drawn, they scanned the hall, and out the window. Nothing.

“Is she...?” The younger man asked, while his sergeant checked for a pulse. There was blood in her hair where the bullet had entered her temple. It had taken out a large part of her skull.

“Yeah,” Sergeant Talley looked down at the body of the woman. There was no point in even starting CPR.

More officers had joined them, securing the scene. After a search of the area surrounding the building, they had to admit defeat. The sniper was long gone.

Jim’s cell phone rang, and he answered, earning a glare of disapproval from two women at the nurses’ station. Jim tried a smile of apology, which diminished the glare, but didn’t erase it. “Ellison.”

Jim looked over at Hunter and swore. “When?”

Jim listened as Hunter dialed up his hearing. “Yeah, we’re on our way.”

Jim stuck his head though the door of Blair’s room. “Chief, a sniper just took out Monica Lutrell. I have to go, but I’m keeping a guard on your room until I get back.”

Sarah looked at Hunter, who was standing slightly behind Detective Ellison. “Come on, Sarah, we have work to do, too.”

“You gonna be okay, Chief?” Jim looked torn between needing to chase the sniper and protecting his guide.

“Yeah, Jim. I’ll be fine.” He watched them leave and then settled back to puzzle out why Monica had been killed.

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

Blair was home at last. Ensconced on the couch with pillows, fluffy blanket and his favorite pair of wool socks, he sighed happily. Cooling on the coffee table was a mug of Blair’s special healing tea, which Jim had made for him with more than a little glee. Hoist by own petard, Blair thought, amused but resigned to the horrible-tasting beverage.

Hunter was sitting at the table sifting through papers while Jim stuck a pizza in the oven. Sarah was throwing together a salad.

It was positively domestic at 852 Prospect.

Jim heard someone enter the building and smelled a familiar perfume. Naomi was back in town, but Blair had insisted that she not be notified about his near-drowning.

Jim opened the door just as Naomi raised her hand to knock.

“You always know I’m here,” she said ruefully. “I got back into town this morning and left a message on your phone but when I didn’t hear back, I thought I’d stop by.”

Jim motioned her in and she immediately focused on her son. “Blair? What’s wrong, sweetie? Are you sick?” She crossed over to the couch quickly, and laid a hand on her son’s forehead. “You feel a little warm.”

“I’m fine, just a little upper respiratory thing,” Blair smiled as he hugged her.

Naomi narrowed her eyes at Jim, who smiled innocently as he sat down on the arm of the couch. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Blair said emphatically.

Naomi appeared mostly mollified, and then she caught the sight of Hunter.

“Captain Hunter, you look a lot better than the last time we saw each other.” Her eyes wandered over him with appreciation. The blue shirt brought out his eyes and the tan. He looks good enough to eat.

Hunter’s tie was off, his shirt sleeves rolled up and collar undone. He watched her watching him and his left eyebrow lifted.

Naomi smiled brilliantly. She had meditated long and hard on her goal to seduce Captain Hunter, and there was no time like the present. “I know you’ve been awfully busy with police work - all of you have - so I thought I’d cook for you tomorrow night. Was there anything you’d especially like to have?”

Coffee? Tea? Me? Sarah could almost hear the thought being telegraphed and shifted uneasily from her spot in the kitchen.

Hunter’s lip curled, but for Sandburg’s sake, he didn’t say what he was thinking.

“Uh, Mom, I think Hunter and Sarah have a commitment tomorrow night,” Blair interjected hastily, recognizing the anticipatory light in her eyes. When Naomi went after a man, it was all-out, take-no-prisoners war.

“But he still needs to eat,” Naomi pointed out sweetly. “And I imagine Sarah would love a night with no cooking.”

Sarah shifted again, her expression worried and tense.

“Far be it for me to deny a woman the pleasure of cooking a meal,” Hunter mocked lightly, his sentinel senses reading Naomi Sandburg quite clearly. “Although we’ll probably have a difference of opinion on what constitutes dessert.”

Blair’s eyes widened as he and his sentinel observed from the sidelines. Naomi had thrown down the proverbial gauntlet, and Hunter had accepted the challenge. “Jim,” he hissed. “You have to stop this!”

Jim shook his head. “No way in hell I’m getting mixed up in this. Your mother is on her own.”

Blair tried valiantly to signal his mother to stop, but she wasn’t paying any attention to her only son.

Naomi reached out and straightened Hunter’s collar in a casual gesture, then let her hand brush lightly against his exposed throat. “Let’s just say I’m willing to negotiate.”

Hunter’s eyebrow rose higher, but he didn’t answer.

Mission accomplished, Naomi began talking about a possible menu, her female energy bouncing around the loft like a delighted top.

Sarah resumed cutting peppers and carrots for the salad. She didn’t even look up when Jim came into the kitchen.

“Sarah?” Jim looked over at the young guide. “What’s wrong?”

Sarah didn’t answer him.

“Is it Naomi? Did she upset you?”

Sarah swallowed and shook her head. She wanted Hunter to be happy - something that always seemed to elude him, but the simple truth was that Sarah didn’t want to share him, even though she had absolutely no say in the matter.

“Hunter isn’t going to abandon you,” Jim tried to reassure her. “Naomi just has it in her head that she wants a fling, God knows why.”

Sarah kept cutting, although the sound of the knife against the board was a bit more forceful.

“It really isn’t all that important.”

The knife clanked a little louder.

Jim mentally cursed Hunter. Where the hell was he when he should be here reassuring his guide?

On cue, Hunter strolled into the kitchen.

“About time you came in here,” Jim growled, gesturing to Sarah. “I think the two of you need to have a little talk.” He left them alone, and Sarah turned back to her vegetables.

“Sarah.” Hunter stood behind his guide, his hand moving over the tense muscles of her neck.

“Yes, Sentinel,” she responded politely, her formality a good indicator of her mood.

“I take it this has to do with what just happened out there,” Hunter said, feeling her neck tense even more.

Sarah said nothing, but Hunter had learned a lot about her in the few months they had been bonded. His guide was miserably unhappy.

“I’m not leaving you, Tiger. This bond is for life.”

“But Naomi wants....”

“What she wants -“ Hunter stopped. What he could say in front of Ellison, or even Sandburg if it didn’t trigger an anxiety attack, was not what he could say in front of Sarah. “She may want, but she isn’t going to get,” Hunter growled. “I’m not interested.”

Sarah turned to look at him. He stood there, confident and in control because he would accept nothing less. Even Sarah realized that was a large part of the attraction Blair’s mother felt - the dominant alpha male part of Hunter’s personality combined with the blatant refusal to be trapped by anything remotely resembling a relationship.

“But she’s beautiful,” Sarah whispered. “And she’s smart, and interesting.”

Hunter’s eyebrow took off again. “Just whose side are you on, anyway?”

“I...I just don’t want to be in the way if you want...if you want to be with somebody.” There. She’d said it.

“Tiger, I could give you a very crude explanation as to why I don’t need a woman to relieve any pent-up sexual frustration, but I won’t.”

Sarah blushed and averted her eyes.

Hunter sighed as he reached out and pulled her close to him. “It’s going to take more than a GLA hippie do-gooder to bring me to my knees. I don’t want a woman in my life and I don’t need one.”

Sarah felt his chest move with easy breaths, his heart a comforting thud under her ear. She swallowed and his arms tightened slightly. She opened the link and was comforted by his reassurance.

“You okay now?”

Sarah nodded and moved back away from him, her expression slightly wistful as she went back to work on the salad.

He never expressed himself in words. And Sarah desperately wanted to hear the words. Even a simple “I care about you” would mean the world. But Hunter would never say it, not even for his guide.

Hunter watched her for a couple of minutes, frowning slightly at her back. Sarah’s face was as expressive as Sandburg’s and it tugged at him with annoying persistence. He eventually walked back into the living room.

Jim came back in to check on the pizza and glanced over at Sarah who was intently cutting celery. Nabbing a beer from the refrigerator, he opened it and took a long, satisfying swallow; and waited patiently.

“She won’t give up, will she?” Sarah asked finally.

Jim’s lips quirked. “I’ll give her points for persistence, but my money’s on Hunter.”

“He says he’s not interested.”

“Don’t you believe him?” Jim took another swallow.

“I believe him. I just can’t trust her.” Sarah cringed - she hadn’t meant to say that out loud. This was the Guide Prime’s mother she was dissing.

The Sentinel Prime didn’t look upset. “She’s her own force of nature. She’s a complex woman with some pretty left wing ideology, but she doesn’t stand a chance against you.”

“Me?” Sarah’s eyes widened.

“You’re his guide.” The simple statement was offered with complete sincerity. “The Shield will always place his guide first.”

The naked gratitude in her eyes made Jim clear his throat. And now he had to lighten the atmosphere before he said or did anything that fell in the mushy category.

“You know, it might be up to you to defend Hunter’s honor,” Jim said, teasing her. “If she tries anything, I’ll hold your coat.”

Sarah looked over into the other room, where Naomi was chatting with Blair, gesturing much like her son did when making an impassioned point. “Well, I have been practicing my throws,” she mused.

Jim laughed and saluted her with his beer bottle.

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

Larry Slater sat at the desk in his plush new little office and shifted stacks of paper as he sorted, signed and reviewed. His computer was busy churning out more documents and the printer hummed efficiently. Despite his initial misgivings, a few weeks of work at Mick’s company had convinced him that this job was the best career move he had ever made.

The work was interesting - he met regularly with technical and legal experts to review contracts and with marketing to go over demands and trends. His MBA came in handy, and his talent for paperwork made him everybody’s new best friend. It was a small company, but the people seemed friendly and helpful. So far, he had no complaints.

“Hey, Larry,” Mick called through the doorway.

Larry looked up and smiled. “Hey.”

“How’s it going?” Mick strolled in.

“Fine. I keep growing more paperwork, but I think I’ve got a handle on things.”

“You’re doing great, Larry. Everybody likes you, and they’re overjoyed that you can organize them so painlessly.”

“Yeah, well, give me time. It’s not going to get any easier with the new government regulations coming next month. Compliance is going to be a bear.”

Mick shrugged. “We’ll muddle through - we always do. And we have you now, so what could possibly go wrong?”

“Well, I do have a lot of government experience,” Larry said absently, half-focused on a contract.

“Exactly. I’ll let you get back to it. Got a meeting this afternoon.”

“Fine,” Larry said, looking up briefly to catch Mick’s wave and exit, and then returned to his papers.

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

Hunter stopped by the police morgue where Monica Lutrell’s body had been brought. Dinner last night had been interesting to say the least. Naomi Sandburg had thrown a few dozen passes, all of which Hunter had rebuffed with ease, but she wouldn’t be held at bay for long.

It had been quite a while since Hunter had been pursued with that degree of persistence, and at times it had felt like a volleyball match, with Sandburg and Sarah watching the exchange with wide eyes. Make that Sandburg, Hunter mentally corrected himself. Sarah had looked more...possessive.

Dan Wolf, the Cascade police medical examiner was sitting at his desk scribbling on one of the many forms that dominated his waking hours. He looked up to see Hunter standing in the doorway.

“Hey, Hunter,” he greeted the captain with surprising friendliness. Dan’s assistant, who still couldn’t tell Ellison and Hunter apart, always wondered why Wolf was so congenial with the abrasive IA Captain.

“Wolf,” Hunter said, not nearly as brusque as he usually was.

“Hi Sarah,” Dan smiled at the girl, who smiled shyly back. They had crossed paths a few times on cases, and Dr. Wolf never seemed ruffled by Hunter’s sardonic manner.

“What did you come up with so far?”

“Teflon-coated bullet. Same as William Ellison, but we know this can’t be the same guy. I’m sorry I missed that sniper case but I had that conference booked months ago.” Dr. Kellerman often filled in for Dan Wolf when he was out of town, and the two shared not only a lively professional association, but a solid friendship.

Hunter rubbed his chin, considering. “I have a possible linked case in San Antonio. Can you contact their medical examiner’s office on a guy named Percy found shot to death in his apartment? I’ll have Ellison’s office fax over what we have so far.”

“No problem,” Dan said. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, I need to talk to you - privately.” Hunter could see Dan’s assistant straining to catch whatever he could of the conversation. “Sarah, can you hang tight for a minute? I’ll be right back.”

Sarah nodded, looking a little lost. The two men disappeared into a small office and shut the door.

“You don’t need to protect her from everything,” Dan said affably.

Hunter glared, then rubbed his neck in a gesture reminiscent of Jim Ellison. “I need someone to clean my house.”

Dan leaned back against his desk, looking thoughtful. “You could take care of this on your own.”

Hunter gritted his teeth. “Can you help me locate someone, or not?”  

“Yes, a friend of mother’s. When would be a good time?”

“Today, tomorrow, day after, whenever.”

Dan Wolf did something people rarely did, he laid a hand on Hunter’s back, and the moody police officer didn’t shrug him off. “You fight yourself harder than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“My choice.”

Dan sighed. “I’ll call you. She’ll want to meet with you before she starts.”

“I’ll be around.”

Dan watched the sentinel steer his guide out of the building, then picked up the phone.

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

Hunter stood in the park waiting for the woman he was supposed to meet. Sarah was at Ellison’s loft in Sandburg’s care.

The woman who exited the car was graying but with intense dark eyes that looked much younger.

Hunter approached her, expressionless and watchful. He nodded to her respectfully. “Grandmother.”

“Dan says you need my help.”

“Yes,” Hunter said, and held up a small pouch with tobacco - an offering. She took it with grace.

“What troubles you?” She asked kindly.

“There is a...presence in my house,” Hunter said, clearly uncomfortable in expressing it. “It came for the first time a few nights ago. It tried to harm my guide.”

She gazed into his eyes. ‘You have felt this before?”

“Not necessarily this particular one, but yes, I’ve felt them before.”

“How did this happen?”

“I was involved with a...spirit walk recently. Whatever this thing is, it must have followed me back.”

She stared at him again, searching. Her hand reached out to hold his. “You spirit walked. You and...a brother?... you brought someone back from the spirit realm.”

Hunter didn’t change expression, but his eyes narrowed. “He wasn’t dead yet. They tried to kill him, and we only got to him in the nick of time.”

“You made powerful magic, and it came through the door you opened. Evil goes where it can cause the greatest harm, and for the choicest prey.”

“That should be Sandburg,” Hunter muttered. “He’s the shaman.”

The woman regarded him thoughtfully. “Blair Sandburg. He is the one you brought back?”

“Yeah. You know him?”

“We have met, through Dan. A curious, questing mind and a generous but fragile heart. How terrible that someone tried to harm him. He has a protector, a sentinel.”

Hunter sighed. “Yeah, Jim Ellison, my...brother.”

She shook her head. “It pains you to say that. Blair would be a rich prize, but if he has come back to be what you think he is ---“

“What I know he is,” Hunter interrupted.

She continued on as if he hadn’t even spoken. “Then he has more than just protection from the spirit world. He has love, which is powerful protection in and of itself.” She looked at him sternly now. “What do you have?”

“I have a guide who needs to be protected. I have responsibilities as the Captain of Internal Affairs. I am the clan Shield, sworn to protect the Guide Prime.”

“But who protects you? Who loves and cares for you?”

Hunter looked away, jaw tensing.

“You have been betrayed by so many, lost so much. Your soul is wounded almost beyond bearing. You are the most vulnerable because of that. That is why it targets you.” Her voice was soft and maternal.

“It will not harm my guide again.” Hunter looked back at her defiantly. “I want it out of my house. Out of my life.”

“I can help with that, but you - you must send it back to where it came from.”

Hunter closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. “That is not my way, Grandmother.”

She nodded. “I know. But it must be done, and you know you cannot walk away from this.”

Hunter blew out a breath and shook his head, then sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Meet me at your house at the time between times. I will help you purify the house, but you must do the rest.”

Hunter nodded and then walked away, back straight and tense with fury.

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

She arrived a half hour before sunset. Hunter was waiting by the front door.

She carried a clay bowl and some dried herbs and stood in the entryway with him.

“Do you feel it?” She asked.

“Yeah, it came back as soon as I came into the house.” Hunter didn’t seem disturbed, just pissed.

“You do not fear it,” she observed. “Perhaps you should.”

Hunter bared his teeth. “If it wants to play hardball, so will I.”

She shook her head. “You must challenge this with your mind and heart, not your physical strength. Overcome it with your faith.”

She placed the herbs in the bowl, a mixture of cedar and sage, and lit them, gently fanning the smoke on herself to purify, and then lightly fanned smoke on Hunter, who sneezed several times but tolerated it with his usual stoicism.

“You must ask for guidance, Hunter,” she prompted him. “Pray for help from your Creator.” She then began to move into the garage, directing the smoke in every corner, then entered the house and went down into the basement to repeat her actions. The ground floor was next as she moved room to room. Finally, she climbed the stairs and smudged the upstairs, even opening the trap door to the attic and directing smoke there. She saved Hunter’s bedroom for last, and here she frowned, her forehead beading lightly with sweat as she drove something toward the window.

Hunter opened the window and outside the crickets fell silent. There was no wind, yet the smoke blew away from the house, taking with it something dark and cold. They stayed a few minutes, breathing in unison, until the night sounds returned and Hunter shut the window.

She moved downstairs and lit a single candle, this time shining light into every corner, bringing in positive energy. They ended where they started - at the front door.

She looked around. “I do not feel anything, Hunter. Do you?”

Hunter swept the house, extending his senses almost to the point of zoning. “It’s gone,” he agreed.

“Finish it,” she ordered, and so Hunter did.

He was sitting on the floor, looking resigned but calm when she got up and gently laid a hand on his head. The native words she murmured were nothing Hunter understood, but he closed his eyes as he absorbed her touch. He sat there for several long minutes after she had gone.

When he finally opened his eyes, he looked around, sighed and let out a heartfelt “Oh, crap.”

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

A sharp knock at the loft door startled Blair, who was immersed in his latest culinary experiment. He opened the door, knowing exactly who stood outside it.

“Hey Hunter, you okay?” Blair frowned in concern. The Shield looked a bit pale.

“I’m fine,” Hunter dismissed with his usual growl of irritation when being fussed over too much.

“Uh huh,” Blair nodded knowingly. “Got a class ten headache, I bet. You and Sarah need to bond as soon as you get home.”

“Right,” Hunter said shortly, just wanting to get the hell out of Dodge before Mr. Mystic starting putting two and two together.

They left quickly, leaving Blair frowning thoughtfully after them.

“What was that all about, Chief?” Jim said, rubbing a hand over Blair’s back. He had been fighting with a leaky showerhead and so far it was a draw. The steady drip drip still taunted him

“I wonder....” Blair said, but didn’t finish the thought because his sentinel was already steering him toward the couch to bond.

Sarah sniffed the air in the house. “Hunter, what’s that smell?”

“Sage,” he said shortly.

“Doesn’t it bother your senses?” Sarah was curious. She could feel that something had happened but her sentinel had not been in the mood to discuss anything.

“Bond,” he ordered, rubbing his head in frustration. He hadn’t had a headache this bad in months.

Sarah looked up at him, then lifted a hand to trace the pain lines in his forehead. This time she led him to the bonding mat where they settled. The patio door was partially open, letting in the cool night air, lulling them both into peaceful slumber.

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

The phone rang while Hunter indulged himself with a second cup of coffee. Sarah was still eating her cereal and reading the comics.

“Hunter.”

“Hello, Hunter. It’s Dan Wolf. I checked with the San Antonio medical examiner, and from what the autopsy showed, it looks as though we have a similar MO on Percy. He was hit though an open window by a rifle, medium range, teflon coated bullet, single head shot.”

“Getting rid of all the loose ends,” Hunter muttered.

“This sounds nasty,” Dan commented. “They certainly don’t seem to have any leads down there.”

“Well, we aren’t doing much better here,” Hunter pointed out.

“By the way, how did things work out with your house?”

Hunter sighed. “Fine. Your mother’s friend is a formidable woman. Please thank her for me - she left before I could.”

Dan chuckled slightly. “I think you impressed her. She thinks you’re a good man, all in all.”

“Now that’s something I’m rarely accused of,” Hunter drawled.

“Not everyone takes the time to look beneath the surface.”

Hunter shifted uncomfortably and didn’t respond.

But Wolf seemed to hear the uneasy movement over the phone. “Learn to take a compliment, Hunter. It makes life easier.”

“Whatever,” Hunter sighed. Some days it just wasn’t worth chewing through the leather restraints. 

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

Hunter sat at his desk shifting through the files. He still had a backlog of cases he had to go through, and he wasn't sure if he had the time to concentrate on Monica Lutrell's sniper. There was still the matter of William Ellison and the guide porn web sites, not to mention the infiltration of the Cascade Police Department by persons unknown. Too damn much stuff to do at one time. He could feel the headache building and Sarah looked up and frowned in concern.

Sarah was typing an IA report into her laptop computer, but Hunter saw her switch to the police database every now and then, tossing in a search term to try to find out more information. He didn’t call her on it.

Hunter reached for his now cold cup of coffee, sipped and grimaced. Time for new cup.

His phone rang and Hunter swore as he picked up the receiver. "What is it?"

"Captain Hunter, there's someone here to see you." Samantha sounded odd.

"I told you we were not to be disturbed." Hunter was not in the mood to deal with unexpected visitors.

"Captain Hunter, she says she's your wife."

Hunter stiffened, then lay down the receiver gently. His expression was unreadable.

"Hunter?" Sarah reached out to touch her sentinel, but he stood up abruptly.

"I'll be back shortly, Sarah. Just wait in here." Hunter walked over to his office door and let himself out, closing the door behind him.

Sarah stared after him, wondering what was going on.

Standing by Samantha's desk, was a beautiful woman with long auburn hair. She turned to face Hunter, her features tense with worry. "Vincent?"

"What are you doing here, Marian?" Hunter's face was a complete blank, his voice cold.

"I had to come talk to you," she said urgently. "Matthew...Matthew is dead."

Hunter blinked, but that was his only reaction to the news about his old partner.

"Can we talk privately?" She was visibly agitated, clenching her hands.

Hunter clenched his jaw, then he shook his head. "I have nothing to say to you, Marian."

“Vincent, please. It’s important. I need to talk to you.” There were tears in her voice now.

“There is nothing you could possibly say that would interest me."

She took that blow, flinching only a little. “I know you never wanted to see me again, but it was a mob hit, and I think it was probably the same people who killed Gary."

"Leave, Marian.”

“My God, does nothing touch you any more?” Her voice wobbled, her eyes glistening with tears.

Hunter was unmoved. He’d seen this act many, many times, and long ago stopped believing it. “You said what you needed to say. Now leave.”

"You haven't changed a bit. Still won't talk, still won't listen." Behind the tears, the anger was bubbling up.

Samantha, who had been trying to ignore the little scene, noticed that the rest of the department was watching the spectacle with rapt attention. They could always count on their boss for fireworks.

Sarah opened the door to see what was going on. In an instant, she knew who this woman had to be. The emotion she felt from Hunter, fury and betrayal, could only be associated with two people: William Ellison and Hunter's ex-wife.

Marian, in the midst of a scathing assessment of Hunter’s character that didn’t even change his expression, stopped abruptly when she saw a young blonde girl move behind her ex-husband, her hand moving to his shoulder in a familiar comforting gesture.

Marian’s eyes narrowed. “Is this your flavor of the month? A little young, isn’t she?”

Every person in the room sucked in a breath at that, waiting for Hunter to explode.

“Leave now, Marian. I won’t ask you again.”

“You always wanted someone who wouldn’t stand up to you. Someone who wouldn’t dare protest when you got rough. Do you smack her around the way you did me?.”

Samantha and Sarah drew in shocked breaths at the accusation.

Hunter’s voice dropped into sub-zero range. “You have ten seconds to exit, before I have you arrested for trespassing.”

“She put up with all your kinks, Vincent? How long before you put her in the hospital, too?”

At that, Sarah lost her immobility. “That’s a lie! He doesn’t do that! He never did! You’re a liar. No wonder he hates you!”

Bernie Clark was astounded at the sight of Sarah, who had moved in front of her sentinel, small fists clenched. The poison in the woman was battering her barriers. If there ever had been affection there for Hunter, it had died completely, leaving nothing but bitterness.

“Leave him alone,” Sarah continued, standing as tall as she possibly could.

Marian reached out in an instinctive move to slap her, but Sarah ducked the blow, grabbing the woman’s arm and twisting until the older woman lost her balance on her high heels and hit the floor.

No one was more astonished than Sarah at what happened. She stared gape-mouthed at the sight of the woman on the floor. Then Marian rose quickly to her feet, the light of battle in her face.

“Catfight,” one of the men whispered, only to have Hunter laser torpedo him with his eyes.

“You little bitch!” Marian advanced on her prey, who was looking distinctly alarmed at her approach.

Hunter, in some corner of his mind, found the showdown mildly amusing, but pulled Sarah back against him protectively.

The rest of the people in the bullpen were appalled and fascinated. They had never read about anything like this in their Sentinel 101 textbooks.

Marian stopped at the look on his face. She knew he was capable of violence. Knew it all too well.

Hunter’s voice was quiet - way too quiet. “I’ll make this very clear: never come near my guide again. You touch her, speak to her, or threaten her and I’ll kill you. You come around here again, and I will kill you. Are we clear on that?”

“Your guide?” Marian’s face twisted in something between anger and grief. “Guess you finally did it. You never needed me, except for sex. You didn’t need Matthew. Gary was everything, only you couldn’t fuck your guide. Now you can.”

Sarah went pale, trembling with anger and embarrassment.

“You son of a bitch. You’re not going to do this to me again!” Marian almost reached out to strike Hunter, to scratch that implacable mask. She never had been able to reach him, not during their stormy marriage, and not now.

His eyes stopped her. She aborted the motion, drew in several harsh breaths to collect herself, then spun on her elegant heels and stalked out of the room.

There was silence in the bullpen. Then a muffled sob drew all eyes to Sarah. She was mortified by the accusations, and by the horrible scene.

Hunter shrugged it off. Almost nothing could embarrass him anymore, but his guide had tender feelings. Without a glance at his men, he picked her up, letting her bury her face in his neck, and quietly carried her back into his office. The shades were drawn.

“Oh, man, that was bad,” Bernie sighed to Len Miller. “Poor kid. She doesn’t get a break.”

A not-so complimentary mumble had Miller turning. “What was that, Snow? Care to repeat that?”

Snow dropped his cocky expression. He had gotten another reprimand just the other day. Things were teetering precariously in terms of job security.

“I’d be very careful about what you say, Snow. Hunter isn’t the only one that takes exception to remarks about Sarah.”

Snow looked around the room at the unfriendly faces. Since when had a guide become anything of value? These were his colleagues, and they were looking at him like he was a child molester.

“Forget it,” Snow mumbled and looked down at his reports.

Sarah knelt on the bonding mat, trying to stop shaking. Hunter was pacing, trying to let go of his own anger before bonding.

“Hunter?”

“It’s alright, Sarah.” Hunter finally moved to the mat and settled down, pulling his guide down gently beside him. “We’ll talk about it later. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter.”

Sarah felt his head settle on her back and she tried to move closer to his warmth. She felt cold and shaky from adrenaline.

“I have to say, that was a nice piece of self-defense,” Hunter drawled with just a trace of humor. “Remind me to pick you up a Supergirl cape on our way home.”

Sarah’s eyes stung, but this time in gratitude. She opened the link and let herself fall, knowing Hunter would catch her.

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

They had arrived home and eaten a quick dinner of leftover meatloaf, and then Hunter spread out his papers on the dining room table, waiting for his customary cup of coffee from Sarah.

She set it down beside him, and after a brief hesitation, sat down opposite him.

Ah, Christ, she wants to talk, Hunter thought, recognizing the curious glint in his guide’s eyes. Sandburg had it, and now Sarah was developing it.

“Can I ask a question?” Sarah put forth hesitantly, knowing that Hunter probably just wanted to ignore everything that had happened.

Here it comes: the age-old female questions. Why did you marry her? Do you still love her? Why did she sleep with your partner? Hunter braced himself, knowing he’d probably deflect the questions rather than re-hash ancient history.

Sarah hesitated again, then asked “Did she ever really love you?”

Whoa - that was a new twist. Hunter stared at his guide, momentarily stunned. That at least he could answer. “Probably not.”

She flinched a little. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t ask any more questions.

Reaching out to grasp her hand, Hunter opened the link. He felt her sorrow - for him. It was a rather extraordinary feeling.

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

Hunter was reading the paper at the breakfast table the next morning when the phone rang. He walked over and picked up the receiver, frowning when he heard the urgent voice on the other end. Sarah watched his face go expressionless.

Setting the receiver down on its base, Hunter went back to the table and sat down, not saying a word.

Sarah looked up from her cereal, her eyes worried. “Hunter, what’s wrong?”

“She’s dead,” he said with about as much emotion as observing that the grass needed cutting.

Sarah’s eyes grew wide. He could only be talking about one person. A sharp knocking at the door interrupted what she would have said next.

Hunter got up to answer it, peering through the view hole to see two uniformed police officers standing on the stoop. Their body language was anticipatory, and Hunter didn’t care for the look in the one man’s eyes.

He opened the door. “Yeah.”

“Captain Hunter, Reynolds and Kovich from Central. We regret to inform you that your wife was shot to death at her hotel early this morning.”

Hunter waited, his very stillness creeping the two men out even more than the fact that he was a sentinel. The men looked each other, then back at him. Reynolds seemed to be waiting for something as his hand hovered over his firearm.

“Captain Hunter, can you verify your whereabouts at 5 AM this morning?”

“I was here. All night.”

“Do you have anyone who could corroborate that?”

“My guide.”

“Guides don’t count,” Kovich pointed out, and nearly stepped back when the IA captain looked straight at him. “I mean, legally their testimony doesn’t count.”

Hunter’s ice-cold eyes never wavered. “Am I a suspect?” His voice was far too gentle.

“Sir, you were heard threatening to kill the victim yesterday. Now she’s dead.” Kovich was nervous and it showed.

“I didn’t kill her,” Hunter said calmly.

“The deputy chief has requested that we bring you in for questioning.” Reynolds gestured to indicate the police vehicle parked at the curb. The man didn’t like the IA captain. His tone was barely civil.

“I’ll meet you there.”

“I’m afraid not. We’re under orders to bring you in.”

“No,” Hunter stated, waiting to see what they would do next.

“You don’t have a choice,” Reynolds said, his voice louder than before.

“Are you placing me under arrest?” Hunter’s head tilted slightly to the side. It made both uniforms extremely nervous.

Reynolds cleared his throat. “You can either come with us now or we will place you under arrest. We have our orders.”

By this time, Sarah was standing in the doorway, rubbing her arms for warmth against the chill of the wind outside and of the horrible negative emotion coming from the two police officers who were watching her sentinel.

“I have to go downtown, Sarah. Wait here until I get back.”

“I’m sorry, Captain. Since you are formally being requested to come in for questioning, we cannot allow your guide to remain unattended.”

“Then she can come with me.”

“Your guide is rogue, and according to GDP regulations, if a sentinel is suspected of a crime, the rogue guide must be placed in the detention facility until the sentinel is free.”

“That’s if a sentinel is charged, not suspected,” Hunter snarled.

“Uh, according to section 14 of the revised GDP code, only suspicion of a crime by a sentinel is necessary to detain a rogue guide.” Kovich sounded almost apologetic. “The regs were updated two weeks ago.”

Goddamn GDP. More political maneuvering meant to weaken the sentinels and keep the guides at heel. Somebody’s gunning for me.

“Your guide must be placed in GDP custody immediately.” Reynolds kept his hand close to his weapon.

Sarah was shaking slightly at the escalating aggression.

“Not a chance in hell,” Hunter snarled.

A GDP vehicle pulled up behind the police cruiser, and Hunter’s nostrils flared when he saw a uniformed man getting out.

“Ben Addison, GDP,“ the man introduced himself to the two officers. He looked coldly at Hunter. “We were notified a rogue guide needed temporary detention placement.”

Addison was a fair-haired man about Slater’s age, but Hunter didn’t recognize him. He also didn’t have the time to puzzle out who had originated the call to the GDP in the first place.

Hunter took a step toward Addison. “You want to live, you keep the hell away from my guide.”

Addison looked disapproving. “I’ve heard about you, Captain Hunter.” He moved closer to Sarah, but kept just out of reach of the IA captain.

“Captain Hunter, please come with us now,” Kovich said. “I need your weapon.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Hunter snarled, now in full BP mode. Before Hunter could fully unholster his gun, Reynolds fired a chemical into the sentinel’s face.

Hunter reeled from the spray, his senses graying out as he stumbled and dropped his weapon. He was almost oblivious to Sarah’s cry of horror as he was cuffed and thrown in back of the squad car and she was pushed to her knees.

“Hunter!” Sarah tried to struggle to her feet, but Addison had a firm grip on her arm and pushed her back down.

“You okay with the guide?” Reynolds gestured to her.

“I’ll handle her,” Addison said calmly. “She’s in GDP custody.”

“No!” Sarah’s wail was lost on the two officers who got in their vehicle and drove off, Hunter slumped unconscious in the backseat.

Once the car was out of sight, Addison pulled Sarah to her feet. “Guide Freeman....”

Sarah took her chance, twisting against his grip and surprised the GDP officer enough to break free. She took off running down the sidewalk.

Sarah ran, kicking off her low heeled shoes as she went, her feet scraping against the rough pavement that tore through her thin trouser socks and macerated her soles. She didn’t even feel it.

Addison swore as he took off after her. The kid was fast, but he had a longer stride and was in good physical shape. She darted between houses, cleared a low bush and kept going. She co