THE PROTECTOR

by Southy

© September 2005

PART TWO

Blair woke feeling more hopeful than he had in a long time. He languished in the feeling, and the clean sheets and clean room he was staying in, until he heard Jim making breakfast.

Blair got dressed and emerged between the French doors to the kitchen. “Good morning.” His smile felt genuine.

“Good morning,” Jim said. “Coffee?”

“Thanks.”

“I’m fixing eggs. I can for you, too.”

“Okay.” Blair felt a twinge of guilt that he’d agreed to do the cooking, then reminded himself that their agreement was only for dinner. “Can we go grocery shopping later? If I’m going to be fixing dinner, I’d like to make sure I have plenty of ingredients on hand.”

“Sure.”

Blair used the restroom and performed his morning ablutions, while wondering if he’d ever feel completely comfortable in Jim’s house, as opposed to being a guest. When he emerged, Jim was finishing with the eggs.

“Jim?”

Jim looked up. 

Blair made sure he looked him in the eye. “I’m really sorry about all those dramatics yesterday. I’m usually not that much of a basket case.”

“You’ve already apologized once.” Jim placed a pair of eggs onto each of two saucers. “Let it go. Anyone can have a rotten day.” He took the plates to the table.

Blair followed him and sat down. After taking a bite, he said, “You’re like some kind of angel for up and appearing like that.”

Jim choked on his eggs. He took a quick gulp of coffee, and then wiped his mouth. “Chief, I’ve been called many things in my life. But never an angel.” He expression became playfully grim. “It doesn’t fit my image.”

Blair grinned. “Okay, guardian angel. Is that better? Especially since you don’t like being considered a sentinel.”

Jim nodded, though he seemed noncommittal.

“Speaking of which,” Blair began, watching Jim carefully, “when we’re out today, I’d like to stop by the library and pick up some books on sentinels.”

Jim still didn’t respond.

Gently, Blair said, “I can understand how irritating it is to have others make assumptions about you since you’ve been categorized as a sentinel. But I know hardly anything at all about what it means to be around someone with those abilities, or what it must be like for you. So, I’d at least like to get some general information.”

“Whatever you want, Chief. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me everything you know about this guy who threatened to kill you.”

Blair did find two books that looked to be what he needed. After the trip to the library, Jim drove him to the grocery store.

Blair felt funny, shopping with another man. He wondered if Jim did, too, because after they had been through a few aisles, the sentinel said, “I’m going to Produce to pick up some things there. Did you want anything specific?”

“Oranges and apples,” Blair replied. “Other fruit for snacking is good, too.” He felt a moment of trepidation, since he and Jim had yet to be apart since meeting a mere 24 hours ago. “Uh… not that I think anything would happen in this public of a place, but just for the sake of academic discussion….”

“Uh-huh?”

“What if Matthews was to try to grab me or something? What are you supposed to do from the other side of the store?” After all, it wasn’t like Blair could give Jim a “Protect” command like one of those trained human guard dogs.

“I’ll have my ear tuned to your heartbeat. If it speeds up, I’ll know you’re in trouble.” Then, “Don’t worry, Chief. I’ve got you covered.”

He had a sentinel – one with a military and police background, no less. Blair made a point of holding his head high as he continued to peruse shelves for items on his list.

He turned into the next aisle, looking for oatmeal. He studied the sweetened brands, looking lower for a natural selection as he pushed his cart along. He looked up when the cart ran into something.

“Hey,” a man snarled. He was holding a few products in his hand.

“Sorry,” Blair said, hating the breathlessness of his own voice. He forced a tight smile. “Sorry.”

With his free hand, the man grabbed the end of the cart. “Watch where you’re going, you little prick.”

Blair felt sweat break out on his upper lip. He wondered how someone could get so angry over such an accidental incident.

The man shoved the cart out of the way and took a step toward him, his eyes glazing in anger.

Blair’s legs turned to jelly and he hated himself all over again.

He was suddenly pushed aside, his shoulder slamming against the shelving. His instinct was to turn and run, but his eyes were on the scene before him.

Jim had appeared out of nowhere and had the man pushed against the shelves, his arm twisted behind his back. “Chill out, Sport,” he said with a grunt of effort.

“Who the hell are you?” the man gasped painfully.

“I’m his sentinel. I suggest you play nice while you get your pathetic ass out the door.”

“All right! All right!”

Jim let the man go. The man didn’t bother glaring at Jim or Blair. He dropped his groceries and turned away.

Blair breathed a sigh of relief. Then he noticed that other people in the store had gathered to watch, but now started to move away, as though satisfied that a sentinel had adequately protected his boss.

Though he was trembling, Blair grinned inside. Having one’s own sentinel had to be the best thing ever.

Jim came up to him, scarcely breathing hard. “Are you all right? I’m sorry I had to throw you out of the way like that, but I wanted to make sure I grabbed him.”

Oh, yeah, he’d probably have a bruise on his arm. Such a small price to pay. Blair grinned at Jim. “I’m great!”

They continued shopping.

Later, after dinner, they relaxed in the living room. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, Blair found himself contemplating the future – for the short-term, at least. “Jim? Do you think it’s a good idea to let people know that you’re my sentinel? I mean, if Matthews finds out… well, with all his friends, they could take you out. You may be a sentinel, and a great bodyguard, but you’re only one man.” To lose Jim… even after knowing him for only a day, it seemed unfathomable.

“I didn’t think there was any harm in revealing myself at the grocery store, since it’s highly unlikely Matthews would be there. But, you’re right, when you’re teaching classes, I’m going to sit in as one of your students. When you have office hours, I’ll be discreet in the halls but keep my senses tuned to you.”

Blair furrowed his brow. “Won’t that get tiring? Especially if it’s weeks or months before something happens?” To say nothing of it seeming like an incredibly boring job.

“I’m used to focusing for long periods of time – and waiting – in my prior occupations. Your safety is my job.”

Jim had stated it so simply. Blair almost felt disappointed that Jim viewed his task in such stark terms. But he couldn’t deny how safe it made him feel.

They were silent for a long moment and Blair realized that, as virtual strangers, neither were sure what to say to each other to fill up the space.

Then Jim asked, “Do you bowl?”

“It’s been a while,” Blair replied, intrigued by the idea of doing something recreational with Jim. “I’m not very good.”

Jim was off the sofa and moving toward the coat rack. “Let’s go.”

It was getting close to midnight when they left. Jim had wiped the floor with Blair, score-wise, over the course of four games, but Blair was grinning ear-to-ear as they emerged into the summer night air. “Thanks so much, Jim. I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun.” It had felt good to do something physical, for the sheer joy of it, as well as having his mind focused on something frivolous for an extended length of time.

Jim glanced up and pointed. “A falling star.”

Blair quickly looked up. It was a rare and wonderfully clear night. But he had missed the comet. “Did you make a wish?”

Jim didn’t reply. He was still staring up at the sky.

Blair waited a polite moment, then, “Jim?”

No answer.

A shiver went through Blair as he stepped in front of his sentinel. “Jim?”

He could see that Jim was still staring at the sky, but his eyes were fixed and not recognizing him.

Zone out. Blair had read about them in his sentinel books. In fact, being unable to prevent them was the reason Jim had been forced out of the police department.

Blair pushed aside the realization that Jim couldn’t protect him when he was in this state. He instead remembered that it really wasn’t supposed to be difficult to pull a sentinel out of a zone. He reached up and squeezed Jim’s shoulder, while sharply saying, “Jim!”

Jim suddenly looked at him. “Huh?”

Blair let his relief show. “I think you just zoned on looking at the comet.”

Jim didn’t say anything and got out his keys.

Blair realized Jim was embarrassed, perhaps even angry at how his latent sentinel abilities had effected his life. He could understand that. With his heightened senses not appearing until nearly middle-age, they were more a liability than an asset.

What if he were to zone while somebody was trying to harm him – even shooting at him?

The ancient sentinels were so revered that they were assigned a non-sentinel “guide” to watch over them when they were using their senses. In modern times, it seemed, sentinels were expected to be their own guides. Perhaps that’s why, even though their abilities were admired, society had an underlying stigma against them; for they could still be handicapped to a degree at a critical moment. Zoning at an inopportune time was considered a failure for a trained $50,000 sentinel.

The social status of sentinels reminded Blair of a psychic that used to be a friend of his mother’s. The psychic’s abilities were eagerly sought by those who needed help in finding a lost item, needing reassurance about their future, or even in connecting with a deceased loved one. But that friend of his mother’s had also been treated disdain and suspicion by society in general. 

Whatever the sentinels’ lot in modern civilization, this particular sentinel needed some watching over.

Blair realized how good it felt to know that he was needed. He followed Jim to the truck with a bounce in his step.

Jim was taking notes. He was sitting in Blair’s classroom, along with dozens of other students, and listening to his lecture on some long ago tribe in the south Pacific. Jim made himself appear grim so other students would be discouraged from talking with him. If he found himself in a conversation as to why he’d suddenly appeared in Sandburg’s class, he would say that he’d taken it before and therefore was allowed to sit in for review.

Of course, he’d intended to behave outwardly as a student and that included taking notes, though he’d thought he’d merely be doing some inane scribbling. Instead, he found part of his mind taking dictation, as it were, and writing down a lot of what Blair was saying. But most of his consciousness was focused on sweeping the outer halls with his senses, and using his enhanced sight to keep a watch over the students to see if anyone else – perhaps one of Matthews’ friends – was also in the classroom, waiting to make a move.

He enjoyed watching Blair teach. Blair had mentioned, when they first talked, how hard it was getting through each day when he was so afraid. Jim couldn’t tell that Blair was afraid now. Of course, it was probably because he had the confidence that he was well protected. Still, Sandburg seemed so passionate about his subject that it was difficult imagining him having any other concerns while in the midst of a lecture.

Jim hoped that, one day, he’d see the “old Blair” – the one with the bright smile in the photo he’d come across in that horrible apartment. He’d already seen glimpses in recent days. The bowling outing had certainly brought a temporary sparkle to Blair’s eyes.

Blair was turning out to be a decent roommate. When he got on a roll, he could be rather talkative. And Jim wasn’t always as intrigued as Blair by his experimental cultural choices for dinner, but he pretty much picked up after himself. He was a good conversationalist, and was always interested in whatever Jim relayed to him about his past, without ever directly prying.

Jim realized that he had become downright fond of Blair, to the point where his feelings had to be beyond some genetic sentinel instinct.

Blair had become a friend.

The phone line to the fax machine rang, and Jim moved guiltily toward the machine in his bedroom. Blair was sitting at the kitchen table, reviewing his notes for the next day’s lecture.

Jim was grateful that his anger at losing his job had only been directed at the bureaucracy. Some of his prior co-workers owed him favors, and he’d called for the reciprocation of one of those favors yesterday. 

Jim began reading Sandburg’s case file as soon as the first page drifted off the machine. It had happened like Blair had told him – and was being called a “hate crime” – but Blair had limited his telling to the events. Jim looked now at the many pictures of cuts and bruises all over Blair’s body, including the finger imprints where his buttocks had been harshly parted in preparation for the ultimate degradation. 

Thank God the presence of the janitors stopped the threat from being fulfilled.

Blair’s most serious physical injuries had been a dislocated elbow and a fractured finger acquired while the others were holding him down.

There was a picture of his face – showing the minor injuries there – and his eyes were thoroughly shell-shocked.

Jim had never been in a similar situation, but he could sympathize. To be targeted merely because of one’s cultural heritage, when one had committed no offense whatsoever against any of the perpetrators, had to be horrifying, and that was only the beginning of the mental anguish that followed such an attack.

The worst of it was that Blair had gotten off easy. Other victims – males and females both – had actually been raped and sometimes tortured. One woman had died from her injuries.

Jim’s internal rage melted into grief. Blair seemed like such a people-loving person who wouldn’t hurt anyone. For him to be the target of such brutality was just plain… wrong.

It was a good thing the perps were already in jail, awaiting trial for their more serious crimes. Otherwise, Jim would have felt obligated to make going after them a personal vendetta of his own.

“So, Jim, how long were you married?”

It was a natural question, Jim supposed. He and Blair were lounging around on a weekend, waiting for the movie they had just watched to rewind. “Less than three years.”

“Yeah? What happened?”

“Just drifted apart, I guess. She worked for the PD, too, and we both were so involved in our jobs….”

“Was it a friendly divorce?” Blair seemed hopeful.

“I guess, as far as divorces go.” Jim was surprised at how much it bothered him to talk about it. Perhaps it was because it seemed to be yet another failure in a long line of such where his life had not proceeded as he had expected. “What about you, Chief? You ever been married?”

Blair snorted. “No way, man. It’s not in the cards for me.”

“What about long-term girlfriends?”

“None of that either. I’ve never wanted to get serious.”

Yeah, Jim could see that for someone like Blair. “Just a lot of one night stands, huh?”

Blair suddenly looked away, a shadow coming over his face. “I played the field,
he said, subdued, “so I’d sort of rotate various girls around for a while, until they moved on or lost interest. I was always honest that I was seeing other people.”

It was a moment before Jim realized what Blair had said. “Played? Was? Past tense?”

Blair glanced at him shyly. “I haven’t gotten a hard-on since… you know.”

Of course. How thoughtless of him to have brought it up.

“I know those parts work – physically,” Blair went on. “I have occasional wet dreams. But never when I’m awake, no matter how hard I try.”

Okay, that was getting to be a little too much information. But Jim appreciated that Blair trusted him enough to tell him that.

“What about you?” Blair asked after a moment. “I suppose my being here is interfering with your love life, big-time.”

Jim snorted. “Not hardly. Since the senses, I’ve only been with somebody once. That was a disaster, so I’ve been too afraid to try again.” 

“In what way did your senses make it a disaster?” Blair then amended, “If you don’t mind telling me.”

“I zoned. Right when I came. Scared the hell out of her. Her screaming is what brought me out of it.”

“Oh, man.” Blair had a look in his eyes that spoke of rifling through remembered data. “There’s speculation that sex is even more pleasurable for sentinels than ordinary men. But since sentinels have always been sentinels, and ordinary men have always been ordinary men, there’s no way for an individual to compare. But you….” His eyes lit up in fascination. “You’re unique in that you know what sex – and lots of other things – are like before your sentinel abilities appeared… and after.”

Jim was abruptly on his feet, angry at the surprise life had thrown him. “The after isn’t anything to brag about,” he said, moving toward the refrigerator for a beer. “It’s pointless if your companion for the night is going to be screaming in horror.”

Blair was still thoughtful. “Because of the zoning. You don’t have the natal instincts to stop yourself from zoning on the sensation.” He looked up at Jim. “Surely, you can be taught.”

Jim snorted again. “By who? I’m going to get some sentinel in here to play with my cock and teach me about sensation?” He took a long swig of beer and then said, “I’d rather be celibate.” He started up the stairs to his bedroom, ending the discussion. He could see that Blair still looked thoughtful, and he wished he’d changed the subject before he’d revealed so much.

By the time he’d undressed and got into bed, his annoyance had changed to compassion that Blair, too, had been robbed of the ability to experience sexual pleasure.

They were in the third week of their partnership when they arrived at the loft after Blair’s class.

As soon as Jim opened the door, his senses were assaulted by the feeling of… invasion. “Somebody’s been in here,” he said, drawing his gun, which he owned personally, since the PD had taken his police issue weapon. “Stay here.”

Jim extended his senses and perused the loft’s main level. A male, he knew from the scent. Probably just one. He stared at the floor and counters, eager for any clue. He noted that things looked rifled through, but weren’t left open or messy. Not finding anything substantial, he moved up the stairs.

The same story there. Things just enough out of place to hint that someone had been there. Nothing appeared to be missing. Unless….

Jim pulled open a drawer of the nightstand. “Oh, my God.”

“Jim?” Blair called from downstairs. “What is it?”

Jim rapidly filed through possible lies he could tell.

“I’m coming up,” Blair announced. He’d never been in Jim’s bedroom before. When he emerged on the landing, he looked around and asked, “What did you find?”

Jim sat on the bed with a heavy sigh. He couldn’t lie to Blair. Not about this. “Whoever it was took something.”

“What?”

Jim wet his lips. “Chief… Blair. I-I needed to know as much as I could about… what happened to you.” He made himself look into Blair’s eyes. “I had a colleague at the PD fax me your file.” He glanced at the nightstand. “Those pages are gone.”

Blair’s eyes widened Then his expression hardened. “You could have just asked me, if there was anything you needed to know.”

“Look,” Jim said, trying not to sound defensive, “I’m all about gathering information. That’s what allows me to do my job. I wanted to see the official report.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me? Why did you do it in secret?”

“I-I didn’t want to remind you of it. I was afraid you’d feel victimized all over again.” Finally, he admitted, “I was afraid you wouldn’t want me to see it.”

Blair stood between the stairs and the bed and made a point of looking away. Finally, more troubled than angry, he said, “Now somebody – probably Matthews – has that file and knows what was done to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim said, having nothing else to offer. “I’m so damn sorry.”

Blair was still looking away. “He’ll find some way of using the information in the file against me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim repeated as he stood and slowly approached Blair. “We won’t let him. What I’m more concerned about is that he knows you live here.” Damn. He’d been so certain he’d done a good job of making sure nobody followed them.

He felt like a failure.

Blair was still looking away.

“I’m sorry,” Jim said more softly, hurting because of how vulnerable Blair appeared. He slowly raised his hand. “Can I touch you?”

Blair looked at him. Instead of answering, he reached up and ran his finger along Jim’s cheek. “I don’t want to be mad at you. I care about you too much.”

Jim mentally traced the path of the finger against his skin. How good it felt to have someone outright say that they cared.

He took Blair’s touch as permission and reached for him, then enclosed him in his arms. He squeezed him closer.

He was relieved that Blair so readily accepted this particular expression of apology. Of caring. Of concern.

Blair circled his arms around Jim’s back and held him just as close.

As with the last time they had embraced, Jim found himself mentally cataloging the sensations.

This time, however, it seemed Blair was giving affection as much as receiving it.

Jim pressed him even closer.

“Jim?” Blair’s head was resting against his shoulder.

“Hmm?”

“What are you feeling right now?” The words were soft and deliberate.

Jim didn’t understand the reason for the question. But he found himself wanting to obey with an answer. “Grateful that you’re forgiving me.”

“No, I mean, your senses. What are your senses feeling?”

Blair seemed to be asking for a specific reason. 

It was so hard to put into words. “That… they want to protect you. That they need to know you’re safe and… okay. The physical acknowledgment that you’re no longer mad, I guess. I-I can feel your contentment. My-my senses want that.” He was stroking Blair’s back with a long, leisurely motion.

“We need to talk.” Blair pulled back and tugged Jim’s wrist, moving to the bed where they both sat down.

“I’ve been reading those books,” Blair said. “It seems that a lot of stuff from the past about sentinels has been forgotten. Maybe it’s a natural part of sentinels’ evolution to a more industrial society. Anyway, I think a lot of what I’ve read – that nobody seems to mention anymore – might apply to you.”

Jim felt a mixture of annoyance that he was being studied and analyzed, and relief that someone was so eager to understand him. “Like what?”

“In centuries past, when some people existed in small villages and tribes, sentinels weren’t so much bodyguards as scouts or protectors of the citizens in general. But their vulnerabilities – zone outs and such – were dealt with rather than condemned. In some tribes and villages, there were people who were the keepers of the sentinels, so to speak, who accompanied sentinels when they were using their senses, so they could guide them and prevent zone outs. There’s variations of that kind of cooperation between the citizens from village to village, tribe to tribe. On the other end of the extreme were some tribes – usually the more primitive – where a specific guide was assigned to each individual sentinel, and they became lifelong partners and friends, to the point of being virtually inseparable.”

Wisps of his time in Peru filtered across Jim’s mind.

“What?” Blair asked. 

“I told you that I was stranded in Peru for eighteen months.”

“Uh-huh?”

“I think I was using my senses then, but it seemed so natural. There was a tribesman – a shaman – who taught me the ways of the jungle. He didn’t seem to think there was anything strange about my abilities, and he respected them.” He looked at Blair. “Maybe he was one of these guides, of a sort. We spent a lot of time together.”

Blair nodded, as though puzzle pieces were falling into place. Then he said, “In those cases of specific sentinel and guide pairings, the sentinel’s survival was dependent upon his guide – the one who protected him. Therefore, the sentinel’s first instinct was to protect his guide, for protecting his guide’s life meant protecting his own life. And protecting his own life meant the tribe was protected.”

Jim slowly nodded as memories began to unfold. Then he said, “That sounds familiar, from when I was in Peru. But once I was rescued, it’s like I went back to being a normal guy. Until last spring when my senses started getting out of whack, and tests confirmed that I was a sentinel with some sort of arrested development.” The official phrases were humiliating to repeat.

“I don’t have answers as to why your abilities weren’t present at birth. But what I’m beginning to suspect, considering how quickly you were willing to take me under your protective wing, is that you instinctively knew that you needed a guide. After all,” Blair said with sympathy, “you were left to your own devices once you were tagged with the label of sentinel.” He shifted to draw a knee up to the bed while turning to face Jim. “You seem to have done pretty well with virtually no training or preparation in how to be a sentinel. But there was that night at the bowling alley when you zoned. Thankfully, because of the reading I’d done, it didn’t alarm me and I knew what to do.”

Jim didn’t know what to say. If everything Blair said was true, he didn’t know what that meant for his future.

Slowly, carefully, Blair said, “I would like to be that for you – your guide. I care about you greatly. You’ve already been a wonderful friend and have helped me to feel better about myself and what happened to me. I know you’ll do anything in your power to keep Matthews away from me, and hopefully find some way of nailing him before he tries anything directly.” He drew a breath. “We can help each other, Jim.”

The mention of Matthews put Jim’s mind back on that track. “I need to call in another favor and get his file.” 

“The police told me before that he didn’t have a record,” Blair said. “Are you going to call the cops now?”

Jim snorted. “Why? To tell them there’s been a theft but the only thing taken was copies of a file that I had illegally?”

“Oh.” Blair said, as though he hadn’t realized that. “Jim, is there a chance it could have been someone other than Matthews? An enemy of yours?”

Jim was amazed at Blair’s insight when he put his mind to things. “Having been a cop, I certainly have my share of enemies. But I don’t know why someone would have broken in just to take your file. If it was a random break-in… hell, I’ve got checkbook in that same drawer,” he nodded toward the nightstand. “They didn’t take that. The only person who knows I have your file is Joel Taggart – the one who copied it for me. He’s completely trustworthy.” Jim suddenly cocked his head as a thought occurred.

“What?” Blair asked.

Jim extended his sense of smell. “If it were somebody I knew – had worked around a lot – I think I’d know by their scent. Their body odor, the cologne they wear.”

“Wow.”

Jim shook his head. “This isn’t anything I recognize.”

“If it was really Matthews, or one of his friends, he knows that you and I are hanging out together. He may not know that you’re a sentinel, but he’ll know that you really aren’t a student sitting in my class.” 

Jim drew a breath as a plan formed in his mind. “Chief, it’s time to draw Matthews out.”

What a waste if this doesn’t work, Blair thought after he looked around at all the filled boxes sitting on the floor of his office. He had to carry through with the fiction that he was going on Sabbatical, which had been granted in the middle of the semester, due to extenuating circumstances. His sentinel had broken a leg and was hobbling around on crutches, after all. What else could the target of a death threat do?

At first, he had resisted the idea of going along with the ruse completely. He had wanted his department heads to know that he really wasn’t going on Sabbatical. But Jim had nixed that idea, saying it was always possible that Matthews – or one of his friends – was somehow able to obtain information directly from Rainier. So, whether this worked or not, Blair was no longer going to have any kind of job. His replacement was already lined up and had been briefed on his students and course outline.

Today, Friday, was his last day and he had already taught his class. He and Jim hoped that Matthews made a move soon, before Blair flew out of state – a plan that they even had plane tickets for. They would visit Blair’s mother in California, but he hadn’t called to tell her yet, because he was hoping he wouldn’t ever actually have to leave. Besides, she knew nothing of what had happened to him the past few years. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her anything except positive news.

The tension was mounting, making Blair wish it would all hurry up and and be over with. Even though he knew Jim’s senses were trained on him, it was a fact that Jim wasn’t infallible. His cast was designed to break-away when Jim needed to rip it off. But what if Jim zoned at an inopportune time? It could be death for one or both of them.

Blair went about cleaning out his office with a mixture of hope and dread. He muttered frequently under his breath to give Jim something else to focus on in case he got too involved in one sense, or his hearing was too fixated on Blair’s heartbeat, or listening for other conversations in the halls.

For that matter, Blair wasn’t sure exactly where Jim was right now. This his office door was open so students could drop in to say goodbye, he was focused on filling boxes and couldn’t see into the hall. What he did know was that afternoon classes had ended, and now there would be a two-hour break before the less-populated evening classes started.

Blair brought one of the few remaining empty boxes next to a bookshelf, grabbed handfuls of books, and began placing them in the box, his back to the door.

Once the shelf was clear, he closed the flaps and placed his elbow on top of them to hold them down. With his free arm, he reached for the tape.

He was suddenly aware of a presence, but before he could turn, arms were roughly around him, one reaching to cover his mouth.

Blair struggled but the arms tightened, locking his own arms at his sides.

A voice whispered harshly in his ear, “Hey there, Mr. Sandburg, you little pussy. You thought you could just up and leave when your sentinel went and got crippled on you?” 
Harsh laugh. “Wish I could take credit for that, but I can’t.”

Blair’s heart was racing and he wondered if he might pass out from sheer fear.

Jim will come, Jim will come.

He made a deliberate effort to calm down.

Matthews snorted in his ear. “Warren is taking care of Mr. Crippled. He won’t be interfering with our fun.”

Blair quivered. If they’d known Jim was a sentinel, they might have taken steps to make sure Jim couldn’t detect them, though Blair didn’t know what those steps might be.

“You know,” Matthews continued, “I had a really fun time reading your police file. It’s too bad those hillbilly Jew-haters didn’t finish what they intended. You know what? I think that might be a good place for me and you to start. We won’t even wait for Warren to get back. Besides, my dick’s been itching for some tight virgin Jew ass.”

Blair’s blood turned cold.

“Get up,” Matthews growled, and he started to rise with Blair.

Blair didn’t see any point in cooperating. Plus, his legs were too numb.

“God, you’re a pathetic shit.” In one motion, Matthews released Blair’s mouth, put a knife to his throat, and roughly grabbed his hair. “Get up, pussy.”

Aware of the blade at his throat, Blair found the strength to get to his feet. The hold on his hair was so tight that he could scarcely move his head.

Through the corner of his eye, he saw that the door was closed but not completely shut.

“To the storage closet, you worthless turd.”

It was a walk-in closet that Blair had cleared of books and papers.

“Please,” Blair whispered. He meant it as a plea for Jim to come, but he didn’t mind if Matthews thought it was a plea for his life.

His whole body had broken out in a drenching sweat.

Matthews snorted. “That’s right, beg. It makes my dick really hard. You make it good, I might let you live a while so I can keep enjoying myself.”

They were within ten feet of the closet. Even as Matthews stepped clear of the nearest box, Blair’s legs were too unsteady to maneuver around it, and he fell over it, and felt as though his scalp was being pulled away from his skull, for Matthews kept his grip on his hair as he knelt to stay with Blair.

“You worthless shit! Get up!”

Blair was relieved that the knife hadn’t cut him, for it was poised near his shoulder after the fall. And then he felt an almost hysterical laugh at the idea that it mattered.

“Get up or I’ll cut your balls off!” The knife was back at his throat, the relentless hand still holding his hair in a permanent yank.

Blair moved his right hand in an attempt to push himself up. It felt something round and hard.

Skull. An artifact from a long-lost tribe near New Guinea.

Blair swallowed and felt the knife against his Adam’s apple. He choked out, “What did you do to my sentinel?”

“Killed him,” Matthews drawled. “Warren’s getting rid of the body, and then he’s going to get his turn after I’m done with you.”

Jim dead?

What was the point? What did anything matter now?

I’m so sorry I got you killed. 

Blair tightened his grip on the skull. With a roar, he brought it up and swung around, feeling the knife cut into his skin.

With the full force of his 160 pounds, he flung the skull at Matthews’ head, the momentum causing him to land in a heap on the other side of the box.

Matthews lay still, blood pooling at the side of his head.

Still holding the skull, Blair stared at him.

And stared.

“Blair?”

Blair looked up at the gentle voice.

Jim stood in the doorway, battered and bruised. His cast was off and through his torn shirt, Blair could see that he was wearing a Kevlar vest.

“Blair?” Jim stepped toward him. Behind him, a big black man filled up the doorway, looking concerned.

As Jim approached him, Blair felt as though he was seeing things through a distant lens.

Jim held out his hand, palm up. “Blair? Give that to me. Come on, Chief.”

That? Jim must mean the skull in his hand.

“Come on, buddy. It’s all over now.”

Over. It was over.

A tiny smile broke over Jim’s face as his eyes watered. “You did good, Blair. It’s all over now.” He was in front of Blair now. Kneeling, he reached toward Blair’s right arm. “Let me have it. You don’t need it anymore.”

Blair knew he should let go of the skull. But his muscles couldn’t relax enough to release it. But he could talk. “He killed you.” He was aware of a stinging sensation along the skin of this throat.

Jim’s eyes watered fully. “No, he didn’t. He just thought he did.” His eyes gazed into Blair’s. “Can I touch you?”

Suddenly, things didn’t seem so distant anymore. Blair nodded.

Then arms were holding him, gathering him up, his head being placed against the top of Jim’s shoulder.

“Taggart,” Jim said. 

A moment later the skull was being pried from Blair’s fingers. When it was finally free, Blair dug those fingers into Jim’s shirt, feeling the protectiveness of the vest.

“Shall I call an ambulance?” the black man asked.

“No. I’ll take Sandburg to the emergency room. But you better get Banks and the coroner over here. Matthews is dead.”

Jim stood holding Blair’s hand. Blair was lying on a gurney in the emergency room, wearing a hospital gown, hooked up to an IV, his throat covered with a long, thick bandage. Only a few stitches were required where the knife had cut deepest. The rest of the slash, which was mainly on the left side of Blair’s throat, was sealed with butterfly bandages beneath the large bandage.

Blair had seemed to be in shock and wasn’t saying much, other than making it clear he wanted to stay in contact with Jim’s hand.

Jim couldn’t find the words to express just how proud he was of Blair. Yes, if had Blair waited another sixty seconds, Jim and Taggart would have been there to rescue him. But instead, thinking Jim dead, Blair had taken matters into his own hands. And saved himself.

He hoped Blair would be able to appreciate that some day. For now, Jim only wanted to be a steady and reassuring presence as the adrenaline wore off.

Warren was in custody and, it turned out, was a paid “friend”. With Matthews dead, it was unlikely that any other “friends” would be wanting to avenge his death with only the principle of the idea as payment.

It was a good thing that Taggart had shown up when he had. Jim had asked for his assistance, to make doubly sure Blair was protected, but Taggart hadn’t been able to beg off an important bust for the PD. The bust hadn’t transpired as quickly as planned, and Taggart clocked out as soon as he could. He had arrived at the parking lot near Blair’s office, to find Jim in a scuffle with Warren. Warren had taken Jim by surprise when Jim had been wholly focused on following Matthews, whom he had spotted and recognized from the official Rainier ID photo Blair had shown him.

He’d been shot with a silencer, and decided to play dead until Matthews disappeared toward Blair’s office. Then, when Warren had quickly hoisted Jim into his van, Jim had come alive and fought him. Then Taggart had arrived.

Warren had been quickly subdued, and then they both rushed toward Blair’s office, Jim’s hearing keying in on Matthew’s chilling words to Blair.

“Jim?” a firm voice said.

Jim glanced over his shoulder to see Simon Banks standing outside the emergency room. He assumed Simon wanted to talk to him in private, but he didn’t want to leave Blair’s side. “Come on in,” he said quietly.

As Simon entered, Jim said, “Captain Banks, I’d like you to meet my friend and guide, Blair Sandburg.”

Simon looked at Jim. “Guide?”

“He understands the sentinel stuff. The ancient ways. Which make a lot more sense than the modern hype about sentinels being humanized guard dogs.” He couldn’t get the bitterness out of his voice.

Banks stepped closer to the gurney. “Hello, Mr. Sandburg. I’m Captain Banks with the Cascade PD.”

“He used to be my boss,” Jim put in. “He did everything he could to keep me on the force.”

Blair’s eyes, which had grown more tired in the past thirty minutes, watched Banks carefully. “Hi,” he said.

“No need to say anything more,” Banks said in a gentle voice. “I know it probably hurts to talk. From an official standpoint, we have statements from Taggart and Jim about what happened. So, all you need to do is sign off that what they’ve said is correct. And then, from your standpoint, the case will be closed. Since Warren never had any interaction with you – other than sending the rat at Matthews’ paid request – you won’t have to be involved in his trial.”

Blair gave a hint of a nod.

Jim smiled warmly at Blair. “You can just focus on resting.”

Simon jerked his head toward the corner of the room.

Okay, he really wanted to talk in private. Jim leaned close to Blair and gave his hand a final squeeze. “I need to talk to Simon for a moment. But I’m going to be right here. You make the slightest sound,” he assured with a smile, “and I’ll hear you.”

Blair managed a tiny smile. 

When they moved off to the far corner of the room, Simon said, “So, what’s going on here? You’re his sentinel? He doesn’t look wealthy enough.”

“It’s not the usual arrangement. Blair and I worked something out to our mutual satisfaction.”

“Then what are you going to do? I heard that the Program rejected you. That’s ridiculous. You ought to file a lawsuit. Maybe you’ll be able to come back to Major Crime.”

Jim nodded toward Blair. “I’ve got somebody else to think about now. Whatever we decide, we’ll decide together. Besides, as of today, he’s unemployed too.”

Simon’s expression was of puzzlement. “What does this guide business mean? That you’re responsible for him?” 

“Only to the extent that he’s responsible for me.” Jim paused deliberately. “It’s symbiotic. I’m telling you, Simon, he understands what’s going on with me in a way that not a single doctor or so-called sentinel expert has. Blair did some research on the old ways of sentinels. He doesn’t understand, either, why my abilities appeared so late, but he’s been able to figure out that I need what was once known as a guide. He wants to be that for me.”

Simon gave him a doubtful look. “Sounds a bit too convenient, if you know what I mean. This guy lives in your house, gets – “

“I invited him,” Jim said as firmly as he could without raising his voice. Then, more softly, he said, “The guide idea was able to explain that too – why I was so willing to help him when we first met, though I hardly knew him. Something instinctive inside of me knew that I needed someone like him.”

Simon snorted, “You make it sound like damn marriage.”

Jim refused to be inhibited by the term. “I suppose it is, in a way.”

Simon blew out a breath. “I’ll file my other questions under the heading of ‘none of my business’.”

Jim nodded, but felt compelled to say, “Be careful of making assumptions about us. No one else understands us… but us.”

Simon squeezed his shoulder. “I’m glad it’s working out for you, Jim.” He shoved a cigar in his mouth. “Bring the kid down to the station when he feels up to it and have him sign the paperwork.”

“I’ll do that.”

They arrived at the loft two hours later, near ten o’clock. Blair’s vitals were healthy, but his demeanor was quiet and lethargic. 

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Jim asked after they hung up their coats.

Blair stood close enough to lean his forehead against Jim’s arm. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Jim put his arm around him. He thought Blair’s suggestion would result in an awkward situation, until he remembered that Blair had mentioned being impotent.

That left only himself to control any natural responses from having a warm body so close. He couldn’t imagine sleeping with Blair without being close to him. What had Simon called it? Like a marriage? “Your bedroom or mine?”

Blair patted Jim, as though in thanks. “You have more room.”

They quietly got ready for bed, taking turns in the bathroom. They went up the stairs together, Blair dressed in fresh sweats. 

“Blair? Because of what happened to you, I don’t want to do anything to remind you of that horrific time. How would you like us to be?”

“I don’t think anything you do could remind me of that. I trust you completely.”

“I know. But an accidental brush in the middle of night….”

Blair looked worn out as he considered that. “Then facing each other, I guess.” A sheepish glance at Jim. “I’d like to be close.”

“That’s what I was hoping for.”

Jim stripped down to his boxers while Blair got under the covers. As an afterthought, Jim decided to don an undershirt. Then he got on the opposite side, appreciating their mutual comfort as they met in the middle.

Blair put an arm around Jim, his head resting against Jim’s chest.

Jim placed his hand on the back of Blair’s hair. “I’m proud of you, Chief.”

“Because I killed somebody?” Blair asked in a choked voice.

“Because you saved yourself.”

“I wasn’t saving myself. I was getting revenge because I thought you were dead.”

“You wouldn’t have done that if your own life hadn’t been in danger.”

“I’m not sure of that.”

“I am.”

They were silent for a long moment. Then Blair said, “When you told that police captain that I was your guide… does that mean you want us to stay together?”

Jim wished he would have been more forthright with Blair prior to now. “Yes. I trust you completely.”

Blair swallowed, and Jim felt the edge of the bandage brush against him. “I think I’m getting really, really attached to you.”

“That’s all right,” Jim assured, feeling warm inside. “I think I’m attached to you, too.” Then he realized, “ I know I am.”

They grew silent and eventually fell asleep.


END PART TWO

Part 3

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