Control Issues
Rated ADULT
Angst Ahead!

Chapters 6-10
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SIX
***
"Sandburg, this is Brian Rafe and Henri Brown," Simon introduced Blair to a good looking younger man and a smiling African American who he'd interrupted in the middle of telling his partner a joke. From the blush on Rafe's face, it wasn't a clean one.

"Hey," Brown offered with a nod.

"Gentlemen, this is Blair Sandburg who transferred over from Sentinel division."

"I thought you couldn't get approval for another detective," an older white man said as he walked up to them.

"Elijah Carter, Blair Sandburg," Simon introduced them. Elijah held out his hand and Blair took it, still feeling a little like a college student who someone had slipped into the room as a joke. "And we can't get another full-time detective which is why Sandburg is such a god-send. He's a university student, so he works thirty hours. As long as he solves as many cases in thirty as you mutts do in forty, we might have a chance to get caught up around here."

"I thought we liked always being buried in our own paperwork," Henri joked. Simon glared at the man.

"And this," Simon said, taking Blair's arm and guiding him away from the other detectives and toward a heavyset African American, "is Joel Taggart. He's captain of the bomb squad, but the man seems to live over here."

"You have better donuts," Joel smiled as he held out his hand. Blair shook it. "Actually, I'm always over here because any case that turns out to be a bomb and not just a teenager sticking wires out of a box for kicks is automatically a Major Crimes case."

"Yeah, that's a terrible thing to do," Blair muttered, blushing as he remembered a prank on Whitehall dorms his sophomore year.

"Oh hell yeah! Look at Hairboy's blush! I am no longer the only member of this department who had a little fun in his youth," Henri laughed.

Blair looked over at the amused acceptance in Joel's face and shrugged. "Sorry, man. It really seemed funny at the time. But in my own defense, I was about sixteen at the time, and sixteen year olds have a very tentative grasp of humor."

"So do people who act like they're sixteen," Banks muttered under his breath.

"Young at heart. You people just do not appreciate that I am young at heart," Henri teased. Blair smiled. So, Henri had class clown all sewn up, so he wondered what that left for him. He had that familiar feeling from childhood: starting at a new school and not really sure where he should slip himself into the pre-existing relationships.

"You were at the Sentinel division. People don't usually transfer out of there," Joel mused. Blair shrugged, and then glanced from Joel to Simon. No way had Joel heard Simon's comments to Henri and Brian, which mean that the two captains had already talked about this. Blair sighed. He'd assumed Rick would go over this with them.

"I love taking down the traffickers, but I just lost my nerve with undercover work. I mean, I couldn't lie to the runners anymore."

"If you could ever pull off a lie in front of a Sentinel, you're the greatest undercover man in history," Simon pointed out.

"Oh man, it's about not lying. It's about obfuscating and embellishing and totally believing what you're saying. And I was the best, but the last couple of cases, I just can't tell myself that the Institute is the best thing for men and women who are surviving on their own. Not any more."

"The Institute. I can't say I'm a fan of theirs, but it beats having Sentinels lose control because some drunk idiot takes a punch." Joel exchanged a meaningful look with Simon.

"There's your desk. I'll let you get settled before I drop a half-ton of files on your desk," Simon said, his voice suddenly efficiency and business before he turned and walked back to his office.

"Way to tread softly, there, Taggart," Henri commented before he pulled his partner away. Elijah sucked a breath and nodded his agreement with Henri's comments before he headed back to his area.

"Okay, I obviously missed something," Blair said as he looked around the suddenly quiet room.

"I'll show you the break room and fill you in. If you worked with Sentinels, you're going to hit a nerve sooner or later."

Joel headed out the Major Crimes doors, and Blair followed, feeling like he'd just stepped in quicksand and everyone was trying not to make eye contact with him in case he decided to drag them in with him. The break room wasn't as nice as over at Sentinel division, but the donuts sitting on the counter were definitely better than average. Blair chewed on a bearclaw, promising himself that's he'd drink two algae shakes tomorrow to make up for it, as he waited for Joel to settle himself at the table.

"Simon has Sentinel issues."

"Man, a lot of people are uncomfortable about Sentinels, and I totally understand that because ignorance--"

"No," Joel interrupted. "Simon's is a little more personal. He had a brother, well, a half-brother, a good deal older than he was. The fact is that Simon didn't even know his brother all that well. Darnell was a punk. He got good and drunk one night, and gets in a fight in some bar. When the first guy turns and runs, Darnell picks the next guy in line and sucker punches him. The Sentinel snapped his neck."

"But didn't he see the collar?" Blair asked, his stomach dropping as he considered his captain's past. He'd wanted custody of Jim. He'd even filled out the paperwork, and it was sitting on his kitchen table.

"Who knows what Darnell saw. He had a blood alcohol level three times the legal limit. But the part that always makes Simon see red... the Sentinel had a history of violence, and yet he was still out there, still walking around free."

"But, that shouldn't happen. If a Sentinel can't exhibit control, the guardian is put on notice to keep him closer. Where was his guardian?"

"Passed out in the corner."

"Oh, man."

"Yeah. The system isn't perfect, and it failed. This guy was one hell of a cop, and his brothers in blue covered for some pretty serious problems. The only thing is that Darnell paid for it. Simon isn't prejudiced, but he doesn't like the fact that this guy snapped his big brother's neck and no one even considered punishing him. He got removed from his guardian's custody, retrained at the Institute, and then assigned somewhere else, and no one is on notice that they have a killer in the middle of their department."

"The guardian would know," Blair disagreed. "And as much as I hate seeing the chains, if a Sentinel has a history of violence, especially out-of-proportion violence, a guardian has a duty to keep a Sentinel chained around any unpredictable situation, and a bar is about as unpredictable as they come."

"That doesn't bring Darnell back."

"No, but Joel, living your whole life in chains, isn't that punishment?"

Joel nodded. "Maybe it is, but it's the same punishment every Sentinel lives with every day. Whether the chains are on or not, they're wards of the state, and they're essentially prisoners. There's no consequence for taking a man's life, even though it was the fourth assault and the second murder this Sentinel had committed."

"The social worker or the judge should have removed him the minute they saw a pattern of violence."

Joel shook his head and smiled sadly. "Blair, you can't expect the system to work all the time. It doesn't."

"But, man, blaming all Sentinels..."

"He doesn't. But I thought this needed to come out now before you went and started talking about how wonderful Sentinels are. Simon doesn't need that, and sometimes, as much as I like Simon, sometimes I have to say that he can hold a grudge longer than a Christian should."

"Fuck," Blair breathed softly, looking down at his half-eaten donut. Could he bring Jim into this situation?

"Blair?"

"I have the paperwork all filled out to request a Sentinel," Blair admitted. Joel was clearly the peacemaker of the department, even if he technically wasn't in the department, so maybe Joel could help his sort this one.

"Ah." Joel took a drink of coffee and avoided saying anything else. Okay, maybe not.

"His name's Ellison. He was special ops, a runner for over a year, and a functioning Sentinel in South America for a year and a half before that. He went into the Institute three weeks ago."

"James Joseph Ellison?" Joel asked in surprise.

"You know him?"

"Of him, yeah," Joel agreed. "He's a local boy, so when my sister saw his name in the paper down in Houston, she sent me the clippings."

"Clippings?" Blair had read Jim's entire file, it was SOP on a retrieval case. He'd read the news clipping from Jim's rescue from Peru, including the front cover of a news magazine, and the much smaller stories when Jim turned out to be a Sentinel. He hadn't seen anything from Houston.

"Jim was in the METRORail hijacking outside that Museum in Houston five or six months ago."

"The one where the three guys who'd robbed the bank took a train full of hostages?" Blair asked. He remembered that case. He didn't remember any Sentinel, much less Jim Ellison, being involved.

"Yeah. Apparently he took control of the situation from the start, got the passengers settled down, acted as negotiator with the cops, all the time a gun pressed into the back of his head. When the end came, he disabled two of the gunmen in the middle of a teargas attack."

"Shit." Blair flinched at the idea of a Sentinel and teargas. The police had to pull all their own Sentinels out of a six-block radius before using tear gas, and Jim had been ground zero of an attack.

"How bad was he hurt?"

"No more than anyone else. Houston papers had pictures of him stumbling out of the teargas cloud with a gunman under one arm, and three guns in his other hand."

"But-"

"Yeah, but he's a Sentinel. They didn't know that at the time. He gave the name Frank Sarris. Turns out that was one of his army buddies. By the time the papers had tracked down background information and gotten through some military blocks to find out Frank Sarris was dead, Ellison had disappeared out of the hospital."

"Oh my god."

"Yeah, the national papers had pretty much dropped it by then, but someone from the army identified Ellison from the picture. He turned into a regular folk hero, and the whole disappearing act just made him seem like some comic book hero riding in, rescuing the innocent, and then disappearing into the night."

"But the teargas..."

"Blair, live as long as I have, and you figure out a couple of things. First, the system always breaks, you just don't want to be the one to break it, and second, people are very capable of doing the impossible on a fairly regular basis."

Blair sat and stared at the linoleum table top. His graduate degree had been on tribal Sentinel lore of Africa. He worked Sentinel division for three years. If he really understood Sentinels, they shouldn't be able to surprise him, and yet Jim did, time after time.

"I'm going to file for custody," Blair said quietly. He couldn't change his society, but he could at least give the man back as much control as possible. Blair remembered that large, powerful body laying on him, holding him helpless, and he gave a shiver. He wouldn't mind giving Jim control at all.

"Simon will deal, and if your Ellison really does have that much control, Simon will give him a chance. Just... just be careful how you bring it up," Joel warned.

"Yeah, thanks, man," Blair nodded as Joel pushed himself up from the table with a heavy sigh and headed out of the break room. Funny. One of the reasons he took this transfer was because Major Crimes would run into plenty of cases that needed a Sentinel and right now, there weren't any Sentinels assigned to any shift of Major Crimes. Now Blair knew why. Well, if he had to, he'd transfer again.

Jim eyed the chastity devise distastefully. The clock warned him that time was running out, though, so he hurried to get it on and get dressed before Nunez showed up. The man had a bad habit of nonchalantly watching Jim while discussing test scores and schedules and classes, and his very lack of reaction gave Jim a bad feeling.

He was used to locker rooms where men checked each other out with sidelong glances just to make sure they measured up. He was used to embarrassed eyes going everywhere but his equipment as men hid their desire. He even got a fair share of teasing from other officers, good natured insults that he didn't take very seriously considering he had nothing to worry about in the measuring department. He wasn't used to someone being in the room and not even noticing him, as though he were one more chair or table.

Grimacing, Jim pushed the plug into himself and awkwardly started strapping himself in. Anyone who could write a regulation to require a person to shove something up their own ass just to earn the right to leave the room obviously had a pretty deep streak of sadism.

Pressing the lock into place, Jim stretched and bent to get everything situated correctly before pulling his pants on. He left the drawstring loose since Nunez would want to check the lock before letting him out. Jim was just washing up when the door swung open without warning. The substitute duo who tended Jim when Nunez had a day off would knock first, but Nunez never gave Jim that courtesy.

"Morning, Jim," he said, his eyes on his clipboard.

"Morning," Jim answered as civilly as possible.

"The test scores are in for the Narcotics class." Nunez looked up and smiled. "100%. Top of the class."

Jim wanted to point out that this big achievement was learning a task normally reserved for a dog, but that would be sarcastic. It had taken Jim two weeks to earn the right to go to class without shackles and without Nunez standing at his side. He didn't want to lose the ground he'd gained. He had a plan to focus on.

"I'm glad," he said instead. "But it wasn't exactly a hard class."

"That qualifies you for a class in anti-Sentinel tactics offered by the FBI, interested?" Nunez asked.

"Yeah," Jim agreed quickly.

"Before you agree, you have to know that this is a tough one. White noise generators, pepper spray, sirens, terrorists will use pretty much anything to throw a Sentinel off, and the class does not pull punches. I've had some of my Sentinels sign up before, and they end up with their eyes burning, their ears ringing, and sometimes they go from the practice field straight to the infirmary."

"I was military. I'm not that easy to drop."

"Yeah, but these guys are trying to train you to deal with terrorists who are specifically attacking your senses. And the class requires you to train in full shackles, including the center chain."

That made Jim pause. He didn't bother hiding his hatred of the chains because he couldn't act well enough to pull it off.

"The instructors... they really push? They'll show some tactics for controlling the senses in those conditions?" Jim asked, remembering one horrible day in Houston when his eyes had burned so badly that it had taken every ounce of control to not literally rip them from his head. Sometimes he still had nightmares where his own hands pulled his eyes out, and yet Jim could still see them weeping and bloody in his hands.

"They have techniques to help you close down your senses when they're under attack, but not everyone can easily learn them. Most Sentinels just can't concentrate on shutting down a sense that is going out of control. And there is a serious risk of spiking."

"I'll deal with the shackles, sign me up," Jim said. The only part of this experience that made it bearable was learning how to better control his senses. Sandburg had been right about one thing, Jim was so overwhelmed in that airport that he had been close to losing control. Next time when he ran, he was going to be better prepared. Make the captors sympathize with him, gather resources, and escape, that was the plan. And information was the most valuable resource. He could afford to sacrifice a little dignity.

"The class starts in three weeks. I just want your word that you'll let me know if it gets too overwhelming."

"I'll be fine," Jim answered.

"That's pretty much your answer for everything," Nunez sighed as he sat at the table and pushed aside two of Jim's class books.

"And so far, I've been fine, so I'm right," Jim smiled back. He leaned against the wall waiting for the other shoe to drop because Nunez clearly had something else on his mind.

"Do you want to talk about Alex?"

"Barnes?" Jim asked. "She's a bitch, conversation over."

"The legal rights teacher said she's been targeting a few of you for some real harassment."

"Good to know the woman isn't totally oblivious. I thought maybe she had gone blind at some point because that would explain why she never calls Alex on any of the shit she pulls."

Jim walked over and grabbed his shirt off the chair. Same shirt, same pants, every day. Jim had never thought much about clothes, at least not when he wasn't undercover and trying to project a specific image, but now he would give anything to go shopping for polo shirts. The shirts they gave him had wide necks to show off his shiny collar, the one he avoided looking at every morning when he shaved.

"Are you angry with Alex?" Nunez prodded.

"I'm angry with myself for missing those two questions so that I have to take the whole fucking class over again," Jim answered quickly. "I'm really frustrated with myself over that one."

"How is most of the class reacting?"

"They stay away from her," Jim answered. Most of the students at the Institute had been raised knowing they were Sentinels. They'd gone to neighborhood grade schools, and then as they got older and the senses and instincts started appearing, they transferred to Sentinel high schools in the city or got home schooled. A few had gone through regular high school with aids who walked to classes with them. But no matter what, when they graduated, they transferred immediately to an Institute. For them, it wasn't different from their friends going off to college.

Alex, another runner who hadn't run very far considering her Sentinel abilities were triggered while she was in prison, made it a little hard for them to pretend the Institute was just the Sentinel version of college because the older Sentinel would have had her ass kicked out of college. The young Sentinels--seventeen, eighteen, nineteen years old--would come to class gossiping and whispering and copying notes from each other. And then Alex would show up, shackled hand and foot, and cursing like no sailor Jim had ever met.

"Do you stay away from her?" Nunez asked.

"The best I can. The woman has issues."

"Yes, we're all well aware of that."

"And yet, no one calls her on them because she's a Sentinel, so her actions don't have consequences. Let her verbally attack some seventeen year old kid, and everyone just pats Alex on the head and says she's having anger issues." Jim shook his head in disgust.

"You think she should be punished."

"I think there should be consequences," Jim corrected him.

A little voice in the back of Jim's head told him to just drop it, to go along with the plan and play good little boy. Arguing with captors was dangerous because they held the power. It was human nature to want to survive, and so faced with conflict with a captor, the mind would be more easily influenced. Jim remembered the military instructor who had taught that class in capture and survival. He'd been a Vietnam war veteran, and near the end of class one day, he'd pulled his shirt back and shown a vicious line of scars, each a small, jagged, white cross etched into his skin from shoulder to hip. Jim almost wished he had a visible scar, one that he could point to. Instead he had plastic shoved up his ass.

"You think Alex should be... corrected for having anger issues."

"I think Alex should face the consequences of acting like a bitch."

"Alex acts like a bitch, and you can be one stubborn bastard, but I don't think either of you deserve to be abused because of that."

Jim narrowed his eyes and barely bit back a retort about being force to wear a collar, about having to shove plastic up his ass every morning and ask for guards to escort him to the bathroom to watch him if he needed to shit, about two weeks of walking around with his wrists chained and Nunez's hand constantly on him making Jim want to shrug his touch off like a horse sheds a fly. He had lots of examples of abuse, but he shoved that back. That wouldn't earn him a chance to escape.

"The military doesn't abuse anyone, but they sure wouldn't put up with shit like that," Jim pointed out carefully.

"What would they do?"

"I would have been doing push ups until I couldn't lift my arms for doing half the shit she does."

"But what if someone just refuses to do the push ups?"

Jim snorted. "Not an option."

"But it is. If a soldier just utterly refused to do what he was told. Just woke up one day and decided that no matter what anyone said, he wouldn't do it."

"He'd get court-martialed."

"And when his time in jail was up?"

Jim spotted the trap. No way to avoid it now. "He'd be discharged," Jim said, kicking himself for getting into this debate in the first place. Fuck. A month ago he knew better than to get into debates like this. But if he didn't... if they thought he hadn't broken, he wasn't ever going to get out of here.

"You're going to be Sentinels for the rest of your lives. And I know this is hard on you, but you have kept a good deal of your identity. All the classes you're taking are focused on law enforcement, a field you were interested in before the senses. You're still Jim Ellison. Alex Barnes was a thief. Now she's lost her rights as a citizen, a situation you should sympathize with, but she's also lost her identity because we certainly aren't going to pair her with a guardian who will take her out for some second-story work."

"She's still out of line," Jim growled.

"Yes, she is. So, how are the others reacting?"

"You mean other than crying?" Jim asked. Jim had sat with his jaw locked as Alex had targeted a girl straight out of a Sentinel high school. This was her first class, and Alex had called her a Sentinel whore, had asked whether she was taking classes to learn how to spread her legs for her new owners. Only Alex had used words that not even the most battle-hardened veteran Jim had ever worked with would have used.

The girl had stood for a moment on the verge of flying at Alex. Normally Jim did his best to quietly encourage the younger ones to show some self-control, but in that moment, he'd just wanted Becky to haul off and punch Alex. A handler had hurried in, and when she put her hand on Becky's shoulder, Becky had collapsed into tears, hiding her face in the handler's neck and clinging to her.

Alex smirked, and Jim fought as every cell in his body wanted to stand up and punch the woman. The only thing that had stopped him was the knowledge that he was so much larger that he probably would have killed her.

"Becky's fine," Nunez said quietly.

"And I didn't lose control," Jim pointed out.

"You're a good example for the others in just how much control you can have over your anger, but you could be modeling other positive behaviors as well, and maybe, at the same time, making it a little easier for Alex."

The Institute might be messing with Jim's head, but it hadn't made him stupid. He knew exactly what Nunez wanted. Clenching his jaw, Jim moved to the door.

"Is that all?" he asked tightly.

"Yeah," Nunez stood up. "You need these?" he asked, gesturing toward the table and the books.

"Not until this afternoon," Jim said, holding his breath against the expected order.

"Okay." Nunez stood up and walked over, pulling the back of Jim's pants down far enough that he could pull on the straps and make sure it was all locked. That done, he reached out and put his hand on the flat panel that would open Jim's door for the day. It would stay open until Nunez checked him in for the night.

"You're not going to..." Jim paused. He should just walk out the door and not mention it. The door clicked and then Nunez could easily push it back into the wall pocket.

"You haven't lost control, so I'm not ordering you to do anything. You know what would make it easier on Alex, easier on the other Sentinels. A couple of the boys are avoiding it too, probably because they look up to you, and one of the other employees certainly requested that I talk to you. They're afraid their boys are going to lose control."

"So just chain the boys," Jim said, clenching his fists in order to even say the words.

"But they're in the same position you are. They haven't lost control yet. You're the one who likes to talk about actions and consequences. We can't just assume they'll lose control, not even if we know they will."

Jim stood in the hallway outside his door. Fuck. It would be so easy to ask, and the fact was that a little part of Jim even suspected it was a good idea. He really had wanted to hit Alex, and maybe he was a little close to losing control. Maybe the chains would remind him that he didn't have control here. And he knew that eventually he'd have to ask for the chains. He wouldn't ever get placed in a less secure facility if he didn't.

Fuck and fuck. He just wished that his first time asking for them hadn't been a situation where he came so close to needing them. He should be able to control himself. Someone like Alex shouldn't be able control him, and yet, when he got to near her, he could feel her emotions pulling on him. The Sentinel biology class called it a sympathetic response. It meant their hormones were chemically similar enough to influence each other, but she sure didn't seem influenced by his control.

And Alex did target the Sentinels who weren't chained. He could understand her frustration because the first two weeks, he'd been angry every time he'd watched the young ones run around without restraints while he had his hands chained and Nunez's touch on his shoulder.

Jim gritted his teeth. "Maybe I should wear the restraints today," he finally forced himself to say.

"It would help the others. And it's okay to ask for help when you need it," Nunez quickly assured him as he hurried over to the white cabinet, pulling out the wrist cuffs.

Jim forced himself to stay still and hold out his hands as Nunez locked them into place.

"I'll meet you back here at lunch to take them off before your afternoon classes, okay?"

"Yeah, no problem," Jim managed through clenched teeth. He didn't need to mention to Nunez the military class in fighting cuffed. Hell, with this much chain, Jim could probably choke the woman to death with the restraints. However, from the way Nunez smiled at him, Jim knew he'd made the right choice. One step closer to his plan.

He headed down the long hall where the older Sentinels had private rooms and toward the classroom areas. And despite firmly ordering himself not to, Jim found himself straining against the restraints.

SEVEN
***
"Good job, Hairboy, we might actually keep you around. I mean, without you around, that so would have been me," Henri joked. Blair planted an elbow in the man's stomach as he came up behind him.

"Hey, this is my new shirt," he complained, even though Blair had seen him wear that same god-awful green and blue disaster a dozen times.

"Yeah, yeah, you say one more word, and I'm giving you a bear hug," Blair warned him. With the manure clinging to him, the threat carried some weight.

"If he hugs you, you're walking home," Rafe scowled from a safe distance.

"You're my partner, you're supposed to have my back!" Brown groused with mock pain as he glared at Rafe, but Blair could see the smile.

"You'll still walk."

"Good job people. This guy is going down for the count," Simon congratulated them as he walked up. "Now that we've made the filthy rich safe from blackmail, I think we might have a murder or two waiting back on our desks."

"Well that's a record for shortest time basking in the glory of a bust," Blair said as he grabbed the hose. "And next time someone votes for surveillance in a stable, count me out. I'm sure I'll have a test at the university or something that day." Blair turned the water on, and then pointed the hose at himself. The surveillance hadn't gone all that badly, but tackling the suspect right into the pile of horse dung had not made Blair a happy camper. His only consolation was the fact that the cuffed suspect was going to jail smelling like horse shit.

"You're just making yourself smell worse," Simon complained as the water soaked into the manure.

"Yeah, I'm figuring that out." Blair pulled his now soiled and wet shirt off and threw it in Henri's general direction. One of the uniformed officers at the scene gave Blair a quick wolf whistle, and Blair flipped him off.

"Good thing you don't have that Sentinel yet. You'd drive him out of the state with your smell."

Blair glared over at Henri, but the joker just smiled and headed for his car. Brown and Rafe had backed Blair up when the blackmailer wanted to meet his target at the track, but the case was Blair's and no one was going to stick around long enough to help with paperwork. Okay, technically the case was his and Elijah's, but Eli had been out with flu more often than he'd been in lately.

"So, how is it going with the request for a Sentinel?" Simon asked as he pulled a cigar out of his pocket.

"Still waiting for Ellison," Blair said as he aimed the nozzle to try and knock the worst mess off his pants.

"He's been in there a while."

"And he has test scores that are off the charts," Blair defended the man.

"It just worries me that they've kept him for over four months. I don't want a loose cannon in my department, Sandburg."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Ellison doesn't come close to being a loose cannon."

"Blair, you keep forgetting that he killed a man."

"Simon, what would you do if Peter in Narcotics got hurt or, god-forbid, died? Would you try to cuff Dana? Would you try to physically restrain her?"

"Hell no. I'd be hiding in a tree waiting for your old boss in the Sentinel squad to tranq her."

"Good thing too because everyone has a breaking point. Hell, how many times has some family member who wasn't a Sentinel attacked you when you delivered news of a murder or told them something they didn't want to hear?"

"Plenty," Simon agreed sadly. "And I understand that there are times, like in the case of a bondmate's death, when a Sentinel deserves a little slack. Hell, I think I'd hide in the tree even if it was Dana dead and Peter on the loose."

"Simon, Jim was suffering from a broken bond when a guard went against regulations and opened the cell to check on Ellison. Ellison tried to just get away, and the guard started a physical confrontation with an out of control Sentinel. Jim *still* blames himself for that guard's death. He thought he should go to prison for it; this is not a man who is going to run amuck in your department."

"I thought we already had this discussion. You already browbeat me into agreeing to take Ellison in," Simon growled.

"I'm just making sure you remember why," Blair shrugged.

"I just want you to remember your promise to take the first week slow and then have a serious discussion about whether he's going to work out in Major Crimes."

"I will, I will," Blair rushed to agree, "but you're going to be fine with him, Simon. When I blew my cover, I was alone in that loft with him, and the only thing he did was restrain me while he thought through his options."

"That was before four or five months in the SI. You don't know him now, and I really doubt he's going to be thrilled with belonging to the man who put his run to an end."

"Yeah." Blair turned the water off and considered that last bit. "I wish I could visit him or talk to him or something, but he still has himself on the no contact list. I just keep hoping that he'll remember that I truly wanted to help; maybe that'll be enough for him to give me a little trust. But it's going to be hard."

"And I'm telling you right now, Blair, I am *not* comfortable with having a chained man sitting in my squad room. Suspects are cuffed, the detectives investigating them sure as hell shouldn't be."

"No way. I will not bring him to work chained." Blair paused as he remembered his Sentinel-care class. He'd learned a few things he really didn't want to know. "Okay, the first few weeks, I have to bring him to work chained, but once we bond, you will never see those chains again."

"You're assuming he'll want to bond."

"He'll want out of the chains," Blair said softly, sure of that. "Besides, who can resist this body?" Blair asked as he opened his arms to show off his slimy, wet, manure-smeared glory. Simon snorted.

"So, if you don't get Ellison, are you going to try for another Sentinel?"

Blair stopped. He hadn't even thought past getting custody of Jim. The idea that someone else, someone who didn't understand Jim's need for independence, might get custody bothered him more than he could imagine.

"I'll worry about that if it happens," Blair shrugged as he started toward his car. He had a blanket in back he could spread over his seat. A quick trip home for a shower and then paperwork before dashing to his night class.

"Blair," Simon said behind him. Blair turned around.

"Most Sentinels, they aren't like your Ellison. The good ones learn to show some control because they don't want to disappoint their bondmates. The bad ones and the ones whose handlers don't have that much control over them... I won't have that in my division. I won't have suspects ending up dead and just sign off on the paperwork because it was a Sentinel thing."

Simon took a long drag on his cigar and studied Blair so long that Blair started to fidget. "If Ellison goes somewhere else, really think about this. If you bring some loose cannon into my department, if someone gets hurt because your Sentinel thinks he can do whatever he wants or because he knows you don't have the guts to discipline him, I will transfer your ass to Traffic. You'll be there for the two days it takes one of the other department chiefs to transfer you back out again," Simon admitted as he rolled his eyes, "but I'll transfer you and your Sentinel there just to make my point."

"Point, got it," Blair nodded before he turned back to his car. He'd get Jim. He had to get Jim. The alternative... well, the alternative was the thing that fueled his nightmares.

Jim heard his door open, and he stepped out of the shower.

"You're early," he said, drying himself off as he pushed the glass door back and greeted Sam.

"I have a new Sentinel, another retrieval."

"We seem to have a lot of adult Sentinels around here," Jim commented as he grabbed his chastity belt and lubed the plug. He'd learned to do it without thinking about it. If he turned his mind off, he wouldn't have that involuntary grimace that always made Sam look at him with concern.

"We specialize in retraining," Sam admitted. "I think it's because we're one of the largest Sentinel Institutes and we have such a wide range of classes. Any Sentinel can find something interesting to do. They ship retrieved and rescued Sentinels here from most of the west coast."

"And if there's nothing else to do, there are always video games," Jim pointed out. Alex had finally gone that route, striking out viciously, time after time after time. Even fully shackled, she'd attacked an employee. The cafeteria worker hadn't moved fast enough, and Alex had caught her around the neck with a wrist chain.

Jim had jumped into that fray, forcing Alex's hands away from the crying woman and pinning the Sentinel to the ground until guards had tranqed both of them. Jim had spend a week in restraints after that one, but the woman he'd saved had thanked him so much that Jim had become slightly embarrassed. Now Alex sat in her room playing video games and staring at the wall.

"I think we'd all like to avoid that."

"It'd drive me nuts," Jim admitted as he pushed the plug inside and then buckled the belt around his waist.

"That's because you have something to interest you. Another paper got filed today. That makes eighteen different officers from seven different departments who have filed for guardianship."

Jim paused, the belt half on. After a heart beat's time, he slipped the strap through the base of the plug and made one last check that everything was in place before he reached around and pushed the connector into the buckle, locking the chastity device in place.

"You're still not comfortable with the guardianship, are you?"

Jim walked over to the sink to wash his hands. He'd long ago figured out that Sam was the psychologist who was writing reports on whether he was prepared to go into the real world. With his plan shoved into a deep corner of his mind where it wouldn't lead him to make a stupid mistake, Jim had woven himself a new personality. He didn't hate being a Sentinel, he hated the idea of losing himself, his ability to help people, his ability to make a difference in the world. That was the motivation he allowed himself to feel as he hid his innate need for freedom from the man who had the power to keep him in the Institute literally forever. With a sigh, Jim turned around and leaned back against his sink.

"It's that word. When you talk about someone having guardianship or custody of me, I just can't get past the gut-level reaction. I feel like some kid, and I just feel like I'm never going to be taken seriously by someone who thinks of me like a child."

Jim didn't mention his specific discomfort with offer number one, the first to come in addressed to him specifically. The potential guardian wanted a Sentinel who would work in the Major Crimes division of Cascade PD, and had to have skills in a wide range of police investigative techniques. What had really caught his attention was the second part. The guardian also worked in anthropology and wanted a Sentinel with a high level of control who could help observe people in natural settings without becoming bored. It had to be Blair. Jim wondered if his capture had earned Blair that promotion to Major Crimes. He could feel anger wrap around his spine. The little shit caught a promotion while he was in here with plastic shoved up his ass, and now the little shit wanted custody of Jim. Part of Jim knew that wasn't entirely accurate, but the offer had shocked him.

"No one who ever met you would think of you as a child," Sam laughed, and Jim figured that meant he had successfully hidden his darker feelings. "You scared the crap out of me that first day."

Jim crossed his arms. "You're kidding. You didn't smell like fear at all."

"The soap they use at intake tends to depress the smell. And it was a good thing because my fear could have pushed you right over an edge."

"I was frustrated," Jim nodded. "After I'd run so long, I didn't think anyone would ever trust me out there. No matter what you said, I thought I was going to spend my whole life in here, die in here without ever getting to do anything that mattered ever again."

"You want to be out there," Sam prodded.

"Yeah. I want to do something more important than just take classes. When I took Alex down and saved that woman, that felt right," Jim paused. He'd learned to weave as much truth into his stories as he could, and sometimes he feared that the truth and the manipulations were blending even in his own mind. "I used my sense of touch to feel where she would shift her weight in the fight. I could hear her heart. I could almost taste her..." Jim paused, "her anger, maybe."

"And you liked that?"

"I liked feeling like the senses were more than some cosmic joke, I liked saving that woman. These classes, they're fine, but it's not like me taking a class is doing any good."

"It's preparing you for the real world."

"Which is where the real world part comes in. I want to actually do something with the senses."

"Which brings us back to the issue of guardianship."

Jim fought to keep his expression neutral. "I'm working on it," Jim said.

"And I'm impressed, Jim, I really am. When you go out there, though, you may have another difficult adjustment."

"Yeah," Jim said softly, "I know. In here, everyone understands, but I remember how some people would point and stare at Sentinels, how they would slowly slide away the minute they saw the collar."

"And others will talk your ear off and treat you like a hero even when they have no idea who you are."

Jim suppressed his own dislike of that reaction as well. People who had either reaction were trying to erase some part of Jim and replace him with a generic "Sentinel." Sentinels were brave or Sentinels were creepy, and both reactions denied the reality that Jim wasn't just some random Sentinel.

"I don't want people to look at me and see some freak, but I know I'll have to deal with that. If I'm working with officers who respect what I can do and victims I can really help, that's going to go a long way toward making this easier. I'll adapt; I'm nothing if not adaptable." Jim finally answered.

"You'll have to work in restraints until you bond."

"No biggie," Jim shrugged. "Hey, I ask for restraints when I have one of the Troll's classes. I even asked you to anchor the restraints that one day that he was really bugging me."

"And I'm proud of you for that. Truitt really shouldn't be working with Sentinels given his antagonistic attitude, but not many people will teach a hand-to-hand self defense class for Sentinels."

Jim shrugged. "I have to learn to deal with that once I get back out there in the world anyway. Any word on whether or not the guys upstairs will let me teach one of those self-defense courses?"

"You certainly have the training for it, the military sent over your records, and they're impressive. No wonder Truitt can't take you down, and you do know he'd go easier on you if you didn't put him on his back every single lesson, right?"

"Yeah," Jim smiled. "I know. But the restraints make it easier. When he picks on a man who's chained up, it just makes him look like a petty bully, which he is. That's revenge enough. I take it from the subject change that you're still getting the run around."

Sam laughed. "You're like a dog with a bone, Jim. And yes, I'm getting the no-answer answer every time I bring it up. The idea of two Sentinels fighting just worries a lot of people. You've asked about it every day this week, why is this so important to you?"

Jim walked over to the bed and picked up his shirt, slipping it on before he answered. "I guess I just like the thought that I'm actually doing something real. I've learned a lot about using my senses in the field, but most of these classes are information that I've already learned. I was in the military for 15 years, I know this stuff."

"And you want to have some sort of impact."

"I don't want to take any more classes just so I can get a score on the jacket of my file. Maybe if there were some more challenging courses. Anything new coming out soon?" Jim asked as he slipped into his pants.

"Not that I know of. Maybe we can whip up something a little more challenging than normal. Okay, do you need anything else?"

"Nah, no Troll today, so I'm good without restraints," Jim shrugged.

"Maybe you should do a few day's practice in full restraints. Sometimes in the field the conditions are overwhelming... a murdered child, a brutal gang rape. And if you can't move and work in restraints, you aren't much good on that kind of scene."

Jim looked at Sam in confusion for a second, and then he slowly started to smile. "Are you trying to tell me something?" The niggling hope starting to grow in his chest made even the thought of working in chains bearable.

"No promises, but at this month's review, my recommendation is that you be placed with the understanding that the transition might be difficult and your first guardian might not be permanent. It would help your case if the committee saw you were cooperative and willing to work in restraints."

"If it meant getting to track real criminals or real drugs, I would work in restraints for the rest of my life. I'm ready to not see you and these same four walls every single morning."

"Aren't you the sweet talker?" Sam asked sarcastically as he stepped closer. Jim turned around so Sam could check the connector on the chastity belt.

"No offense, but I would rather we were better strangers."

"Shakespeare?" Sam asked as he tugged the belt and then stepped back. Jim tied the drawstring before going back to the cupboard and getting the restraints.

"Yeah, I just don't remember which play. I'd ask for a copy of Shakespeare, but hopefully, I won't be here long enough to read it. Since I might be getting out of here, I definitely need to practice the restraints. That week after Alex, I almost broke my neck a couple of times when I forgot how to move with them on. Maybe I should take another class like the FBI one, the field work with full restraints. Anything coming up?"

"I can check." Sam put out his hand, and Jim handed the two sets of chains over before offering his wrists. Sam locked the shackles around Jim's wrists, and Jim moved his hands up and hooked the wrist chain over the back of his own neck as he'd been taught. It meant that Jim couldn't quickly bring his hands down in an attack as Sam locked the ankle restraints in place.

"We haven't worked with the center chain much lately, but your guardian or the supervisors at the half-way house may want to make sure that you aren't tempted to run, especially given your reputation, so let's use that as well."

Jim went back to the white cabinet, focusing his breathing on some calm blue center and not his frustration. They monitored his vitals any time Nunez was in with him, and Jim couldn't allow the least slip at this point. He pulled out the belt and long chain, and shuffled back to Sam to offer it to him.

Sam took the restraints, and Jim hooked his wrist chain around the back of his neck again as the handler locked the wide belt over Jim's shirt. The longer chain went down to the center of the chain between the ankle restraints.

"Wrists," Sam asked. Jim slowly brought his hands down and waited as Sam threaded the long center chain through a loop at the front of the belt and then locked to the wrist chains. If Jim kept his hands at his stomach, he could walk with his normal shuffle he used when restrained. If he sat or crouched, he would have a fair amount of movement with his hands.

Sam stood up. "So, are you good for the day?"

"Yeah. I'll be back about six if you'll be around to unlock everything." Jim just prayed that he didn't need to ask to use the bathroom because the classroom guards would not remove the wrist restraints. Jim would suffer through the cramps before going through that again.

"No problem. New Sentinels usually want to spend quite a bit of time in their own quarters," Sam offered.

"What? You don't expect them to blackmail you into letting them take a class on day one?" Jim teased. Some voice in that dark corner of the mind where he'd hidden so much of who he used to be sneered.

"I'm not expecting it, but then again, I've been surprised before."

"See you later, Sam," Jim said as he walked carefully toward the door. On the way past his table, he grabbed a book on criminal profiling.

"Have a good day," Sam called back. Jim left Sam and the quarters behind as he headed for the insulated classroom wing. He'd already grabbed fruit for breakfast, and he wanted some alone time before the instructor showed up.

"Hey, Jim," one of the younger Sentinels called. Jim turned to find four boys closing in on him. He stopped and leaned against the wall.

"Guys."

"What's up?" one asked, looking at the chains. Jim fought down the normal frustration he felt at having people see him chained up like an animal. They might think it was normal, but Jim sure as hell didn't.

"Doing some practice. I might be up for release next month, and it's been a while since I worked in the chains."

"Aren't you going to bond right away?" the shortest boy asked. Jim thought his name was Teeg, but he wasn't sure. So many of the young ones came and left in a month, grabbing the few required courses and heading out into the world. Jim, on the other hand, had been here nearly five months now. He felt like the old war-torn veteran. Hell, the kids sure as hell looked at him that way.

"Do you really want to bond before you know someone?" Jim asked gently.

"But the judge would make sure they were safe. My mom says that it's best to bond quickly and start building a life."

Jim shook his head. "Not everyone is as good as they look on paper. When you've bonded..." Jim paused, searching for a way to describe how it had been with Incacha. The boys considered him with something close to worship. "It's hard to tell where they stop and you start. You want what they want, but if you don't know the guardian before you bond, you'll never know if they're the kind of person who you *want* to have that kind of power over you."

The dark-haired boy snorted. "They have power over us anyway," he pointed out sarcastically. Jim smiled, he liked this kid.

"No, they have power over your body. Your senses... your bonding, that's yours. So take the time to get a few extra classes, try out a guardian or two until you find one you really like, and then bond," Jim advised them.

"I hear you have fourteen offers," Teeg said, his voice all wonder and admiration, with the same enthusiasm Jim had once talked about college acceptance letters with his high-school friends. For them, fourteen choices was incredible, but Jim still couldn't help comparing it to the world full of choices he'd once had.

"It's eighteen now."

"Eighteen," one of the previously silent boys whispered in awe. "Maybe I'll stay around and take more classes. I only have two offers."

"Take classes as long as you think you have something to learn or until you get an offer you really want," Jim advised, and the boy nodded.

"Yeah, but taking classes means no sex, and I am ready to be done with this thing," complained the rabble-rouser that Jim had already decided he liked. The kid poked a finger toward his locked up crotch.

"It's called a shower, a little soap, and five fingers. Get used to it," Jim suggested with a shake of his head. Of course the boys cared more about sex than life, they were teen aged boys. The boys blushed as they caught Jim's meaning. "I have to do a little studying," he excused himself. He turned back toward the classroom, the chains rattling as he shuffled forward awkwardly. He really had forgotten how to deal with the full shackles.

Jim reached his first classroom a good hour before the class began. Sitting on one of the wide comfortable couches, Jim pulled his feet on the seat to give his hands as much movement as possible. In the privacy of the unmonitored room, Jim opened the book so he would look like he was studying as he allowed his rage to flow through him.

His heart pounded heavily and his eyes stung as he pulled on the chains. Fucking assholes. The words on the page blurred, but Jim had read them last night anyway. He was so close. Jim struggled with the rage his new hope inspired.

Weeks, maybe days, and yet suddenly that seemed so fucking long. Make the captors sympathize with him, gather resources, and escape. Nunez was on his side, arguing for him. He'd gained a good twenty pounds of muscle in the last four months, so he was back in fighting shape, and he knew more about local police procedures and ways to control his senses in the field. The plan was working, but now that he was so close to the end, Jim could feel the frustration claw at him. He focused on the reviewing gains he'd made, and not how far he still had to go.

Letting his head fall back, he stared at the white ceiling for a second before closing his eyes. He forced his real feelings back into the dark corners of his mind and repaired the woven image of the good little tamed Sentinel reading his book so he could grow up and get himself a good guardian. Jim allowed himself one last fantasy of a wrecking ball tearing this whole place down before he focused on the book and the renewed hope for escape.

EIGHT
***
Jim sat in the comfortable chair, fingering the links of the chain. The clothes felt strange against his skin after five months of the Sentinel Institute uniform, which felt more like pajamas than anything else. Now the waistband of the simple pants irritated him, and somehow, Jim didn't think that was a coincidence. In fact, sitting in the isolated room with two other Sentinels, both of whom were fairly wild-eyed, Jim realized that the SI had reduced the stimulus so much that Sentinels coming out were damn near dysfunctional.

Oh, they'd been trained to function in the field, but now, with no task at hand, sitting chained to a chair jangled all Jim's nerves. Even through the soundproofing on the room, he could hear something heavy hit the floor above them, and the young, male Sentinel jumped.

The guard at the door shifted nervously, and Jim leaned forward as far as he could with the chain across his lap.

"Hey, Tony," Jim called softly, and the young man looked over with wide eyes. "Come on, just focus on me for a second here, Chief."

Tony blinked, and then Jim could see him truly focus on Jim instead of struggling to hear something just beyond range, at least for him. Jim could clearly hear the cursing as someone complained about the mess, so someone had dropped something.

"Yeah, it's just..." Tony started.

"I know. It's not like the Institute," Jim nodded. After five months of white noise generators and water dripping down into pools and dim lights and soft pajamas, even his senses were playing tricks. The kid didn't have much of a chance at control, and the female Sentinel, even though she was a little older, didn't look like she was having much more luck.

"Yeah," Tony breathed.

"Tony, listen for the heartbeats in the room," Jim counseled him. Tony looked at him for a second, and then he closed his eyes as he did what Jim said. His head started moving back and forth in time with one of the patterns.

"Isolate which heartbeat comes from which of us," Jim suggested, using the technique he'd learned from one of the FBI courses on overcoming sensory overload. Listening for something and dismissing all other stimulus worked far better than trying to filter out some disabling sound. When Jim glanced over to the second Sentinel, she had her eyes closed and was clearly following the same instruction.

"Focus on those heartbeats. Three of us, one guard. Don't stop until you can feel each one distinctly."

The woman's eyes popped open. "You have a heart murmur," she said to the guard. The man started.

"What?"

"A heart murmur. I can hear it. The blood is backing up into the heart; it doesn't sound right."

"Uh..." The guard stood, looking from the woman to Jim and down to his chest. Jim focused his own hearing toward the guard, who was starting to look a little pale. He could hear the steady beat, and he let himself focus on that until the sound cocooned him.

"I can hear it, too," Jim said. "I don't know if it's a murmur, but I can hear something that isn't in our heartbeats."

"I... Maybe I should call for someone," the guard reached for his radio. It wasn't exactly what Jim had in mind with the meditation exercise, but at least Tony was focusing on the sudden drama in the room and not on the distant sounds of the courthouse.

The first guard had been joined by three others, complete with tranq guns before someone finally figured out why the man had called for back up. In the middle of the drama, guard number five showed up with a clipboard.

"James Joseph Ellison?" he asked from the door as he looked from the guards to the three Sentinels.

"That's me," Jim offered with a small wave of his hand. The chain over his lap kept him from doing more.

"The judge is ready for you." Ignoring the other guards who were radioing a supervisor and trying to figure out how to get guard number one to the hospital to see his doctor, he reached over and unlocked the chain across Jim's lap.

The female Sentinel kept trying to tell them that it wasn't serious, and Tony watched with glee, his eyes darting from one person to the other.

"Thanks," Jim said as his guard got a hand under Jim's arm and helped him to his feet. In full restraints, the deep, cushioned chairs were sometimes difficult to get out of.

"You're welcome," he said as he divided his attention between Jim and the fuss.

"Baker, you okay?" Jim's guard asked.

"Okay? I have a heart murmur. Fuck. I can't believe this is happening to me."

"It's not serious. It's a small one, you don't need to panic," the woman desperately tried to reassure him.

Jim followed his guard out of the room. "Well, that was fun," he commented to no one in particular as they walked slowly down a private hallway.

"Fun?" the guard asked, his gaze slipping over to Jim before focusing on the hall again.

"It was downright boring in there until the nurse heard that murmur."

"It's supposed to be boring in there," the guard pointed out. He stopped in front of a double door. "The judge normally sees Sentinels in chambers, but they just painted in there, and she doesn't want you to have to sit in the fumes. Are you going to be okay in open court?" the guard asked seriously.

Five months ago, Jim would have rolled his eyes at the question. Five months ago he could walk through an open airport with screaming children and grandmothers who wore gallons of perfume. Now, Jim hesitated.

"I think so," he finally managed. The guard didn't look reassured.

"I'm not going to go berserk on you, but I can't promise I won't zone on something or have a spike," Jim clarified. The guard nodded.

"If you have trouble, let me know right away, and I'll get you back here as fast as I can," he offered.

"Thanks," Jim said as the guard pushed the doors open. The sound of voices, all competing, and the smell of bodies and the faint scent of paint and the sharp, chemical stink of perfume all hit Jim at once. He staggered back a step, his movements cut short by the restraints as he instinctively brought his hands up, nearly yanking his own feet out from under him.

The guard stepped back with him, half closing the door as Jim blinked. No way was Jim going in there with tears in his eyes.

"Give me a sec," Jim asked as he crouched down so that he could bring his hands up to his eyes and wipe away the tears caused by the sudden smells. "Any chance you could open that a little slower?"

The guard hesitated. "Yeah, no problem," he finally agreed as he slowly opened the door. Jim struggled to dial down scent and focus his hearing on his own heartbeat and not the hundreds of conversations stretching through the various hallways and courtrooms. Clenching his jaw, Jim slowly stood and faced the real world.

Fuck, this was definitely going to slow down the plan. Jim silently cursed Nunez and Sandburg and every other sick fuck who'd dumped him in the Institute for over five months. He'd controlled himself for over twenty years, but five months in that sanitized hell and he couldn't even face a courthouse. Well, he'd get his control back.

"You ready?" the guard asked quietly.

"Yeah, let's get this over with," Jim said stoically. He walked forward with the guard.

For the first time, he faced the world with a collar on. He could feel the heat in his cheeks as mothers and criminals and kids hanging on their parents all watched him shuffle through the hall in shackles.

The guard opened a door to one courtroom, and Jim followed meekly. The room was almost empty, just a couple of random spectators. A woman with glasses perched on the top of her head stood up.

"James?" she asked.

"Jim."

"I'm Steph Bennett, your social worker. I just wanted to introduce myself. You've been assigned to the Oak Street halfway house if you stay in town, which has an excellent reputation, and depending on who the judge assigns, I'll have you in the house with your guardian within the day. If you're going out of town, I already have transportation arranged."

"Thanks," Jim said absentmindedly as he listened to a woman in another room plead with her husband to just let something drop... to not testify. A kid screamed, and Jim tensed until the childlike laughter followed immediately after.

The guard pulled on his arm, and Jim let himself be led up to one of tables in front of the judge's bench. The judge was an older woman with gray hair and a horse face.

"James Joseph Ellison," the guard announced. The judge looked up and smiled.

"Thank you Roy. Now Sentinel Ellison, have you been given copies of all twenty-six requests for guardianship?" she asked.

"Yes, your honor," Jim said easily. He'd learned acting skills in the last five months that should have qualified him for an Academy award.

"Have you been given the opportunity to contact anyone and request a specific guardian ad litem?"

"Yes, your honor."

"And did you contact anyone?"

"No, your honor."

"I see here that your father, William Ellison lives in Cascade. Is there a reason why you aren't asking him to take custody? No compatible work interests?"

Jim gritted his teeth. "He's in business, and I would prefer law enforcement, your honor," Jim answered. The real truth was something colder, something about his father's furious face ordering him to hide this nonsense with his senses because no Ellison was a freak. The only upside to this whole experience was knowing that William Ellison couldn't hide his freak of a son anymore. Jim hoped all his father's golf buddies asked him about it every damn time the son of a bitch played a round.

"Just as well. You're certainly old enough to be thinking about a bondmate," the judge agreed easily, and Jim twitched at the idea of a judge thinking she had any say on that issue. They could demand a lot of him, but not that. "Twenty-six requests, all from law enforcement. I think that's a record. Two requests are from the military, and legally I need you to state a position on going back into the service."

"I don't want to," Jim said quietly.

"Any reason why?"

God-forbid that she just allow him to just make a choice. Jim considered his answer. If he wanted his plan to work, he needed to convince this judge to choose the guardian he wanted, and that meant convincing her that he was rational enough to be trusted to make a few choices.

"Military personnel are trained to have certain reactions. The man I killed..." Jim paused. He could see the guard go stiff. "We were both trained to react to perceived threats. His training led him to attack until I couldn't control my reaction, and I don't want to be in that situation again," Jim finished. He hated that story more than any of the other lies he told, but it was the party line. He was just one more Sentinel so ruled by instinct that he couldn't control himself.

"I read that report. I can't see that you had any blame in the matter, but if you aren't comfortable working in the service, that's your legal right." The judge took two files and set them to the side. "Any other requests? You seem to have twenty-four offers left."

"I want to stay in Cascade. I grew up around here, your honor." That would keep Jim from getting shipped off to Houston. Not only was that on the opposite side of the country from his Canadian goal, but he had more than a few bad memories of the town. And yet, there were no fewer than fourteen requests from the city. Houston must be seriously short of Sentinels.

The judge sorted more files. "Cascade the city, or would the surrounding towns work for you?"

Jim paused. Cities were more impersonal. If he could slip his leash, he had a better chance to lose himself in Cascade, but small towns often couldn't afford the security. Six of one, half dozen of another. "If the town is close to here, that might work," Jim finally said. He just needed to be close to the transportation grid.

The judge sorted more. "Well, you have seven offers from the Cascade police department. Surely we can find a fit in Cascade if that's what you prefer. Any other requests?"

Jim paused, he had to phrase this one right. He remembered his gut-level reaction to Sandburg--the way he'd trusted the little shit, and how that trust had been betrayed. And yet, at the end, he still remembered a warm hand resting on him. He couldn't afford to get attached. "I'm not sure I'm ready for something too stressful, homicides or major crimes. I've been out of the world for five months, and I don't want something that... important relying on my senses," Jim said carefully. The judge looked up at him.

"That's an unusual request, especially considering your test scores. The FBI even put in a request, so your abilities are not in question."

"Your honor," Jim said carefully, "If the detective is young, we can move up into the more important departments together. But I'm also not convinced I'll be able to bond right away."

"Gender specific? We have both male and female applicants here, so I can certainly accommodate any preferences," she said as she leaned her chin on her hand and studied Jim.

"I had a bondmate," Jim said. It was true, even if these people might not have recognized the relationship he shared with Incacha as bondmates. Jim knew the truth, and the medical records would show that he had a broken-bond reaction after being brought back to the states, and that's all they needed to know.

"Male or female?" the judge asked.

"Male. But I don't know if I can... Your honor, having had a bond break, I'm not sure whether I can open myself up like that again. And without a bond, the more difficult work in homicide and major crimes... it would be hard on me," Jim went for her pity even though it made him ill to pretend weakness. The simple fact was that he would bond again over his dead body, but saying that in court was a one-way ticket back to the SI. "I just need some time to decide if I can bond and if I want to bond with my guardian."

"You're certainly very articulate about your concerns, and I thank you for that. Two offers, one from Keith Walker in burglary and one from Jack Liu who works a neighborhood patrol, both fit your requirements. Neither is a request for you specifically, but I think they'd be thrilled to have someone with these test scores. Any preference?"

"No, your honor," Jim answered. The officers were low on the totem pole, but aggressive enough to want a Sentinel. It suggested they were young, and young meant more easily manipulated.

"Both have sterling records. Eeney meeny miny mo." The judge balanced the two files playfully, and Jim clenched his fists around the chains that reminded him that he didn't have control here so he couldn't call her a bitch for making light out of choosing his life for him.

"I think Mr. Walker is going to be the winner. Your talents are just too impressive for a patrol officer. And with your help, maybe Mr. Walker can move into a more critical area as soon as you two are comfortable with each other. Ms. Bennett," the judge turned her attention to the social worker in the audience, "do you have housing arranged?"

"Oak Street."

"Excellent. Roy, can you take Sentinel Ellison down to transportation while Ms. Bennett contacts Keith Walker and lets him know he's our winner?"

"Yes, your honor," the guard answered, his hand closing around Jim's arm, only this time he held on a little tighter. The story of Jim killing a guard obviously impressed him because on the way down the hall and to the Sentinel approved van, he didn't speak. He kept one hand on Jim's arm, and the other on his stun gun. Oddly, it felt good to have someone afraid of him, Jim realized as he climbed into the van for his trip to his new home.

"Blair?" a voice called. Blair blinked up blearily and then let his head drop back down to the table.

"Blair, all your hair is going to stick to that table if you don't sit up." Hands brushed the hair back out of Blair's face, and Blair managed to get an eye half open.

"I suck," he announced.

"You've sucked down beers all night, that's for sure," Carolyn answered. She picked up a glass and sniffed at it. "And the hard stuff. Blair, what is with you?"

Blair squirmed into a more comfortable position. At some point his ass had ended up right on the crack in the vinyl of the booth's bench. "I so totally suck," he repeated to the stunner who led the Forensics team.

"Let's get you home." Carolyn got a hand under Blair's arm and pulled him up. Blair managed to get his legs under him, but then he lost all balance and stumbled into the wall, knocking off a picture of a beer bottle. Carolyn grappled with him.

"Blair!" she cried.

"I got him," a deeper voice answered. Blair looked up into Simon's lopsided face.

"You're lopsided," Blair announced seriously. Simon reached down and settled Blair's glasses on his nose. "You're black," Blair corrected himself since Simon wasn't lopsided any more.

"Yes, Sandburg, I'm black. Thank you for the update."

"What got into him?" Carolyn asked as she took his other side. Blair pulled his legs up, amused at the way they dangled between the two sets of hands holding him up, but then all three of them started tumbling right.

"Sandburg, damn it! Walk!" Simon snapped.

"Walk on by, walk on by, make believe that you don't see the tears," Blair sang unevenly as he brought his feet down to earth. "They stole my Sentinel. Only he's not my Sentinel because possessives are like... possessive, and possession is very wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong."

"His Sentinel?" Carolyn asked.

"Don't go there," Simon warned. "Sandburg, you are about two inches from going on report."

"Not on duty!" Blair sing-song before breaking out into warbling song. "And walk on by. Don't stop. And walk on by. Dddon't stop. And walk on by." His words deteriorated into a hum.

"This is a side of you I never wanted to see," Simon said and then muggy Cascade air made Blair blink his eyes open again.

"Simon car. Car of Simon." Blair let his hand slap the top as Carolyn let go of one side.

"You throw up in here, and I will transfer you to Traffic so fast you'll still have the hangover when you're writing your first ticket."

"Should lock me up. Bad bad bad bad bad. So very very very very bad badbadbabababaa." Blair's words trailed off as he lost the ability to say the word bad.

"So very, very drunk," Carolyn corrected him. Blair smiled at her. "Pretty lady," he mouthed.

"God, he runs that charm even drunk," Simon snorted. "Plummer's pretty, I'm black, and you're bad. We got it."

"I wanted to fix just one. He who save the universe save th'... universe. No. Whoever saves a world, saves a life." Blair shook his head as Carolyn opened the car door. Simon pulled him away from the car and dumped him on the front seat. "No no no."

"Yes, yes, yes. I'm taking you home and pouring you into bed."

Blair waved his hand dismissively at that. "He who saves a life, saves a universe?"

"Whoever saves one life, saves the world entire," Carolyn supplied. Blair smiled widely.

"Pretty lady."

"Oh god." Simon slammed the door. Blair poked at the window as Simon came around to the driver's side.

"Didn't save the world, Simon," Blair said sadly. The world in question lurched, and Blair grabbed at his seatbelt. When did he put that on?

"You'll save it tomorrow, kid."

"Nope. World doesn't want to be saved. World doesn't think I'll save him. World thinks I'm bad bad badbadbad."

"Enough," Simon interrupted. "Blair, just let it go."

"Wake me up before you go-go."

"Oh god, it's like karaoke hell," Simon groaned as he drove a little faster toward Blair's loft.

NINE
***
"Jim, you have that Westside file?" Keith called from the hall. Jim rolled his eyes.

"I did before you 'borrowed' it and left it somewhere, Sport," Jim pointed out. He sat back in his chair at the edge of Keith's desk. At the next desk, Doug Turner snorted a laugh.

"I just had it," Keith complained as he came around the corner into Burglary. His short dark hair stood up in uneven spikes, meaning he'd been scrubbing it in frustration. By the time he was as old as Jim, he wasn't going to have any hair left at all..

"And you just lost it, like usual," Doug teased. "Jim, this is why he got a Sentinel. To hell with needing someone to track down the criminals, he just needs somebody to backtrack him and find his damn paperwork."

"Very funny, Turner," Keith complained.

"I'll find it," Jim said with a sigh as he stood up and focused his scent. After nearly a month, he should have known better than to give the kid the file and let him wander off. Keith reminded Jim of one of the recruits he'd known back when he'd done a stint training recruits in Florida. They both had flashes of brilliance interrupted with periods of intense absent-mindedness. The recruit had done a lot of push ups before he had learned to keep track of his own shit. Jim wasn't sure how to break Keith of this habit since he sure wasn't going to be ordering Keith to drop and give him fifty.

"Thanks Jim," Keith said, Sentinel-quiet, and Jim gave the kid a quick eyeroll as he started out toward the restroom where he'd last seen Keith heading. Luckily, Jim had handled the file so he should be able to track his own scent on the paper.

As he walked, the chain from the ankle restraints dragged across the tile, the sound now as familiar as his own heartbeat. It only took five minutes to turn the corner into records. Behind the desk, Darlene held up a file in her hands. She had just transferred in from Central Precinct, and Jim ordered himself to give her a polite smile.

"I knew you'd come looking. Keith is going to forget his head somewhere one of these days," she joked, her free hand coming up and brushing her long, blonde hair back off a shoulder.

"One of these days," Jim agreed, ignoring the scent of her arousal.

"Here you go." She held the file up, and Jim reached for it with both hands. The chain between his hands didn't allow him a lot of freedom to move one hand without the other.

"Thanks."

"No problem. No problem at all," she answered, leaning forward on the desk. Jim nodded, and wondered, not for the first time, if she was attracted to him, his Sentinel status, or the chains. Until Jim bonded, he wouldn't get permission to sleep with anyone else, but that didn't seem to slow her down at all. Then again, maybe she was looking for someone unavailable, and Jim was definitely that.

"So, are you going to stick around, do you think?" she called after Jim as he reached the door. Jim glanced back at her.

"Walker's a good man," he answered ambiguously. He had heard the chatter at the station about Walker getting such a high-level Sentinel. The gossip was split between Walker getting moved up and maybe even transferred to Central Precinct and Jim requesting a new guardian. But every day that Jim showed up in restraints because he hadn't bonded, the gossip started shifting toward the idea that Jim would choose to move on to a detective with more experience and status. Jim knew Keith worried about it, but the man stayed silent.

Darlene started to say something else, but Jim left, heading into the hall. A witness retreated to the side of the hall, his eyes wide as Jim passed, and Jim tightened his jaw.

"Look familiar?" Jim asked as he came back into Burglary, the file held up. He stopped at the sight of a curly-haired cop sitting in the witness chair in front of Keith's desk, a backpack over one shoulder. Jim lowered the file.

"Sandburg," he said carefully.

"Jim. Hey," the kid said as he twisted around to look at Jim. He still had the wide, tragic eyes Jim remembered from the day of his arrest, or retrieval, rather.

"Thank god. Where did I leave it?" Keith asked as he came forward and held out a hand. Jim surrendered the file.

"Records."

"Oh yeah, shit, I meant to tell you. These recent thefts of copper wiring... there was a case six or seven years ago linked to a construction company. It was before I was even on the force. I went over to Records to try and pull the files, but I can't remember the name of the company involved."

"Really," Jim said as he continued to focus on Blair Sandburg.

"You remember Detective Sandburg?" Keith asked as he finally noticed Jim's distraction. He nervously crossed his arms and slid forward so that he was between Jim and Blair. Jim blinked and forced himself to relax. Keith wasn't normally nervous and had even argued with the Oak Street supervisor to leave off the central chain, so Jim figured he was giving off a lot of hostile signals for Keith to get worried.

"Yeah, I remember," Jim agreed coldly. Blair flinched.

"He's doing some work on Sentinels and I said he could interview you."

Jim looked sharply toward Keith, and then closed his fist around the chain. Right. Keith meant well and was a decent guy, but Jim couldn't ever let himself forget that Keith didn't see him as an equal, someone to actually ask before volunteering Jim's time to some neo-hippy punk.

"Okay," Jim said carefully.

"Do you need the..." Keith waved toward Jim's shackles. Keith had the central chain in his desk.

"Keith, I'm fine," Jim reassured the kid. Worried brown eyes looked at him as Keith tried to decide whether he should take Jim's word on that.

"Blair's a decent man. I think he did a shitty thing, but then you annoy me every morning with your inability to keep your crap off the floor and I haven't clocked you yet," Jim joked. Keith laughed, the stress falling away as he headed back to his desk.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You do know you're anal, right?"

"I know I can find my shit," Jim answered. "At least, I can when you don't throw a dirty towel on top of it."

"Someone has your number, Walker," Doug added from his own desk. "I'm telling you, Jim, before you came along, we found his crap from one end of this building to the other. If he wasn't so damn good as a detective, the Cap would have busted him back down to patrol."

"If you two are done ripping on me, Blair wanted some information for his dissertation. Do you want me to tag along?" Keith asked.

"Run down your construction company lead. If you find any suspects, we can do some snooping this afternoon," Jim said. "Blair and I can use one of the interrogation rooms for our chat."

Keith nodded, his mind already running ahead to the potential leads. One day he was going to be a frighteningly good detective. Right now, he was just scattered enough to be useful to Jim. "Come on, Sandburg," Jim said as he headed out into the hall.

Jim walked to an interrogation room, standing beside the door and waiting for Blair to go in first.

"So, you got promoted," Jim said as he followed the detective in. Blair had backed up to a corner and crossed his arms. Jim could smell the distress starting to flavor the air.

"Sorta," Blair agreed. Jim could hear the lie immediately.

"You aren't as good at lying anymore," Jim commented as he swung the door closed. "So, since Keith volunteered me for this, let's get it over. What do you want?"

"I..." Blair had been looking at the floor, and now he glanced up. Jim waited.

"Oh man, this is really hard. I suppose someone's out there monitoring us, huh?" Blair asked, suddenly changing the subject. Fear now tinted the distress. Jim started dialing down scent.

"Chief, what's up with you?" Jim asked. Yeah, he could be a hard ass, but the kid hadn't been afraid of him before, and now Jim was chained and they were in the middle of a police station. Blair's eyes kept darting over to the mirror. "There isn't anyone back there," Jim assured him. He moved closer and sat at the table. If the kid was freaking out, towering over him wasn't going to make him feel any better.

"I tried to get custody, you know," he whispered.

"Yeah, I got the offer."

"And you weren't too thrilled with the idea of me getting custody."

"Not really."

"I wouldn't have done it again. Oh man, I'm..." Blair stopped, and then he took a deep breath and looked right at Jim. "I fucked up."

"Really? From here it seems like you're pretty damn good at what you do," Jim said as he raised his shackled hands. "You certainly got the job done when no one else could." He gave the chain a nice hard yank.

Blair flinched. "Okay, I deserved that. I totally deserved that," Blair nodded, the scent of distress intensifying until it tickled Jim's nose and gave him that feeling like he was about to sneeze.

"What do you deserve?" Jim asked, leaning back in the chair.

"Pretty much anything you want to do to me since it's my fault you're sitting there in chains."

Jim cocked his head and considered the detective. "You've had a change of heart."

Blair nodded. "Hell, yeah. It's why I had to leave Sentinel division."

"It wasn't a promotion." This was definitely a surprise, but Jim would take any advantage he could find.

"Totally not. It was transfer or lose my job," Blair admitted. "And I guess I just wanted to see if you're okay."

"You wanted absolution," Jim said as he suddenly realized why Blair was so distressed.

"Okay, maybe," Blair admitted.

"You acted like a shit," Jim said instead of offering forgiveness. Guilt was a fine-edged weapon, and Jim knew how to wield it.

"Yeah," Blair agreed, the misery floating from him in tendrils of scent that were so thick Jim could practically taste them. "And I really don't deserve forgiveness. But this thing..." Blair waved toward the room, and Jim had no idea what the kid was trying to go for. He leaned back in his chair and waited.

"Okay." Blair took a deep breath and tightened his hold on his backpack. "I wouldn't do it again. I wouldn't turn you in."

"Good for you," Jim commented without emotion. He wondered how far this guilt went.

"I asked for custody because I wouldn't have stopped you again," Blair said, and Jim blinked in surprise. All the thoughts of maneuvering Blair into a position to help Jim fled as Blair offered himself up.

"A cop in the middle of a station is offering to help me run?" Jim asked incredulously.

"Yes," Blair breathed, and Jim could hear the truth of it in the steady heartbeat.

"I don't believe you." He watched curiously as Blair processed the accusation. He flushed.

"Oh man, you're a Sentinel, you know I'm not lying," Blair said as he moved forward quickly, leaning his hands on the table and looking at Jim earnestly.

"You're the only person I've ever met who has a chance of tricking me, so I don't take that as proof," Jim countered. Blair collapsed into a chair on the far side of the table.

"I can't lie directly. You know that. I've never even tried to lie to you, so I'm telling you that if you want help escaping, if you request a transfer over to me in Major Crimes, I won't even try to fight you."

Blair's heart never faltered. Jim gave the kid credit for having balls.

"So, you get custody, and then you just let me get on a plane and head for Canada," he mused.

"Yeah."

"Small problem," Jim said thoughtfully as he pursed his lips. "Until I bond, I wear the restraints, and that order is from the head of Oak Street house. You couldn't take these off if you wanted to," Jim said as he lifted his hands.

"Okay," Blair said slowly. "So, we bond and then you can take off."

Jim looked at the kid incredulously. "Chief," he said slowly, as if speaking to someone mentally challenged, "if we bond, I can't run." Jim thrust away the thought of taking Blair with him, of bonding and not giving him up the way he'd given up Incacha.

"You got over the first bondmate," Blair argued.

"I wouldn't get twenty feet in the air before the pressure to return got to great," Jim pointed out.

"Okay, so I go with you to Canada and then we can do something to break the bond up there," Blair countered. "I mean, if I'm going to tank my career in law enforcement, I might as well go out with a bang." Jim blinked in surprise and took a second to gather his thoughts.

"You're just full of surprises there, Chief," Jim said. He stretched his senses and felt them settle in around Blair. Jim could see the color in the individual strands of hair, and the warm musk of Blair floated under the distress. Jim yanked his senses back and stood up so quickly that the chair skittered backwards across the tile. Blair jumped.

"I'd do it, Jim. I know I fucked up here, and I'm trying to make it right."

"Sometimes you can't fix your mistakes," Jim said as he thought of Richardson. "Sometimes you just have to learn to live with them."

"But we can fix this..." Blair said desperately.

"No, we can't," Jim barked as he set his jaw. Blair crossed his arms aggressively and stood up straight in the face of Jim's anger. Jim narrowed his eyes in fury. "Five months in there. Five fucking months. I couldn't walk through that airport right now without cringing in a corner and putting my hands over my ears," Jim snapped. "If that guard got in my face today, I don't know what I'd do!"

It was true. He still hadn't gotten his full control back. He didn't bother mentioning that when he'd first gone to the half-way house he'd had Keith walk the block with him every night, and every night he'd ended up a shivering mass until he could finally make the block without falling apart. It took over a week with Keith walking beside him every step of the way.

Now he was up to walking three blocks. He would leave Keith at the corner, and walk the street shackled and alone, some people smiling at him, others making rude comments loud enough for him to hear, and most ignoring him. He couldn't walk that airport now, but he'd be able to eventually. However, if he let himself fall into the sensory lull that Blair offered... if he let himself reach out for another bondmate, his days of running would end because Jim would never give up a bondmate, not if he had a choice.

"But the SI, it improves control." Blair sounded so damn confused, and Jim silently cursed the man's naiveté.

"It improved my ability to focus on something specific, but just walking... just dealing with the constant stream of sensory input every day... After five months of a carefully managed environment, I don't have half the control I once did," Jim admitted. "I couldn't run now if you bought me the ticket and drove me to the airport, and I won't risk everyone else's lives. Besides, aren't you the one who told me I could still have a life after the Institute?" Jim asked sarcastically. Blair flinched.

"So, this is permanent?" Blair asked quietly. Jim could hear the plea for forgiveness. He tightened his jaw against the urge to comfort the man.

Jim jerked the chains, making them rattle and snap. "Until I bond, yep," he agreed. Unfortunately, the longer he was at the half-way house, the more he realized that he just might have to do something drastic if he wanted any chance to escape. His movements were too monitored. Even if he overpowered Keith and cut the chains, he wouldn't have more than an hour or two before someone checked on him. And if he wanted to earn his freedom, he would have to steer clear of Detective Blair Sandburg.

"You're going to bond with Walker." Blair sounded lost.

"You have a better suggestion?" Jim asked coldly. He watched as Blair folded in on himself, his determination of a moment ago wilting. Jim sighed.

"Chief, you did what you thought was right. I just don't know what you want me to say about it. So, are we done?" he asked, tacitly looking for permission to leave. Blair slowly sat.

"I'm trying to make up for it," he answered.

"Can't turn back time."

"I really did need information for a paper, though. I'm writing something on the integration of Sentinels into various modern societies. Canada's system of rights for native Sentinels along with an automatic defense of Sentinel instinct as a legal claim really does result in more acts of violence, especially when you look at the statistics for the Sentinels who immigrated. No wonder they allow extradition now. But Russia's system has even lower rates of violence than we do. True, their Sentinels end up in some pretty scary prisons, but you did once tell me you'd rather go to prison than to the SI. I think the system I like most is the Finnish one. Limited rights, but more than here. Limited responsibility, but more legal liability than here."

Jim leaned back against the wall and looked at Blair in amusement. "You don't take no for an answer very well," he pointed out.

"Hey, I'm just talking about my research," Blair defended himself. "And you're the expert in Sentinels among the tribes of Peru, which is still a modern society despite the fact that they live a primitive lifestyle. And I really wanted to contrast the modern legal system against the traditional ways the Sentinel fit into daily life."

"You want me to talk about the Chopec," Jim said, his voice low and dangerous.

"Well, yeah. And after this, I might do something on the effects of managed environments on baseline control of senses because I don't think that anyone means for the SI to actually degrade a Sentinel's control over his senses. The whole point of the institution is to make sure every Sentinel has equal access to education on how to maintain control and take advantage of the legal rights offered--"

"No," Jim cut him off. He didn't feel like waiting until the kid ran out of breath or words. From the little he knew about him, that might take a long time.

"No?"

"I'm not talking about the Chopec with you," Jim said quietly. The tone would have sent most men into full retreat, but Blair got up and came around the table.

"Man, if we can just get people to talk about Sentinels and rights, maybe we can start changing the way people see them."

"Ease your guilty conscience with someone else. Go track down one of the other Sentinels you captured," Jim said as he turned to the door and opened it.

"Jim," Blair called, his voice cracking. Jim stood in the open door and looked at the man's raw pain. "God, Jim, I'm sorry."

Jim stood in the doorway, caught between two courses of action. He locked his jaw and pushed aside some innate sympathy that reacted to that pain. "Chief, you're a good man, and I appreciate what you're willing to do here, but just go home." Jim pulled the door closed and shuffled down the hall, back toward his legal guardian. The scent of distress followed him down the hall.

TEN
**
"Long damn day," Jim complained as they walked into the rooms they shared in the half-way house. The single bed in the front room had Jim's bedding. He walked over and dropped onto the bed. Keith collapsed onto the loveseat in front of the television.

"No joke. Jim, you were incredible. That guy had the drop on me."

"I'm not about to let you get yourself killed, Sport," Jim said as he pulled off his shoes. "And good work with tracking down that lead." Jim tucked the shoes under his bed. He now owned two pairs of shoes, six slacks, and seven low-necked shirts that showed off his collar. As a Sentinel, Jim got a stipend that depended on his guardian's base salary, but Keith controlled it. Jim wondered idly if Keith would buy him that copy of Shakespeare he'd felt like reading lately. Probably. Jim was just too damn stubborn to ask for it. So, until he earned his freedom, he'd live with two pairs of shoes, six slacks, and seven shirts. Well, that and various underwear. Jim had never before appreciated normal underwear as much as he did now.

"No walk tonight?" Keith asked as he stretched, his back popping. The kid had held up well enough through the arrest, but Jim could smell his adrenaline and distress, and he fought his own reaction to the near disaster. He should have known better than to check out a lead without backup, even if Keith didn't. The fact is they were both lucky.

"I don't think I have the energy for a walk. Could do with a beer," Jim answered. He waited to see how Keith would react.

"She's going to give me shit," he said, his face twisting into an exaggerated horror. Jim could imagine just how much shit the kid would get for asking for beers. Madame Battle-Ax, head of Oak Street house, had very particular ideas about Sentinels. Besides, she already didn't like Keith. She was the one who had battered Keith back in his battle to let Jim leave the house without chains.

"She sure is," Jim smiled evilly.

Keith shook his head. "Only because you saved my sorry ass today." He stood up and headed back out the door wearily.

Jim pulled his shirt off and headed for the bathroom. Certain things Keith could get him, like a beer, maybe, but if Jim wanted more freedom, he had to risk everything.

Jim turned the shower on and let the steam warm the room as he pulled off his pants and tossed them in the hamper. Sentinel biology class went over bonding. Sex overwhelmed a Sentinel's senses, flooding the system with so many endorphins and so much input that the Sentinel reached out for someone to act as baseline, to define normal. So, as the Sentinel orgasmed, the partner became the bondmate, who the Sentinel then developed an instinctive need to protect. After the bond, sex with other people wouldn't necessarily disrupt the bond as long as the bondmate was given permission and was close enough to monitor the interaction. Of course, the guardian could fucking sleep with the entire fleet with no consequences except possible removal of the Sentinel if he brought a venereal disease home.

Utterly logical, and utterly wrong. Jim remembered his bonding with Incacha. He lay in the dark, his whole body shuddering with fever and his mind full of the horror of having buried his friends. The smell of burning flesh and hot metal had made him throw up a half dozen times as he worked. The Army thought Jim's senses had come on-line late, but he'd developed them right on time--on time to live through his father's furious insistence that he hide his senses and a life in the army with all its hazards. And he had lived through the crash with the perfect sensory recall only a Sentinel could manage.

The Chopec had found him afterwards, dehydrated, concussed, delirious, and clinging to an imaginary cat. They'd carried him to the village.

In Incacha's hut, Jim had given up. He had finally reached a point where he just surrendered to the darkness, and then Incacha had laid down next to him, putting a cool hand on Jim's fevered chest. The first sob had been ripped from Jim's throat, and the ones after that slid out on the emotional avalanche that followed. In the dark, he'd clutched Incacha and cried. Even without understanding a word of the language, Jim understood the comfort Incacha offered, and on that intense emotion, Jim's senses had reached out and locked onto his first companion.

There were plenty of nights after that. The first successful raid against the drug dealers, when they'd come home with all the warriors, Jim had drunk native wine until his head swam. He'd laid his head on Incacha's thigh and felt his senses stretch between the two of them. Other nights he would lay in their hut, and he would listen to Incacha and his wife grunt in pleasure, and his own cock would fill until he came with Incacha, their bond tightening.

So, Jim knew that he could bond without sex. The danger was whether he could have sex without bonding.

He'd always avoided intimacy because he'd understood the danger, but if he wanted to have any chance at a normal life, he had to convince everyone he'd bonded to Keith. Of course, the danger was that he might actually bond. If he did that, endgame. Jim wouldn't walk away from a bondmate, and he knew it. And as much as he might have a stray thought about Sandburg, grabbing him and dragging him off, it was a fantasy. Jim wouldn't take someone else's freedom any more than he would accept other people taking his.

Jim stepped into the shower and scrubbed away the dust that had settled into his skin at the construction site. Jim's stomach rolled at the thought of replacing Incacha in his soul. A part of Jim still felt his first companion, and if he did this, he risked destroying the last piece of Incacha he carried.

If he didn't do it, he'd never be free. Eventually, Keith would get tired of living in a half-way house, and Jim would be passed on to someone else. Jim refused to accept that future. He wouldn't live his life in chains. He refused to let other people control his future. With military efficiency and a new determination, Jim finished his shower.

"I got those beers, and I lost about half my manhood," Keith called as the door opened. Jim wrapped a towel around himself.

"I'm surprised you remembered what you were going for," Jim said dryly as he came out of the bathroom and snagged one.

"You're worse than my mother." Keith dropped onto the loveseat, and Jim sat next to him in nothing more than a towel. He noticed how Keith's eyes darted everywhere but to Jim.

"Maybe your mother's right."

"Don't ever say that near her because I will never hear the end of it."

"I want to bond."

Keith fell silent, his beer halfway to his open mouth as Jim's words caught him flat footed. Slowly, he lowered the bottle and blinked at Jim. Jim finished taking a drink and cocked an eyebrow at Keith.

"Okay, I hate that you can look cool when saying things that leave me scrambling to get my brain restarted."

"I have years of practice on you. You'll get there," Jim offered. He sat with his beer and listened to Keith's heart pound heavily in his chest. Keith brought the mouth of his bottle up and took a long drink. The silence lingered even after he lowered the bottle.

"Are you sure? I mean, Ms. Bennett warned me that this would probably be temporary because you could qualify for a much more experienced guardian and you were just a little unsure about your ability to deal with the real world."

"That's why you had so much patience with the walks," Jim said, suddenly feeling very guilty about manipulating the kid.

"Yeah, I mean, I figured that at most, you'd have some good things to say about me when you requested a change over to homicide or major crimes. Hell, I figured Sandburg was feeling you out about requesting a change in guardianship."

"I'm not going to request Sandburg," Jim said definitely.

"And you're sure you want me? This isn't just adrenaline? You know, from me nearly getting my ass kicked?"

"That affected the timetable, not the decision," Jim lied. Sandburg had affected the timetable. It was time to be in another timezone because Jim didn't think for a second that the man had given up, and Jim had a finite amount of control with someone who just felt so right to his senses.

"So, you were planning on bonding?" Keith asked.

"You're a good cop and a good man. If I can just train you to put your shit away, you'll get promoted. I'm not in a hurry to move up and I'm not in a hurry to work with someone else, someone who might not be such a good man."

"And the events of today?"

Jim tilted his head as he considered his answer. "It bothered me that the guy almost got you. If I could have moved faster, I could have protected you better," Jim answered honestly. The ankle chains had nearly resulted in the suspect clocking Keith with a brick, and Jim could feel the bruises around his ankles where he had fought the restraints to rush to Keith's side. Punching the suspect had felt good, and having enough control to stop before doing real damage had felt better.

"You shouldn't have to protect me. It's my job to protect you while you do your thing with the senses," Keith argued, and the guilt Jim had nursed evaporated when faced with Keith's unflinching belief that Jim needed protection. After nearly a month, if he didn't know Jim well enough to know that Jim didn't need protection, then he deserved what Jim was going to do.

"Out there, we're partners. We watch out for each other," Jim corrected him gently, reining in his own frustration.

"Okay. I'm not sure how to do this," Keith admitted. Jim cocked an eyebrow at him again. Keith blushed. "Hey, I *know* how to do this, I just don't how you want us to do this."

Jim could hear the uncertainty in Keith voice, but the musk of arousal already wisped into the air and for the first time, Keith let his eyes settle on Jim. Jim flexed a muscle, and the scent intensified.

"Let's just start and see where it leads, okay?" Jim asked as he reached over and touched Keith's cheek. The man swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. Jim traced a finger down his neck and started unbuttoning his shirt.

"I haven't showered," Keith whispered.

"Oh well," Jim answered, basically ignoring him as he popped one button after another. Keith's hand found his arm, holding on with trembling fingers. Jim let his hand run over Keith's chest, small hairs tickling the pads of Jim's fingers before he dialed down the sense of touch. He tweaked a nipple, and Keith gasped.

"Bedroom, get naked," Jim ordered tersely, his own thoughts clinging to the feeling of Incacha's warm hand resting against his cheek as a slightly drunk Jim lay on his lap and watched the victory dance.

Keith obviously mistook the tone for lust because he bolted up from the bed and immediately started shedding clothes. Jim rolled his eyes at the mess and followed and draped his own towel on the bathroom doorknob before he walked into the bedroom where Keith had his double bed. Their double bed, Jim corrected himself. He would share Keith's bed, and he would do it without bonding. He refused to accept any other outcome.

Keith was down to underwear, and was struggling to pull his right leg free of them as he balanced on his left. Jim reached out and put a hand on his hip to balance him. Keith jerked and lost all coordination, falling backwards. Jim easily caught him, his arms going around Keith's tall, lanky form, pulling him close.

Jim kissed the back of Keith's neck, and then the juncture between Keith's neck and shoulder. The body in his arms shivered. Jim moved forward, and then realized that Keith's legs were still tangled in the underwear.

Jim pushed, tipping Keith onto the bed. He lay with his arms splayed out against the rumpled sheets.

"Oh god. I just never--"

Keith stopped with a gasp when Jim let his hand rest against Keith's thigh and then followed the warmth up until he rested both hands on the hollows of Keith's hips.

"Jim, are you sure?" Keith asked, his voice strangled, but then most of his blood had gone to his cock which lay heavy and dark against his pale skin.

"I'm sure," Jim said, but he knew his own cock was only half hard. "It's just hard to open up. Just lay back and let me play," Jim whispered, and Keith breathed out, his body sagging into the mattress as Jim reached down and tugged off Keith's underwear.

The scent of pheromones lay heavy in the air as Jim crawled onto the bed, tugging and pushing Keith into position while Keith clutched at him, clearly fighting his own need to thrust up. With a needy moan, Keith grabbed Jim's shoulders, but Jim ignored the man's attempts to pull them together. Instead he lay down beside Keith and slipped his leg over Keith's form, holding him down.

Dialing down all the senses, Jim stroked the hot body below him as he sank into a memory.

Jim lay in Incacha's hut after a feast celebrating the tribe taking four gray deer. There was meat for all, and Jim was finally a warrior of the tribe, his skin streaked with red paint and the songs still in his ears as he lay down for the night. When Omili finally came to the hut, the moon cast pale shadows over the night which slipped into the hut through the gaps in the woven twigs. She slipped into bed with a giggle, and Jim listened as Incacha's hand whispered over his wife's dark skin.

She gasped her need, and the scent of her arousal filled the air. Jim had blushed, and held his breath as he tried to decide between waiting them out and fleeing into the night.

"Sentinel, you should enjoy this with us," Incacha whispered. Jim blushed even harder and stood to leave.

"No, do not flee," Omili had whispered kindly, her voice rough with desire.

"Stay," Incacha agreed, and Jim sank back to his pallet.

Incacha once again turned to his wife, trailing kisses across her neck and down to her bare breasts. She arched up, and Jim felt his cock harden. Feeling like a voyeur, Jim had turned his back, focusing on the woven sticks of the hut, but his hearing dialed up so that he could hear each strained breath, every sigh of skin brushing against skin.

Hell, he could feel the air currents shift as Incacha and Omili had twisted around, and the smell of lust and sweat had filled the air. Jim clutched the pallet, panting with his own need as Omili groaned and skin slapped damply against skin.

Jim felt his senses wheel out of control, his hearing straining and his body humping in time with the rhythmic thump of Incacha's thrust. On each one, Omili would mewl, and Jim could feel the air currents from her breath. The moonlight brightened until he could track their shadows across the screen of twigs that made the wall of the hut.

Unable to resist, Jim reached down and grasped his cock, sliding back and forth into his own fist until he gasped for air. His whole body unraveled and his senses spiraled out of control and Jim didn't even try to control either as he thrust faster and faster.

Omili screamed, and Incacha made a grunt of satisfaction as the thrusts grew harder and deeper so that Omili's scream became a low wail that filled the room. Incacha called out words that Jim didn't know, and then fell silent, his body collapsing over his wife.

Jim felt his own orgasm rip through him, releasing him, binding him to Incacha, draining him of energy, but filling him with all the sounds and smells of the jungle.

Panting, sated, happy, Jim slowly opened his eyes.

Keith lay with his eyes closed and his mouth open, the smell of their semen mixing in the air. Jim looked down and found his hand around both their cocks, and both of them were softening. For a heartbeat, he struggled with a reality that didn't make sense. Then grief and pain drove out the satisfaction.

Incacha had rejected him. Incacha and Omili were a world away, safe, happy. He was here. Jim's still raw senses sent flares of distress through him, and Jim clenched his jaw against the need to find his mate.

"Jim?" Keith said softly. Jim didn't realize he had closed his eyes, but he opened them when Keith's fingers reached up to his face, brushing away tears Jim didn't remember crying. "Are you okay?"

"I can see you have something to learn about the post-sex talking," Jim said lightly. "I'm fine."

"You're crying."

"It's just..." Jim paused. "It's just different for me, Keith. I'm good," Jim promised. He captured Keith's hand which lingered on his face and brought it to his lips for a kiss.

And laying in bed, Jim realized he was fine. His plan had obviously worked because instead of the joy of a bondmate, he could only feel the gaping, raw wound of Incacha's absence. The sex had only brightened the pain.

"Let's get cleaned up before we stick together," Jim said lightly. He would mourn Incacha's loss again, but not now. Now he had a plan.

Keith nodded and started rolling toward the bed. "Man, I don't mind telling you, you've ruined me for anyone else. My god, Jim, is that a Sentinel thing or just you?"

"Experience, Sport," Jim lied. "You'll get there."

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