Control Issues
Rated ADULT
Angst Ahead!

Chapters 41-48
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FORTY ONE
***
"Ruby!" Blair called joyously as he walked in through the rear entrance to the kitchen. Jim had braced himself for an olfactory attack, especially considering the run down neighborhood. Instead, he found himself in a gleaming kitchen. Even with the steam curling up to the ceiling and the sound of knives against cutting boards, the kitchen had an order to it that put Jim at ease. Ironically, that set off warnings right there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Clean kitchen."

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

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

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

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

"Ruby, hey, we need to talk."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes." Jim stared back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jim Ellison."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now Blair chewed on his lip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Beshte?" Blair did a little bounce.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Blair?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We should talk about this, Chief."

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, you brought this up."

"No, you did," Jim reminded him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But you want penetrative sex," Jim finished.

"I just suggested we try it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"One."

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

"Twice, okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kitchen or line?" Jim asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Maybe you can," Jim agreed.

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

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

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

"Maury," Jim said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Bite your tongue."

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

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

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

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

"How many men?" the 911 operator asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hijo de puta" Dessy cursed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They do it and I'll kill you," Jim snapped.

"Better you than Kincaid. Put the weapon down or I'll have them execute the freaks, you'll shoot me, and then someone else can clean up the mess," Dessy said calmly. Jim tightened his jaw; he'd seen that expression before, the look of cold acceptance.

"Shoot them," Dessy repeated. Jim heard a weapon cock.

"No!" Jim shouted as he raised his weapon, pointing the barrel toward the sky and holding his palm out toward Dessy.

"Put the gun on the seat of the truck and step away," Dessy ordered. Jim obeyed as slowly as he could, praying for the distant sound of sirens, but police just didn't respond that quickly in this neighborhood. Ruby had complained about that often enough. It's why she played peacemaker and enforcer for the three blocks around the soup kitchen.

Dessy nodded, and Inzunza and nameless goon number two pushed the three Sentinels into the back of the van.

"Jim?" Peter called, sounding on the verge of panic as Inzunza forced him up into the open side door.

"You're dead, Dessy," Jim said calmly, his arms hanging loosely at his sides although he was ready to throw himself at any opportunity.

"If I disappoint Kincaid, I will be," Dessy agreed. "I promised him Sentinels, and I expected to find a few more. I guess I'll just have to add you to the collection list. Inzunza had stepped back out of the van, his gun pointed right at Jim.

"I should have fucking killed him. I bet he gave up Washington."

"Probably," Dessy agreed. "However, a live sub is worth more than a dead one." Dessy turned cold eyes to Jim. "Turn around and put hands behind your back."

Jim hesitated for a second, watching the gleeful anticipation in Inzunza as the thug waited for the order to shoot Jim. As Dessy opened his mouth, no doubt to give that order, Jim turned and put his hands behind his back. The goal was survival, and he'd have another shot at taking the assholes down.

Standing silent and searching the streets for sirens that had to be coming, Jim ignored the cold plastic strip zipping closed around his wrists. Inzunza pulled on his arm, and Jim resisted for a second. In the distance, he could hear the faint wail of the police.

"Move it," Inzunza growled, pulling his ski mask off and driving his fist into Jim's side hard enough that Jim suspected he would pee pink the next day. Jim allowed himself to fall to one knee, exaggerating his pained gasps as he struggled to catch his breath.

"He's stalling. He hears cops. Get him up or shoot the pendejo in the head." Dessy hurried around to the driver's side of the van and shoved the still-dazed driver over before he got behind the wheel himself. This time when Inzunza grabbed Jim's arm, Jim stood without complaint. Any excuse and Inzunza was going to leave him lying dead on the sidewalk, and more than anything, Jim did not want to imagine Blair having to see that.

Inzunza pushed him toward the van, shoving him in before jumping in and pulling the van door closed. "Get him in place," Inzunza ordered thug number two, a young man with a hawk-bent on his nose. The van pulled out so suddenly that Jim stumbled and went to one knee again as the guy yanked on Jim's shirt so that Jim went from his knee to his side.

"Get up!" The man pulled on Jim's arm, and Jim got his knees under him and did his best to not flop around helplessly as the thug pushed his back to the side of the van so that he was pressed up against Creepers, shoulder to shoulder. Inzunza crouched near the front and watched, his gun dangling from his hand, as thug number two grabbed Jim's legs and put them on a bar that ran down the length of the van. Jim's calves rested on it, his feet now in the air as the thug used a quick twist of a new plastic zip to secure Jim's legs.

Jim had to admit that the operation had the mark of good planning. With his hands tied and his feet elevated, Jim had no hope of freeing himself. He glanced over, and Deborah had tears streaking down her face. Peter stared at the far wall.

"Is it real this time?" Creepers asked softly.

"Shut up old man," Inzunza ordered, pointing his gun in their direction.

"It feels more real that last time. I keep telling the worries to stay out of my head, but they just creep back. Creep, creep, creep." Creepers started his soft chant, the one that had given him his nickname.

"Shut up," Inzunza snapped as he stood.

"He's mentally unstable. Yelling at him won't change that," Jim snapped. He wasn't in a position to do anything, and common sense told him to shut up, but instead he glared at the gunman. Inzunza stepped closer and pressed the barrel of the gun to the underside of Jim's jaw.

"Are you arguing?" Inzunza demanded.

"Hey," the young goon protested softly, but Inzunza ignored him. Jim stared up. He was worth too much on the black market for Inzunza to kill him for no reason.

"Pendejo," Inzunza snarled as he backhanded Jim hard enough that Jim blinked to clear his vision. Peter called out and the gun swung toward the young Sentinel who struggled against his bonds.

"Calm down, we're all fine," Jim said, tasting the blood from his split lip.

"Yeah, we're all fine," Inzunza mocked. "You'll be fine. Kincaid is only going to sell your asses to the highest bidder after breaking you... turning you into animals," he sneered. Deborah cried even harder, her breath coming in sobs now.

"Sooner or later, you're going down," Jim promised.

"Not before I see you crawl for your Master, little sub," the goon taunted before he went back to his spot near the front of the van. The other man already stood there, talking through a small opening to Dessy in the front seat. Jim let his head fall back against the side of the van. As a Ranger, he prided himself on being physically and mentally strong, on being able to think through a dangerous situation and keep his head. So why did he seem to keep getting captured lately. Blair would call it karma. Jim was thinking he just had some damn bad luck.

FORTY FOUR
***
Jim watched Inzunza. The van stopped and he pulled on a mask and disappeared out into the sunlight. "There's a slaver coming, run for it," Jim said in a normal tone of voice, hoping any Sentinels would hear him.

Dessy appeared at the open door to the van. "Do that again, and I'll put a bullet in your brain. Right now you're just goods, Mr. Lawson. If I can get money for you, good. If you cost me money, I'll put you down." The man's voice had a calm cheerfulness to it that suggested he meant every word. Jim clenched his jaw and stared at the man.

"Please let us go," Deborah pleaded weakly. Tear stains glittered in the sun that came in through the open door. "Please."

Dessy looked toward her coldly. Even if Jim wanted to offer a word of comfort, he didn't have any, so he remained silent until Inzunza and the henchman came back with one woman between them.

"Two or three did a runner," Inzunza said as he pushed the woman into the van. She was dirty, a streak of brown down one brown cheek.

"Please, you don’t have to do this," she pleaded in a Hispanic accent, echoing Deborah's words from just a second ago.

"Let the other vans pick up the rest. We seem to have a talkative group here."

Dessy looked at Jim, but Jim remained silent as Inzunza secured the woman in place next to Jim. Nothing he said would help their situation, and he wasn't about to give the bastard the satisfaction of begging. With a final glare, Dessy slid the van door shut. A second later, they were moving.

Jim's legs throbbed. The angle reduced the blood flow, and he couldn't steady himself so the straps dug into his legs at every turn. Next to him, Creeper's chant grew louder. "...creep away, creep away... not real... creep away, creep." Jim wondered what demons chased the man, but his eyes were closed, and his heart beat steadily, unlike the other three. Whatever nightmares Creeper was seeing, they were familiar enough that the man was used to their presence.

"Shut up," Inzunza snapped. Jim rolled his eyes. Creeper just chanted louder, and Deborah cried with broken sobs.

"Shhh. It's okay. They'll find us," Peter whispered so softly that only the Sentinels in the van could hear.

Eventually, the van stopped again, but this time when the van door opened, only shadow appeared outside the door. Dessy's footsteps rang sharply on the concrete, and the sound echoed. It was a large room--lots of metal. Jim guessed a warehouse.

The younger thug pulled out a knife and started cutting the plastic ties that connected Sentinel legs to the bar. He started with Peter and worked down, and the second he cut Jim's legs loose, Jim brought his feet up under him. Almost immediately, his sense of touch reeled out of control as pins and needles coursed through his legs. Deborah was crying harder than ever, so Jim guessed he wasn't the only one in pain. Ruthlessly forcing away all touch, Jim watched as the young man grabbed the Hispanic Sentinel and pushed her out the door to waiting hands. Jim was next, and he struggled to keep his feet under him as he landed on the concrete floor.

Two men waited, and one slipped a dog's choke chain around Jim's neck and pulled him to the side while another goon stepped up to take control of Creeper. The one who now held Jim's leash was large, a black man with muscles that suggested he'd spent some time in jail with nothing to do other than lift weights. Now wasn't the time for any move. Jim could barely shuffle his legs which had taken damage first in scrambling through the glass to attack the driver and then from behind lashed to the bar. He needed to heal, but Jim also knew he had to move before he could be starved into compliance.

Checking out the room, Jim guessed they were near the ocean. The air smelled of salt and rust, and overhead, a few broken windows allowed shafts of light into an otherwise dim building. The smell of rats and bugs made Jim want to sneeze, but he controlled the urge, not wanting to draw the attention of his 'keeper' who was already holding the chain around Jim's neck tight enough that Jim could feel the individual links pressing into his neck.

Peter stumbled out of the van and fell to the floor, his head nearly cracking against the concrete as one of the 'handlers' caught him. "Careful! I don't want that pretty face ruined before auction," a voice called out. Jim tightened his jaw as he recognized Kincaid's voice just as the man appeared around the front of the van. Kincaid eyed the broken window and turned to Dessy.

"Problems?"

"None I couldn't handle. I got five, the other two vans got four and eight."

"Not as many as I wanted," Kincaid said softly. Dessy didn't answer right away. He watched as Kincaid squatted near Peter and put a hand under the man's chin. Peter glared up, but at least he had the sense to remain quiet. Like Peter, the other three Sentinels had collapsed to the floor where they still sat or lay. Peter and the Hispanic woman had both come through with some control, enough to sit up and glare. Creeper lay on his stomach muttering to himself, and Deborah just lay on her side and stared at the far wall, shock setting in.

"If we could have gone in at night, we could have grabbed ten or fifteen from Ruby's place and another twenty from that abandoned building."

"That many Sentinels in one place is dangerous," Kincaid said as he finished his inspection of Peter and stood up.

"They're just people... no more dangerous than anyone."

"You haven't worked with them. They're tough. If you try to take fifteen or twenty at once, they'll rip your head off," Kincaid said as his eyes finally found Jim. "Oh, what have you found me?"

"He was at Ruby's; he's the one who took out my driver. Washington said he wasn't a Sentinel when we first met him a couple of months back, but he sure knew exactly what was going on in the warehouse." Dessy turned and took a few steps toward Jim.

"Oh, he's a Sentinel," Kincaid agreed. "He belongs to Sandburg, and there for a while, he was mine. They must have broken his bond to me. Did you cry for me to come and get you while the bond was breaking?" Kincaid's voice had the saccharin sweetness of an adult speaking to a crying child, and Jim just glared.

"Don't you remember me?" Kincaid stepped forward and cupped Jim's cheek in his hand in a parody of tenderness.

"I remember you raping me while Blair struggled to reach me," Jim said calmly, ordering the fear that uncurled in his belly back to the shadows. Peter gasped.

"Oh, no need to worry, boy. Jimmy here just has his memories messed up a little because the SI has gone and rewired his brain. Before long, he'll be eating out of my hand." Jim didn't flinch as Kincaid stroked his cheek. "I know I said you could keep one of the Sentinels, Dessy," Kincaid said without taking his eyes off Jim, "but this one is mine. I'll have to make sure to send Sandburg pictures once I have him nice and trained."

Jim glared down at Kincaid, grateful for the two inches and the illusion of superiority that allowed him. All he had to do was hold out until Blair arrived with the cavalry. As much as Jim hated passively waiting, he really didn't see other options right now. And until that time came, Jim focused on just surviving.

"He's got a little too much control right now. Put him in the tank, put the others in the main room. They need a little time to think about their situation." Kincaid kept his voice friendly, so friendly that it gave Jim the creeps, especially since he understood what Kincaid meant. They'd be chained in some dark corner until they were nearly insane, and Kincaid would come in with his friendly voice and act like he cared. Sentinel instincts to bond plus the Stockholm syndrome plus Kincaid's own mix of drugs and the Sentinels would bond to whoever paid top dollar.

The goon with Jim's leash yanked hard enough that Jim nearly lost his balance before he could turn to follow. He'd get his chance. One way or another, he was going to snap Kincaid's neck.

Blair cursed and slammed the laptop shut. "Just walk away. Send it to Eli and walk away," Blair ordered himself. But every time he reread the text, he found something else to change: some ambiguous comment or some phrase that he knew related to something in the literature, which sent him on a hunt through the papers and books now scattered on every flat surface in the Sentinel-safe room and over half the living room. Eyeing the laptop with suspicion, Blair opened it.

"Don't read it. Just send it to Eli," he chanted over and over as he opened the email program. "Don't read it."

Blair hit send and then slammed the laptop closed again, dumping it on the bed before getting up and heading for the kitchen. "God, no wonder Jim ran away from home. I don't even like living with myself right now," Blair muttered as he went for a beer. He had half down before he headed back for his laptop. This needed to be perfect. Too many people on the committee would want to discredit this research, and with Newsweek writing an article, no way would they fail to mention that little fact. And really... Blair was not into public humiliation.

Blair dropped on the edge of the spare bed and opened the laptop again. In the distance, a dog howled and Blair chewed on his lip as he reread the second paragraph on cultural stresses within the African American Sentinel community.

God, how could anyone have missed these numbers? If one out of four hundred whites had some level of Sentinel abilities, of course one of four hundred African Americans would. How the hell did everyone miss the fact that out of an estimated 90,000 African American Sentinels who should exist, only a little over 20,000 were in the system?

And of those, nearly half were non-functional Sentinels who lived in institutions because of their unstable senses or aggressive traits. Over a half-million white Sentinels were in the system, but of those only thirteen percent were non-functional. But, if Blair was right and the missing 70,000 African American Sentinels were out there functioning without the SI, then all the figures matched. It amused Blair no end that if his research in Georgia could be duplicated, he might take away one of the racists biggest arguments. Blacks didn't have fewer Sentinels. Their Sentinels weren't more likely to be non-functional. They were just a lot better at hiding from the SI.

Blair opened his dissertation to the implications for future studies portion of the document and started rereading. Yeah, he had a lot of assumptions in there, but assuming that African Americans and white Americans had similar genetic pre-disposition towards Sentinel genes wasn't that big of a leap, especially considering the one in four hundred figure was true in Africa.

The dog howled again. "Geez. If you buy a big dog, don't leave him locked up inside. It annoys him and everyone who has to listen to him," Blair complained to the air as he read the next section. He might want to tone down the section on the ineffectiveness of the African American community to deal with the non-functional Sentinels, many of whom did become very violent and anti-social. Blair reached for the phone to call Eli and run his ideas past his mentor.

He yelped and jerked his hand back as a timber wolf sat looking at him. "Shit." Blair dumped the laptop on the floor as he scrambled back across the bed. The wolf just stared at him. "Nice doggie," Blair tried with a weak smile. He liked animals fine as long as they were on the other side of a fence, but this was a little too close for comfort. The wolf looked at him with something that came close to disgust before he turned and walked out of the room, right through the closed door.

"Oh fuck," Blair breathed. "Okay, one this is not happening. Two, this is not happening." Blair grabbed the phone and dialed the soup kitchen. Maybe he had just fried his brain with too much studying. Getting his master's, he had once done 39 hours of statistics, and he'd seen all sorts of strange things that time. Of course, the hospital insisted the caffeine overdose had caused most of that.

"Blair?" the voice at the other end of the phone answered before Blair could open his mouth.

"Ruby?" Blair asked.

"Who do you expect to be answering my phone?" Ruby demanded with her normal attitude. "Honey, get yourself down here now."

"How did you..."

"Some assholes kidnapped Jim. Of course you called."

Blair opened his mouth, but no sound came out. In the background, he could hear the familiar sounds of police chatter from a radio. "They.... What?"

"Honey," Ruby's voice lowered. "I don't care what you're seeing right now. You tell the spirits that they can just chew on their own tails and wait a bit. You get your white ass down here, and I do mean now. Do you understand?" Ruby demanded.

"Oh God," Blair breathed.

"That better be a prayer and not you taking the Lord's name in vain, Baby because you have enough trouble without pissing Him off."

"I'm coming," Blair answered as he dropped the phone and bolted off the bed. The wolf was in the living room, pacing from the door to the couch and back again. "Ruby first," Blair told the animal as he grabbed his weapon and clipped the holster to the belt. Normally he put his gun on with reluctance, but today, he could see himself shooting someone—happily even. He slipped on his vest and grabbed his phone and keys before bolting out the door.

The wolf waited by Blair's car. Blair pulled the door open, and he pointed his nose toward the sky and howled. "Shit, that's not good, is it?" Blair said as he started the engine. He shoved his police light in his window and peeled out of the parking lot. Cursing the traffic, Blair dialed Simon with one hand while navigating around cars that moved aside just a little too slow.

"Banks," Simon answered sharply.

"Simon," Blair breathed, and suddenly he wasn't sure what to say. He spotted the wolf pacing him on the crowded sidewalk.

"Blair? What's wrong?"

"Simon, you lived in the South."

"I.... What? Sandburg, I have work to do here, even if you've taken the week off."

"Did you know Sentinels and guardians who sometimes did things a little different?" Blair asked quickly.

"Different?" Simon echoed.

"Kudari. Did you know any kudari?"

"Where the hell did you hear that word?" Simon demanded, and now Blair could tell he had all of Simon's attention.

"Did you know any?" Blair detoured around a bus, and then slammed on the brakes when the wolf darted in front of his car. "Son of a—" Blair dropped the phone on the seat as the animal darted down a side street. "Forget it. I'm going to Ruby's you overgrown Chihuahua."

Blair grabbed the phone, Simon's voice shouting through the earpiece. "Sandburg? What the hell is going on?"

"Simon, just if you knew any, if you know what that means, just meet me at Ruby's." Blair clicked the phone off and tossed it into the passenger seat as he focused on getting to Ruby's as fast as possible.

By the time Blair pulled up in front of the soup kitchen, the number of cops outnumbered the homeless two to one. Blair flashed his badge at one of the officers before heading inside.

"If you'd get out there and look for the van or for someone who saw the van, you might actually get something done," Ruby was berating a police officer. "Instead ya'll stand around here waiting for these assholes to just show up again. If ya'll would have come the minute Jim called you, you'd have been here. But no. Crime down here don't matter much to you lot, does it?" The detective taking her statement kept opening his mouth as if to defend himself, but Ruby was in full-attack mode and not about to be cut off by someone half her age. "Blair!" she called when she saw him. She abandoned the other detective and immediately came over and hugged Blair. "Oh Honey, you know we'll find him," she assured him.

"All witnesses need to be interviewed outside," the other detective said as he reluctantly stepped closer. Blair looked over at the man.

"I'm not a witness," Blair said reaching for his pocket.

"Then how'd you get in here?"

Blair showed the man his badge while talking to Ruby. "What happened?"

Ruby set her mouth in a thin line and took a deep breath. If Blair were Dessy or Kincaid or even the other detective who was trying to take her statement, that look would scare the shit out of him. "Two gunmen with masks came in. When the commotion started, I headed up front and Jim headed for the back to dial 911. They had pictures, kept comparing us to the pictures, and they used 'em to single out Peter, Deborah, and Creeper."

"Shit," Blair breathed as he recognized the names. "And Jim?"

"He tried to stop them out front, Honey. He got the drop on them, had a gun to them even, but the man in charge, a greasy accountant looking guy, he said he'd rather leave a lot of bodies on the street than disappoint Kincaid. Jim had to give up his weapon or they were going to kill Peter and the others." Blair could feel panic wrap around his lungs as he recognized the description. Dessy. Dessy had Jim.

"And they took Jim," Blair said flatly. He could visualize it in his head with a painful clarity.

"Yeah, they did. But we'll get him back."

"Okay, I really need your name," the detective interrupted.

"Blair Sandburg. I work Major Crimes in Central Precinct."

"This isn't a major case," the detective said in a confused voice. Blair glared at the man.

"Blair, Honey, killing the detective is just going to slow you down," Ruby said as she started pulling Blair toward the door.

"We aren't done with the interview," the detective protested. Outside, Simon was just pulling up.

"Sandburg?" he called when he opened the car door.

"Simon, thank god. Slavers raided. They took Jim. It was Dessy, which means he's going to get handed over to Kincaid," Blair said as he closed in on his captain. Behind him, the detective still trailed.

"This is the Nineteenth's case. Major Crimes has no jurisdiction here," the other detective protested. Simon glared at the man.

"I'm Captain Banks, and as the only captain on scene, this is my jurisdiction until the commissioner tells me otherwise." Simon used a tone of voice that even made Blair pause. Then he grabbed his radio and called for backup from Major Crimes. "Blair, we'll find him," Simon promised when he finished calling for Rafe and Brown. However, Blair focused on the wolf that paced on the far side of the yellow crime scene tape.

"Blair? You see something?" Ruby asked.

"He's that way," Blair said, nodding toward the wolf.

"What's that way?" Simon turned and looked down the street, but from the confused look on his face, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary, nothing like a wolf winding through the crowd and randomly growling at the air.

"Right, let's go," Ruby agreed.

"Hold on there," Simon said as he stepped away from his car door and physically blocked Ruby from getting in the back. "This is a police investigation."

"This is a kudari pair; the police don't have much of anything to do with this," Ruby corrected him.

"I don't know what—"

"Honey, you either drive where Blair points or we'll take his car, but we need to find Jim now, and standing around here isn't getting it done." Ruby crossed her arms so she became a mirror of Simon.

"Blair?" Simon asked in confusion. Blair headed for the passenger side of Simon's car. "She's coming, Simon. I need her to come."

"This is a bad idea," Simon protested, but Ruby neatly pushed him to one side as she pulled the back door to the car open.

"Simon," Blair said desperately.

"This is a bad idea," Simon repeated as he got into his car. He pointed a finger toward the detective from the Nineteen who still stood on the sidewalk. "When Henri Brown and Brian Rafe get here, the scene is theirs. One of ours is missing in this mess, and Major Crimes is taking jurisdiction," Simon growled before he put the car into reverse and backed out of the maze of police cars all parked in front of the soup kitchen.

FORTY FIVE
***
Jim finally gave up trying to get comfortable in a crouch. He slid to his stomach so that the short chain connecting his neck to the bolt in the floor wouldn't pull at him. With each wrist chained to a thigh, he couldn't move well, and now the cold concrete chilled his whole body. However, the cold wasn't as dangerous to long-term escape plans as a sprained back so Jim ignored the uncomfortable feeling of the rough, cold concrete against his bare skin.

The heavy door to this room, which used to be a walk in freezer, opened, and Jim could see the light behind the trio of men.

"You get a roommate, one said with a sneer. He pulled another into the room.

"Still creeping. In the dark creeping. Little feet creeping creeping," muttered a voice.

"Gee, thanks," Jim commented as they moved Creeper into position next to Jim. There was only one bolt on the floor, so they locked Creeper's leash to the same bold with a large padlock.

"Creeping cold. Cold cold cold." Creeper muttered as the goon gave him a slap on the shoulder and then got up and left. The door closed again, and Jim tried to estimate how much oxygen he now had with a second prisoner in here with him. Denying a person access to even basic needs was the oldest brainwashing technique in the book, but this was the first time Jim ever had his oxygen threatened.

"Creeping feet," Creeper muttered.

"I'm Jim," he tried. Creeper kept his eyes closed, but this close, Jim could smell the disease from his body. In the soup kitchen, there had been so much body odor that Jim hadn't noticed it, but Creeper smelled of fungus and disease. "They're going to find us and get us out of here," he promised. Jim stretched out with his fingers and brushed the back of Creeper's hand. Creeper jerked away.

"Little feet creeping over me. Little feet in the walls."

"No, no little feet," Jim promised. He could hear rats far off, but this part of the warehouse wasn't attractive to them. They congregated around the areas where the goons sat and ate candy bars and dropped wrappers smeared with chocolate. There weren't any around here.

"Little feet. Little feet little teeth creeping creeping creeping." Creeper started rocking, the neck chain jangling against the cold concrete.

"Shit. You've been in this situation before," Jim let his head rest against he concrete as he studied Creeper using only the dull glow of a single light that seemed to warn that the freezer was too warm to meet code. Thank god for that. The only thing worse than lying naked and chained on a concrete floor would be doing it with the freezer turned on. "We'll get out of here. We'll go back to Ruby's, Jim promised."

Creeper shook his head. "Never. Never get out. Never have. Never will."

Jim gave up. Whatever reality existed in Creeper's head, he couldn't do anything about it. Creeper started to softly cry. Jim turned his head away, trying to give the man as much privacy as he could. Now he could see the huge paw of a black panther.

"Nice, you finally show up. If you've got any suggestions, I'd appreciate them," Jim told the spirit animal. It sat down so close that the tail brushed against Jim's thigh. "Not really the help I wanted. That's actually pretty annoying," Jim complained. His roommate started chanting louder. Now he was almost yelling, his rotten breath making the air smell. Jim pushed away his sense of smell as the sweet scent of starvation ketosis and the stench of tooth rot drifted through the air.

The tail swept the back of Jim's knee, tickling the skin in a really annoying way, especially since the chains kept him from itching. Jim shifted slightly towards Creeper. The cat moved with him.

"Damn it, give me a break here," Jim complained as he braced his toes on the cold concrete and shifted another painful inch away. His fingers brushed across Creeper's hand, and it was colder than it should be, but Jim only had a second to notice before Creeper screamed and wiggled away from Jim.

"Creeping creeping creeping creeping. Can't eat me. Can't have me."

"Trust me, I don't plan on eating anyone," Jim sighed. He felt a slight temperature difference, a tiny spot even colder than the floor he lay on. Jim inched his fingers over the concrete searching for the source. He shifted a little farther and cursed the fact that he couldn't twist well enough to see what he was doing. Pulling until the cold steel links that connected his wrists to this thighs dug into his legs, Jim felt the circular edge of a drain.

Jim lifted himself and shifted a couple of inches so that he could explore this new feature. A metal grate covered it, rusted screws still holding it firmly in place. "Shit," Jim breathed as he used short finger nails on first the screw and then the edge of the grate. Nothing gave. "Fuck." Jim gave an aborted punch, the chains stopping him from moving more than a couple of inches. "Right, use what you have," Jim said to no one. The cat just stared at him, and Creeper had fallen into a tuneless chant without actual words.

Lifting his arm the few inches he could, Jim brought it down on the grate. Metal clanged against metal and Jim felt the grate. It was old, parts rusted, and now a small section had cracked. Jim traced it with his fingers before slamming his chains down on it again. This time, a small bit broke away. Jim pulled on the thin strips of metal and pulled. One broke into a piece no more than an inch long, and Jim let it drop into the drain, hearing the soft plop when it hit the muck at the bottom of the drain. Smashing the grate again, Jim yanked a larger chunk free this time.

Rolling to one side, Jim struggled to separate the long strip of metal from the cross-pieces still stuck to it. Eventually, he was left with a piece of metal still too fat to make a lock pick. Shifting away from the grate, Jim settled back down onto his stomach and started rubbing the strip on the floor, using the concrete as a sharpening stone as he gave the metal a sharp enough point to use it as a pick.

"Creeping creeping," his roommate whispered.

"Yeah, this works and we're going to do some creeping out of here," Jim promised as he set to work.

Jim was working on getting the first lock open when he heard Blair's voice slam into his consciousness. He glared at the cat. "You just had to tell him, didn't you? Shit. Just let me get free before he comes in here," Jim said to the cat as he worked a little faster. Yeah, Blair could take care of himself, but Jim loved the naïve way Blair always expected the good guys to win. He loved the simple faith Blair showed in life, and what he wanted to do would tarnish that.

Working the lockpick, he listened as Blair talked to other people.

"He's in there. Man, I know he is."

Someone must have disagreed with him. "Then find the owner and get permission. If Ruby's right, there are squatters in there. Shouldn't the owners want squatters out?"

Jim closed his eyes at the simple naiveté in that one statement. The chances were that the owners were renting this building out under the table, but Blair always expected the best of human nature.

"I'm going in."

There was another pause, and Jim could only hope someone out there was talking sense to his Guide. The lock opened with a click, and Jim jerked his first hand free with a relieved sigh.

"You can't be serious, Ruby."

Ruby? What the hell was Blair doing with Ruby? Jim rolled to his back and started working on his second hand. That one went faster with the full use of one hand.

"But he's in there," Blair protested vehemently. And if Jim knew that tone, his Guide was about to leave no matter what Ruby said. The second lock came off and Jim rolled to his knees so he could work on the lock around his neck.

"That will take hours," Blair snapped. Okay, that sounded like someone was arguing for doing it by the book, but Jim couldn't imagine Ruby making that argument. The lock around his neck came free and Jim reached over to unlock Creeper. The man gave a blood-curdling scream. When Jim's attempts to reassure him caused the man to start hitting his head against the concrete floor, Jim just backed away until Creeper returned to his tuneless chant. In the shelter, Creeper had certainly been strange, but Jim had somehow missed the fact that the man was clearly nuts.

Jim stood up and let the chains from his thighs fall the floor with a rattle now that they weren't locked around his wrists too. Jim moved to the door, listening to the silence on the other end before he tried the door. Luckily, it opened without protest.

"Ruby," Jim said in a conversational tone. "If you can hear me, tell Blair to chill out and stop assuming I need some sort of rescue here," Jim whispered. Okay, he was naked in a building full of armed terrorists and thugs, so that might be worded a little strong. "Okay, some help would be nice, but I'm safe right now," Jim amended himself.

A second later he could hear Blair. "Safe? You're sure he's safe?" Blair squawked. Jim focused his hearing in the direction now that the freezer didn't distort the sounds.

"Honey, I said I'm *sure* he's safe." Ruby's voice came through clearly now.

"Oh, you're sure. Okay. But we need to get that paperwork before the people in there aren't safe any more."

"And the probable cause on that would be?" a deeper voice asked. Simon? Blair brought Ruby and Simon? Jim shook his head. Sometimes his Guide's logic escaped him totally.

"I don't know, make something up." Jim could just imagine the expression Simon had just given Blair. But as long as Simon kept Blair outside until Jim could take care of Kincaid, Jim would forgive Simon for glaring at his Guide. Hell, Jim did it enough. Scanning the building, Jim couldn't pinpoint the leaders; however, he started moving in the opposite direction as the Sentinels he could hear crying to his left. Kincaid wouldn't want to be near the Sentinels, not until he came in to play mind games with them.

Jim slipped out of the small area into the main room, his bare feet quietly slapping against the cold floor.

"We can't just stand out here." Simon protested.

"Man, you have to get a warrant."

"The Nineteen is sending over a Sentinel. Until he can confirm that the hostages are inside, I don't have probable cause."

"I could," Ruby started.

"Don't," Simon snapped. "Just don't. Blair, the way you've put me in the middle here..."

"Jim's doing fine, Honey," Ruby assured him. Jim followed the shadow of the far wall toward a single bored guard who stared out toward the street through a cracked door, a cigarette hanging from one hand.

"Please stop saying things like that," Simon growled.

"You're going to give yourself a heart attack if you don't stop gettin' so uptight," Ruby admonished Simon.

"Jesus Christ," Simon breathed. Jim flinched as Ruby erupted into her lecture about taking the Lord's name in vain. However, they must have been pretty far away because the bored guard stared out onto the city. Jim struck, his arm wrapping around the man's neck and putting pressure on the artery that fed the brain. The guard's foot kicked the can he'd been using as an ashtray, making the metal rattle across the floor. Jim flinched, but no one else in the building reacted.

"There. Did you see that?" Ruby demanded.

"What?" Simon asked.

"Yeah, I saw it," Blair quickly agreed. "What did I see?" Jim rolled his eyes. Blair wasn't winning points for subtlety.

"Someone just yanked that guard right out of the doorway."

"I'm goin—" Blair voice cut off as though he ran out of air, and Jim was guessing that either Simon or Ruby had sat on him. Even with those two out there, Jim knew he had a limited amount of time to act before Blair came in here. Jim didn't want Blair to see him taking care of business, and Jim sure didn't want Blair talking him out of it, so Jim grabbed the guard's weapon.

A silencer... oh yeah, these guys were running a serious business. Somehow Jim didn't think Kincaid planned to leave Dessy alive when he left town. All his guards were white, and despite Simon's insistence that money spoke louder than beliefs, Kincaid struck him as a true believer. And having silenced weapons would make it easy to execute people within the building without their compatriots finding out. Well, Jim didn't plan on giving him a chance to carry out that massacre. He headed for the stairs without bothering with clothes.

Kincaid's security was even more lax this time, maybe because he didn't have a cop chained up in his room, but Jim managed to get upstairs to the offices that ran along one side of the warehouse without being seen.

"I'm calling in for a warrant based on Ruby assessment of the neighborhood and the fact that you witnessed that attack in the door, but Blair, you'd better know what you're doing."

"Jim is in there," Blair said, his voice still strained, so someone was probably still physically restraining him. Jim let that voice fade to the back of his consciousness as he focused on the offices. Padding down the carpeted hall, Jim stopped when a door opened. Some heavy backed out of the room, joking with whomever was still in the room, and Jim slipped into an empty room. The guy closed the door and headed for the stairs.

Jim didn't have much time. He moved confidently down the hall and opened the second to the last door. Jim held the weapon on Kincaid who sat on a couch, a plate of fries and a burger balanced on his lap.

"Jim," Kincaid said as he slowly lifted his hands. "I'm not any danger to you."

"You think that will save you," Jim said quietly.

"You know I'm not a danger. I wanted you from the minute you rushed to Blair's defense. And Blair's a good man. I wouldn't hurt a hair on his head. I just admire your strength and your loyalty. But if you shoot me, you know someone is going