Work Text:
Disclaimers: Unfortunately not mine
Notes: Many thanks to Beaver and CJ for suggestions. Originally appeared in Come to Your Senses #23.
***
/Faster./
His lungs were burning. The ache in his muscles had been transformed into pain some time back.
/Faster. Can't stop./
He knew the hunters were just waiting for him to slow down, to drop from exhaustion. There was no chance of getting away, but he couldn't not run, he couldn't give up. He had to run.
His legs were slowing down. The pain was freezing his muscles, forcing them to stop working.
If he slipped or fell, he would not be able to get up anymore. He could not allow that to happen.
His existence consisted only of moving his legs just those few more steps.
His lungs were hurting. Pain was flowing in his body.
Suddenly there was a bola wrapped around his legs and he was falling.
/No!/ He fell down to the dry forest ground, upsetting dirt, dry leaves and insects.
Hurriedly, he tried to get the ropes off his legs, but it was too late. The hunters had caught him.
"Lord Blair will be pleased," a younger man commented to the head hunter. He could see three men and a woman, dressed in hunting leathers. No doubt there were a few more on the sidelines. He offered no resistance as they tied him up. There was no energy left for futile struggling. It was over.
***
A thousand possibilities diverging from one point. Who can say which one is the right one?
Infinite possibilities, each one as possible, as probable.
***
He could not believe he was actually going to meet this Sandburg. The scene at the hospital had been weird enough to rouse more than a few suspicions. He did not need any more weirdness in his life; it was odd enough on its own.
A car honked behind him.
Pain laced through his head at the abrupt sound.
"Oh, yeah. That's why I'm going," he commented softly to himself once he could think clearly again. Doctor McKay may have been something of a character and he knew little of this Sandburg he had been referred to, but this was the only real hope he had of getting his old life back.
He just hoped this Sandburg had some aspirin stashed in his office.
***
Who can say which of the strands is right?
***
He had been tied up into a bundle and flung over a packhorse. They had been riding at a steady walk for a few hours. His stomach was complaining about the lack of food and his muscles were still aching. He was close to panicking.
They had arrived in the more fertile lands near the great rivers and were nearing this Lord Blair's camp. He could hear the noises of a well-run camp; cooking, pack animals, and the usual small repairings. It sounded like something out of a nightmare.
As a sentinel he had been driven out of the tribe when he came of age since he did not have a guide. No tribe welcomed a guideless sentinel, as they were considered a risk rather than a blessing. His tribe's guide already had a sentinel and no guide he had met in the gatherings had chosen him. He had been living on his own these past few seasons. It was a lean living, but he had been content enough.
He had been keeping out of sight of the caravans since he did not want to become some Sha'a lord's pet, but it seemed like that was to be his fate. Unless, of course, this Lord Blair decided not to keep him. His imagination came up with a series of possibilities about what would become of him then, discarded and in a Sha'a camp. He shivered despite the warmth of the spring sun.
They rode straight towards a group of better-dressed men. The leader of the hunters went to a younger man with the braids of a noble, and went down to one knee. Two older hunters took him off the horse and helped him stand. The ropes stayed.
The young noble walked towards him, like a kitten towards a treat. He did his best not to flinch under the hungry stare. As the noble cupped his chin, he turned his face away from the hand.
The young noble smiled at him in mild amusement.
"You may rise," the noble told his hunter, turning away from the sentinel. "You have done well. Simon."
One of the other men, a tall officer with a scarred face stepped forward.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Take care of him until we arrive at the villa. Make sure he's kept clean and fed."
"As you wish, my lord."
***
Reality is forever changing. Forever creating possibilities.
***
He finally arrived at Sandburg's office in the University. It did not look like much.
After a second's hesitation, he knocked on the door. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
"Come in!"
He opened the door and stepped in.
/What the hell?!/ It seemed like Dr McKay had a double life. Jim opened his mouth to demand an explanation, but then he got a whiff of a smell. It burned his nose, but there was something intriguing about it. He concentrated on it, trying to figure out what it was.
He was falling, falling into a soft darkness.
The next time he was aware of his surroundings and himself again, he was sitting on a cold floor in the corridor outside Sandburg's office. /How did I get here??/
"Welcome back. In case you're wondering, that was a zone-out. I'm sorry," Sandburg apologised. He did look sorry about what had happened, though Jim did not understand what he was sorry about.
"About what?" Jim was feeling totally lost. It was a feeling he was getting used to, too much so.
"I cleaned my office yesterday, with pretty strong stuff. Nothing milder would have worked with some of those stains, but I should've known better with a fledgling sentinel coming to visit."
"Fledgling sentinel?" Maybe he should get one of those satellite locators.
"How's your head?" Sandburg suddenly asked out of the blue.
"Better." In fact, the headache was totally absent and he had not felt this good in weeks. Strange.
"Good. Now, you're a sentinel. You have real acute and strong senses, but what's even more amazing is the fact that you can consciously control them."
"How?" he asked eagerly. Maybe he could get some of his life back.
"With practice and the help of a guide. A guide's your personal trainer, caregiver and touchstone with reality. Sentinels easily lose touch with ´normal`. The zone-outs are the extreme example of that. You just had one of those. A guide makes sure you stay fit and stay rooted in the here and now. He also makes sure you don't come in contact with anything hazardous. I know some pretty amazing pairs," the young man explained enthusiastically.
"There are others?" Maybe he wasn't such a weirdo.
"Yes. There are others. Not many, but you're not the only one. They keep in contact with each other and keep quiet. It's safer that way."
Jim nodded. He could understand wanting to keep your head down. Sandburg had kept his hand on his shoulder the whole time, but it barely registered. Somehow, part of him took it as a given.
"I've been keeping my eyes open for sentinels and guides. I've been fascinated with them all my life and I'd be glad to help you until you find your destined guide."
"Destined guide?" /God, I sound like such a moron. /
"A sentinel's compatible with most guides, but there's only one that's a perfect match. It's one of those you have to experience it to understand it things," the bundle of enthusiasm said apologetically.
"Oh, okay." For some reason, he did not question the statement.
Sandburg took hold of his arm and rose. Jim could hear the students getting ready to leave in the nearest classrooms. The sound of dozens of bags being packed and lecturers giving their last comments was not as confusing to his ears as it would have been just a few hours ago. It was merely background noise now.
"Good. Now let's go outside to the park. It should be quiet this time of day. Lesson number one is how to avoid zoning."
Sandburg kept his hand at the small of his back, steering him outside amongst chattering students and talking the whole time.
Jim wondered how hard he had hit his head as he fell. Surely he should have demanded a more rational explanation, he should have asked for some proof instead of just believing this stranger. It was odd, but it felt right. It *was* right.
***
Some of the strands resemble each other. Some of them weave with others forming intricate patterns.
***
It had taken two ten-days to arrive at the villa deep in the Sha'a lands. The guards had kept a close eye on him at all times. It would be *their* heads in danger of falling, if he escaped.
He felt more alone than ever. There were 3 or 4 languages spoken in the group, but he understood only one of them. No one was much interested in talking with him anyway; he was an outsider and of no importance. It was better not to be associated with him.
The villa was well kept and seemed peaceful. He could feel fear gripping him in an iron fist the closer they came to it.
The large courtyard had a fountain in the middle and large olive trees lining the sides of the three-story main building. People unloaded pack animals and wagons with ease born of experience. The leader of the hunters and a couple of the guards led him to a small room on the first floor. The sound of the door locking sent a chill down his spine. He went to the small window in the back of the white chalked room. He could see the activity in the courtyard, but no sign or sound of Lord Blair. Seemed he either trusted his people or did not believe in overseeing everything himself.
After everything had been taken care of and the life could resume its normal rhythm in the villa, the guards came to lead him to a bathhouse by the garden. The warm water felt divine after so long a time. Afterwards he was given some foul smelling drink. He refused, but the guards forced it down his throat. After cleaning his face they led him to the lord's main bedroom on the second floor. Halfway there they had to carry him. He was numb and totally relaxed. He felt like a visitor in his own body.
They put him on the large bed and left. He was not sure how long he waited until Lord Blair came in. The young lord sat by his side and took his face in his hands.
"What do you hear?"
"Your heart, the animals in the barn and stables, the guards at the gate talking," he answered without hesitation. The young lord was a guide, with knowledge of sentinels.
They went through his senses one at a time. The young lord seemed satisfied with the results. He asked something in different languages and seemed pleased that he did not know them. He spoke only two languages; his own and the trade language.
Then Blair stood up and walked over to the clothes chest. He started to disrobe. As the noble walked back, he felt grateful for the drink, otherwise he would never have managed to relax and this would hurt even more.
The noble took a vial of oil from a box on a table by the bed. The guide prepared the sentinel, making sure not to damage.
The sentinel turned his head away as the guide entered him. He did not want to see the pleasure on the guide's face, hearing it was bad enough. As the guide climaxed they could both feel the bond setting.
"So, what should I call you?" the guide wondered, still in him. "How about ... Jaime? Yes, that's good. Fits you."
***
Some strands diversify every chance they have, with every possibility.
***
"Hi, big guy! How's it going?" Blair strode into Major Crimes greeting a sentinel who was fighting a lost battle with his computer. Blair had some plans for his sentinel this evening and he needed to make sure that the person in question would be present and in perfect health.
"It's not going," Jim grumbled.
"Let me, Oh Mighty Detective. Such tasks are for us lowly swordbearers," Blair said, doing his best to imitate the language in a Shakespearean play they had seen on TV last weekend.
Jim rose, readily giving up his chair to his guide.
"Any specific reason for your bright mood?" the sentinel asked, already feeling his own mood brighten.
"It's sunny, it's reasonably warm. Do I need any more reasons?" Blair asked as he sat down and started clicking.
"I suppose not."
A few more clicks. "There you are, all sorted out."
Jim sat on the chair his guide vacated.
"So, any stake-outs or other time consuming activities planned for tonight?"
"No, none that I know of," Jim answered, most of his concentration on the computer that was now purring happily.
"Good, I'll get to the deli then. I've got this new recipe I've been dying to try." Blair was practically hopping. "If anything does come up..."
"I'll be sure to call you so you can come and cover my ass." Jim said absently.
"I'll have you trained, yet."
Blair got out the door, narrowly dodging a cube of post-it notes thrown at him.
As Jim drove home some hours later, he wondered how well their lives intertwined. Blair had needed a place to stay since his old place was to be torn down and everyone got evicted. Jim did not put up much of a fight when his guide asked to stay at his loft. Somehow after awhile Blair stopped looking for an apartment of his own and Jim did not feel like reminding him. Everyone thought they were lovers, lately he had begun to hope it would become true. They already knew each other; they lived together and were best of friends. What made Jim hesitate was the fact that he did not know how much of it was due to the sentinel-guide connection. Sometimes he wondered if it mattered.
Blair had the food ready when he came home. The loft was warm now, in a way it had never been before Blair had settled in. The food was good, though Jim concentrated more on the sound of Blair's voice as he told about his latest project. He helped in putting away the food and washed the dishes. Blair found a game on TV and they settled on the couch, side by side.
It was good, to spend time with Blair. To be with him.
Suddenly he noticed that Blair was silent, watching him. Blair leaned toward him.
The first kiss was bliss. He realised it did not matter if he loved Blair because of the sentinel-guide connection. All that mattered was the fact that he loved Blair.
They made out on the couch until the need for more grew urgent. Blair led him upstairs. They tumbled on to the bed.
"Jim, I want you," Blair said, almost whispering. "I want to be in you."
The words surprised Jim. He had not thought they would go that far so soon. He looked at Blair, and nodded.
Blair was careful not to hurt him. After the first few moments it did not hurt. He felt full, pleasurably so.
As they were lying together afterwards, Blair stated in a serious voice; "My Sentinel. I love you."
"I love you. My Guide," Jim answered. The words flowed freely, of their own accord. They felt right.
***
Some strands choose carefully. They diversify for few possibilities, for choice chances.
***
He was sitting in one of the spaceport's many bars. Strictly speaking the bar was not in the spaceport, more like along one of the two nearest streets, but the term 'spaceport' had grown to include more than just the large domed structure dominating the view for miles. He was clean, but his clothes had seen better days, about a decade ago.
His latest job had ended some time ago and he had not been able to get another. He had trouble finding a job since it was pretty well known that he had a tendency to space out. He had started using mild sedatives for his headaches, which was not a point in his favour either. Somehow such news travelled fast. By now, his credit was running low.
He was looking around at the spacers, thinking about which one to try. At least he would get a warm bed and some breakfast, maybe even a ride to some other planet. Somewhere where his troubles were not so widely known.
"Hi there."
He turned to see a young man, probably in his late twenties. A bit shorter than he was and good looking but definitely masculine. The clothes were clean and comfortable looking, with the insignia of a ship's navigator on the front of his jacket. He would do.
"Hi. You looking for someone?"
"Not any more."
Nice smile.
"Good. I'm James."
"Blair."
***
End, of two strands and beginning of another