Chapter Text
Title: To Choose a Guide
Fandom: The Sentinel
Authors: Joan Z and Ne'ichan
Disclaimer: The Sentinel in all its glorious creative forms does not belong to us. Though we avidly read the many stories inspired by its characters, though we entertain too many bunnies to name...we are only playing with the recognizable characters and trying to show them a good time.
Summary: Jim needs a guide. Blair needs a sentinel.
Rating: FRT
FB: Please cheer us up!
A/N: Dues fic for both of us, please.
Jim looked up from his desk, straight into the glaring eyes of the cigar chomping Captain Simon Banks bearing down on him. "Something you want, Captain?" Jim asked warily.
Simon removed the unlit cigar from his mouth. Inhaling, Jim could smell the wet, masticated tobacco at the cigar's end. His stomach lurched just a little. He fought to get control of it. His senses had a mind of their own lately; his hyper senses were becoming more of a curse than a gift.
"You planning to go to the guide meet Saturday?" The deceptively casual tone of Bank's voice was completely contradicted by the fierce gleam in his eye. Even having trouble with his senses Jim Ellison didn't miss the message in the look. Options weren't being discussed. This was an order, and there was only one right answer. Stubbornly, Detective James Ellison refused to give that answer.
"No," Jim said, trying a redirect. He knew he had little chance of distracting his superior officer. Still nothing ventured, nothing gained. He really didn't want to go to another meet for the rest of his life. He'd met his now ex-wife and ex-guide Carolyn Plummer at a meet. And that hadn't worked out so well. "I was planning to see if I could find a lead on this cold case I'm working on. The family deserves closure. It has been six months since we've come up with anything new."
Simon's gaze narrowed at him and Jim knew the gambit had failed. Aw, hell. Jim prepared for the lecture he'd already endured more than once.
"Forget the cold case, Jim. You know the law. All Sentinels working for law enforcement must have a guide. I've given you all the leeway I can on this. The Powers That Be gave us two months to get it sorted. I've given you that plus two extensions. Either you have a guide by Monday morning or you're confined to desk work until you do. The state is cracking down on guide-less sentinels since that incident in Seattle. People died, Jim. A sentinel died, and she took her entire SWAT team with her. Even the damn dog died." Sounded oddly funny put like that, but sadly it was true. The team mascot had been among the casualties.
"I know, Simon. I read about it. I saw it on the news more times than I can stand. But I work alone and I don't need a partner or a guide. Keeping me in the field doesn't put anyone else at risk."
"What about the public?" Simon refused to relent. "Don't they have the right to a fully functioning officer when you are working for them? Serve and Protect. That is the motto. And what about when you need back-up? You're not alone then. There is nothing you can say to change my mind. I will not put a less than 100% functional officer on the streets. It's not how I run my department, and frankly even if you don't care about putting yourself at risk, I do. Get a guide, Ellison. Or you are going to sit right here at this desk until you retire."
Jim glared at his friend. "I am not a risk to the public." He growled. He saw the two detectives with desks closest to his own stand up and quietly but quickly leave the bullpen, they were careful not to make eye contact with either him or Simon. They were in such a hurry to leave that Rafe left his 800 dollar jacket draped over the back of his chair. Megan, the only woman in the department made no move to leave. Her unnaturally still posture let Jim know she was listening with every gossip hungry cell in her long, lean body.
Simon leaned in, lowered his voice. "Think about what you just said to me not 60 seconds ago. 'Keeping me in the field doesn't put anyone else at risk'. Even if that were true it puts you at risk. Not that I agree with your assessment. Sheila Fargo in Seattle thought she wasn't a risk to others. She was dedicated to her team, respected them. She had twelve years of experience, four years in SWAT. She should have been the last person to put anyone at risk. She knew her job. But...it didn't work out well for anyone involved when she went into a zone." Simon straightened to his full height of six foot six. "I've read her entire file. It is mandatory reading for all commanders with sentinels on their teams. I would have been proud to have her work in my department. But look what happened when she refused to take a new guide. Eight officers died. It is not going to happen to you while I have any say about it. I will not stand by and do nothing. The Chief won't let it happen either. I've gotten the final word. 'Get Ellison a guide. Now'." His huge finger stabbed at the desk top to emphasize how serious he was. Papers rustled, slid. Jim sighed.
"Come on, Captain," Jim said not liking how close to a whine came out of his own mouth. "It isn't like I haven't been looking. Most of the available guides are women and I don't want a female partner, again; and the others... they just don't smell right. They all smell like milk the day before it goes sour. I can't live with that for the rest of my life, hell I can't live with it for ten minutes."
"Sorry Jim," Banks said, "My hands are tied on this. You know I don't want to lose my best detective, so go to that meet and pick out a guide or do desk work until you can find one. It's your choice." He was silent for a moment. Jim's hearing warbled unsteadily as he waited for the next part. "You know it can work, it works for most sentinels. Carolyn just wasn't the right guide, but you can have it, if you just stop dragging your damn feet and get a good field guide."
"A good field guide", Jim gave a sarcastic little laugh, "Carolyn agreed to be just that and then she changed her mind and decided she didn't want to work in the field. She wanted to be a scientist. She expected me to follow her like a good Beta sentinel. Only I am an Alpha sentinel. I am not suited to be stuck in a lab doing CSI work beside my guide; I need to work in the field. So she left me, divorced me. I don't want to go through it again. I should have stayed in the military." Even knowing that he'd been betrayed by a superior officer. The military would have found him a guide, assigned him. He wouldn't have to go look on his own, and end up choosing another wrong guide.
Simon drew in a huge breath. He knew all of this. He felt for Jim. Plummer had betrayed her sentinel by pursuing her own career. Simon wasn't sure he blamed her. She hadn't been a field guide, and she'd known it. She'd stuck it out with Ellison for a lot longer than he'd expected. He'd been surprised that she hadn't been killed. Ellison had looked out for her, had been protective, and had slowed down to keep pace with her. It couldn't have lasted. Carolyn had done the right things for her, for her life. But it hadn't made it easier on Jim. Jim was left guide-less.
Add to that, Carolyn had been bitter over the failure of her partnership and marriage. Not vindictive exactly, but she'd talked with friends in the department about her disappointments. Some of which were personal. Some that put into question Jim as a man and a lover. Carolyn had been disappointed in her marriage. Jim, after a few drinks had confided in Simon that Carolyn needed to be in charge in the bedroom. Jim hadn't been able to accommodate that need of hers and meet his own needs. His skin crawled when he was in a position of vulnerability. She had been disappointed. Looking in from the outside, Simon had only seen they were a stunningly poor match sexually as well as emotionally.
"Jim, this time you might meet the right guide. It doesn't have to go like it did with Carolyn. Not this time." It was a weak attempt to cheer the sentinel on and it fell utterly flat. Simon cleared his throat when his voice roughened. He stiffened his backbone. "No choice, officer. You have your orders. Go to the meet. Get yourself a guide, or sit behind a desk until you do." Simon strode away, a suspicious lump in his throat making it hard to swallow.
Jim dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing hard. He listened to the escalating whine of the computer in front of him. Being a sentinel sucked.
***
Blair was not a happy potential guide. He had been told in guide school that he stood little likelihood of being chosen. Male guides were a a capricious fluke of DNA. For years it had been thought that a true guide needed two X chromosomes. Male guides were thought to be non existent. Until blood screening tests had come along and poked a big damn hole in that assumption. Blair himself had been part of that research and development when he was only 17 years old. He'd been as floored as the others. He, in his eager naivete, had believed a whole new world would open up. He'd had a personal stake in it when it turned out he tested positive for the guide markers.
It hadn't happened that way. He was still involved in research, most of it cutting edge. And his books were widely accepted as the best source of insight into sentinel life and behavior. But no one wanted him to lecture. His name, Blair, could be mistaken as a woman's name, but when he was seen standing up at the lectern no one could mistake him for female. It was often a nasty shock for the uninformed who attended his lectures. Sentinels and guides alike weren't happy with a male guide being seen as an expert on them. And having the poor taste to shove his gender in their faces. It offended their sensibilities. Blair allowed himself a half-hearted smile at his pathetic joke. Sentinels wanted female guides. Blair wasn't one. No one wanted him.
Beta Sentinels strongly preferred female guides and Alpha Sentinels preferred female guides but might grudgingly accept a male guide if they were going into combat zones and had a career in the military. Blair had never been interested in fighting a war or killing people for a living. Nor was he comfortable with a possessive and authoritarian Alpha sentinel who would want to dominate him constantly pushing him around; Blair was willing to settle for equal partners, but he was truthful enough to know that he liked to run his own life without interference. After all he had a superior I.Q.. So why should he have to submit to some walking bag of sensory overload; after all wasn't a guide supposed to give guidance? Blair sighed. Apparently not.
Blair stepped up to the check-in table in the hotel lobby when he finally made it to the head of the line and gave his name. "Sandburg, Blair," he said handing over his Summon's card. Sentinels got an invitation to attend. Guides got a Summon's. The visit today was mandatory for every guide here. A cattle call. Or meat market might be the better term. Sentinels were sexy. They liked sex. The better looking guides stood a better chance of getting selected. And the women. Not a lot of sentinels wanted to waste sperm on a male guide who couldn't ever conceive and carry their child. Sentinel's wanted children. Lots of children. It had to do with the mating drive, passing on your genes, securing your territory. Blair wasn't ever going to get pregnant no matter how hard he tried.
The security guard took the card and looked at his list. "Blair Sandburg", he said, his lips pursing a bit, his wrinkling nose telling Blair the man was a sentinel. Just the thought of a male guide was too much for the guy to handle and remain polite. With two fingers the Guard took out a 5X7 placard with large bright red letters that read: 'Warning, unsuitable as guide to an Alpha Sentinel', and handed the card to Blair. "By law you have to keep this in plain view at your table for the duration of the meet; failure to comply could result in a fine or jail time."
"Yeah, Yeah," Blair said, as he took the placard from the guard. "I know the drill." He knew all about it, and resented the hell out of the requirement. He stomped off to a table as far from the entrance as he could get, which wasn't far. The tables were set in a circle so that sentinels could walk around the room freely while moving from table to table to interview potential guides. Interview was another euphemism for 'sniff, taste, lick, spindle and mutilate'. He'd witnessed sentinels undress guides they were interested in. Not often, but it had happened before the supervisors could hustle a sense driven sentinel and his object of interest into one of the private interview rooms. Of course it had never come close to happening to Blair.
Blair knew from experience that he would not be successfully interviewed. Alphas would see the warning and pass him by with hardly a glance unless it was an unpleasant one and Beta's were only interested in female guides. So it would just be another Saturday wasted, sitting in a room when he could be doing other things, interesting things. The waste of time just made him damn mad.
Carefully and prominently he propped up the card with its violent red message and settled in to read.
***
Jim came into the meet and began looking around. Most of the potentials were female and he eliminated them as possibilities right away. Carolyn had proved just how unsuited female guides were for a man like him, a sentinel who was a field officer and wanted to stay that way. He wasn't much interested in being put on his back yet again by any woman. He swept his gaze around. But this meet, unlike others did have a good selection of male potentials. At least five. Six if that long haired creature in the far corner was male and not a really butch woman. Jim walked over the the area where the males guides were sitting in a rough attempt at solidarity and was immediately assaulted with the scent of anger.
Holy crap. The smell was strong enough to make him stagger, which brought five of the males to their feet in a surge of helpful aid. Hands reached out. Jim forced himself not to cringe back. Guides were too touchy. He let them catch him, tolerated the little petting strokes they stole. He felt their hunger. Being male guides, Jim thought, they probably hadn't been able to get their hands on a sentinel since guide school. They surrounded him. He forcibly quelled a shudder. Then another. They leaned against him as if they couldn't help themselves. All but the pissed off little man in the chair who just turned another page of the huge tome he was reading, never looking up.
That bugged Jim Ellison. And it intrigued him. He was a good prospect as a sentinel. If he'd wanted he could have any of the female guides here. But this little pipsqueak of a ~male~ guide wouldn't even look at him. This close up he was sure the guide was male, he had a five o'clock shadow that was way too heavy for any woman.
Gently Jim extricated himself from the constricting group hug the other male guides had him in. He stepped over to the man in the chair who was trying to read. He planted his feet in front of the chair and waited. Nothing. The man didn't look up or even acknowledge his presence. Ellison stayed put. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and glowered down at the oblivious man. The hippy flipped another page, pushing his glasses up his nose.
Six minutes. Jim Ellison listened to every second of the time tick away as the fuming guide ignored him, pretending to read. Finally the little man put the book aside with a sigh, and Jim thought he'd at last get some kind of acknowledgement. Instead the guide put the book into a ratty looking excuse for a backpack at his feet and then settled into the big chair, crossing his legs into a lotus position, drew in a huge breath, let it out, and closed his eyes.
Stunned, Jim realized the man wasn't going to pay him even the most rudimentary compliment, the polite effort of looking at him or speaking to him. He was flabbergasted. Once he paid attention to any guide they were usually all over him. He'd never been ignored. He discovered he didn't like the experience one bit.
He stayed where he was, thinking hard. His first impulse to shout at the man probably wouldn't have good result. Nor would tipping the well upholstered chair on its side. Frustration building, Jim became aware of an elusive scent growing in the air. He couldn't pinpoint it. He sniffed, shifted his feet, ran into someone standing too close to his left. He turned, saw another sentinel, tall, muscular, wearing a badge on his belt. Jim growled at him.
The sentinel growled right back, but his growl sounded a little startled and definitely less a true threat than Jim's growl. Holding the man's gaze, Ellison backed him away from the corner of male guides. The other sentinel went, reluctantly. Jim showing his bright, strong white teeth being the final extra push to get him out of Jim's temporary territory.
Jim returned to his position in front of the guide who was ignoring him. Only to find his way cut off by two more sentinels, one a female with gorgeous long legs and blonde hair. She looked at him seductively, pressing her breasts forward to distract him. They were fine breasts. Full and high, and he could see the points of her nipples pushing against her shirt, a glance down showed him she had fine wide hips. He licked his lips convulsively. He nearly stepped towards her, until he noticed the other sentinel with her was about to lay hands on the guide...HIS guide.
Ellison hadn't spent six years in the special forces without learning a few ways to move a person out of his way. He chose one of the less lethal ones now. The male guide ended up sprawled on his back, blocking the female's access to the hairy guide. Ellison stepped up and took his place back in front of the chair. He saw one of the guide's eyes was slitted open. The iris was a dark, deep, jewel-like blue. Jim discovered the alluring scent was coming from the guide he stood in front of. It was no longer covered by the scent of anger and frustration. Building was a scent that transmitted... surprise.
There was a tussle behind Ellison before he could step that last step forward and claim his guide. Hands seized him. Spun him around. He growled a warning, arms flying up, breaking the hold on his jacket. The sentinel tumbled away from him, and Jim snarled his contempt. Untrained. A harder grip fastened on his wrist, pulled. Ellison let the hand turn him into position before he struck. Two blows and the man was down, groaning. Jim felt the adrenaline that always surged through him when he fought. He shifted forward, another sentinel was coming. Exhilaration flowed through his veins like champagne. The thrill of the fight.
He put this one down with the same efficiency he'd used on the others. Barely needing any effort to do it. They were soft, these sentinels. City sentinels. None of them had served, he'd bet his eye teeth. Except....that one, the one with a badge who was watching him, just outside of the circle that to step inside would mean Jim was being challenged. The man's eyes flicked to where the guide was sitting, alone as all the other males had fled the area. The guide who now sat with eyes open and jaw dropped.
The other policeman smiled faintly. He touched his hand to his forehead in a small salute. In doing so he surrendered the guide to his opponent, admitting that Ellison had gotten there first, staked his claim and that no challenge was coming from him. Then the strange sentinel turned on his heel and left the meet, but not before Jim Ellison saw the name on his lapel and the insignia on his badge. Stabler. NYPD. Too bad. Jim had a feeling that a fight would have been fun. That just maybe the man would have made him work for his victory.
Jim turned to look at the guide he'd won. Only to see the little man was shoving his things into his pack and shrugging into his coat. The sentinel security stood next to him, frowning, nightsticks in hand.
"We thought you'd be trouble. Get out. And don't bother coming back here. No sentinel in his or her right mind would take you." The older of the two who were standing over the resigned guide said.
"Makes my skin crawl." The younger man said.
Jim felt a wave of pure rage. They were interacting with his guide, forcing him to leave. Without Jim.
The guide yelped when Jim took hold of the back of his bulky jacket propelling him between the two Beta sentinels. Knowing he wasn't really hurt just shocked, Jim Ellison didn't slow down until he had the smaller, hairier man out of the meeting room and down the hall, through a fire door, then another, and they were in the basement of the building. Alone.
Jim pressed the guide up against the brick wall, towering over him, displaying his dominance. Waiting to be admired. For the guide to surrender, to submit. He fumbled with the guide's coat, trying to get down to skin, spread his fingers over the olive expanse of the sleek flesh he knew was there.
The sharp pain in his instep caught him utterly by surprise. As did the elbow in his gut. And he barely turned his hip in time to ward off the quick knee that was very accurately aimed for his crotch. He wrapped his hands in more fabric, heaved, lifting the far lighter frame up and pinning the guide to the wall. Then he bared his teeth, and lunged. He shoved his nose into the thick brown/coppery curls, rooting until he found the spot, just right, rich with scent behind the guide's ear. He sniffed, sighed, sniffed again. Licked. Hmmmm'd.
Blair's head was spinning. He was fighting the big storm-trooper type who had grabbed him and literally dragged him out of the meet without a word. Just grunts and growls. He'd been too stunned watching the series of very short fights that had erupted in front of himself to run when he had the chance. He'd stayed, watched, gape mouthed, as if he didn't know exactly what was happening. as if he hadn't been called the foremost authority on sentinel behavior in the US. As if he couldn't buy a clue. The golden-boy of sentinel research, the man who knew it all, just sat there until the security guards had jolted him out of his shock.
Primal behavior was never good. Fighting over a guide, just because it was himself who was being fought over, he'd not clued in. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Now here he was with a growling, snarling bag of sentinel hormones who, unless he was very much mistaken was going to claim him without a single word. Rape him if he wasn't lucky. Blair took the only action that might get through.
He stomped his boot down on top of the sentinel's heavy work shoes. He got a grunt out of that, nothing more, so he used his elbow, one hard one to the gut. But the gut was made of the next best thing to steel and the sentinel hardly seemed to notice, tearing at Blair's clothing, not at all deterred. That only left...he jerked his knee up as hard as he could. He was not going to allow himself to be raped. But the sentinel only twisted his hips negligently and the knee missed. Then Blair was lifted, slammed up against the wall, held there and sniffed.
The first sniff made his hair stand on end all over his body. The second sniff made his body tingle, his limbs grew heavy, his hands, scrabbling upward to claw at the handsome face, relaxed, clung instead of clawed. Oh, shit. Then the licking. Sharp teeth ghosting across the vulnerable skin of his throat. Biting, never breaking skin, he was flipped around, still held against the wall, his feet dangling inches up off the floor. He tried to move back, push away from the wall, get back to the ground...then he could run.
Couldn't he? He wasn't sure. Why should he run? He couldn't remember. There was a reason, surely. He strained to remember.
Teeth. Teeth. Against his throat, he whimpered. Searching little nips. Seeking...then they fastened on the nape of his neck. Blair went limp.
Ten years. Looking. Wanting. Wondering. Giving up. Despair. Struggling. And then...this. Blair. Jim.
One Sentinel. A Guide.
At last, Sentinel and Guide.
End.
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