Summary: When a figure from their past comes back to haunt Jim and Blair, visiting friends Steve Sloan and Jesse Travis are caught up in the ensuing trouble.

WARNING: This story contains scenes of non-consensual sex and violence bordering on torture. If such acts have the potential to disturb, do not read this story.

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Misdiagnosed
By Juli

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Jim Ellison wasn't the type of man who suffered fools gladly. Of course, if said fool happened to be a co-worker of his, he typically didn't offer him his head on a platter either.

Suffice it to say that the Sentinel had been touchy of late.

Both men were angry when they entered the loft they shared. Restless, Jim stalked around the living space, hanging up his jacket and getting a beer from the fridge with the short, abbreviated movements that were the body language of barely contained feelings.

Blair, on the other hand, closed the door to the loft and leaned back against it. Crossing his arms over his chest, the smaller man carefully watched his lover's activities. He knew he should have confronted Jim about his behavior earlier, but didn't want to while they were still at the poker game, not with an audience of Major Crimes' finest detectives. The trip home had been out of the question too, not with Jim already distracted. A car accident would not have done either of them a whole lot of good.

Thinking about the poker game reminded Blair again of why they'd had to leave early. Even as concerned as he'd been about the older man's behavior over the last week, he still got pissed when he thought about what had happened tonight. The concerned and steady gaze turned into an icy glare.

Jim took another pull from his beer bottle and sighed. He didn't need Blair's glowering to tell him he'd been a jerk tonight. "I'm sorry, Chief."

Sandburg snorted, pushing himself away from the door to come closer to his lover. "Hey, don't apologize to me. Henry's the one you ripped a new asshole."

The detective's bad mood came back with a vengeance. "He shouldn't have kissed you."

Blair threw his hands up in disgust. "It was a joke! You know what a goof H is. He doesn't even like guys, remember? You went to his wedding, for cryin' out loud."

"Goof or no goof, H should know your lips are off limits."

The Sentinel's flat tone of voice allowed for no argument. Characteristically, Sandburg ignored that and fearlessly plowed ahead. "For pete's sake, Jim, what crawled up your ass and died?"

"A guy's got a right to protect his territory..."

Ellison broke off his tirade when he saw Blair wince. Immediately, at the sight of his Guide's distress, his anger dissipated. Swiftly putting his nearly-forgotten bottle down, the big man crossed the space separating them in a just a step or two. Pulling the younger man into his arms, he held Blair close. Sandburg's body stayed stiff for a heartbeat or two, but then the anthropologist relaxed into his lover's embrace, bringing his arms around the bigger man until the two men were clinging to each other.

"Now, this feels better," Jim said, bending to kiss the top of Blair's curly head.

The other man snuggled in deeper for minute, then pulled back to look into his lover's blue eyes. "Jim, what's going on with you?"

Ellison didn't try to pretend that he didn't understand what Blair meant. "I dunno. I'm just... restless. Like there's an itch under my skin that I just can't scratch."

"But it's not physical." Blair's response wasn't a question. Jim had been his study object longer than he'd been his lover, he knew the signs of physical distress and they'd been lacking. "The way you're acting, it's like the time...." The younger man couldn't complete his sentence. Instead, he just pressed his face against Jim's chest.

The older man finished his thought for him. "It's like the time when Alex was in town."

It wasn't a period in their lives that either of them liked to remember. Blair's Sentinel studies, while more thorough than anything else that had ever been done on the subject of enhanced senses, were woefully incomplete. Not aware of the effect that another Sentinel in his territory would do to Ellison, the grad student had offered to help Alex Barnes, a troubled woman who had wandered into his path. Blair had naively thought that all Sentinels were as noble as Jim was and took their responsibilities to their "tribe" just as seriously. But Alex, although a fledgling Sentinel, was a woman with a black heart. All the while Blair was innocently helping her gain control over her abilities, Alex was committing crimes in Jim's city.

Jim had become more and more edgy, his Sentinel instincts gone haywire over another Sentinel in his territory. Eventually he pushed Blair out of his life and it had almost spelled disaster. Just when he realized just how important the anthropologist had become to him, Alex had lashed out at the grad student, almost killing Blair. In the aftermath, Alex had finally been captured, but not before her Sentinel senses had backlashed on her. In the subsequent months, she had been cared for in a lock-down mental healthcare facility and there was no indication that she would ever be anything but a mental vegetable.

But now here Jim was, acting every bit as high-strung as he had when she had first arrived in town. Two pairs of blue eyes met, each begging the other to say it couldn't be true.

"You don't think...." Blair stammered. "They're supposed to call you if she so much as blinks."

Jim gave his lover a squeeze. "I hope not, but no way am I letting that bitch sneak up on us again." Letting go of the smaller man, Jim grabbed his coat. "C'mon, Chief."

"Where we going?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't think either one of us will sleep tonight if we don't go check."

"Now? Wouldn't it be easier to just call first?"

"Now, Chief." Jim smiled. "I'll flash my badge and you'll flash the ol' Sandburg charm." The smile left the Sentinel's eyes. "Besides, if there is something fishy going on, a call would only give her time to prepare. No, I think a surprise visit is in order."

Blair nodded, silently acknowledging the wisdom of Jim's words. "And if Alex is awake and aware..."

"Then if she's a good girl and stays put, she gets the benefit of a trial, just like the rules say."

Sandburg gulped. "And if she's not good?"

"Then we throw the rule book out and I take her down." Jim slid one hand around the back of Blair's neck and pulled the smaller man close enough to kiss. Just before their lips met, the Sentinel made a pledge. "I failed to protect you once. That's not gonna happen again. Not ever." Jim sealed his promise with a kiss, with all the dignity of a man making a holy vow....

Considering Ellison was a Sentinel swearing to protect his Guide, maybe it was.

***************************
The scenario at the county medical facility played out pretty much as Jim had anticipated. His status as a local detective, combined with Blair's breezy charm, got them in for a visit to Alex Barnes, despite the fact it was past visiting hours.

The Sentinel stood outside the comatose woman's room, looking through the clear observation glass that allowed the hospital staff to constantly monitor her. Knowing that his lover would be using his heightened senses to take stock of Alex's condition, Blair distracted the male nurse that had been assigned to accompany them with questions regarding the mental patient's waking coma.

Alex was mostly as they'd last seen her, a still figure laying flat on the bed, empty blue eyes pointed straight up at the ceiling. The only difference was that the woman's limbs were starting to curl in on themselves, a result of her body's prolonged inactivity. A tiny portion of Jim's brain tracked the grad student's conversation, noting how the nurse mentioned that the staff needed to keep Barnes' eyes lubricated so that they wouldn't dry out, but most of his focus was on prone woman behind the glass.

Alex had been a beautiful woman when they'd first encountered her, but that was being eroded as the rest of her body wasted away. Now her fine features were slack, an eternally vacant expression on the shell whose mind had long since fled.

Jim refused to feel sorry for her.

This was no hapless victim in front of him. No, Alex had brought about her own destiny. A Sentinel that had used her enhanced senses to betray her tribe, a woman that had spun Ellison's world topsy-turvy simply by existing, and the one who had come so horribly close to killing his mate.

Finally, the detective turned away, a minute shake of his head reassuring Blair. Alex Barnes was no threat to them, now or ever.

"Now what?" Blair asked as they made their way back to the truck.

The Sentinel shrugged before answering. "I guess we'll just have to keep our eyes and ears open."

Sandburg shivered. "I almost wish it had been Alex. At least we know her."

"Hey, Chief," Jim said, stopping in the process of unlocking the truck. "What happened before, when another Sentinel showed up, is not gonna happen again. Nothing's ever going to make me turn my back on you."

Blair grinned at him, pleased that his lover had thought to reassure him, but confident enough in their relationship to know he need never worry about a reoccurrence. "I know that, Jim. We've learned since then and we're stronger now. No matter what happens, we tackle it together."
"Damn straight we do."

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In the end, the lovers didn't need to test their renewed resolve.

As if the visit to check on Alex Barnes was some sort of signal, the Sentinel's unease began to ebb. Ellison insisted, however, that he keep a close eye on Blair, accompanying the grad student to Rainier when Sandburg had to put in an appearance at the university. For once, Blair didn't mind the hovering. It was, after all, a two way deal. If Jim was keeping close watch him, then he could keep a close eye on Jim. It comforted both of them.

Besides, the over-protectiveness was much preferred to being ousted from the detective's life, as had happened when Alex came on the scene the first time. If anything, Jim clutched at Blair during this episode, making love to the younger man every night with an intensity that bordered on roughness.

Still, after nearly a week of waiting for the other shoe to drop, only to have nothing happen, the two men began to relax.

"I think," Blair said one night as the couple cuddled on the couch in front of the television, "that if it was another Sentinel, he was just passing through town."

"I dunno, Chief," Jim cautioned. "Let's not put too much faith in my Spidey sense. Just 'cause I'm not on edge anymore doesn't mean that there wasn't reason to be. Or that there isn't still."

The anthropologist rolled his eyes. "Jim, if we followed that line of reasoning, we wouldn't have trusted your instincts to begin with."

"You mean we could have chalked my behavior up as me just being an asshole and left it at that?
Jim tilted his head to the side and considered. "No. I ignored the early warning system last time and you paid the price...." The Sentinel hugged his Guide's body close, thankful for Blair's living warmth. "Not gonna happen again, babe. I'm just saying let's be careful, that's all."

"Okay." Blair reached up and kissed Jim on the chin. "This time was different anyway. Before, you pushed me away. This time, you pulled me close."

The two men's contemplation of the roughest time of their relationship was interrupted by the ring of the phone. Jim's arms were longer and he reached over to answer it. "Hello?"

"Jim, I'm glad I caught you at home," Came the hearty voice from the other end of the line.

"Steve, it's good to hear your voice. Jesse's not in trouble again, is he?"

Steve Sloan was an old friend of Jim's, a Los Angeles detective that Ellison had encountered during some otherwise boring police conferences. The two men had been lovers for a short time, but had soon settled into a lasting friendship, each glad to find someone that understood the unique pressures of being a closeted gay cop. A couple of months previously, Jim and Blair had met up with Steve at a convention in New York. Jim had been pleased to introduce his lover to his old friend and received something of a surprise himself. Steve had also brought his life partner to the conference, a young man by the name of Dr. Jesse Travis.

The two younger men had hit it off right away, finding they had much in common. Both were civilians that found themselves working often with the police; both had older, male lovers that tended to be over-protective; both were short but cute bundles of energy; and both attracted trouble like nobody's business. The two cops had ended up rescuing their trouble prone mates who'd been held hostage during a bungled robbery of a coffee shop. It was a bonding experience totally unique to Blair and Jesse.

Jim's reminder of that necessary rescue caused Steve to chuckle. "No, Jess has managed to stay out of trouble for a while. No, I'm calling about something a bit more prosaic. We've got a wedding to go to in Portland next week...."

Despite the added potential danger of having another trouble magnet in the area, Jim jumped on the chance to entice their friends to visit. Steve and Jesse would be just the thing to get their minds off the recent unease. "Hey, you should take a couple of extra days and swing by here."

"I was hoping you'd say that. The wedding's Saturday. How about we come in on Thursday? That way we'd have Thursday night and Friday to visit, but would be out of there before we'd worn out our welcome."

Looking at Blair, Jim repeated, "Thursday night? Friday?" Seeing the other man nod enthusiastically, he confirmed with Steve. "Sounds like a plan. Do you need us to pick you up at the airport."

Steve assured his friend that they would be renting a car and no ride would be needed. After establishing a time to meet at the loft, the two detectives ended their conversation and Jim went back to uninterrupted Blair snuggling.

"Hmmm.... Thursday night, huh? I guess we can get the place picked up by then." Jim mused, absently toying with his mate's hair.

"You've got to be kidding me," Sandburg said. "We've been sticking close to home and all you've been doing is cleaning. You could perform open-heart surgery on the floor, Mr. Stewart."

"Hey - !"

"And I'm not talking Jimmy Stewart, either. I'm thinking more along the lines of Martha."

He'd learned early in their relationship that he couldn't win a verbal battle with Blair, so Jim responded to the razzing the only way he could.

Tickling... and lots of it.

***************************

Although Blair's teasing had been right on the mark, and the two lovers could safely have eaten off their Ellison-clean floors, they chose to serve their guests dinner on the table instead.

"Welcome to sunny Cascade," the Sentinel said sarcastically as he let his guests into the loft. A strong gust of wind all but blew the Californians inside, along with a smattering of rain.

"Now I know why coffee's so big up here," Steve Sloan said, "it's summer, but that rain still gets under the skin."

"Yeah, we've got twenty-seven words for rain and twice that many different chains of coffee shops," Jim agreed, reaching to take the other detective's coat.

"In Los Angeles, with all the entertainment industry people there," Jesse quipped as he obediently handed over his jacket, "we have that many different words for 'diet.'"

All three men laughed, but Jim's chuckle cut off as he realized that the smaller of the two newcomers was shivering. "Jess, you cold?" Not waiting for the blonde man to respond, the detective ushered their guests into the living room, one hand at the small of Jesse's back as he urged him close to the fire place. "Let me just light a fire here. Get you warmed up in no time." The wood was quickly lit and a small blaze was started.

Blair watched the proceedings from the kitchen area. He'd come forward with Jim to greet their visitors, but found himself hanging back a bit. It wasn't like the grad student to be shy, but he found himself observing silently as his lover tucked a blanket around Dr. Travis.

"Where's Blair?" Steve asked.

"He was just here a minute ago," Jim said, standing now that he was finished draping a blanket over his cold guest. It was a small loft and he quickly spied the familiar curly head. "There you are, Chief. Why don't you come over and say 'hi.'"

Blair slowly left his kitchen hideaway, oddly reluctant to join the group. "Hey," he said, waving awkwardly as he approached the other men. "How was your trip?"

Even as clumsy as it was, Blair's question got the small talk flowing and soon the friends were catching up on important business, like cases they'd solved since last seeing one another. Jim in particular was glad to see his old friend. Steve Sloan didn't know about the Sentinel stuff, but he did know Jim's other secret, the one that Ellison guarded as carefully as the fact of his enhanced senses. Being a gay cop was not an easy thing, and although Simon and the other detectives he worked closely with had been told of the his true relationship with Blair, they didn't understand it. Not the way someone who was gay himself could.

Sandburg thought he'd been looking forward to the visit as well, but now that Steve and Jesse had actually arrived, was having a hard time enjoying it. His stilted attempts at conversation eventually tapered off, but he only shrugged at the odd look his lover threw his way. Damned if he could explain it.

"Hey, did you get warm?" Jim finally asked Jesse, noticing that the younger man had thrown off the blanket.

"I'm good, thanks."

Something about the way the young doctor blushed at Jim's concern irritated Blair and he couldn't stop himself from asking, "I thought you were from Illinois? All that time in the California heat must have thinned your blood."

Jesse smiled dubiously, glancing over at Steve as if seeking reassurance that Blair had indeed been joking. "Yeah, I guess it did."

A few moments of uncomfortable silence hung in the room until Jim broke it by announcing that dinner must be ready.

"Good, I'm starved," Steve said, jumping up at the change in topic. Sandburg's behavior seemed a little out of character and he wasn't exactly happy about it, not when Jesse seemed to be the anthropologist's target.

The unhappy troupe made their way to the kitchen. Once there, Jim made a show of stirring the pasta sauce while Blair quietly went about filling their glasses.

"Jesse, you are in for a treat tonight," Steve said, coming up behind his lover and wrapping his arms around him. "Jim there might be as blue-eyed as they come, but there's a little bit of Italian in his soul."

The smaller blonde snuggled back into Steve's embrace, glad for the older man's warmth after Sandburg's chilly reception. "Really?"

"You be the judge," Ellison said, dipping a piece of bread into the pot and handing it to Steve. As the older Californian munched on his tidbit, the Sentinel dunked another piece for his other guest. Seeing that Jesse's arms were entrapped by Steve's embrace, Jim willingly fed it to the younger man, both of them laughing when the sauce dripped onto Travis' chin.

Blair set the glasses down on the table. Hard. The thunk of glass hitting wood caused the other three to look at him in surprise. "Oops."

With that promising start, the meal quickly degenerated. Blair made a point of sitting between Jim and Jesse, draping a proprietary arm around his lover's waist at any opportunity. Finally, the torturous dinner was over and the two parties separated. Jim shooed their guests into the living room, insisting that he and Blair would take care of the clean-up. As soon as the Californians retreated to the fireplace, Jim let his pasted-on smile slip and, grabbing his lover's elbow, propelled the smaller man into the recesses of the kitchen.

"What the hell's the matter with you, Chief?" He asked the grad student in a hoarse whisper.

"What?" Blair knew damn well what his lover meant, but wasn't in the mood to make it easy for the older man.

Jim wasn't buying it. "I thought you and Jesse were friends, but I gotta tell you, you're treating him like shit."

Blair dipped his head, eyes fixated on the floor. "I don't know what's the matter with me. When we met in New York, he seemed nice enough..."

"But now? What's changed?" Both men were careful to keep their voices low, in deference to the visitors in the other room.

"I don't know. I see him with you and all I can think is how cute he is and how smart..."

Jim moved close to his lover and put one hand underneath Blair's chin. Lifting the younger man's face, he made sure to he had a lock on the grad student's eyes before answering him. "Cute? Smart? You're describing yourself, babe. Besides, you know I'd never look at anybody else."

"I know..."

"And," Jim continued, using a nod of his head to direct Blair's attention to the couple in the other room, "I think Jesse's pretty committed to Steve." Indeed, the young doctor was seated on the couch in the living room, perched on the edge of the cushions. Steve was on the ottoman facing the smaller man, talking quietly to him in a soft voice. As the arguing lovers watched, the California detective reached up one large hand and brushed the hair off Jesse's face, bending in for a tender kiss.

Blair twisted his head out of Jim's grasp, ashamed at the feelings he couldn't help. "I know I'm being a shit. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Hey," Ellison wouldn't allow his lover to retreat that way, quickly circling his arms around the smaller man in a hug. "We've both been under a lot of stress this week. Cut yourself some slack, okay? We thought this visit would take our mind off things, but maybe it was too soon." He squeezed Sandburg to emphasize his point. "We'll figure it out."

Blair didn't answer, just hung on to his Sentinel for all he was worth.

"Ahem."

With a guilty start, the lovers realized that they'd forgotten their guests. Chagrined, they broke their embrace to find Steve Sloan solemnly looking at them.

"I think Jess and I are going to take off. We obviously came at a bad time..."

Blair looked over and saw his young friend standing by the door, all but hopping one foot and then the other in his anxiousness to leave a tense situation. Instantly, the uncomfortable look on Jesse's face made the grad student feel contrite.

"Hey, don't do that," Sandburg said, breaking free of Jim's arms but snagging the detective's hand on his way by, pulling Ellison behind him as he approached the Californians. "I know I haven't been a good host tonight..... Hell, I've been a downright prick, but please don't leave, not like this." Not giving their guests a chance to answer, the anthropologist continued his explanation. "Jim and I didn't want to tell you, but one of the guys we put away was threatening us last week. It turned out to be no big deal, but there for a while, we didn't know." It wasn't quite the truth but close enough that Ellison didn't call him on it. There was no other way to explain, not without giving away the whole Sentinel secret. "I guess we've both been tense, but that's no excuse for mistreating a guest."

"I wouldn't say 'mistreating...'" Jesse began, more than willing to let his friend off the hook.

"I would," Steve said, too quietly for anyone but Jim to hear.

Blair wouldn't let Jesse make it easy for him. "Look, you guys are in town tomorrow, right?" When the two blonde heads nodded, he grinned, glancing over at Jim. "Jesse likes to surf, right? Well, Jim's brother belongs to this gated community and lets us have access to their private beach. So, why doesn't he take Jesse surfing tomorrow?"

Jim blinked in surprise. The surfing was usually private outing for the two of them, one that Blair guarded jealously. Since most of the other residents of the community were retirement age, the secluded beach didn't get much use, making it seem like the lovers' private getaway. Although Blair himself didn't surf, he would accompany Jim and either watch the older man while he rode the waves, or bring a book to read or simply enjoy the fresh air. That Blair suggested this as a peace offering was evidence of just how contrite he must feel.

"I dunno," Jesse said reluctantly. "Isn't it kind of cold for surfing?"

Proud of his lover's sacrifice, Jim backed Blair 100%. "Don't let today fool you, junior. This is Cascade. Rain today, but tomorrow's just as likely to be sunny. We'll get you a wetsuit, you'll be fine."

The young doctor looked back and forth from Blair to Jim. Evidently deciding he liked what he saw, he grinned, dimples out in full force. "Sure, that sounds great!"

Blair bounced back on his heels, grinning widely. "Good. Steve and I can go to the museum while you guys are hanging ten. Or twenty, since there are two of you."

Steve stifled a groan. He wasn't too concerned about Jesse surfing in unfamiliar waters. He knew that Jim would be nearly as watchful as he would, so Jess would be in good company.
The idea of touring a museum, on the other hand, didn't exactly tickle his fancy.

The anthropologist laughed at Sloan's expressionless face. "Nah. We'll skip the museum. I think there's a baseball game we could check out while these two are busy."

Steve grinned. "That's more like it."

The four men called it an evening, with the unspoken feeling that a near-disaster had been averted. Plans were made and goodbyes said, then the Californians were on their way to their hotel.

After they shut the door behind their guests, Jim grabbed Blair for another hug.
"I'm impressed."

Sandburg snorted. "What? That I can make as big an asshole out of myself as you can?"

Jim wouldn't rise to the bait. "No. That you recovered so well. I know how much that beach means to you, Chief. That it's our special place."

"Well," Blair temporized, "it'll help that I'll be with Steve and won't actually see you there with Jesse."

"But, still..." Jim insisted, reaching down and gently nibbling on Blair's ear. "Why don't you let me take you upstairs and show you just how impressed I am?"

The grad student laughed, squirming at the sensation of his lover's warm breath on his ear. "But what about the dishes? We can't leave the kitchen in that kind of mess? That's got be breaking, what?, about a gazillion rules?"

Recognizing his Guide's teasing, Ellison ended the argument by abruptly throwing his lover over his shoulder. Once he got the young man upstairs, he soon had Sandburg too involved for the young man to think of dishes, or dinner parties that went awry, or anyone by the name of Jesse Travis.

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The next morning proved the Sentinel right, dawning as sunny as the day before had been wet.
The afternoon found Jim and Jesse in the water on their boards. While the waves weren't as big as those he enjoyed in California, Jesse relished his northern surfing experience. Being with Jim was easy, he didn't have to worry about revealing to another man that Steve was his lover and not merely his friend. Besides, being alone with Ellison gave him the opportunity to wheedle some of his lover's secrets out of Steve's long-time pal.

"And Steve says I attract trouble," the young man laughed as the detective finished his story. "At least I can safely say that I've never been squirted with breast milk before." The two men were waiting for the next decent wave, sitting on the surf boards and legs dangling in the water.

Jim grinned at Jesse's mirth. He didn't blame Steve for keeping that particular story from his lover, it wasn't exactly the most dignified tale. One of the police association meetings had been in Los Angeles and Steve had been showing off to his out-of-town friend by giving him a guided tour of his home turf. The two men had encountered a rowdy prostitute, one who apparently was still breast-feeding a child and therefore had "ammunition" for her own unique resistance to being arrested.

"Don't forget your promise, kiddo," Jim reminded Jesse. "You can't let on you know about that until the two of you are safely back in L.A."

Jesse's grin widened. "Don't worry. I think I'm going to hold this one back for a special occasion."

The Sentinel tilted his head to the side, automatically categorizing the physical condition of his friend. Although it was summer, the northern pacific waters weren't as warm as what his surfing companion was used to. Not enough to be noticeable with normal sight, but Jesse's skin was beginning to turn blue. "I think we should call it a day. We've been out a long time, don't you think?"

"Oh, come on," Jesse said, rolling his eyes in disgust. "Not you too."

"What?"

The doctor waved his arms in the air, counting on his sense of balance keeping him safely on the board. "Mother hen. I've already got one of those, thank you very much. I am an adult, you know. I think I can figure out on my own when it's time to go in."

Jim recognized the obstinate set to Jesse's chin. Blair got a similar look and it usually meant the younger man was going to insist on something stupid, just to make a point. Well, he hadn't spent the past three years as Sandburg's partner without learning a thing or two.

Nonchalantly raising one eyebrow in a deliberate attitude of casual amusement, Jim responded. "What are you talking about, Jess? I just meant that I think our next wave should be the last one. I don't know about you, but I could use a potty break. I think our oceans are dirty enough without me adding to it."

Jesse blushed, not realizing he'd just been neatly manipulated. "I'm sorry, Jim. I guess I just got overenthusiastic. I don't often get a chance to surf without worrying about sharks."

"Well, Cascade can be a dangerous city," the detective joked, "but sharks are one of the few things that we don't have to worry about. The animal kind, that is."

His companion started to laugh, but stopped mid-chuckle in shock and yanked his legs from the water. "If you don't have sharks, what the hell was that?"

"What?" Jim asked, automatically scanning the water around them, even though he knew having sharks in these waters would be nearly impossible.

"Something just brushed by my leg," Jesse explained, face pale above the dark fabric of his borrowed wetsuit.

By the time his young friend had finished speaking, Ellison had ascertained that there were, in fact, several dark, shapes in the water... and they were circling the two men.

"Jesse, look out!" He managed to yell a warning before the water erupted around him, knocking the detective off his surfboard and into the ocean. Before he went under, Jim heard a startled yelp from his companion, then the dark water closed around him, turning the Sentinel's entire world black.

***************************

Steve Sloan finally let Sandburg off the hook after the grad student had apologized for the third time.

"Look, Blair," the detective said, "You're sorry about last night - I get that. It's okay, all right? Let's just put it behind us."

Normally, Sloan wouldn't be even this willing to forgive someone who'd slighted his lover. Steve had a strong opinion on how Jesse Travis should be treated - and veiled insults from someone Jesse considered a friend weren't even close to being on the list of acceptable behavior. The detective also couldn't discount, however, the incident in New York. Jesse and Blair had been among the hostages involved in a badly planned robbery of a coffee shop. He and Jim and spearheaded the rescue, entering the shop just in time to see Sandburg use the frothing feature on a Cappuccino machine to disarm one of the perps by squirting hot milk into his face. Steve later found out that the milked man had had a gun pointed at Jesse and that Blair had saved his lover from a possible injury or perhaps even death. That act had earned Sandburg Steve Sloan's gratitude and, along with it, a willingness to cut the anthropologist just a little slack.

"Love makes us do weird things sometimes," Steve said in a more forgiving tone. "If Jess is willing to let bygones be bygones, then so am I."

The two men had been waiting in line at a concession stand, loading up on beer and hotdogs before the start of the game. Their conversation was of necessity put on hold when their turn at the counter came, but once they were headed towards their seats, Blair picked up right where they'd left off.

"Thanks for being so understanding," The grad student said. "Honest to God, I don't know what got into me last night. Naomi'd freak if she saw me acting all jealous like that."

"Naomi... that's your mom, right?" Steve thought he remembered Ellison mentioning that Sandburg called his mother by her first name. "Jim said she was something of a free spirit."

"Yeah, that's Naomi all right," Blair confirmed. "Firm believer in 'detaching with love.' She'd be disappointed over me being so possessive. She definitely didn't raise me that way."

The smaller man looked so dejected that Steve felt moved to try and cheer him up. "I have a confession to make," the detective admitted. "If it had been anyone but Jim Ellison paying so much attention to Jesse last night, I might have acted worse than you did."

"Really?"

"Yup." Sloan responded. "Oh, I trust Jesse, without reservation. It's just that sometimes he doesn't realize exactly how scrumptious he is. He's always willing to give someone the benefit of the doubt, but they're intentions aren't always good." The detective smiled ruefully. "I have to beat them off with a stick... but Jim, he's different. I know that Jesse's as safe with him as he'd be with me... or my dad."

Blair grinned. Safe was a good way to describe the Sentinel. "Yeah, I should have known that Jim was just being a good host. You're Jim's friend. Jesse's your lover. That makes him just about family in Jim's book." Actually, the connection to Steve really made Jesse a part of Ellison's tribe, but the anthropologist didn't want to go into all of that detail. Not with Steve Sloan being unaware of Jim's enhanced senses.

"Okay, now that we've got that settled, can we please find our seats? I've heard this Rainier team of yours is pretty good and it's been a long time since I've watched any college baseball."

Their conversation having set his heart at ease, Blair just grinned and showed the larger man the way.

***************************

Having shared a bed with a blanket-hog for the last couple of years, waking up cold was not an entirely new sensation for Jim Ellison. Waking up cold, wet, and with a head hurting like a son of a bitch was, however, an unusual enough occurrence to get the big man's attention.

Jim stifled a groan, still not exactly sure where he was or why, but having the instinctive feeling that it wasn't a friendly place. Keeping his eyes closed in an attempt to feign sleep, he extended his hearing outward. He could detect the gentle breathing of someone in close proximity, but the steadiness of the breaths and the regularity of the unknown person's heartbeat made it clear that whoever his companion was, he or she was unconscious. Reaching further, he could barely make out the telltale rustling and squeaks that indicated that rodents were also close neighbors. The faint echo indicated that the critters were in an enclosed space, likely the walls, and Ellison was willing to live and let live as long as they stayed there. Automatically, the Sentinel reached further still, hoping to get some sort of clue as to his whereabouts or situation, but all he could pick up was reverberating emptiness.

Figuring it was safe enough to take a peek, the detective cracked his eyes open to take a look around. His immediate impression was grayness. Stark gray walls stretched out before him, inches from his face.

"Figures," Jim muttered to himself, finally giving in to the fact that faking unconsciousness was no longer an option if he wanted to gather details about his predicament. Turning over, the detective realized that he was on some sort of bed. Or, considering its narrowness, more of a cot... and not a very comfortable one at that. It was almost a relief to sit up, but only in the very short term. As soon as he was vertical, the soreness in Jim's head escalated from a throbbing ache to a sharp pain, paralyzing him for a moment.

"Okay, that was not a good idea," he muttered. Ellison stayed seated on the edge of the bed, eyes closed, waiting for the hurt to subside before taking a look around.

Sitting with his head in his hands, the Sentinel searched his brain, trying to remember what could have brought him here, wherever here happened to be. He remembered going surfing with Jesse, then seeing dark shapes in the water. It was coming back to him now... just as he'd realized that the shapes were actually men in diving suits, and that they were circling the two surfers, the strangers had attacked. He'd managed to shout out a warning to his companion, but was abruptly pulled under by a hard yank on his leg. Even underwater, he'd managed to successfully struggle with his assailants, breaking free long enough to get to the surface for a quick gulp of air. That had proven to be his undoing. No sooner had his head popped up above the water than someone had clocked him from behind.

The memory of the struggle reminded Jim that he hadn't been alone when he was attacked and the detective had a sinking feeling he knew the identity of the unconscious person.

Jesse Travis.

Sure enough, when Jim finally did pry his eyes open and looked across from him, he saw Jesse's smaller form laid out on a cot. The Sentinel got up and staggered over to his friend, worried that he was still unconscious. A quick touch to the doctor's throat revealed a steady pulse, but Jim was concerned about the clamminess of the younger man's skin. Ellison had vague memories of Jesse struggling in the water next to him, but he had no idea if their assailants had decked him too or subdued the doctor in some other manner. Soft but thorough touches to Jesse's head revealed no bumps or other signs of a blow to the head. A check to the other side of Jesse's throat uncovered a bruised needle mark, making drugs the obvious cause of the younger man's sleeping state.

While Jim checked on his companion, he kept half an eye on their surroundings. The two men were in what could only be a prison or holding cell of some sort. The walls were gray, as was the ceiling and floor, with the only splash of color being a pile of clothes and towels stacked at the end of Jesse's cot. Besides the two cots, the sole other thing available to them was a commode in the corner. As for exits, there was just one, a large, door made of metal bars. Beyond the door, Ellison could see a single chair and a stairway that disappeared off to the side.

It was not a place designed for comfort.

The detective was distracted from his inspection of their accommodations by the realization that Jesse's body was racked with tremors. Both men were still wet and, even though it was summer, it was chilly enough in their cell to be uncomfortable. Considering the cool temperature of the ocean water, the Sentinel became concerned about hypothermia. It was essential to get out of their damp wetsuits.

Jim rifled through the clothing and towels piled on his companion's cot. Quickly sorting out the items big enough to fit him, the Sentinel toweled off and changed out of his clammy wetsuit. His natural inclination was to see to Jesse's needs first, but he knew it would do the doctor little good to be dripped all over. No, even though it rankled a bit, it was better for him to be dry before assisting the other man.

Fully clothed and reasonably dry, Ellison turned to Jesse. Thankfully, the younger man was half a head shorter than the Sentinel and didn't have a lot of meat on his bones. Even so, it was awkward to handle the unconscious man.

"C'mon, sport, let's get you dry," the detective said, slipping his arms underneath Jesse's torso and bracing himself as he lifted the smaller man. Travis didn't so much as twitch as Jim settled him against his shoulder, the young man's head lolling limply as Ellison got him upright.

"I hope Steve doesn't deck me for doing this," Jim muttered as he started pulling down the zipper to Jesse's wetsuit. "You'll put in a good word for me, right, kiddo?"

Ellison's training as a medic had taught him that a seemingly unconscious person could still be aware of his surroundings. So, even though his constant monitoring of the younger man's condition gave him every indication that Jesse was well and truly out of it, he kept up a reassuring patter of words. The detective hated to think of the other man waking up to find unknown hands stripping him and rubbing him down.

As he worked, Jim couldn't help but notice that the smaller set of clothes was too big for Jess. Given how short the doctor was, that wasn't too much of a surprise. No, what bothered the Sentinel wasn't that the pants and shirt were too big for Jesse, but that they were only slightly too large. It was as if the garments had been intended for someone only an inch or two taller and a few pounds heavier than Travis.

Someone Blair's size.

Not liking the implication caused by that observation, the Sentinel finished getting Jesse into the dry clothes and gently laid the other man down. The young doctor's breathing had a wet sound to it that Ellison didn't like and he was beginning to wonder how much water his friend had swallowed during their abduction. Even though their unseen captors evidently wanted them in relatively good condition, as evidenced by the towels and dry clothes, he couldn't count on their extending that concern to treating an illness. Wrapping the smaller man up in both cots' blankets, Jim made sure Jesse's head was elevated. A quick brush of his fingertips against his companion's cheek reassured Jim that he'd done all that was possible for the other man, given the circumstances.

Resolutely, the Sentinel stood and surveyed their cell. He'd be damned if he sat and waited for their kidnappers to introduce themselves. The best thing for Jesse would be to get the doctor out of there and Ellison figured it was about time he used means at his disposal to make sure that happened.

***************************

"Did they answer?"

"No," Steve said, powering off the phone and tucking it in his back pocket. "That's odd. I would have thought they'd be done surfing long before the baseball game was over."

"Don't forget, they got a later start than us, what with needing to rent Jesse a board. It's not like they can take a cell phone with them out on the waves." The grad student looked at his watch. "They aren't supposed to meet us at the loft for another hour or so. Let's grab some fixings for lunch. I bet they'll be starved when they get back and, I don't know about you, but it seemed like we ate those hotdogs hours ago."

Sloan followed his smaller companion out to the car, trying to quell a glimmer of unease.

***************************

"Well, I guess you've got no complaint about your accommodations."

Jim glared through the bars on their door at the newcomer. Despite his earlier resolve to find a way out of their predicament, it had soon become apparent that there was no way out of their cell, even for a man with his heightened senses. His nerves were on edge because of their situation, but Jim knew better than to waste energy in futile efforts and the Sentinel had joined the still-unconscious Jesse on the younger man's cot. Although being dry had helped the younger man's body temperature stabilize, Jim was still concerned that the doctor hadn't awakened yet.

Even wrapped around his smaller friend's body, however, the detective had maintained on watch, using his ears as a sentry to alert of anyone's approach. With his body occupied with sharing warmth with his friend and his senses focused on warning of danger, Ellison's mind wandered free, puzzling out who would have had the means and the motive to execute such an elaborate kidnapping scheme.

As a result, Jim wasn't truly surprised to find out that their captor was none other than Lee Brackett. He had already come to that conclusion about the identity of their captor himself.

At Ellison's lack of reaction, the rogue ex-CIA agent's grin widened. "Already figured out it was me, huh? Impressive, but then again, I always knew you were a quick study."

The Sentinel ignored the pseudo-compliment and Brackett's seemingly good-natured attitude. He would never forget, not even for an instant, that this man threatened to infect the entire city of Cascade with the Ebola virus, just to gain Ellison's cooperation in the theft of a high-tech military aircraft. His nerves had been on edge before, but now that their kidnapper was in front of him, they were going ballistic.

If the detective was careful not to underestimate the rogue agent's ruthlessness, he was doubly cautious not to discount the man's intelligence. Brackett had figured out Jim was a Sentinel early on and had actually been the first person to recognize Blair's role in the whole enhanced senses gig, dubbing the anthropologist with the title of Guide. Even though it set Ellison's teeth on edge to use a designation created by a criminal, the name had stuck, being too perfect a description of Sandburg's duties to discard just because of the shady nature of the man who thought it up.

As though reading his thoughts, Brackett continued. "Gotta tell you, it shocked the hell out of me when the boys came back with the blond instead of Professor Sandburg. With him being your Guide as well as your lover," the criminal shook his head in mock disappointment. " I thought you and Blair could really make a go of it, but you've already replaced him." Lee tilted his head to the side, his eyes on Jesse's limp form. "I'll admit, though, you know how to pick them. Who would have thought that short and cute would be your type? " Lee appeared to seriously consider Ellison's choice in romantic partners. "No, on second thought, it's perfect. You like someone you can intimidate, at least physically."

Jim's glare intensified, not really liking this creep speaking of Blair or his relationship with his lover. The Sentinel was about to make a snappy retort when something occurred to him. The tilt of Brackett's head... the way Jim's hackles had raised when the man came near him... it all added up. Without thinking, he blurted out, "You're a Sentinel."

Lee Brackett brought his hands together in a mocking round of applause. "Stand back, folks, he's on a roll." Grabbing the nearby chair, the lanky man pulled it over and turned it around, straddling it to address the captive man. "Why do you think I was so interested in your Army de-briefing? I'd suspected for a long time that something was different about me, I just didn't know how to quantify it. Then, after you caught me the last time, well, let's just say that a man learns interesting things about himself in prison."
Keeping a conversational tone, the rogue agent continued. "That Sentinel radar of yours is a real bitch. It cramped my style." Seeing understanding dawning in the detective's eyes, he answered Jim's unspoken question. "Yeah, it was me all along. When the two of you went to check on the Barnes woman, I knew I was getting too close. When you're twitchy, you're too unpredictable."

Jim finished the thought in a flat tone of voice. "And an unpredictable man is hard to grab."

Brackett didn't bother to confirm Jim's statement. In their own way, both men were professionals and he knew that Ellison was perfectly aware of the truth of his own statement.

Instead, the rogue agent looked almost sheepish, shrugging his shoulders as he looked again at the unconscious man. "That's why your Doctor Travis is here instead of Professor Sandburg. I had to rely on hired help and that's always a tricky business."

"You meant for them to grab Blair, not Jesse." Jim was surprised at the relatively calm tone of his voice, given how angry he was.

Lee scratched at the back of his head. "I'm afraid so." He grinned again. "I gave the boys your picture and told them that if a short guy was with you, to take him too." The ex-CIA man spread his hands wide as though to absolve himself of the mistake. "How was I supposed to know there'd be more than one little guy in your life?"

Ellison was distracted from dignifying that statement with an answer by a slight stirring of the man in his arms. Looking down to where Jesse was curled against him, the Sentinel did a quick sweep of the young doctor's condition. A slight increase in his heart rate, as well as breathy murmurs that even Jim could barely hear all assured him that Travis was finally making his way back towards consciousness.

"What did you give him?" Ellison asked in an accusing tone of voice. "He's been out too long."

"Well," Brackett drawled, "that's part of the whole hired help mess. It's just your standard sedative, but they gave him the drug that you were supposed to get." The rogue shrugged again. "He's a lot smaller than you, so it just hit him harder, that's all. I do hope he's going to be all right, though." Brackett's expression changed to a leer as his eyes swept up and down Jesse's covered form, as though he could see the body underneath plain as day. "A good... mind... is a sad thing to waste."

Jim tugged the blanket up higher on Jesse's chest, instinctively shielding him from the other man's predatory gaze. "No more games, Brackett. If you'd have wanted to kill me, I'd be dead by now, so what do you want? Need me to steal something for you again?"

Brackett tore his eyes from the unconscious man's body, his ever-present shit-eating grin widening at Ellison's guess. "Steal something? Hell, no. This time, you're going to kill someone for me."

"You're out of your freaking mind," Jim stated flatly, after taking a few moments to realize that his captor had really said what he'd thought he said..

"C'mon, Jimbo," Brackett retorted. "You know better than that. Insanity has nothing to do with it - this is all about business."

Ellison didn't doubt it. The man in front of him was coldly ruthless and likely had killed for hire previously, perhaps even while still in the legitimate employ of the United States government.

"You want me to kill someone for you," Jim repeated, not bothering to ask Brackett why he thought he could force the detective into doing his dirty work for him. The answer was in his arms. Jesse might mean only a fraction to the Sentinel that Blair did, but Jim wasn't the kind of man who would let a friend's life be threatened. Not when he could do something about it.

"I do believe you have a grasp of the situation," Bracket said, a certain smugness in his voice as he nodded significantly at the sleeping young man still bundled in Ellison's arms.

Jim's mind was racing. If prison had been the catalyst that allowed Brackett's senses to revert to an enhanced state, then the rogue agent should be as capable of assassination as Jim was. More so, given the man's remorseless nature. He was no doubt not as experienced as using his abilities as Ellison was, but the trust factor alone, even with Jesse's life in balance, would more than make up for that... It didn't add up.

"What's the catch?" Jim asked, even as he reached out automatically to monitor Brackett's response. It was a largely futile exercise, since the man could likely slit his own mother's throat without upping his heart rate, but the familiar action comforted the Sentinel.

"James," Lee said affably. "What makes you think there's supposed to be a catch?"

Jim snorted. "Because I wouldn't be here if you could do it yourself."

Brackett grinned again. "True. I'll admit, the original plan was to watch you two in action again, kind of like field training." The ex-agent's eyes flickered to Jesse again. "But since Mr. Sandburg's not available, I'll have to content myself with little ol' you."

The Sentinel went cold at the other man's words. They brought home to him the fact that Brackett was a Sentinel without a Guide. Not only that, he was an inexperienced Sentinel in search of a teacher. No wonder the man had been frustrated when his thugs showed up with Jesse instead of Blair. Which meant that Jesse was in more danger that Jim had originally thought. Blair would have been integral to Brackett's plan and the rogue would have been reluctant to kill him. Dr. Travis, however, wasn't and that made him a lot more vulnerable.

Bracket misunderstood his captive's hesitation. "Now, detective, don't try and kid me. You've killed before."

Jim stiffened. "In the line of duty. Not cold blood."

"Semantics," Lee claimed, waving off the Sentinel's concern. "Look, if it makes you feel better, the target's no choir boy himself."

"Like that makes a difference."

"Hey, you're the one with the nobility complex," Brackett retorted. "And I think this guy's slimy enough to meet even your criteria of having a right to exist. Drugs. Murder. Forcing runaway kids into prostitution..."

"Sounds like a buddy of yours," Jim couldn't help interjecting.

Brackett sighed. "Okay, be that way. You'll come around." The ex-agent got up and headed for the stairs, stopping to make one more pointed look at Jesse. "After all, think of the alternative."

In the lonely hours that followed the rogue agent's exit, the Sentinel could think of little else.

*************************

"Blair?"

The anthropologist looked up at the sound of Simon's concerned voice. "Did you find something?"

The police captain, upon seeing his friend's face light up with hopeful expectation, mentally kicked himself. He should have found a better way to ask the young man if he was all right, one that didn't needlessly raise his hopes.

"No, not yet," the big man shook his head dolefully and settled down next to where the grad student was huddled underneath a hastily erected tarpaulin. As if mocking the beautiful dawning of the day, the weather had turned rainy and chilly, almost as if it were autumn instead of summer.

Banks stared at the gray and uninviting ocean, nearly as worried about Jim Ellison as the observer was. When Jim and his friend had not come back on time from surfing, Blair and this detective Sloan had gone out to hunt for them. They found Ellison's truck still at the beach, but no sign of the two men.

As it was, if Jim hadn't been a member of the Cascade Police Department, there might not have been enough evidence to call out a search team. Under the circumstances, however, one call to Simon Banks had resulted in, not only the mobilization of the Coast Guard, but also a big contingent of Major Crimes' finest had shown up, ready to comb the beach in search of their fellow cop.

If Jim had been there, he'd no doubt been touched by his colleagues' efforts. But he wasn't and that was the whole problem as far as Blair was concerned.

"He's a strong man, Blair, and one hell of a swimmer." Simon tried to reassure the anthropologist. "and he's been surfing for years. Whatever happened out there, I'm sure he got on top of the situation."

Sandburg shivered. He remembered all to well the sensation of drowning. The water closed over you and surrounded you, entering your body and your mind, almost willing you to breathe it in. His experience might have been in a fountain rather than the ocean, but there was no way that he wanted his lover to go through that. Not in a million years. Still, call it wishful thinking or some mad sort of intuition, but, although Blair felt deep in his soul that Jim was in grave danger, he had the distinct feeling that the Sentinel was alive.

Blair bit his lip and turned towards the big man seated next to him. "Simon, Jim's alive."

Banks smiled at him, "I know he is, Blair."

At the careful tone in the police captain's voice, Sandburg realized that, despite his brave words of a few minutes earlier, Simon didn't believe it.

"Look, Simon, I know it sounds weird...."

Blair's explanation was cut short by a shout from one of the teams down at the beach. The anthropologist threw off his blanket and headed towards the noise, in front of Simon despite his shorter legs.

He was met halfway by Steve Sloan, coming up from the water with something in his arms.

"Blair, do you recognize this?"

It was a surfboard. Jim's... and it was broken.

"Oh, god."

"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" Steve said, eyes tightening in pain. Blair wasn't the only one with a lover missing and the Californian had almost hoped that he was wrong and that the surfboard belonged to someone else. Its positive identification meant that Jim and Jesse might be stranded out on the water, with only one buoyant board between the two of them.

A strained silence fell between them, which Simon finally broke. "Detective Sloan," he said, careful not to look at Sandburg as he did. "Is there someone you can call? Maybe you shouldn't be alone right now..."

All of Blair's worry and anxiety instantly turned into anger, causing a conflagration that looked suspiciously like an anthropologist. Needless of his smaller size, he grabbed the police captain by the lapels, pulling Banks' head down so he could glare him in the eye. "Simon. You. Are. Not. Giving. Up. On. Jim."

Simon didn't even try to remove the younger man's grip on his coat. "No, I'm not giving up on Jim. You know me better than that." Seeing the grad student calm down a bit, he continued. "It's just that this is obviously going to take longer than we expected and I just thought that Detective Sloan..."

"Steve," the California man interjected, feeling a little out of place with all of Banks' formality.

"Steve," Simon corrected himself with a smile. In a lot of ways, the blonde reminded him of his missing friend, making it easy to warm up to the man. "Might want someone down here for moral support. Only," he emphasized, "because it's going to be a longer wait than we thought until we figure out what happened, that's all."

"That's all?" Blair asked. When Simon nodded, he let go of the other man's jacket, unconsciously smoothing the wrinkles left behind on its fabric by his frantic grip. "Well, if that's all...." Turning to Sloan, he said, "Steve, you want to check out of your hotel and stay with me at the loft?" Whirling back around, he narrowed his eyes and cut Simon off before he could started. "Not that I'm going there right this instant. I want to stay down here until we find Jim and Jesse."

"Thanks but no thanks, Blair," Steve said, shaking his head. "I don't want to leave either. My stuff's safe enough at the hotel for now."

"I can have one of my people go over there and take care of it," Banks offered. "You wouldn't have to leave just yet." He'd only just met Sloan but the man was a fellow cop... and Jim's friend to boot.

"Thanks," Steve nodded his acceptance of the offer. He was in no mood to deal with hotel staff and extending his reservations, not with Jesse missing. That reminded him of Simon Banks' earlier suggestion.

"Captain," he said, getting Simon's attention, "I'd like to take you up on your offer to call someone. The battery on my cell phone's dead."

"It's Simon," Banks said, "and you just tell me who you need to contact."

"Well," the blonde man said, somewhat sheepishly, despite his near-frantic state of worry, "I think it's about time I called my dad."

*************************

Jesse Travis.

Lee Brackett looked away from his computer screen and glanced over to the monitor that showed the activity in his prisoners' cell. He should be spending this time modifying his plan to allow for Mr. Sandburg's absence, but instead, he'd used it researching the identify of Ellison's companion.

When his temporary employees had returned with the young blond in hand rather than the curly-haired anthropologist, Brackett had been incensed. He couldn't take his anger out on the hired help, not yet. There was still the chance, unfortunately, that he would need them. He'd been tempted to exact revenge of the unknown blonde's hide, but something had stopped him just as he'd started to kick the unconscious stranger. It had been all he could do to dump the smaller man in with Ellison, when all he'd really wanted to do was wrap the unexpected captive in a blanket and snuggle him until he was dry.

Brackett wasn't normally the snuggling type and was understandably confused by this reaction .

So, after his initial confrontation with the detective, he'd indulged himself and done a little background checking on his unexpected guest. To the mild surprise to his jaded self, Dr. Jesse Travis was just what appeared to be - a young man visiting from California, a good doctor and surgeon, with the unfortunate luck to have befriended a Sentinel and his Guide.

"Huh," Brackett grunted to himself. "Go figure. Well, Lee, old boy, time to get busy. Let's put that noggin of yours to work."

Turning back towards the computer screen, the rogue agent hesitated. "What the hell, all work and no play makes Lee a very dull boy." Pulling out a video taken earlier using the cell's hidden camera, Brackett popped it into the handy VCR.

And watched in fascination, again, as the taped version of Ellison undressed and rubbed down the unconscious Jesse Travis, unknowing of the hidden and very enthralled audience watching the proceedings.

*************************

Jesse was used to waking snuggled against his lover's chest, so at first he wasn't too concerned to regain consciousness curled up in someone's arms. "Steve," he murmured in contentment, nuzzling at the warm body resting underneath his cheek. As the young man became more aware of his surroundings, however, it occurred to his sleep-fuzzed mind that the torso acting as his pillow was a little narrower than Sloan's and that the hand stroking his hair did so in a slightly different rhythm than he what was used to.

Not Steve at all.

"Hey," he said, the last vestiges of sleep chased from his mind by the shock of the realization. The young doctor tried to launch himself away from the unknown person holding him, but although he had no way of knowing it, the sudden spike in his heart rate had revealed this likely action to the Sentinel. Prepared, the bigger man grabbed him.

"Jesse!" Jim tried to calm down his fellow captive, wincing as one of Travis' elbows snapped into his belly. "Whoa there, Jess, it's okay - it's just me. Jim Ellison."

Eventually the detective's voice penetrated the younger man's panic and Jesse stopped struggling. "Jim?"

The uncertainty in his friend's voice reminded Jim that their cell was dark, thanks to an automatic system that had shut the lights off on a set schedule. It was close to pitch black in the cell and, although that wasn't a problem for him, his fellow captive likely couldn't see beyond the tip of his nose. No wonder Jesse had panicked.

"Yeah, it's me, Jess."

"Where are we?"

Jim thought that was a very good question. "I don't exactly know. Jess, what's the last thing you remember?"

"Ummmm.... surfing?" The Sentinel didn't need enhanced senses to hear the uncertainty in the doctor's voice. "We were talking, right? Then... sharks." The younger man shook his head as he delved deeper into his memories. "No, that's not right. Sharks don't have arms and I remember somebody grabbing me."

"That's right and they brought us here, wherever here is. We were both unconscious. I have no idea where we are."

"But why? Why would someone go to all that trouble?"

While waiting for his friend to wake up, Ellison had debated with himself about what to tell the other man. He'd soon come to the conclusion that Jesse's ignorance could be used against them and figured it best to tell the truth. "Jesse, did Steve tell you I was in the Army before I was a cop?"

"Yeah, but what does that have to do with this?"

"Well, while I was enlisted, I developed some special abilities..."

"Like what? Steve said you were in the Rangers and that you spent a lot of time in Peru. Are we talking covert, need-to-know kind of stuff?"

Jim shook his head, forgetting for the moment that his fellow captive's eyes hadn't adjusted to the dark yet and couldn't see the gesture. "Not exactly. Look, you're a medical doctor. Have you ever come across any cases where someone has enhanced senses?" Tired of playing twenty questions, the detective continued his story without waiting for an answer. "That's what happened with me. My time in the jungle triggered some sort of genetic potential I had for enhanced senses. Blair says I'm something called a Sentinel. I can see, hear, taste, touch, and feel a lot better than most people. Almost like a walking forensics lab."

Jim's explanation trickled off when Jesse remained silent. "I know it sounds absurd, Jesse, but it's true."

"I believe you."

The younger man's easy acceptance startled Ellison. "You do?"

The Sentinel had no trouble hearing the snort of laughter coming from his companion. "Are you kidding? After all I've experienced since working with Steve and Mark? I once met a woman with ESP. After witnessing what an enhanced sixth sense can do, I have no trouble believing that you have the other five amplified."

The detective relaxed a bit, since the anticipated battle to convince Jesse to believe him looked to be a non-issue. He was surprised, though, at the younger man's next comment, not expecting the naive-seeming doctor to have made the leap in logic necessary to make it.

"So, your enhanced senses are why we got grabbed? Somebody wants to use them and, let me guess, it's for less than altruistic reasons."

"You got it in one, sport." Ellison sighed, their predicament never far from his mind. "Lee Brackett. He's a snake, Jesse, and don't you ever forget it. As cold as they come, no matter how charming and friendly he seems on the outside. Ex-CIA. Ruthless. Intelligent but absolutely no scruples whatsoever."

"Sounds like you know him."

"You could say that," Jim said. "Blair and I had a run in with him before."

"And you beat him?" Jesse guessed, correctly as it happened. "I don't know what it is about bad guys, but they tend to take that kind of thing personally."

In spite of himself, Ellison grinned. "Yeah, I suppose they do at that. Look, there's a bit more goin' on here, Jess. You know I said I have enhanced senses? So does Brackett. And he wants me to show him how to use them."

Jesse frowned. "So... if you teach him, what does he need you for?" The young man gulped as he continued that train of thought. "What does he need me for?"

The Sentinel was quick to reassure the younger man. "He wants me to.... well, he wants me to do something he knows that I would never do under normal circumstances. Nothing's going to happen to you, Jess, not if Brackett's got any hope of me cooperating with him."

"So you do whatever it is he wants you to do, even though you don't want to do it, or he does something nasty to me?"

"It's not gonna happen, Jesse. Blair and I have gotten out of rougher spots than this, no problem." Leaning forward, Jim cupped Jesse's face in his hands, since he knew the other man wouldn't be able to see his expression well enough to judge its seriousness. "I am not going to let him hurt you. That's a promise."

The younger man wanted to believe him, but even though something about Ellison made him want to trust the Cascade detective, he was still uneasy. If it had been Steve making the promise, there would have been no question that everything would be all right.

But Jim wasn't Steve.

Jesse shivered, wrapping his arms around himself for comfort. As he did, he realized he was no longer wearing what he last remembered wearing. "Hey, what happened to my wetsuit?"

Jim was glad that he was the only one with enhanced sight and that Jesse couldn't see him blush. Coughing self-consciously, he answered. "You were wet and Brackett left a change of clothes. I thought it would be a good idea to get you dry."

The doctor sighed in relief. He'd been a little freaked for a minute, thinking that a stranger had stripped him... that unfamiliar hands had been all over him when he'd been totally helpless. Then something Jim said struck a nerve. "Hey, if I was still wet when you woke up, then we're probably pretty close to where they grabbed us."

Jim considered but ultimately couldn't accept the other man's hypothesis. "Maybe, but there's no way to tell how far underwater they brought us."

"Oh, yeah, right." Jesse was silent a minute, then something else occurred to him. "Hey, how did they get us here, anyway?"

"Heck if I know. I got whapped upside the head and they drugged you with something."

"You were unconscious? For how long?"

"I guess so, but I don't know for how long I was out."

"Geez, Jim, why didn't you say something?" The Sentinel could feel his companion vibrate with frustration. "Concussions can be serious. Have you been dizzy? Headaches? Nausea?"

Ellison batted away Travis' questing hands, knowing that the other man couldn't see well enough to assess his condition anyway. "I'm fine, Jess. Look, I don't know when Brackett's coming back. There are a few things I need to fill you in on before he does."

"Like what?"

"About the senses stuff. It's not as cut and dry as you might think."

"It's not?" Jesse questioned.

"Well, for one thing, there's the panther." Smiling grimly as that vague statement actually silenced the inquisitive young man, Jim settled back on his end of the cot. "Are you comfortable? This might take a while."

Ellison wasn't used to being the one to explain, usually that was Blair's job. Still, having his dialogue interrupted by countless questions was familiar territory for the Sentinel, especially questions from curious young men. Soon he relaxed as he slipped into the familiar rhythm of the exchange, almost forgetting the reason behind giving Jesse the explanation.

Almost.

*************************

It didn't rain, it poured.

Normally, Cascade was the antithesis of that statement. The area's frequent rainfall had a tendency to seep into your bones with gentle persistence rather than gushing in downpours. Speaking figuratively, however, the clues to Jim and Jesse's disappearance finally started flooding in, after hours of mind-numbing fear on the part of those who had been left behind.

Simon Banks had continued to stick close to Blair, trusting in his people to do their best possible work in locating their fellow detective. The captain himself felt that his job was to watch over Sandburg, not only to support the young man emotionally, but also to be there in case the anthropologist's agile mind came up with something the police had missed. It had happened before, after all, and with Ellison out of the picture for the moment, there was no one else Banks trusted to ride herd on the grad student.

Simon's faith in his detectives turned out to be well-founded. Rafe, Brown, and Connor converged on their leader, in various stages of excitement. Steve Sloan, who had occupied himself by coordinating the search efforts, noticed the cluster of agitated cops and immediately sensed that there was news in the air. He joined the group just as Banks was imposing order.

"Rafe, you first," the police captain instructed, deciding that Rafe had reached him just a split second before his compatriots.

"We have a witness report of a disturbance in the water," Major Crimes' youngest detective explained. "A neighbor had a guest that thought she saw some unusual movement in the waves, maybe even heard someone crying out for help, all about the time that Ellison would have been surfing..."

"What?" Simon was incensed. Why hadn't the witness reported it at the time? "And they're just now thinking of mentioning it?"

Rafe blushed, mistakenly thinking his boss's reproach was directed towards him and not the witnesses that hadn't acted on the information. "Well, there's a problem, sir. The witness? She's 93 years old. Apparently, she accompanied her daughter to her bridge club and was passing time looking out the window while the other ladies played cards. When Mrs. Olson became upset and reported someone in trouble, the others looked, but said the water was empty. No surfers, no boards, no nothing."

Banks nodded, remembering the notation from their initial door-to-door sweep that there had been some kind of party taking place at one of the neighborhood houses. Rafe must have discovered the information by tracking down all of the guests and taking their statements too.

"From the position of the house," Rafe finished up, noticing that both Brown and Connor were anxious to deliver their news, "they wouldn't even have been able to see where Jim's truck was parked, so they had no way of knowing that anyone had been in the water at that beach in the first place. For all they knew, Mrs. Olson had mistaken what she saw and heard. Apparently that's happened before."

Simon nodded again, happy to have some sort of information, but not pleased that it was grim and not from a reliable source. "Good job, Rafe," Banks hadn't missed his detective's blush and wanted to be sure to let the young man know his efforts were appreciated. It wasn't Rafe's fault, after all, that his news wasn't entirely good.

With one down and two to go, the captain turned to the next officer. "Okay, Brown, your turn."

"Forensics are done with their initial analysis of the surfboard fragment," The scientists has worked with unusual speed, very aware that what they found could impact the safety of one of their own. That they had been unwilling to stop their painstaking work long enough to give their own report and had instead trusted it to Brown gave evidence to the team's dedication to this particular case. "In addition to the fact that it splintered, there's also a slight dent in it right at the break point. Sam's still got some details to track down with the surfboard manufacturer regarding tensile strength, but the early conclusion was that the waves today wouldn't have had the force necessary to break it like that. It's almost like Jim took a swing at somebody with it."

Or, H was careful not to say, like someone took a swing at Jim with it.

Simon stopped himself from swearing, very aware that he had both significant others of the missing men within earshot. Still, two reports down and neither had encouraging news. Remembering that the third time's supposed to the be charm, the beleaguered captain turned to Megan Connor, the last of his detectives waiting to relate what she found out. "Connor?"
Although the light was growing dim as twilight descended, Connor's discomfiture was still easily seen. "I'm not sure how relevant it is, sir, but headquarters said to tell you that there's some bloke named Kelso that's been trying to get hold of either Blair or Ellison. Apparently, he's rung in several times today. Something about a Lee Brackett being in town?"

The other cops and the anthropologist blinked at one another in surprise. Banks, Brown, Rafe, and Sandburg all rocked back on their feet with nearly identical murmurs of "ohh" coming from their lips. Connor and Sloan looked at each other in confusion, Connor just shrugging at the Californian. She had no more idea than Steve did regarding the importance of the name.

Simon finally smiled grimly. Funny as it sounded, hearing Brackett was in the area actually gave him hope. Granted, even if the ex-CIA agent was behind Ellison's disappearance, Jim was still in a shitload of trouble, but that beat the hell out of thinking that his friend had drowned.

"Connor," he barked, clear on what to do with the added information. "I want you to coordinate with the local shore patrol, see if they've had reports of anything funky." The young woman was off to do his bidding, but Banks called a last bit of instruction after her. "And, Connor, don't limit your search to a few mile radius. I want to know of anything out of the ordinary on this beach for at least a hundred miles. That includes out in the ocean."

"Brown," Banks turned to the normally jolly H. "I want you to go through the usual government channels. See if you can scare up any details to Kelso's tip. It's probably futile, but we've got to try."

"Right, boss," H said, some of his usual spark back, as he jogged off to begin the process of wheedling information out of the federal government.

Simon turned to Rafe last. "Taggert's coordinating with the sheriff's department, right?" At the younger man's nod, Banks sighed. He'd prefer to do this chore himself, but it was more important to accompany Blair on a visit to Professor Kelso. Even though Rafe hadn't been with the department during their last run-in with Brackett, he was diplomatic man and would no doubt handle this assignment better than Brown would have. "You better let Joel know of this latest development."

"Yes, sir." The serious expression with which Rafe accepted the assignment reassured Banks. Taggert had been with the bomb squad during the last Brackett fiasco and had experienced lingering emotional repercussions to nearly being blown up by the man. Like most of the Major Crimes department, though, Rafe had an abiding respect for Taggert and would careful to be sensitive to that history when he broke the news.

Steve Sloan watched as the Cascade detectives hurried off to do their boss' bidding, envious that they had worthwhile tasks to fill their time. Waiting for news, helpless to be of any real assistance, was pure torture. Turning to Blair, he asked a question that had been bugging him ever since they started getting hints that foul play might be involved in the two men's disappearance. "Last night you said that you and Jim had been on edge because you'd been threatened by an old enemy. Were you talking about this Brackett?"

Sandburg's eyes widened. In his focus about worrying that Jim had drowned, the grad student had completely forgotten about that white lie... and the original uneasiness that caused it.

"Sandburg," Simon's angry voice made the observer's name a growl in the big man's chest. "What is he talking about?"

Blair opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, temporarily stymied on how to explain to Banks without revealing anything to Steve. "We had a handle on it, Simon...."

The captain didn't let him finish. "If one of my people gets threatened, Blair, I expect to hear about it. Sooner rather than later. Especially if Lee Brackett is involved."

"It wasn't anything overt," Sandburg carefully said, shooting an uncomfortable glance Sloan's way. "And it didn't seem like Brackett's style. Actually, it was like that time with Alex Barnes."

Simon Banks wasn't a stupid man, even when angry, and immediately picked up on the signal the anthropologist gave him. Alex Barnes. Sentinel. "Oh."

Seeing both men's faces close down to expressionlessness, Steve Sloan decided he'd had enough. "Okay, what the hell's going on?" He held up a hand as Blair drew in a deep breath, no doubt ready to launch into a long, and likely only partially true, explanation. "And I want the truth. Who's Lee Brackett and why does he have a vendetta against Jim?" Being no stranger to criminals who sought revenge, Steve had already figured out that much himself.

Blair shook his head. "Brackett's not the type for revenge. He's too cold-blooded for that. At least, not unless he can get retribution and make a profit at the same time. He probably wants Jim to do something for him again."

Seeing Steve's confused look, Simon scratched at the back of his neck, trying to think of a succinct way to sum up Lee Brackett. "Brackett's a nasty piece of business, that's what he is." Eschewing the Sentinel details, Banks outlined ex-agent's last visit to Cascade. When he finished, though, Sloan still looked perplexed.

"I don't get it," The big blond said. "From what you said, Brackett's been trained in Black Ops. Why would he need to coerce Jim into stealing something for him? I mean, Ellison's good, but I'd think Brackett would be better." The LAPD detective couldn't help but notice the significant look exchanged between Simon and Blair. "What?" When the two didn't immediately answer, he turned to Blair, "You're holding something back, Blair, I knew that last night. When it's just you and Jim, that's fine. I'm not one to pry. But Jesse's involved. Whatever it is you're not telling me, Jesse's missing and that gives me a right to know."

Sandburg looked into the bigger man's concerned eyes and gave in. Not only did he sympathize with the man, but he knew that Sloan was a cop that Jim respected. Given the situation, he'd be a valuable ally.

Besides, the notion of letting Steve in on the Sentinel secret just felt right somehow.

So, unbeknownst to him, Blair launched into the same explanation that his lover was giving at about that same moment, albeit Sandburg's audience was a bit more skeptical.

"Enhanced senses?" Sloan asked. "You've got to be kidding." Looking from Blair's pale face to Simon's serious one, he realized that this was no joke. "You're not kidding."

"I know it sounds like mumbo jumbo, man, but it's the truth." Blair's gaze never wavered.

"But... panthers? Guides? It sounds like a bad sci-fi flick."

Simon snorted. "You're telling me! If you think it sounds unreal, try living it sometime." The big man turned serious. "Do I look like a man that would be taken in by a half-baked plot from a B movie?" When Sloan slowly shook his head, Banks relaxed. It was a lot to take in at once, he didn't blame Steve for hesitating in believing them. "Look, now that you know, you probably don't need Sandburg or I to point out why it's important to keep Jim's abilities a secret, right?"

Sloan nodded. "Yeah. So people like Brackett don't try and take advantage of him."

Blair turned towards Simon. "Do you think that it's Brackett again?"

The captain hesitated and nodded his head. Maybe he was foolish and grasping at straws instead of facing the fact that Ellison might have drowned, but something just didn't sit right. "Yeah, I think he might have grabbed Jim. And Jesse too."

"Why Jesse?" Steve asked, voice strained with tightly reigned in emotion.

Sandburg bit his lip before offering an explanation. "Jesse was probably in the wrong place at the wrong time. If it was Brackett, he probably meant to grab me."

"If that's the case, it was the biggest mistake he ever made."

Looking at the California detective's stony expression, Sandburg was inclined to believe him. Steve Sloan might not be a Sentinel, but he was Jesse's Blessed Protector and Brackett had just ignited every protective instinct the big man had.

"Look, before we jump to too many conclusions, we better go talk to Jack," Blair surprised himself by being the voice of reason. Quickly turning to Steve, he explained his reference. "Jack Kelso's ex-CIA too. He's given us information on Brackett before."

"Good, let's go."

For the first time since arriving at the beach, only to find Ellison's truck but no sign of Jim or Jesse, Blair began to truly feel hopeful. They had a lead on the enemy now... and a formidable new ally to help them.

*************************

Jim padded through the forest, the misty but pristine landscape his first clue that he was dreaming. His second was the perspective; the ground seemed much closer than he was used to seeing it. Looking down, the detective wasn't too surprised to see large black paws instead of his familiar human feet.

It was one of those dreams.

Ellison didn't really mind, even though he wasn't as comfortable with the spiritual aspects of his Sentinel nature as Blair was. At the moment, he appreciated the escape from his gray prison, even if was only in his dreams.

Gradually, the Sentinel-panther realized that his rambling had a direction as his dream-self was gently drawn to a clearing the woods. As he approached the modest-sized patch of grass, he realized that it abutted a cave and was nearly hidden from view by the surrounding evergreens. A relatively defensible position... and, according to his ears, one that was already occupied.

Jim's animal instincts worked well in his dream shape, his great feline body flattening to the forest floor as he heard sounds coming from the clearing ahead. Slinking as only a cat could, he cautiously crept towards the tiny alcove amidst the trees, his eyes picking up the shadows of movement, confirming what his ears had already told him. He could tell that whatever was up ahead was slighter in stature when compared to his panther-self but still an unknown entity and therefore to be treated as a potential threat.

It was almost an anticlimax to finally get a good look at the animal making the snuffling noises that had brought him on instant alert. A sleek body, much smaller and more elongated than his own, paced from one end of the clearing to the other, moving with an agitation that seemed as much nerves as excess energy.

The Sentinel blinked. What the hell was a sea otter doing in the middle of the woods?

Huffing with cat laughter at his own needless wariness, Jim entered the clearing careful to time it so that he appeared as the otter was on the opposite side. The creature looked nervous enough without adding to its uneasiness. Sitting back on his haunches, he waited.

It didn't take long for the other animal to notice him. The otter stood stock still for a moment, one front paw lifted as though poised to flee, nose twitching it looked him over. Something about the small creature reminded Ellison of his lover and the same protective instinct as he had for Blair rushed through him, although not as strong as the feeling that his Guide provoked. Still, Jim was careful to look as nonthreatening as he could, a rumbling purr barely audible in the hush of the clearing.

The otter relaxed a bit at the sound and made a tentative step in the Sentinel's direction. When nothing bad happened, the first shy step was followed by another. Jim thought they were making real progress until, suddenly, the calm of the forest was broken by a oddly laughter-like howl.

The noise startled both animals and, with a muffled squeak, the otter leapt towards Jim, shyness overcome with the possibility of a new enemy. The Sentinel immediately went on the alert, but the sound wasn't repeated and eventually he relaxed his tense stance. He kept his senses at the ready and on guard, though, something telling him that the danger the sound heralded was not past.

The sea otter remained huddled underneath him, tremors wracking its small body. Jim nosed at it until the otter was lying in-between his paws. Then, using a technique that had served cats well for millennia, he began to stroke the frightened animal with his tongue. Gradually, the otter's shivering stopped and the Sentinel realized that the other animal had fallen into an exhausted slumber. Ellison settled in, maintaining a watch over his newfound friend.

In the distance, the night's silence was repeatedly broken by the distant howls of a hyena.

*************************

Jack Kelso was not what Steve Sloan had expected.

Having worked with persons affiliated with government agencies before, the California detective had to admit that he had some preconceived notions of what an ex-CIA agent should look like. Certainly, the last thing he would have expected was the pleasant-faced, wheelchair bound man that opened the door.

"Blair!" Jacked greeted the anthropologist warmly when the small group arrived. "I'm so glad you're all right."

Sandburg returned Kelso's smile with a tired facsimile of his own grin. "Thanks, but I'll be a lot better when we find Jim."

"Of course, of course," Jack wheeled away from the entrance, gesturing for Blair, Simon, and Steve to enter his home. "I just wish I'd been able to warn you earlier."

"It's not your fault, professor," Simon reassured the other man. "Whatever information you've got, it'll be more than we had before."

Quick introductions were made and the men soon found themselves ensconced in the comfort of Jack Kelso's living room. Blair couldn't help but think that the almost stereotypical suburban environment was an odd place for a conversation about a ruthless ex-CIA agent.

Kelso got right down to business. "According to my sources, Lee Brackett escaped from the federal correctional hospital down in Texas about two months ago."

"Two months!" Simon exclaimed. "Nice of someone to tell us."

"Correctional hospital?" Sandburg questioned, blue eyes flooded with concern. "What happened to prison? Why was Brackett in a hospital?"

Jack answered the grad student's inquiries first. "They kept it hush-hush, but Brackett was transferred to the hospital not long after starting his prison term. There's a decided lack of information, but from what I can tell, he had some sort of mental breakdown." Shrugging, Kelso offered his own interpretation of the scarce known facts. "It seems that Mr. Brackett didn't handle being in prison well."

Simon snorted. "Breakdown? Brackett's as cool as they come. I find it hard to believe that prison would affect him much. Besides, what made him so special? Few convicts actually like being in prison, that defeats the whole purpose of putting them there in the first place."

"You're right," Jack readily agreed, "but they don't normally have convulsions and end up in a coma either."

"But he escaped, right?" Blair looked more confused than angry. "That kind of proves he was faking all along."

"Maybe," Kelso admitted. "In any case, the powers that be were skeptical enough to transfer him to the highest security hospital facility in the federal system."

"But he still escaped." Blair's bleak statement wasn't voiced as a question, but Kelso silently nodded in response anyway.

Steve Sloan spoke for the first time since his introduction to Kelso, leaning forward and speaking intensely. "Blair tells me you're still well-connected in the Company. What I want to know is why, when a CIA agent turned international terrorist escapes from federal authorities, no one is alerted? Based on how Brackett was apprehended, wouldn't it be standard operating procedure to alert Cascade PD when he was transferred to a hospital prison, let alone being notified when he escaped?" The big man sat back in the sofa, deflated as he reached his own conclusion. "The silence smacks of a conspiracy to me."

Startled, Simon and Blair looked at Jack, who nodded reluctantly in agreement. "I hate to say it, but I think you're right. Reading between the lines, it looks like someone behind the scenes, probably in the Company itself, arranged for Brackett's transfer and maybe even his escape."

"Do you have any idea of who - and why?" Sandburg had worked with Jim long enough to know that the answers to those questions would be the key to finding his lover.

Kelso suddenly looked tired. "I don't know. So far, I haven't uncovered any activity from Brackett since his escape, pointing to the fact that he might have come straight to Cascade. If that's the case, then it could be that Brackett came here specifically because he needs Ellison." Looking at Steve apprehensively, the other three men could sense that Jack was choosing his next words carefully. "My guess is that Brackett has some sort of use for Jim's... special abilities."

Blair blinked at his old friend. "How did you know about that?"

Seeing from the police detectives' reactions that they already knew what he was talking about, Jack grinned, revealing the love of secrets that led him to keep his hand in the covert information industry. "You may have fooled the rest of the government spooks with that phony press conference, but you forget that I live in Cascade and I've seen Ellison in action. Those enhanced senses of his are the real deal. Brackett needs him for something, I'd put money down on it."

"But two months?" Simon questioned. "That's a long time for an escaped felon to hang around. He must not be in a real hurry."

"Or maybe he was waiting for something else," Blair hypothesized, "a part of his plan that we don't know about."

"It could also mean that he has an ally," Steve added darkly. "One that can not only help him escape, but also keep him hidden."

"All we have to do," Simon said sarcastically, "is figure out who helped him and why."

"And something tells me we better figure it out quick," Kelso said. "Now that Brackett's finally made his move, I doubt he's going to waste any more time."

*************************

Given the nature of his dreams, Jim wasn't at all surprised to wake and find Jesse Travis curled up against his back. It had been second nature to the Sentinel to arrange their cots so that he was between the other man and the door. His Guide, Ellison knew, wouldn't begrudge the action, despite the uncharacteristic antagonism the grad student had exhibited towards Jesse in their last meeting. In any case, Jim knew that Steve would watch out for Blair, were their positions reversed.

The sound of protesting metal brought the Sentinel's attention back to his situation. Realizing that the noise meant that someone was opening the door at the top of the stairs that led to their cell, the detective sat up. Keeping his eyes focused on the door, he reached over to shake the sleeping man's shoulder.

"Jess, wake up," Jim whispered tersely. "Company's coming."

Jesse Travis' duties as a doctor on-call had given him plenty of practice at waking up quickly. Rousing almost as fast as the Sentinel had, the young man was sitting up and blinking the sleep from his eyes by the time Brackett and his companion arrived at their door.

"Good morning, boys," Brackett cheerfully greeted them. "I trust you had a comfy night." The ex-agent's eyes were immediately drawn to Jesse's blanket-covered body. "I'm particularly glad to see you awake and with us, Dr. Travis."

Jim had warned his young friend about their captor's deceptively friendly nature. Even so, Jesse was a bit taken back by Brackett's charming smile. Until, that was, the man addressed him directly. Jesse had been ogled a time or two in his life, but never in such a predatory manner. Shivering, the young man didn't respond. Instead, he just pulled the blanket more firmly around him. Seeing the action, Brackett's grin widened.

The silent interchange wasn't missed by Jim, who made a show of inching closer to the doctor. Glaring at the rogue Sentinel, Ellison met Brackett's seeming friendliness with hostility. "What do you want?"

The ex-agent tisked a reprimand. "Someone's a little grumpy before they get their morning cup of joe, aren't they? No need to be so cranky, Detective Ellison, we've simply brought you breakfast." Not waiting for the policeman to answer, Brackett motioned to the man who'd come down the stairs with him. "Now, you're both intelligent men, so I'm hoping you'll be reasonable about this?"

Jim took an assessing look at Brackett's companion, noting the bulk of the other man, who happened to be sporting several bruises on the side of his face. The marks and the glare the thug was shooting his way led the detective to guess that this had been one of the henchman hired to grab them. While it mollified Ellison's pride that he'd inflicted a little bit of damage of his own before being subdued, more important was the large gun the man was currently toting -- the one aimed straight at Jesse. Realizing that the doctor would be the one to pay the price if he tried anything, Jim slowly lifted his hands, not wanting to give the surly thug a reason to pull the trigger prematurely. Although it rankled to have to continue to accept their captivity, there would surely be better opportunities to try and make a break.

Moving quickly and decisively, Brackett unlocked the door to their prison, efficiently deposited two fast food bags on the floor, and then just as swiftly shut the door. Even without the implied threat to Jesse, the maneuver was accomplished so quickly, Jim doubted he would have been able to make a move on the ex-agent anyway.

"Eat up, gentlemen," Brackett encouraged them. Looking at Jesse, he offered reassurance to the still silent young man. "Don't worry, Dr. Travis. If Detective Ellison is successful in the little task I have for him, you'll soon have your freedom... and none the worse for wear."

Jesse opened his mouth to ask a question, but closed it with a snap when he felt Jim nudge him. Chagrined, he ducked his head. Ellison had advised him not to enter into a conversation with Brackett if he could at all help it, saying that the ex-agent was a master at manipulation, and here he'd forgotten the warning almost immediately.

Brackett chuckled. "Well, I have to admit, this is a refreshing change from Professor Sandburg's chattering. Even so, Dr. Travis, your presence was a wee bit unexpected and I've got some adjustments to make. Don't go anywhere, fellas. I've got to do a little tweaking, but the fun will begin soon enough." Motioning for the guard to follow, the ex-agent whistled as he headed up the stairs.

"Just ducky," Jim muttered to himself, even as he got up to inspect the food. Realizing that Jesse hadn't moved, he turned back towards the other man. "You okay, Jess?"

The doctor shook himself. "Yeah. I see what you mean about Brackett, though. He comes off real nice, but he's kind of spooky."

The Sentinel nodded his agreement, bringing the breakfast bags back to the cots. When Travis reached out for one, however, he was quick to grab Jesse's hand. "Not so quick. Brackett used drugs once already, let's make sure he's not repeating himself."

Not having seen Jim's use his enhanced senses before, Jesse watched in fascination as the older man pulled the bagel sandwiches, hashbrown patties, and Styrofoam cups filled with coffee out of the WonderBurger bag, carefully sniffing each item. After making sure their meal wasn't doctored with anything, Ellison motioned to his friend that it was safe to eat.

"Wow," Jesse said, around a mouthful of sandwich. "So you'd know just from smell if they drugged the food? That's pretty impressive."

Jim grinned. "If there's one thing I know, despite Sandburg's best efforts, it's the aroma of WonderBurger. That goes for the breakfast OR the lunch menu. Yeah, I'm sure I'd be able to tell if there were any unwanted extra ingredients."

The mention of Ellison's lover brought home to Jesse just how much he missed his own partner. Suddenly the food in his mouth seemed awfully dry and the young man had a hard time swallowing. "Jim, what are we going to do?"

The detective calmly finished chewing before replying. Although their situation was far from rosy, he knew it was important to keep the civilian's spirits up. "We're going bide our time. Soon as possible, we're out of here." Jim pinned the younger man with a steady gaze. "We are going to get out of here, Jess, I promise."

Jesse knew he was being patronized, but decided to let it slide. Truthfully, at the moment, he desperately wanted to be convinced that everything would be okay. Telling himself to quit being a wimp and stop thinking only of himself, it occurred to him that there was still an important piece of information that he didn't have. "Hey, you never did say what it was that you're supposed to do for Brackett."

Ellison looked away.

"Jim...."

The older man sighed. "He wants me to kill someone."

"What?" Jesse squeaked in dismay. "Jim, you can't do that!"

The Sentinel sighed. "Tell me something I don't know, junior." Putting a hand on Jesse's shoulder, he tried again to reassure the other man. "Remember what I said, we're getting out of here, right?"

Jesse answered, "Right," but the tone of his voice was far from convinced.

Having wolfed down his breakfast, the detective was ready to put action to his words. He'd tried this the night before, true enough, but anything was better than just sitting there and letting Brackett control everything. "Okay. I'm going to do a quick scout of the area. I need you to watch my back."

The doctor looked at him like he was crazy. "Ummm... Jim? We're locked in this room, how are you going to reconnoiter?"

Ellison smiled grimly, lifting one hand to tap at his ear. "Ummm... Jesse? Enhanced senses, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Jesse said sheepishly. "Forgot about that. What do you need me to do?"

Briefly, Jim wished Blair was with him. His Guide would likely be telling him how to best use his senses to survey their environment, but that thought had no more flashed through his mind before he discarded it as worthless. Not only was it literally not an option, but he also realized that the anthropologist's presence would mean that Sandburg would be Brackett's captive too. No, it was better for Blair to be well out of this... if only Jesse could be too.

The Sentinel made himself comfortable, giving the inexperienced doctor what was meant to be a reassuring grin. "I'm going to be concentrating pretty hard. I just need you to warn me if anybody comes. If I seem too focused on something and you can't get my attention..." Jim hesitated, not knowing if anyone but Sandburg could bring him out of a zone. Still, it was a risk he had to take. "If I seem too out of it, I dunno, get a handful of cold water from the toilet and splash me in the face." To lighten the situation, he was quick to add, "Just make sure you flushed first, okay?"

Jesse's answering smile was faint but discernable. "Okay. If you're really out of it, though, you might have to take your chances about that flushing thing."

Jim threw a mock punch at his fellow prisoner, encouraged when the smaller man made a show of ducking. Good. He needed Jesse actively a part of their scheming, not cowed by Brackett or the danger they were in.

Settling back, the Sentinel started by monitoring his own heartbeat. Once the familiar rhythm resounded in his ears, he extended his hearing outwards, hoping to catch the sound of anything that might help them in an escape attempt. Free of pain and able to concentrate more fiercely than he had the night before, Ellison hoped to discern something, anything, that would be of use.

No sound was too small to escape the notice of his questing hearing....

No detail too insignificant to be considered unworthy of his attention....

No audible clue was too tiny to be pursued.....

No... nothing....

....

*************************

Steve Sloan looked at the slowly rising sun and silently blessed it for making its early morning
appearance. It was bad enough that his lover was missing, but so far Steve was holding it together. That tenuous on his sanity might slip, though, if it rained. Somehow the thought of not knowing where Jesse was, how he fared, and if he was hurt would be unbearable if he had to worry about him staying dry too.

After leaving Jack Kelso's late the night before, Simon Banks had finally persuaded Blair and Steve to head to the loft for a few hours of rest. Although he'd been determined to go back to the beach and assist the teams still investigating, the Californian had found himself convinced by the captain. He had to give the man credit, Steve had always thought that only his father was capable of mixing logic, parental-like authority, and charm in such a way that you did what he wanted you to in spite of yourself. His father wouldn't be arriving until the coming evening, but in the meantime, Banks was pretty skilled at that method himself. One sincerely uttered comment of "You're not going to be of help to Jim if you run yourself into the ground," and Sandburg had caved too.

Once back at the loft, Steve had experienced a flash of anger at seeing his and Jesse's bags neatly placed in the spare bedroom. While it had been very considerate of the local cops to transport their stuff from the hotel, what the hell good did it do to have Jesse's luggage when what he really wanted with him was Jesse?

Trying to sleep had been all but impossible, the small twin-sized bed not adding appreciably to the big man's comfort. Dawn, though, meant morning and a resumption of the search for his missing mate.

Getting out of bed more eagerly than he had climbed in, Steve rose and began to dress. Opening his duffle bag and rummaging through his clothes, Steve hesitated before grabbing a particular blue cotton sweater. Being long-sleeved, the garment would probably be too warm for the summer day. Physical comfort wasn't really what the detective had in mind, however. The sweater had been a birthday gift from Jesse and wearing it made him feel closer to the missing man.

Steve opened the door of the tiny guest room and found he wasn't the only early riser. Wrapped up in his own misery, he hadn't heard Blair come downstairs, but the grad student was in the kitchen. Head hanging down and curly hair covering his face, the anthropologist was the very picture of dejection as he leaned against the counter. A familiar percolating noise was discernable, explaining the smaller man's waiting posture.

"Morning," Steve quietly said, keeping his voice soft so as not to startle his host.

Sandburg immediately lifted his head and tucked his hair behind his ears. The sight of the other man's red-rimmed eyes, complete with dark circles underneath them, caused the California detective to wince.

Seeing Steve flinch, Blair smiled grimly. "Let me guess -- I look as bad as you do."

Sloan's lips twitched as he grimaced. "Yeah, I suppose so." The coffee machine chose that moment to finish its task, so Blair efficiently poured them both a mug full. The sound was un- naturally loud in the desolate atmosphere of the kitchen.

"At least it's not raining," Blair finally offered without preamble, his thoughts oddly echoing Steve's own from a few minutes before.

"We'll find them, Blair," the detective promised, more for his own comfort than the anthropologist's.

Blair must have heard the uncertainty in the older man's voice. "Jim'll take care of him, Steve," he reassured the tall blonde. "You can count on that."

Steve silently nodded, unwilling to voice the concern the both were likely feeling. Jim would take care of Jesse, considering Ellison's protective nature, that much was a given.

But who, then, would take care of Jim?

*************************

"Jim, are you okay?"

Dimly, the voice intruded into the Sentinel's awareness. It was not his Guide's beloved voice, but still was not easily denied.

"Jim? Wake up, Jim!"

As though the disembodied voice had reached out physically to grab him by the ears and pull, the
Sentinel found himself following it out of the depths of his concentration.

"C'mon, Jim! Work with me here." The voice had the tone of command, with an undercurrent of pleading that was oddly compelling.

As the tone of the voice slipped from concerned to panicked, Ellison stopped fighting the recall to awareness. Still acting on a primal level, he knew the voice's owner was someone to be protected... listened to...

Blinking, the Sentinel, emerged from his zone, the monotone grayness of the cell not much different than the foggy mental state that characterized the period of hyperconcentration of a zone. Concerned blue eyes greeted him, but not the familiar dark color of Blair's. Instead, it's was Jesse's lighter blue gaze that met his.

Travis grinned when he saw that the other man was again aware, dimples making a brief appearance. "Hey, am I glad to see you awake. I was getting worried."

The doctor reached out to grab Jim's wrist, automatically checking the detective's pulse. That
accomplished, he reached up to hold the Sentinel's head steady while he peered deeply into Ellison's eyes. Evidently happy with the reaction of the other man's pupils, the blonde sat back with a relieved sigh.

Jim felt himself more anchored to the Real World with every word Jesse uttered and with every touch of the other man's skin against his own. It was the first time the Sentinel could remember anyone other than Blair pulling him out of a full-blown zone, but by speaking to him in the appropriate tone of voice and touching him in precisely the right way, Jesse had apparently known exactly what to do - despite having never heard of Sentinels until the night before.

It was almost as if Jesse Travis' actions had been instinctive...

Suddenly, a lot of things made sense to the Sentinel. The way he'd automatically been protective of Jesse, from the very first night he'd arrived in Cascade. Making sure he was warm enough... feeding him tastes of food by hand... the depths of concern upon finding Jesse still unconscious when he himself awoke... automatically keeping himself between Jesse and Brackett. Then he thought of Blair's reaction and how the grad student had become utterly territorial when Jesse had entered their home, jealous of any contact between his mate and the California doctor...

"Oh my God," Jim uttered in amazement, stunned that the possibility had never occurred to him before. "You're a Guide."

"What!?!" Jesse sputtered. "The same thing you said Blair was?" The younger man shook his head, holding out his hands as though staving away something unwanted. "No way. I'm a doctor, Jim, not a Guide."

Before Jim could answer, the door at the top of the stairs was flung open, the metallic clang as it
bounced against the wall reverberating through the enclosed space. The noise was immediately followed by the sound of feet slapping against the cement stairs. In a heartbeat, a disheveled Lee Brackett was at the door to their cell. The rogue agent pressed his body tightly against the cell bars, almost as though willing himself through them. "A Guide," he whispered reverently.

Jim abruptly remembered that his lover wasn't the only one who'd been exhibiting an unusual reaction to Jesse Travis.. and that the other man was a Sentinel without a Guide, as well as being a criminal with few, if any, scruples.

Shit.

The policeman stood quickly, standing in front of Jesse and blocking the younger man from Brackett's view. "Whether he is or isn't has absolutely nothing to do with you."

The challenge in Ellison's voice broke the other Sentinel out of his reverie. Glaring, he responded in kind. "Don't be greedy, detective. You already have a Guide."

For once, Brackett was right but Jim wasn't about to let him know that. While there was no denying that being around Jesse raised every protective instinct the older man had, the feelings he had for the young man paled in comparison to those he held for his lover. No, Blair Sandburg was Jim's Guide and that was unlikely to change. Still, that didn't mean that Jim couldn't feel protective towards another Guide, especially one that was a friend and temporarily under his guardianship.

"Back off," he growled, again warning the rogue Sentinel away.

Brackett snarled in return, realizing as he did that his body was pressed up close against the cell's bars and that he himself had the control over the door's lock. The realization that he was in control of the situation gave the ex-agent back some of his equilibrium. Grinning, he nodded at the bars blocking Ellison from leaving, "Oh, I think your in no position to tell me what to do." The smile slipped away from Brackett's face as his amusement faded. "Or who I take for my Guide."

"Come in here and say that, asshole." The fact that he was in a glorified cage and that his enemy held the key did little phase the detective.

As the two Sentinels continued their stare down, they became so intent on one another that they forgot one important thing. Or, rather, they forgot one important person -- the man they were fighting over.

"You guys are not listening to me," Jesse bounded from behind Jim to confront both Sentinels, all but vibrating in frustration. "Read my lips: I. Am. Not. A. Guide."

Startled out of their antagonism, the doctor's outburst silenced the two taller men.

"Look, Jim," Travis turned towards his cell-mate. "I'm glad I was able to help you snap out of it
before, but that doesn't make me a Guide. And you," driven by his anger, Jesse turned towards Brackett without even a hint of being intimidated by the master criminal, "even if I was, I'm my own person, not yours. Heck, if I belong to anybody, I belong to Steve Sloan and that's only because I want to. Not you, not in a million years."

When Jesse stopped talking, the only sound that could be heard was the young man's panting, having been left breathless by his impassioned barrage of words. Jim carefully looked over at Brackett, needing to see their captor's reaction to Jesse's tantrum, but almost afraid to look. He didn't know whether to be relieved or scared spitless when he realized that the ex-agent was grinning from ear to ear.

Then the tang of Brackett's arousal tickled Ellison's nose and he knew they were in trouble.

Their earlier territorial struggle forgotten, Brackett grinned at the cop like a conspirator. "Feisty little guy, isn't he?" Ellison didn't like the proprietary tone to the other Sentinel's voice. "Sort of like your Professor Sandburg. Must be a Guide trait, just like all of us Sentinels are handsome devils."

Jesse made a move like he wanted to punch their tormentor, but Jim's quick grab at his shoulder stopped him. Scowling, the doctor settled for glaring at Brackett, not liking the man talking over his head like he wasn't even there.

The rogue Sentinel saw the aborted movement and chuckled. "Yup, I can see I'm going to have to revise my plans. Again." Holding up his hands, he fended off nonexistent apologies. "Don't trouble yourselves. Something tells me this is going to be well worth the effort. Even better than the original plan."

It was Ellison's day for epiphanies. "You never intended to send me in to kill anyone. When you said you wanted to watch Blair and me to see how we worked together, you meant here. While we were your prisoners. This cell must be full of surveillance equipment."

Brackett licked a finger and made an imaginary line in the air. "Score one for the detective."

"And then you were going to kill us," Jim continued the hypothesis, tilting his head as something else occurred to him. "Or you were going to kill me and keep Sandburg as your Guide."

The other sentinel shook his head as if with regrets for Ellison's doubts. "'Kill' is an awfully strong word, James." Brackett actually looked as if his feelings had been hurt. "Think about it for a minute. I couldn't kill Sandburg, the only modern expert on Sentinels -- what would I do if I needed help with my abilities? And I couldn't kill you without alienating your partner." The ex- agent dropped the innocent act and grinned. "I know who the brains are in your partnership and, trust me, I would not want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, that professor of yours hot on my tail..."

The use of the word "tail" distracted the rogue Sentinel and he broke off his rambling to take a long, appreciative look at Jesse. Just when Jim was going to make an issue of it, risking both Brackett's and Travis' irritation, their captor broke off his longing gaze. "Yes, I can see I'm going to have to give this situation the full consideration that it deserves..." Turning away from the cell with obvious reluctance the rogue agent headed for the stairs. "Don't go anywhere, boys," was casually tossed over one shoulder before Brackett completely made his exit.

Jim waited until the other man was well and truly gone before turning to his fellow captive. "I'm sorry, Jess."

Jesse's eyes had been fixed on the door where they'd last seen Brackett. Realizing that the detective had been addressing him, it took the doctor a moment to mentally backtrack and figure out what Ellison had been referring to. "Huh? You're sorry? For what?"

The Sentinel scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling like he had a ton of dirt caked on him. "The listening devices. I should have realized that he'd have fancy toys that even I couldn't find." When Jesse continued to look blank, Jim explained. "I blurted out you were a Guide and Brackett was obviously listening, that's how he got down here so quick.. I'm not sure he would have figured it out otherwise."

All of Travis' energy seem to leave him and he flopped down on the nearest cot. "I'm still not sure there was anything to figure out. How can I be a Guide when I don't even really know what it is?"

"Trust me on this, Jess, you are." Jim squatted next to the forlorn seated figure so that he was on an eye level with the smaller man. If, that was, Jesse would look at him. Head down, however, Travis' eyes were glued to the floor. Now that his adrenaline rush was gone, Jesse was probably remembering that he'd just mouthed off to a former covert ops agent, one that could probably break him in two with one hand tied behind his back. Instinctively, Ellison sought to comfort. "Look, Jesse, if it makes you feel any better, he's not likely to hurt you now that he knows
what you are. What you can do."

Looking suddenly older, Jesse lifted weary eyes to meet Jim's. "You saw how he acted. Kill me? No. But use me? I think I can pretty much count on that." Snorting, the young doctor laughed without humor. "And the ironic thing is, I haven't the faintest clue what either of you are talking about."

Jim sat next to his friend. "Look, you know that Steve and Blair are looking for us, right? Even if we can't get out of here on our own, we're not alone in this."

Jesse straightened a bit, visibly brightening. "Yeah, and if I know Steve, he's called in Mark too. That man's like a bloodhound."

Ellison was glad to see the other man rally. His nose had given him a pretty good clue on how Brackett intended on using Jesse, but he didn't want to let on to Travis yet. "And don't forget my friend, Simon, and the rest of Major Crimes. Brackett doesn't stand a chance."

"Jim," Jesse's voice got a bit wistful. "If I am a Guide, and I'm still not convinced about that, but if I am, do you think that Steve is a Sentinel?"

The detective thought about that question, it not having occurred to him yet. He thought about the years he'd known Steve Sloan, the behaviors he'd observed from his fellow cop, and his instinctive feelings about him. Or, rather, his lack of instinctive feelings. "No, I don't think so, Jess."

"Oh."

That single syllable contained a whole world of disappointment. "Well, I might be wrong about that. I've never seen Steve exhibit an enhanced senses, but maybe they're buried, like mine were. He did two tours in Viet Nam, right? Maybe he suppressed his abilities like I did."

"Maybe." Jesse didn't sound convinced. "I just.... I mean, I see the special connection between you and Blair and it would be nice to have that with Steve."

Jim smiled gently. "Trust me, kiddo, you do."

"Really?"

The Sentinel settled back in the cot, using the wall as a backrest. "Remember, I've known him longer than you have. I've never seen Steve be so close to anyone before. Not even me." There was absolutely no hint of jealousy in the cop's voice. He was fond of Sloan, but already had found the love of his life in Blair.

Jesse's smile was an indication that Jim's reassurances had worked. Knowing that the Guide topic was still a sore one, Jim nonetheless figured he'd better give Jesse more details about what it entailed. Knowledge was power and the Sentinel had every intention of giving the inexperienced man every bit of it he could before Brackett made whatever move he'd decided upon. "Okay, kiddo, I'm going to tell you every bit of Guide stuff I can think of..."

"But I'm not..."

Jim cut the other man off with a sharp hand gesture. "Doesn't matter what you think. It's what Brackett thinks that counts." Seeing Jesse's nervous gulp, he continued, satisfied that he'd got the other man to consider the seriousness of the situation. "Now, this will be from a Sentinel's point of view, so I may have some of the particulars wrong..."

"Jim," Jesse interrupted, "Do you really think that Steve and Blair will be able to find us in time?"

"Absolutely," Ellison replied, more sure of that then just about anything. "Trust me, they're moving Heaven and Hell to get to us, you can count on that."

**************************

"My God," Steve Sloan finally muttered in frustration, "how can a city the size of Cascade have this much crime?"

Simon winced in sympathy, often having had the same thought himself. He had a few pet theories, of course, regarding the phenomenon but had a feeling that the other man wasn't exactly in the mood to hear them.

Along with Blair, the police captain and the California detective were meeting in an attempt to determine what Brackett's target was likely to be. The idea was that maybe if they could figure out what Brackett was after, the trail would also lead them to Jim and Jesse. Unfortunately, between the department's own contacts and the leads provided by Jack Kelso, they had a multitude of possibilities. Narrowing it down was not going to be easy.

Blair sat back in his chair with an explosive sigh, throwing his pen down in disgust. The grad student rubbed his temples, wishing that Jim was there to give one of his trade marked neck rubs. Sentinel senses gave his lover an uncanny ability to find knotted muscles. As a result, Ellison gave a neck rub that was absolutely to die for...

Sandburg shuddered at his mind's choice of words. Leaning forward, he attacked the impressive pile of folders in front of them as a way of distracting himself. "C'mon, guys. Brackett's unpredictable, but there are some patterns we can count on." Seeing Simon's encouraging look, Blair continued. "One, it's got to be a high ticket mark. Brackett's not gonna mess around with small potatoes. Two, he's a vain son of a bitch, so it's got to have a reasonable level of difficulty to it. And three, it's gotta be a job that he needs Jim for."

Captain Banks nodded. "Using those criteria, we ought to be able to eliminate some of the possibilities."

"Unless, of course," Steve added reluctantly, not wanting to be a wet blanket but also knowing it was important to recognize every factor that might impact their search, "Brackett is working with someone still on the inside. That opens a whole new can of worms."

Blair nodded, conceding the tall blonde's point. "Okay. We'll separate the possibilities out into two categories - ones that are big money/high level of difficulty and then ones that might have to do with some sort of corrupt government agent."

"All right," Simon started with the file folder on the top of the pile. "World trade summit." The captain had lots of experience with this particular event, having been put on notice that his department was to be available as extra manpower. "Lots of violence during the last round of talks and with international trade at stake, lots of money involved. Could be that Brackett's planned one of those bombs he likes so much."

The anthropologist looked hopeful. "Yeah and with everyone expecting trouble, security's bound to be so tight that he'd need someone with Jim's abilities."

Steve shook his head. "Yeah, but it's still nearly two weeks away. Would Brackett have made a move this far ahead of time?"

Blair slumped in his chair. "You're right. The timing's off."

Simon patted his shoulder, offering the distraught man what comfort he could. "Don't worry, Blair, we'll figure it out. We've still got a whole table full of leads to go."

"Yeah," Sandburg acknowledged both Banks' point and the reassurance the big man was offering. "Still sucks, though."

No one responded, the truth in Blair's statement being abundantly clear to all of them.

*******************************

He'd lied to Ellison, of course, not that he was going to lose any sleep over it.

Lee Brackett propped his feet up on his desk, thoughtfully staring out at nothing. The Cascade detective had nailed his original plan perfectly. Kidnap Ellison and Sandburg, watch the Sentinel and Guide team interact during their captivity, then kill the Sentinel and use his earlier observations to attempt his own claim on the Guide.

A good plan, all said, but one that had been doomed to failure right from its conception.

Brackett had witnessed Ellison and Sandburg from the very early stages of their relationship. He'd seen the "forever" written in Sandburg's eyes every time the little professor looked at the detective, even if it had been months before the two men themselves had known it. No, even before he was able to electronically copy the professor's Sentinel notes from the Rainier University computer system, he'd known that there was no way that he could get Blair Sandburg to accept any other Sentinel other than Ellison.

It had been worth a try, though, especially with no other alternative at hand. Even if he ended up killing Sandburg as well as Ellison, at the very least, he'd have eliminated the two people who knew the most about enhanced senses and therefore had a shot at stopping him. With Sandburg's notes, he'd been confident that he could get by without a Guide.

When his employer had arranged for his departure from incarceration, his plans had melded nicely with Brackett's and he'd managed to convince the man to let him handle things his own way. Then, when Ellison's Sentinel radar had necessitated the use of secondary goons and they had shown up with Travis instead of Sandburg, he'd revised his plan. Instead of killing Ellison in captivity, he actually would send the goody two-shoes into the field and let him die there. He could always go after Sandburg a little bit later. Just like in the original plan, if the grieving Guide's allegiance couldn't be won, he could be eliminated at that point. The one thing Brackett hadn't lied about to Ellison was Sandburg and not wanting the professor hot on his trail, itching for revenge. Funny thing about the pacifist type, kill someone they love and they're as likely to come gunning for you as anyone else. With his Sentinel knowledge, Sandburg was just too smart to be left alive. As for Travis, he would be a convenient way to get Ellison to cooperate. After the detective was out of the picture, Brackett was certain he could find ways to amuse himself with the doctor...

And then Ellison had revealed that Jesse Travis was a Guide, turning Brackett's world upside down.

As hard as he'd worked to convince himself that he didn't really need a Guide, Lee had found himself down at the cell door before he was consciously aware of moving. The depth of his ache shocked the rogue Sentinel. Having resigned himself to killing the only known Guide because he knew that Guide was thoroughly claimed by someone else, he was unprepared for the possessive urges that overtook him. A Guide, already under Brackett's control, waited for him below. Lee could hardly believe his luck.

Based on Jesse's response to Ellison's declaration, the young man was woefully inexperienced, but that wasn't necessarily a negative in Brackett's book. For one thing, it meant that it was highly likely that Jesse hadn't been actively acting as a Guide and therefore was unclaimed by a Sentinel. That would make it that much easier to bind Travis to himself. Besides, if Jesse were inexperienced, well, that meant that Brackett could have that much more fun training the smaller man himself.

Chuckling, Brackett began the meticulous task of once again adjusting his plan. The sooner he got the pesky matter of business out of hand, the sooner he could begin claiming his Guide.

*******************************

The older gentleman was no stranger to squad rooms, so he picked up on the unusual tension as soon as he set foot into Major Crimes. Tired blue eyes, swept over the figures of the department's bustling staff, his dapper (if rumpled) clothing and comfortable demeanor rousing no suspicions in the Cascade police officers that surrounded him. Finally spying the tall blonde man he was looking for, the old man's face brightened considerably. "Steve!"

Steve Sloan put down the coffee pot and turned towards the familiar and most welcome voice. "Dad!"

The rest of the world might just look at Steve's lantern jaw and professional bearing and not see anything past the tough exterior of a seasoned LAPD detective. Mark Sloan, on the other hand, saw the man beneath, someone who would always be his little boy no matter how tall he'd grown or how many criminals he'd thrown behind bars. Right now, the white-haired doctor could tell that Steve was an adult child very much in need of reassurance. Quickly crossing the squad room, the spry physician enveloped his brawny cop of a son in a hug. "I came as soon as I could." There was no need to ask Steve if Jesse had been found - the worry was all too clear in the younger Sloan's eyes.

"I know you did, Dad," Steve replied, letting his father go after a final squeeze. "Jesse's a doctor too. He'd understand that you'd need to make sure all of your patients were taken care of before you could hop on a plane."

Mark looked a bit hesitant, but then gamely forged ahead. "That was part of it... but I was also trying to get hold of Dane Travis."

His comment evoked the expected skeptical reaction from his son. "Fat lot of good that did."

"Steve," the older Sloan said, "Dane is Jesse's father. He has a right to know that his son is missing. Especially if he might be able to help."

The California detective proved that Jim Ellison wasn't the only one who tended to clench his jaw when he was frustrated. "Look, as far as I'm concerned, Dane Travis gave up an paternal rights when he abandoned Jesse... again."

"Steve..." Mark was a father himself and had a better idea of how much Dane's apparent abandonment of his son had actually cost the man. Whether Steve believed it or not, because of the older Travis' dangerous profession of international spy, Jesse truly was safer if the man stayed away.

"No, Dad," For once, Steve wasn't willing to listen to his father's voice of reason. "You haven't seen Jesse when he's trying to deal with yet another visit or phone call or letter that Dane's conveniently forgotten about. You haven't tried to reassure him that his father's obvious lack of interest in his life has nothing to do with him and everything to do with Dane."

Mark knew when to press his son and that the subject of Jesse's father was a sore point. Deciding to let it drop for the moment, he gave up. "Okay. But I did feel it was important to let him know."

"Let me guess, you couldn't even reach him," When Mark reluctantly shook his head in affirmation, Steve gave his dad an "I told you so" smile.

"I did leave a message with Cinnamon Carter," the doctor doggedly, referring to Dane Travis' partner in the international spy business.

As the argued, Steve had been guiding his father towards Simon Banks' office. "C'mon, there's some people you need to meet. People, I might add," he said pointedly, "that actually care enough to actively try and find Jesse."

Simon and Blair had been aware of the newcomer's appearance, a bear hug in the middle of the Major Crimes' squad room was not an everyday occurrence and the demonstration had caught their attention. Still, the two men had hung back, not wanting to intrude on the reunion.

Captain Banks got up as the Sloans entered his office, ready with a hand outstretched as Steve began the introductions. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Sloan. I just wish it were under better circumstances."

Mark nodded in response, eyes automatically drawn to Blair's still seated figure. In the grad student's eyes, he found a depth of worry to match his son's and automatically reached out to offer comfort. "And you must be Blair," he said before he could be formerly introduced. "I heard so much about you after that conference, from both Steve and Jesse. You made quite an impression." When the anthropologist smiled politely in return, Dr. Sloan reached out and placed a fatherly hand on the young man's shoulder. "Jim's a fine man, son. If anyone can come out of this on top, he can." When Blair reacted with a slightly more genuine smile, a little of the twinkle came back into Mark's eyes. "And Jesse, well, let's just say that what he lacks in experience, he makes up for in enthusiasm. He might just surprise this Lee Brackett of yours."

Oddly enough, this virtual stranger's reassurance made Sandburg feel a bit better and he found himself a little lighter of heart. Simon noticed the subtle change of posture the lightening of his spirit caused in the smaller man and turned to Steve with a puzzled frown. The younger Sloan just smiled and shrugged, having been long accustomed to the affect his father had on people.

Mission accomplished with Blair, Mark turned back towards his son. "Have there been any developments?" The elder Sloan had been told that they no longer thought that Jesse and Jim had drowned, but the details had deliberately been left fuzzy. No one wanted to take any chances that Brackett might be listening in on the line and didn't want him tipped off that they were on to him. His identity, at least. They were no closer to figuring out what the rogue agent's agenda was than they had been in the beginning.

Steve started to answer his father and then abruptly stopped, looking expectantly at Blair. Jim's Sentinel secret wasn't his to reveal, in spite of knowing his father could be trusted without question.

Blair looked from one Sloan to the other, quickly reaching a decision. "Tell him," he said to Steve. When Simon sputtered, Sandburg grabbed his arm and pulled him from the room. "Just gonna grab some coffee," he explained to the two men left behind.

As the door shut behind them, Banks turned towards the police observer and, careful to keep his voice down to a hoarse whisper, demanded an explanation. "Blair, what are you doing? You hardly know that man! I know finding Jim's the priority, but would he really want to tell both of them about the enhanced senses?"

Blair turned and stared at the door, even though he couldn't see through the shut blinds. Turning back towards his friend, he slowly explained, as though the reasoning for his decision was occurring to him even as he spoke. "Just like with Steve, if Mark Sloan's going to help us find Jim, he's got to know the whole story. They've both been Jim's friends for years, he really admires Mark, as much or more than Steve. Besides," the grad student finished up, almost surprised at the vehemence of his defense. "I trust him. Telling him's the right thing to do."

"Okay," Simon surrendered, holding his hands up as though washing himself free of any repercussions. "You're the expert." Shaking his head, the large captain made his way towards the ever-full coffee pot. "I gotta tell you, though. Dr. Sloan looks like he'd more comfortable reading mystery stories than he would helping to solve real crimes. It's hard to believe that sweet old man is a police consultant."

Blair grinned. Obviously Simon had forgotten who he was talking to. "Oh, I don't know about that, Simon. When it comes to consultants, looks can be deceiving."

*******************************

By the time someone came by the feed the captives, both men were getting antsy. Jim's experience told him that Brackett's continued absence since their morning encounter was not a good sign. There was no telling what the rogue Sentinel was planning, especially since he now knew that he had a Guide at his disposal. As for Jesse, he didn't have the background that the detective did, but he did have an active imagination and also was not at all reassured by the lack of Brackett's presence.

It had been a large chunk of time since breakfast, so both men were hungry when Brackett's goons came by the deliver their next meal. Jim's nose told him that WonderBurger was on the menu again, even before the distinctive bags came into sight. The irony wasn't lost on the Sentinel. The food provided by his captor was his favorite - and something his lover only begrudgingly allowed him as a rare treat...and then only with a lot of whining.

Even if the food was a welcome sight, the men delivering it weren't. The first one down the steps immediately took out a small piece of equipment and placed it on the ground facing the cell door. His large fingers fumbled with tiny dials for a moment, but soon the device was up and running. As soon as the power came on, Ellison knew exactly what it was -- a white noise generator. Wincing, the Sentinel shook his head. The motion caught the notice of the second of the two goons. Without the presence of their boss, Brackett's hirelings weren't as silent as the one that morning had been.

"Don't look so tough behind bars," The bearded of the two thugs taunted. "Bet you wouldn't last a day in a real prison, cop."

Jim didn't respond, just stared calmly at the man. He recognized a peon trying to puff up his own importance with trash talk. Words couldn't hurt him, but the gun the other man was sporting could. Once again, the weapon was pointed at Jesse.

"The short one, though," the second thug said, licking his lips. This one had less facial hair than his compatriot, but made up for it with greasy sideburns on his cheeks, looking for all the world like he had giant, unwashed caterpillars were walking down the side of his face. "Wouldn't mind sharing a cell with that one. He's a sweet little thing."

"Bet he squeals real pretty too..." The first one added with a leer.

Ellison's growl was clearly audible and the faces of the men on the other sides of the bars lost some of their cockiness. Gulping, the first goon reiterated the same instructions the captives had been given at breakfast. "Just stand back and we won't need to tussle. Boss said you can do without dinner if you don't cooperate, so don't tempt me."

With considerably less grace than Brackett had accomplished it that morning, their door was opened and the bags deposited without incident. The captives didn't move until the criminals were well on their way up the stairs.

Jesse touched Jim's arm as the Sentinel moved by him to approach their dinner. "Thanks, Jim," the young man said, still a little shaky from the encounter.

Jim smiled at the smaller man. "Try not to pay attention to what they say, Jess. Trust me, Brackett's not about to let anybody hurt you. Now, let's see what they brought for dinner."

Still, as they ate, the Sentinel couldn't help but wonder what their captor was up to and what kind of game the ex-agent was playing. Brackett was a professional through and through, but the men he had helping him were purely second-rate. What really bothered the detective, however, was that, given the thugs' words, he should have smelled arousal coming from them. However, the distinctive tang he'd learned to associate with lust was strangely absent, at least from Beard Face. It didn't fit and, when you were dealing with Brackett, anything that didn't fit was suspicious.

*******************************

Even transmitted as it was through Brackett's surveillance equipment, which made everything sound tinnier and more distant, Ellison's growl was impressive. As Brackett watched the scene unfold, he found himself growling in response. For once, though, he didn't blame Ellison for his protective nature. Even though he'd orchestrated the thugs' harassment of Jesse Travis himself, it hadn't been an easy thing for Brackett to watch.

A slight sound of shuffling brought the rogue Sentinel's attention back to the man in front of him, the same bruised hireling that had helped deliver the food that morning. The only one of his helpers that Brackett had hired himself, the ex-agent had trusted him with a special errand.

"I take it you were successful?" Brackett asked, reaching for the envelope in the other man's hand.

"Piece of cake, boss," the bruised henchman said blandly, not at all nonplused at having an employer that growled. A veteran of various criminal activities, he'd seen worse during his career.

Brackett rifled through the envelope's contents and was pleased at what he saw. "Good, very good. Much better than your work yesterday," Now that he knew that Travis was a Guide, Lee was actually very pleased that his crew had snatched the doctor instead of Blair Sandburg, but this man didn't need to know that. It just might keep him on his toes.

Opening a desk drawer, Brackett pulled out an envelope of his own and tossed it across the desk, the paper bundle making a satisfying thump when it landed. While his henchman picked it up and thumbed through the cash inside, the ex-agent explained. "Same target, but no film this time." A professional, the man waited until his boss gave the details. "Just keep him in sight and make sure you're not seen. It's possible that I'll need to know, at a moment's notice, where he is."

"Should I be prepared to eliminate the target?" From the lack of expression in his voice, you would have thought he was talking about taking out the garbage.

Brackett considered. "Maybe. I'd prefer to handle it personally, but it's best to be prepared for contingencies. But," the rogue Sentinel held up a cautionary finger, "not unless I say it's necessary."

His man nodded and had turned to leave when Brackett added one last requirement.

"And if I do say the target's to be eliminated, try to make it as messy and as painful as possible, within reason." The rogue grinned. "Indulge yourself."

*******************************

"So, that's the whole story. Do you think there's any way it could be true or are they all crazy?"

Steve Sloan leaned back in his chair and regarded his father, having just told the older man everything he now knew about Sentinels. Which wasn't much, granted, but hopefully he'd given his dad enough details to put that keen mind of his to work.

The silence continued and the younger Sloan eventually got impatient. "Dad?" he prodded.

"What?" Steve's voice startled Mark out of deep contemplation. "Oh, yes, right. Sentinels." The white-haired doctor prepared to give his son an answer he didn't think that Steve would like. "Well, it's not my specialty, mind you, but I can think of a case or two I've seen in my own practice that would seem to support Blair's hypothesis of the existence of enhanced senses. Whether or not all five could be enhanced the way he claims Jim's are, or that the ramifications of that enhancement are true, well, that's another story."

In spite of himself, Steve felt disappointed. He'd always known that Jim was special and was honest enough to admit that he'd been counting on his friend to have some sort of special ability that might allow Jim to get himself and Jesse out of the mess that they were in. "So, it's not true."

His father was quick to correct him. "I didn't say that, Steve. Or, at least, I didn't mean to."

The younger man's forehead creased with a frown. "So, you mean it is true."

Mark shrugged. "Actually, I'm saying it doesn't matter." At his son's protest, the doctor explained. "The question of whether or not a Sentinel, as Blair has described him, exists is a question for another time. The important thing is that apparently this Lee Brackett believes it. That gives us the edge."

Steve answered as if by rote. "'Cause if we know what he believes, we might be able to predict how he acts."

"Exactly," Mark beamed at his son.

The younger Sloan slowly returned the smile, feeling inexplicably better now that his dad was on the case. When it came to solving crime, his father truly did know best.

*******************************

This, their second night of captivity, it was Jesse's turn to dream.

The newly acknowledged Guide, still with no true belief in his abilities, wandered a vague but terrifying dreamscape. The young man couldn't have described what was chasing him, only, as often is the case in dreams, that something terrible was in pursuit.

Agitated, Jesse tossed and turned in his sleep. Just when it seemed as though his dreams would prod him awake, a comforting voice and soft touch would sooth him, causing his unseen hunter to recede for a time and allow him to rest.

Whatever respite the comforting hands and voice offered, however, was only temporary. Even though Jesse instinctively trusted the one reassuring him, the voice and touch weren't exactly right. They didn't come from the person that Jesse subconsciously knew was the one that he truly belonged to. Sensing the chink in his armor, the hunter would resume the pursuit and the whole vicious cycle would start over again.

Watching, Jim didn't know if he was doing the younger man a favor or not by soothing him. Jesse needed his sleep, but from Jim's observations, Travis' night was anything but restful.

Ellison himself wasn't the slightest bit sleepy. He had a feeling the relative quiet of the afternoon and evening was the calm before the storm. Brackett had not gone to all the trouble to kidnap them, only to leave his captives forever cooling their heels in a cell. No, Brackett was bound to finish adjusting his plans soon and the Jim might find himself with an unpleasant choice. Although the other Sentinel claimed he hadn't truly thought to send Ellison to assassinate someone for him, Jim wasn't sure he believed that. Not to mention the fact that the situation had changed since the rogue had made his original plans.

Which brought Ellison back to his moral dilemma.

Could he kill? Yes. As both a cop and a soldier, he'd proven he could take the life of another. But with those instances, he'd clearly been protecting himself or others. The real question was whether or not he could kill in cold blood. Brackett claimed the target was himself a criminal, but it was a moot point. Murder was murder and Ellison found the idea utterly repugnant, on that both the Sentinel and cop portions of his soul agreed.

Jim was honest enough to admit to himself that if it were his own Guide in peril, the question wouldn't be quite so wrenching. There was nothing Jim Ellison would not do to protect Blair. He'd like to think that he'd be able to find a way out of it, but if push came to shove, Jim knew that he'd become an executioner if that's what it took to save Blair's life.

But would Jim do the same to protect Jesse Travis? The man was not only a friend, but another Guide, the beloved of yet another valued friend. An innocent pulled into the whole mess because of Ellison's history with a ruthless criminal.

Certainly, Jesse Travis was worthy of rescue... but was he worthy of murdering for?

It was little wonder that Ellison found sleep elusive.

Eventually, the automatic lights popped on, disturbing even the fitful slumber that Jesse had managed to achieve and putting an end to the Sentinel's torturous introspection.

"Man," the young doctor muttered, blue eyes slitted against the harsh artificial light. "Is it just me or is that w-a-a-y too bright?" Jesse didn't expect his cellmate to answer. Instead, he sat up with a wince. "This cot keeps getting harder."

The Sentinel at the good-natured grousing, wiping one hand across his eyes as if to banish his own weariness. Jesse noticed the gesture, his eyes sweeping across Ellison's face and noticing the tell-tale signs of exhaustion. "Hey, did you sleep at all?"

Jim shrugged off his friend's concern. "I got enough. How about you? Looked like it was kind of a rough night. Nightmares?"

The smaller man wouldn't meet Ellison's steady gaze, not quite as proficient at acting nonchalant as the detective was. "It was okay," Quickly, the doctor changed the subject. "Do you suppose we could talk Brackett into letting us take a shower? I feel kind of ripe."

"I know what you mean," Jim agreed, one finger reaching up to scratch at the side of his nose.

Jesse had been indulging in a bone-popping stretch, but when he caught Jim's meaning, he immediately brought his arms back down to his sides, a guilty look on his face. Taking a delicate whiff under one arm, he winced and immediately removed his face from the offending area. "Argh. Geez, I'm sorry. If I think I reek, I can imagine what it smells like to you."

"Don't worry about it, Stinky," Jim teased. "I can dial it down."

"Oh... yeah, right." Jesse said, facing clearing as he belatedly remembered his lessons from the day before. Then, another thought occurred to him. "Does Brackett know how to do that yet?"

Jim grinned, easily following the direction of Jesse's thoughts. "Probably not. It's the hardest thing to learn. Blair had to work with me a long time before I could do it reliably."

Jesse's dimples came out for a long overdue visit. "Good. Remind me to flap my arms a lot the next time he comes around."

Jim was about to reply when a sound caught his attention. Even with the white noise generator, the clang of a metal door was easily audible. "Looks like you might get an opportunity to test your new weapon."

Jesse gulped and rose to stand next to the Sentinel, glad to have Ellison's solid bulk nearby. Amidst the clatter of descending footsteps, their breakfast's deliverers came into view and the prisoners looked at each other, not sure whether to be relieved or not. Once again, Brackett's minions had been sent instead of the master criminal himself. But, as the incident the day before had proven, this wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Beard Face was familiar from the previous afternoon, but this time he was accompanied by someone completely bald. The lack of vast quantities of hair didn't make this particular thug any more respectable-looking, however. In fact, the baldness made it easy to see that the newcomer was missing half an ear, the ragged ends of the remaining stub indicating the rest of it had likely been torn off, which was a nice match to the crooked nose, obviously broken multiple times.

The goons stopped just outside their door, the bald one holding up the familiar WonderBurger bags. "Chow time, boys," the new thug said, in a surprisingly warm, contralto voice.

Two pairs of blue eyes just about popped out of their faces, as Jim and Jesse realized that the bald thug addressing them was a woman. A closer look confirmed what their ears told them - there were round bulges under her shirt in the correct spot for breasts. In addition, despite roughness of the hand holding their breakfast, complete with torn and ragged fingernails, it was too fine-boned to belong to a man.

Their obvious discomfiture pleased the woman, her grin revealing a gold tooth. "After yesterday," she explained, "Boss figured you boys could use a feminine touch."

Jesse gulped. "You know, I'm not all that hungry..."

"Don't matter," Beard Face growled. "Boss says you gotta keep ya strength up, so you'se both eat what he sends ya." To emphasize his point, he brandished his gun.

"I think they get the point, Snookums," the bald woman said, pinning a bright eye on Jesse. She lifted the bag and shook it slightly. "Come and get it."

Jim Ellison immediately stepped forward, wanting to spare Jesse any contact with their captors. As he did, however, the female noticed. "Nah-huh. Not you, Luscious. You're a bit too much man for ol' Tabitha to handle." She crooked a finger at Jesse. "C'mon, Sweet Cheeks, breakfast is getting cold."

Jesse tentatively stepped forward, not too happy at having to get closer to Brackett's minions. Unhappily, Jim remained at the back of the cell. He wasn't sure what it was about the situation that he didn't like. These goons were certainly being more civil than those from their last meal. Maybe it was the fact that an active white noise generator kept him from monitoring the thugs' heart rates. He was in effect working blind, not knowing what they had in mind, but sensing that something wasn't quite right.

Just when the door began to open and the woman was passing the bag in, the Sentinel realized that this time, the gun was pointed at him, not at Jesse.

"Jesse, look out!" The detective called out a warning as the smaller man reached out to take the bag, but it was too late. Instead of handing him a bag of food, the female thug's hand came around Jesse's wrist. A quick jerk and the doctor was out in the larger room, the metal door slammed shut behind him.

"Hey!" Dr. Travis called out in confusion, the momentum from the woman's pull leaving him off balance. Before he could catch himself, she had thrown him to the floor and had her booted foot planted firmly on his neck.

"Oh, I do love a man who knows his place in life," she purred.

Jim roared in frustration, charging the door and trying desperately to reach the goon holding the weapon. Both him and the woman, however, had been smart enough to move out of range.

Beard Face reached down and grabbed Jesse by the collar, hauling the smaller man to his feet. "I guess I'll get to hear how you squeal after all, boy." The big man lowered his gun to Jesse's groin, running the barrel up and down the inside of the restrained man's thigh.

What was happening to him was so totally outside his experience that Jesse didn't know what to do. Helplessly, he turned a frightened face towards Jim. The Sentinel's hands were clenched so hard around the bars of his prison door that the knuckles were turning white. For all of his enhanced senses and for all his years as warrior, though, there was nothing that Ellison could do.

"Brackett will kill you for this," The Sentinel said, growling the words out from in-between clenched teeth.

The woman shrugged. "The boss isn't here right now. What he don't know, won't hurt him." The bald female had come up from behind Jesse, pressing her front to the doctor's back. Beard Face still had the doctor by the collar and leaned in the lick Jesse's cheek.

"'Sides," the hairy man whispered, "you got to 'member. There's three of us and we all have guns. Try anything fancy and we'll come down here and shoot your friend."

"Don't worry about that, Jess," Jim called out in encouragement. "You get a chance, you go for it. Don't worry about me."

Baldy made a movement with her hand and Jesse jumped. "Now, Sweetie, you tell bossy ol' Brackett about our fun," she purred a threat into the young man's ear, "and we'll see what else can fit up your pretty ass besides my friends' cocks." With her chin, she motioned towards Beard Face's gun. Jesse closed his eyes.

"Hey!" A voice called out from the top of the stairs. "I thought you were gonna bring him up here to play where there's more room. Hurry up! I got something hard and horny I want the pretty doc to meet."

The other two thugs pushed Jesse towards the stairs. The young man's face was gray with shock and he looked as though he might throw up. Shaking the bars of the locked door, Jim yelled in frustration as his friend was taken away and he was unable to do anything to stop it. "Brackett!" The Sentinel shouted, remembering the surveillance devices and that the rogue could probably hear him. If, that was, he was listening in and not gone as the henchmen claimed. "Brackett, call your dogs off! You let them do this to your Guide, and you are never going to get anywhere with your senses. Brackett!" In his urgency to stop what was happening to Jesse Travis, Jim gave no thought to saying something about Sentinel abilities in front of the other criminals. When nothing happened, the detective switched to shouting out encouragement to the other man. "Hang in there, Jesse. Brackett's not stupid enough to let them hurt you."

Whether it was Jim's words and continued yelling or whether the reality of the situation had finally sunk in, towards the top of the stairs, Jesse started to struggle. It didn't do much good, though, as Beard Face got a good grip on his hair and calmly slammed his head against the wall.

The last that Jim saw, Jesse was hanging limply between his two captors, shaking his head as though trying to clear it. Then the trio went out of site and the door shut with a clang of condemnation...

...and Jim was left with only his imagination and sense of failure to keep him company.

*******************************

"I'm sorry, Mark," Blair apologized as he watched the doctor gingerly make his way to the car. "I thought your shoes would be too big of a size to tempt him."

"Not a problem, son," Mark assured the grad student, maintaining as much dignity as a man could while walking down a busy sidewalk in his stocking feet. "A pair of shoes is a small price to pay for information."

The two Sloans had accompanied Blair while Sandburg had met with Sneaks, one of Jim's more reliable informants. Unfortunately, the man was also one of the most eccentric and had a serious shoe fetish. Mark Sloan's handmade Italian loafers had been the price for Sneak's assistance.

"Yeah, but he didn't tell us much," Blair responded. "I think we gave your shoes away for nothing."

"Not exactly," Mark pointed out. "Didn't you say that the information Sneaks had ruled out a mob connection to this Brackett fellow?" At Blair's reluctant nod, he put a comforting hand on the smaller man's shoulder. "It's frustrating but eliminating leads will help."

"We still need to get the right lead," Steve broke in, frustration evident in his tone. "Besides, according to Blair, we've only eliminated the traditional mob. We still have to worry about the Asian mob, the Russian mob, and the Chilean mob."

By this time, the three men had reached their car, a nondescript sedan that Steve and Jesse had rented when first arriving in town. As he was getting in the back seat, Mark's eye was drawn to a figure sitting in an SUV parked a couple of spots away. It wasn't until his son had maneuvered his vehicle out into traffic that the doctor realized that he'd seen the man before.

"Steve," Mark said calmly, "has Captain Banks arranged for police protection for you or Blair?"

Steve's gaze snapped to the rearview mirror. He could just see his father's face, the concern evident in the older man's frown. "No. We talked about it, but decided that as long as Simon or I were with Blair, it would be safe enough."

"Hey!" Sandburg protested, not liking arrangements being made behind his back.

"Hold it, Blair," the California detective said, cutting Sandburg's tirade off before it had a chance to get good and started."You said yourself that Brackett's grabbing Jesse was probably a mistake. There was always the chance that he would try and rectify that." Seeing the tension leave the grad student's body, he finished his reasoning in a less commanding tone of voice. "I'll be frank with you here: We would have both been glad with extra protection. But with the Sentinel stuff, Banks and I decided that we didn't want to risk anyone - even another cop - getting close and maybe figuring it out."

At the anthropologist's nod, Steve decided that Hurricane Blair had been diverted and went back to his father's original comment. "Why do you ask about police protection, Dad?"

His father's voice was flat when he answered. "Because we're being followed."

*******************************

Stumbling, Jesse Travis emerged from the subterranean prison and landed right into hell. Head still ringing from Beard Face's blow, the young man tripped as he was shoved roughly from behind. The dazed doctor landed heavily on his knees and stayed there, panting heavily with shock.

"Aw, ain't that sweet, Hank," a voice drawled nearby. "The little fella cain't wait to get on his knees for me."

Dully, Jesse looked up. The voice belonged to Sideburns, one of his tormentors from the day before. The sight gave the doctor much-needed energy and he scrambled to get up. The three thugs surrounded him, content to watch as the young man made his way to his unsteady feet. Legs braced wide for balance, he stood his ground. It was an uneven standoff, Travis' unsteady defiance seeming to amuse his adversaries.

The tableau held for a moment but Jesse knew it wouldn't last. "Ummm... I don't think this is what Brackett had in mind," he said, slowly turning as he tried to keep the three arrayed against him in sight.

Out of the corner of his eye, the inexperienced Guide saw movement and he spun, barely getting out of the way of Beard Face's lunge. Unfortunately, his defensive move brought him within arm's reach of Sideburns and the tallest of the three goons grabbed him.

"Don't matter what Brackett wants. He ain't here." Jesse struggled in the man's arms, but couldn't managed to break his grip. "But you are..." The man leaned in and forced a sloppy kiss on Jesse, licking around the young man's mouth when the doctor wouldn't open his lips to admit his tongue.

Laughing at the smaller man's muffled protests, Sideburns braced his arms against Jesse's shoulders and pushed, catapulting the captive towards Beard Face. The hairy thug caught Jesse and contained him, struggling to hold the now-writhing blonde. "I dunno, Walt. Ain't never put my dick in a guy's ass before..."

Even over his struggles, Jesse could hear the uncertainty in the man's voice. Before he could take advantage of this possible weakness, though, Sideburns was making light of it. Coming over to where Beard Face had Travis' arms pinned to his sides, the one called Hank walked over and stole a grab of Jesse's ass as he offered his compatriot some advice. "Ain't nuthin' to it. I got me plenty of practice. Cops like the one downstairs put me in the slammer when I's sixteen. I done been rode a'lot for I got big enough t'mount me a boy bitch myself."

Between them, the two men had Jesse pinned and then the woman joined the party. "An when you two Sweetums fill him all up and get him hard for me, Tabitha's gonna have herself a ride..."

Both of the men laughed at the look of distaste on Jesse's face. "Don't get all worked up 'bout fuckin' a female, fag boy," Sideburns said, acting like it was only the prospect of being forced to have sex with a woman that was bothering their captive. "Tittybit," he continued, using Tabitha's nickname, "don't count as a girl. She squats to take a piss all right but we're still not sure she's got a pussy."

Tabitha/Tittybit scoffed at his comments. "Like you'll ever get close enough to find out." She grabbed the front of Jesse's shirt and pulled him in for a lusty kiss. It became a tug of war between Beard Face and the bald woman, with Jesse the bone of contention between them. The female thug won, however, by the expedient trick of suddenly letting go and stepping out of the way.

Caught off balance by the unexpected release, both Jesse and Beard Face fell forward, the smaller doctor pinned underneath his captor. The other two thugs hooted in laughter.

"Hey, Hank," Sideburns called out. "Yer new at fuckin' a guy an' all, but you usually wait to hump 'em 'til you both got yer pants off."

The hairy man got up, brushing himself off and mumbling in disgust. Travis looked at the three, realizing that they weren't quite as unified as he thought.

"Look, it's not to late to stop this," Jesse said, scared spitless but determined to at least try and talk his way out of the situation... or at least delay his attackers until another avenue of escape presented itself. "You take me back downstairs, Brackett never has to know about this..." It galled the doctor to use the ex-agent as a threat, considering he was responsible for Jesse being available to these three goons in the first place. Somehow, though, the young man had a feeling that Lee Brackett might be the only thing between him and something terrible...

"I think, boy, you talk too much," Sideburns cut him off, striding purposefully towards the prone man, hands working at his belt buckle. "I think it's time to give you somethin' else to do w' yer mouth."

Jesse was still on all fours and tried to scuttle out of reach, only to find himself backed against the woman. "Nah huh, Sweetums," she chided, "play time's over, it's time to get to business."

Beard Face joined her and, even though Jesse thrashed frantically to get free, they successfully held the young man in a kneeling position. Sideburns stayed clear until they had the blonde captive under control, stroking his freed and already hard cock as he watched the struggle.

"Wish I could say, boy, that this was gonna hurt me more'n it's gonna hurt you," the tall man said with a grin, "but that'd be a lie."

Jesse turned his head to the side as much as he could, Sideburn's penis growing surreally gigantic in his field of vision as his first rapist approached him. Trying to focus on anything except what was about to happen to him, he noticed for the first time that they were in a pretty wooded area, the idyllic setting at contrast with the ugly act he was about to endure.

Rescue, when it came, was fast, furious, and deadly.

Since he'd had his head turned to the side, Jesse's first impression of his savior was of sound. Howling madly, a figure seemingly came out of nowhere. All Jesse had was a vague image of movement topped with a head of brunette hair and, suddenly, Sideburns was down.

The woman and Beard Face immediately dropped Jesse's arms, the hirelings turning to face their adversary.

"What the fuc-!" The woman shouted, voice abruptly cut off as her nose was broken. She would never have to worry about it adding to her already disreputable features. Her attacker didn't just break her nose, he slammed it back deep into her face, killing instantly.

Beard Face lived only a heartbeat or two longer. Before his bald companion's body hit the ground, Jesse's champion had caught up to the hairy man. A loud snap and the man's neck was broken, leaving the only sound in the clearing a continuous moaning coming from the area where Sideburns had last been standing.

Two of the assailants dead and the last in no position to be a continued threat, the whirling figure slowed down. Somehow, the small part of Jesse's brain that was still able to think, had assumed that Jim had gotten free and come to his aid. Since Ellison was his lover's friend, the young man had categorized the Cascade detective as a protector.

To his surprise, it was Lee Brackett who had saved him.

Still dazed at the rapid turn of events, Jesse watched as the rogue Sentinel approached Sideburns, who was laying where the ex-agent had felled him, mewling in pain.

"You touch my Guide," the agitated Brackett growled, stopping only momentarily to retrieve a knife from his boot, "you pay the price." He stood over the injured henchman with an icy look of fury on his face, but quickly bent, knife in hand.

Brackett's crouched body prevented Jesse from seeing exactly what he was doing. He could only make out that the ex-agent's arm was making a sweeping gesture. Sideburns reaction was instantaneous, however. Screaming, the thug's back arched off the ground and when Brackett stepped back, Jesse could see the fountain of blood originating in the area of Sideburns groin.

A fleshy object dangled from Brackett's fingers. With a last look of disgust at the dying man at his feet, he flung it away.

Jesse flinched back as the Sentinel turned towards him. Brackett absent mindedly wiped his knife against his pants as he approached the doctor, face gentling with every step that brought him closer to the frightened Guide.

"Are you all right, Dr. Travis?" The tall man crouched so that he was closer to eye level to the still-kneeling Jesse. "I am so sorry. I had no idea that the people my employer hired would be capable of such a thing..."

Jesse stared beyond Brackett to where Sideburns' twitching body lay, the man's screams having tapered off to whimpers. Even as he watched, however, the man became still and the awful flow of blood slowed. With dazed eyes, Jesse Travis looked up at the man who had created such carnage so quickly.

Blue eyes so dark that they almost looked brown gazed down at him tenderly. "You're my Guide, Dr. Travis. I will never let anyone hurt you and I will never let anyone come between us, that's a promise."

Turning away from the bloody evidence of the truth to the Sentinel's statement, Jesse turned and retched, helpless to throw off the sticky, crimson-stained hands that reached to support him.

For the first time, Jesse had an inkling of what it meant to be this man's Guide... and that realization was more frightening than any near-rape experience could ever be.

*******************************

Banks and Sloan skipped the "good cop/bad cop" routine and went straight to the "bad cop/pissed- off-cop-whose-lover-is-still-missing" routine.

A quick cellphone call to Captain Banks had resulted in their stalker's arrest and, with a police detective still missing, a search warrant had been easy enough to obtain shortly thereafter. As a result, their suspicious stranger had a name, Paul Daddario, and the authorities had enough evidence to begin questioning.

"Like I told you before," Daddario said patiently, "I don't know anybody named Brackett."

Simon was seated across the table from their perp, Steve silently pacing behind him. "Really?" Banks said in a deceptively mild voice, "then where did this come from?" The captain tossed a sealed evidence bag onto the table. In it was an envelope, filled with $10,000 in cash... and covered in Lee Brackett's fingerprints.

The suspect shrugged. "A guy paid me for a job. Didn't say his name was Brackett."

"$10,000 in cash?" Banks asked skeptically. "That must have been some job."

Daddario simply shrugged.

"I have to wonder, did this job of yours have something to do with these?" Another evidence bag followed the first, this one containing photos featuring Blair Sandburg. They were easily identifiable as having been taken after Jim's abduction, both from the worried look on the grad student's face as well as the background presence of Steve Sloan in most of the shots.

"Ain't no crime to take pictures," Daddario claimed.

The suspect's smug attitude was more than Steve could take. The blonde detective pounced on the man, grabbing Daddario by the lapels and lifting him out of his chair.

"Kidnaping is a crime," he grated out between clenched teeth, "and you're going down as an accessory. If you survive long enough, that is..."

"Hey!" The henchman protested, all but dangling from Sloan's hands. "You gentle officers ever hear of something called 'police brutality'?"

Simon intervened, physically unclenching Steve's fingers from their suspect and quelling him with a glare that worked as well on a California cop as it did on the home-grown variety.

"We're going to take a little break now, Mr. Daddario," the police captain said mildly as he used his considerable bulk to encourage Steve away from the suspect. "But while we're gone, I want you to think about Lee Brackett... and whether he's someone you want to take a fall for."

After he'd successfully bullied Sloan out of the interrogation room, Simon turned towards the younger man. "Steve, I think I know how you feel..."

The distraught Californian cut him off. "Give me a break, Simon, there's no way you know how I feel."

Banks matched the man's glare with a compassionate gaze of his own. "I have a son, Daryl, and he's been in two hostage situations. They didn't go on for as long as Jesse's been missing, but I think I can relate." Sloan's jaw lost a bit of it's tension and Simon took that as a good sign. "Both times, Jim Ellison helped me get Darryl back without a scratch and, believe me, there's nothing I'd like better than to leave you alone in a room with that scumbag in there and let you pound the information out of him until we know where both Jesse and Jim are. But we're the good guys and we can't operate that way."

Steve Sloan's morality finally got the better of his passion and he nodded his head. "You're right and I know it, it's just...." The detective tried to put his emotions into words, but soon realized that was going to be futile and threw his hands up in disgust. "I think I'll just try to walk it off."

"Sure thing, take your time." Simon Banks watched as the other man walked down the hall. Sloan had no way of knowing it, but he'd come damn close to letting the other detective wipe the floor with Daddario. In addition to helping save Darryl, Ellison had also saved Simon's own life a time or two, but the captain hadn't mentioned that. That kind of thing came with the territory when you joined the police department -- you expected your fellow officers to cover your back to the best of their abilities. Jim Ellison was no different, even though his abilities far surpassed those of the rest of the police department. But when a man helps you save the life of your child... well, that was a whole different story and brought with it a level of loyalty that dedication to the law just couldn't touch.

If this went on much longer, hell, he might just beat information out of Daddario himself.

*******************************

It was a bit much to expect anyone to take.

In the past 36 hours, Jesse Travis had been abducted, drugged into submission, and held against his will. During this same time, he had also been entrusted with the secret about enhanced senses, been told that he himself was a Guide, and been coveted by a Sentinel with a criminal soul. Last and most personally damaging, the doctor had been ripped away from the dubious safety of his prison cell and been threatened with gang rape, only to be saved by an attack of nauseating savageness.

Under the circumstances, it was no wonder that the young man was overwhelmed.

As a physician, Jesse was no stranger to the sights and smells of death. However, he was also used to confronting it in the clean, sterile environment of a hospital. Travis was not accustomed to seeing the lives of three people brutally brought to end right in front of his eyes. The fact that those same three were set on raping him mitigated the shock only slightly.

After emptying the meager contents of his stomach, Jesse had remained pliant as Lee Brackett gathered him into his arms. In direct contrast to his ruthless elimination of Jesse's attackers, the rogue Sentinel's actions towards the doctor were gentle to the extreme.

"Shhhh... I've got you..." Brackett crooned, even though Jesse wasn't making a sound. "You're safe now."

The doctor shuddered. He'd seen Brackett's idea of safety and wasn't at all convinced that he was any better off in Brackett's arms than he had been on his knees in front of his would-be rapists. The fear of Brackett, however, seemed far off and too hard to care about, so he remained where he was without a struggle.

The ex-agent misconstrued the reason behind the Guide's shiver. "Hush, now, you're okay." Brackett looked around at the blood-spattered clearing. "C'mon. Let's get you out of this mess."

Jesse accepted the other man's help in standing, allowing himself to be led towards a small cement building. It apparently was separate from the prison structure that he'd shared with Jim Ellison, as he saw no sign of the staircase that led down to the prison.

"Here you go," Brackett said once they were inside. Ushering Jesse to a dilapidated couch, he helped the smaller man sit. "Hang on a second. I'll have you feeling better in no time."

Jesse was only half aware of his surroundings, the still-functioning part of his brain cataloging the nondescript office he'd been brought to as a matter of course. Most of his consciousness, though, was still fuzzy, shock from the vicious turn events taking its toll.

The stupefied Guide must have grayed out to the world around him, because the next he was aware, Brackett was in front of him again. "These ought to warm you up," Lee said, draping a quilted shirt across Jesse's shoulders. It wasn't until the young man felt the garment's weight that he realized that he was indeed shaking, deep tremors that wracked his entire body. Feeling guilty at the comfort Brackett's offering gave, Travis nonetheless snuggled into the warmth the shirt offered.

Brackett watched with satisfaction. "Good." The taller man reached for the second item he'd brought over. "Now this."

A mug was gently pressed to Jesse's lips and the shell-shocked man obediently swallowed. The hot tea, sweetened with honey, had a revitalizing affect and he found himself coming out of the fog that had seemed to shroud his mind. Jesse took another swallow and reached to steady the mug with his own hand, no longer content to be a mindless mannequin with regards to Brackett's ministrations.

As he drank, Jesse began surreptitiously checking out where he was. The room's features were actually quite similar to the prison cell he'd shared with Jim Ellison - gray and dull. One difference, though, was the small pile of boxes sitting by the door, a laptop computer topping the stack. Wherever he currently was, Brackett obviously wasn't planning on staying much longer.

Then Jesse's wandering eye caught sight of the telephone.

The doctor quickly ducked his head, hoping that his captor hadn't noticed what he'd seen. Apparently he was successful, because Brackett stood from where he'd been crouched at Jesse's side. "You got that?" The ex-agent asked, referring to the mug of hot liquid still in the Guide's hands. Seeing the other man nod, Brackett turned and headed towards the door. "Now don't move, I won't be a minute." With that, Lee ducked through the door, leaving Jesse alone for a moment.

The doctor gave his captor sufficient time to get out of hearing distance, then he set his mug down and headed for the telephone. In a couple of steps, he'd reached it and the freedom the communication device offered. Lifting up the receiver as quietly as he could, Jesse put it up to his ear and heard...

Nothing. The phone was dead.

Dismayed, Jesse looked at the telephone in his hand as though it had betrayed him.

"Nice try."

The Guide looked up quickly to see the rogue Sentinel framed in the doorway. He would have thought that Brackett would be angry with him for trying to call for help, but the ex-agent was grinning from ear to ear.

"I would have been disappointed if you hadn't at least made an attempt, Dr. Travis," Brackett explained, moving slowly into the room and exuding approval from every pore in his body. "Proves you've got spunk. I appreciate that."

At first, Jesse thought the dizziness that started to plague him was from disappointment or perhaps the aftereffects of shock. But then he remembered how Jim used to analyze their food and drink before allowing him to sample it, just to make sure Brackett hadn't slipped a drug in unnoticed. It seemed that the detective's mistrust was well-founded.

"Of course," Brackett continued, approaching the now-swaying Guide, "There's also the matter of obedience, but we can work on that later."

In slow motion, Jesse dropped the phone and started slipping to the floor, whatever substance his captor had snuck into his tea working fast on his empty stomach. The rogue Sentinel caught the young man, gently easing him to the floor.

Just before he completely blacked out, Jesse heard Brackett's last reassurance. "A little gumption is good, but you'll have to temper that with submission to your Sentinel. I know what's best for you, Little One. But, first, we'll need to bond..."

Jesse lost consciousness, not at all sure what Brackett was talking about, but having the uncomfortable feeling that, upon waking, he'd find out more than he wanted to know.

*******************************

Jim Ellison wasn't used to failing.

The captive Sentinel paced back in forth in his cell. He didn't have a watch, but by his inner sense of time, he knew it had been about an hour since Brackett's goons had taken Jesse away. In those 60 minutes, Jim had little enough to do to pass the time. Yelling at Brackett had quickly left him hoarse and, with no proof that the other Sentinel was even utilizing his listening devices, the detective had soon given it up.

Jim's gut told him that the whole scene with the guards had been a set-up. Oh, from what his nose detected, the woman had been legitimately aroused but the man hadn't smelled sexually excited, for all he'd mouthed the appropriate words. Jim knew from experience just how territorial a Sentinel could get and he highly doubted that Brackett would allow anyone else to touch the man he considered to be his Guide.

As for the thugs' story that their boss was away, that also seemed false. Not for the first time, Ellison cursed at the white noise generators that had been set up the day before. Although small, the devices managed to prevent him from extending his hearing beyond his cell. That meant that he couldn't use it to size up the guards' heart-rates to see if they were faking the impending attack on Jesse. More than anything else, however, the presence of the jamming devices told the detective that the guards' actions were probably an act. Why else would Brackett go to the trouble of having them placed in precisely the right spot to prevent Jim from monitoring his henchmen? Ellison had no way of knowing what his young friend was facing, but if he were reading the signs correctly, gang rape probably wasn't it.

But what if he were wrong?

The guilt kept Jim company while he waited. Not only did he blame himself for not protecting Jesse Travis, but also for the undeniable sense of relief he'd felt that it wasn't Blair's frightened blue eyes that had looked back at him before being led off to an uncertain fate.

By the time the metal door opened and Brackett once again descended to the prison cell, Jim's guilt and anger had built to dangerous levels. As he heard his nemesis approach, Ellison's pacing stopped and when the rogue Sentinel arrived at the cell door, he was met with an icy blue glare of deadly proportions.

Brackett took one look at his rival and burst out laughing.

Jim was not amused. His nose had brought him the iron-flavored scent of blood and he fervently hoped that it wasn't Jesse's. Crossing his arms across his chest, he waited for the other man to compose himself.

"Detective Ellison, you really are too much," the ex-agent said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "You really take this 'tribe watchman" role to heart, don't you?"

The cop didn't deign to answer. "Where's Jesse? What have you done to him?"

Any trace of amusement drained from Brackett's eyes. "Dr. Travis is no longer any concern of yours. He's under my protection now."

Jim snorted. "Fat lot of good that does him. What did you do, arrange a rape scenario, just so you could swoop in and save him? Make Jesse think you were his own personal Superman?" The remarks had been made sarcastically, but when Brackett didn't answer, Jim realized that he'd happened across the truth. "You bastard. You really did set him up to think he was going to be gangbanged, just so you could play the hero."

The other man shrugged. "The Sentinel/Guide bond develops more quickly if there's a peril scenario. With you and Professor Sandburg, he saved you from a garbage truck." Brackett grinned cheekily. "I didn't happen to have one of those handy, so I improvised."

"You sick son of a bitch," Jim rasped.

"I'll admit," Brackett went on, "I didn't like to see anyone else handling my Guide, but that was soon taken care of. Actually, I was able to kill two birds with that ploy - eliminating some inefficient and unwanted associates that my employer had insisted upon being part of the deal and using them to begin the bonding process with Dr. Travis." Brackett rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Now that the connection has begun, we can move on to the coital imperative that cements the ties between Sentinel and Guide. Gotta admit, I'm looking forward to that part of the relationship."

"'Peril scenario'? 'Coital imperative'? You sound like you're quoting from a textbook."

"In a manner of speaking, I am," the rogue explained, smiling almost coyly. "Your professor's university really should invest in better security for their computer system. It was child's play to obtain copies of Sandburg's notes." Brackett chuckled when he saw the stricken look on the captive Sentinel's face. "Oh, don't worry, detective. Professor Sandburg has two sets of notes. Most of the information about the Sentinel/Guide pairing is contained in his private notes, including the speculation about the mating imperative. The 'official' research is a lot less revealing, but not nearly as helpful."

Jim knew he had to get Brackett to realize that there was more to being Sentinel and Guide than some protective instincts and sex. Not for Brackett's sake, but for Jesse's. "Look, there's more to my relationship to Blair than some misplaced gratitude and a good fuck. Working with a Guide..." the big man struggled for the words. His partner was usually the one that could verbalize feelings, "It's about friendship, and trust, and loyalty. Knowing that there's no other person in existence that ever completes you the way that he does..."

Brackett raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Are you telling me that you're disputing your lover's research? And here I thought Professor Sandburg was the definitive authority on Sentinels."

"Look," Jim countered, "even Blair will admit that he's only had two Sentinels to study and just the one Guide. Himself. That's hardly a large enough pool of examples to draw any firm conclusions on. But whoever's right on this, you can't expect to initiate any sort of relationship with Jesse, not when it's based on some fake rescue scenario and coercion." Ellison was careful to keep Steve Sloan's name out of the discussion. He knew that Brackett was not above eliminating his competition - literally - and he didn't want to bring the rogue Sentinel's attention to the fact that Jesse's heart was already given to another.

Besides, it didn't sound as though Brackett was after Jesse's heart anyway.

Brackett dismissed the other Sentinel's concerns with a wave of the hand. "Like I said, detective, the matter of Jesse Travis is no longer of your concern. Besides," he said, reaching around and pulling a manila envelope out of his back pocket, "You have your own Guide to be concerned about."

"What do you mean?"

The ex-agent slid the packet in-between the bars on the cell door. Jim nearly ripped it from Brackett's fingers and, with an uneasy look at his captor, tore the envelope open. In it were pictures of Blair. Since Steve Sloan was in the background of many of the photos, it was obvious that they had been taken after Ellison's abduction.

"No doubt," Brackett began explaining before Jim could say anything, "you've noticed the absence of the fellow that helped me bring you breakfast yesterday. The one with the shiner you gave him during the underwater altercation?" The rogue nodded at the pictures in Ellison's hands. "He's been a little busy."

"What do you want with Blair?" Jim had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer.

"As thrilled as I am to discover that Dr. Travis is a Guide, my Guide," Brackett emphasized, "that discovery means that he is no longer expendable."

"And Blair is."

Brackett grinned. "To me, anyway. You see, detective, I have a debt to pay. The person who helped me flee incarceration has a little favor to ask of me. That's the whole reason you were obtained in the first place."

Jim interrupted with a correction. "I thought it was because you wanted to observe me using my Sentinel abilities, so you could learn to use your own."

"That was part of it," Brackett agreed affably. "But with the mix-up we had in personnel, there's been a couple of changes to the plan. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to kill the target after all."

"Or..." Jim knew there had to be an "or" clause in there somewhere. With men like Brackett, there always was.

"Or, my surviving assistant, the only one skilled enough to justify his continued existence, will kill Mr. Sandburg."

Ellison looked into the other Sentinel's cold eyes. He didn't doubt for a heartbeat that Brackett was telling the pure, unadorned truth.

Seeing that the detective took the threat for the promise it was, the rogue continued. "The same man who took the pictures is within reach of Professor Sandburg at all times. If he fails to get a phone call from me at the specified time, he eliminates your Guide." Brackett paused, tilting his head in an exaggerated pose of contemplation. "Or was it that he would kill Sandburg if I did call?" The ex-agent smiled at his captive. "I always forget how that's supposed to work."

Internally, Jim winced. Without knowing the signal that Brackett had pre-arranged with his henchman, it was nigh on impossible for him to find a way to both disrupt Brackett's plan and keep Blair from being killed.

"I trust we understand one another," Brackett said, all pretense of friendliness gone from his expression. "Someone's going to die today. Either the man I'm telling you to kill or Blair Sandburg. Take your pick."

Jim thought of his late-night musings, of how the choice to kill in cold blood would be easier if it were Blair's life at stake rather than Jesse's. Just his luck, some higher power must have been listening, because now he faced that very choice.

"What's it going to be, detective?"

Jim Ellison hoped that Blair could love a murderer, because right or wrong, that's what it looked like he was about to become.

*******************************

After an hour of questioning, Simon was beginning to regret how he'd stopped Steve Sloan from beating answers out of their suspect. Paul Daddario was proving to be a tough nut to crack.

Along with Sandburg and the Sloans, the captain was watching Daddario through the two-way mirror. The man was still in the interrogation room, the picture of calm as he waited for the questioning to resume.

"He certainly doesn't seem like he's ready to tell us anything about Brackett," Mark observed.

"To a pro like that, what it comes down to," his son explained, "is whether it's more beneficial for him to cooperate with us or stay loyal to his employer."

"Or," Simon Banks qualified, "who has the potential to do him the most damage."

Blair snorted. "Well, that's that then." When the other men looked at him oddly, he explained. "Of course he's more afraid of Brackett. Even if Daddario cooperates and Brackett ends up behind bars, there's no guarantee that he'll stay there. He didn't before."

A morose silence fell over the group. Hoping to break the mood before it deepened into depression, Simon turned towards Mark and changed the subject. "How did you pick up on the fact that Blair and Steve were being followed?"

Mark shrugged off the implied compliment. "Even in L.A., we don't often see a man wearing make-up, so Daddario caught my eye. The first time was outside the precinct building, then when I saw him again today, I knew it wasn't a coincidence."

Simon and Blair both looked again through the two-way mirror at Daddario. The guy looked normal enough to them.

"Make-up?" Blair asked.

Mark took note of the confusion in the Cascade men's faces and hastened to explain. "Not make-up make-up, but the kind that's used by burn victims or people with serious scarring. It's heavier and conceals skin imperfections, either those that can't be corrected by surgery or temporary conditions like bruises."

"Yeah," Blair said, nodding. "I've seen the infomercial on television. But... how could you tell?"

Steve chuckled. "There's a reason why my father's been a consultant to the LAPD for thirty years."

The elder Sloan smiled, but was quick to temper his son's praise. "I've been a physician for longer than you've been alive, Blair. We tend to notice physical inconsistencies. In Daddario's case, the area around his eye was swollen, as if he had a black eye, yet there was no bruising. That was what originally caught my attention and when I looked closer, I could see the tell-tale oily sheen of a heavy make-up." The doctor's smile broadened. "You don't live in the entertainment capital of the world as long as I have without knowing cosmetics when you see them."

"So our boy is hiding something..." Simon mused.

Before anyone could answer the captain, there was a discrete knock at the door. Banks called out an invitation to enter and soon's Rafe's face could be seen.

"What is it, Rafe?" Simon asked.

Brian Rafe was the newest member of Major Crimes and, as a result, got stuck with most of the unpleasant tasks in the department... like interrupting the boss during a closed-door meeting. Banks was actually more sympathetic than he let on, knowing it was an initiation of sorts for the newest member of the team. As soon as Rafe stopped being intimidated by his more experienced colleagues and told them were to stuff it when one of them tried to pawn their scut work off on him, it would stop. Until then, Rafe would just have to endure.

"Ummm.... Sir?" Rafe asked, unusually hesitant. He knew how foolish this was going to sound. His only hope was that the caller was as serious as she claimed and not a cheap hooker like the name implied. "Does one of you know a woman named Cinnamon?"

*******************************

After making Ellison don shackles and pocketing the white noise generator, Brackett led the other Sentinel up the stairs. The smell of blood was stronger as the two men reached the surface, so Jim wasn't surprised to see the three bodies of the ex-agent's hirelings.

"You're a rough man to work for," the detective said quietly. It made him ill to think that Jesse Travis, a physician and healer, had been exposed to such violence.

"They messed up," Brackett explained shortly, leading the other man around to the back of a rather plain cement building. Their pace was of necessity slow, the shackles around Jim's ankles hampering his movement. "Let that be an object lesson for you, I don't approve of failure."

"Really? I thought you wanted them to pretend to rape Jesse. What's the matter, did it get too real even for you?"

"That's not what I was punishing them for," the rogue Sentinel explained. "No, their original mistake was in grabbing Dr. Travis instead of Professor Sandburg, although I'll admit that the mix-up turned out to my advantage." Brackett stopped, not bothering to point out the bloody piece of flesh lying some distance from the bodies themselves. He knew that Jim's senses could pick it out easily enough. "That was for getting too close to my Guide. Let that be another lesson for you - he's off limits."

Jim let the other man shove him into movement again, eyes wandering over the area. Having served in the army, he knew a military installation when he saw one. This had to have been a training or communication center of some kind, shut down due to budget cuts.

Eventually, the two men reached the back of the building and Jim could see a nondescript burgundy colored van parked in the shade, the type owned by half the "soccer Mom's" in the United States. Brackett used the electronic key to open the door and motioned for the other Sentinel to clamber in. Ellison did, with little grace, thanks to the shackles. When he got himself situated, he immediately noticed a sleeping Jesse Travis curled up in the very back seat. The younger man hadn't stirred, despite the noisiness of Jim's arrival, and the detective figured that Brackett had drugged him again.

Brackett efficiently chained Ellison to his chair and handed him a folder before shutting the door. Immediately going to the driver's seat, the ex-agent started the vehicle and pulled out onto the gravel-covered road.

Jim turned in his seat to get a better look at Jesse. Even in his sleep, the young doctor had a worry line in the middle of his forehead. Despite its drug-induced nature, or maybe because of it, Jesse's slumber obviously wasn't restful. Worse, even if Jim did find a way to make a break for it, Travis was in no shape to move under his own steam.

"I said, detective," Brackett coldly reminded his prisoner. "That Dr. Travis is no longer a concern of yours."

The hell he wasn't. "What did you give him this time?" Jim asked.

"Nothing that will hurt him, I assure you." The rogue wasn't at all pleased with the attention the other Sentinel was giving his Guide. "Keep your mind on the job, Ellison," he growled. "Your own Guide's life is at stake."

When Jim turned back around in his seat and opened the folder, Brackett relaxed somewhat. "It's really quite simple," the ex-agent explained as he drove. "I'll drop you off at your target's current residence and you complete your assignment."

Ellison noticed that there was no mention of him leaving after executing his task.

"Pretty easy, really," Brackett finished.

"That's the difference between me and you," Jim responded. Brackett looked up from his driving and their eyes met in the rearview mirror. "I never find killing easy."

Brackett smirked. "You're on your high horse so often, detective, I'm surprised your legs aren't bowed by now." Amused by his own quip, the ex-agent turned his attention back to the road.

"Lawrence Jones," the rogue went on to explain, "started out by pimping runaway teenagers, usually by getting them hooked on the lowest-grade drugs available on the street. He ended up killing as many as he successfully addicted."

As Brackett spoke, Jim pulled a photograph out of the folder. The man pictured there was rather ordinary looking. Middle-aged, receding hairline, mild expression on his face. Of course, Ellison knew that just because someone looked normal, didn't mean they weren't dangerous. Brackett himself was proof of that.

"From pimping," the ex-agent continued, "it was simple enough for Jones to move into the real exotic type of adult films. You know the kind, the ones you'd never find at your local video store or in a porn magazine...."

"Underage stuff," Jim guessed, having had experience working in Vice. "Snuff films."

"You got it," Brackett confirmed. "Even your typical pervert finds Mr. Jones' material
objectionable."

Ellison tapped the folder against his leg. Something about this just didn't feel right. "So how did you get involved? I'm guessing you're not eliminating this guy just out of the goodness of your soul or to make the streets safe for America's law-abiding citizens."

Brackett chuckled, Ellison knew him too well. "No. Like I said, I owe a favor to someone. He got me out of jail, so I'm going to eliminate his little problem for him."

"Huh," Jim said. As he'd observed before, monitoring Brackett for the signs of lying was a futile exercise. "What's the catch? Did this Jones character steal money from one of his backers or something?"

"No, it's more personal than that," the other Sentinel explained. "Let's just say that good ol' Larry picked the wrong kid to star in one of his more lurid film projects." Having said all he was going to on that subject, Brackett moved on to other matters. "Now, let me direct your attention to the schematic I gave you. Mr. Jones just acquired this particular home, so I'm figuring that he doesn't quite have all the security issues worked out yet."

"That's comforting," Ellison murmured, studying the diagram he'd been given.

Brackett ignored the comment. "Jones knows he fucked up -- literally as well as figuratively, so we know he's expecting some kind of retaliation. We also know about the dogs and motion sensors." The ex-agent pulled the van into a scenic overlook, making sure to get out of sight of the main road, even though it was deserted. Pulling underneath the shade of some trees, he turned off the vehicle and swivelled in his seat to face his prisoner. "For everything else, you're on your own."

"Great," the other Sentinel said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Hey," the rogue countered, "you're the one with all the training for your enhanced senses, this ought to be a piece of cake."

Jim didn't bother to answer. "So where do I get started?" The detective was trying very hard to make this task sound as mundane as possible, not really wanting to consider that he was actually contemplating murder.

Brackett had come around to the side of the van and opened the door, giving his fellow Sentinel an unparalleled view of the valley below. "See that blue roof down there?" Ellison nodded. "That's the where you're going."

The schematic had indicated that the target's home was large, but Jim was still unprepared for the mansion-sized building he could see in the distance. "Nice cozy little place."

The other man snorted. "Well, smut pays." Brackett took the folder away from Ellison. "Now, we'd better get you on your way."

"Just like that?" Ellison'd had hopes of jumping the ex-agent at the last minute, but that didn't appear to be an option. Besides, he still didn't know the signal Brackett had arranged for initiating the hit on Sandburg.

"Just like that," Brackett confirmed. "I don't care how you do it or if you make it out alive. Hell, if you survive, I don't even care if you tell the whole world that I forced you into it. Just make sure Jones dies and your lover is safe from me and mine."

"I don't get a weapon?"

"Are you kidding?" Brackett genuinely seemed surprised. "You actually think I'd give you a weapon when there's a chance you could turn it on me? I don't think so, detective."

Damn, another plan was shot to hell. "How do you expect me to... achieve my objective?" Jim had a hard time actually saying the words, that his task was murder.

"You're a bright boy, you'll think of something."

Delaying any way he could, Ellison turned towards Jesse. The young man was huddled on the back seat, frown still on his face, deep in a drug-induced nap. "What about him?"

Brackett was rapidly losing patience. While what he wanted to do was to rip Ellison's attention away from his Guide, he instead used the other man's distraction to deftly extract a tubular implement from his pocket. "I told you, he's none of your concern. I'll be taking good care of Dr. Travis from now on." When he'd finished speaking, the rogue placed a handkerchief over his own nose and mouth

Jim turned back towards the rogue Sentinel. "Yeah, right. If you touch one hair on his head, I swear I'll - Hey! What the hell is that?" His threat was cut off as the ex-agent sprayed something in his face. Since he'd been right in the middle of a diatribe, the detective unknowingly inhaled a good quantity of the mist that had been deployed around his head. Before he even finished demanding an explanation of the other Sentinel, his senses started to swim.

"When you wake up, detective," Brackett calmly explained, ignoring Ellison's protests. "I'd suggest you make directly for Jones' villa. There's no sense dragging this out. I'll be observing you and, trust me, you do not want to be caught trying to betray me." The ex-agent held up a cellular phone. "Or, should I say, it's in Professor Sandburg's best interest for you not to betray me."

His adversary's threat ringing in his ears, the Sentinel lost consciousness.

*******************************

"Are you sure this Cinnamon Carter can be trusted?" Simon asked.

"Yes," Mark said, no doubt in his tone.

"No," His son said at the same time and with an equal lack of hesitation.

The two Californians looked at each other, Mark with patience and Steve with frustration.

"Steve," the elder Sloan said, "Cinnamon is Dane Travis' partner and has known the man for decades. She has the absolute best interests in mind for his son and, with Dane unavailable while he's on assignment, she's only doing her best to help. You just don't trust her because she has a connection to Jesse's father."

"With good reason," the detective interjected. "The whole international spy thing. You know as well as I do that they'd sacrifice one of their own in a minute if necessary. Hell, they've done it before."

Before Mark could counter the accusation, Blair powered off his cell phone and entered the conversation. "Well, Jack says we should trust her."

Simon was surprised. "Kelso knows this woman?"

"Not exactly," the anthropologist explained, "but apparently she's got an impeccable reputation with the Company. He hasn't heard anything that confirms what she told us, but he's working on it."

"If Cinnamon's right," Mark said, "Your friend isn't likely to find much, the cover-up comes from pretty high up."

"So what do we do?" Blair said, voice rising in pitch as his frustration grew. "This is the first solid lead we have, other than a suspect that won't talk, and we're just going to sit on it?"

"It won't hurt to wait a little bit and see what Kelso comes up with," Banks soothed. "Give the man some time to see if this conspiracy that Carter described might actually exist."

The police captain let his eye wander over each of the other men, glad to see that he'd convinced them of his point of view. For the moment, anyway.

"I know of something we can do to while away the time," Steve offered.

"What?"

The big Californian grinned ferally. "Now that we know Brackett's objective," Seeing the police captain's face cloud over, he was quick to correct himself. "Now that we might know Brackett's objective, why don't we go have a few more words with Daddario?"

*******************************

Jim woke, a familiar cottony feeling in his mouth. The Sentinel's thoughts immediately went back to his last waking moments and the chemical that had been sprayed in his face. In his first encounter with Brackett, when the criminal had threatened Cascade with the Ebola virus, the man had relied on explosives. This time, it appeared that his tool of choice was drugs.

"Geez," the detective moaned, rolling over onto his back and squinting into the sun. "Someone's got to teach that man to 'just say no.'"

Despite the wisecrack, the Sentinel knew his situation was not at all funny. Sitting up, the detective got his bearings. He already knew that he hadn't been unconscious long. His mouth was dry but he wasn't nearly as dehydrated as he would have been had he been kept lying out in the sun for a significant period of time. A quick looked around showed him that he was on a rocky spot, less than 50 yards from the scenic overlook. In fact, the van was still visible, even using only normal sight. As Ellison looked in that direction, he could easily see the figure behind the wheel wave jauntily.

"Great," the detective muttered, not liking the feeling of being watched. Getting up and brushing himself off, Ellison turned his back to the van and resolutely headed towards the blue-roofed mansion. Brackett had arranged things so that Jim couldn't try and jump him as he was being released from the shackles. With that avenue of possible escape closed to him, his only hope was to go forward with Brackett's plan. Perhaps an alternative to Jones' execution would present itself along the way.

Picking up speed as he headed into the valley, Jim let his senses take over as he headed towards his target. For better or worse, it was time to get this show on the road.

*******************************

Lee Brackett watched as Ellison loped away from him, headed, at least for the moment, towards Lawrence Jones and his assignment. Lugging the man's unconscious body a respectable distance from the van had been sweat-inducing, but well worth the effort.

Brackett was under no illusions that the detective was committed his task. Ellison was simply too noble to make a good assassin. That's why he hadn't dared unshackle and release the man while he was still within striking distance -- he wouldn't put it past the detective to try some heroic but ill-conceived attack. No, despite the temporary inconvenience, the wise course of action was to drug the other Sentinel and release him a safe distance from the vehicle.

The ex-agent didn't really care if Lawrence Jones died or not. That was his so-called employer's issue, not his. To keep his reputation intact, he'd needed to make the effort, but that was about it. All that mattered to Brackett was that the other Sentinel die in the effort. Anything else was just gravy.

The rogue used his own senses to track his former prisoner. His hearing kept in touch with Ellison's progress long after the detective's form disappeared into the trees. In fact, Brackett found himself grinning from time to time when the detective muttered a particularly creative expletive. "Who knew you were such a potty mouth," Brackett murmured, his mood light as he saw all the pieces of his plan coming together.

Satisfied that Ellison was well and truly on his way, Brackett pulled out the white noise generator that he'd retrieved from the prison and turned the device on. It was probably overkill, but he didn't want the other Sentinel to eavesdrop on the coming conversation. Of course, he didn't know Ellison's true auditory range either, but it was better safe than sorry. His precautionary task completed, the ex-agent dialed Paul Daddario's number and waited for his hireling to pick up. He hated to do this, he really did, but he simply could not take the chance. Sandburg's knowledge about Sentinels would be too damaging should the anthropologist turn it against Brackett.

Regardless of his promise to the other Sentinel, it was time for Blair Sandburg to die.

The rogue Sentinel hummed a merry tune, tapping his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. With Ellison on his way to his own likely death and Sandburg a mere phone call away from being eliminated, Brackett could move on to more pleasurable activities... like bonding himself to the young Guide sleeping in the back of the van. He could almost taste Jesse Travis' mouth now...

Brackett's musings broke off when the phone was finally answered.

"Hello."

The ex-agent stiffened. Although a reasonable facsimile, the voice on the other end of the connection was not that of Paul Daddario. Extending his enhanced hearing as much as the cell phone technology would allow, the rogue Sentinel took a quick survey of the background noise. He could barely make out the sounds of keyboards clacking... a crisp female voice reciting the "Miranda" rights... a page for someone named Detective Munson.

It was conceivable, barely, that Daddario had followed Sandburg into the police station, but given that his henchman had not answered the phone himself, Brackett highly doubted it. Acting quickly, he cut the connection. He knew the authorities couldn't trace the call to him, but he hadn't achieved his professional standing by being sloppy about such details.

Brackett also hadn't gotten where he was in the criminal world by hesitating when a plan was blown. Working quickly but not in a panic, the ex-agent dug through his supplies, retrieving another metal cylinder. Unlike the one he'd used to dose Ellison, this one had a plastic cup on the end. Similar to a nebulizer that would be used on an asthmatic person, this device was shaped to fit over an adult's mouth.

The rogue Sentinel clambered into the back seat, pausing only long enough to appreciate the enticing sight of his sleeping Guide. Then he placed the plastic end of the cylinder over Jesse's mouth, dispensing a mist-like drug to the already sedated man. Jesse murmured at the sensation of the chemical vapor tickling his nose. Without really waking, the young man twisted his head in a vain effort to escape it.

"Shhh, little one," Brackett soothed him, making sure to keep the drug dispensing device firmly planted over Jesse's nose and mouth. "I'm sorry about this, but I need to count on you being quiet and cooperating." The criminal reached out and gently stroked the side of Travis' face with his fingers. "There, now. Almost done."

As the medication took affect, Jesse's still-sleeping protests tapered off and the doctor settled down. When he'd administered enough of the drug to his Guide, Brackett turned to head back towards the front of the van. At the last minute, the rogue Sentinel turned back, stooping to kiss his captive on the top of the head. "Soon, little one. Soon."

The ex-agent crawled through the van back to the driver's seat. Turning off the white noise generator, he took a quick sweep of the area using his ears. Not finding Ellison's auditory signal anywhere, he then turned the vehicle on and pulled out of the scenic overlook. Once they were safely on their way, he again picked up his cell phone. Assuming that Daddario had been picked up by the Cascade police, it was likely that the Sandburg portion of his plan had failed. That being the case, Brackett decided he'd better do what he could to make sure the other part didn't do the same.

Punching another pre-programmed number, he waited for someone to pick up the line. "Yes, my name is Captain Taggert," the rogue Sentinel said when he had the chance. "I'm with Cascade's Major Crimes department. I need to talk to the agent in charge of the Jones case. Yes, that's the one. I'm afraid it's an emergency."

*******************************

Simon and Steve had just been about to leave and resume questioning Daddario when the suspect's phone began to ring. Along with the his other affects, the cellular device was on the table in front of the four men, all of whom jumped when it noised that a call was coming in.

"That's got to be Brackett," Blair claimed, eagerly reaching for the phone.

"Wait, Sandburg," Simon cautioned, "Brackett knows your voice. Mine too, probably."

The phone continued to ring, each chime making it more likely that the person on the other end would give up, breaking this possible link to the missing men.

"Well, he doesn't know mine," Steve said, grabbing the phone and turning it on. "Hello?" Having participated in the questioning of Daddario, the California detective knew what the perp sounded like and managed to mimic him fairly well..

There was silence on the other end, then a soft click that indicated that the connection had been cut.

"Damn!" Steve said in disgust, throwing the unlucky phone down on the table.

"Had they already hung up?" Simon asked.

"No," the blonde detective responded. "Someone was definitely there, but my Daddario imitation must not have fooled them."

His father laid a comforting hand on his son's shoulder. "You did your best, son."

Blair got up and paced. "That had to have been Brackett, Simon..."

"Not necessarily, Sandburg," the captain started to disagree, but the police observer hardly let him get a word in edgewise.

"It was him, Simon, and you know it. Now that Brackett knows that we're on to him, or at least that we have his associate in custody, there's no telling what he could do to Jim and Jesse." The anthropologist ceased his pacing right in front of dark-skinned captain. "I know you want to wait for confirmation, Simon, but we can't -- it might be too late."

Blue eyes pleaded at Banks and for the first time the police captain had an inkling of why Sandburg had Jim Ellison wrapped so tightly around his little finger.

"All right, Blair," Simon acquiesced to the inevitable with as much grace as he could muster. "We'll pursue Carter's tip before we hear from Kelso. But we do it my way, agreed?"

"Okay," Blair said.

"This is how it's going to be. Carter says it's a federal operation. If we called the local office, they'd just deny it and bury us in bureaucratic procedures. We're going to skip that part." Simon grinned, as relieved as the rest of them at the thought of action. "What is it that you're always saying, Sandburg? It's better to ask forgiveness than ask permission? Let's give that a try."

The anthropologist grinned back at his friend. "All right!"

The grad student led the way out into the squad room, with Simon and the Californians following close behind. When it was obvious that Mark Sloan had every intention of accompanying them, Banks protested.

"Dr. Sloan, you're not a cop. I don't think it would be appropriate..."

"Sandburg's not a cop either," Steve objected, "and he's coming along. Why is my dad any different? Besides, he's been working withe the PD back home for years."

This time, there were three pairs of blue eyes arrayed against him and Simon caved without much of a fight. "All right, but Dr. Sloan, if things get rough, I want you to stay with the car." When the older man nodded his agreement, the captain turned towards Blair. "And that goes for you too, Sandburg."

Sighing in resignation, Simon wondered if Mark would be any better about keeping that particular promise than Blair usually was.

*******************************

Lawrence Jones was too good to be true.

Jim was inclined to disbelieve a lot of what Brackett said anyway, but the background he'd been given on the man he was sent to kill sounded particularly false. It was though the information he'd been quoted on Jones, including kiddie porn and snuff films, had been fabricated to push every button that a responsible cop had... and Jim was a very responsible cop.

It was if Brackett was trying to make him feel better about killing Jones. Ellison hadn't a clue as to what his target's real identity was, but he had a feeling the man was hardly the monster that Brackett had so painstakingly described. But if he was wrong... well, with Blair's life on the line, the stakes were awfully high.

The Sentinel approached the mansion with care, mindful to stop while still in the outskirts of its property. Hidden in the border where the woods gave way to the imposed order of the carefully manicured lawn, Ellison lurked and observed. As he was making his way towards his target, it had occurred to the detective that all he really needed to do was find a way to contact Simon Banks. Once that was accomplished, the police captain could both put Blair in protective custody and send in the troops to deal with Brackett. It was a good plan, except for one thing: whether, or not Brackett was telling the truth about Jones, the rogue Sentinel had gone to a lot of trouble to set up the hit. There was no telling what Larry's true background was, but knocking up on the man's door and asking to use the phone was likely not an option.

Finesse, then, was what was needed. He could do that, even if Blair wasn't at his side.

His Army Ranger training had given Ellison a good working knowledge of most security systems, so locating and disabling the motion detectors wasn't too much of a challenge. There were security cameras too, which Brackett hadn't mention in his briefing, but his Sentinel hearing easily detected the mechanical hum the devices gave off. A few moments' observation and he was able to ascertain their surveillance pattern. As long as he was mindful, eluding the cameras wouldn't be a problem.

At least there wasn't any sign yet of security dogs Brackett had mentioned, the lack for which Jim was profoundly grateful. Watchdogs of the human variety at least had a choice in their profession, something that the true canines didn't. If he had to, Jim would defend himself against a dog, but had never felt good about lashing out at one of the animals.

In the bright afternoon sunlight, the building's walls cast sharp shadows, providing more than enough cover for the Sentinel. Moving carefully, Ellison made it to the side of the large house, but the crunching sound of approaching footsteps told him that he wouldn't stay unobserved long if he didn't find a good hiding spot. Luckily, it was far enough into the summer that the detective could duck behind a tall bush, its leaves sheltering him from view.

Jim found his hiding spot just in time too, because no sooner had he reached up to still the branches that had been set quivering from his quick movement than a figure came striding around the corner. The man's alert attitude and no-nonsense gait, not to mention the tell-tale bulge of a shoulder holster easily discernable underneath stranger's jacket, let Ellison know that this was a guard.

Jim took a closer look at the newcomer's suit. The material had the dull sheen of a synthetic fabric, not the soft matte look of a natural fiber or even the satiny gloss of silk. He wasn't quite the clotheshorse that Brian Rafe was, but even he could see that it was of inferior quality.

A Fed, then. A criminal could afford something classier.

If Jim was right about this being a Federal agent, then his situation had just gotten a whole lot easier. Granted, without his badge, it would be a bit harder to convince them that he was a cop, but the Feds were still the good guys. Theoretically, they should ask questions before shooting. Ellison was about to reveal himself to the agent when he saw the man stop and lift a walkie talkie to his ear. Jim settled back into his hiding spot, grateful he'd have an opportunity to eavesdrop before taking a chance on revealing himself.

He was lucky he did.

"Stevens," The Sentinel could make out a female voice coming through loud and clear. "We just got an alert from headquarters. Cascade PD called in a warning. They found out that a hit's been tagged for Jones... and they know where we are."

"What?" The agent sputtered. "How'd they find this location? It's strictly need to know."

"I dunno, the Agent in Charge is checking on that. Just be on your toes," the disembodied voice responded. "Our would-be assassin is supposed to be Special Forces trained. Male, six feet tall, brown hair and blue eyes. The perp may claim to be a local police officer."

Ellison swore softly under his breath as he watched the FBI agent continue his rounds. It was a good thing the man had already passed the detective's hiding spot by the time he'd received the warning, because his vigilance had visibly doubled.

Instead of easier, Jim's situation had just gotten a lot trickier. Someone, and Ellison had a feeling he knew who, had deliberately put the FBI on alert and given Jim's description as a possible intruder. It would now be that much harder to convince them of his sincerity and the detective knew that he could no longer risk trying. There just was too great a chance that Brackett could get wind of the attempt and have Blair killed before Jim could warn him. On the other hand, if he tried sneaking into what was obviously a safe house and he were caught, it wouldn't be pretty. Not only was there the very real chance that he would be shot before he could explain himself, but also the likelihood existed that he might be forced to hurt one of the Feds to keep from being killed himself. Like a lot of city cops, Jim had a pretty low opinion of Federal agents, usually for good reason. But, technically, they were officers of the law and he'd hate to have to injure one.

Sighing at the perplexity of his situation, Jim resolutely turned his attention towards finding a way into the house. Get in, get to a phone, and keep from getting killed or killing anyone. It wasn't much of a plan, but was all he had.

*******************************

Lee Brackett entered the security code into the system, patiently waiting until the gate swung open before entering his employer's estate. The ex-agent was almost sorry to see his alliance with the man end. Brackett's line of work took him to a variety of locales, from rough neighborhoods teaming with criminals, to isolated jungles that reverberated with the sounds of guerilla warfare, to posh milieus where "roughing" it was being forced to drink tap water. The ex-agent made himself at home whatever his environment, but on the whole, he found he preferred the life of the rich.

Showing up here was not part of the plan, but neither was Daddario being caught. If Daddario kept silent... if Ellison actually killed Jones... if the other Sentinel survived the assassination attempt... if his employer managed to keep his head down and his tail tucked between his legs... it was one too many if's for Brackett. He had a feeling that it was only a matter of time now before his employer's carefully orchestrated scheme came crashing down and the criminal Sentinel had no intention of being caught in the fall-out; his loyalty only went so far.

Even so, however, the set-up was likely to hold together for another little bit. Long enough for Brackett to successfully bind his Guide to him. And, as long as he had the opportunity, the rogue figured he might as well accomplish the deed in a setting suitably grand for the occasion.

With the habit of long practice, Brackett pulled the van to one side of the large home. After shutting the vehicle off, he climbed into the back to make one last check on his Guide. A quick survey of the sleeping man's vitals assured the Sentinel that he was still deeply unconscious. The ex-agent sat back on his haunches for a minute, happy to just look at Jesse Travis. He carefully reached out and traced the soft contours of the doctors' lips, his gentleness a sharp contrast to the sudden violence that he had displayed that morning.

"I'm going to have to leave you for a moment," Brackett said to drugged young man. "I'm sorry about that, but there's something I have to take care of. Then I'll be right back. Promise."

"Brackett!" It didn't take Sentinel hearing to detect the agitated voice coming from the house's doorway. "What the hell are you doing here? Are you insane?"

The angry tone of the unseen man penetrated Jesse's sedated mind and the young man stirred a bit.

"Shhhh...." his captor soothed him. "Don't worry, he won't be yelling for long. In fact, he's going to real get hospitable, real quick.. I bet he won't even mind if we borrow his bed."

The ex-agent hopped out of the van, the gun tucked into the back of his pants insurance as to the truth of his promise to his Guide.

*******************************

Blair and Mark were receiving the third variation of Simon's "You will stay in the car" lecture when the police captain's cell phone rang. "Banks," the big man barked into the receiver, managing to answer the call, drive, and glare at Sandburg all at the same time.

"He's really quite talented," Mark whispered to Blair, taking advantage of Simon's distraction. "Is he married?"

"Don't even start, Dad," his son said from the front seat of the car.

"What?" Dr. Sloan gave the other man his best "who me?" look. He was actually a bit chagrined that Steve had overheard the comment, which he'd thought he'd made quiet enough to only reach Blair's ears.

"Matchmaking," Steve replied. "Amanda's been burned by not one, but two long distance romances. So don't even think about it."

Mark shrugged. As embarrassing at is was to have been caught by his son, there was something reassuring that his child knew him so well. Besides, it had only been an idle thought, something to take Blair's mind off his missing lover. Not that it did any good, the young man in question was staring out the window, mindless chewing on a thumbnail that was already ragged from the
attention.

"Shit!"

Simon's outburst startled all of his passengers. As one, they turned to stare at him.

"Okay, we're on our way. Do what you can from your end. Banks out." The police captain cut the connection and threw the cell phone down on the seat next to him in disgust.

"Simon, what's the matter?" Blair asked.

"That was Taggert," the captain explained, even as he accelerated the car. "He got a message from the FBI office located in Cascade, wanting to confirm a tip phoned in about one of their safe houses. Thing was, whoever phoned it in used Taggert's name and Joel didn't make that call."

"Let me guess," Steve interjected, "the safe house has a familiar address."

"I'm afraid so," Simon answered, "It's the same one that your Cinnamon Carter gave us."

No one had to point out that it was unlikely to be a coincidence and the rest of the trip was made in a silence thick with tension.

*******************************

Jim was learning a new respect for the FBI. Smug, sanctimonious bastards they might be, but the Feds knew how to lock down a house. It had taken all of Ellison's cunning to find a way in and he'd needed to maximize use of his enhanced senses to elude the cadre of agents. Eventually, the Sentinel had found what appeared to be a storage room that he was able to enter unseen. From there, he was cautiously making his way into more inhabited parts of the house, looking for an empty room with a phone.

A close call with a female agent found the detective darting into an unoccupied room. Jim flattened against the wall next to the door and kept his senses fixated on the woman as he tracked her progress down the hallway. Unfortunately for Ellison, this agent was a diligent one and checked each room as she passed. Ellison's was the second on her route and the detective didn't have a chance to find cover before the door opened. Pressing even closer to the wall, Jim could only hope that the door itself would hide him from view.

It might even have worked had the woman not chosen to come into the room.

The Sentinel didn't think. Instead, he threw his body forward, intent on overpowering the Fed before she could make a noise. He had already decided it would be easier to ask for forgiveness rather than to attempt to explain his situation to any agent who might stumble across him. Two well-placed blows and the woman was unconscious before she even had registered the intruder's presence.

Ellison carefully lowered her limp body to the floor, conscientiously supporting her head as he did so. When he got the agent prone, he checked her vitals and was pleased to find a steady pulse. Relieved that he hadn't done major damage, Jim patted around the woman's clothes, looking for the weapon she undoubtedly had on her. As he did, he split his focus between monitoring the hallway and keeping an eye on the downed agent's vitals. Not only did the detective not want any more agents sneaking up on him from the corridor, he also didn't want his victim reviving until he had control of the weapon.

"Gotcha," he exclaimed in satisfaction as he brandished the gun he finally found.

So complete had the Sentinel's focus been on the woman in front of him and the hallway beyond, that he hadn't heard movement coming from behind him. He hadn't noticed that he wasn't in a singular room, he'd entered a suite of rooms... and they were not unoccupied. A strangled gasp was Jim's first clue that he was no longer the only conscious person in the room.

The detective whirled, to face the patently terrified countenance of Lawrence Jones.

"Please, be quiet," Jim whispered. "This isn't what it seems."

Jones didn't seem to pay attention to the detective's non-threatening words. Instead, the frightened man focused on the stranger kneeling next to the body of one of the people assigned to protect him; a stranger who happened to have a gun prominently displayed and a gleeful look on his face. It was no wonder that he jumped to the wrong conclusion.

"Please," Jones whispered back, voice hoarse with emotion. "Just do... what you have to do... and leave." The man gulped. "Please, my little girl is in the next room sleeping. My wife's downstairs. They don't have anything to do with this. Just kill me and leave them alone. Please...."

Sweat poured off the man and the scent of his fear was thick in the air. Jim wondered how he'd ever fooled himself into thinking, even for minute, that he could kill another human being this way.

Ellison tried again to reassure Jones. "Look, I'm not gonna hurt anybody. You, your wife, and your daughter are all perfectly safe."

Lawrence Jones, however, was too deep into his terror to pay much attention. Babbling, the man approached Ellison, hands held up in a classic pose of surrender. "Just take me. Leave my wife and daughter alone. Please, have mercy on them." Clearly overwhelmed with the fear of his perceived potential death, Jones was equally determined to convince the man he thought was his assassin to spare the rest of his family.

Jim watched the distraught man approach. He was between a rock and a hard place. Putting the gun down might convince Jones that he was as harmless as he claimed, but could Ellison really afford to be weaponless in a house full of FBI agents? Agents that had been alerted to his presence and misinformed about his intentions?

Then again, phrased that way, could he afford to carry a gun under those circumstances?

Jim put the weapon down, lifting his own hands up and backing away from the unconscious woman. "See? No gun. I'm not here to hurt you."

It didn't do any good. Jones continued to stumble towards him, a rapidly widening wet patch in the front of his trousers silent evidence of the depths of the man's fear. The Sentinel could see the glazed appearance in the other man's eyes and realized that Jones was in shock. Rapidly running out of options, Ellison spied a nearby table. The small piece of furniture had, among other items, a vase full of flowers on it. Moving quickly, the detective grabbed the vase and pulled the flowers out, tossing the water into Jones' face.

Jim's ploy was successful- it stopped Jones' forward progress and seemed to snap the man out of his repeated cycle of hopeless pleading. Unfortunately for the Sentinel, though, being doused by water snapped Jones out of his fugue state a little too hard. The man stood for a minute, swaying, then lifted one trembling hand to his face. His fingers came back wet and were adorned with a few flower petals that had been floating in the water. Seemingly unable to differentiate the red of the flower remnants from the crimson of freshly spilled blood, Jones' eyes rolled to the back of his head. Jim lurched forward to try and catch the man, but it was too late. Jones topped over, taking the table and the rest of the knickknacks it held with him to the floor.

The resulting noise was anything but subtle. Before he could mutter "Oh, shit," Ellison was surrounded by Feds.

"Drop the flowers and get your hands up," the first one on the scene barked. It was only then that Jim realized he was still holding the bouquet he'd so rudely yanked out of its vase.

"Listen, folks," the detective said as he dropped the blooms in question. "This isn't as bad as it looks."

The female agent he'd cold-cocked earlier chose that moment to wake. "Ooooh," she moaned as she sat up, one hand pressed to her aching head. "What the hell hit me?"

By this time, half a dozen federal agents were in the room. They looked form their downed colleague to the intruder likely to be responsible. The same man, as it happened, who was kneeling next to the unconscious body of the man they were supposed to be protecting. The temperature in the room noticeably dropped and Jim gulped as he detected the sound of half a dozen triggers being drawn back.

"Stand down, people," an authoritative voice broke the tension. "Let's not get hasty." A figure shoved its way through the gathered agents, the newcomer ending up right in front of the Sentinel. "Detective Ellison, fancy meeting you here."

Frank Mulroney was an agent Jim had met a couple of times in his dealings with the FBI. The man had even used a woman Jim was protecting as bait to lure a famous Russian assassin out of hiding, almost costing Jim and his associates their lives in the process. Under normal circumstances, Ellison would not be pleased to see Mulroney. As things currently stood, however, Jim could not have been happier.

"Sir?" One of the other agents asked. From the looks on their faces, none of Mulroney's colleagues were happy with his orders.

"Stand down," Mulroney repeated. "We confirmed it with the Cascade PD. The lead called in was false. Detective Ellison here might be a royal pain, but he's not dirty." The Agent in Charge turned towards the Sentinel. "So, Detective Ellison, do what do we owe the pleasure?"

*******************************

For the second time in as many days, Jesse woke up in the arms of someone other than his lover. Whether it was a natural instinct or whether recent events had taught the young doctor a hard lesson or two, somehow, even with his eyes closed, he knew that it was not a friend that held him so gently. Deciding to feign continued sleep in the hopes of catching his captor unaware, Jesse was careful to keep his body limp and his breathing even.

He shouldn't have bothered.

Lee Brackett watched his Guide awaken, amused at the other man's attempt to mask his return to consciousness. "You can stop pretending," he said affectionately, "Thanks to your heartbeat, I knew you were awake before you did."

Jesse sighed and gave up. Cracking one blue eye open, he looked up at the expectant face peering down at him. He'd thought he was prepared to see Brackett up and close and personal, but Dr. Travis had been wrong. The clearly possessive light in the ex-agent's deep blue eyes turned his stomach. With a gasp, Jesse lurched up and struggled out of the rogue Sentinel's embrace.

Brackett opened his arms and let the smaller man go, giving Travis the illusion of a temporary freedom. He'd rein his Guide in soon enough and besides, prolonging the anticipation was half the fun. Jesse scuttled to the other side of the bed and hopped off, swaying a bit as the remnants of the drug played havoc with his sense of balance.

"As you can see, we've changed venues," Brackett drawled as he watched the other man take stock of the room. "I think you'll find this a bit more comfortable."

There was no doubt that the room was in a different league than the cell where Jesse had been kept previously, or even of the office that he'd been taken to briefly before Brackett had drugged him again. The carpet was deep and plush beneath his toes and they automatically curled into its softness. The walls were covered, not in wallpaper, but in a rich, jewel-toned fabric, its lush brocade an appropriate accompaniment for the heavy velvet curtains. Brackett was stretched out on the room's only significant piece of furniture, a tall bed of mammoth proportions.

Jesse gulped, quickly looking away from where his captor lounged, propped up against the upholstered headboard with his legs splayed out, a pleased smirk lighting up the master criminal's face. The doctor was keenly aware of being alone with the rogue Sentinel. It was not a position that he wanted to be in under any circumstances, but especially in room seemingly designed for decadence. Where was Jim Ellison?

"-----..." Jesse had opened his mouth to ask about his friend and fellow captive, but even though his lips moved, no sound came out. Not even a squeak.

Brackett chuckled as he watched the Guide realize that he'd been silenced. First had come the expression of concern, then he watched the younger man mouth the words "What have you done with Jim?", then came the puzzlement when no sound came out of Jesse's throat. Idly, the ex-agent reminded himself to surprise his Guide frequently, that worried frown Travis currently had on his face was cuter than hell.

"-----..." Jesse tried again, with the same results. In confusion, he looked to Brackett for an explanation, hand gesturing eloquently at his throat.

"Ever heard of this drug?" Brackett answered, rattling of a long chemical name.

Jesse's forehead creased as he thought hard, then cleared as the doctor gleaned the answer from his medical training. His lips tightened as he glared at his captor. Brackett, however, was far from intimidated.

"That's right. It's a anesthetic used during throat surgery. Lets the patient sleep like a baby..." Brackett's grin widened. "And also has the unique side effect of paralyzing the vocal cords for a a day or two. Useful stuff, especially in my line of work."

It was the ex-agent's turn to hop off the bed and Jesse backed up a couple of feet to keep a reasonable distance between the two. "Sorry about the enforced silence, Dr. Travis, but we have places to go and people to see. I can't have you vying for attention at an inappropriate time." He pretended to ignore Jesse's reluctance to let him near. "Now, we are on a bit of a tight schedule, but we can spare a minute for you to get cleaned up. You doctors are a fastidious sort and I thought you'd like a chance to take a shower."

Jesse licked his lips, looking from Brackett to the bed and back again. Shaking his head, he backed up another foot. His captor was willing to be patient, but only to a point. Pouncing, he grabbed the other man's arm and propelled him towards the bathroom.

"Come now, doctor. If I was going to molest you, I could have done it while you slept." Brackett's voice was gentle but his grip was like iron.

Whether he wanted to or not, Jesse abruptly found himself in the small bathroom connected to the bedroom. Unlike the bedroom, the bathroom was stripped bare. The doctor had a feeling, however, that had little to do with decorating and everything to do with Lee Brackett. There were only gaping wooden holes in the cabinet where the drawers should be. The mirror had been removed as well, even the clips that had held it to the wall absent. No accouterments cluttered the counter top, its slick marble surface as bare as the day it was installed. Besides Jesse and Brackett, the only things in the windowless room were the shower stall, a bar of soap, two towels, and a small pile of clothing.

His captor, it seemed, was taking no chances.

"There you go," Brackett said after depositing his Guide in the room. He'd been especially careful to keep his hands to himself. "I'll be right outside if you need anything." With that, he closed the door behind the confused young man.

Inside, Jesse picked up the pile of clothes and sat down on the closed toilet lid. The last thing he wanted to do was cooperate with his kidnapper and he was tempted to refuse to take a shower just on the principle of the thing. On the other hand, it might be his last chance to get clean for a while and, despite his early joking with Jim about using body odor as a weapon, he doubted that stinking really worked in his favor.

The young man's musings was interrupted by a large yawn. That decided him. A shower would help him throw off the last sedative effects of the drug and he needed his mind as sharp as possible. Out of habit, he checked the door, but Jesse wasn't really surprised to see that the lock had been disabled.

Vowing to take the shortest shower in the history of humankind, he resolutely turned the water on.

*******************************

The wheels on Simon Banks' car had barely ceased their forward motion before Blair was out of the vehicle.

"Sandburg!" The captain called, bringing the Guide to an unwilling halt. "You're about to enter a house full of nervous FBI agents. I suggest you wait for the person with a badge."

Blair's only acknowledgment of his friend's admonishment was his cooperation. The
anthropologist reluctantly waited for the other men to catch up before proceeding towards the building. A quick glance at Steve Sloan's face, the bigger man's normally tan skin white around the lips with tension, and the grad student knew that he wasn't alone in his urgency.

Their small contingent was met at the door by a man dressed in a cheap dress shirt and slacks, his shoulder holster easily visible. "Captain Banks? Identification, please."

Although polite enough, the second statement was an order and not a request. The agent closely verified that Simon's Cascade police ID matched his face, also making note of the license plate number on the captain's car. Blair and the Sloans' drivers licenses were requested and given equal scrutiny.

"Sir, it's Stevens." The agent spoke into his walkie talkie. "Everything matches the information from Captain Taggert. Shall I let them through?" The answer was evidently positive, because Simon, Blair, and the Sloans were given permission to enter. "Down the corridor," Agent Stevens directed them. "Last room on the right."

The quartet of worried men preceded down the specified hallway, very much aware of unfriendly eyes on them every step of the way. The house teemed with federal agents. One group was hastily packing what looked to be surveillance equipment into boxes, while another clustered around a female, obviously injured, who was holding a gel ice pack to her head. Judging from her no nonsense suit, it was a fair bet she was another FBI agent. To Simon and Steve, at least, the hostility made sense. Like any type of law enforcement officer, local or federal, when one of their own had been injured, the Feds had every right to be testy. Mark made a movement as if to go and offer his medical services, but a hand on his arm kept held him back. Steve just shook his head minutely at his father, indicating that assistance would have to wait until they had a better feel for the overall situation. In any case, the woman didn't look to be in too much distress and could do without him.

As for Blair, he didn't pay too much attention to what was going on around him. He quickly placed the people he saw into two categories: Jim and not-Jim. The latter held no interest for him.

A few more strides down the corridor and the doorway to the last room came into site. Even as they'd spied it, the door opened and a figure came out. It wasn't either of the male forms that they were so desperately hoping for, but for the two men from Cascade, the newcomer approaching them was at least recognizable.

"Agent Mulroney," Banks said, nonplused.

"Captain Banks," the agent responded. "I assume you're here to retrieve your errant detective?"

Blair's heart leapt. "Jim's okay?"

His question earned him a glance from the Fed, Mulroney's face twitching with impatience. "I should have known that you would show up. 'Wherever Ellison went, his shadow was sure to follow.'" The man took in the rest of the group accompanying Simon Banks. "But since when does Ellison have an entourage?"

Simon quickly put a heavy hand on Sandburg's shoulder, quelling the observer's outburst before it could start. "These gentlemen are representatives from the Los Angeles police department... and you still haven't answered the question about the status of my officer."

"Ellison? He's fine," Mulroney answered, "Which you would have known had your cell phone been on. We've been trying to reach you."

Banks didn't answer. When he'd thrown his cell phone down in the car, he must have flung it too hard and shaken something loose. As many times as he'd lectured his crew about the necessity of having a phone available as a communication device, he'd have a hard time living this down.

"Was Ellison alone?" Steve asked quietly. "Was there anyone with him?"

"No, he was by himself." The FBI agent missed the silent look of anguish his answer brought to the blonde detective's face. Instead, he was more concerned about the status of his safe house. "You mean, there might be someone else on the grounds? Ellison didn't say anything about that..."

"Where's Jim?" Blair asked, not caring that he was interrupting the other man. The grad student was hard-pressed not to bounce with impatience. It was hard, though, when he knew Jim was nearby and all right. Even so, it was also important to keep their relationship under wraps and, despite his excitement, it was no time to be giving an outsider like Mulroney any ideas.

"I'm in here, Chief," Jim's voice came from the room just beyond.

Simon, Blair, Mark, and Steve abandoned Mulroney, leaving the federal agent shaking his head with disgust. "Cops," the Fed muttered to himself as he walked away. "Sure are an emotional lot. Could use a good dose of federal objectivity if you ask me."

Mulroney, however, had already been forgotten by the four men he'd been addressing. Rushing into the room, they found Jim Ellison standing by a small desk, absently holding a telephone receiver in one hand. "I was trying to call you," the Sentinel explained, his eyes drinking in the sight of his lover.

"Jim!" Knowing that they were the only ones in the room, Blair gave in to his impulse and launched himself at the older man. The two men embraced, Jim enveloping his Guide in his arms and holding tight.

It was Blair, though, that pulled back first. "You okay?" He asked. Now that he was up close he could see how careworn the other man's face looked.

"I'm fine, Blair..." Jim was quick to reassure the anthropologist. He would have said more, but was interrupted by an anxious question from one of the other men in the room.

"Jim," Steve asked, desperation in his voice. "Where's Jesse? Is he okay?" Mark came up to stand at his son's side, a steady support for the worried detective.

Jim tucked Blair under his arm and turned to faced the Sloans. He wasn't at all surprised to see Mark there. If Steve was in trouble, Mark would be right in the thick of it, helping him in any way he could. That was just the kind of father Mark Sloan was. "Brackett's still got him. Steve, I'm so sorry," the Sentinel broke off as he saw the despair in the other man's eyes. "He's okay, Steve..."

The Californian turned away. "Grabbing Jesse was a mistake, Jim. It had to be. Now that Brackett doesn't have you, with your senses and all, what does he need Jesse for? You know as well as I do what happens to kidnap victims when their abductors don't need them anymore."

It didn't register at first with Ellison that his old friend had spoken of his Sentinel abilities. Instead, he hastened to comfort the distraught man. "He won't kill him, Steve. You're right, snatching Jesse instead of Blair was a mistake, but now Brackett needs him more than he ever did me...." As he spoke, it dawned on Jim how Steve had worded his question. Looking at Blair, Jim's expression asked for confirmation.

"I told them," Sandburg admitted. "Jesse got kidnapped because of the Sentinel secret, I had to let them in on it. It was the only right thing to do."

Jim hugged his lover, smiling down his approval at the shorter man. It was going to be much easier to explain this whole mess, thanks to Blair paving the way. Trust his lover to know precisely what he needed, even when they were unwillingly separated. Steeling himself, Ellison bluntly told his news. "Turned out that Brackett didn't really need my enhanced senses after all. He's a Sentinel too."

Blair's vibrant body became still under Jim's arm. "Holy crap."

"You said it, Chief," he explained. "Guess being in prison triggered the emergence of Brackett's own abilities. Initially, he only wanted us to train him."

"What about Jesse?" As far as Steve Sloan was concerned, this Sentinel stuff was all fine and dandy, but he didn't see how it related to his lover. "You said that Brackett needed Jesse more than he needed you. What the hell for?"

Lightning thinker that he was, Blair figured it out and answered before the detective could. "Jesse's a Guide. He's gotta be...."

"What?!" Steve's reaction was explosive.

"How can that be?" Mark's was a little more reserved, but still reflected deep disbelief.

"I don't know, Steve," Jim admitted. "Jesse sure as hell didn't know, but there's no doubt that he is a Guide... and Lee Brackett knows it."

"This means that he won't kill him?" Steve still wasn't sure he trusted the whole enhanced senses story enough to put faith in it keeping his lover in one piece.

"Absolutely," Jim said, "he's still learning how to control his senses. A Guide will help ground him, make using them safer. He's not gonna kill Jesse. Quite the opposite, actually." The Sloans looked confused, so Ellison explained. "He's a bit possessive about Jesse. Killing him is the last thing on his mind."

As usual, Mark was the most observant. "Then why, aren't you very happy about it?"

Jim sighed. "Because Brackett thinks that he has to form some sort of bond with Jesse to firm up their Sentinel/Guide connection. I tried to tell him that it was a whole trust and relationship thing, but he wasn't listening to me."

"I don't like the sound of that," Steve felt his insides twist up again. The last few minutes had been an emotional rollercoaster and he didn't think he could take much more. "What do you mean by 'bond?'" The bleak expression in Jim's face gave the younger Sloan the answer he needed. Combating the need to vomit, Steve instead lashed out at his friend. "You son of a bitch! How could you leave him with a crackpot like that! If Brackett makes Jesse... if he lays a hand on Jesse...."

Mark Sloan had grabbed his son's arm and made an effort to restrain him, while Blair put himself between his lover and Steve. Jim just stood there, actually hoping that the other detective would hit him. It wouldn't help anything, but might mitigate his guilty feeling a bit.

After a few heartbeats of grappling, Steve quieted down. "If Brackett forces...." The big man couldn't say the word rape. "It'll just kill Jess."

"Then we'll just have to make sure it doesn't happen." Mark Sloan used a determined tone of voice, hoping that his confidence would give his son hope.

"How?" Frustration warred with hopelessness in the younger Sloan's voice.

"We start at the beginning," It was Simon who answered Steve's question. Not having as big an personal stake in the situation as the others, he'd been content to hang in the background during the emotional scene. Now, he sensed that his relative objectivity was going to come in handy and he was willing to step up and take charge. "Jim, start at the top and tell us everything. If we can figure out what Brackett was after or who he was working for, it'll give us a better handle on where he might have gone with Dr. Travis."

Jim looked at the concerned faces of the men that surrounded him. He knew Simon was right and that they needed to combine their stories in the hopes that a whole picture would emerge, but the Sentinel had the feeling that time was a luxury that they didn't have. Or, at least, it was a luxury that Jesse didn't have. Still, it was their only hope at the moment.

Taking a deep breath, Jim began to talk. "It all began when we were surfing and Jesse claimed he saw a shark in the water...."

*******************************

Shameless, Lee Brackett eavesdropped as his captive Guide conducted his business in the shower. He would have gladly have initiated his bond with the younger man despite the cleanliness of Jesse Travis' body, but as long as the facilities were available, he might as well make use of them. As it was, he hadn't let any toiletries like deodorant remain in the room with Jesse. He simply didn't want any artificial smell interfering with the scent of his Guide, even leaving soap had been a compromise between practicality and his desires as a Sentinel.

The ex-agent had also considered not replacing his prisoner's clothing. After all, it wasn't like Dr. Travis was going to get to wear them for much longer. Brackett grinned slowly as he remembered carrying the still unconscious Jesse from the van into the house and the feel of Jesse's athletic body under the layers of sliding cloth. He was looking forward to divesting his Guide of his garments and likened it to opening his own birthday present to himself. Later, when they had time for such intricacies, he'd have his Guide remain nude when they were in private. Not only would it help to break down the younger man's sense of self and make him that much more malleable, but the view it would be an added bonus for Lee too.

A master criminal, Brackett could be a patient man when the situation called for it. Even so, the rasp of cloth over damp skin nearly drove him to distraction. Absently, his hands started rubbing against the growing bulge in the front of his pants, but the action only served to rapidly exasperate his impatience. Finally, the sounds of drying and dressing finally ceased. Eager for the festivities to begin, Brackett called to the younger man. "Since you're done, you might as well come out."

The ex-agent knew that he'd denuded the room of anything that could even remotely be of use to Jesse in any sort of escape effort. When he heard Travis' heart-rate pick up, Brackett knew that the inexperienced doctor had figured that out too. Now, the only thing delaying them was his Guide's stalling and, unfortunately for Jesse, Brackett's patience abruptly came to an end.

"Don't make me come in there and fetch you, doctor," the Sentinel warned, the growl in his voice tangible.

His threat had the desired effect. Jesse slowly opened the door and stepped into the bedroom. The young man was dressed in an off-white canvas shirt and faded blue denim jeans. Once again, the clothing was just slightly too big for him, showing that it had also originally been intended for Blair Sandburg. There had been no shoes or socks with the pile of clothing, so the doctor was bare-footed.

Brackett was still seated on the bed, but was no longer lounging against the headboard. Instead, he was sitting cross-legged at the foot of the mattress. Upon seeing his unwilling guest enter, the rogue Sentinel jumped right into a conversation.

"Doctor..." the ex-agent started, in a pleasant tone as if the two men were a couple of friends chatting, ".... come to think of it, that seems a bit formal of an address for a Sentinel to use with his Guide. Do you mind if I call you Jesse?"

Jesse tried to say that he, in fact, minded very much. Thanks to the drug he'd been given, however, no sound came out of his mouth. He didn't know his captor as well as Jim Ellison evidently did, but Jesse could tell from the little he'd seen of the man that either a shake of his head or a nod would be given whatever meaning that Lee Brackett wanted it to. Unable to convey his real feelings on the matter, he settled for glaring at the ex-agent.

"Jesse it is, then. Thank you." Brackett flashed his angry prisoner another grin. "Jesse, I know that Detective Ellison filled you in on some of the basics of working with a Sentinel, but I was going over what he said and I think he left out the best part."

As his captor spoke, Jesse's eyes wandered over the room. The draperies were pulled closed, so he had no idea if he was even on a ground floor. He'd keep the window in mind for an escape route, but try not to count on it too much until he knew how high up he was. Unfortunately, the only other exit was the door... and it was within arms' reach of where his captor perched on the end of the bed.

Brackett cleared his throat, pulling Jesse's attention back to him. "Like I said, Ellison left off the best part... about how a Sentinel bonds to his Guide."

Bond? Jesse frowned as he thought back over what Jim had told him. He remembered something about spirit guides, although he didn't quite get that part, and a lot about zoning, but this was the first he'd heard of bonding. Almost against his will, the young man's gaze went back to the rogue Sentinel, the expression on his face asking the older man to explain what he meant.

Brackett patted a spot on the bed next to him. "Come here and sit down. I'll tell you all about it. Better yet, I'll show you."

Jesse gulped and shook his head. The movement of the ex-agent's hand had brought his attention to Brackett's lap and he couldn't help but noticing the sizeable protrusion straining against the other man's sturdy khaki pants. With a sinking feeling, Dr. Travis had a feeling that the meaning of "bonding" had become all too clear.

"Don't look at me like that," Brackett cajoled. "You've seen how Ellison is with Professor Sandburg, the connection between those two. This isn't a bad thing, Jesse." As he saw that his tenderness wasn't having much of an affect on the doctor's expression, Brackett's cocky grin came back full force. "Besides, you might even like it. I know I've been looking forward to the experience."

Jesse made a break for it, lunging for the enticing doorway just beyond the bed. He'd just made it to the doorjamb when he felt a strong set of arms grab him from behind. Brackett had been every bit as fast off the mark as Travis had feared, snagging his captive before he could get very far.

Lee Brackett might have had years of CIA training, combined with his enhanced senses and innate ruthlessness, but Jesse had fear and desperation as his allies. Flailing wildly and trying to remember every self defense trick Steve had ever taught him, the doctor didn't make it easy for the Sentinel to drag him back towards the bed. A particularly hard blow with his elbow landed against Brackett's face and, for one glorious moment, Jesse found himself free. He bolted forward again, only to feel a hand bunch in the loose fabric of his shirt, pulling him backwards.

Jesse wiggled frantically. Luckily, his shirt had become untucked during the struggle and he was able to shuck the confining garment before Brackett could get a good grip on him. Freedom in sight, the young man made another dash for the door.

He'd only made it a few steps before Brackett was on him again. This time, the Sentinel allowed his forward momentum to bring both of them crashing against the wall just to one side of the door, using his larger body mass to pin his errant Guide underneath him.

"You are determined to make this difficult, aren't you?" Brackett panted out, pressing his body firmly against the struggling man, his erection just naturally fitting into the cleft between Jesse's denim-clad cheeks. The Sentinel allowed himself to hump against his prey for a moment. "Okay. I can do difficult." Grabbing his captive firmly, Brackett swung him around, intending to bring his mouth in close enough to force a kiss.

Instead, he got a face full of metal.

In his lust, the Sentinel hadn't noticed the candle sconces mounted on the wall. As Jesse had been scrabbling for a grip on anything that might help him keep Brackett from dragging him back, his fingers had brushed against the cool metal of the brass. With the ex-agent more intent on drilling a hole through his jeans than with what Jesse's hands were doing, it had been possible to lift one off the wall as Brackett had turned him around.

The hard part wasn't hitting Brackett. The difficulty was making himself stop after one blow had felled the other man.

Jesse didn't stop to see how much damage he'd done. It was enough to see Brackett down on the floor, a splash of scarlet vivid against the sudden paleness of the ex-agent's face.

Then, he ran.

*******************************

"What part of the word 'classified' do you people not understand?"

Agent-in-charge Mulroney was getting a little frustrated. After Jim and company had compared stories, the men had quickly determined that the FBI held the missing piece of information that they needed in order to have any hopes of finding Brackett. Knowing who Lawrence Jones really was and who might want the man dead would pinpoint the rogue Sentinel's cohorts, which would go a long way towards finding the fugitive and his captive.

Unfortunately, the FBI didn't quite see it that way.

"Lawrence Jones is a witness in a case so sensitive that most of the agents guarding him don't have a clue about the details..."

Only the Sentinel was able to hear Blair Sandburg's mutter, "The FBI? Clueless? No shit."

Mulroney continued his rant, pacing around the room as he talked. If he noticed that Blair was sitting so close to Ellison that their thighs touched, he didn't show it. "If the people who are putting their lives on the line to protect Jones don't know what it's all about, what makes you think I should tell you?"

"Because an innocent man's life is also on the line," Steve Sloan snapped, his level of his frustration dwarfing that of the federal agent. "Jesse Travis is being held hostage and if you don't tell us the details about Jones and Jesse gets hurt because of it, you may not live to regret the mistake."

Jim put a hand on his friend's arm, keeping the bigger man from launching himself at Mulroney. Normally Mark Sloan would be the one to try and keep his son calm, but the elderly doctor had excused himself soon after Mulroney's first refusal to cooperate. Ellison remembered the female agent he's knocked unconscious and, assuming that the physician was leaving to fulfill his duties as a doctor, Jim had breathed a sigh of relief. The agent had seemed all right, but he trusted Mark's medical opinion and would appreciate the other man taking a look at her.

"Don't look to put the blame on me," Mulroney responded, not liking the California detective's blunt threat. "Your Dr. Travis was kidnaped because he was in close proximity to Detective Ellison. Seems to me that if you're going to assign blame, that's where it should go."

It was Simon's turn to act as referee. "No one's disputing how Dr. Travis got pulled into all of this, Mulroney. That's irrelevant at this point. I'd think you'd be more interested in how an ex- CIA agent found out about your little operation." Mulroney opened his mouth to interrupt, but Simon continued, his booming voice easily overriding the federal agent's. "And I would think that you'd want the advice and cooperation of the three people in Cascade that know Brackett and his style the best. If someone's hired Brackett to take out your witness, Mulroney, then you've got more problems than you can shake a stick at. Working with us makes a lot more sense than hoarding information."

"It's not hoarding information, Captain Banks, it's doing my job." Mulroney for the door, "I think it would be best for you to stay here as our guests. Mr. Jones and his family have already been moved to an alternate location. Once the rest of the equipment has been dismantled, then you can go."

Just as the FBI agent's hand was on the doorknob, the door opened, narrowly missing him. Mark Sloan entered the room, nearly colliding with the other man. "Excuse me," the doctor apologized. "Agent Mulroney, there's a call for you. Agent Stevens said you should take it in the 'Command Center' and that you'd know where that was."

"Fine," Mulroney said, turning to glare at the group. "You stay here. I'll have someone watching the door." With that, the man left.

Mark looked from one tense face to another. "I take it you couldn't make him see reason." The older Sloan didn't look very surprised when his statement was met with several negative head shakes. "I kind of figured it would go that way."

Seeing that his father wasn't as frustrated as the rest of them, Steve became suspicious. "What did you do, Dad?"

A self-satisfied smile tweaked the doctor's lips. "Oh nothing..." When his son lifted one eyebrow in an expression of disbelief, the elder Sloan went on to explain. "Well, I might have made a couple of phone calls." An answering grin lit up Steve's face as Mark turned towards the men from Cascade. "Did you know that the Governor of California went to West Point with the director of the FBI.? In fact, they were roommates."

"And let me guess," Steve said, more for the benefit of the others than his own, "the Governor is a patient of yours."

"Not only me," Mark was quick to clarify, "but Jesse treated him once when I was unavailable. Made quite an impression too, so when I called and explained our problem, he was happy to make a call to his old friend in Washington."

"Do you think he'll be able to get somebody to make Mulroney talk?" Blair asked anxiously.

At Blair's softly-voiced question, the Sentinel tilted his head and swept his sense of hearing outward. He had no compunction about eavesdropping in this situation, not when the FBI's reluctance to cooperate was endangering a friend's life. Having just listened to several minutes' worth of Frank Mulroney's tirade, the man's voice was fixed in his ear and it only took a moment to focus in on the conversation.

Ellison's slow grin reassured his anxious friends and it was no real surprise when he explained what he'd overheard. "Based on the number of 'yes, sir's' I'm hearing our favorite Fed utter, I'd say Mulroney's getting a real ass-chewing. Once his boss gets finished ripping him a new one, we should see some cooperation."

"I hope so," Steve muttered. He had yet to see Jim's enhanced senses in action and was as confident in their accuracy as Blair and Simon were.

As it happened, though, Jim Ellison was correct. Shortly after he made his prediction, a very glum Frank Mulroney re-entered the room. Without preamble, the FBI agent sat down and began to talk.

"You're no doubt aware," he said, sending a significant glance Jim's way, "of all the accidents lately with military aircraft. It's been all over the media and a distinct embarrassment to our government."

"Not to mention a tragic loss of life," Mark murmured.

Blair moved closer to his mate and, despite Mulroney's presence, put a comforting hand on the Sentinel's knee. Although the helicopter crash that had stranded Ellison in Peru had started the detective on the journey that had led him to Cascade an into Blair's life, it was still an event that haunted the older man. Jim felt his lover's touch and looked up into the anthropologist's eyes, smiling slightly to show Blair that he'd felt his touch and understood the meaning behind the gesture.

"Yes, a tragic loss of life," Mulroney said, agreeing to Mark Sloan's statement. "Until Lawrence Jones, no one had been able to locate a cause for all the accidents. They occurred in different types of aircraft, in diverse parts of the world, and under all types of weather conditions. By process of elimination, pilot error was assumed and confidence in the US military plummeted."

"And just how does Lawrence Jones figure into all of this?" Simon asked, his voice a bass rumble in the quiet room.

"Mr. Jones isn't the pedophile that your Lee Brackett made him out to be," the federal agent explained, "he's a computer programmer... specializing in aviation radar systems."

"Wait a minute," Steve jumped in, "are you implying that all of those accidents were because of a radar glitch? That's a pretty big factor for any of the investigations to have missed."

"Unless," his father jumped in, "there was some sort of high level cover-up."

Mulroney looked at the old man in respect. Like many others, he'd been taken in by the doctor's affable personality and disregarded the keen mind behind Mark Sloan's friendly face. Irritation on how Sloan had managed to jump over his authority gave way to grudging respect. "That's right, doctor. Unfortunately, that's the piece we're still missing. Jones came to us with the information about his employer, Snatas Programming Inc., and we're currently investigating them but there's any number of high ranking officials that could have been aware of the problem with the software and been paid to keep quiet."

"Do you have any suspects?" Jim asked.

The FBI agent had been holding a manila folder when he came into the room. At Ellison's question, he opened it up and pulled out three photographs. "We've got three. Brigadier General Niles Lourdain is in charge of the military's aviation guidance systems. It was ultimately his decision to use the Snatas system in the first place. It would be an embarrassment to him to have to publically admit that it was faulty." The photograph showed a dignified gentleman, with the stoutness that came to some military men as they aged. "Chantal Douglass is the outside analyst brought in to head up the investigation," Her picture showed a woman in the prime of life, with a jaw that could compete with Jim's in the firmness department, "She could have been paid to look the other way and not implicate Snatas as a causal factor. The last is Admiral Peter Eagan. He's a major player in the Defense Personnel Support System's military acquisition department. He controls some of the larger contracts that are given out to industry for bids. A lot of government funding passes through his hands, enough to tempt even a saint."

Jim didn't get to see what Eagan's picture looked like. As soon as Mulroney mentioned the last suspect's name, his ears rang with the loud cry of an angry hunting cat. When he looked, a large black panther was pacing just behind the federal agent, it's growling continuing to drown out Mulroney's words.

"Jim, you all right?" Blair whispered. He'd felt his lover flinch and was concerned about him. Had Brackett done more to Jim than Ellison had been willing to admit? As much as he knew that their attention needed to be on finding Jesse, the grad student longed to get his partner home and look him over until he reassured himself that Jim was okay.

"I'm fine," Jim reassured him, using an equally quiet tone of voice. Moving to pick up the last photograph, he knew which of the three suspects was the key to finding Jesse. Now all he had to do was convince the FBI that he knew what he was talking about.

*******************************

In his haste to get as far away from Lee Brackett as quickly as possible, Jesse didn't pay a lot of attention where he was running, only getting a few feet into the corridor before he tripped and fell. A small table had been placed unobtrusively by the wall, a convenient place between bedrooms for the homeowners to place a telephone. Unfortunately for him, Dr. Travis wasn't finding it quite as handy as he attempted to untangle himself from the phone's long cord.

His natural urge was to flee, but while he struggled to unwrap his legs, it occurred to Jesse that this was his opportunity to call for help. He'd had experience with Brackett's hired goons and, although the ones he'd encountered earlier were very dead, there was no telling how many psychos the man had working for him. So, after he'd detached the uncooperative cord from his legs, Jesse fumbled for the receiver. To his relief, he got a dial tone and with trembling fingers, he entered in the number most likely to get him help in the shortest amount of time possible.

"9-1-1, Emergency Response," a female voice said after the first ring. "How may we help you?" The woman's calm, moderated tone was a balm on Jesse's frazzled nerves. Her voice absolutely reeked of competence and, instinctively, he opened his mouth to respond.

Only when no sound came out did he remember the drug that had robbed him of his own voice.

"9-1-1, Emergency Response," the unseen woman repeated. "Our system is showing that this is still an open line. Is anyone there? Do you need assistance?"

Jesse looked at the receiver in his hand with a profound feeling of disgust. It was all but useless to him in his current state; the second time in his ordeal that a telephone had disappointed him.

"You naughty boy, what have you done now?"

Jesse whirled. Like a figure out of nightmare, Lee Brackett was framed in the doorway. A rivulet of blood seeped down the side of his face, but otherwise the Sentinel looked little the worse for wear. The doctor bitterly regretted only smashing the man once with the heavy brass sconce. He'd been tempted to hit his captor repeatedly, but as a trauma surgeon with a lot of experience working in the ER, he knew what a blunt object could do when applied to someone's head by force. Despite all that had happened, Jesse had not been able to bring himself to risk killing his kidnapper. Now, however, he cursed his own noble stupidity.

The Sentinel watched as his errant Guide dropped the telephone and took off running down the hall, past the second bedroom, and down the stairs. Unhurried, Brackett strode towards the phone, the pounding in his head rapidly eroding any earlier amusement he'd felt at Travis' feistiness.

"Hello?" He said into the receiver, knowing full well who Jesse had tried to contact but feigning ignorance. Even his opening statement to his Guide had been a part of the charade, the rogue Sentinel knowing that the normal ears of the Emergency operator would have picked up what he'd said. "Please tell me he didn't call China again."

"Excuse me?" The female voice on the other end sounded confused, but quickly regained its equilibrium. "Sir, this is the 9-1-1 Emergency Response line. Is there someone at your location in need of assistance?"

"Geez, I am so sorry," Brackett said, the feral look on his face as he stared down the way his Guide had disappeared decidedly at odds with the chagrined tone of his voice. "My son turned three last month and he recently learned how to dial the phone..."

"Sir, the 9-1-1 service is not a toy. Are you aware that there is a fine for fraudulent calls?"

"I am so sorry," Brackett repeated, careful to use just the right amount of parental exasperation. "Every time we think we've got all the phones out of reach, the little monster finds another way to get to one." The ex-agent was an excellent judge of people and had a pretty good idea of the age of the woman he was talking to. With that in mind, he chose his next words carefully. He could deal with it if the bitch sent a squad to check out what might be going on at the address, but he preferred to charm her out of taking that action in the first place. "So far, he's called Mexico, Denmark, and Beijing. Twice. But it's hard to get mad at the little fellow. After all, he just trying to call his Grandma. She lives a couple hundred miles away and Petey doesn't get to see her as often as he'd like."

He could all but feel the heart on the other end of the line melt.

"Oh, the little sweetie," she cooed. Then, remembering that the call would be monitored, the woman evidently pulled herself together and continued in a more professional tone. "I suppose we can let it go this time, Sir. But we will be flagging this address and, should it happen again, there will be a fine involved. Please do emphasize to your son that 9-1-1 is for emergencies... and take him to see his grandmother more often."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you ma'am. I surely will."

Downstairs, Jesse was finding out why Brackett was not in hot pursuit.

The doctor had careened down the steps, all but falling down their carpeted length. Finding the front door was not a problem, as his momentum virtually smashed him against it. The young man immediately lunged for the knob... only to nearly wrench his arm out of its socket when the stubborn thing wouldn't budge. Frantic, Jesse felt for any sort of locking mechanism, but there was none to be found.

Had he been able, Travis would have been swearing up a blue streak. That emotional outlet had been denied to him, however, thanks to Brackett. Instead, he resorted to pounding on the door in frustration. As he did, his eye was caught by a large LED display to one side. The electronic box was rather impressive size and surrounded by buttons. Most importantly, however, were the words displayed: "Lock-Down Mode. Code Access Required."

Jesse briefly considered looking for another exit but figured he was rapidly running out of time. Besides, if the security system was even half as elaborate as it looked, all the other doors would be electronically locked too. Eyeing the large picture windows, he grabbed a handy wooden chair, its Chippendale design important only in that the clawed feet and elaborate frame made for easy handholds. Mouth set in determination, the young man swung his chosen battering ram as hard as possible at the glass.

Shock reverberated through his arms as the chair bounced off the window pane, not harming it in the least. The glass was shatter-proof.

Again and again Jesse swung at the window, to no avail. The last time, he swung so hard that not only did the chair fall apart in his hands, but the recoil from the window landed him flat on his back. Blinking, the dazed Guide stared up at the ceiling. Then, with a sigh that would have been a moan if his vocal cords hadn't been numbed, he flopped over and forced his body to begin the arduous task of rising to its feet.

The movement brought him face to face with a corpse.

The body was that of a male and the physician part of his mind categorized it as a matter of course. It was difficult to tell given the horrified expression that death had frozen on the man's face, but the stranger appeared to be somewhere between Steve Sloan and Mark Sloan in age. The cause of death was obvious, a bullet hole in the middle of the corpse's forehead gave him an obscene sort of third eye.

Beyond the remains of the dead man was a couch and Jesse could make out a pair of feet sticking out just behind it. One foot was clad in an elegant slipper but the other was bare, revealing a set of perfectly manicured nails, colored an ominous shade of scarlet. Despite the seriousness of his own situation, Jesse got up and moved to check on the second person. He was too much of a doctor to walk away, not knowing if this was someone who needed whatever help he could offer. As he got around the sofa, however, it was easy to see that the woman was beyond his or anyone else's help. The bullet hole on her forehead was every bit as neatly placed as the man's, almost as if they'd been killed with "his and hers" shots.

"I see you've met our hosts, the Eagans."

Jesse whirled. Lee Brackett was halfway down the stairs and his arms were draped across the railing, looking particularly pleased with himself. As Jesse watched, he slowly continued down the steps, keeping in constant eye contact with the smaller man. "That was a good trick, calling 9-1-1, especially since I couldn't disconnect the phone line without tripping the security system. Too bad for you I had the foresight to eliminate your voice..."

Travis didn't stick around to hear any more gloating, taking off for the hallway that was right off the living room. He could hear the heavy tread of the ex-agent behind him and, as if that weren't enough incentive to keep moving, Brackett continued to talk.

"Really, doctor, what would that have accomplished? Even if you'd lured some unsuspecting police officer out here, I would just had to have eliminated him... or her. Would you have wanted another death on your hands?"

Jesse reached the kitchen, but as he'd suspected, its external door wouldn't budge either. There was a small breakfast bar with a stool, but hurling it at the window proved every bit as ineffective. Remembering Jim's instructions from the night before about enhanced senses, the young man turned towards the cabinets. He had no delusions about how long he'd last against Brackett in a traditional fight. He'd managed to sucker punch the man once, but a chance at a second successful blow was a longshot at best. No, it would take a very different sort of weapon to fight a Sentinel.

Jesse's hand had just closed around the cylinder-shaped salt container when he ran out of
time.

"I think I've been more than patient with you," Brackett said, stopping just short of entering the kitchen and instead staying in the doorway. "But I have my limits. You are a Guide. I am a Sentinel. It's time for you to put aside your pride and do your duty."

Brackett watched the cornered young man carefully. Jesse's shirt had been lost while still in the bedroom and his bare chest gleamed with the sweat he'd worked up during his headlong flight. As he'd expected, Jesse Travis' normal clothing had hidden the smaller man's athletic physique, but now his Guide's chest and arm muscles were nicely revealed.

The rogue Sentinel was almost distracted enough by admiring the doctor's body to miss seeing the airborne salt heading his way.

Almost.

Ducking the granular cloud, the ex-agent was careful to keep his eyes closed. Using his hearing, he located Jesse before the young man could find another missile, deftly grabbing Jesse from behind and pinning the struggling Guide's arms to his sides. "I am through trying to appease your pride, Dr. Travis. Enough is enough." The Sentinel indulged himself by burying his head in the sweet juncture between the smaller man's neck and shoulder. When Jesse whipped his head back and forth trying to fling him off, he nipped lightly at the skin. "None of that, now."

It was an oddly quiet struggle. The larger, government trained ex-agent propelled, coerced, and at times literally dragged his captive through the kitchen, down the hallway, straight through the living room strewn with the bodies of the home's owners, and finally up the stairs. Jesse struggled continually, occasionally getting in an elbow jab or kick that would cause his captor to grunt. Those little victories had their own price, as Brackett would retaliate by bending in close to the doctor's ear and whispering vivid descriptions of what he had planned for his Guide during the imminent bonding.

Eventually, they ended back in the bedroom. Now, if it were possible, the bed looked even bigger than when Jesse had first awakened in it. Before he knew it, the young Guide was flat on his back on the huge mattress, with Brackett on all fours above him. The grappling and extended fear had taken a toll on Jesse. He was exhausted and, panting, lay where he'd been thrown, trying to catch his breath.

"You have no idea," the ex-agent said, securing Jesse's arms above his head in a two-handed grip, "how beautiful you are lying there." Brackett bent down for a kiss, his greedy mouth stealing whatever breath that Jesse had managed to recapture. Eager to taste the rest of his Guide, however, Brackett soon released the doctor's unwilling lips, trailing impatient kisses down the smaller man's chest.

"It's beating so fast," the Sentinel murmured, lingering over the area that housed the other man's heart. "Shhhhh, little one. Everything's going to be all right." Feeling no protest from the Guide he had pinned underneath him, Brackett released Jesse's hands, his own fingers wandering over the doctor's overheated skin. "There now, little one. See how good it can be when you cooperate?" Kisses followed his comforting words, tracing a moist pattern across Jesse's still- heaving chest.

Brackett's words transformed Jesse from exhausted and frightened to, still tired, but royally pissed off. It infuriated the young man that the arrogant prick above him actually thought he was successfully seducing him. Was the man so utterly convinced of his own charms? Was Brackett under the delusion that this was anything but rape?

If he'd had any moisture left in his mouth, Jesse would have spit on Brackett. As it was, he settled for kneeing him in the groin.

The Sentinel, however, was not totally lost in his own lust. He'd been half expecting some sort of last minute rally on the part of his Guide and was prepared. The spike of the smaller man's heartbeat was a signal that an attempt was about to occur, so the ex-agent was able to roll out of the way. That, however, was enough leeway for Jesse and he was off the bed and running like he'd been shot out of a cannon.

This time, however, he only got partway across the room before he was tackled.

"You just don't give up, do you?" Brackett rasped into his ear. Having his Guide trapped
underneath him, the smaller man's ass a ripe plum grinding into his crotch as he strove to get free, was an intoxicating experience. The Sentinel was half-convinced to rip both of their pants off and take Travis right there on the floor, but he'd had something more thorough in mind for their first mating.

The ex-agent wrestled Jesse towards the bed again, making liberal use of their struggles to divest the smaller man of his jeans. Brackett's mind was working at top speed even as his body was busy containing his captive. It was obvious that subduing Jesse Travis was going to be more time-consuming than he had thought. He was tempted to tell the other man that Steve Sloan's life was in the balance, knowing that a threat towards Jesse's lover might gain him more cooperation than anything he could do physically. But... the Sentinel didn't want another man to come between him and his Guide, not even figuratively and not during the occasion of their bonding. There would be time for that later, should it prove necessary. Neither did he want to out and out hit Jesse. The thought of a bruise from his fist marring the younger man's face did not sit well with Brackett. Beating him, then, was out of the question.

Still, there were other ways to domesticate an unwilling Guide. Sandburg notes, of course, hadn't even touched on the subject but Lee was more than willing to compromise.

"This defiance has got to stop, Jesse," Brackett grated out as he unceremoniously dumped his captive back on the bed. Rather than wearing him out, he found the other man's struggles invigorating. Despite his own pleasure, however, the ex-agent couldn't allow Travis' repeated attempts to get free go unpunished. Not if he hoped to establish any sort of authority with the younger man.

"I'm sorry to have to do this, but you're really leaving not leaving me any choice," Brackett continued. He had again straddled Jesse's body and reached for one of the bed's many fluffy pillows. Jesse's expression changed from anger to horror as he realized the bigger man's intent. The Sentinel overpowered his increased thrashing and firmly settled the pillow over Jesse's face, ending by resting his upper body forward on it to keep the soft cushion in place. "Remember, this is all your doing," Brackett chided gently as his hands stroked the frantic body beneath him.

Jesse's struggles eventually tapered off and the Sentinel was vigilant in his monitoring of his Guides vital signs. When Travis' compact body was limp and his heartbeat had slowed enough for the ex-agent's satisfaction, Brackett removed the pillow. The young doctor's features were slack in unconsciousness and the ex-agent gave in to temptation long enough to bend in for a quick kiss.

Confident that his uncooperative Guide would remain insensate for a little while, Brackett reluctantly got up from the bed. Thanks to Jesse Travis' stubborn resistance, the bonding experience wasn't going quite as he'd planned. The Sentinel had formulated a plan to rectify that situation and, as loathe as he was to leave the smaller man while Jesse's body was so deliciously pliant, he felt it would be wise to implement it.

This time, when Jesse Travis awoke, he wasn't cradled in someone's embrace. Instead, he was stretched out spread-eagle style on the bed. Still not fully alert, the young man tried to adjust his position, but quickly found his movements hampered. The feeling of constraint snapped him to full consciousness and a quick inspection revealed that Brackett had cut into the elaborately upholstered headboard. Bindings constructed of pantyhose where fastened securely to Jesse's wrists, the stretchy tan material disappearing into the headboard's plush depths. His legs were similarly immobile, assumably held that way using the same type of restraint, but Jesse didn't have enough give in his bonds to lift his head enough to see.

The young doctor felt vulnerable on the bed, laid out like an offering for a sacrifice. The fact that he was dressed only in boxer shorts did little to reassure him, their thin cotton fabric riding low on his hips. The underwear, like the rest of his borrowed garments, was too big for him. For the first time since he first awoke in this same bed, Jesse had the leisure to think about Steve. Given their hectic schedules, there'd been times when neither of them had a chance to do the laundry and, upon occasion, Jesse had been forced to borrow a pair of Steve's boxers. Even though the detective's were much larger on him than the pair he currently wore, Jesse had felt vastly more comfortable in them, like his lover was wrapped around the most intimate part of his body all day long. And the soft way Steve would chuckle when he saw the younger man in his drooping shorts never failed to make him feel cherished, especially, when the older man would dip his fingers into the barely exposed crevice the sagging underwear revealed....

"It's a good thing that Mrs. Eagan had such a statuesque figure" Brackett's voice came from a point in the room not visible to Jesse in his current position, rudely interrupting the reminiscence that the young man was using to mentally escape from his situation. "Else ways, given your size, her stockings wouldn't have stretched the appropriate distance. You are rather short and it is an awfully big bed."

The Sentinel wandered into Jesse's line of sight and the mattress dipped as the bigger man sat on the bed next to his captive. An oddly metallic smell wafted in the slight breeze generated by the ex-agent's movement, but Jesse soon forgot about that minor detail as Brackett continued to
speak.

"I didn't want to have to resort to this, I really didn't," Long fingers brushed back Jesse's sweat-dampened hair. "But you're leaving me no choice. I could just take you now, the way you are," Brackett's other hand slid down the length of Jesse's body, ending the caress by cupping firmly around one cotton-clad ass cheek. "But that would only solve our problem in the short term."

"Unfortunately, you're going to have to learn not to run from me," The rogue Sentinel turned to reach for something out of Jesse's view. "It's not going to be pleasant, but, trust me, it's better for you to learn this lesson early on in our relationship." When Brackett turned back towards him, Jesse learned the importance of the metallic smell that he'd detected earlier.

The ex-agent was holding a curling iron.

Brackett saw the younger man's eyes widen with terror, Travis' gaze seemingly riveted to the small red light that indicated that the curling iron was hot. "Good. I see you understand where I'm going with this." Desperate, the bound man struggled, but his captor had fastened his bonds too expertly. In fact, the doctor's contortions only succeeded in securing the slick nylon fabric even more tightly around his wrists and ankles.

In his time working for the CIA, and even more frequently since, Lee Brackett had gained a lot of experience in inflicting deliberate pain on other people. As a result, he easily ignored the other man's struggles and calmly straddled Jesse's wildly writhing body. This time, the rogue Sentinel faced his Guide's feet, carefully positioning himself so that not only was the weight of his body restricting the movement of Jesse's legs from even the meager amount allowed by his bonds, but also protecting his own vulnerable groin area from any flailing knees.

Efficiently, the rouge Sentinel grabbed the smaller man's right ankle. "No more running from me," Brackett said in a tightly controlled voice. He pressed the hot curling iron twice to the bottom of Jesse's foot, creating an X pattern. The ex-agent deliberately left the heated cylinder on long enough to cause a welt, but not so long as to make the skin blister.

Once the first foot had been marked to his satisfaction, Brackett moved on to the other. "When I put you flat on your back in a bed, I expect your legs wide open and ready for me, not busy trying to run away." Two more strokes and the bottom of Jesse's left foot had a matching X of reddened flesh.

Jesse's body had instinctively reacted to the burning sensation, his muscles tightening in a rictus of pain until his back bowed off the mattress. Intellectually, Jesse knew that the burn was a relatively minor one, it was just its location on the sensitive soles of his feet that made it so painful. It still hurt like hell, though, and the Guide was hard-pressed to control his reactions. It was only by extreme strength of will that he forced his body to still. It was hard, but he'd be damned if he gave the bastard inflicting his pain the pleasure of seeing how much it affected him.

Punishment accomplished, Brackett got up from the bed and unplugged the curling iron, putting it aside should it be needed in the future. Turning back, he took a long, careful look at his Guide. The young man lay unmoving, his face exceedingly pale. Or, at least, what Brackett could see Travis' face was pale. Jesse had his head turned away from his captor, his breath coming in harsh pants as the doctor strove to keep himself under control.

When the Sentinel had first brought the then-unconscious Jesse Travis into the house, he'd removed any unnecessary items from the master suite where they'd be spending most of their time. He had a healthy respect for the other man's resourcefulness and was too cautious to leave anything around that could be used in an escape attempt. Most of the two rooms' accessories, including the bathroom vanity's drawers, had been dumped into the smaller bedroom down the hall. When he'd retrieved the curling iron, Brackett had also grabbed a wastepaper basket. He hadn't been sure how his Guide would react to pain and he wanted to be prepared should the other man's stomach rebel.

The rogue agent was used to messy situations, but was not eager to be vomited on either.

Picking up the small plastic container, festively decorated with brightly colored fish, the rogue Sentinel approached the bed again. "Do you need to vomit?"

His question received no response, a fact which sparked the ex-agent's anger and effectively evaporated any sympathy he had for the hurting younger man. " I truly hated to do that, Jesse, but you brought it on yourself." When the smaller man still refused to look at him, Brackett grabbed the captive man's chin, forcing his recalcitrant Guide to face him. "Obedience is all I'm asking of you right now. Loyalty, love, and all the rest will come in time."

Brackett patted Jesse's thigh in a manner that was at once familiar and possessive. Then, he set the unneeded basked down, stepped back and began removing his own clothes. "We've lost some valuable time thanks to your escapades." The ex-agent's shirt was tugged over his head and casually tossed towards the far corner of the room. His jeans quickly followed. "I was going to make love to you slowly, help you learn to appreciate me both as your mate and as your Sentinel..." Socks were soon flying and Brackett was left standing only in his briefs, the white cotton fabric straining over the erect length of the taller man's cock, darker where the pre-cum was leaking from the engorged organ's tip. "But now... now I think I'll just fuck you right through the mattress."

With pain-dulled eyes, Jesse watched as the Sentinel approached the bed. He was tired, tired right through the core of him, and agony was slowly eating away at whatever resistance he had left.

Before he reached the bound man, Brackett stooped down to the floor and came up with a knife and a plastic tube. "You may have a hard time believing this, but I was a boy scout," he claimed, "I know the virtue of always being prepared. I image the scout association would be appalled, but I've found their early teachings to be invaluable for a life of crime."

Jesse ignored the words. The tube in the older man's hands was familiar and the recognition of its identity was not reassuring, given his current position. It was, in fact, a brand of lubricant that he and Steve had recently stopped using because the detective didn't like its smell.

The rogue Sentinel flipped the knife up, caught it, and brought it down abruptly, ending with the gleaming metal stabbing the mattress, precisely in the middle of Jesse's wide spread legs. The young man jumped as much as his tied limbs would let him, his eyes darting up to see the ex-agent grinning at him. The tube of lubricant was rather more conventionally set in place and, once he saw that he had his Guide's attention, Brackett proudly stripped off his own briefs. Jesse gulped when he saw the size the big man's cock. Maybe it was from the forced perspective of seeing it for the first time while being tied flat on his back, or maybe it was the way the lights reflected on veined skin liberally moistened with pre-cum, but the stiff penis looked huge as it jutted out proudly from the dark mat of pubic hair.

Jesse's reaction did not go unnoticed.

"Lee Jr. here is all slicked up and ready to go," Brackett said, slapping his penis affectionately. "But we're gonna use a little extra slippery stuff just in case. I don't want to hurt you," the Sentinel said, in all seeming sincerity despite what he'd done to the other man just a few minutes before, "Besides, if you read between the lines of Professor Sandburg's notes, binding a Guide to a Sentinel is a process, not a one-time event." The sincerity was gone, replaced by the all-too- familiar grin. "If that's true, then something tells me that I'm going to be plowing your ass a lot in the next few days. Wouldn't want it to get too sore to take what I'm going to be giving you. And, rest assured, little one, I will be taking you."

Brackett reached for the knife and, starting at the loose waist, cut away the boxer shorts that were Jesse's only remaining garment. The bigger man caressed Travis' skin as it was exposed, reveling in its soft warmth. Soon both sides had been slit and the fabric was slipped out from underneath the prone doctor. Like a magnet, Brackett's hands were drawn to Jesse's penis and he fondled it eagerly, reaching down to cup his captive's testes.

His caresses received no reaction, Jesse's sex remained limp and unresponsive to the Sentinel's ministrations. Brackett frowned at that, he'd assumed that Jesse's Guide instincts would make up for the younger man's lack of conscious cooperation. Still, possession was the better part of law and, after they'd mated a time or two, no doubt that young Travis would come around. "You'll learn, you'll see," he promised his involuntary partner.

Not at all daunted by his mate's continuing unwillingness, Brackett hummed tunelessly as he reached for the lubricant. A liberal amount was applied to his fingers, and with one large hand pressing into Jesse's stomach to keep him from wiggling, the ex-agent reached underneath the smaller man and pressed one finger inside the small, hidden pucker.

Both men hissed at the intimate contact. The Sentinel in unbridled lust as he prepared his mate, his Guide in frustration at the unwanted intrusion into his body.

Brackett was mesmerized at the sensation surrounding his finger. He'd had men before, even some he'd prepared before shoving his cock inside them, but never had he felt something like this. The ex-agent fancied that he could feel Jesse Travis' heartbeat thrumming through the thin tissue of his anus and he couldn't wait to feel how the younger man's body would feel pulsing around the length of his penis. Cock twitching in impatience, Brackett roughly inserted another finger. Jesse's body didn't accept the encroachment willingly, he had to tease the tight muscle to get the second finger in. The Sentinel groaned at the resistance, imaging the delicious friction that would be created when their two bodies joined. Impatient, he scissored his two fingers, forcing the tight muscle to widen.

Enough. Jesse Travis would take him, now, whether his body was ready or not.

Brackett withdrew his fingers from the other man's ass and put his hands on Jesse's calves, intending on forcing them open so he could seat his body between. His earlier preparations, however, thwarted those plans. The pantyhose bindings that kept Jesse's feet tied to the bed forced the smaller man's legs to remain wide open, but didn't have enough give to get them as far apart as the Sentinel wanted them.

Brackett stopped and contemplated his captive. Although Jesse's body had instinctively resisted him, even in his own haze of lust, he'd been marginally aware that Jesse himself hadn't put up much additional defiance. In fact, now that he looked at the younger man's face, the doctor's eyes had a glazed, almost distant look in them. The ex-agent had seen it before, when a victim tried to mentally escape what was happening to them physically. Reaching for the knife again, the Sentinel decided to untie the lower half of Travis' body. In his current state, he probably wouldn't put up much of a fight and, if he did, the top half of him was still restrained.

As he cut at the first of the ties on Jesse's ankles, Brackett decided that Jesse's mental absence wasn't acceptable. He may be pressing the issue of their mating by force, but by God, he wanted Jesse there for the act.

"You're awfully tight, little one," he taunted, panting out the words past his own arousal. One stocking cut, he turned to saw through the other. "What's the matter, is Sloan a little on the small side? Your ass is so tight, your great big cop boyfriend must have a dick the size of a pencil. I think you'll find I'm a little better endowed..."

As Brackett prepared to rape him, Jesse had been trying very hard not think, it would make what was happening to him all too real. Not only that, but he also didn't want to try and actively think of any escape plans. The young doctor had found to his regret that his body would betray him, allowing Brackett to foil any attempt to get away. But, most of all, he didn't want to think of Steve Sloan. Even when they got wild, their love making always had an underlying tenderness to it. This violation was an obscene contrast and Jesse didn't want to soil his lover by thinking of him while in Lee Brackett's bed, even if he was there totally against his will.

But, like everything else, Brackett took that away from him too, bringing up Steve in a way that Jesse could not ignore and forcing him to face what was happening to him.

Jesse's legs were numb from being tied in the same position for so long and his feet still burned from the curling iron. That didn't stop him, though. As soon as Brackett finished freeing the second ankle, Jesse kicked out, anger and adrenalin giving him enough strength to connect solidly with the side of the ex-agent's head.

For what little good it did.

If the burning in his feet had been bad before, it was nothing compared to the agony now flooding through the foot that he'd kick Brackett with. For a few moment's Jesse had actually grayed out, never really losing consciousness, but not really aware of his surroundings either. When the pain receded enough for him to regain his focus, he found that Brackett had already recovered. The bigger man was wiping a bit of blood from the side of his mouth, eyes steely with anger.

"I could have fucked you on the cement floor of your cell, with our buddy Ellison watching the proceedings. Or I could have spread you out on the hood of the van and given its shock absorbers a real workout." Brackett grabbed Jesse by the hair, lifting his head off the pillow. "But, no. I went to all the trouble to procure us a nice, comfortable locale, let you get cleaned up, took the time to prepare you so you wouldn't get ripped... and what's your response? Striking out at me. Running. Fighting me at every turn. Forcing me to hurt you."

Brackett had been shaking Jesse with every accusation, but stopped when his list of grievances ground to an end. Snatching the pillow from underneath the younger man, the ex-agent let Jesse's head hit the mattress.

"Well, it ends here, do you understand me? We're going to fuck and bond, Sentinel to Guide, and there isn't anything you can do about it."

Brackett twisted the pillow with his hands as he spoke, all but mangling it in his anger. When his diatribe ceased, he savagely brought it down over Jesse's face. The bigger man stretched himself out over Jesse's struggling body, enjoying feeling the lack of oxygen leech the strength out of the other man. "Fight all you want to," he said, not caring that Travis probably couldn't hear him, "with those feet, it's got to be hurting you more than it is me."

When Jesse was once again limp, Brackett removed the smothering pillow. This time, he stayed on top of his victim, taking advantage of the doctor's unconsciousness to explore the younger man's body. The Sentinel shamelessly used his abilities to submerge himself in his Guide's essence. The young man's eyelids were tasted, the quiet puff of air as he exhaled was sampled, and even the scent hidden in his armpit was gladly savored as Brackett reveled in the physical presence of his Guide.

During the process of his investigations, the ex-agent became even more hyper-aware of his Guide, and as a result, easily detected the signs that the smaller man was beginning to return to consciousness. Brackett slid down the lithe form, wanting to be in place when Jesse awoke. Kissing behind each knee reverently, he lifted the doctor's limp legs to his own shoulders, eagerly positioning his cock at the entrance to Jesse's body. Without a qualm, the rogue Sentinel focused all of his attention and enhanced senses on Jesse Travis. He waited for the young man's eyes to open, wanting Jesse aware during first penetration but not in enough control of his faculties to put up any resistance.

When the first slit of blue was visible beneath fluttering eyelids, Brackett crowed in triumph and surged forward. He kept all of his senses riveted on Jesse, wanting to witness the young man's expression as his Sentinel entered him for the first time, sure that it would be an earth shattering experience for the both of them.

His focus was his undoing. Brackett was so completely concentrating on Jesse Travis, that he had failed to sense that the cavalry had arrived.

Just as the ex-agent started the pelvic thrust that would initiate his cock breaching Jesse's body, an infuriated shout split the air. "Get away from him, you sick bastard!"

The rogue Sentinel barely had a chance to lift his head before the intruders were on him. The anguished cry had come from Steve Sloan. Jim Ellison was silent, allowing him to get to Brackett just a split second before Jesse's lover did. The two detectives tackled the ex-agent, too angry to use anything but their hands to subdue him.

Simon Banks held back, his gun trained on the grappling men. The police captain spared a glance at the bed and saw that it contained a nude man, whom he assumed was the missing Jesse Travis. The young man looked smaller than he'd expected, maybe because the bed was so big or maybe because he wasn't moving at all. Livid burns marred the bottom of the doctor's feet and the marks all over his body gave the inescapable signs of a struggle. None of the rescuers would have dared enter the building, but Jim had assured them that Brackett wouldn't detect their presence. At the time, Simon had gotten a bad feeling from the way the Sentinel had bleakly said that the ex-agent was "otherwise occupied," and now that he had a good look at Jesse, Banks knew that his fears had been justified.

Glancing at the struggle taking place at the other side of the room, Banks saw that Brackett was not yet down or reasonably under control. Keeping his own weapon fixed on the struggling men, Simon muttered under his breath "We need Dr. Sloan. Hurry it up fellas." He kept his voice quiet, though, not wanting to interrupt either Jim or Steve's concentration.

Thanks to the Sloans' presence, medical assistance was as close to Jesse as the lower level. The two civilians had insisted on accompanying them to Peter Eagan's house, adamantly refusing to be left behind. When the two bodies had been discovered downstairs, Blair had been given the task of calling in for back-up, from both the Cascade police and the FBI. Mark Sloan had not stayed on the lower level willingly, but had seemed too distracted to argue much. Now, Simon was wishing that the older man had accompanied the policemen, it looked like Jesse could benefit from his presence.

Well, Mark Sloan wasn't there just at the moment, but another Sloan was and Steve was probably who Jesse needed most anyway. Simon approached the detectives, careful to keep his gun trained on Brackett. The fight was all but over. Jim was holding the ex-agent down and Sloan was hitting him repeatedly, muttering "you bastard, you bastard," under his breath with each blow.

Banks gave his detective a scowl. He understood their feelings towards their prisoner, but beating the man after he was subdued was not justifiable. Ellison gave him an icy glare in return and Simon shivered when he realized that there was nothing "cop" in Jim's gaze. It was all Sentinel and an enraged Sentinel at that.

The captain turned his attention to the other man. "Detective Sloan!" Simon called out, giving Jim a look that said they'd be talking about this later. Sentinel or no Sentinel, Ellison was still one of his men and he'd damn well remember that when he was wearing his badge. Unfortunately, Sloan was every bit as good as ignoring him as Ellison was. Or, worse yet, as good at it as Sandburg. "Detective Sloan! Jesse need you." The name of his lover stopped the Californian and he turned to look at Banks. "Jesse needs you," Simon repeated, his tone softer in response to the pain in the blonde man's eyes. "He needs you more than you need to pound Brackett."

"Go take care of Jess, Steve," Jim chimed in. "Simon and I can take out the garbage."

Steve lurched to his feet. "Oh God, Jesse." Leaving Brackett behind without a backward glance, he staggered over to the bed. Without even a pillow to prop his head up, Jesse couldn't see who was approaching, so he flinched back when he heard the sounds of someone getting close.

Steve stopped, "Oh, God, baby, what did he do to you?" The detective slowed his approach down, realizing Jesse couldn't see him but knowing that the frightened man wouldn't react well if he sensed fast movements. While frustrating, it also gave him time to catalogue his lover's condition. The ties around Jesse's wrists were surrounded by reddened flesh, evidence that Jesse had fought his bonds. There were other signs of struggle too, bruises already mottling Jesse's all- too-exposed skin and more red marks located down at his ankles. Other sundry marks were present as well, but the worst were the burns at the bottom of his feet.

The sight made Steve want to cry, scream in anger, and beat the hell out of Brackett all over again. Instead, he gently touched Jesse's shoulder, one of the few parts of his lover's body that seemed unharmed. "Hang on sweetheart, I'll have you free in a minute." Jesse's eyes filled with tears as he nodded his acknowledgment and Steve almost broke down himself. He knew it was more important to get the other man untied, however, and he busied himself in searching for something to cut the pantyhose with. On the floor, he saw a knife and quickly bent to retrieve it. As he did, he saw the curling iron and instinctively knew that it had been the implement that had caused the burns. Mouth tightening in anger, he kicked the offending item, the curling iron only skittering a few inches on the thick carpeting. Turning back to his lover, Steve was concerned to see that Jesse was shaking. It was probably shock setting in and the detective knew it would be important to keep Jesse warm and stable.

"I'll have you free in a second, Jesse," Steve promised, rushing back to the younger man side. As quickly as possible, Steve cut the nylon bonds and, sickened at the pain and violation they represented, tossed them aside. Jesse lay on the bed, looking up at him with a mute plea. Carefully, Steve gently pulled the trembling man into his arms. It occurred to him that Jesse hadn't uttered a word since they'd stormed into the room. That wasn't like the doctor, as, no matter the circumstances, Jesse was normally very vocal. More than anything else, this continued silence frightened Steve. What had Jesse endured, that made him so unnaturally quiet?

"It's okay, Jess," he murmured, rocking back and forth. "I've got you. You're safe now and Dad will be here any minute." Never had Steve wished for his father's presence so strongly. Mark Sloan always seemed to be able to make everything right and Steve could only hope that his father would this time too.

Later, after it was all over, Blair would hypothesize that seeing the person he considered his Guide snuggled in the arms of another man drove Lee Brackett to superhuman effort. Simon always claimed that the ex-agent's Black Ops training had given him an edge that the two Cascade cops were unable to overcome. Jim preferred not to discuss it at all, but if pressed would only shrug and say, "We fucked up."

Whatever the case, Steve Sloan had no more untied Jesse and gotten him in his arms when Brackett gave an inhuman scream and lunged away from his captors. Jim had only managed to cuff one wrist, so when the rogue Sentinel broke free, he had both hands available.

Brackett was able to topple Jim into Simon and both of the big men went down hard. In a flash, the ex-agent was across the room. Busy trying to comfort Jesse, Steve did not have enough time to react. His gun was still in its holster and the knife had been dropped on the bed. Nevertheless, when the maddened Sentinel rushed the couple, Steve tried to thrust Jesse behind him.

Brackett was simply too fast.

The ex-agent grabbed one of Jesse's arms, using his forward momentum to add power and speed to the arm that jabbed out at Sloan. He managed to connect with the detective's throat, but the blow was not a killing one. The dangling handcuff had prevented it from connecting cleanly, although the metal restraint had opened a good-sized gash on Steve's temple. Blood flowed freely into Sloan's eyes and he felt, rather than saw, Jesse being ripped from his arms. "No!!!!"

Before the other men could untangle themselves, Brackett had found the discarded knife and had it pressed to Jesse's throat, backing his struggling hostage towards the bedroom door.

Steve, Jim, and Simon caught up with him just as he entered the hallway. Guns out, there was barely room for the three of them in the narrow corridor and there was no way they could risk firing, not when pressure from the knife was already causing blood to trickle down Jesse's throat.

"Brackett, there's no where for you to go. Blair's already called the police and the FBI." Jim called out to the master criminal. He was trying very hard not to think of his weaponless partner. Blair was still downstairs, right in the path of this madman.

"Do you think I care?" The other Sentinel snarled. "You already have a Guide. I'll be damned if I let anyone take this one from me."

"So if you can't have him, you don't want anyone else to have him?" Simon retorted. "That's crazy... and despite your other faults, you've always been a rational man."

"There's first for everything," Brackett said. "What do you think, little one? Do you want to go with them?" Jesse didn't dare nod his head, the knife was pressed too closely. Grinning in triumph, Brackett addressed the three men in front of him. "See that, he wants to stay with me."

The other men didn't know about the drug that had frozen the young doctor's vocal cords, but Steve knew his lover too well to believe that Jesse would want to stay with Brackett, not even for a second. "Over my dead body," he grated out.

"If you'd come over here, I'd oblige you on that," the rogue Sentinel said with a grin. "but the way it stands, it'll just have to be over Jesse's dead body..." The knife glinted in the artificial lighting of the corridor and, for an awful moment, the policemen thought they were going to see Jesse Travis' throat cut.

Like the maddened Sentinel in front of them, however, they had forgotten that there were other people in the house.

A roar, not unlike the inhuman cry that Brackett had uttered a few moments earlier, came out of the second bedroom and, before any of them could react, a form barreled out into the hallway. With a speed that contradicted his age, Mark Sloan attacked. In an economy of movement that stunned with its unexpectedness and grace, he pulled Jesse from Brackett's arms, knocked the knife out of the rogue Sentinel's hands, and shoved Brackett over the railing, plunging him to the floor below.

In the resulting stunned silence, the crack of the man's neck as he landed was clearly audible, even to those with merely human hearing.

The elderly doctor settled Jesse into his arms, sliding to the floor with his burden. "It's okay now, son, it's all over." One arm steadied the trembling form, while the other rubbed comforting circles on Jesse's shaking back. Mark Sloan's gaze, however, was on the spot where Brackett fell, and when he turned his eyes on the three approaching men, every one of them stopped in their tracks. Even his son.

Ironically, it was only Simon Banks who recognized that particular look. After all, he was the only one that actually had experience dealing with a Sentinel that had just killed to protect a member of his tribe.

"Dr. Sloan," the police captain said, knowing that the formality would help lead the man back to the civilized way of doing things. "Is there anything we can do to make Dr. Travis more comfortable?"

"What?" Mark responded, blinking up at Banks in a daze. "Oh, yes. Right. Cold, he's cold. Shock, I think. Can you get a blanket?"

Simon nodded and had immediately moved towards the master suite when Mark's voice snapped at him. "Not from there." The captain turned back around, to find the elder Sloan's blue eyes blazing again. "Nothing from that room will ever touch Jesse again. There's another bedroom over there." With his chin, the newly discovered Sentinel motioned towards the smaller bedroom.

"Dad?" Steve said, approaching with a confused expression on his face. "Can I-?" The younger Sloan knelt next to his father and held out his arms.

Mark looked from where Jesse lay huddled against him back to his son. Face softening, he murmured, "Of course." Shifting, he moved his head down to where Jesse's face was hidden in his shirt. "Jess, Steve's right here. I think he needs to be reassured that you're okay. Is it all right if he holds you?" At the minute nod he received in return, the two Sloans gently moved Jesse from Mark's sheltering arms into Steve's loving embrace.

The two Cascade cops watched the tableau for a moment, still shaken from the rapid turn of events. Ellison anxiously looked down the hallway and Simon clasped a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I can take care of them, Jim. Go check on Blair."

"You sure?" The Cascade Sentinel asked, even as his feet were moving towards the stairs.

The man who was both boss and friend chuckled, his laugh a low rumble emanating from his chest. "You kiddin'? All the times I played referee after Sandburg got hurt and you went into Blessed Protector mode? I've kept you from mauling more emergency response personnel than I care to count, thank you very much. We'll be fine."

The last of Simon's teasing words were said to Jim's retreating back. The detective trotted down the stairs, anxiously looking for his own Guide. He'd kept track of Blair's heartbeat as a matter of course and knew that the grad student was okay, if a little agitated. Still, after seeing what Jesse had gone through, Jim was anxious to get his lover into his arms. It could have so easily been Sandburg....

He found Blair mournfully staring at Lee Brackett's body. The anthropologist looked up with sad eyes when he approached. "What a waste, Jim. Brackett and Alex both. They could have contributed so much to society with their gifts, but look what happened to them."

"You okay, Chief?" Jim asked, moving to the smaller man and gathering him into his arms.

"Me? I'm fine, man," Blair claimed, the tremors that were the remnants of an adrenalin rush belying his words. "But, man, somebody needs to put a warning sign on this house. 'Beware of falling Sentinels.' He almost hit me and I could just hear what the insurance adjuster would say about my claim if I said I got creamed by a falling corpse."

Jim snorted, not fooled by the observer's glib words. "I'll make a note of that in my report."

Blair nodded, resting his head on Ellison's shoulder, not eager to move out of the older man's arms. "I couldn't see from down here. What happened?"

His lover was surprised. "You mean you don't know?"

"No," Blair said, pulling back enough to look at Jim's face. "Know what?"

Jim grinned, anticipating the younger man's reaction. It was the only sliver of a silver lining in this whole crappy experience. "Remember you said that it was possible that Jesse already had a Sentinel? You were right about that, but wrong about who it is."

"It's not Steve?"

"Nope. Close, though." Jim watched the anthropologist's eyes for the moment when Blair figured it out and wasn't disappointed when he saw the gleam of understanding.

"Mark? Mark Sloan is a Sentinel?" Blair was almost speechless with surprise. "That sweet old man?"

Jim mock frowned at him. "What are you implying, Sandburg? That Sentinels are grouchy brutes?" He knew he was being giddy and that it was likely a reaction to the release of a gargantuan amount of stress, but, damn if it didn't feel good.

Blair was in a slight state of shock and didn't even catch that he was being teased. "No, but... man, the possibilities! A Sentinel using his enhanced senses to protect the tribe through practicing medicine and watching out for their health instead of serving as a warrior.... and his Guide serves the community in the same way..." Sandburg's excited words slowed as the academic glow wore off and he remembered the personal implications involved regarding exactly how that the "new" Sentinel had been discovered. "Is Jesse okay?"

The detective pulled his lover back into a tight embrace, resting his chin on top of the beloved curly head. "No." He said, in a voice laden with regret. "But with a lot of love and support, he will be."

Blair drew in a shaky breath, his initial antagonism towards Jesse Travis when the young doctor had first arrived in Cascade completely gone. "With the Sloans, I think he's got a lot of that. But we'll do whatever we can to help, right?"

"Damn straight we will, Chief."

*******************************

"You know," Blair said sleepily, the tension of the past couple of days having really worn him out, "I bet it'll be weeks before Steve lets Jesse touch a foot to the ground again."

"Mmmmhmmmm," Jim murmured absently. Knowing how he himself would react if Blair had received a similar injury, the detective was unwilling to take that wager. "If even then," Ellison added, stroking his mate's hair.

The two men were ensconced in a virtually private waiting room. Generally speaking, the personnel at most hospitals had a special affinity with the police, probably because both were types of public servants. That tendency was even more pronounced, however, with this hospital staff and this set of Cascade officers, who were all-too-frequent visitors to the medical facility. The fact that the victim was himself a physician cemented things, ensuring a private area for Jesse friends to wait while he was being treated. The Sloans, both of them, had refused to budge from the injured man's side and, once they saw how much comfort Jesse gained from their presence, the medical team hadn't really had the heart to try and make them leave.

Simon paced outside the waiting room. Ostensibly, the big man was busy, via cell phone, coordinating details with the FBI. In reality, however, both Jim and Blair realized that he was actually giving them some guarded private time to regain their equilibrium. Knowing that Banks was covering the door, the two lovers cuddled together in the lounge's decidedly uncomfortable sofa, soaking in each other's nearness.

"Simon's coming," Jim eventually warned, planting a gentle kiss on Blair's temple. After what he'd seen today, Ellison couldn't be anything but gentle with his mate. And, after getting a good look at a devastated Jesse Travis, Blair wasn't complaining. For the sake of anyone who might be in the hallway, the two men shifted apart a bit. They were still closer together than a couple of adult men normally would be, but at least Blair wasn't nearly sitting in Jim's lap any
more.

When the door opened and Simon entered the room, Ellison frowned at the stormy expression on Captain Banks' face. Simon was chewing on an unlit cigar, which was never a good sign but could especially be considered a harbinger of trouble in an obsessively smoke-free environment such as a hospital. Both Jim and Blair rose from the couch, ready for the worst and wanting to meet it standing up. "I take it Mulroney gave you a hard time, sir?" The federal agent would, Jim reflected to himself, be entitled to be a bit cranky. Granted, they'd figured out for them which of their three suspects was the guilty one, but the man, his wife, and the assassin hired to silence the FBI's witness were all dead. The body count was too high, even for the Feds.

"What? Oh, that," Simon pulled his attention away from whatever was troubling him and concentrated on answering his detective's question. "No, Mulroney was very understanding."

Jim didn't want to accuse his boss of being a liar, so he settled for looking at Banks skeptically.

"Okay, okay," Simon relented, laughing a bit at his own attempt to fool them. "The man was downright nasty, but I calmed him down."

"How?" Blair asked.

"The Agent in Charge," Banks explained, in all seriousness, "was a little upset when I told him about the deaths of Lee Brackett and the Eagans, but he pitched a federal-sized hissy fit when I told him, flat-out, that you two, Travis, and the Sloans wouldn't be available for a statement just yet." Simon suddenly grinned. "Right up until I offered to have Dr. Sloan call his old friend and get the head of the FBI to explain it to him. Personally and in detail. That settled him down somewhat."

"You enjoyed that," Jim said, amused.

"Yes, I did," his friend confirmed. "It was a real pleasure to have the FBI dance to our tune for a change."

"So, why'd you look so cranky when you came in?" Blair asked.

The captain's frown reappeared. "Because I also fielded a call from a Dr. Amanda Bentley, of Community General in Los Angeles. She's a friend and colleague of our California contingent and let's just say that she was most vocal in her displeasure when I wouldn't give her the details of what happened or let her speak to any of them."

Jim winced. He'd never met Amanda, but had heard stories about the feisty medical examiner from Steve. "Ouch."

"Ouch is right," Simon agreed. "I'm afraid to sit down, I might find out that she chewed my ass right off."

All three men chuckled but Jim's face quickly sobered. Holding up a hand, the Sentinel motioned for his companions to be quiet. After a few moments of intense concentration, Ellison relaxed.

"They just found out why Jesse isn't speaking," he explained to the others. "I guess Brackett dosed him with something that makes speech temporarily impossible. He'll be able to talk normally in a day or two."

"That's a relief," Blair said. "Do they know yet when he can go home?"

Ellison shook his head. "The attending physician wants to keep him overnight, but Steve and Mark are insisting that he'd do better in a more private environment. They think it would help him be more calm and feel more secure."

"On that same subject," Simon said, "Remember how you gave me an extra set of keys to the loft a while back -- for emergencies? Well, while you all were busy getting Dr. Travis loaded into the ambulance, I took the liberty of giving them to Joel." The captain took a quick look at his watch. "By now, he and Rafe should have stopped by the loft and picked up your visitors' luggage and a change of clothes for the two of you and taken it to my house." At the other two men's startled expressions, he explained. "I had a feeling all of you were going to want to stick pretty close together and the loft just doesn't have enough room for five adult men. My house, on the other hand, has three bedrooms. Plenty of space."

"Where are you going to sleep?" Blair asked, a twinkle in his eye. "On the couch? In between me and Jim?"

"Sandburg," Banks growled in warning, cigar twirling in his mouth. "I'll sleep at the loft. I assume you two have clean sheets laying around somewhere, right?"

Touched, Jim reached out and thumped his boss on the shoulder. "Thanks, Simon. Blair and I really appreciate all you're doing for us."

"Let me add my thanks too," a voice said from the doorway.

For the first time since he'd met him, Jim thought that Mark Sloan looked his age. The older man was slumped against the door frame, eyes haunted as he looked at the men from Cascade.

"How's Jesse?" Jim asked

The doctor winced. "Skittish. Hurting. Steve's helping him get dressed. We're waiting for the pharmaceutical panel testing to come back before they can give him anything to help manage the pain. The last thing he needs right now is a drug interaction."

"Some of my men are picking up your luggage." Simon explained, in case the other man hadn't overheard the previous conversation. "Do you want me to have them bring it here, so Dr. Travis can wear some of his own clothes?"

Mark shook his head, slowly stepping fully into the room. "No, that won't be necessary. The nurse found some scrubs to fit him. Jess is more comfortable in those than in just about anything else." The old man pinched the skin between at the bridge of his nose. "I killed him, didn't I?"

The younger men sensed the doctor's anguish and, as one, Jim and Simon turned to look at Blair. The anthropologist was easily the most able to deal with a Sentinel who was rocky emotionally.

Gulping, the anthropologist stepped forward. "Yes, but you had to. He was going to kill Jesse. You were defending someone being held as a hostage."

Sloan stared off into space. "You know, I wasn't going to teach interns anymore, I just didn't have the energy. Then Jesse walked into Community General and I just knew that I had to have him as a student. Even before he and Steve were lovers, Jess was part of the family. Right from the start." Tired blue eyes beseeched the others to help him understand. "What I did.... had nothing to do with justice or defense. The bastard was dead the minute he laid a finger on a member of my family."

"Simon and I were there, remember?" Jim reminded him. "The knife had already started towards Jesse's throat and none of us were going to be able to stop it. You did what you had to do, no more and no less." Shaking his head at his lover, Ellison made sure the discussion veered away from Mark's Sentinel abilities and their implications. The older man was simply in no shape to deal with it at the moment.

Captain Banks was willing and able to validate his detective's observations. "Jim's right, sir. I'm a relatively objective third party here. Brackett's death was a clear case of necessity. I don't think any jury in the country would see it as anything else.

"Thank you," Mark said, not convinced yet but headed in that direction. "And, thank you again, Captain Banks, for offering us the use of your home. Jess is in desperate need of a quiet, safe place to rest." Looking prepared to be disappointed, he just had to ask. "If I could, I'd have him on a plane home to Los Angeles tonight, but that's not going to happen, is it?"

Simon delivered the bad, if unsurprising, news. "No, sir, I'm afraid not. Even though I firmly believe that your actions with Lee Brackett were fully justified, we'll still need a statement from all of you. Especially Dr. Travis." Seeing the older man's eyes harden with a protective expression, the captain hastened to clarify. "When he's up to it and not a minute before. I've made that thoroughly clear to agent Mulroney."

Mark gave him a tired smile. "Then I suppose I need to thank you again. Is there any way we can repay you?"

"Well, now that you mention it," Simon drawled, purposefully looking to lighten the atmosphere, "the next time you see that Dr. Bentley of yours, I'd appreciate it if you could perform the Heimlich maneuver on her because I'm sure she's got a piece of my ass lodged in her throat."

Dr. Sloan managed another small smile. "Amanda's really a pussycat, Captain Banks. She just gets a little worked up when it comes to family." At Simon's start of surprise, he explained further. "Jesse's like a little brother to her. Trust me, her bark is much worse than her bite."
The elderly doctor patted the burly captain on the shoulder and shuffled from the room.

"Oh, man," Blair breathed, "He's in a world of hurt."

The other two nodded in agreement. It was disconcerting to see the normally sunny and energetic Mark Sloan so near despair. As policemen, though, they both knew that the repercussions of a sexual assault went far beyond the victim.

Jesse Travis might have been the one that Lee Brackett kidnaped and tried to rape, but the consequences were being suffered by the entire Sloan family, blood and chosen members alike.

*******************************

It was a good thing for Jim Ellison that he didn't take Blair's bet. Steve Sloan allowed a wheelchair for the conveyance of his lover from the hospital examining room out to Simon's car, but insisted on carrying Jesse after that, both with getting in and out of the car and into the house. Luckily for Steve's back, Captain Banks had a ranch-style home that was all one level. That meant no stairs, which was a good thing, because Jesse was short but still a handful to tote around.

"I put you guys in here," their host explained, turning on the light and stepping back so they could enter the bedroom, "figured you'd want your own private bathroom."

"Thanks," Steve said, still holding Jesse cradled in his arms as he entered the room, "Thanks for everything, Simon."

"No problem. Us cops stick together, right?" Banks waved off the detective's gratitude, rightly guessing that Steve would have done the same for him and his family had the situation been reversed. "There's a small linen closet in the bathroom. Help yourself to towels or anything else you need." Then, before Steve could thank him again, the big captain was gone, softly closing the door behind him.

Steve looked around the bedroom. With its dark, rich colors and substantial mahogany furniture, the room obviously was Simon's own.

Right down to the very big bed.

The Californian flinched. The size of the bed made it too similar, for his comfort, to the one that he'd found his lover tied up in just a few hours earlier. Jesse had his eyes closed, head resting trustfully on Steve's shoulder, and hadn't yet noticed. Thankfully, Simon also had a reading nook set up, complete with an oversized, leather chair and side table. Given what had happened to his young lover earlier that day, Steve decided the chair was the much better choice and smoothly crossed the room towards it. Although Jesse had been lying quietly in his arms, Steve was well aware that the other man wasn't asleep. The doctor's muscles had been too stiff for true slumber. Sure enough, Jesse's eyes popped open when Steve gently sat him in the chair, his expression infinitely sad as he looked up at his lover.

The sorrowful look loosened the tight rein the older man had been keeping on his emotions. With a strangled sob, Steve dropped to his knees beside his lover. He wanted to pull Jesse into his arms and hold him until his heart believed that his mate was truly safe. He also wanted the kiss him until the woebegone look on Jesse's face was a distant memory.

He wanted to touch Jesse without the younger man flinching.

Steve settled for bumping foreheads with his partner, their faces only inches apart. "Baby, I am so sorry," the detective whispered in a broken voice. "I should have been with you. We should have found you sooner. I never should have asked if you wanted to stop in and visit Jim and Blair in the first place..."

Jesse shook his head, his forehead rolling against Steve's since he was loathe to break the contact. Tentatively, the silent doctor put the fingers of one hand over his lover's lips, putting an end to the older man's guilt-driven babbling. The forgiveness in the gesture steadied Sloan and he tenderly kissed the trembling fingertips.

The couple stayed that way until the a quiet knock on the door disturbed them. At Steve's permission to enter, Mark Sloan came in, bearing a tray laden with food.

"Jim and Blair made a detour on the way over from the hospital," the older doctor explained as he crossed the room. "That's why we beat them here, even though they left while we were getting the last of your release papers signed, Jess. It seems that Blair's favorite deli is open rather late."

The white-haired gentleman smiled in satisfaction as he successfully placed the tray on the chair side table with nary drop spilled from the bowls of soup or the glasses of water. Jesse took one look at the pair of meals and wrinkled his nose. Turning away, he refused to look at the food, knowing that he should be hungry but the idea of eating making him queasy.

"Jess, you need to eat," Mark said, using his best "bedside manner" voice. His former student, however, just shook his head, keeping his face turned away as though the tray and its objectionable cargo would disappear if he didn't acknowledge that it was there.

Steve took a breath in preparation to voice his own insistence that his lover eat, but his father motioned him to stay out of it. Jesse needed Steve too much right now to let anything threaten to come between the couple, even nagging about eating. It was much better for Jesse if Mark played the bad guy in this.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Mark assumed the professional tone of a physician. "Dr. Travis," he said briskly. "I need your opinion for a consultation. My patient has sustained second degree burns on the soles of his feet, has multiple contusions on his body, and has also endured continual emotional distress over the last two days, the last 12 hours of which have been profoundly traumatic. We're giving him Percoset to manage the pain, but to complicate matters, he hasn't eaten or had any liquid intake during the last 24 hours." Dr. Sloan stopped and looked at his fellow physician. "Now, what would your recommended course of treatment be?"

The sigh Jesse uttered in response seemed too big to come out of his body. Moving slowly, the young man picked up the nearest water glass and started to drink.

"Good man," Mark murmured, patting the younger doctor's knee in a fatherly way. "Is there anything else I can get you two?"

Jesse stopped drinking and used his free hand to make a scrubbing motion across his chest. Both Sloans immediately perceived Travis' desire but it was Steve who gave voice to it. "Clean? You want to take a shower?"

His lover nodded emphatically, but Mark shook his head in regret. "You know you can't get those feet wet, Jess, even if you could stand on them." The older Sloan had worked in a big city hospital for decades and was more familiar than he would like with the reactions of sexual assault victims. Although he thoroughly sympathized with Jesse need to scrub his attacker off his body, medically, it wasn't a good idea.

Steve quickly stood up. He was so eager to help Jesse that it hurt and here was finally a problem he could solve. "Hang on a minute there, Dad," he said, taking a few steps and sticking his head into the bathroom. When he turned back to the other two men, the detective was grinning in triumph. "Simon's got a bathtub and, if I'm not mistaken, it's a whirlpool kind. Can't we wrap his feet in plastic to keep them dry? I could get him in and out, his feet won't even touch the water. That way Jess could take a bath."

Mark was a little unconvinced that this first evening was the best time to try such a maneuver, but couldn't resist both sets of pleading blue eyes. "All right, let's give it a try. If," he said, seizing a chance to insure his patient's cooperation. "If you eat at least most of the soup and drink one glass of water."

Turning to go get the supplies, he added as an afterthought, "And that goes for both of you."

When Mark came back with the masking tape, scissors, and two plastic bags, both bowls of soup were more or less gone, even if one hadn't been consumed quite as enthusiastically as the other. The elderly doctor decided not to comment on the fact that Jesse's bowl wasn't quite empty. He was actually surprised that the younger man had managed to finish as much as he had.

"Somebody in here say something about a bath?" Mark said cheerfully, by way of announcing his return. Any lingering trepidation he felt at this venture faded at the obvious expression of relief on Jesse's face.

Swallowing at the sudden lump in his throat, Mark brandished his supplies. "Let's get started."

With a minimum amount of fuss, the Sloans got Jesse's feet reasonably waterproof. The injured man would occasionally wince in pain, even though the others were being infinitely careful. When that happened, Steve would stroke his lover's calf and murmur encouragement until the smaller man nodded at them to continue. Despite their solicitude, however, Jesse was still trembling by the time the older two men were finished. His reaction wasn't from pain alone, it was mostly from having too many sets of hands on him. First Brackett's goons and then Lee Brackett himself. Even the impersonal touch of the Emergency Room personnel had been difficult to endure. This last, although they were two sets of hands that Jesse loved, albeit in very different ways, put the young man dangerously close to his breaking point.

Mark saw the sheen of barely contained tears and decided to give the couple their privacy. "Well, that should do it," he said as he got up from his kneeling position, his knees cracking in protest as he stood.

Steve noticed his father's lack of his usual spryness. Even as he rubbed comforting circles on Jesse's back, he thought to ask, "Dad, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," the older Sloan assured him. With a paternal pat on Steve's shoulder and a lingering brush of the fingers through Jesse's hair, Mark headed towards the door. "I'm going to go down the hall for a bite to eat. Blair and Jim said they wanted to talk to me about something."

With a final supportive smile, Mark closed the door behind him, leaving the lovers by themselves.

Steve felt his lover quivering, and remembering the winces of pain as they did the feet wrapping, took a look at his watch. "Wait here, sweetheart. I'm going to get the water started, then get you another pain pill. It might be better to wait and few minutes and let it get in your system before we start moving you around a lot. Will you be okay?"

Jesse nodded, a far-off look in his eyes, and the bigger man got up and started bustling around. He kept coming back to the leather chair and its occupant in between tasks, worry building at the increasing distance in his lover's eyes. Jesse was short, true, and his elfin features and enthusiastic personality made him seem years younger than his physical age. Steve knew, however, that there was a wiry toughness in his lover's athletic body and a lot of strength of character hidden behind his bubbly temperament. To see him appear so fragile was frightening to say the least.

"Okay, you ready, babe?"

Steve squatted next to Jesse. The tub was full of steaming bath water and fluffy towels were ready for afterwards. Not only that, but he'd moved Jesse's toiletries in, as well as a change of clothes from their luggage. He only hoped the much-desired bath would help his lover pull out of the fugue state he'd lapsed into since Mark had left the room.

Given his concerns, it was understandable that the detective was not expecting Jesse Travis to launch himself at him.

One moment, Steve was crouched beside the chair gently telling Jesse that the preparations were ready. The next, he was flat on his back, his writhing lover on top of him, being kissed breathless.

"Mmmphf," Sloan said, trying to say his mate's name, but Jesse's tongue kept getting in the way. At first, the older man was concerned that his injured lover had lost his balance and fallen on top of him, but the firm hand groping his crotch dispelled that misconception. In fact, frantic fingers roamed all over Steve's body, visiting erogenous zones well-mapped by previous love-making sessions.

In other circumstances, Steve would have enjoyed being pounced, but Jesse's movements had a feverish quality that made him uneasy. He had a feeling that this encounter had little to do with sex and was about something else entirely. Sure enough, as the smaller man's crotch ground against his, he could feel what was missing.

"Mmmphf," Steve tried again, prying Jesse's arms from around his neck. "Jesse!" He tried again when his lover finally freed his mouth. Travis ignored him, however, nipping his way down the detective's neck. There was no way in hell that Steve would resort to overpowering the other man physically, not after what Jesse had been through earlier. It seemed that other drastic measures, however, would have to be taken to get his lover's attention.

"Don't turn me into him, baby." Steve's quiet plea broke through Jesse's frenzy. Blue eyes wide with shock, the younger man pulled back from where he'd plastered himself across Steve's chest, Sloan's words having cut right through him.

The older man hastened to explain. "I want you, sweetness, and I always will. When you're ready. When you want me too. I...." he hesitated when he saw the hurt in Jesse's eyes, but knew he had to continue or this would always be between them. "I don't want to use you, Jess. If you're not enjoying it too, then it's just for my pleasure alone and that's not right." Gentle fingers lightly brushed across Jesse's groin, the thin material of the scrubs not hiding the fact that the doctor wasn't even the tiniest bit erect. "That's what Brackett did, use you, for his own gratification. I won't do that."

Jesse tried to turn away, but Steve cupped his face in his large hands. "Remember," he reminded his lover, "that time I got shot in the chest? Did you come to my hospital room that first night after surgery and ask me to make love to you?" The detective didn't wait for his partner to answer, "This is the same thing, Jess. Brackett hurt you," Steve removed one hand from Jesse's face and placed it over the smaller man's heart, "here, inside. Making love to me now isn't going to make that go away. It's not because I don't want you and it's not because you did anything wrong and it's not because you're somehow unclean. It's because you've been injured, baby, and I'm afraid if we make love now, it'll just hurt you more. And I never, ever want to hurt you. I'd rather cut out my heart than hurt you, Jess."

At Steve's loving words, Jesse had begun to cry, tears running unchecked down his face. The older man's refusal to have sex had at first deeply confused and hurt Jesse, but as his lover continued to talk, he realized the truth in Steve Sloan's words. Suddenly ashamed of himself, he pushed himself off the older man's body, sliding to the carpeted floor.

Steve didn't allow Jesse to retreat, either figuratively or literally. Sitting up, he engulfed the younger man in his arms, once again bringing their foreheads together. "I can only imagine what you're going through, Jess. Once when I interviewed a... rape victim," the detective stumbled over the word but forced himself to say it. "She said that the emotional aftermath was like a hurricane, that her emotions were like a crazy, out of control storm. If that's the case, I want you to consider me your anchor, okay? Everything else might spin out of control for a while, but I love you and always will. No matter how crazy the rest of your world gets, hang on to that, sweetheart."

There was moisture on both of the lovers' cheeks, their tears mingling as both men released some of the pain they felt. Each of them realized that Jesse's healing process would probably entail more than one emotional catharsis, but now they both knew that they needn't weather it alone.

Finally, Steve brought his thumbs up to Jesse's face, tenderly wiping away the last of the smaller man's tears. "Hey, that bath still sound good?"

When the doctor nodded, Sloan gathered himself from the floor and reached down for his lover. Jesse used the strength in his arms to give himself a boost from the floor, helping Steve hoist him into his arms with only a negligible threat of a hernia.

The two were almost to the bathroom when the detective caught sight of the telephone on the night stand. With Jesse in his arms, it wasn't the time to investigate, but Steve was eager to check his hypothesis out.

Once in the bathroom, Steve set Jesse down on the commode and reached in to test the water in the bathtub. The couple's emotional distraction had given the water time to cool a bit, so he let some go out the drain while he ran more of the hot.

"Hang on a minute, Jess," Steve said to the other man, "I'll be back in a second."

The detective was as good as his word. It took only a moment to run out to the main room and over to the night stand. Steve figured that an organized man like Simon Banks would keep a pad of paper and a pen by his telephone, especially the one located near his bed. A police captain couldn't afford to be awakened in the middle of the night on an official call and not be able to take notes. Sure enough, the writing tools were right in the drawer and Steve soon had them in hand.

Once he got back in the bathroom, Steve gladly offered his discovery to his silenced mate. "I don't know why we didn't think of this before, Jess. It'll help you communicate until your voice comes back. What do you think?"

Jesse sat very still, stroking the paper with one hand. The young man still sniffed occasionally from his emotional outpouring and Steve was dying to figure out what was going on in his lover's mind. "Baby, is there something you want me to know?"

The blonde doctor bit his lip, then tore the cap off the pen and wrote for several seconds, the words appearing on the paper with fast, decisive strokes. Steve turned away to turn off the water, wanting to give the other man a moment of privacy to express his thoughts. When he was finished, however, Jesse hesitated in sharing them, holding the paper to his chest rather than letting the older man see.

"Jess? It's okay, love. Whatever you have to say, I want to hear."

Tentatively, the other man handed over the tablet. Steve let his fingers stroke Jesse's hand as they made the exchange, trying to reassure him. Eagerly, he looked down at what his lover had written.

Steve blinked, re-read the note and blinked again.

In clear letters, Jesse had written: IF YOU EVER CALL ME 'LITTLE ONE,' I WILL GELD YOU WITH A DULL KNIFE.

The tall detective honestly didn't quite know what to say. His memory flashed back to the scene in the corridor, with Lee Brackett holding a knife to Jesse's throat. He clearly remembered the maddened Sentinel calling Jesse "little one," but at the time had been too concerned for his lover's safety to pay much attention to it. Obviously, however, it wasn't the only time that Jesse's kidnapper had used the term and it had made a lasting impression. Suddenly, Steve became aware of how many pet names he'd been using for Jess since leaving the hospital. "Baby." "Sweetheart." Did those have just as bad of connotation for the other man?

Jesse took his lover's silence the wrong way. He grabbed the pad back out of Steve's hand and frantically ripped the paper off. Not satisfied, he then proceeded to rip it into smaller and smaller pieces, until Simon's bathroom was littered with confetti. Finished destroying the note, Jesse sat, panting, swiping at the renewed tears on his face with the back of his hand.

Unbeknownst to Jesse, one of the paper squares had attached itself to his cheek, probably deposited there when Jesse had wiped his eyes. Steve found the sight endearing and it helped him to respond to his lover's paper-rending flurry with tenderness rather than confusion.

"It's okay to be angry, Jess," Steve said, knowing that Jesse had a hard time accepting his own anger even under the best of circumstances. "Anybody would be, after what you've been through."

The younger man scribbled on the tablet, then held it up for his mate to see: SORRY.

The detective frowned. "For what?"

Another round of quick writing followed Steve's question and soon an answer appeared: FOR BEING A WIMP.

The older man responded in a way that Jesse had never expected. He laughed.

"Sweetheart," Steve explained, seeing the flash of hurt in his lover's eyes. "How can you call yourself a wimp?" With careful fingers, the cop stroked the top of Jesse's wrapped feet. "Don't get me wrong, Jess, what that bastard did to you makes me sick. Absolutely sick. But, think about it for a minute. Lee Brackett was former CIA, a government-trained Black Ops agent, ruthless soldier, and veritable killing machine... and you fought him off. You, Doctor Jesse Travis, fought that bastard off so successfully that he had to asphyxiate you, tie you down, and burn you to even get a semblance of control. I don't call that being a wimp, Jess. Not by a long shot."

Steve's voice had lost its laughter as he talked, ending in an intensity that gave Jesse a glimmer of hope that maybe it was the truth the other man was saying, and not just empty words to make him feel better. Blushing, he ducked his head.

The older man thought back to something worrisome he'd thought of a few minutes earlier. "Jess, I know from your first note that a particular... nickname... is off-limits," he said, careful not to utter the hated name itself, "but... what about when I call you 'Baby.' Does that bother you?"

Jesse immediately shook his head, his lack of hesitation making Steve feel a lot better. Right from the beginning of their relationship, endearments had naturally just rolled of his tongue and he'd be hard-pressed to stop now, although he'd try if that's what Jess needed. "How about 'Sweetheart?' 'Babe?' 'Sweetness?'" As each pet name was listed off and Jesse indicated that it was acceptable, Steve felt his heart lighten. His Jesse was in this silent shell, bent but not even close to being broken. It heartened him, and as result, he couldn't help but tease a little. "How about 'Cuddle Muffin?'"

The first time he'd used that one with Jesse, the younger man had disintegrated into gales of helpless laughter. It had been quite the romantic mood killer at the time, but once Steve got over his initial pique at his lover's reaction, the name had become a joke between the couple. Using "Cuddle Muffin" had never failed to make Jesse grin and Steve was glad to see that hadn't changed, as a small but genuine smile flashed across the smaller man's face.

"You know," Steve said, plucking the paper square from Jesse's cheek, "if you still want that bath, we'd better get to it before the water cools again. If we have to run a third tub full, Simon won't thank us when he gets his water bill."

Jesse nodded and shyly began the task of getting undressed. Steve's support had helped diminish the dirty feeling he'd had, but he still was anxious for a good wash. Even so, his shame made him at first unable to meet his lover's eyes, until Steve's matter-of-fact attitude steadied him. Soon, the top of his borrowed set of medical scrubs was on the floor and Jesse helpfully lifted his bottom from the commode so that his partner could slide them down his slender hips.

For his part, Steve was hard-pressed to maintain his detached facade. He'd seen the marks on Jesse's body, various bruises and scrapes he'd gotten in his struggle with his kidnapper, at the hospital. Now, in the intimate setting of a private bathroom, they seemed somewhat worse. For Jesse's sake, however, he put his revulsion aside, knowing that the younger man would misinterpret his disgust as being about him, and not about what was done to him.

Both men were relieved when Jesse was safely in the water. Unfortunately, getting him there was anything but graceful. Once he was sure that the younger man could balance with his legs hanging over the side of the tub, Steve busied himself with getting both himself and the floor dry.

Turning back to his lover, Steve asked him how he'd like to proceed. "So, you wanna scrub down or soak for a while?" The younger man answered by sighing and sitting back in the water, his contentment making his preference obvious. Sloan was left with something of a dilemma. He was aware that Jesse hadn't had any private time since his ordeal began and Steve wanted to give him a little bit of privacy. He was loathe, however, to leave the voiceless man by himself in the water, not when Jesse couldn't yell for help if he needed it.

A plastic water glass by the sink was the solution. Steve grabbed it and gave his soaking lover his instructions. "Okay, I'm going to go into the other room and get our bed ready," he explained, handing Jesse the cup. "You need me for anything, you bang on the tile, all right?"

Jesse looked at him patiently, nodding his promise in a solemn manner. Although never with anything this serious, he'd had experience with an overprotective Steve Sloan before and knew it was easier just to humor the older man.

"Okay, I'll be right in the next room," Steve headed for the door, only to be stopped by a banging noise. Almost getting whiplash, he did an abrupt direction change and turned back towards his lover. Jesse smiled at him and the detective couldn't help but grin back. "Whatcha need, baby?"

The younger man kissed the tip of his index finger, used it to trace a heart shape on the left side of his chest, and pointed at Steve.

Touched, Steve felt his spirits lift. "I love you too, Jess." Then he resolutely headed for the bedroom. The mistiness in his eyes, the detective told himself firmly, was simply because of all the humidity in the bathroom and nothing more.

The detective stretched his preparations out as long as he could, wanting to give Jesse every minute of private time that he could. He fussed with the bedding and with the lights, even changed his own clothing. By the time the cup-banging drew him back to the bathroom, everything but Jesse was ready for them to go to bed.

The doctor's eyes were at half-mast when Steve entered the bathroom to help him out of the tub, the day's stressful events having caught up with the young man. The rest of the couple's nightly ablutions were of necessity abbreviated. A quick change for Jess into the lightweight flannel sleeping pants and T-shirt that were his normal nighttime attire and equally fast teeth brushing were accomplished with sleepy haste.

Within minutes, Steve had Jesse in his arms again and headed back into the bedroom... where Jesse noticed the oversized bed for the first time. A rational part of his mind told him that it had to have been there all along; it wasn't like Steve could sneak it in while he was bathing. He'd just been too distracted before to pay attention. Unfortunately, most of his mind was involved in a flashback, and what it had felt like to be bound and helpless in a bed very much like the one in front of him. Steve couldn't really expect him to sleep in that could he?

The first inkling that Steve had of a problem was when his lover began to shake. Looking into Jesse's face, he saw that the other man's gaze was locked on something, the expression on his face that of pure horror. Following Jesse's line of sight, it was easy to discern what was causing the reaction.

"No, Jess," he comforted, moving past the bed to the reading area. "I wouldn't expect you to want to sleep there. Simon just wanted us to have the bedroom with its own bath, that's all. I'm sure it never occurred to him that a bed of that size would bring back some nasty memories." By this time, they'd reached the chair and Steve swiveled so that Jesse had a good look at it. "See what I fixed for us? Better than a bed any day."

Given that Simon Banks was a large man, his favorite reading chair was of similar proportions. Leather, comfy, and able to recline, it was every inch the equal of the large police captain. While Jesse had bathed, Steve had stripped some of the bedding off the mattress and brought it over, creating a very cozy nest for the two of them.

Feeling his mate begin to relax again, Steve lowered himself into the chair and situated Jesse onto his lap. Despite his brief flash of fear, sleep was overtaking the younger man and Steve settled Jesse's against his shoulder, stroking the damp hair soothingly. "Shhhh, Jess," he crooned, "try and get some sleep. I'm right here. Dad'll be in the room across the hall and Jim and Blair are next to us. We're surrounded by people who care about you. You're safe."

Jesse yawned, the cracking in his jaw one of the few sounds he'd made since being rescued. Sleepily, he stretched his neck and kissed the older man's earlobe. Steve chuckled and, taking Jesse's hand, brought it up so he could kiss the index finger's tip. Then, he lowered it until he could trace a heart pattern on the doctor's chest. "I love you," he whispered, just to make sure the meaning was crystal clear.

Steve waited until he felt the slow, even breathing that indicated that Jesse was asleep. Then and only then did he let his own tears fall, rubbing his cheek against his lover's soft hair. It was a long time before the big man joined his mate in slumber.

*******************************

When Mark Sloan returned to the kitchen, he was surprised that the other men had waited dinner for him. "That was awfully nice of you, fellas," he said, sitting himself down beside Simon Banks. "But you should have gone ahead and eaten. I bet you're all starved."

"No way," Jim countered, "We couldn't start without you. Even if you didn't bring your clown nose or roller skates, you're always the life of the party, Mark."

By unspoken agreement, the friends avoided talking about Jesse's injuries and instead concentrated on eating. Mark had at first goggled at the amount of food Jim and Blair had brought, assuming that it was way too much for five men to eat, especially since at least one of their number had a much diminished appetite. Much to his surprise, however, it wasn't long before the table was strewn with empty take-out containers, with not a leftover in sight.

"Oooh, man," Blair groaned, leaning back from the table and patting his stomach. "I may not eat for a week. I think I ate so much that I might have hurt myself."

"We noticed," Simon said dryly. "Funny how a short guy like you can pack away the food."

Jim noticed the sad look on Mark's face and the way the older man glanced wistfully towards the hallway. "Give him time, Mark. Jesse'll feel like eating soon enough."

"I suppose so," The doctor replied. "I just hope it's sooner rather than later."

Since his lover had broached the subject, Sandburg asked about their friend. "How's he doing, now that he's away from the hospital? Has he settled down at all?"

Mark tilted his head to the side a bit, a motion extremely familiar to the other three, but probably a pose he was unaware that he was making. After listening for a minute, the older man relaxed. "I think they're asleep. A bath helped, although I'll admit I was a little against the idea at first..." Voice trailing off, Sloan realized that his three Cascade friends were looking at him oddly. "What? What is it?"

Jim had known Mark the longest and had asked to the one to initiate this particular conversation. "Mark, what did you just do?"

The doctor thought about it a minute and shrugged. "Checked on Steve and Jesse."

"But how?"

Sloan looked confused. "Just listened. It's a talent that some doctors and most parents develop. Sometimes you can tell more by what you don't hear than by what you do."

Jim pressed the issue. "Are you sure?"

Mark sat up straighter in his chair. "Yes. Now, what's this all about? You three have been trading odd looks ever since I came into the room. If there's something you want to tell me, have at it. Please, I'm a little tired for a guessing game."

Blair took up the explanation. "Mark, when Jim first mentioned that he'd discovered that Jesse was a Guide, my first assumption was that Steve was Jesse's Sentinel. I mean, their relationship is so much like mine and Jim's, that it just seemed to be a natural fit. But I was wrong."

"I agree," Mark said, "I've been Steve's doctor all his life, as well as being his father. I've never noticed any of the symptoms Steve said you described Jim as having." The white head tilted again as the elder Sloan thought, then shook negatively as he became even more sure. "No, I'm positive. Steve doesn't have enhanced senses."

"No, but you do." Jim's voice was very quiet but was easily heard in the nearly silent kitchen.

Mark gaped at the other man.

"Wait a minute, Mark," Ellison said, holding up his hand to prevent any outburst from his fellow Sentinel. "Think about it for a minute. We're sitting here in the kitchen, several rooms away from Steve and Jesse and you were able to tell that they were sleeping. How?"

"But... I told you. All parents can do that."

"Then why were baby monitors invented?" Jim went on to lay out another fact for the disbelieving man to hear. "And at the Eagan house earlier today. You promised Simon you'd stay downstairs, but you came up anyway. Why?"

The doctor looked to Banks for support. "Captain Banks called for me, said I was needed."

Simon shook his head slowly. "No, sir, I didn't. I muttered it under my breath, but Brackett wasn't under control yet. I couldn't justify bringing a civilian into the situation, not at that point."

Mark turned to Blair. "You were right next to me, surely you heard it?"

The grad student shook his head, sad that the already emotionally drained man was so distraught by the revelation. "No, I didn't hear anything Mark. Normal ears couldn't have. It all fits in, though. Remember how you said that Jesse was a member of your family almost from almost the moment that you met him and how you had to have him as your student? It's all part of the same thing."

"I don't know," Sloan said, rubbing at his face with his hands. "The whole thing seems pretty unbelievable..."

"I tell you what," Jim said, "Sleep on it. We could all use a bit of shuteye. We can talk about it tomorrow."

"That sounds like a good idea," Mark said, getting up and reaching for the nearest empty container.

"No, I'll take care of that," Simon told him, taking it out of the older man's hands. "You've had a hard day. Go to bed, all of you. I'll take care of this."

"But, you've already done so much," the doctor protested.

"Nonsense," Banks said firmly. "That's the joy of having take-out. Clean up's as easy as getting out a garbage bag. Now, shoo." He waved at the others to leave him to his task.

Mark and Blair left the room but Jim hesitated. "Simon, Sandburg and I can camp out on the couch..."

"Detective Ellison," Simon asked, "Do you have beer at your house?"

"Well, yeah."

Simon flashed him a big grin. "Then I'll be perfectly fine at the loft. Since that's settled, same goes thing for you as it did the others. Bed. I'll lock the door behind me when I go."

Jim smiled, weariness evident in the fine lines around his eyes. "Thanks, Simon."

"Don't mention it." The Sentinel had only gone a few steps before the other man's voice stopped him. "And, Jim, take care of them."

"Always."

*******************************

"It's a good thing Daryl's so into sports, huh?" Blair said as he worked on his lover's broad shoulders. "Bet that liniment feels good."

"Mmmm..." was Jim's reply.

Of necessity, the couple's shower had been short. Since Steve and Jesse had been given the only room with a private bath, they'd needed to use the same one as Mark. The older man had finished his own cleaning ritual, but they had no idea when or if the doctor would need to come back into the room to use the facilities. That had inhibited the lovers' normal antics, even if Blair had insisted that they share a shower. "It'll cut down on the time we're in here, Jim, and we'll save on water too."

Ellison had kept his doubts to himself, not able to resist the anthropologist's pleading blue eyes. In the end, it turned out both of them were too tired and tense to do anything but soap down and rinse off. Each man was almost reverent in handling the other's body, but the touch was worshiping without being sexual.

When they'd made their way back to their borrowed bedroom, Sandburg had taken control. It was the Guide's turn to be overprotective and Blair was proving himself to be every bit the mother hen as the older man. While lathering the bigger man up, the grad student had made a mental list of every bruise on Jim's body and mapped out every tender spot that made the Sentinel wince. It wasn't as though Ellison was badly injured; his partner had seen him with worse marks more time than he could count. But Jim had gotten these bruises when he'd been forcibly separated from Blair, and that made all the difference.

With an authority and efficiency that would have shocked the hell out of Simon Banks had he been there to witness it, Blair soon had his lover spread out on his stomach on the bed and his supplies gathered. Jim sensed that doing this was something that Sandburg needed to do and was unusually cooperative to his lover's ministrations. Not that it was any hardship to have Blair's sturdy body straddling him, his strong academic's hands working the salve deep into tired flesh. In fact, it felt damn good.

Even as his lover worked slowly and tenderly on his skin, however, Blair's mind and words were racing. "Did Steve ever mention his mother to you?" The grad student asked, but plowed ahead without waiting for an answer. "I wonder if she could have been a Guide too. It's hard to imagine a Sentinel getting to Mark's age and still using his senses, if he didn't have one available..."

"Chief," Jim interrupted, "Mark Sloan's a great guy, but could we not bring him into our bed? Not tonight."

Sandburg smiled wryly. "Sorry, babe," he apologized, bending forward to bestow a kiss in between Ellison's shoulder blades. "You know how I get when I have new source material."

"Sure, that's what you say," the detective teased, "but now that you have a new Sentinel to study, you'll drop me like yesterday's news."

Still splayed across Ellison's back, the breath from Blair's chuckle warmed Jim's neck. "Oh, I don't know about that," the anthropologist replied in a husky voice, "I think you've still got a thing or two to show me." Playfully, he nipped at Jim's earlobe.

With a growl, Ellison pounced. He turned, and in one fluid movement, rolled Blair's smaller form underneath him. Sandburg just grinned up at him happily, total trust evident in the easy way he accepted being suddenly overpowered.

Looking down at his mate, the anthropologist's chestnut curls fanned across the pillow, Jim suddenly became serious. Ever the observer, Blair saw the shift in the detective's clear blue eyes. "Jim, what's wrong?"

"I can't stop thinking," Ellison admitted, his own trust in his lover such that he opened up emotionally with little hesitation, "that Brackett originally meant to grab you. What Jesse endured, it could have been you, Blair. And, God help me, I can't stop being thankful that it wasn't."

"That's just human nature, Jim," Sandburg said earnestly, "I betcha that the Sloans and Jesse are probably wishing that it had been me. As much as you don't want to see anybody hurt, you want even more for it not to be one of your loved ones. You shouldn't feel guilty for it," the grad student's eyes narrowed suspiciously, "and you shouldn't feel guilty for not being able to stop Brackett either."

Having been found out, Jim could only sigh in resignation. "Jesse was a civilian under my care, Chief. I should have been able to protect him better."

Sandburg thwacked him on the shoulder. "You were kidnaped too, big guy. You did your best under bad circumstances, nobody could have asked for more. Makes just as much sense for you to blame Jesse. If he hadn't been a Guide, he wouldn't have been in any danger, so it really is his fault. Just by being what he was, he made Brackett try and rape him." Seeing Jim flinch in reaction, the grad student softened his voice. "See, blaming yourself is every bit as wrong as blaming Jesse. Let's put the guilt squarely where it belongs, Jim. On Brackett."

Ellison didn't look convinced, but also didn't put up an additional argument. "I just wish there was something I could do to help."

"Be patient," his lover advised him. "Jesse and Steve are going to need a lot of support, we'll figure out how we can be part of that. I thought in the morning that I'd try and get hold of Naomi. I bet she'll be able to refer them to some good councilors in the Los Angeles area." Despite the flighty first impression she often made on people , Blair's mother was actually a very affective advocate for victims of domestic abuse. Although she was more active in the area of women's issues, she had connections all over the West Coast.

"Good idea, baby." Jim said, moving his head down for a kiss, "What would I do without you?"

"Not ever gonna have to find out," Blair promised, pulling Ellison in for a deeper kiss. Both men groaned as the closer contact brushed their cocks together. "Here, let me show you."

The grad student began undulating underneath his Sentinel, every rock and sway of his body causing their cocks to bump and grind together. Ellison threw his head back at the sensation, loving the way the hair on Sandburg's hirsute body tickled and caressed his skin. The two men humped for several minutes, Blair's legs thrown wide to accommodate the size of the larger man. He loved how Jim felt on top of him, velvet strength leashed only by the detective's formidable will. The anthropologist also loved it when Ellison lost that control and they mated with a good, hard fuck. He knew that even in the throws of passion, however, that the bigger man would never dish out more than he could take... and he could take quite a lot. Tonight was simply not the time for it. A slower session was what both of them needed, an affirmation that they'd made it through the latest crisis more or less intact.

"Baby, I'm gonna cum," Jim warned, voice tense with the need to keep quiet. They were, after all, surrounded by a houseful of friends.

Blair responded by wrapping his legs around the Sentinel, his strong grip pushing the bigger man's pelvis close to his own. With muffled moans, both men ejaculated, the sticky fluid anointing their entwined bodies.

After his own load was spent, Ellison collapsed on top of his lover, kissing whatever bit of skin happened to be closest. "What did I ever do to deserve you, Chief?"

"I don't know," Blair admitted, running lazy hands up and down the bigger man's back. "Same thing I did to get you, I suppose. Simon would say that we deserved each other."

The mention of his boss caused the detective to groan. "Simon.... oh, hell." Ellison hid his face in his mate's hair.

"What?" Sandburg asked, not knowing exactly what he's said to provoke such a reaction, but regretting it already.

"Simon," Jim clarified, " is not going to like coming home to find his son's bed covered in spunk, Chief. He's a good friend, but there are limits."

"Geez, is that all?" The grad student asked, wiggling until he was out from underneath Ellison's body. "Aren't you supposed to be the observant one, HyperSenses Boy? We're laying on bath towels."

"So?"

"So," Sandburg explained as he gathered up the soiled items, "you put them in the tub, soak 'em down good and everybody'll just assume we dropped them in the water. No messy stains, no problem."

It was Jim's turn to have eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You sound like you've done that before, Chief."

Blair deliberately batted his eyelashes at him. "Only with you, Jim, only with you." Seeing his lover relax, the anthropologist turned to put action to his words. Ellison's voice stopped him before he could get through the door with his armload of towels.

"Sandburg."

"What now?" Blair asked in exasperation as he turned back towards his lover.

Jim tried not to smile. "You might want to put a robe on or something. We're not exactly alone, you know."

"Oh,yeah. Right..." Sandburg said, shifting from foot to foot and generally looking so cute in his chagrin that Jim gestured for him to come back to the bed.

"Not so fast, Chief," the Sentinel purred, "something tells me we're going to need those towels again.

*********************************

"All right, I'm a Sentinel. Now what?"

Mark Sloan's admission didn't bring the sense of victory that Blair might have expected under different circumstances. As he spoke, the old man's eyes were fixated on the two figures cuddled together on the floor.

Steve Sloan sat with his back propped against the couch. The detective's legs were extended, with Jesse snuggled tightly between them. The injured doctor's feet were still heavily bandaged, the burns healing nicely but still painful. The young man's bare toes peaked out from the white dressings, the wrappings in pristine condition because his lover still refused to let Jesse set a foot on the floor or anything else that would put weight on the wounds.

The rest of Jesse's condition was a little more fragile. Dark bruises under the young man's eyes were the result of the nightmares that plagued his sleep. Clinging to Steve's shirt, Jesse would wake up panting to the point of hyperventilation, hair wet with sweat and his body shaking. Steve would comfort him as best he could, which was difficult when his own heart was breaking at witnessing his mate's pain. All he could do was be a solid support for his lover, anchoring Jesse with love just as he'd promised.

"Now, Blair teaches us how to deal with your senses," Jesse declared in a hoarse whisper, snapping everyone's attention back to the matter at hand. His voice had begun to return the day before, although it was still weak and unsteady.

Coming to the loft had been Jesse's idea. In fact, the young doctor had insisted upon it. The others had been surprised but pleased at his determination, thankful at seeing a glimmer of Jesse's true personality peeking out amidst the ruins of his self-confidence. Between the two of them, Mark Sloan and Simon Banks had been able to put off the FBI and the local authorities regarding an explanation of Brackett's death and the events that had led up to it. The others involved had all put in appearances to give their statements and testimony, but Jesse's piece of the story had still been missing. That morning, two and half days after his rescue, had finally seen the young doctor giving his statement to a carefully respectful agent Frank Mulroney. The specter of Mark Sloan's impressive connections kept the federal agent more solicitous than was his normal wont and Steve had even been allowed to stay at Dr. Travis' side, with only a minimal amount of fussing on Mulroney's part.

If any of the federal agents had speculated on the way the tense young doctor had clutched Detective Sloan's hand the whole time he spoke, no one said anything publically.

After being cocooned in the relative safety of Simon Banks' home, his friends had been concerned that telling his story to a stranger would cause a set-back for Jess, but quite the opposite had happened. As soon as they had piled back into the car, sans Simon, Jesse had made his announcement.

"I heard all of you talking late last night," Jesse had said, "When you thought I was still asleep. Blair, you said that Mark's tests showed he definitely was a Sentinel. If that's the case, I want you to teach me how to be his Guide."

Silence had met the young man's pronouncement. After what had happened, Sentinels and Guides were the last subjects that anyone had thought Jesse Travis would want to discuss. Mark and Steve had been sitting in the back seat with Jesse wedged in the middle between them. The two Sloan's eyes had met over the smaller man's head and Steve had slowly nodded at his father. Jesse desperately needed something to take his mind off the assault and if enhanced senses would do the trick, then Steve was all for it.

It had been decided that, since all of Blair's reference materials were at the loft, that it was easier to take Jesse there than to try and lug all of the books, notes, and other media over to him at Simon's. It seemed to have been the right choice. Perhaps it was the generous sunlight at the loft or perhaps it was having a focus outside of himself, but whatever the reason, Jesse perked up as Blair presented his theories and the evidence to back them up. Mark had been slow to warm to the idea that he was a Sentinel, but was scientist enough to bow to the inevitable conclusion. His son wasn't as readily won over.

"What I don't get," Steve said, laying aside a chart that Sandburg had worked up regarding some tests Mark had allowed him to perform the day before. "Are these zone-outs you say Jim has. I've never seen Dad have one of those."

"Well," Blair answered, darting a quick look Jim's way. Ellison's answering smile gave him the confidence to address another Sloan's set of doubts. "Compare Jim's tests to your father's." There was more document shuffling, then the grad student was handing over another sheaf of paper. "Mark's numbers are consistently lower than Jim's, indicating that his senses, while enhanced, are not heightened to the sensitivity that Jim's are." Sandburg re-balanced his reading glasses on his nose. "What we have yet to determine is whether that's because Mark's senses have always worked at this current level or if there's been a natural deterioration due to the aging process."
Jesse gently took the charts from Steve, turning them over so that they were right-side up before studying them. "So... having his senses work at a lower level than Jim's means that Mark isn't as prone to zoning?"

"That's a likely possibility," Blair conceded. "The more intense the sensory input, the more likely the Sentinel is to focus on it to the exclusion of other stimuli. It's also possible that Mark's late wife, Catherine, was his original Guide." The anthropologist spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. "But we'll never know for sure."

"So, there are Sentinels like my dad, and SuperSentinels, like Jim," Steve said, struggling to get a handle on the concept. It still seemed like so much horse hockey to him. Although, the more he thought about it, the more the idea would explain his father's amazing powers of observation, which sometimes seemed on the verge of being magical.

"That's the really fascinating part," Blair said, perching on the edge of the love seat he shared with Jim, fairly bouncing with excitement. Ellison was tempted to latch onto the back of Sandburg's belt, just to keep him from bouncing right off the furniture. "Since working with Jim, I've come across a whole spiritual element that I never expected. Who would have thought that a pragmatic man like Jim Ellison would ever have a spirit animal? But he does. Who would have thought that we would become so connected that he could literally bring me back from the dead? But he did. In the seminal work on this subject, Burton says that Sentinels are the tribe's Watchmen, or protectors. There's something going on at a whole instinctive level that I have yet to get a handle on."

Jesse looked up from the book he'd been studying, eyes suddenly back to being bleak. "He didn't watch out for the tribe or protect anybody. All he did was hurt and look after his own interests. How can that be the same as Mark or Jim?" The doctor leaned back against his lover, seeking reassurance, and Steve automatically enveloped him in a tight embrace.

Blair bit his lip. Jesse had a point. "You could say the same of Alex Barnes," he admitted. "The general good of the tribe wasn't exactly at the top of her list of priorities."

Help came from an unexpected quarter. "Then maybe they weren't Sentinels," Mark offered.
"Maybe they had the enhanced senses but were actually something else."

"An anti-Sentinel?" Steve said. "That sounds... silly."

"No, no," Blair jumped in, excited at the ideas Mark's suggestion provoked. "Both Brackett and Barnes used their abilities for their own good rather than the good of the tribe... and looked what happened to them. Brackett's dead and Barnes might as well be. Hell, even before she vegged out, Alex was insane. From Jesse's description, Brackett might have been going over the mental edge too. I'd say that whatever the whole Sentinel connection is, it looks out for its own. Perhaps the ancients were right to build a temple to it." Sandburg happened to catch a glimpse of Jesse's stricken face and abruptly came back to reality. "But, you're right. They weren't Sentinels. It's an insult to Jim and Mark to even put them in the same category. I'll have to come up with a different name," the grad student smiled tentatively at the younger of the two Sloans, "Maybe not 'anti-Sentinel,' but something that differentiates them from the real Sentinels."

Jim leaned forward and wrapped an arm around Blair's shoulder, pulling the younger man to him. "I've got a good one, Chief."

"Yeah?" Blair challenged.

The Cascade detective grinned down at him. "How about 'bad guys?' It's simple and to the point."

"Very funny, Jim."

"I'm not sure the name is as important as knowing how many of them there are out there," Mark said, all hints of congeniality absent from his expression. This was the real reason he'd agreed to any of the testing. In order to protect his young friend, they needed to know the potential for another Brackett coming after Jesse.

Blair sobered. "There's no way of knowing. I searched for years before I found Jim. I could find people with one or two senses amplified, but he was the only one with all five. But, then again, this is a pretty sparsely populated part of the country, relatively speaking. I'm guessing that modern society doesn't have quite the need for a Watchmen as a traditional, more primitive one. Still, that's just an educated guess. After years of looking for one person will all five senses enhanced, within months, I come across another three. It doesn't make any sense, pardon the pun."

"What about..." Jesse faltered, licked his lips nervously, and then haltingly continued. "Bonding. Under what circumstances does a Sentinel... bond... with a Guide?"

Steve felt the effort it had taken his younger lover to ask the question and tightened his protective embrace as Jesse started to shake with a delayed reaction. Sitting nearby, Mark also was aware of his chosen son's distress. Reached out a hand, he cupped the back of Jesse's head, gently stroking the blonde hair.

Blair grabbed Jim's hand for support as he explained. "Jesse, Brackett got that stuff out of my private notes. I have no idea if bonding really exists or if it's all myth. There's no secondary research on Guides. For one thing, in all of Burton's work, they aren't even mentioned. Some of the folk tales and legends hint at it, but only with the vaguest of allusions. I just know, that when I met Jim, I felt an instant connection. Hell, minutes after I had my first real talk with him, I was throwing myself under a garbage truck for the man - and he'd been a real prick to me." The anthropologist sighed, deeply sorry for having been, albeit indirectly, a source for his friend's pain. "I think, though, that Jim and my connection - our bond, if you will - was instant and happened without the benefit of sex."

"I dunno, Chief," Jim said, running his thumb across the back of Blair's hand in an attempt to take the sting out of his disagreeing with one of his mate's theories. "I know what you mean, I would have willingly laid down my life for you long before we became lovers, but somehow that connection deepened when we became intimate."

"But how much of that is the normal change that occurs in a relationship when a couple becomes sexual partners," Blair asked, "and how much is unique to Sentinels and Guides?"

Steve Sloan shifted slightly on the floor, not entirely comfortable with an open discussion of sex lives. "But that brings us back to the original question - how do we protect Jesse?"

"Or Mark?" Dr. Travis was quick to add.

The friends went silent as each pondered the dilemma. Then, Blair's face cleared and, excited, he turned towards his lover. "Jim, how do you feel about Mark being in your home?"

Ellison looked down at the smaller man, confused. Bright blue eyes encouraged him to trust the direction that the grad student was taking and to respond as best he could to the question. "I suppose that I wish the circumstances for having him here were different, but Mark's always welcome in my home."

"Exactly," Sandburg snapped his fingers for emphasis, "You, a Sentinel, have absolutely no qualms or bad vibes about Mark, another Sentinel, being present in the very heart of your territory."

With Blair's clarification, Jim understood the point the anthropologist was trying to make and nodded his head in agreement. The Californians, unfortunately, still looked baffled.

"When a 'bad guy' Sentinel is in the area," Sandburg explained, "Jim knows it. He can just feel it. It's like a vibe or an instinct. Kinda like a subconscious "Danger, Will Robinson!" thing. But Jim's not reacting to Mark, a true Sentinel. That will be your warning sign. A real Sentinel, isn't a threat, so the Sentinel 'Spidey sense' doesn't kick in. A 'bad guy' Sentinel, on the other hand, is so the internal alarms go off."

"What are the warning signs?" Steve asked. "How did you know, Jim, the first time?"

Ellison thought about it, then tried as best he could to put words to the feelings. "It's like knowing something's wrong, but there's nothing obvious to cause it. You feel grumpy without a reason, snap at people, odd dreams. Sort of like Sentinel PMS." Jim grinned at his own joke. "With Mark's personality, it ought to be more noticeable than with me, he's normally got a sunnier disposition than I do." The description reminded the detective of something that had occurred to him during his recent incarceration. "Chief, remember how odd you were acting when Jesse came for dinner at the loft? Could it be that you were reacting with jealousy towards another Guide? We know Jess isn't of the 'bad guy' variety, so how does that fit into your theory?"
The thought hadn't crossed Sandburg's mind yet and he pursed his lips as he thought. "Mark was still in California at that point. Maybe it's because Jesse was in our territory without his Sentinel."

"Speaking of California," Jesse said, not nearly as interested in theories at that moment as he was practical applications. "Captain Banks said we should be cleared to go home soon. How much can you teach me before we leave? I mean, there's a lot to learn," The doctor gestured at the textbook littered living room. "I don't think I can absorb it all before we go."

"Jess, there's no need," Mark said, intending to comfort his young Guide. "I've managed this far without specialized knowledge, I'm sure we'll do just fine."

"No!" Jesse responded, struggling out of Steve's arms to face the elderly Sentinel. When his voice cracked, still not fully recovered from the drug and worn out with all the talking the young doctor had been doing, Jesse deflated and settled back against his lover's chest. "I want to learn," he said softly. "Otherwise, what happened won't mean anything. Being kidnaped, Brackett, everything. I want it to mean something, for some good to come out of it." By the time he was finished, the injured man's voice had softened to a whisper.

"All right, Jess," Mark Sloan responded. "But you still don't have to learn everything today. I'm sure that you and Blair will work something out. Maybe that e-mail you're always talking about. That would be a good way to exchange information, wouldn't it?"

"Jack Kelso said he'd help me set up a more secure system," Blair offered. "I'm sure he'd have ideas for how we could exchange ideas and information in a way that's relatively safe." The grad student looked shyly at his fellow Guide. "Biological anthropology's never been my strong suit. It would be great to have someone with a medical background study this with me. The genetic potential of being able to study a Sentinel and his offspring, for example, is too good to pass up..."

"Uh oh, Mark," Jim teased, "You've created a monster."

"Very funny, Big Guy," Blair poked at his larger lover. "Just because you don't have an appreciation for scientific methods, doesn't mean they aren't valid. Until we can get your dad to open up about who else he'd known with enhanced senses, studying Mark and Steve..." The anthropologist broke off talking to Ellison and turned towards the elder of the Sloans, "Mark, didn't you say you have a daughter? Does she have any children? I'm wondering if the Sentinel abilities skip a generation, like some forms of diabetes do."

Steve ignored Sandburg's enthusiastic chatter, having noticed that Jesse's attention had been taken by a folder he'd just opened. "Jess, what is it?"

"It's probably nothing..." Jesse was reluctant to voice an opinion or discovery.

"No, go ahead," Blair encouraged. "A new set eyes might see a piece of data I've missed."
"It's just," the young doctor said, "that this says that Alex Barnes' eyes were blue... and Jim's eyes are blue... and Mark's eyes are blue... and his eyes were blue."

Ellison whistled in appreciation. "So are your and Blair's."

"I mean, it's probably nothing..." Jesse tried to discount his own observation, "Blue eyes occur in Caucasians, but not for other races. You certainly aren't going to have an African American with blue eyes, but maybe..."

"Maybe it's a correlational pattern," Blair jumped in, bouncing again. It was a good thing that Ellison had invested in good quality furniture that was known to have an excellent spring support system. "At least for European Americans or other primarily white populations..."

The three older man listened indulgently as the younger two enthusiastically hypothesized. If a monster had been created, it was obviously a two headed one, Jesse's enthusiasm having helped come out of his self-imposed shell a little bit. Mark waited until Jim glanced his way, then silently mouthed the words "thank you" at his friend. Jim nodded his recognition, pleased that he and his lover had helped in any small way to aid in Jesse's recovery.

Dr. Travis still had a long way to go in the journey of his emotional healing, but at least now had taken his first steps down that path.

************************************

"So, are you my designated babysitter?" The raspy quality of Jesse's still-recovering voice gave the question a particularly dry inflection.

"Babysitter?" Jim asked as he settled himself next to his injured friend. "Not hardly. I just wanted a chance to speak to you alone before you guys headed back to L.A."

It taken less than six hours after receiving Jesse's statement for the FBI to clear him and the others of any responsibility for Lee Brackett's death. That meant that the out of towners were free to head back to California. Since Mark and Steve were eager to get Jesse back to their home environment, the trio had booked seats on the early morning flight.

Not only was it the early morning flight, it was the very early morning flight and the gate they were waiting in was very sparsely populated. Jesse was huddled in a wheelchair, a device that had been a compromise between his dignity and Steve's determination that he wouldn't yet walk on his injured feet. The young man had on his lover's blue cotton sweater. It was much too big for him, but the doctor had been wearing it all of his waking hours since the rescue. At the moment, he had the over-long sleeves pulled down to hide the bruised marks on his wrists. Jesse's feet were covered in loose leather slippers, the flexible material fitting over his bandages and providing a little extra protection.

Mark Sloan had also insisted that his patient take a full dose of the pain medication and Jesse yawned as he fought its full effects, as well as the drowsiness caused by the early hour and general lack of sleep. Even so, the injured Guide looked directly at Ellison and challenged the detective's earlier statement. "And the fact that Blair's got Steve and Mark cornered over by the vending machines has nothing to do with it?"

"A little," Jim admitted, "Sandburg's running interference for me. Steve and his dad have been a little bit protective of you - with good reason."

The Sentinel wasn't exactly lying, but neither was he telling the unadulterated truth. While he had been looking for a private moment with Jesse, Blair had also asked him to distract the other Guide so he could warn the Sloans about something. Jim had been worried about the sound of that, but had complied with his mate's request. Whatever it was, it had occurred to Blair after they were already at the airport and he was confident that Sandburg would fill him in when he had a chance.

Jim shifted in his seat, not only because the uncomfortable airport terminal chair was making his butt numb, but also to block the smaller man's view of the rest of their party. "Jess," the detective said, waiting until the doctor would meet his eyes before continuing. "I just wanted you to know how sorry I am about what happened. Brackett was a nightmare out of Blair's and my past. No way should you have been pulled into that mess."

"Jim, it's not your fault. You tried to protect me...."

"Not hard enough, obviously, because you still got hurt." Without Sandburg's mitigating presence, the Sentinel's self-inflicted guilt came back full force.

Jesse Travis reacted the way that any Guide would - he reached out to comfort. "Hey, it's not your fault. It was an elaborate set-up, you had no way of knowing an attack would come from the ocean and," the younger man continued, talking right over Jim's attempt to interrupt, "When they took me from the cell, I heard you. If it would have been humanly possible to get out of that prison and help me, you would have. You did everything you could, please don't beat yourself up about it."

Jim smiled in spite of himself, touched at Jesse's words and amused that they so closely mirrored Blair's. "You know," he said to the doctor, "You are one hell of a strong man. I hope you realize that."

Jesse dropped both his eyes and the hand he'd placed on Jim's arm. "I don't know about that... I feel like a wimp. I mean, he didn't even rape me, but I still get nightmares and I feel like I'm clinging to Steve and Mark all the time. They do everything for me and I just let them." The younger man swiped at his eyes, the sweater absorbing the few tears that had leaked out. "See? I get all weepy over nothing."

"I wouldn't call it 'nothing,' Jess, and neither would you if we were talking about someone else," Jim insisted. "Okay, maybe what happened didn't fit the textbook definition of rape, maybe, but it was pretty damn close. Close enough to not make any difference. Not up here," The Sentinel tapped gently on Jesse's forehead, "Where it matters. You've got every right to be shaken up. As for Steve and Mark, are they complaining about doing stuff for you?"

When Jesse shook his head in the negative, Jim nodded, having expected nothing less. "See there? Don't worry, Jess. They're almost as shook up as you are, hovering over you is as much to make them feel better as it is you."

"Really?" Jesse's voice sounded hopeful.

"Really," Ellison said firmly, "Only don't tell them that I told you that. It's a secret and only us Sentinels and Blessed Protectors are supposed to know."

The detective looked so solemn as he said it that Jesse at first took him seriously. Then the older man winked and he knew that Jim was teasing. He was still grinning when their flight was called and had to hold back a snort of laughter when Steve and Mark came rushing over.

"Jess, you ready to go?" His lover asked, looking at him anxiously. "You don't have to use the bathroom before we board, do you? If so, we'd better do it here on the ground where there's more room. Those airplane toilets are a bitch to maneuver in."

The young doctor had barely said no before Mark was kneeling in front of him, peering intently into his eyes. "How's the pain? Did the Percoset kick in yet? Moving you into the plane might get a bit bumpy."

Jesse giggled, stopping both Sloans' flurry of activity. Not knowing of the younger man's conversation with Jim, they just looked at one another in surprise. "I think," Steve finally said, "We can safely assume that the medication's working, Dad. In fact, I think it's made him a bit loopy."

Mark just nodded and got behind Jesse's wheelchair, pushing the young man towards the gate agent. Just short of the stand, the procession came to a stop. After days of waiting to go home, now that the time had finally arrived, no one quite knew how to say goodbye.

"You'll call, if you need any advise on how to deal with a Sentinel, okay?" Blair said. "And I'll let you know as soon as Jack Kelso's helped me with that secure e-mail system he promised."

"Please tell Simon again how much we appreciate his hospitality," Mark said. The police captain had been putting in extra hours, covering for Jim and Blair while the two stayed home to support their friends, and so couldn't be at the airport to see them off. "He's got a place to stay if he should ever want to come visit Los Angeles. That goes for all of you boys."

"And we promise," Steve said with a grin, "To protect Simon from Amanda." The California detective's smile faded. "No surfing, though."

"No," His lover shuddered. Jesse looked up at his friends, his eyes dark with emotion. "Please don't take this the wrong way, guys, but I don't think I ever want to come to Cascade again."

"We understand," Jim said, placing a comforting hand on Jesse's shoulder. "Just remember what I said about strength. You got it, Sport, and then some."

"Besides," Blair said, trying to lighten the tension. "Like Mark says, we can always come out to Los Angeles to see you. Third time's the charm, right?" The others looked perplexed, so he explained. "The first time we met up in New York, Jesse and I got involved in a hostage situation. Now, this second time, Jesse and Jim got kidnapped. So the next time will we get together will be the third. There's always a kernel of truth in those old folk sayings, so nothing's bound to happen the third time, that's why it's charmed."

The older three men were spared from answering by the final boarding call. After a flurry of hugs, slapping of backs, and promises to stay in touch, the wheelchair and its two attendants disappeared down the breezeway. The last look the two Cascadians had of their friends was Jesse's sweater-covered hand, waving goodbye.

Blair sighed as they watched the airplane's final preparations. Jim took a quick survey of the area and decided that it was empty enough to risk putting an arm around his lover's shoulder. "You're going to miss them, aren't you?"

"Yeah," the smaller man admitted as he snuggled closer, trusting Ellison's senses to warn of any unwanted observers. "I mean, I hate what happened to Jesse, but yesterday, having someone to talk Guide stuff about, it felt good."

Jim gave his mate a squeeze. "Sorry, Chief. I just can't keep up with you on that stuff."

Blair shook his head. "You are a deeper man that you like people to know, James Ellison" he chided. "But that's okay. I know you're more comfortable doing stuff than talking about it. Besides, Jesse and I can trade ideas long distance. It's the Communication Age, after all."

The two watched until the plane had taken off, turning in companionable silence to head out to the car.

"Hey," Jim finally asked. "What did you need to talk to Mark and Steve about? What was so important?"

Blair wrapped his arms around himself. "You know how I was saying that a Sentinel/Guide bond could happen without sex? And that maybe Mark and Jesse were an example? I got to thinking, that maybe there was sex involved after all."

Ellison admired and liked Mark Sloan, but the thought of him and Jesse together sexually wasn't very appealing. "Ick."

Sandburg rolled his eyes. "Not like that, Jim. I'm thinking about Steve. Mark's already been bonded sexually to a Guide," Blair was pretty confident that Catherine Sloan had been Mark's original Guide, a fact that personally brought him a lot of comfort. If the elder Sentinel could survive the death of his partner, then Jim could too, if anything should happen to Blair. "So, who happens to show up as a replacement Guide, but Jesse, who just so happens to be the perfect mate for Steve Sloan, Mark's son."

Ellison stopped dead in his tracks and the grad student actually moved ahead a few steps before he realized that his companion was no longer at his side. "Jim, what's the matter?"

"Chief, are you saying that Jesse and Steve became lovers because Jesse was destined to be Mark's Guide?"

"Well..."

"What about us then, Blair?" Even though he was upset, Jim was careful to keep his voice low. Although the airport was pretty empty, it still was a public place. "I love you because you're you, Blair. I love the man who hums while he brushes his teeth and can see past even the pissiest of my moods. I love the man who's spent ten years in the academic world and still has a thirst to learn. I'd love you even if you weren't my Guide, Chief. The Sentinel stuff is the smallest part of what you mean to me."

Sandburg blushed. He knew that Jim loved him deeply, but given his lover's personality, didn't often have it so clearly articulated. As he'd said just a minute before, the Sentinel was a man of action rather than words and preferred to show his feelings rather than talking about them.

"Thanks, babe, that was beautiful... but that's not what I'm saying, Jim. Have you ever wondered why I ended up in Cascade? I mean, Naomi and I wandered all over the world, why did I settle down in this particular city? Hell, why did I settle down anywhere? For that matter, why did you come back here after you got out of the army? You were estranged from your family, so why Cascade?"

"I don't know..."

"Exactly. What if," Blair hypothesized, "We were drawn back here and brought together, not so I could be your Guide, but because I was the one Guide who could also be your mate? Same thing with Jesse. He grew up in Illinois and got all of his education there too. Then -- wham! -- when he's done with med school, it's off to Los Angeles, where he just happens to meet up with Mark Sloan and just happens to fall in love with Mark's son."

Ellison didn't look convinced. "I'm not sure, Chief. You make it sound like there's some higher power playing matchmaker for Sentinels and Guides. That doesn't sound right."

Blair shook his head. "Nope. Just instinct, Jim. A Sentinel lives by instinct and I think it's possible that the right Sentinel/Guide combination manage to find one another thanks to a natural inherent drive. Maybe that's why Brackett and Barnes didn't have their own Guides, they weren't really Sentinels and didn't have the right kind of predisposition. Which is what makes Mark and Jesse's case so potentially dangerous for Jess."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if I'm right and Steve is the one fulfilling the mate part of the bond, then what happens to Jesse if Steve should have a big fight with his dad? I don't mean an everyday disagreement, but a really big blowout that estranges them. Jesse would be torn between loyalty to his mate and loyalty to his Sentinel."

Jim finally got where Blair was heading with this idea. "That would not be good. Not good at all."

"Now, there's the understatement of the year," Sandburg said, "It would tear him right apart. So, I thought I should warn them. Not that they're likely to get into a knock down, drag out fight anyway, but I thought they should know the possible repercussions."

The two men started walking towards the exit again. "I have to admit, Chief, that I like Jesse's theory about Sentinels and Guides having blue eyes better."

"Yeah, it's got it's good points, that's for sure." Sandburg struck an exaggerated thinking pose. "What about Paul Newman? You think that we could get him to let me test him for enhanced senses? He's got really pretty blue eyes."

"What I think," Jim said, his own eyes twinkling, "Is that I'd like to take you home and show you just how strong my instincts are. What do you say?"

"I'd say that you don't have to ask me twice," Blair responded, lengthening his step.

"Oh, and Chief," his Sentinel said, a plaintive tone to his voice as he hurried to catch up with the smaller man. "I don't want a towel coming within spitting distance of the bed."

********************************

Somewhere high above Cascade and rapidly moving south, Jesse Travis had already lapsed into an exhausted slumber. Hand clasped tightly with Steve's and Mark Sloan a solid presence in the seat behind him, the doctor slept peacefully. For once, his dreams were untroubled ones, full of strange but oddly comforting animal shapes.

A panther. A wolf. A pair of otters....

And watching over them all, a polar bear, white from both natural coloration and age.

~The End~