New TS fic - "Lifebond #2: Testing the Connection"

[calic0cat]

Yes, people, I'm still alive and writing, though RL seems to be eating up most of my time. Apologies to all the folks that I owe email responses to; I'll try to catch up on at least the most recent ones, but I may end up letting the older ones go. So if anyone sent me something that really needs a response, and you haven't heard back from me by the end of the weekend, try contacting me again. Somehow, I just don't seem to have the energy to spend much time online lately, whether it be skimming LJ posts, reading newly-posted fics, or responding to email. So, I'm horrifically behind in all of the aforementioned. This does, however, mean that I've been putting any free time that I do have to better use, namely writing. Hopefully, I'll have at least one GW story - probably the next LWH - ready by the time I do a site update Monday night. *crosses fingers*

In the meantime, here's the next fic in my TS "Lifebond" AU series. (Oh, and the first fic in the series can be found here.)



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Title: Testing the Connection
Series: Lifebond #2
Author: Calic0cat <calic0cat@fastmail.fm>
Story Completed: March 26, 2005
Category: pre-slash
Pairing: J/B
Rating: R
Warnings: Swearing, implied past NCS (non-con sex)
Website: http://calic0cat.freeservers.com/
Disclaimer: Don't own Jim and Blair and the rest of the gang and I'm sure not making any money off of'em. Not making any money off the story itself either, but it at least does belong to me.

Notes: A Sentinel/Guide AU. Calling this installment "pre-slash" is stretching things but, since the series is definitely going to - eventually - become slash, I think it's appropriate.

Author's Notes: Thanks to T.W., Sheila, OzSaur, Pam, and all the other folks on SenBetas for all of the editing assistance. Any remaining errors are mine.

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He was cold. Cold, and hungry, and exhausted. None of which was anything new, really, but now that he'd allowed himself to hope, however cautiously, that things might be about to change for the better, he was finding the wait - difficult. Jim knew that there were formalities to be observed, knew that Sandburg had little if any control over the process, but he couldn't help feeling a bit anxious over just how long it all seemed to be taking.

He'd been separated from his new Guide almost immediately after they'd emerged from the bonding room. No one had bothered to explain to him what was going on, but the bonding session had grounded his senses sufficiently for him to listen in on the explanation being given to Sandburg while he was being firmly removed to an isolation room. By the time that the door had slid shut, cutting off all sensory contact with the outside world, he at least had known that this was a normal procedure intended to test the solidity of a new bond. He'd reluctantly but obediently surrendered the blanket he'd been wrapped in, then knelt in the middle of the room as ordered. There were times and places for defiance; this was neither. This was the time to follow orders and to wait.

Easier said than done.

Kneeling on the floor of the isolation room, Jim clung doggedly to the mental cord of light and warmth connecting him to his Guide. The room's design prevented him from using any of his other senses to reinforce the sense of connection, and the separation - along with the doubts that had set in as the initial euphoria of the bonding had faded - was slowly wearing away at the fabric of the bond. He knew that it wasn't as strong and solid as it had been, though it was still both deeper and more stable than either of his previous bonds. Even as he struggled to hold on to the remaining link, apprehension about Sandburg's response to its instability curdled deep inside him.

Sure, the kid had seemed pretty damn nice so far, especially in comparison to Brackett. Jim didn't exactly expect his new Guide to take the same vicious pleasure in punishing him for the bond's deterioration, but... Well, he didn't really *know* Sandburg, after all. No matter how openly accepting he had seemed in the midst of bonding, Jim couldn't be certain that his apparent good-naturedness would continue when things weren't going as smoothly.

In his experience, anything that seemed too good to be true, usually was. And Sandburg definitely seemed too good to be true.

The sound of the isolation room's door opening left Jim fumbling for control of hearing that had unconsciously dialled up, seeking any trace of his Guide. Barely wrenching it under control as it overloaded on the burst of noise that came through the briefly open door, he gave a quick, surreptitious glance at the new arrival. Apprehension flared, almost strongly enough to drown out the surge of hatred that accompanied his recognition of the man.

Brackett.

***

Projecting a calm that he didn't entirely feel, Blair continued to meditate. Over two hours had passed since he and his Sentinel had exited the bonding room. Separation to test their bond had been immediate, and expected. But he hadn't expected the process to take quite this long. Long enough, in fact, that the bond had backslid from a Three to something closer to a Two.

Blair wasn't surprised that the Level Three hadn't held; lopsided bonds were by their very nature unstable, and tended to seek equilibrium. With a bond as new as theirs, and with a Sentinel as understandably wary as Jim, it was only natural that it would backslide to a more stable, equal level fairly quickly once they were physically separated. Maintaining an unbalanced connection was theoretically possible, but it would require a conscious, ongoing effort on the part of both Sentinel and Guide, something that Jim probably had no idea how to accomplish. Bond manipulation wasn't generally taught to Sentinels, since it could be used to resist the bond just as easily as it could be used to reinforce it. Very few Guides developed much skill at it, either; it was easier to rely on Shieldeze than to develop fine control over their mental shields, a necessary prerequisite for development of control over the bond.

Fine control over his shields, and thus, at least theoretically, over the bond, wasn't a problem for Blair; the assorted shamans and gurus that had trained him in lieu of a more conventional Guide education had seen to that. The connection between his Sentinel and himself was stable for the moment, but he was monitoring it closely. Common knowledge said that he couldn't reinforce their link without physical contact with his Sentinel. But then, unbonded Guides weren't generally considered to be capable of shielding another person's emotions, either, and that hadn't stopped him from concealing Janet's revulsion at the auction earlier. It wasn't *easy*, but it was possible, and he really couldn't see why reinforcing the bond shouldn't be possible too. If the link with Jim started to deteriorate too badly, he would do whatever he could to maintain it at the required level.

Once the ownership transfer was completed, the bond's strength wouldn't matter; Jim would remain safely in Blair's charge even if it completely disintegrated. Until then, however, maintaining at least a Level Two was critical.

The connection to Jim wavered, then flared with emotion. Hatred. Anxiety.

Something - some*one* - probed the connection, looming with deliberate menace.

Shit. No way was he letting some asshole try to intimidate Jim and mess with their bond. Whoever that Guide might be, he was in for a surprise. Naomi'd taught *him* shielding techniques under the guise of games when he was practically still in diapers; Blair had yet to meet a conventionally-trained Guide who could match his shields. Sure, under ordinary circumstances, the physical separation from the one he was shielding could make things a little tricky, but if even half the things his research had implied about lifebonds were true...

Blair sent a surge of reassurance across the link, extending his own shields along its path to settle into place around those of his Sentinel. To his delight, the natural, innate potential of a lifebond kicked in, bolstering his mental strength and negating the physical distance between them. A lifetime of training in the control of his abilities stood him in good stead as he easily deflected the relatively clumsy probe. Relief and a sense of welcome flowed back across the connection. Echoing back the welcome and deliberately opening his end of the bond in invitation, he felt his awareness of Jim deepen. Where only a faint sense of discomfort had reached him before, now he could feel just how cold, tired, hungry, thirsty, and sore Jim really was.

He could also sense that the intrusive Guide was physically near his Sentinel - and that the Guide's very presence was stressing out his new partner.

Opening his eyes, Blair surged from full lotus position to his feet in a heartbeat. That did it. Jim had been through enough; he wasn't going to stand by and allow further mistreatment. Stalking across to the communications panel, he palmed the control and snapped, "Get whoever the hell is harassing my Sentinel away from him. *Now.* Or I'll deal with the problem myself." He could think of at least three or four familiar, well-honed techniques that could be adapted for that purpose.

Before he received a verbal response, alarm flared across the link just as another burst of pure malevolence was directed at Jim. Instinctively, Blair reacted in his Sentinel's defence.

***

Jim had barely had time to flinch from Brackett's mental probe before the bond surged with power and a second set of shields unexpectedly settled into place outside his own, taking the impact of his former Guide's vicious jab. Desperation and instinct overriding wariness, he embraced the warm comfort gratefully, opening up and reaching out, allowing the link with his new Guide to deepen.

"Well, well, well," Brackett drawled, sounding faintly amused as he slowly circled Jim, "so your new owner thinks that he can play with the big boys, does he?" He clicked his tongue reprovingly. "These academic types can be so foolishly naive..."

The door opened again. Jim recognized one of the two men who entered as the CIA Colonel who had accompanied the group to the auction. The Colonel ordered, "Stand down, Brackett. The test is complete."

Ignoring the new arrivals, the CIA Guide smirked. "Let's see the little professor handle *this*."

Alarmed, Jim tried to send a warning along the link. Central Interstellar Authority Guides were trained to use their abilities as a weapon; most Guides wouldn't have shields strong enough to resist that kind of assault. A surge of reassurance, of supportive protectiveness, came in response. Through the bond, he felt Brackett's attack impact Blair's shields - and rebound.

Gaze jerking up from the floor in shock as Brackett gave an inarticulate cry, Jim watched in stunned disbelief as the CIA Guide doubled over, clutching at his head. Jim was torn between grim satisfaction at Brackett's pain and fear of the vicious retaliation that would inevitably follow. Brackett had underestimated Sandburg; Jim knew that he wouldn't make that mistake again. Next time, Sandburg wouldn't get the upper hand so easily.

Before Brackett had a chance to recover, let alone retaliate, the Colonel barked out sharply, "Guide Brackett! Stand down! This test is complete."

The auction employee commanded, "Sentinel, follow me."

Obediently, Jim rose and followed the man out of the room. Behind him, he heard the Colonel reprimanding Brackett for ignoring the initial order to stand down before the door slid closed, cutting off Brackett's response.

Jim hoped that was the last he'd ever hear of Brackett. But he had an uneasy feeling that it wasn't.

***

"A confirmed Level Two after less than four hours in the bonding chamber?" The registration clerk whistled in admiration, glancing away from his monitor. "And with a CIA *discard*..."

Blair bit back the urge to protest the derogatory reference to his Sentinel. Reaming out the man responsible for completing the transfer of "ownership" that would put Jim safely in his charge would *not* be a good idea. He did, however, allow his burst of outraged indignation to travel along the bond to Jim; his new partner deserved to know that he *wanted* to rip the asshole a new one.

"Impressive, very impressive..."

"Not nearly as impressive as you finishing the damn formalities so that we could finally get the hell out of here would be," Blair muttered under his breath as the clerk continued to ramble away. A faint flicker of amusement momentarily overlaid the anxious impatience emanating from the man kneeling on the floor beside his chair. Blair didn't blame Jim for being impatient; it had already taken hours just to get their bond confirmed.

Inaccurately confirmed, at that. Sure, the Level Three had dropped to a Two for a while, but he suspected that they'd actually ended up with a Four after that last little "test". Jim had both opened up and reached out to Blair when Blair had shielded him from the other Guide's mental probe, and that had deepened the bond substantially at both ends. Whether that deeper connection would hold or not - well, that was a different question entirely. Maybe it would; maybe - probably, if he was honest - it wouldn't. The simple fact that their bond was a lifebond didn't automatically make it either deep or stable; that would take time. Time, and getting to know each other well enough for Jim to allow Blair inside his defences on an ongoing basis. Genuinely earning the trust of an abused, castoff military Sentinel wasn't going to happen in a single day.

If ever.

"Bond confirmed, payment cleared... It looks like everything's in order." The registration clerk gestured towards the small bioscanner on the desk. "You just need to confirm that you accept ownership, and the transfer will be complete."

Blair inserted his Guide ID card in the waiting slot, then slid his hand into the scanner. A flicker of light and the sharp prick of a needle confirmed his palm scan and genetic profile.

"Congratulations, Guide Sandburg. You're the official owner of your first Sentinel. Now, I just need your chosen designation for your new purchase..."

"Jim?" Blair asked, turning his gaze towards his Sentinel. "Should it be Jim Ellison, or is it James, or...?"

Startled blue eyes jerked up from the floor to meet his searchingly. Uncertainty and confusion flickered over the bond, and Blair projected encouragement. A hint of defiant challenge accompanied the response that finally came. "James Joseph Ellison."

"Guide Sandburg?"

Blair gave Jim a small smile and held Jim's gaze steadily as he told the clerk, "You heard the man."

"Guide Sandburg, I realize that this is your first bond. Perhaps you aren't aware that official designations are usually..."

"The Guide's choice," Blair interrupted the patronizing lecture, well aware that the man had intended to remind him that designations were usually short and simple appellations, often alphanumeric combinations, and definitely *not* ordinary names. Especially not the Sentinel's original birth name. Turning to the clerk, he said firmly, "And, as the Guide, I choose to let my Sentinel choose his name. Do you need him to spell it out for you?"

"This is highly irreg..."

Standing, Blair cut the man off abruptly. "But completely legal. Register his name." Jim was officially - safely - his responsibility now; he could, for the most part, treat him exactly as he pleased. And he "pleased" to treat him as a human being.

***

Jim watched in shocked disbelief as, at his new Guide's insistence, his own name was entered as his new official, legal designation. He'd almost dared to hope that, maybe, Sandburg would be nice enough to have him registered as "Jim", since the kid had gone to the trouble of actually asking his name earlier, but he certainly hadn't expected to be given the opportunity to get his full birth name back. It wasn't the same as actually regaining his citizenship - his identity - by any means, but still...

"Jim, man, your knees must be killing you. You want to stand up?"

Despite feeling stunned by Sandburg's behaviour, Jim took the offered hand and rose a bit unsteadily. His physical condition, combined with the shock of the day's events, was beginning to catch up to him. It was starting to sink in that he was no longer the property of the Central Interstellar Authority, no longer under Brackett's control.

Lips tight with disapproval, the clerk rounded the desk. Jim couldn't quite prevent an involuntary flinch as the man pressed the cold muzzle of the handheld chip scanner to his back, sliding it across his skin until a beep signalled that it had successfully reprogrammed the implanted microchip.

"We good to go now?" Sandburg demanded as the man returned to his workstation.

"In a moment." Holding up a cloth bag with the auction yard's logo emblazoned on the side, the man continued coolly, "Here is your complementary starter kit; we supply them to all first-bond Guides. The kit includes samples of various Sentinel-friendly products, provided for your convenience. It also includes clothing that exceeds local decency statutes and meets the dress code for utilizing public transit." Holding a data reader, he explained, "This contains your Sentinel's medical and behavioural records; be sure to familiarize yourself with his history." Sliding the reader into the bag, he picked up a handful of pamphlets and added them as well. "These are very informative leaflets on Sentinel training and discipline." Giving Blair a stern look, the official recommended disapprovingly, "I would strongly suggest that you read them carefully; they offer excellent advice on establishing a proper relationship dynamic with your new Sentinel."

Accepting the proffered bag, Sandburg replied drily, "I'll keep that in mind." Too softly for a non-Sentinel to hear, he muttered, "They should provide great advice on how *not* to behave." He started to dig through the bag as he turned away from the desk. "C'mon, Jim, let's get outta here."

Still trying to adjust to the knowledge that he now belonged to this long-haired, seemingly unconventional, *kid*, and uncertain quite what to make of his new Guide, Jim followed silently. Being under Sandburg's control had to be better than being subject to Brackett's every whim, but he really didn't know what would be expected of him as a privately-owned Sentinel.

"Oh, hey, this must be the - uh, clothes." Blair halted for a moment, grimacing apologetically as he held out a bundle of fluorescent orange cloth. "Umm, sorry I don't have something better to offer right now; we'll have to go shopping."

Anything was better than nothing; Jim took the clothing without hesitation. He dragged the ill-fitting T-shirt over his head, not caring that the material was thin, the seams uneven, and the colour distinctly attention-grabbing. Bending over to don the exercise pants, an unexpected wave of dizziness caught him.

"Whoa, take it easy there, man." A firm hand grabbed his shoulder, steadying him. "Hey, you okay?"

"Just a little light-headed," Jim admitted. He'd learned the hard way that trying to hide things from a Guide led to painful consequences. Honesty was - usually - much safer. Straightening, he pulled up the pants and tied the drawstring at his waist. "Haven't eaten since they loaded us up to come here." And he'd been on reduced rations since his attack on Brackett; water and half of a stale military-issue ration bar didn't make much of a meal.

"So you last ate, when, at breakfast this morning? Supper last night?"

He'd spent most of the time since Brackett's recovery either in a self-induced zone or drifting in a pain-filled haze after one of Brackett's little disciplinary sessions with the shock collar, so his time sense was a little vague. "Breakfast." That much he was sure of; the sight and smell of Brackett's bacon and eggs had made his mouth water while he'd waited for permission to eat his own, much less appetizing, meal. Exactly how much time had passed since then, he really wasn't sure. Based on how far they'd have had to travel, though... Uncertainly, he offered, "A couple of days ago, maybe?"

Fury blasted across the bond. Instantly, Jim dropped to his knees, head down, heart racing, muscles taut and quivering in anticipation of a jolt from the collar. He didn't know what he'd done wrong, but that was irrelevant. His Guide was angry, and that meant punishment.

"What the hell?! Jim?" A bewildering rush of emotions flooded the link, overwhelming Jim. Alarm, anger, remorse, guilt, contrition, concern... He shuddered under the impact. "Oh shit!" The emotional overload faded to a muted, more bearable level. Vaguely, he became aware of a low-pitched but intense litany of apologies pouring from his Guide's mouth. "Jim, man, I'm *so* sorry... such an idiot... forgot... inside shields... overload... not mad at *you*... it's okay... sorry... c'mon Jim, up you get..."

Jim's arm was pulled over a sturdy shoulder, urging him back to his feet. Embarrassed by his conditioned response to his Guide's anger, bewildered by the apparent implication that all of that outrage was on his behalf rather than directed at him, last reserves of strength drained by the adrenaline rush, he managed to stumble awkwardly along as Sandburg half-carried, half-dragged him down the hall.

"Jim, c'mon, man, focus for a minute here, okay? So it's been a couple of days since you ate; what about fluids?"

It was surprisingly difficult to concentrate long enough to come up with an answer. "Water. After we arrived here. This morning?" Brackett had timed a jolt from the collar so that he'd spilled most of his share, but he'd still ended up with a few swallows.

Distantly, he was aware of being pushed down into a chair while Sandburg spoke to someone, then fingers, still twitching in anticipation of the shock that hadn't happened, were pressed around the curve of a bottle, and steadier hands helped him raise it while his Guide's voice coaxed him to drink. Cool liquid exploded in his mouth with the unmistakable sharp tang of a sports drink. Jim gulped it greedily, only yielding reluctantly when, voice sharp, his Guide dragged the bottle away. An eternity later, he was allowed a few more swallows. After several repetitions, his vague awareness of Sandburg's words gradually resolved into something more understandable.

"Easy, Jim, you can have more, promise, just slow down a little or you'll bring it all back up."

Forcing himself to lower the bottle before Sandburg had to do it for him, Jim managed to choke out, "Okay."

Crouched in front of him, Sandburg beamed in relief. "Hey, you back with us, man?"

"Yeah," he acknowledged wearily. "Sorry."

A tightly-controlled burst of reassurance surged across the bond. "Nothing to be sorry for, Jim. Not your fault you're dehydrated and light-headed from hunger." Gesturing towards the bottled drink, Sandburg assured him, "Go ahead and drink that; just take it slow. I've got another one for the drive home." Looking off to the side, he said, "Could you go get the car?"

A female voice replied, "I'll meet you at the side door in ten minutes."

"Thanks, Janet." Turning his attention back to Jim, he said, "Listen, you want me to get you something to eat out of the vending machine too? An energy bar, maybe? Or would you rather just wait till we're home and I can fix you some soup or something? This time of night - or morning, rather - it shouldn't take more than an hour or so for the trip."

Faced with a choice - something he hadn't had in a very long time - Jim wasn't sure how to respond. Was there a "right" choice? What would his Guide do if he chose incorrectly? He hadn't been punished yet, but... Too much was happening too fast; Jim couldn't adjust to all of the changes so quickly. He swallowed and dropped his gaze, avoiding Sandburg's eyes while he struggled to make a decision.

After a few moments, sympathy and sorrowful understanding whispered softly across the link. "Hey, you know what, why don't I just grab a little something and bring it along in case you decide you want it later."

The knot of anxiety eased. The choice of what and when to eat was still there, still his, but the pressure of the need for an immediate decision was gone. And maybe... maybe both choices were equally acceptable to his Guide.

Maybe - just maybe - Sandburg wasn't too good to be true. Maybe his life really had taken a drastic turn for the better.

Maybe.

***

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Sitting in the back seat of Janet's car, Blair directed another anxious, uneasy look across its width. The Sentinel seemed to have finally gotten the shaking under control. Whether that was thanks to the sports drinks and energy bars that Jim had consumed, or to the fact that Blair had been exercising intense control over their link, very carefully allowing nothing but calm, reassuring emotions to gently - very gently - flow across it, he didn't know. Blair just hoped that he wasn't screwing things up too badly; this situation was completely beyond anything he'd ever experienced, and he had no fucking idea what he was doing.

The Sentinel was most likely undernourished and borderline dehydrated. His ribs were much too prominent, but his muscle tone hadn't completely deteriorated. His body was scarred and heavily mottled with bruises, not all of which were from the mistreatment that Blair had witnessed before the auction. Simply put, Jim wasn't exactly the picture of health.

Probably, he should be taking Jim to the nearest hospital rather than back to his home. But hospitals cost money - big money. Money that he didn't have at the moment. While Rainier's grad student health insurance *would* cover his Sentinel, he would have to file the appropriate paperwork with the university's Human Resources department before it would take effect, and he couldn't do that until the office re-opened at the beginning of the school week. Anyway, he wasn't too sure that Jim was up to handling the stress of being poked and prodded by strangers, at least not at the moment. Hospitals weren't exactly a stroll in the park for Sentinels at the best of times, and Blair wasn't sure which of the city hospitals currently had the best record for their humane treatment.

Okay, so, no hospital. Instead, after Jim had a chance to get some sleep and eat a nourishing meal or two, he'd broach the subject of a checkup at the campus clinic. Sentinels tended to be treated in a less degrading fashion by the academic community at large, so a visit there should be less stressful and humiliating than one to an emergency room.

Besides, Sheila worked at the clinic; he'd dated her a while back, and they'd stayed friends afterwards. Blair was pretty sure that he could persuade her to "misplace" the billing until the insurance paperwork went through. Hopefully, Jim would agree to a checkup; Blair really didn't think that it would be a good idea to force the issue, but he was concerned about his new partner's physical condition.

Not to mention his mental and emotional condition. Jim's internal turmoil was coming through their link loud and clear, to the extent that Blair had been forced to start filtering it out in an attempt to protect his own mental and emotional state.

The deeper connection between them was still holding. Undoubtedly, part of the reason for that was the lifebond. But he suspected that it was also because, at the moment, Jim's defences were low, nearly nonexistent. Jim simply didn't have the energy to close down and shut him out again. With the bond already consensually anchored partway inside Jim's shields, Blair had the strength and training to slip right through the remainder of Jim's weakened defences if he so chose. Once inside, he could sift through Jim's feelings and manipulate them however he wished. The techniques were intended for therapeutic use, a way to help an informed, consenting individual heal emotional and spiritual damage caused by violence or other forms of trauma. But, like the reflect-and-amplify group meditation technique he'd employed as a defence measure against the earlier attack, they could be adapted for other purposes.

Purposes such as ensuring Jim's acceptance of their new relationship, influencing the nature of said relationship, guaranteeing that the Level Four bond would remain stable or even deepen further.... Doing so would simplify things a great deal, and Jim would most likely never even know what he'd done.

But Blair wouldn't do it. In fact, he was filtering the emotions passing through the bond from him to Jim very carefully, trying not to inadvertently over-influence the Sentinel while he was open and vulnerable. At best, it would be coercion, at worst, rape. Either way, it wouldn't be right. He'd meant what he'd told Jim earlier; rape, whether sexual or mental, simply wasn't an option.

No matter how widely accepted and commonly used those so-called bonding techniques might be.

***

"Jim, c'mon man, time to wake up. We're home."

Surfacing from the dazed half-zone he'd been in throughout most of the drive, Jim struggled painfully out of the open car door. Sandburg made an abortive attempt to help, but an involuntary flinch from his extended hand was thankfully enough to warn him off. The Guide moved away to talk with his friend, watching Jim with ill-concealed concern but giving him the space that he desperately needed.

Jim's entire body was one giant ache, and his head was muzzy with exhaustion. Skin crawled and itched, muscles cramped and spasmed, nerves twitched and quivered from the earlier shock punishments administered by Brackett; despite how common the sensation had become, Jim had never managed to become accustomed to it, only to function in spite of it. Standing unsteadily beside the car, he stretched stiffly, cautiously, abused muscles pulling and bruises throbbing. The brisk air of early morning partially restored him to alertness, enough so that, despite a lingering sense of almost surreal detachment, he gradually tuned in to the conversation taking place between Sandburg and his female friend. She was complaining about the neighbourhood, while Sandburg was brushing off her remarks with the air of someone who'd had this discussion a few times too many.

"Janet, quit worrying; there's nothing to interest anyone at my place. I'm perfectly safe. Jim and I will be fine. Thanks for all your help; I definitely owe you, big time."

"No, you don't. I'm the reason you were even there in the first place, Blair. You wouldn't have gotten yourself into this if I hadn't..."

"Ah-ha! See, even more reason to be in your debt!"

"I really hope that you know what you're doing, my friend."

"Don't I always?"

Shaking her head, she gave a huff. Casting a quick glance towards Jim, she lowered her voice to a whisper. "Just - be careful, okay? With the neighbourhood *and* your new... roommate?" Jim wondered just how out-of-it he looked if she seriously thought that a Sentinel couldn't hear her whisper from only a few feet away. On the other hand, she might have intended him to hear her, might have intended it as a warning to him as much as to Sandburg.

"Hey, you know me, careful is my middle name..."

"Blair..." she warned in a tone of affectionate exasperation.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be careful, Janet. Promise," Blair conceded, hugging her. "Now, back in the car and home you go. Call me when you get there."

Jim tuned the rest of the farewells out as he finally took a look around the area and realized that they were in a warehouse district. Sandburg lived *here*?

Somehow, that didn't seem quite as absurd as it probably should. He'd already figured out that the kid wasn't exactly conventional; why shouldn't his home be equally unusual?

"Hey, Jim." Jim turned from his survey of the deserted street to see Sandburg standing in an open doorway. "Ready to come in?"

Entering the building, Jim was immediately aware of just how big the place was, despite the fact that it only appeared to comprise half of the warehouse. Stacks of wooden shipping pallets divided up the floor space, acting as a windbreak between the door and the living space, as well as separating the small amount of furnished space from the vast, unused depths of the building. It was cold, drafty, and poorly-lit. And the echoes were already giving him a headache.

Sandburg gestured broadly. "Here it is. Home sweet home."

Looking around, Jim tried to think of something to say that wouldn't sound completely ungrateful. The kid was a grad student; students were notoriously short on funds. This place was probably cheap.

Very cheap.

He'd stayed in worse places while he was in the Rangers.

Really.

A snap and squeal from somewhere off in the dark, cavernous depths of the warehouse broke the silence. Startled, he jumped and spun to face the direction the noise had come from. "What was that? A mousetrap?"

"Uh, no. Not exactly." Sandburg held his hands a few inches apart. "Mice are cute, little critters. These are..." He held his hands a good foot apart. "Not little." Shaking his head, he added another half foot to the distance. "Not cute, either."

"Oh." Great. The place had rats. Big rats.

Of course, even giant, mutant rats would be an improvement over Brackett. He really *had* stayed in worse places.

Much worse.

"Okay, so it's kind of spartan," Sandburg admitted defensively. "But hey, where else could I get ten thousand square feet for only eight-fifty a month?" he laughed.

Jim just stared at him blankly, the entire situation seeming even more surreal. There had to be more to it than that; judging by the echoes, the kid couldn't be using more than five or six hundred square feet of space to live in. And unless rental rates had gone up one hell of a lot since he'd last had a chance to see any ads, a nice little studio apartment in a decent section of town should cost at least a hundred creds less. Why pay so much in order to live in this dump?

The laughter rapidly died off to a few uneasy chuckles. "Uh, yeah." Sandburg cleared his throat. "Well, guess I should give you the five-cred tour. C'mon." Following a narrow path of dim light, Sandburg called over his shoulder, "I'll show you around, then you can grab a little sleep, a shower, and something to eat."

A shower. He wondered whether it would be too much to hope that Sandburg actually meant a *real* shower, with real hot water, rather than a brief hose-down with cold. And hadn't the kid mentioned something about soup before? That meant real food, not concentrated military rations.

"Not necessarily in that order, but... Uh, Jim? You coming?"

With a jolt, Jim forced himself into motion. "You said something about soup before?"

"Yeah, sure." Sandburg nodded emphatically. "I mean, you don't *have* to have soup; the cupboards aren't quite *that* bare. There's fruit and salad fixings, maybe some leftover chicken... I just figured that if you hadn't had much to eat lately, it'd be a good idea to start with something light."

"Yeah, probably," he conceded, reluctantly putting aside the sudden craving for a thick chicken sandwich. There'd be other opportunities, if his new Guide was really on the level.

Passing between "walls" of piled wooden pallets, they emerged into an open, dimly lit area. Pointing towards the refrigerator, hot plate, and assorted other small food-preparation appliances along the single real wall - Jim realized that it would be the one dividing the warehouse in two - Sandburg said, "Kitchen." He pivoted and gestured towards a couch and vid-screen positioned a few feet away. "Living room."

Spartan was definitely right. The appliances were old and scratched, the couch faded and lumpy, the vid-screen small and outmoded. The "walls" of pallets kept most of the draft out, but the little space-heater that the kid flicked on as he crossed the room wouldn't be enough to do more than take the worst of the chill off.

Maybe the kid's earlier remark about hoping he liked macaroni and cheese hadn't been the joke he'd assumed it was; purchasing him had probably taken most of Sandburg's savings. Which once again raised the question of just what use a cash-strapped grad student could possibly have for a Sentinel.

Sandburg walked through an opening at the far corner of the "living room" area and, ignoring the first opening, continued past it to another on the opposite side of the passageway between the rows of stacked pallets. "The bathroom's way down there," he said, pointing through the gap, towards the far end of the building. "That's the only source of water, by the way, so the dishes have to be dragged down there to be washed. It's a nuisance being so far away from it, but the inside wall means that this area loses less heat, and the locker room isn't exactly portable, so..." He shrugged. "At least there's a big hot water tank; I picked the half of the building with the locker room on purpose." He flashed Jim a quick grin. "I just take long, hot showers, then get dressed really, really fast."

Jim offered a hesitant half-smile in return, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. "A hot shower sounds good." Too good. There had to be a catch; his life just didn't *get* this good. Especially not since his "rescue" and diagnosis as a Sentinel. He reached out tentatively to the bond, trying to read his Guide's emotions, but, despite the solidity of the connection, there wasn't much coming through it beyond a quiet, vague sense of comfort and reassurance. Which meant that Sandburg had to be deliberately controlling what he was projecting.

That was more than enough in and of itself to make Jim increasingly uneasy.

"Well, just one more stop on the tour, then you can go take one if you want." Doubling back to the previously-ignored gap, Sandburg stepped inside and turned on a floor lamp. Jim followed. Gaze instantly caught by the single narrow futon that took up most of the space, he froze, panic welling up and closing off his throat.

"Last stop on this little tour. The bedroom. The bed's gonna be a little small for you, but..."

No. The roaring in his ears drowned out most of what his Guide was saying.

"...sorry... figured you could... fit a new bed... few months..."

Sandburg had promised.

"...im?"

The brightly patterned weave of the blanket covering the futon drew his vision. He focussed on the pattern, trying to ignore the mental voice frantically gibbering "No" long enough to induce a zone. He couldn't do that again. He just - couldn't...

"Jim!" A demanding voice called his name, hands gripped his arms, and the bond tugged insistently at his consciousness, dragging him away from the incipient zone and back to reluctant awareness.

***

Fear and panic flooded the bond, overloading the filters that Blair had been forced to employ to keep Jim's ongoing internal turmoil from pushing *him* into a panic attack. Unprepared for the sudden onslaught, he fumbled in his pocket for a strip of Shieldeze. Breaking off a tiny sliver, he reluctantly placed it on his tongue and waited, trying not to hyperventilate. Within seconds, the Shieldeze dissolved, and, a few moments later, the drug took effect. It didn't silence the emotional storm; his connection to Jim was too deep for the artificial shield enhancer to cut it off entirely. But it did dampen it enough to allow him to function. Sort of.

One look was enough to tell him that Jim was starting to zone. Okay, not unexpected; sensory overload, in the form of either a zone or spike, was a pretty standard response to emotional overload. He knew that. Unfortunately, he didn't know Jim well enough yet to be able to guess what had triggered the emotional outburst or which sense was overloading. Mentally kicking himself for filtering out too much of Jim's emotions and thereby missing any earlier warning signs, he called gently, "Jim?"

No response. Moving closer, he coaxed, "Jim, c'mon back, man. Whatever's wrong, we'll deal with it, okay? You're safe here, Jim, so come back now."

Still no response. Shit. Blair's anxiety level rose, his control over the empathic connection with Jim slipped, and, despite the Shieldeze, more of Jim's panic washed over him.

Another step placed him directly in front of Jim. Frantically racing through his mental catalogue of techniques for dealing with zones, he chose one more or less at random. Grabbing Jim's biceps and shaking him slightly, he gave the bond a sharp mental tug and raised his voice insistently. "Jim!"

He didn't even have enough time to think "Oh shit" before his back slammed against the stacked pallets. Feet dangling off the ground, splinters jabbing painfully through his clothing, Blair was abruptly reminded of just what Jim had been, long before his late-blooming Sentinel abilities had manifested themselves.

A Ranger. A highly-trained, finely-honed warrior. Someone more than capable of killing with his bare hands.

Those same hands that were currently clutching fistfuls of his shirt, holding him pinned against the wall like a bug mounted in an insect collection. Shit. Well, he'd really fucked this up. At least the adrenaline rush had cleared his head. He wasn't drowning in Jim's panic anymore; he had quite enough of his own to deal with, thank you very much.

Well aware that he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of beating the man in a fight, Blair opted not to struggle. The only thing that was likely to accomplish was an escalation of violence. Instead, he resorted to his preferred weapon. Words.

"Hey, Buzz Lightyear, relax, okay? Geeze, man, Sentinels may be genetic throwbacks, but that's no excuse for behaving like some sort of Neanderthal. Whatever's wrong, let's discuss it like a couple of civilized human beings, okay?" The cold blue eyes locked on him never wavered, but the hands grasping his shirt clenched and unclenched. Hoping desperately that he wouldn't be forced to resort to verbally triggering the control collar to keep Jim from doing something monumentally stupid like killing him, he tried again. "C'mon, Jim, you mess with me and you're never gonna get a shot at a decent life. Gimme a chance, man. Tell me what's wrong. We'll work it out. Promise."

For a moment, he thought he'd made things worse as the hands clutching his shirt tightened, hefting him a little further off the ground. "Tell me," he repeated desperately, trying to project sincerity past the clouding effect of the Shieldeze.

Despite the drug's dampening influence, the sense of despair and betrayal that swept through the link was nearly overwhelming. Jim muttered abortively, "You said you wouldn't... That we didn't..." He shook his head sharply, angrily. Voice firming, he challenged, "There's only one bedroom, one bed."

Still lost, Blair said, "Yeah? And? I already said I was sorry it was so small, but hey, it could be worse; I could have made you take the couch and kept the bed myself." The couch was too short for *him* to really stretch out; there was no way he could expect Jim to sleep on it. "Like I said, we'll try to fit a new bed into the budget, but it might take a couple of months; there's a lot of other things that you're going to need."

"The couch?" The hands pinning him against the wall let go, and Blair dropped back to his feet with a thump. "I thought..." Jim backed off a few steps. "I thought..." His voice trailed off, but he'd said enough. Blair finally added everything up and figured out exactly what Jim had thought. No wonder Jim had gone off the deep end when he'd grabbed him by the arms; under the circumstances, he'd gotten off pretty damn easy.

"No," Blair said firmly. "I said it before, and I'll say it again, as many times as it takes for you to believe it. Rape is not an option. Calling it 'enforced physical bonding' when a Guide forces a Sentinel to have sex is mere semantics. It doesn't change the fact that it's rape." The Shieldeze was really messing with his ability to accurately read Jim through the bond, but he thought that he was at least starting to convince him. If personal ethics weren't quite enough to do the job, maybe a few cold, hard facts would.

"Okay, look, ethical arguments aside, sex alone doesn't strengthen a bond, no matter what sort of crap the so-called training facilities may spout. There've been actual studies done; I can show you the statistics.

"Sex between two willing, equal partners *can* have the long-term effect of strengthening the Sentinel-Guide bond, but that's thanks to the increased trust, closeness, and intimacy that develops out of a loving, committed sexual relationship rather than the sex itself.

"All that 'enforced physical bonding' accomplishes is a temporary breakdown of the Sentinel's mental barriers, due to the violation and shock of the rape. In some cases, the Sentinel has been so thoroughly conditioned to *expect* sex to result in a deeper bond that his or her mental shields just automatically open right up. In others, the Sentinel's shields are weakened, and the Guide takes advantage of that vulnerability to force a bond. As the Sentinel begins to recover from the shock, the shields strengthen, and the bond weakens or breaks. Repeated violations over a prolonged period gradually wear away the Sentinel's defences. Sex doesn't strengthen the bond; abuse - torture - weakens the Sentinel's resistance to bonding."

Really warming to his subject, Blair continued, "There's been some fascinating research into the Sentinel-Guide relationship done recently, but funding for studies that bring the status quo into question is hard to obtain, and, so far, only a few of the more radical activist publications have been willing to print the results. Beecher's findings, for example..."

"Whoa there, Professor," Jim interrupted. "I get the idea. No forced sex because you have ethical objections, and it doesn't do what it's supposed to anyway."

"Umm, yeah. That about covers it," Blair agreed.

Jim gave him a long, searching look, then nodded slowly. "Okay. I believe you. Sorry I jumped to conclusions."

Waving a dismissive hand, Blair said, "S'okay, no harm done." Wincing as a splinter embedded in his shoulder shifted with the movement, he qualified wryly, "Well, other than a few splinters, which I'll have to impose on you to remove, seeing as they're in my back."

"Splinters?" Jim started towards him, then froze as realization hit. "I attacked you..."

"Uh, yeah, you did, and I'd really appreciate it if next time you'd try *talking* before resorting to the caveman routine," Blair said drily, shooting him a sidelong glare while kneeling to pull a first aid kit out from under the bed.

"But... you didn't..." Jim's hand went to the metal band encircling his throat.

"No, I didn't, though I can't say I wasn't tempted. Which is why *that*," he said with obvious distaste, "is going to be replaced as soon as possible." Maybe it would be safer to keep the control collar on Jim, at least till he'd had time to adjust to his new circumstances. But if Jim had really intended to kill him, he'd have been dead before he'd even realized what was happening. Whether the bond or an innate dislike for killing was responsible, Jim had reacted defensively by immobilizing him rather than in a strictly offensive manner. The collar hadn't prevented that, and considering how long it had taken for either of them to even remember its existence, Blair didn't think that he should count on it to be too terribly useful in future, either. And he didn't like the fact that the idea of actually using the damn thing had even entered his mind; he wanted it gone. He'd gotten through this incident without using it; he'd find a way to manage without it if something similar happened in future. Somehow.

Besides, getting rid of the easiest to use, most effective punishment and control tool in his possession should go a long way towards giving Jim a real reason to have faith in him. He hoped.

Legally, Jim was required to wear a collar or necklace, and he to wear the matching bracelet or arm band. But, despite the popularity of incorporating electronic punishment devices into the items, nothing in the law actually specified that as a requirement, only that the pair must wear matching items as a visual indicator of their bonded status, and that the Sentinel's must be worn around the neck and the Guide's on the arm. No further details whatsoever were specified. Somewhere in all the crap in his office, there should be a beaded choker and matching bracelet that he'd received as a parting gift from a tribal Shaman he'd studied with years ago. They would be perfectly legal, if rather unusual outside of a tribal setting.

"In fact, c'mere and sit down a minute," he said, motioning for Jim to sit on the bed. "You can't go outside without it, but there's no reason to leave the damn thing on while we're at home."

Blair reached for the collar, pausing when Jim instinctively flinched away from the contact. "Jim, we're gonna have to work on the touching thing, man. If you're pulling away when you know it's gonna happen, you'll probably react even more strongly if it happens when you're not expecting it. You turn on me in public, and things'll get out of hand in a hurry," he pointed out carefully. In private, he could and would cut Jim all the slack in the world, but in public, he'd have to *appear* to be in control, or someone else was likely to step in to handle the situation for him. That could get very ugly, very fast.

Jim swallowed and nodded slightly in agreement. "Understood."

Reaching out again, Blair kept his movements slow and steady, very aware that Jim's muscles were taut with tension. He slid his fingers between the metal band and Jim's skin, feeling carefully for the finger holds on the collar's underside. Once he'd fitted his fingertips into the indentations, he pressed firmly, then released the metal band in order to enter the release code on the bracelet's tiny keypad. With an audible click that made Jim start slightly, the device unlocked. Blair pulled it open and removed it from Jim's neck. He frowned; the skin beneath it looked irritated and raw. "Ouch. That looks painful. We'll have to treat that after you shower. Don't want it getting infected."

Gaze locked on the device in Blair's hands, Jim gave another slight nod.

Tossing the damned collar carelessly on the bed, Blair stripped the bracelet from his wrist and dropped it there too. Opening a bin at the foot of the bed, he pulled out a clean towel and washcloth. "Listen, why don't you go ahead and take a long, hot shower while I scrounge us up a little something to eat, then we'll break out the first aid kit for us both after that?" Hopefully, a little time alone would give Jim a chance to sort out the confused turmoil of his emotions. Not only was his unsettled emotional state making him very tricky to deal with, it was giving Blair one hell of a headache. "Sound like a plan?"

"Yeah, okay." And with that ringing endorsement, Jim took the proffered bathing supplies and left the room.

Blair flopped down on the futon and glared wearily at the control devices. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

***

Steam clouded the air. Back to the pounding spray, Jim felt warmth begin to seep into a body that had been chilled for what seemed like forever. Muscles that had been knotted for just as long slowly began to ease. God, even with cuts stinging, bruises throbbing, and ribs aching in a way that hinted at fractures, this was sheer bliss. More than worth the inconvenience of a few lousy rats. A long, hot shower, soap and shampoo with a faint herbal scent instead of a strong antiseptic odour, and the unfamiliar luxury of *privacy*.

The scuffing of shoes on concrete broke into his thoughts, then a voice called, "Hey, Jim? Thought you might want something else to wear instead of that awful orange crap, so I dug out a few things that might not be *too* much too small on you. I'll just leave them outside the door here, 'kay? Oh, and you've probably got another fifteen, twenty minutes of hot left; I won't start heating stuff up till then, so, take your time, man. No rush."

Jim stirred himself enough to shout back, "Thanks," and hoped that the kid understood just how much he was thanking him for. He couldn't believe he'd actually slammed him against a wall. Or that Sandburg had just rode it out and talked him down rather than shocking him into submission with the collar.

The collar. Gingerly, Jim touched his neck, still marvelling at the odd sensation of lightness created by the device's absence. He'd been violent, out of control. He'd attacked his Guide. And his Guide had still trusted him enough to remove the collar. It was just too much to comprehend.

*Sandburg* was too much to comprehend.

He was confused, and grateful, and relieved, and wary, and... Jim shook his head wearily. It seemed like he'd been on an emotional roller coaster ever since he'd felt that first brush of contact with a compatible Guide back before the auction started. Everything was changing so fast, and while he was starting to believe that, somehow, things really were going to be - well, not *perfect*, by any means, but considerably better than unbearable, maybe even "okay" - it was all just a little - overwhelming.

But in a good way. A very good way. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Jim's mouth as he finally let himself accept the possibility that, with Sandburg's help, he really did have a shot at a decent life.

***

Blair waited till he heard the pipes groan as the shower was shut off before turning on the hotplate. Considering the time, breakfast probably would have been more appropriate, but he didn't think a dry, toasted bagel would be enough for Jim. A thick vegetable soup, together with generous slices of the homemade whole grain bread that one of the students he was tutoring had given him earlier in the week, seemed like a better choice. There was even a modest serving of yogurt for dessert. Simple, healthy, filling, and hopefully not too heavy a meal for a somewhat neglected digestive system.

He really needed to get Jim in for a checkup. But they were going to have to do some serious work on his reaction to being touched first; the campus clinic would probably be a lot more tolerant than most medical facilities, but Jim slamming a doctor against the wall just wasn't going to cut it. Shit, it wasn't safe to take Jim anywhere in public until they had a handle on his reactions; they needed results and they needed them *fast*.

Unfortunately, right now he wasn't sure how they were going to achieve them. Shaking his head, Blair decided that he'd worry about that later. "One thing at a time," he muttered, giving the soup a stir. For now, the priorities were food, first aid, and sleep. Everything else would have to wait.

The slap of sandals alerted him to Jim's approach. Good, he'd thought that those might just be roomy enough to fit. Jim would still need to get a decent pair of shoes, but, in the meantime, the sandals would provide a little more protection than the thin cloth slip-ons provided by the auction. "Hey," he greeted with a wave of the spoon.

"Hey," Jim answered awkwardly.

"Glad to see you found something that fit." Noting the strip of bare skin showing beyond the sleeves and of sock revealed by the pant legs, Blair qualified wryly, "Well, sort of, anyway."

"Good enough," Jim shrugged.

Compared to being naked or wearing that awful clothing supplied by the auction yard, Blair supposed that his old clothes probably did seem pretty good. That garish orange outfit might be made of natural fibres and coloured with a Sentinel-friendly dye to avoid life-threatening allergic reactions, but the material was far too lightweight for Cascade, and the colour obnoxiously attention-getting. Even if his sweats were a little small for Jim, they were warm and comfortable. And, perhaps more importantly, they were absolutely ordinary.

"Soup's on, pull up a chair." Blair brought the pot of soup over to the card table and poured it into the bowls. Silence fell as he seated himself opposite Jim.

After a few moments, Jim made a show of looking around. "What, no macaroni and cheese?"

"Uh, no, I thought soup would be easier on your stomach." Setting his spoon down, he started to push his chair away from the table. "But I could make some up if you'd rather..." Blair stopped in mid-sentence as Jim ducked his head, the corner of his mouth twitching in suppressed amusement. "You jerk, you're just puttin' me on!" Blair accused, grinning in delight at the hint of Jim's true personality.

The hint of a smirk strengthened and an all-too-brief flicker of laughter lit both the bond and Jim's eyes as he raised them to meet Blair's. "Yup."

"Just for that, *you* can do the dishes."

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Comments

[calic0cat.livejournal.com]

You're welcome! I'm glad you enjoyed the first Lifebond story enough to want to read more about Jim and Blair. It's always great to bring new folks into a fandom!

If you found the Cascade Library, you just found the big archive of gen stories. Head on over to 852 Prospect (http://www.squidge.org/archive) for the slash equivalent; there's enough reading material there to last you a long, long time. There's also a few The Sentinel fic-related communities on LJ, such as sentinel_thurs, sentinel_epic, ts_fresh_air, and ts_news.