Bought

William Ellison paused in the hall outside of his son's loft. His hand wavered, raised, about to rap his knuckles on the door instead of barging in. A noise from inside caught his attention and froze him in place as he strained to hear, to analyze just what it was that gave him pause, sending adrenaline flooding through his body. His fist loosened, groping towards his pocket and the key that lay there even before he made the conscious decision.



Then it struck him. A Guide, Blair, was growling, a deep, sincere, threatening growl full of rage and defiance and fear. William had his key out and slotted into the lock before the breath fully exited his lungs. The door flew open under his hands as he shoved it, and he hardly gave a thought to it slamming against the wall as he moved ahead, faster than he'd moved in many years.



He burst into the living room and sprinted towards the downstairs room where he knew the infants rested, and where he heard Blair's frantic heartbeat and growling. The sharp odor of terror rode the air. His own heart was hammering in his chest, filled with fear for the babies, and for their mother.



He saw one man, a Sentinel, on the floor, sprawled on his back, jaw slack; he saw two other Sentinels standing behind the fallen man, looking down, their faces filled with a shock so complete as to be comical, and he saw Blair crouched and fierce, curly hair wild, un-veiled, barely robed, certainly not decently, his two rows of dark nippled breasts prominent against the thin fabric, leaking milk, leaving damp rings. The room was filled with the rich scent of that milk, and with the perfume of Guide scent, the mature scent of Blair, and the younger, fresh scent of his children. The scent of fear also tainted the air.



It was the second growl from the distressed Guide that galvanized the three standing Sentinels into action. William surged forward shoulders hunched, aggressive, his own teeth flashing, bared; Jim and Brian reacted by seizing the man on the floor, the interloper, not family, by his shirt front and dragging him out of the room. William stationed himself in front of Blair, between the Guide and the door, on guard for any other threat, determined to protect the Guide.



Blair reacted to the protective stance by turning his full attention back to the crib, to his babies. He checked them over, unwrapping their undisturbed blankets, checking fingers and toes, and obsessively, anxiously counting and reassuring himself that all the toes and all the babies were present. His breath came in short, harsh pants. William sidled nearer, purring reassurance, the sub vocal sound meant to calm, to let the Guide know he was safe. That a Sentinel stood watch over him and would die before letting him be harmed.



Blair felt ill as the adrenaline left him, his limbs shivering and threatening to collapse. The low purr coming from the older Sentinel allowed him to relax enough to check on his babies. He hooked his elbows on the edge of the crib, clinging, unable to stop checking and rechecking his children, terrified the Vet had harmed them...had stolen them, despite the evidence of his own eyes. His heart thudded as it slowed. It was a scene out of his worst nightmares. The Vet having access to his infants.



The front door slammed, and William heard the hurried, returning steps of his son and his son's Companion. Blair's attention never wavered from the occupants of the crib. William took advantage of the returning Sentinels to move up behind Blair and support him, as his trembling grew worse, his legs giving way. Rafe and Jim reentered the room; by that time William was supporting all of Blair's weight.



More help to guard the Guide. William looped his arms around the Guide who was sagging next to the cradle. He caught Blair as his knees gave fully away, and he crumpled towards the ground, despite his tenacious hold on the railing of the cradle. The scent, the heat of the Guide's body enveloped the Senior Sentinel. Surrounded him. Milk splashed his forearms, Blair squirmed trying to stay at the crib's side.



"No, no! My babies. I can't leave them. He'll get them. No!" Blair protested as William tried to ease him away and down onto the bed. Blair clung to the railing, unwilling to leave the infants.



"He is gone. He won't be back. He won't get near your children, Blair." Murmuring into the Guide's ear, William lifted him bodily into his arms, breaking the determined, futile hold on the rail. And then Jim was in front of them, plucking Blair out of his arms and rushing him to the futon bed. Rafe went to the crib and began examining the infants, freezing at Blair's anguished cry.



At the sound, the Companion gathered up an infant, expertly, efficiently wrapped it under William's bemused gaze, and rushed it over to the Guide who lay on the futon, his Senior Sentinel crouched over him, examining him to make sure he was unharmed. Rafe carefully deposited the baby into Blair's outstretched arms and hurried back to the crib. William handed him a second bundle, and carried the third himself to the Guide. Blair pulled all three bundles to his chest and rocked them back and forth; tears sliding down his unveiled face.



William looked for a second, two, and then his own fury struck. He stepped up behind his son and his Companion, delivering two sharp smacks to the back of their heads. Then he thrust his way through to Blair's side. He placed himself slightly in front of Blair, bending down over the Guide and the infants, stroking Blair, murmuring wordless sounds of comfort. Blair was crying, huge silent tears rolling down his face. He whimpered, still shivering. He was soaked all down his front, the thin robe offering no protection, see through now even to non-Sentinel eyes. William pulled a blanket up and around the shaking shoulders.



"You two." He said, his tone rigidly controlled, as he rocked Blair and the infants he held. "Idiots. Why would you allow that quack in here to see the babies at all?" He shook his head, disbelieving, but not surprised, not really. He thought his son had more sense, and yet....



There was a huge monetary reward for finding and delivering Wild Guide pups to the Houses. The Houses competed with each other on the sums they offered the finders. And from what William suspected, the Vet had been set on talking Blair's two Sentinels into giving up the pups and delivering them to the House that offered the most. The Vet had no doubt heard of Dr. Miller's disgrace, temporary as it was, and called to offer his services in her absence. Playing on the need of the Sentinels to keep their Guide safe and well. William shuddered. His blundering had put Blair and his pups at risk. His arms tightened.



Jim made an unhappy noise. And William frowned at him. Jim was asking, as politely as possible, for William to release Blair. He was exhibiting the signs of a Sentinel on the verge of escalating into violence in order to protect his Guide. William looked over at the younger Guide, Rafe, and actually met the dark brown gaze directly. Rafe was also on the edge, or he'd never have dared to look William Ellison in the eye. The younger Sentinel's mouth rippled as he fought not to show his teeth, to threaten Cascade's ruler.



Carefully, William eased his hold, sliding his arms from around the shaking Guide. He moved back, lowering his gaze, his head, backing off of the futon, the other Sentinels wasting no time in moving in, taking his place, examining their Guide as instinct demanded. William watched the frantic motions gradually become more controlled, more caressing than searching. Blair's thin robe, was thrust aside, until he was naked under William's eyes, naked and so beautiful, ripe and yet male.



William watched, unable to resist. The maleness was not revolting...the maleness was right, perfect. The breasts, full, the glowing drops of bluish milk like precious pearls as they rolled down his body under the questing hands of his examining Sentinels. William was privileged to see him, to see them, to view the ritual examination. When was the last time he'd done this with his own Guide? He could not remember. The couplings he'd had with her, all the way back in his memory, she remained draped, in the dark, and though he'd loved her...he and she had not had this. This. William knew this was as it should be.



He watched as his son's hands ghosted over Blair's body, cupping the breasts, gentle, strong. As his tongue, and his Companion's licked the spilled fluid off of hands and skin. Not sexual, but bonding, intimate. Rafe's hands, too, were on the Guide's skin. His mouth pressed to bare flesh, tasting, making sure his Guide was uninjured. Reacquainting Sentinel with Guide. Blair allowed the exploration, the lapping tongues.



William shook watching it all unfold. This. Oh this. This was how it should be. Un-veiled, uncovered. So...he tasted his own tears as they filled his eyes. He had wasted so much time. He grasped his own forearms, fingers digging in as he observed the bonding. His grip slipped, and he looked down, his sense of smell focusing. His arms were covered in still damp milk. Blair's milk. He raised his arms without hesitation; he would not let himself question the decision, and licked at the wetness.



Flavors, complex, rich, exploded across his palate. He swallowed, licked again. It was filled with the taste of life, of love, of mothering. His distant, dreamlike memories of his own infancy, the smells, the tastes, flooded back. He heard the heart beat of his mother, beating under his infant ear. Felt it with the sensitivity that made him a Sentinel from birth. That sound had been his life, his whole world. The taste...he lapped at the milk on his arm, the taste had been all. Mother's milk. His tears flowed faster. How many children had been denied this simply because they were Guides?



William Ellison forced himself to lower his arms. To not taste the fluid splashed on his arms again. Who was he to deserve it, when the babies for who nature designed it couldn't have it from the source as intended, couldn't sup on it while being held in loving arms? He clenched his fists, watching.



The movements of the Sentinels on the futon slowed. Jim glanced up into Blair's face as he slowly, slowly moved in, took a nipple in his mouth and gently suckled. William saw the bliss unfold over his son's face. Then Blair very gently pushed him back, a shift of his arm dislodging the adult's mouth and put one of the infants to the breast instead. Jim's hands reached out, and held the baby to the nipple as it nursed. Blair, with the help of his Sentinels put all of his babies to nursing. There was no shortage of hands to hold them. Jim's large hands dwarfed the tiny bundle he held.



Jim's eyes lifted, met those of his father. "I needed....I wanted to know that the babies were well. Dr. Miller..." Jim said, before his father held up a hand. His son did not have to explain that to him. And William could see the anxiety, the need to know on his son's handsome face. William's answer was a whisper.



"That issue, the issue of the Doctor's trustworthiness, has been resolved to my satisfaction. She is correct in her actions and her care of the Guides she has attended. It was I who was mistaken. And it is she who will attend your Guide again, no other." William's voice was shaky, and his eyes burned as they met his son's. Rafe was busy trying to make a nest of his own body, cupping himself around the babies on the side that Jim didn't occupy. Blair seemed reassured by that, his whimpers were decreasing as the babies nursed, his broken monologue died out.



Jim returned his father's stare, his face stiff...and ashamed. William saw the shame, knew his son was thinking better of having let the Vet in. He'd only wanted to know the infants were doing well. A mistake on his part to use the Vet, yet he'd had limited options when William had forbidden them to call Dr. Miller. Jim regretted it. William regretted it. But too late. That was done. Blair was traumatized.



Now was the time to start afresh, to mend what fences he could, and to build new bridges. William lifted the phone from his pocket and dialed for Dr. Miller, stepping out into the living room, but keeping Blair in his sight. He couldn't manage to convince himself it would be OK to retreat further, to take up a position where he was out of Blair's range. Not even to keep from disturbing the Guide. His eyes didn't want to leave the Madonna-like sight of the Guide, nearly naked, his skin a pale, warm gold, nursing his babies at blush tipped breasts.



He kept his voice low as he was routed from one secretary to another and finally reached the Doctor herself. Blair had settled onto his side and was running his hands up and down the little bodies in their blankets that were snuggled between himself and Rafe. Jim was behind Blair, so close that there was not a molecule of air between them. As Blair was stroking the infants, Jim was stroking their mother. Blair was accepting the touch. William could scent the tang of tears and of the beginnings of relief in the air. Blair was finally starting to believe he had not lost the babies, not even one; to the man he despised and mistrusted.



William told Dr. Miller of the events that had just transpired, of Blair's need to be checked and reassured. He wanted to be certain the shock did not affect the Guide's milk, either stopping it or making it taste bitter, so the infants would reject it. If it did there was formula that could be bought, William made a face at that, or even the milk of other Guides, for a steep price. Guide milk was a delicacy that only the wealthiest of Sentinels indulged it. Every vial of it tasted different, the emotions within it, clear as crystal when it slid over the palate. It could command a thousand dollars an ounce for the sweetest vintage. But if Blair's children required supplemental milk until Blair's own milk was sweet again, William would see they had it, no matter the expense.



William clapped his phone shut, his jaw set. Dr. Miller would come to check on Blair. William would alert his own staff and have the ban lifted on her attending further births. The good Doctor would have his full support and recommendation. It was the first step in his campaign of change. He was moving carefully, but he was moving. Next he would have to reach out to his younger son, Steven and find out what kind of contacts the boy had that he could tap into.



But today he found himself reluctant to leave the loft and Blair. He would work from his son's home. Set up the web he needed to use to begin his fix. The fix. To educate Sentinels all around the world before it was too late. Before Guides faded into memory and left Sentinels broken and nonfunctional, destroyed by their own actions. Before Sentinels killed off that which they valued most in the world.



William paced the living room, at first hardly more than a circle of steps that kept Blair in view at all times. Then as his upset eased his other senses sharpened, and it was enough to scent and to hear the Guides, small and large, he retreated further from the Guide. He went into the room from time to time and glanced down at the curled clump of two Sentinels and four Guides on the futon. The arms of the Sentinels were shielding the Guides, their eyes alert and fierce as they fastened onto William when he entered. He didn't aggravate the stressed men by remaining in the room long. He noted Blair's deep even breathing, the tiny babies safe in his arms, and then he stepped out into the hall again, leaving Blair and his vigilant guardians alone in the small room.



Then William called his Companion, got him on his way over here. This was a job that would take both of them working it to move forward. All possible repercussions had to be detailed as they moved the plan forward. The risks, not only the benefits had to be anticipated. As soon as Blair and his children could be moved they would transfer to William's own compound. For now it was impossible, aside from extreme circumstances, to move the recovering Guide. The family needed time to bond and to reassure itself that all members were safe and accounted for. Moving them now would only add to their distress.



William mentally went through his brain. He'd had contact with thousands of Sentinels who had beliefs as widely varying at his own and his youngest son. Now he needed to reach out and find the men who could help him in his new direction, spreading the word. He considered. Then he dialed. He hadn't talked to the man he was calling since their last, fiery exchange, when each had called the other stubborn and misguided, and a few far less kind things. Now William was calling, and fully prepared to apologize on his knees if he had to.



The phone rang in his ear. He waited for the line to be answered. This was the first official step he was taking on his new path. It wasn't as hard as he'd thought, nor was it easy.