Bought

Blair answered the door without thinking, wandering downstairs while he waited for the children to waken, to demand more milk. It was a brief moment of freedom for him, a moment to take a relaxed breath.



He smiled. His breasts were generous with the supply of milk, for which Blair was grateful. He didn't want to have to use formula to keep the babies fully fed. Formula in his opinion, as in his own mother's, was a far distant second to mother's milk. He shuddered thinking of the artificial ingredients, the unnatural additives.



The knock came in the middle of his reverie, and he answered it, assuming that it was Rafe coming back with the groceries. Rafe hadn't been gone a full hour, so it would be early for him to return, but Blair wasn't thinking of that, wasn't all that aware of the passing time. Blair had been cautioned of course not to let anyone else in to the apartment. And he had no desire to. Still he turned the lock, mind not completely on what he was doing. It was only Rafe after all.



It wasn't Rafe. A towering man stood in the hall, four others fanned out behind him. All clad in the same dark uniform, silver chains of office trimming their impeccable fronts. Shock sticks in their belts. Blair recognized the uniforms. Five massive men, Sentinels, broad shouldered and intimidating. He'd seen those uniforms before. The Cascade S/G Protectorate. Sentinels who had to be larger than the norm to be considered, necessary to men who must face down and control distressed Sentinels for a living. Why were they here....? A mistake, surely.



Then he heard the indrawn breath.



All eyes were on Blair's unveiled face. He froze. He wasn't wearing a veil. Oh god. His hands flew up to his bared face.



"Guide." The voice was deep, authoritative. The man standing in front of the others was speaking to him, feet set wide apart, aggressive, immovable. "Cover yourself." Impatient, stern. The brawny form of the Captain, he was a Captain, Blair saw, cataloging the information even as he fumbled at his robes, moved to block the view from behind. Why....? A Captain...because he was at the home of the heir of Cascade. It wasn't a mistake. Blair knew it for a certainty.



Blair grabbed at the edge of his robe, lifted it up over his face, and backed away, stumbling. Defiance, resistance wouldn't be accepted by this man, he could sense it, the mind was solid, unflinching. Very much like Jim's. The Sentinel Captain's eyes were not averted, they were hot, intent.



If Blair had been wearing his usual robes, all would have been fine. But this was not a standard Guide robe, it was a nursing robe. Pulling the front up to cover his face bared his chest.



"Eyes front." The officer barked out to his troops over his shoulder, moving closer to Blair. Blair could see only the huge hand reaching out. He took hold of Blair's arm, spinning him around, hiding him from the very observant eyes of the other officers. Blair belatedly dropped his handful of robe, clutching it closed across his chest, letting out a moan of distress at his blunder.



"Where is your veil, Guide?" The Captain asked him in a low growl.



Blair tried to pull his arm free, wanting to back away from the other man, his heart pounding as he tried to recall where he'd left his blue veil. Was it downstairs? Upstairs? He never wore it indoors any more. Jim had never asked that he do so. Not since the babies....



Blair gasped. His babies. These Sentinels were here and his babies were unprotected. As if on cue he heard the little ones stirring. He watched as the dark haired Sentinel's head lifted, zeroed in on the nursery room, his mouth pursing a fraction, jaw tightening.



"Please. My Sentinel is not home. Come back later?" Blair tried to draw attention away from the infants, back to himself, averting his own eyes though he could feel the heat of those eyes on him. He tilted his head forward; chin resting on his chest so his hair covered his face. Almost as good as a veil he prayed, combing it down across his face with unsure fingers. He wanted to go to his babies. To hold them. He was held firmly where he was.



"Your veil." The Sentinel insisted. "Now, Guide." And he was free of the hold that had encompassed his arm. Blair headed for the robes he had folded in their drawer. An unmatched veil would do. Any veil. Yes. He scrabbled through the drawers, tugged out the first veil he found. He pulled it on over his head, tying the cords under his chin to keep it snuggly in place. One of the babies, Ange, he recognized her inquiring cry, was more awake than the others. Making noises for him to come to her. Blair felt her new innocent thoughts touch his mind, her hunger, her wanting to nurse. His body gave a sympathetic surge, his nipples dampening.



The officer watched him, dropping his gaze down to the darkening rings of moisture growing on the robe, his fine nostrils flared, drawing in the scent of warm milk. Blair remained stock-still. Then he moved jerkily, his hands trembling. Stepped in front of the cradle, forcing himself to lift his chin defiantly. Until he was between it and the Sentinel. The deep voice was tightly controlled.



"The pup is hungry. Nurse it." The Sentinel ordered as if Blair was behaving irrationally by hesitating. He didn't turn aside, his eyes, were they a dark green?, boring into Blair's through the veil. The Guide couldn't disobey that tone. His training, brief as it was, re-asserted itself. Blair bent over the railing, reaching for the one babe that was awake looking up into his veiled face with deep blue eyes. He bent forward, the seams of the robe falling open, and put Ange to his leaking breast. His body curved over her, hiding her and himself from those too sharp eyes.



"We are here to serve a warrant. It is not necessary that your Sentinels be home. We will leave the paperwork for them." The man stayed in the small downstairs room that served as a nursery, his presence blocking other's view and preventing them from entering. Blair wished, anxiously, that he dared to look up, to gauge the expression on the man's face. He could hear the other men in the outer areas of the loft. Moving around. Searching. For what?



Ange fidgeted in his arms, picking up on his unease, his fear. Blair murmured to her, kissing the top of her head. A few silky, soft curls there, not many, golden brown, like his own hair. The other two, who were stirring as well, picking up on Ange's pleasured nursing, were blond. The only clue as to who had fathered them. Blair had deliberately forbidden himself to remember who that blond man might have been. Which face was the face of the father of his children. He never cared to know.



The big man stayed with him, never looking away from the activity Blair was engaged in. And he was large. Taller than Jim, broader. Which was terrifying. Jim was large enough. Intimidating enough. This man was...too much, a huge, threatening shadow in the dimness of the nursery. His gaze swept over Blair, Blair felt it, even without being able to see it. And Blair was absurdly grateful for the coolness of the morning that had prompted him to put on one of his heavier robes.



"What..." Blair swallowed. "What do you want?" He asked, he edged backwards.



Instead of answering the man stepped closer to him, towering over him, and to Blair's shock reached out and grabbed his arm again. Shock raced through Blair.



"You speak well for a Guide." The Captain said, no censure in his voice, just noting a fact. And Blair was left with the impression the man was familiar with his history. All of it.



Unknown Sentinels didn't touch claimed Guides, not without permission. Blair was Jim's Guide, his property, and thus the man touching him like this was...the Protectorate was outside the usual hierarchy. Blair was terrified. He let out a small moan, shivering. His knees tried to give out; he tried to fall to the carpet, to bow to the Sentinel. His arms circled around Ange to protect her.



He sagged. Was lowered to the futon, his baby hugged to his chest, a bit restless after the movement, her tiny mouth rooting after being dislodged by Blair's motion. A big hand was at Blair's breast. Warm. Calloused. Gentle. Putting his nipple back into the baby's suckling mouth. Holding Blair's swollen breast even after Ange had latched on again. Blair lay perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe.



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Rafe approached the loft, his arms full of supplies and food. Bags dangling from his arms and his hands. He knocked with his only free knuckle, waiting for Blair to answer. When he didn't following a second knock, the Sentinel shrugged. No doubt he was busy. Setting down half of the bags, Rafe found his key and let himself in.



To an empty loft. He felt it. There were no infants' hearts beating in sweet synchrony. No gurgling or cooing. Nor Blair's well known heartbeat. No Guides. No babies. No Blair. Rafe swallowed. Echoing emptiness.



His eyes dissected the room as he dropped the remainder of the bags in the doorway with a crash, not caring if fruit bruised. He sprang for the stairs, dashed up. Found nothing, no one. Sped to the bathroom. Empty. Turned in the center of the floor. No one. Fuck. He pressed a hand to his upper abdomen, bent forward. Tried to breathe around the cramp. His Guide was gone. The shaking started in his hands and spread over his entire body like fire. His gaze swept the loft again.



He found the papers resting in a neat stack on the kitchen island in less than ten seconds. He read them, his comprehension jittering from word to word to phrase to phrase. What? What?! He pulled out his cell, hands shaking so hard he had to set the instrument on the counter and redial, and called his Senior.



"Blair and the babies have been confiscated. The Protectorate." He said before Jim could finish identifying himself. "They left the warrant." Jim hung up without saying a word. Rafe let himself collapse onto the rug, curling into a fetal position.



His Guide. Was gone. Gone. Rafe groaned.



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Jim fumed. His rage knew no bounds. What he'd been able to find out pissed him off.



An anonymous tipster had phoned in a report that a Guide House was being run at the address of Jim's loft without a permit. More than two Guides in residence at any one address was enough to require a permit. The investigating officer had agreed with the assessment, finding a total of four Guides on the premises. All the Guides were confiscated and taken immediately to the Sheehan Guide House for an examination.



Jim let the phone settle back into its cradle. He wanted to smash it. Break it apart. Rip the cord out of the wall.



The big, bold signature scrawled across the bottom of the paperwork made Jim both ill and almost relieved. He'd heard of Captain Rathe, met the man a few times. Not a bad man, much like Jim, a stickler for the law. He would not listen to any explanations. He would press the law to it's fullest. He would investigate. Make or unmake the case without outside interference. Even from the heir of Cascade.



Rathe would be like a dog with a bone. Implacable. But he would also look out for Blair, Ange, Paua, and Kjell. All the Guides he had confiscated. Jim's family. Jim's Guides. Jim might want to kill the Captain, want to throttle him with his bare hands for daring to invade his home, court order or no. But he felt profoundly grateful it was a man of integrity that was watching out for his Guides. Even if he was a son-of-a-bitch.



Rafe found the second sheaf of papers once he stopped shaking, handing it to Jim, not saying a word, the pale faced fury of his Senior keeping him silent. Jim had no time for Rafe's distress and pain.



Jim read. He didn't trust his legs to hold him. His hearing was going in and out, his head spinning, his vision blurred, then too sharp, the light blinding. He smelled the ammonia of discarded diapers. Pungent.



The second sheaf of papers was equally devastating as the first. Blair's delivery of three pups was registered as being one month past. The adult Guide had not been registered in that requisite time with a certified Guide House for future breeding. Jim was not in compliance with City requirements. The confiscated Guide would be evaluated and a court order for impregnation obtained if it was appropriate. This was the only required notification Jim could expect. Following up on the ultimate disposition of the case was his responsibility. He could circumvent a hearing on the matter by producing papers proving Blair was contracted for breeding with a certified breeder or Guide House in good standing.



Blair was a suspected victim of mistreatment and was being taken to an approved House for examination, evaluation and possible permanent confiscation.



Jim threw the papers across the room.



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Blair woke partially. His brain was in a fog. He couldn't think clearly. He recognized the feeling from his early college days. Cotton mouth. Brain fuzz. Buzzed. He was high on something. A barbiturate or sedative probably. His mouth tasted like steel wool. Dry. Sticky. Yuck. He made a face, tried to turn over.



He couldn't turn. Sounds whirred around him. Very gradually they reformed into conversation. Or rather a lecture. He was on his back. People were standing over him. He lay on a bed. A flat pillow was snug under his head. An examination table. Restlessly he shifted his weight, thankful to feel the light weight of a blanket over him. He had feared he might be naked. He couldn't locate the source of the fear, but it was there, lodged firmly in place. Why was he here? He couldn't remember.



"This Guide is here for neglect. He will undergo a complete exam, and blood work and behavioral testing. It is often possible to discover maltreatment from the way a Guide reacts even when the physical exam is not conclusive. Putting a Guide through its paces is an important part of the diagnostic exam." There was something familiar about the voice. But Blair's brain couldn't hold onto what it was. Dizzy, he closed his eyes. That voice made his skin crawl. Who was it? Too tired to even try to lift his veil, it was hopeless to try to remember.



"So beginning with an examination of the Guide's limbs. Sentinel Chevo, can you tell me and your classmates your observations."



"He doesn't appear to have any marks or bruising. No lacerations, nothing that would indicate restraints used on him recently. His hands are clean, his nails trimmed. No spots on the nails, no deep grooves. The Guide retains an unusual amount of body hair on his arms. Most Guides have been completely depilated." The last offering was half-statement, half-question.



"Excellent. The reason for the retention of body hair is that this Guide was a Wild Guide. He was raised outside the House system. While pubic and chest and facial hair have been removed, often the black marketers don't invest the time in removing hair from the rest of the body. Excellent observations, Chevo. The Guide exhibits no injuries to his extremities. Guides often require a gentle restraint at the wrist or ankle to keep them in one place when they are not under direct observation. So the absence of marks may or may not be a good thing. It may be an indication of insufficient supervision." Blair heard the disapproval in the familiar voice. "But, let's move on."



Blair was turned onto his side, his coverings moved aside. He felt hands running over the skin of his back, his buttocks, and his thighs.



"Tell me about his lungs. How does his back look?" The instructor asked, selecting out another student. "Sentinel Daly."



"Clear breath sounds, his respirations are a fraction below the standard normal. There are no marks on his back, buttocks or the back of his legs as far as I can note. He has a rather dense musculature. Presumably for the reasons you gave earlier."



"Yes. What is the normal respiratory rate for a Guide of his age and apparent condition?"



"Twelve to twenty breaths per minute." The answer came back in a chorus.



"Heart rate?"



"Seventy to ninety beats per minute." The class chimed in.



"Yes. His pulse is what?"



"Sixty four."



"Theories as to why that is?"



"He is medicated with a sedating medication with a side effect of lowering his heart rate?"



"Yes. With Pordomian, a mild tranquilizer that works well in Guides as well as several other species of mammals, but has the benefit of not affecting Sentinels at all. It is commonly used to sedate recalcitrant, or difficult to manage Guides. It was chosen for this particular Guide for one very important reason. Can anyone tell me what that reason might be?" Shuffling noises all around, Blair felt his forehead wrinkle. They were talking about him.



When no one spoke up the instructor tutted. "Very obviously the Guide has recently had a litter of pups. Pordomian will not cross into the milk. He can be pumped and the milk will be safe to administer to pups. Though in this case it isn't likely. The Guide has already been nursing for a month. The pups should have been advanced to formula at least two weeks ago."



There was a low murmuring and tapping as notes were taken down. Blair, still limp, was carefully rolled back to lay supine, blinking through the heavy gauze of his veil. He wanted to sleep. To just drift off. But more hands were at his chest, and the touch was just enough to keep him from sleeping.



"How many of you have seen a nursing Guide?" The instructor asked. A hand moved up to Blair's chest, encircling his breast, toying with a nipple. He let out a small sound, not liking it, wanting to shrink away. The touch was disturbing, wrong.



"Normally a Guide is allowed to nurse for a week after delivering its pups. Then it can be mechanically milked for several months if desired. Most often with a breeding Guide it is best to bind the breasts and decrease milk after the first week. There is some truth to the old wives tales about breast-feeding decreasing the likelihood of conception. But the main impediment to this Guide's rapid re-impregnation lies in an entirely different arena."



Blair felt his robe parted further. His male genitalia grabbed in a large hand, tugged. He heard several gasps.



"Yes." The instructor's tone was filled with satisfaction. "About half of you had seen a nursing Guide before. But have any of you seen a breeding Guide with intact male genitalia before?" The murmuring got louder. "It is this that is the greatest hazard to the Guide's re-breeding. It is a sign, also, that is not incompatible with abuse. This should have been taken care of prior to the birth of the first litter. It wasn't. If we cannot discover a legitimate reason why..." He let the thought hang.



Blair stirred, trying to pull away from the grip. It was too tight. Painful. He was happy when the hand dropped away. He wanted to lift his knees protectively. If only he could find the strength. If his muscles would obey him.



"Being a Veterinarian specializing in Guide Medicine is a challenge. Finding specimens such as this Guide is rare. Every opportunity should be taken to examine the Guide fully and glean as much experience as possible from it."



"First off. The texture of the breast is unusually firm due to the congestion of milk, the skin a little hotter than usual, perhaps as much as a degree above the expected norm." The pad of the speakers thumb continued rubbing across Blair's nipple absently as if toying with an inanimate object. He wanted it to stop. Needed it to stop. Hated it.



"I would say the Guide is a few hours past due for milking. What I would like you to do is each of you take a breast, there are six of you and most conveniently six breasts. Examine it visually, then palpate it, and manipulate it." The voice directed and the hands obeyed. Blair felt his sensitive nipples tugged. It wasn't very gentle, not meaning to offer harm or discomfort, but lacked the awareness that this could be an intimate act at all, or that the body part in question was tender.



"See how easily the milk is expressed...." There was a grunt, and a low, sonorous growl, filling the examination bay.



"I beg your pardon." The outraged tone of the Instructor's voice was breathless. lacking the authority he'd tried to give it. "Who are you sir..."



"Step away from the Guide." Came the order, interrupting the Instructor's protest.



Hard, clipped tone. A voice that was not to be disobeyed. Blair felt relief as the hands fell away from him, as he heard a scurrying of feet leaving his bedside. "This Guide is in the custody of the Protectorate. The Guide will not be touched, or examined or discussed without an officer present. Or by any personnel not personally approved by me." It was the big man, the Captain, Blair's memory suddenly was willing to supply.



The Vet found his voice enough to splutter. "I'll have you know I am the head of...."



"Out. Now." The deep voice ordered. Contempt dripping from every syllable.



Blair whimpered as he was covered with a warm blanket from chin to toes. He struggled to open his eyes, to speak. To ask about his babies. Jim. Rafe. William. William wouldn't let him stay here. Would he? William could help. William who Blair knew desired him. William would help....wouldn't he? If Blair could ask....



Blair drifted off, the sedative overwhelming his feeble consciousness.