Bought

Jim Ellison paused outside the door of the room holding his Guide, Rafe, his companion stood one step behind. It had taken Jim far too long to gain permission to visit the House where Blair was being held. He understood the reasons for it, the requirement for caution. But he resented the reasons and the pretence that was being maintained that he was a risk to Blair at all. Each and every one of the trumped up charges angered him. He kept that anger close; it would be useful when he found out the one person who was to blame for starting this ball rolling. His need for re-dress, for revenge was boiling over.



Getting permission to visit Blair was the first hurdle he had faced, not as easy as it had first seemed. He understood why his father had hesitated to intervene. Had taken the time to think through the ramifications, before countermanding the orders that kept any Sentinel from the Guide during the course of an investigation.



Then he and Brian had been delayed as the harried House administrator had insisted, despite the signed, notarized order of Visitation in the Sentinel's hand, that the Protectorate Sentinel had to be called. That verbal permission from the SGP had to be heard by his own ears. Saying without saying anything, that the order of the ruler of Cascade was not enough to get him through.



It wasn't until the lofty, doorway-filling form of Captain Michael Rathe appeared in the door of the administrator's office that Jim had been allowed to learn where Blair was being kept. In one of the countless shielded rooms, impossible to track by scent or hearing. Or Jim wouldn't have waited. No matter what the rules dictated. He would have pulled his weapon and fought his way there, if he'd known where to go. He ground his teeth together, hard. The person responsible...would pay, dearly.



William Ellison had been as furious as his son. When it came to Sentinels in Cascade, he was the embodiment of the law. He purposely stayed out of Protectorate business. Kept himself apart. But this had been too much. He had personal knowledge of the falsity of the accusations.



William, hand trembling with rage, had signed the writ of Visitation and had it couriered over to his son. He had little doubt what was happening and why now. His changes were not welcome. Even the less conservative of the Sentinels residing in Cascade were nervous, worried the changes were too much, too fast. The more conservative were talking about leaving the area. Taking their Guides with them.



And there were those who would fight him, fight in any way they could to keep the changes from happening. From destroying their way of life. Tradition, the way their fathers had lived, their grandfathers, and so on, far back in time. Some would fight openly. Others...would resort to measures such as this. Underhanded. Honorless. Stabbing him, and any who supported him, his administration, in the back. He growled deep in his chest. Well they wouldn't win. His resolve was only made stronger.



So while Jim and his companion were visiting Blair, William was on the phone, making sure his supporters knew what was happening. Making sure that it was crystal clear to those who were on the fence that that position, one of neutrality, was no longer acceptable. And those who opposed him, who dared support such a move as devious and underhanded as having his son's Guide confiscated, with rumors of abuse the fuel of gossip, he let them know he was taking them on. He wasn't going to let it go on behind the scenes. If they were going to oppose him, they would do it in the full light of the day.



Even with the personal knowledge of the ridiculousness of the claims of abuse and neglect, William Ellison chose not to halt the investigation. The Sentinel/Guide Protectorate was outside all the usual channels of law. He did not rule over the men and women there, not in the performance of their duties. They investigated. No one had the power to stop them until they were satisfied with what they found. Either in favor of the Sentinel, or against. So this fiasco would have to play out. And Jim would be vindicated. It would not be just William's word that made it so.



Jim, as bad as his day had been, was having a far better one than his father. Jim, at least was about to see his Guide. He followed the wide back of the Protectorate Sentinel to a moderately sized, comfortably warm room. As soon as the door opened Jim smelled Blair. He heard the soft, insistent beat of Blair's heart, slower and more sluggish than he liked, but unfaltering. He saw his Guide, who lay curled on one side under a pale green blanket. Fully draped and veiled. Drugged. Not responding to the nearness of his Sentinels at all.



The anxiety that had been a band around Jim's chest eased a fraction as his gaze swept up and down the slowly breathing body. There was no scent of alarm, no scent of blood. And, Jim thought grimly, no scent of semen. Blair had not yet been put to stud. His jaw clenched even as his breath came easier.



Rafe, coming in behind him let out a sound that was very close to a moan, telegraphing the depth of his distress. He crowded nearer, brushing against Jim's back, going around him without waiting for an OK, making sure he went around on the side away from the Protectorate Sentinel. Jim watched him go to Blair. The look on his Companion's face, open, urgent. One of overwhelming relief.



Jim let him go first, then he followed. Stopping just out of reach of their Guide, he took Rafe's chin in his hand, using the hold to turn his Companion, tilting the brown eyes up to meet his own.



Rafe's eyes were brilliant with emotion. His body was wracked by faint tremors, every inch of his crying out to go to the Guide. Jim held him against the front of his body. He ran a soothing hand down the smaller Sentinel's side, molding his palm to the small of Rafe's back. Feeling the tremors continue. He felt Brian's need, gently he let him go. Took his hand and put their linked grip on top of the sleeping Blair.



Blair. His Guide. Warm. Alive. Safe. In a place where Jim didn't want him to be. But as far as he could tell, inviolate. Asleep. Watched over. He spread his hand, releasing Brian's, so his own hand splayed wide over the softness of the Guide's belly. He moved the robes just enough to touch skin without exposing it.



Peace. Acceptance. Relief. Belonging. Jim, and Rafe next to him, let out a shuddering breath, another sound from the younger of the two, a sob. Then Brian leaned down over Blair and laid his chest across the slumbering Guide's body. He felt the cushion of breasts, all in a plumped line down Blair's torso. Wet warmth came through. The scent of Blair filled him, he drew it deep into his lungs, felt his cells open to the essence; take it in until it became a part of him.



Rafe clambered up on to the low bed, not trying to find the will to stop, not caring that a stranger watched him, lifting the blankets, the veils, until Blair's hair spilled out, a full, rich mass of dark curls. His shoes fell with dull thuds beside the bed. His arms folded around the pliant body. Hooked a leg over the compact thighs. Buried his nose in the curls, pulled the Guide closer, until he felt the fine, silken strands catching in his lashes. Held him tightly, all along their lengths.



Jim moved his hand to Blair's head, threading his fingers through the thick hair and put his other hand on the back of Rafe's neck. His Companion, his Guide. Together, safe where he could see both, assure himself. He gave a silent murmur of thanks. It could have been so much worse. It didn't make him want any less to raze the Sheehan House down to the last brick, but...Blair was here, in front of him. And that, for this moment was enough.



Blair could have been sold. Could have been sent where Jim would never find him, no matter what resources he brought to bear. He might have been put to breed, might have more memories of hormone crazed men penetrating him, while he could do nothing about it, nothing to stop it. Jim shoved that thought away. But it refused to go.



Hadn't he argued with his father that it was more natural for a Guide to be bred that way? That insemination wasn't natural, and thus.... He had himself argued for just what he'd feared had happened. It hadn't, but now he knew, he had been wrong to suggest it. Idiotic. To think he could stand it being done to Blair, man after man going inside the body of the Guide who he...cared for...maybe more? Jim shied away from that thought, went back to thinking of other things, less threatening. Wrong to think it would be possible for him to let Blair lay under a series of unknown men until he was pregnant again. Jim couldn't let that happen.



Dr. Miller had to be right. It had to be true that he, or Brian could give Blair the children. One of them had to be fertile with the Guide. Even the thought of other men's seed inside Blair's body, artificial or naturally placed there, made Jim burn with a dangerous rage, flecked by the equally volatile desire to strike out, to punish indiscriminately anyone who presumed to lay hands on his Guide.



Over him, at his side stood a massive figure. Jim glanced up, his eyes icy, angry, barely controlled. Like his voice when it came out, razor sharp, precise, cutting, ringing with a low fury. He felt a viciousness rising in him, choking off his ability to reason. He showed his teeth, sharp and white. The man next to him didn't react beyond letting Jim see he saw the threat. Accepted it.



"Rathe." It took a supreme effort to make the name come from his lips, but Jim got it out.



"Ellison." Milder tone. Deeper voice. Respectful, but anything but subservient. Rathe was not giving Jim position.



"I am here to see ~my~ Guide." Jim said, the distinction crucially important. His lips peeled back from his teeth again.



"Yes." The dark green eyes flicked to Rafe and Blair curled together on top of the bed. The blankets and veils so jumbled it was impossible to say one wore them and one did not. Both faces were uncovered, their hair tangled together. Blair was limp, his head lolling resting against the side of Brian's forehead, his throat stretched, vulnerable to the slow lick of Rafe's guilty, needy tongue. The Companion wasn't able to stop his exploration, his need to re-imprint the Guide. The two Alpha Sentinels watched as it progressed.



The larger man nodded, a short, no nonsense motion. His dark green eyes returned to the standing Major Crimes' detective. The examination of the Guide held no interest for him.



"The charges are bullshit." Ellison said, his words coming out like they were being squeezed, fisted out of him, and sharpened to a razor's edge. He drew in a breath, drew in his Guide's scent. It calmed him, gave him back a fraction of the control he'd lost, the loss that was burning a hole in him, fueling the rage. The requirement for revenge.



"I know." Michael Rathe replied. "You do not need to convince me." His attention was fixed on the bed. Not on Jim. Jim stepped across the sound-absorbing floor, relinquishing for now the touch of his Companion and his Guide. Rathe's head turned slowly towards him. Jim stopped moving. The Captain turned his attention back to the bed, to where Rafe was struggling to get out of his shirt and pants without letting go of Blair, or moving away.



The younger of the Guide's Sentinels. Rathe looked him over. Pants fell to the floor. Nicely put together. In shades of brown. Hair, eyes, skin tone. Handsome, especially for a Sentinel. No way he would have made it through the whole term of Academy without being Claimed. Ellison had just gotten there first. A shame. He could have used the young man himself. Beautiful.



Rathe saw the need in the dark eyes, the cliff's edge the man was poised on. Tension poured off of him. Need. Desire. Unable to wait, Brian didn't voice it, but he didn't have to. A button torn from his shirt skittered across the floor as frustration won it's awkward battle towards bare skin. The feeling vibrated across the intervening space. Intense, powerful. Impressed, the uniformed Captain jerked his head towards Rafe and the sedated Guide.



"Your Companion." He commented. The words communicated less than the way they were delivered.



"Detective Brian Rafe. Mine." Jim supplied after a pause, his gaze coming to fix on the big man. He didn't like what he saw. "No." He said.



Michael Rathe smiled, lifted his shoulders in a shrug, big, massive, dwarfing even Jim. That much larger again than Brian. Jim stared at him, not letting his feelings show. He shook his head, repeating the negative nonverbally. Returned to Rafe and Blair, standing over them, standing vigil, watching as Rafe was unable to do anything but imprint his Guide.



The Captain watched absently, as the two men carefully went over every inch of the Guide. He could hardly blame them. Their Guide had been whisked out from under their care, taken without notice, with accusations of abuse and demands to breed. He could well imagine his own fury if it should happen, ever, to any Guide he possessed. He had to grin at that idea. Himself, with a Guide. As if.



The complaint had been worded in such a way that the Protectorate could not in good conscience ignore the report. Even if it went against everything he knew of the younger Ellison, the heir to Cascade. Rathe owed it to every Guide to investigate such charges. Even if the reporting complainant wasn't courageous enough to give his name, it wasn't all that difficult to find out who he was.



If Rathe failed to investigate because he didn't believe the charges...then someday, he would miss a true case of abuse, someone would not report, thinking it was not of any use. He would miss a Guide being hurt. He would lose a Guide. His jaw spasmed. And that would never do.



A ruckus in the hall made both of the Alphas look up and in the direction of the heated conversation. Footsteps stomped past. The conversation, argument really, wasn't all that loud, coming from behind a closed door, but both men could hear it clearly. The subject not one to bring a smile to either face. Ellison glowered, standing fierce, over his Companion and Guide, his part in the imprinting of the Guide done for now, his fists knots of white-knuckled anger.



"How long have they been discussing that?" He growled. Discussing which studs to put his Guide to. Jim's teeth again were bared, his speech harsh, abrupt.



"How long have they been talking crap like that?" Michael shrugged. "Since your Guide came in. There isn't one of them who doesn't want a piece of him. They believe him to be a rare find."



Ellison relaxed a fraction at the casual acknowledgement that Blair belonged to him, before stiffening on hearing how much others wanted his Guide. Rathe almost smiled again, seeing the reaction. Predictable.



Ellison knew him. He should know that he would not be in here, in this room now, if the Protectorate Captain had any doubts as to the care of the Guide. Ellison was no risk to the curly haired Guide. The rest was just going through the motions, doing nothing rash, nothing too fast to be taken seriously. But as far as Captain Rathe was concerned the Guide was as good as Ellison's again. Had been since the first real examination of the Guide by the Protectorate's Veterinarian revealed a healthy, happy Guide. Well, happy aside from its current predicament. A certain level of anxiety was expected in these circumstances. Guides did not like disruption, or excessive excitement. And being taken from its home was...exciting, in a negative way.



"Any progress? Any sign of who is winning?" Jim asked sarcastically.



"Winning? No. Neither is willing to see the other's point. It is the same thing, over and over. Put him with a Guide stud, or a mundane. One is cost free; one requires a substantial stud-fee payment. They go around and around, the same crap every time. Besides, their argument hardly matters. They will not be allowed in here to carry out any order they settle on. The Guide is under my protection. Let them argue." He waved a long arm dismissively.



"Meaning?" Ellison's intense ice-blue eyes met his, challenging. The Captain let his own lashes sweep down to hide his gaze, hard to do when he was a full six inches taller than the detective. But worth it. Important to let a riled Sentinel know he wasn't at risk, not really. Of course Ellison knew that, but he couldn't war with the instincts inside of himself, instincts that demanded he defend his possession of the Guide. A Guide Rathe didn't want. That however wasn't important. Michael Rathe was a Sentinel. That was all that mattered to Sentinel Jim Ellison.



"They seem to have forgotten that your Guide is with me. With the Protectorate. They think their decision will make a difference in his fate." He shrugged minutely, a gesture that conveyed much with such little motion. There was a brief flash of white teeth.



"But, it won't." Jim said, with no small degree of satisfaction. Rathe nodded, pleased the other Sentinel understood.



Brian was just managing to bury himself and Blair in the pile of blankets, hiding both from view, tucking them in. Now hidden, an unhappy sound rising in his throat. Jim's Companion could hear the words as well. And he didn't like them. His hands explored Blair, searching for injuries, for anything wrong, for anything right, trying to tuck Blair completely under his own body.



Rathe watched the concealed, shifting mass. Yes, the Companion was beautiful. A worthy Companion. Uninterested in what was going on between the two Alphas, focused on the care of the Guide. Worried about....Ah!



"The pups." The Captain said, inclining his head towards the door. "They are being bathed, and changed," he wrinkled his sensitive nose, giving a clue as to why the babies weren't being changed in the room. "I thought it best that they continue to feed from their mother."



Rathe noted the way the Companion stiffened, went still under the covers at the mention of the "pups", the corner of the blankets lifted, his chocolate eyes sliding over and up, up until he met the emerald gaze fastened on him. The Captain licked his lips, slow and hungry. So lovely, those long lashed, dark eyes.



It was a simple matter of one step, and reaching out a long arm. Rathe touched that lightly tanned skin, running the backs of his fingers over a freshly shaven cheek, up into the silky wave of dark brown hair. Brian was unmoving, wrapped around Blair like a boa constrictor. Head tilted back, looking all the way up into the face and eyes observing him. Trained not to protest an Alpha's choice. But clearly not liking it.



"Rathe." Ellison's voice was hardly amused, he was up close. He watched as his Companion was handled surprisingly gently by the huge man. No overt, unforgivable touches, nothing like a Claim being laid on him. Just a curious fondling, friendly, interested, but harmless.



Alpha Sentinels liked Brian Rafe. They liked him a lot. Captain Rathe was not the first. But they also knew, every second, they never forgot who outranked whom. Ellison knew they knew. But what of the Captain? Rathe was a man outside. Unconcerned by Jim's rank. He didn't cross the line, neither was Jim sure where the line was with the man. But oddly Jim trusted him. Enough to leave his Guide temporarily in those monstrously large hands.



"The babies?" Ellison asked for more information. His eyes watching, watching for any impropriety as Rathe stroked Brian's face.



"Not unaccompanied. I know well enough how unlikely it is that these...people here can be trusted. They will not leave the sight of my men. The", he looked at Jim strangely, a question in the next word, his lips pursing, "'babies' are also mine, for now." Another shrug as his hand dropped away from Brian's cheek, the tip of his forefinger lingering as it brushed a full lower lip. Lush. Tempting. Far more so than that little, warm skinned Guide who smelled of mothering and milk. A Guide was a Guide, they were all the same, but this...this Companion....mmmm.



"I think you will grow unbearably fat on this diet of yours." Rathe remarked to Jim. "Such a wealth of choices on which to feed. Perhaps I might relieve you of one?"



Jim reached over, moving up behind Rafe, his hand sliding up the back of his Companion's body and into the thickly curled hair at his nape. The tightening of his fingers tilted Brian's head back, showing the long, smooth length of his strong throat, his head falling back along Jim's hip. Displaying Rafe in a way. Letting the other man look. Just look.



"Yes. Beautiful."



"My Companion." Jim said, leaning down, turning his head to nuzzle Brian's ear. "Far too expensive for anyone to tempt away."



"I am saving up." Captain Michael Rathe said. Letting the implication hang. He smiled his first, full, blindingly white smile.



Brian watched them from the corner of his eyes. He was sure, absolutely certain that the large Sentinel wasn't interested in Blair. Not like he should be. No. The man had instead paid more attention to Rafe himself. To Brian, another Sentinel. Not to the Guide. It made no sense to him. A Sentinel should want a Guide. A Companion, sure, but not when a Guide was present. The Guide was more, so much more. Rafe didn't understand it. But he knew if given a choice Captain Rathe would pick him over Blair.



Rafe stroked his fingertips over Blair's wrist. It was the only part of his Guide left uncovered. He made sure of it. The idea of other Sentinels seeing any part of Blair stirred up anger. Rafe wanted Blair covered and protected.



Captain Rathe, not taking his gaze from the slender, strong form of Ellison's Companion, smiled wryly. "He doesn't understand." He said, traces of amusement in the words. "Does he?"



Ellison shrugged. "No. You aren't something that can be understood by any other Sentinel who is not one of your kind."



"Yes. Maybe you are right. But without men like me, Sentinels like me, who would protect the Guides from Sentinels like him, like you, like that creature who calls himself a doctor?"



"What doctor?" Suddenly all of Jim's attention transferred from the shared observation of Guide and Companion.



"The one who has tried without fail since we arrived to take over the care of your Guide. Who has tried to assert his will in how the Guide will be managed and bred. The man who has filed a petition for ownership of your adult Guide and all his offspring since they were rescued from your 'inadequate' care."



Jim faced Rathe fully now.



"I would be interested in knowing who this doctor is." He said with careful control.



"Yes, I know you would. Normally I would say nothing to you. Nothing at all. An anonymous tipster is not always a bad man. Sometimes I do find I have to protect a Guide from what is being done. But, this man, he wanted only to stir things up. He has reported falsely. Vindictively. I can't tolerate that."



Jim's eyes glowed with the blue lights of the predator he was at heart. Far deeper, far more primitive, more ingrained than the protector, was the predator. The hunter. Who was hungry for its rightful prey.



Protectorate Captain Michael Rathe smiled.