Bought

Pushing was not fun. Labor was not fun. Blair had already had more than enough of both and as of yet, had not delivered even one child. He was profoundly unhappy with the event now taking place. He wanted to be able to stop it in its tracks, but he knew he couldn't. It was inevitable. It would continue, go on, out of his hands. He wanted it to be over. Done with. And he never wanted to go through it again.



Dr. Miller's calm voice, even and quite reasonable, had initially soothed, but now he just wanted to scream at her. It didn't help that he was not pleased with the bed he was on, the downstairs one, the futon, not nearly as comfortable as the big bed where he had been sleeping, Jim between him and the stairs. Someone, no doubt one of his fastidious Sentinels, had covered the futon with what had to be a dozen layers of heavy duty plastic. Then a few sheets, but it still crackled every time he shifted. He felt like he was on top of a huge, slickery bag of potato chips and was at risk of sliding off, and onto the floor, at any time.



Rafe and Ellison had been sent out of the room immediately when the Doctor and her two assistants arrived. Blair felt inexplicably alone, even as the women bustled around him. He did understand why his Sentinels were sent out, Rafe's face had been the color of parchment. Ellison's had frozen in an expressionless mask. But even understanding, he resented it.



Ellison had found the wherewithal to get Blair out of the shower into the bed and robed head to foot before the Doctor and her assistants showed up. The appearance of the assistants who Ellison had not yet been introduced to had been a moment fraught with tension. It might have escalated, if Blair's unhappy howl hadn't interrupted the Sentinels before they could face off with the new arrivals.



Doctor Miller had told Jim and Brian that unless they were planning on helping with the birth themselves, she needed her assistants. It was then that reality hit Rafe at least square in the solar plexus, and horror washed over his face, turning it white. Dr. Miller could not hide her satisfaction at making her point. Ellison still growled, but less loudly as they bustled around Blair, setting up bassinets and clean towels and hot water. Dr Miller also had a cooler full of fruit ices and diluted juice for Blair to sip and suck on. That too made him unhappy. This was going to be a long haul.



Hours. Blair had heard stories, but they hadn't really affected him one way or the other. He certainly had never been invited to a birthing. And none of his friends or acquaintances had given birth. Here he was, as far as he knew, the first of his former circle to go through labor. And he was so not enjoying it. In fact he was beginning to panic. He felt the telltale tendrils of terror whisper over his nerve endings, finding purchase and digging in, holding fast.



His breath went in and out far too rapidly, his fingers and toes beginning to cramp. He was pale and shaky. And still his labor continued, the contractions becoming harder, sharper somehow. He let out a whimper of distress. Clutching at the sheets under him, and when Dr. Miller, murmuring, tried to get down between his legs to check him, he feebly kicked at her. More out of reflex than malice, but he nevertheless tumbled her back onto the floor.



She took a deep breath as she righted herself. Then approached him from the side.



"Blair. Blair, look at me." He shook his head, blue eyes huge with his growing panic, flitting around the room, lids open so wide his eyes looked on the verge of falling out of their sockets.



"Blair, there is no reason to be afraid. Your body knows how to do this. These are your children being born. This is the time you bring them to life, right here, right now. Take a breath. Be calm. Very calm. No need to worry. This is what you know how to do. It is built in. Slow, even breath. Yes." She wasn't as happy with his meager success at slowing his breathing as she pretended, but any small success would have to do. It was better than an escalation.



Blair felt like his heart was still going to climb out of his throat, but at least it wasn't about to tunnel out through his ribs. He gasped for a few minutes, trying to catch up on his need for oxygen. Hands stroked his forehead beneath the veil, a cool cloth wiping away the beaded sweat there. A large, bulky figure, smelling of powder and grandmotherly things, was at his side. He whimpered, not sure if he should lean into the touch, or away. She was a stranger.



"Don't touch him." Jim stood in the doorway. His voice was hard and low. He was glaring at the assistant who had frozen with the washcloth against Blair's skin, her eyes darting to Dr. Miller's face for help deciding what to do.



"The Guide is mine." Ellison growled, his voice even more quelling. The woman glanced up at the Doctor again.



"It is alright, Claire." Dr. Miller soothed, her lips compressed as she tried to coax Blair into relaxing his knees. "Sentinel, take the cloth." Her voice was firm and assured. Jim stayed in the doorway, his jaw a granite slab, his eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, face disapproving. The faint scent of blood hung in the air, and he didn't like it. It was his Guide's blood, and he hated that. Blair whimpered again, beaded sweat trickling down his skin under the robes.



"The Guide is in labor, Sentinel." Dr Miller's tone was abrupt, impatient. "Take the cloth or get out. You are not helping." She didn't look at him, concentrating on Blair. Jim took a single step inside.



"The infants will not wait for us to be ready. For you to be ready. They come when it is time. Will you deny him what comfort we can give?" Dr. Miller asked the large man hovering in the doorway, impressive shoulders hunched. She leaned forward to tell the Guide, "Blair, your Sentinel is here. Nothing can do you harm while he is here. He will protect you." Her gaze bored into Jim's, as his system reacted to the traditional, irresistible call to protect a Guide.



At last Jim moved to Blair's side. His gait was quick, decisive, showing none of the reluctance of only seconds before. Blair clawed at him, trying to grab onto his arm with both hands. He needed something to hang on to. Jim sank to his knees.



"Can't breathe!" Blair panted, panic flaring again. His nails dug into the Sentinel's arms. Jim never hesitated; he whipped the veil off of his Guide's face. He glowered at the assistants who averted their eyes instantly. Dr. Miller was concentrating on lower things, and didn't require a glare to divert her attention. Jim positioned himself to shield his Guide, lips peeling back from his sharp, white teeth whenever he thought anyone might be thinking of looking, or getting too close. He picked up the wet cloth and sponged Blair's face and neck. Their eyes met, locked. Tendrils of fire licked over the Sentinel's body from the inside out.



"That was neatly done." A voice broke into the relative silence. Blair moaned and writhed, Jim ignored the speaker, but Dr. Miller reacted as if she had been tasered. Her head snapping around to find William Ellison at the entrance to the room. "Involving the Sentinel in the birth will forge a deeper tie between Guide and Sentinel. How will he be able to give up the pups he helped to deliver, his Guide's pups? Guides themselves." He shook his head in grudging admiration, his gaze hard, his mouth compressed. "You remove the choice from the Sentinel."



"Senior Sentinel...." She began to move away from Blair to make her respects to the older man standing in the door.



"No," William Ellison said lifting a hand, waving her back to her task. "Don't bow to me. You have more pressing matters to see to. Later though, we will talk you and I." He stepped into the small room and glanced around. The two assistants were face down, shivering, foreheads on the hardwood floor. His eyes traveled over to Blair, showing no reaction at the undraped face. "How is he progressing?"



"Well...better if he were less afraid, but well enough." The Doctor was still uncertain, nervous that her intentions had been found out. Her efforts at binding Sentinels and Guides tightly through the births she attended. The way Guides were handled, treated, her soul cried out against it. If she could help, even a little, by giving a few a better, more secure life, by making the Sentinels "see" their Guides...



"I had heard rumors. Now I know." His grey eyes fixed her. "Tend to the Guide, as you have assured they will be tightly bound, his health is now fully linked to that of my son." There was little inflection in the tone. "It is imperative that they both be healthy and well." His gaze told her she would definitely face the consequences if her actions resulted in less than perfect health for either or both.



"Rafe. Brian." William didn't raise his voice. As if by magic, Rafe appeared on his hands and knees, his eyes respectfully downcast, but flicking in little pulses up and around the room, as if he was unable to resist. William waved him inside. "Do you see?" He asked the Companion.



Rafe looked over at Jim and Blair, as he was bid. Jim was leaning protectively over the laboring Guide. The drape was off of Blair's face. Rafe stared, his gut knotting. Then he looked back at his Senior. Jim's breath was in lock step with Blair's. They were looking into each other's eyes, their hands clasped. Rafe listened harder, chasing down their heartbeats. He found what he'd suspected he would. Their hearts beat in concert. Beat for beat. Breath for breath. Blink for blink. Matched, locked, bound.



Rafe abased himself. William tutted.



"Not your fault, Companion. But if things are to balance it is best that you get over to them and be bound to the Guide as deeply as my son." Rafe stared unbelieving at the standing man. William spoke again. "Was I unclear?" He asked mildly.



Rafe scurried over to Jim and Blair, meeting Jim's hiss of rage at being disturbed with a bowed head as he was taken lightning fast to the floor and sniffed thoroughly. Jim confirmed his identity and intentions with a lick, followed by a bite. Rafe held still, his Senior pinning him to the floor.



Then Jim let Brian up and he crawled to Blair seeking the side of the Guide furthest away from the door and Jim, remembering to remain close to the floor and to maintain a submissive posture, the top of his head lower than his Senior's shoulder, still bowed as he crept to his place.



Rafe waited for several moments before daring to move close to Blair, close enough to touch him. And then he waited even longer before daring to look up and meet the squinted, deep blue eyes of the Guide. Blair shivered.



Rafe felt it steal over him. Not in moments, not in hours, it was instant. Every cell in his body strained forward. Obeying the call, he shuffled forward on his knees, his body against Blair's thigh. His hands curled around the leg, aware of the dampness of the skin, the strain on the limb, muscle trembling underneath his palm, under the robe. He took the strain away, offering the Guide his body to push against, to drape his leg over. He felt some of the tension ease. And Blair opened his eyes after a hard push and looked at him again.



It was deep, and binding, the look. Brian stroked the leg he held, felt the bared ankle in his hand, murmured. Unbidden his hand stole up, halted only by a hissed warning from the Doctor. He stroked over the distended belly of the Guide, his Guide. He looked. Felt no wrongness in looking. The Guide was his.



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Jim was given the first infant, a squalling bundle of outraged Guide, kicking mightily until Jim's startled hands closed on him. Then the baby quieted, looking up, blearily, into the face of the Sentinel. The Sentinel looked down, equally mesmerized.



The second infant was born twenty minutes later, and Rafe was given the bundle to hold until Jim took it from him and laid it in the bassinet he was crouched protectively over.



The third infant was a surprise to all of them.