Date: 11/11/99

Notes: This was the first Sentinel story I ever wrote, in August of
1999. I let it go, didn't think much of it, and then I wrote "Me and a
Gun". After posting that, it occurred to me that a slightly rewritten
version of this story worked as a sequel. (And provides an interesting example of how background information provides slash--on its own, this story isn't slash; with "Me and a Gun" as background, it becomes rather more slashy.)
---

I sat in my office, drinking some very bad coffee and reading the paper. As I flipped through, a photograph caught my eye. It was a picture of Blair Sandburg shaking hands with some guy I didn't know, both of them smiling. The caption read "The newest addition to Cascade's law enforcement, Detective Blair Sandburg greets his partner, Dectective Jim Ellison."

I hadn't heard from Blair since his press conference. I hadn't wanted
to talk to him, after what he'd done, but I'd wondered what he was going
to do. What *could* he do? Join the police department where he'd been
an observer for the past few years, apparently...and go straight to Detective.
That was odd. More than odd. And Ellison was the one he'd written his
"thesis" about. The more I thought about it, the weirder it seemed.

I'd known Blair for years. He'd been doing some research on Sentinels
and hypersensitive senses even as an undergrad, and I liked his determination
and intelligence. When he first became a Ph.D. student, he could talk
of nothing but his thesis, all his ideas about Sentinels, and then, later,
about his "primary subject" and how well the tests were progressing.
And then he turned down my offer to take him to Borneo with me, and when
I got back, he'd changed. He was quieter, refused to discuss his research,
stopped spending a lot of time with the rest of the grad students. His
students loved him, but the rest of the department...well, we wondered
what had happened. When he gave that press conference, we were sure
we knew. Now I wasn't so sure. Why would Ellison want him around after
that? What on earth could have converted the easy-going, new-age Blair
Sandburg I knew into a police detective?

I sipped my coffee and thought about it.

Oh, hell.

Blair had fallen victim to a classic anthropological disease. He'd gone
native.

I knew it, knew the way I knew I was breathing. It fit. Everything
fit. The first symptom was the silence. The second was the outright
denial of the research. And the third...the third was staring up from
my morning paper. Blair. Gone native. I could hardly believe it, but
there it was: Detective Blair Sandburg. I wondered if he'd gone so far
as to actually marry into the police tribe--or at least date within it.

I wondered if I could get him back. I could get a paper out of this--"Recovery
of an Anthropologist 'Gone Native'"--or I could retrieve one of our best
instructors, whose absence had, unfortunately, left us shorthanded.
Not that there was any real shortage of competent instructors, but I
wasn't in the mood to look for one, and I did need an excuse to go see
him.

I pulled his records and headed to his apartment that same evening.
As I entered the building, I looked at the mailboxes, and noticed that
he was living with Jim Ellison. I checked the records in my hands, and
it looked like he'd moved in here--with or without Ellison, I wondered--shortly
after he started ovserving at the police department. Where they lovers?
Roommates? Or something else? If Blair's thesis were true, Ellison
was a Sentinel, and Sentinels need a Guide...

Could Blair be that Guide? Was this more than a case of going native?
If Sentinelism required a genetic predisposition, the same might be true
of Guides. Had Blair been drawn to this field because of such a disposition?
I've never been big on biological predestination, but I can think about
such things. Consider them, as a scientist, and reserve judgement until
later.

I took the elevator up and knocked on the door. Blair answered, looking
much as he ever had. Under his flannel shirt, however, he wore a tight
grey t-shirt with a police logo, his hair was cut short, and his hands
were dirty. "What are you doing here, Dr. Stoddard?"

"I wanted to see how you were doing. Congratulations, Detective."

He snorted, but let me in. He'd been cleaning his gun on the table,
which accounted for his hands, and he finished the job quickly. I watched
him and thought about how comfortable he seemed with the weapon--gentle
Blair, who I'd heard complain in the past about how the police wanted
him to get firearms training. He wasn't complaining now, as he washed
his hands and offered me a beer. Now he could handle a gun as easily
as he could handle the churchkey that opened the bottles.

"So why are you really here?" he asked as he handed me the beer.

"Really? I wanted to know if your thesis was for real. If you were
just trying to protect Ellison when you said it was all a fraud."

He smiled at me, but it was a twisted smile. "Why would I protect anyone?"

"Is it your job to protect him?"

"Jim's a big boy."

I sighed. "You live with him."

"So?"

"How long have you lived with him?"

He took a sip of his beer and focussed on something behind me. "About
three years."

"Are you lovers?"

His eyes became even more unfocussed, and his mouth tightened, as though
he didn't want to answer that question. But there was no hesitation,
no trace of...anything...in his voice. "No." The smile twisted his
mouth again, and he seemed to be laughing at a joke only he could hear.

I pushed ahead. "Are you his Guide?"

That brought his eyes back to me, unmistakeably sharp and hostile eyes
in a carefully blank face. "My thesis was a fraud."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Oh, yes I did."

I swished the beer around in the bottle, and considered my next words
carefully. "Was your thesis invalid because you became personally involved
with your primary subject, not because of any intentional fraud, invalidity
of test results or flaw of methodology?" Professional distance and disinterest
had always worked on Blair, brought out his passion and his talkative
nature.

But that was the old Blair. This new Blair, the one I didn't know, smiled
that strange twisted smile again and murmured something under his breath.
A minute later, Jim Ellison walked down the stairs from what must be
his bedroom.

Ellison met my eyes with the same sharpness and hostility Blair had,
and for the second time that day, I *knew* I was right. Jim Ellison was
a Sentinel, and he'd heard every word of this conversation. And Blair
was his Guide, and that subvocal murmur was Blair calling his Sentinel
to protect him. And I was in a very dangerous position, because both
men were quite capable of--well, according to Blair's thesis, Sentinel
and Guide protected each other, at considerable personal cost. I didn't
want to see what form that protection took, but I met Ellison's gaze
as though I weren't afraid. He never took his eyes off of me as he spoke.
"Hey, Chief. Thought I might take you to dinner to celebrate."

"Sure, Jim," Blair agreed, easily. "Let me get my jacket." He glanced
at me. "Sorry to kick you out."

"Not a problem," I said, cringing under Ellison's glare. I knew Blair
wasn't sorry at all--he was happy to see the back of me, happy to evade
my questions. "I'll talk to you later, Blair." I pulled my coat back
on and left, conscious all the time of their intent eyes on me. It wasn't
the same as being undressed by someone's eyes; it was as though I were
an interesting specimen to them, and they were trying to see what made
me tick. I had the disconcerting feeling that they could tell, just
by looking at me, exactly what I was thinking.

I waited outside for them to come out, and a few minutes later, they
did. And as they passed my place in the shadows, Ellison looked right
at me and smiled, the same twisted smile I'd seen on Blair's face earlier.
When they'd turned the corner, I came out and looked around at the world,
and knew my perceptions had been changed forever. Blair Sandburg had
written a doctoral thesis that could have changed the world, and he'd
denied it, gone native in a spectacular and public way--because his Sentinel
had needed him.

And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. Blair Sandburg was
gone for good.


### The End ###