Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: Spoilers for 5x15 and vaguely for the rest of the season in terms of canon character deaths. Meant to fit in a few weeks/months after the events of the season finale. Set in the Sentinel/Guide trope universe where Tobin is a Sentinel: a person with enhanced senses. And Nicholas is a guide: a person that helps a Sentinel control their gifts and keep them from 'zoning' or hyper-focusing on one sense and thus vulnerable. The connection or bond between a sentinel and guide is a soul deep and almost spiritual thing that is generally considered pre-destined. Much like the soul-bond/one-love trope.

Warnings: *Contains: slash, adult language, adult content, drug use/allusions to addition, possible consent issues – could be considered dub con due to the trope but nothing serious, mild classism: Sentinels often have a privileged status over that of guides despite the fact that there is a shortage of guides per Sentinel, thus guides are hugely prized. Please see original chapter for other information and warnings. – This chapter is also told in Rick's point of view.

Metronome (the piece of me I wish I didn't need)

Chapter Seven

A level 5 Sentinel? Here? Without a Guide? That wasn't possible. There was no way a Sentinel that powerful could have made it this far on just the drug. He'd never heard of anything like it. Hell, everything he knew about Sentinels told him it was impossible. Level 5's were rare enough, but without a Guide? That had to be about the closest thing to torture a person could get without being strapped to a rack.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the sparking black, only to have them pop back open less than a second later when Nicholas let out a muted streak of half-audible curses.

"For Christ sakes, you don't do anything in halves, do you?" the smaller man remarked ruefully. "Detoxing from this shit is gonna be a bitch." he added mildly, casually, like they were talking about nothing more important than the god damned weather. Not even batting a lash when Tobin reared up with an instinctive negative.

"I'm not detoxing! I can't. I hate it but I can't. You don't know what it's like, living like this, and I just- I can't. Not anymore," Tobin grated, hands ghosting across his temples like by sheer force of will he could stave off an incoming headache.

The silence that followed was intolerable. Highlighting the way the Sentinel seemed to shrink - if that was even possible - like the weight of his own shoulders was suffocating him in inches. He looked to the side only to find Glenn and Deanna similarly rapt, watching the story unfold like it was a movie. Spellbound by the latest twist despite that sinking feeling deep in the pit of your stomach that is trying to tell you that you probably won't like where it leads.

"So dosing yourself into a coma is preferable?" Nicholas slated, refusing to back down. Eyes hard. "There is enough in this to blind an elephant, Tobin!"

"It stopped working. What I was able to mix, I mean. This barely takes the edge off," Tobin returned, indicating to the empty syringe at his feet. "It's not enough, never been enough, but I've been able to make it work...till now."

The Sentinel's eyes flicked to the syringe in Nicholas' palm. All but vibrating with unkempt discomfort and self-loathing. Hating it as much as he needed it.

"It worked before. The pure stuff. When everything went to hell, I had two of them with me," Tobin explained, gesturing at the syringe. "From the pharmacy. A last resort sort of thing. Doctors' orders after my Guide- after she-"

"I was caught on the free-way trying to evacuate from D.C. The Tower was supposed to send an escort, said they were bringing a temporary Guide. That it was an emergency Sentinel recall and I was as good as drafted. But they never made it. I tried to make it to a check-point, figured someone could get me where I was supposed to be going. But I didn't even get close," the man said softly, rubbing his face with sweaty palms. Looking pale and almost sickly – as if everything that'd happened up until this point had finally taken its toll.

"There were explosions, crashing cars, roamers chasing crowds of people. Burning buildings. Screaming. Blood. Noise. God, I was- I zoned. Right there in the middle of the god damned road, half out of my truck, tangled up in the seatbelt," Tobin remarked with a shudder.

"No idea how I got so lucky, but there was this kid, fifteen maybe, chunk torn out of his arm. Must have seen it in the bag on the passenger side, because he injected me with it. Called it a Sentinel Epi-pen. Said his mom was one. Then a semi crashed through the traffic snarl, clearing the way and god, we just-we just gunned it."

"We made it out of the suburbs, barely. It was before we knew about the bites. I thought he was asleep – sick or something. But he turned in the back seat and we- I crashed. There wasn't time to grab anything else but that. I thought that maybe it would help, center me like it did back then. I was…free, for the first time. And it lasted for weeks. No zoning. No hyper-senses. I could sleep. Eat. Be normal," Tobin trailed off, sober and drained. Voice host to such an honest longing that it suddenly made all his boyish hopes and dreams look like one memory shy of a tragedy. Childish and stupid under the unforgiving reality that an unbonded Sentinel faced every day.

"I want that," Tobin whispered brokenly, staring into the fire when meeting the smaller man's eyes became too much. "I want to feel what that is like, even if it's just one more time."

The end of the walking stick twitched, taped up knob creaking under the force of Nicholas' clenched fist. Blue eyes flashing despite his guarded expression. To anyone else it might have looked like hatred – disgust. But by now he was certain it wasn't that simple. This was Nicholas' play, and for some reason he didn't think the man had come all this way just to rub the Sentinel's face in it.

"Your Guide?" Nicholas prompted, gentler this time.

"Cancer," Tobin accounted flatly, dead and tired in a way that made something in him ache. Throbbing in a dusty little corner he'd neither noticed nor cared much to examine before now. Bleeding second hand sympathy like a weeping wound. And he wasn't alone. The others weren't immune to it either. Like him they were shifting, living and breathing expressions of distress the longer it dragged on. It was the instinctual reaction to a person in pain magnified by a thousand because it involved a Sentinel - something connected to the earth in a way they could neither see nor understand, but felt in the heart of them nonetheless.

"Tell me," Nicholas demanded, raw and hinging on desperate. Like everything before this point had just been filler and now it was the world being balanced on a knife's edge.

But if Tobin noticed the change in tone, he gave no sign. Because instead of asking him why he cared. Telling him to go to hell or any number of things that would have fit the moment, Tobin just nodded. Dull, blank and unsurprised as he watched Nicholas twirl the syringe around and around in his hand.

"Tell me about her."

Tobin let go of a shaky breath, steadying but tilted on its foundations.

Like a house hinging over a precipice, unmoving but still at risk for a fatal fall.

"Selima. She-she was everything…and nothing. She wasn't mine," Tobin breathed, admitting it like letting go of the words themselves were akin to a physical blow. "We spent months in that damn hospital. I stayed every night she let me. Damn near lost my job at the plant. But I didn't care. There was this small insidious thing taking her away from me in inches and I couldn't do anything to stop it. If I had been her Sentinel – her real Sentinel – I would have sensed it. I would have known what was happening before it was too late. I should have-"

The line of Tobin's back was taut. A thousand shades of angry and defeated as self-disgust rolled from him in waves. But as much as the words seemed to pain him, it appeared as though, now that he'd started, he couldn't help but continue. Exorcising himself of months – maybe even years – of pent up aggression and guilt as Nicholas merely sat and took it, eyes sharp. Drinking in every word, every pause. Expression stern but strangely hungry.

"She was the most important person in my life, but not the person I needed. Not the Guide I needed," Tobin amended. "She was- our bond wasn't strong. But we made it work. We had to."

He watched Tobin's head cock – a marginal tilt to the left – when Nicholas chuffed deep in his throat. Arms crossing as he fixed the Sentinel with a look not that different from the ones he used to give Carl when he'd been younger - trying to sneak in a few more minutes of playtime before bed.

"Thought the Tower didn't allow untrue bonds for their favorite pets," Nicholas remarked bitingly. Attention keen, like any second he expected to catch the man in a lie.

The answer came swiftly as the two men seemed to share an assessing gaze. Communicating silently as something in Tobin's body language changed. It was imperceptible – minuscule – but there nonetheless. A subtle awareness that hadn't been there before. Like the Sentinel was reassessing the situation and the man in front of him. Trying to puzzle out the situation, just like they were, as Nicholas pressed the advantage.

"They don't," Tobin replied bluntly. "But even the Tower can't forcibly break a union, not anymore anyway. It doesn't matter what kind of bond it is – true or just surface. By the time they figured out what'd happened there was nothin' they could do."

"I presented early. Probably too early. I was still in high school. I was at football practice. A car-backstarted five blocks away and I zoned in the middle of a pass. By the time they got me to the Tower I was almost catatonic. Took a group of level-four Guides almost twelve hours to bring me back," the Sentinel explained, reeking with self-satisfied rebellion that seemed odd coming from someone so mild-mannered.

"They told me I was the most powerful Sentinel they'd seen in years. And that if they hadn't gotten to me when they did, I'd probably be a vegetable. Senses permanently overloaded – damaged. And they weren't kidding. I had a headache for weeks. Even with all their toys, the white noise generators and static rooms, I was miserable. Couldn't even wear clothes. My levels were all over the place, even with the temporary Guides they locked me in with."

The man's voice was rueful. Losing its detached blandness long enough to laugh at himself as he ran a hand through his hair. Color strangely improved as Nicholas twitched from his place on the stump. Looking like he wanted to inch closer, but didn't quite dare.

"My folks were so proud, you know? Everyone was. But the truth was, it wasn't what I thought it'd be. It wasn't like they made it sound. Like some stupid blessing – a 'calling' – a gift," Tobin recited with a snort, palms clapping against the tops of his jeans with a resounding smack before wincing in regret.

"It was like, the entire world had suddenly become poisonous - hostile. My favorite foods? I couldn't stomach them. Noise of any kind? I'd nearly pass out. Touch? I'd zone immediately. Sometimes even if it is was a Guide," Tobin remarked with a sigh, tugging at the collar of his shirt like he was remembering a phantom itch. "They took me out of school, put me in an accelerated program that had me graduating three months later. Honestly, I didn't get much time to get used to the idea before they started their tests and tried to match me up with a Guide. Told me I was prime Black Ops material. Tested high enough that one of the Generals came to see me personally, recruited me basically. I was sixteen, dumber than a pile of rocks and I just rolled with it. Stupid."

"I don't remember everything, but I know they exhausted the list of potential Guides – the ones that tested high enough on the spectrum to match me – within four months," Tobin continued, meeting Nicholas's eyes head on. "You were right, they wanted to match me with my bonded. My true Guide. But they couldn't find them. Moved bureaucratic mountains trying to make it happen. And still, nothing."

"I couldn't be field tested or trained until I was paired, so they amped up their Guide-finding campaigns. Trying to tempt more potentials in the D.C area to come out of the closet, I guess," the Sentinel continued, shaking his head. "Thing was, they knew if I had presented, my Guide was out there. I mean, I know that finding your bonded is rare, especially in the wild, but the thing they don't tell people is that level fours and fives only present if their Guide is out there somewhere. Guess they figured it was only a matter of time before they found mine."

The Sentinel's smile was a tapestry of penitent regret. Laced tight with the type of knowledge that only comes with experience. Ignoring the dirge that mourned the death of childish ideology in favor of warming the bed for a future that'd spanned out, heavy and dragging with the weight of what could have been.

Nicholas just looked like he'd stopped breathing.


A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Stay tuned, I am thinking this might cap at 10 chapters, we will have to see.

Reference:

*Selima: a girl's name of Hebrew origins, meaning: "brings comfort and peace."