A Sentinel for Lost
A Sentinel for Lost
By NearMercury
Disclaimer: The plot is mine, Lost is mine. Everything else isn't. Standard please-don't-sue-me-I-have-no-money disclaimer here.
"Good morning sir, can I help you?" Jennifer smiled over the reception desk at the handsome man in silver aviator glasses.
"I hope so," the man's return smile was brief and shy. "I'm Lost."
"Well, sir," Jennifer nodded understandingly. The hospital was a large complex and she sometimes became turned around herself. "Where are you trying to get to?"
The man blinked. "Hmm? The Bonding Department."
"Oh, then you're not lost at all sir!" Jennifer beamed.
"I am quite certain that I am," the man argued.
"No, no. This is the Bonding Department," Jennifer said, pointing at the sign on a wall near her desk.
"Yes, I know," said the man. A crease of confusion appeared between his eyebrows.
Jennifer's pink-painted lips curled down. "But I thought you said you were lost?"
"Ah," the man's face relaxed into a rueful smile. "Yes, I am. Doctor Lost. My name should be on the call-in sheet for today."
"Oh!" Jennifer bubbled up with giggles. "Your name is 'Lost'. Goodness, I bet things like this happen to you all the time."
Lost shrugged, amused at the woman's reaction. "Not as often as you might think," he said. "The call-in?"
At Lost's prompt Jennifer tapped a her keyboard and ran a bright pink nail down her computer screen. "Yes, here you are. Doctor Darien Lost." She looked up, still fighting back giggles. "Just through that door, Doctor, down the corridor and third on your right."
"Thankyou," Lost said.
"Good luck," Jennifer called as Lost disappeared through the door. "Lost," she giggled, "poor guy."
The third door on the right proved to be a waiting room, Lost discovered. There was a low table spread with magazines, surrounded by a dozen low, fat armchairs. A wall counter boasted water and coffee and half empty packets of biscuits, one of which was currently being riffled by a teenager in tight black jeans. He glanced over casually as Lost came in, shoving a biscuit in his mouth to speak through chocolate crumbs.
"Hey," the kid said. "You get called in too?" A vague hand gesture moved Lost's attention to one of the armchairs where a pleasantly chubby woman was peering over the glossy pages of a magazine. "Didn't know they'd be so many of us," the kid continued. "Weird."
Lost just shrugged silently and perched on the edge of an armchair. The woman dropped her magazine and leant forward to offer a hand to Lost, her low-cut top revealing a hint of lacy bra.
"Hi, my name's Anna," she said. "This is my fifth call-in."
Lost politely shook Anna's hand, the soft leather of his gloves absorbing the warmth from her palm. "Nice to meet you, Anna. My name is Lost."
"Weird name," the young man said, tumbling into an armchair. "I'm Aaron." He waved, his own hands covered in black wool. Protection, like Lost's battered leather, against uncontrolled empathic influences driven by skin contact. Anna's uncovered fingers picking up the fallen magazine conveyed her lower empathic abilities as clearly as a neon sign.
"Think there's gonna be more of us?" Aaron asked.
"There may be," Anna told him. "It depends on how many Sentinels are here."
"I don't care how many there are," Aaron lifted another biscuit, considering. "So long as one of them's mine." He apparently decided the biscuit passed muster because his next words were muffled by crumbs. "Had a call-in once before. It sucked, getting all worked up to meet your Sentinel and then going home alone. Don't wanna do it again."
"You never get used to it," Anna agreed softly, eyes firmly fixed on a colourful array of skirts. "Especially when there is a Sentinel in pain that you just can't reach."
Lost's jaw flexed and he pressed his aviators up his nose, hiding behind their silver sheen as much as he hid behind leather and layers of cloth. He could image a Guide like Anna, powerful enough to qualify, but not powerful enough to bond with the Sentinels that needed her. "This is my first," he offered. The other two turned to him. "I used to be a Deep Zone Healer, but the laws changed."
"Only bonded Guides can be DZ Healers now, I heard about that. I didn't know anyone affected by it though." Anna seemed mildly horrified.
"So, what, that means you can bond to any Sentinel you want right?" Aaron asked, clearly perceiving such an ability as a threat to his chances of bonding today. "That's what Deep Zone Healers do right, save Sentinels who are dying by, like, one-sided bonding or something?"
"It is not as simple as that," Lost admitted, his hands folding together at the unpleasant memories.
"And DZ work, it usually prevents Guides from being able to form permanent bonds," Anna explained to Aaron, darting pitying looks at Lost that made his twitch uncomfortably. "That's why the law was changed to allow only Guides who are already bonded."
"Exactly," Lost's voice was badly-concealed pain. "I've been a DZ Healer for eleven years. I won't be able to bond. But the Government won't let me heal, they're making an example of me." Lost winced. "I decided that I might as well try. I've nothing left to lose."
Aaron patted a wool-swathed hand on Lost's shoulder. "Wow. That sucks."
Lost allowed himself a sad smile, just for a moment. "Yeah."
The moment was shattered by the opening of the door as a riotous head of curls bounced in. The stocky man was glowing like a sunbeam, dressed in rainbow waistcoat and jeans with time-worn holes at the knees, all colour and good-vibes. Lost found himself relaxing in the positive empathic waves.
"Hello!" The man exclaimed. He grinned at the three Guides, all of whom had stood at his entrance. Black clad teenager, buxom woman in lace and cautiously presented Lost in his dark grey suit and aviators.
"Let me guess," the man danced around on the balls of dirty sneakers. "Anna Bridges," he shook her hand before turning to Aaron in a flurry of motion. "Aaron Dominous," Aaron bobbed his head in bemusement, his hand continuing to wave up and down after Blair had let go. The man's attention focused in on Lost. "And you must be Doctor Lost," the man's smile toned into respectful as he set cream-cotton gloves against Lost's leather. Even through the two layers Lost could feel the man's empathic welcome, pure vibrant power. "You do good work, doctor," the man said warmly. "I'm sorry for your situation."
"Thankyou," Lost replied softly, letting his own natural empathy return the greeting. "You must be Doctor Blair Sandburg." Lost had heard about the bouncy young Guide from his contacts in the world of Sentinels and Guides, Blair had a reputation for great feats of empathy and even greater feats of chatter.
"That's me!" Blair's captivating smiled returned and he pulled back to address them all. "I see my reputation precedes me, call me Blair." He gestured towards the door. "So, you three ready to meet the Sentinels?"
"How many?" Aaron was quick to ask.
"Four," Blair said. "Is that alright, or would you rather meet them individually?" The tone in his voice clearly conveyed his concern for Aaron's sense of safety. "I know that the big-guys can be a little intimidating, especially en-mass."
"No, its cool," Aaron brushed it off. "Just that last time there was me and these two other guys, and only one Sentinel… and… yeah."
"I understand," Blair said, and the warmth in his eyes showed that he really did. "Don't worry, Aaron. I guarantee you, you won't be ignored this time."
Aaron blushed and ducked his head, hiding his face behind a zigzag curtain of black hair. "Whatever."
"So," Blair deftly moved on. "Let's go, shall we?"
"Yes, lets," Anna agreed. Blair pushed the door open and gestured the others out. Lost followed last and paused, one foot in the corridor, staring up into a set of familiar blue eyes.
"Doctor Lost," the Sentinel greeted, his wide hands instinctively going out to latch onto Blair as he bounced past and pull his Guide in against his broad chest.
"Sentinel Ellison," Lost returned, the first hint of a truly happy smile on his face for weeks.
"Please, Doctor, its Jim," said Jim.
"Jim," Lost agreed. "You look very well." He glanced at a proudly puffed Blair. "I'm pleased for you."
"Thankyou," Jim rumbled.
"Yeah," Blair said. "Thankyou." And it was clear that he meant for more than the compliment as he clutched the sleeve of the Sentinel who had brushed so close to death a little over three years ago, saved by Lost to end up in Blair's adoring arms. Lost nodded in recognition and Blair flooded back into action.
"Right!" He clapped his hands. "Anna, Aaron, this is Jim, my Sentinel. If at any time you feel threatened or uncomfortable, Jim here will protect you. Okay?"
"Okay," Anna agreed, looking the Sentinel head to toe with an approving expression. Jim winked at her somewhat roguishly. She winked back.
"Yeah, fine," said Aaron, clearly far more interested in the potential for meeting his own Sentinel than in introductions. "Can we go in now?"
"Sure thing, right though here," Blair tapped another door. Aaron moved forward eagerly and pushed through the door, closely followed by Anna.
Lost hesitated at the doorframe.
"I've never…" words failed him. So many things he'd never. Soft cream cotton brushed Lost's cheek, a fluttering moment of intimacy between Guides.
"You'll be alright, Lost," Blair murmured. "You'll see, everything will work itself out in the end. Just have hope."
"Hope," Lost sighed. He touched the edge of his aviators in what was fast becoming a habit, checking his protection against the world.
"You gave it to me," Jim said, "you give Sentinels a future. Now it's time for one of us to give a future to you."
Lost accepted the support for what it was and braced his shoulders. He stepped though the door.
The new room was much the same as the last, low armchairs scattered about low tables, everything perfectly clean and presented in muted colours designed to be soothing. There was an unobtrusive white-noise generator in one corner and every subtle lighting unit also possessed a tiny camera lens.
Lost looked around for Anna and Aaron. Anna was sat prettily on an armchair, chatting with a lanky Asian Sentinel with black eyes fixed on her like she was the answer to all his prays. And perhaps she was, Lost considered.
Aaron was no more than a half-visible black streak between a bulky Sentinel with a military crew-cut and the wall. Lost smiled indulgently, watching the Sentinel discard a black wool glove like it was contagious, Aaron's pale, bare hands ran over the crew-cut head and down a thick neck, drawing rumbling purrs from the Sentinel's barrel chest.
"Hello," a mellow voice drew Lost's attention to a sun-baked brown Sentinel, her muscular curves modestly covered in a pale green shirt and jeans. She stood barely an inch shorter than Lost's sensible six foot and her smile was brilliantly white. "I'm Birony." She held out a hand and Lost accepted a careful shake, choosing to ignore Birony's pointed dislike of his gloves. It was natural for Sentinels to feel badly towards gloves on Guides, it was after all a deliberate block meant to close the Guide off from real contact. Lost ventured a cautious smile, aware of Blair and Jim entering the room behind him.
"It's nice to meet you, Birony. My name is Lost."
"Lost," the Sentinel seemed to taste the name. "That's an unusual name, yet I seem to recall hearing it before." She studied Lost with renewed curiosity.
"The founder of the Deep Zone program," said a low husk as another Sentinel wandered over to join the gathering near the door. He was traditionally over-sized, tall and muscular with the graceful slink of a predator. His clothes were uncoloured thousand-count cotton and loose, an undeniable sign that his sense of touch was out of control. He raked Lost with narrowed dark eyes. "I hear the Legislation department is being castrated in court by the Sentinel-Guide department."
"Good," Blair put in. "So they should be."
"I'm Kevin, by the way," the Sentinel added.
"You're Doctor Lost," Birony said with a degree of awe. Lost dipped his face, embarrassed at the Sentinel's admiring tone, and a brown thumb brushed the line of his jaw. A zing of emotion caught at Lost's soul like Velcro, torn away as the thumb left contact. But there was no lingering connection, nothing to suggest to Lost that the female Sentinel was anything more than another soul that he could trace the outline of but never capture in detail, never hope to hold on to.
"I'm sorry that I am not your Sentinel," Birony said, drawing her hand away and down, her disappointment as deep as Lost's. "I hope that you find the one that is."
Lost granted her a small smile. "I hope that you find your Guide," he said, words too-familiar over his tongue, a platitude said to many yet still true in intention. Birony bowed her head and backed away, turning to leave the room via a door Lost had not noticed on the back wall.
"May I?" Asked Kevin, raising a hand that trembled just slightly. Instead of answering Lost reached out and entwined his fingers with the Sentinel's, feeling the surface link shudder into place.
"I can't offer much," Lost whispered, face still cast down. "I can't take the risk of the program being punished for my disobedience. But I can push it back, dull some of the pain." He caught at Kevin's sleeve and lifted it to reveal the edge of an angry red rash that Lost knew must run the breadth of the Sentinel's spiked skin. Behind him Jim tensed and Blair drew in a sharp gasp, a Guide's horror at a Sentinel in pain. Kevin's dark eyes dipped closed.
"I would be grateful," he murmured. Lost released Kevin's hand, feeling the connection snap out of existence as expected, and turned to Blair.
"Could you hold my effects?" He asked, tugging at the tips of his gloves.
"Sure," Blair agreed, taking the folds of leather as Lost passed them over. Then, eyes carefully concealed behind lowered lashes, Lost removed his aviators. Slender hands, one with a strange streak of violet-purple across the back from a chemistry accident in Lost's university days, reached out and Kevin latched on, shifting forward to press his forehead against Lost's. The connection coiled back into place.
Lost opened his eyes. Deep, spiralling shades of grey caught Kevin's dark brown and held. Chinks opened in Lost's armour, just enough to let healing energy pour over Kevin's senses like a balm. The Sentinel groaned low in his throat and the rash receded slowly up both arms, down and across his chest until no trace of red remained. Lost pulled back, closing his eyes to begin the disconnection, and Kevin protested.
"No," he said. "Stay with me."
"I can't," Lost said gently. He reclaimed his hands, thrust one out for Blair to return his aviators and gloves. Once the silver lenses were once more shielding his eyes and leather covering his hands, Lost patted Kevin apologetically on the jaw. "Tell me now, am I yours?"
"No," Kevin sounded as though the admission was painful. "No, there's no connection."
((To be continued…))
Reviews are welcomed. Is Lost too Mary-Sue? Can you see a future for this idea?