Sentinel!Neal 10
Next bit--just what do they do in proper Sentinel/Guide lessons, anyway?
The next day, they followed the same schedule as yesterday-morning at the warehouse, afternoon at the Clinic. Sandburg must have either gotten a better handle on his temper or decided that Peter wasn’t really an abusive prick; he eased back considerably on the hostility. Peter wondered if the Clinic had given him an update.
In any case, Peter gave him another one, explaining the general outline of what the Clinic had in mind for them, and how they were going to be liaising with Ellison and Sandburg in the mornings only. That was fine with them-great, actually, since they had other cases to work on, and identifying all of the stolen art wasn’t a huge priority for the Cascade PD. They agreed to take the weekend off from the case-apparently Sandburg and Ellison had plans, and Ellison still didn’t want them in his crime scene without him-and meet at the police station on Monday.
Midmorning, Hughes called. Mouthing, “Hughes” at Neal, Peter took the call outside the warehouse. It turned out that the Clinic had worked their promised magic, necessitating that Peter give yet another summary of the events of the last few days, on both case and Sentinel fronts.
“I didn’t know Caffrey was having problems,” Hughes said, when he had finished.
“Neither did I, until yesterday. I think we owe it to him to get him the best help, since we let things slide for so long, and the people at Rainier are supposed to be the best.”
“They have a good reputation,” Hughes said. “The Bureau’s sent a few Sentinels there before-usually, we try working with our own people first.”
“I told you about Sandburg, sir,” Peter reminded him.
“Yes. We’ll make do without you for a month-not that DC is giving us much choice. There are a few people down there who think Caffrey’s probably scamming the Clinic into giving him a free vacation on the Bureau’s dime, but even they think it’s better to just let it play out than risk making enemies with Rainier. They’re the biggest source of Guides outside the military, and if they start saying we mistreat Sentinels, we’ll have a recruiting problem on our hands, just for starters.”
“He’s not scamming them,” Peter said.
“I hope not. Make sure you keep an eye on him, though-it could be that he has his own reasons for wanting to be out there for a month.”
“I’ll watch him,” Peter promised. This, he supposed, was what Tim was talking about when he said that the roles of handler and Guide were incompatible. As Neal’s Guide, Peter had to make sure Neal knew he could trust him. As his handler, Peter had to distrust him. “Between the case and the Clinic, I hope he’ll be too busy to get into trouble.”
Hughes signed off, and Peter went back inside. Neal was looking over Sandburg’s shoulder at the laptop. “-almost the same,” he was saying. “If it’s an unknown canvas from the same artist, it could have been circulating on the black market since the forties.” He smiled up at Peter. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“What did Hughes have to say?”
“That they can live without us for a month,” Peter answered.
“Good. Shall we?” He extended his hand toward the depths of the warehouse.
After the morning’s work and lunch at a place near the University, recommended by Sandburg, they returned to the Clinic, where they were directed to Tim’s office.
“We thought, if it’s all right with you, I’d be your counselor moving forward,” he said. “If you’d rather meet some of the other counselors and make a choice, we can arrange that, too.”
“It’s okay with me,” Neal said. “No Michelle?”
“We got the impression that Peter and Michelle didn’t develop much of a rapport yesterday,” Tim said delicately.
“Accurate,” Peter said. He didn’t dislike her, but she seemed to alternate between being brisk almost to the point of abruptness and being excessively touchy-feely. He could have learned to tolerate either, but the constant switching back and forth was grating. “Yes, we can keep working with you. That’s fine.”
“Good. Today, after we talk for a little while, you’ll have your first theory and lab lesson. We have you scheduled with Dr. Desai-she specializes in working with Sentinels who have come out of latency, which isn’t exactly the situation you’re dealing with, but it’s similar enough that we thought she’d be the best person for you to start with. Are you available tomorrow? We only have morning hours on Saturdays.”
“Yes,” Peter said.
“Good; since your time here is limited, we’d like to keep working on Saturdays. Sundays we’re closed except for emergencies, so you’ll get a little bit of a break.”
With the logistics out of the way, they got down to business, which turned out to be a rehash of what they had decided yesterday, about Peter staying on as Neal’s Guide, with a number of questions about whether their thoughts or feelings had changed overnight. They also each related their conversations with Elizabeth. Neal seemed surprised that she has said mostly the same things to each of them; Peter wasn’t sure what he expected.
“That reminds me,” Neal added. “She said I should mention how the only time Kate and I really fought, she left me for several years.”
“Kate, your previous Guide,” Tim said.
“And my girlfriend, yes.”
“That explains a lot.”
“It does?” said Neal.
“Yesterday, you seemed certain that any conflict between you and Peter, or Peter and Elizabeth, would inevitably end in disaster for all parties. Even given your concerns about returning to prison, those fears seemed…exaggerated.”
“His breakup with Kate also led, indirectly, to the FBI finally catching him,” Peter put in. Why hadn’t he seen that?
“How’s that?” Tim asked.
Peter and Neal exchanged a look. “It’s pretty complicated, and probably not relevant,” Neal said. “We got back together literally minutes before I was arrested.”
“We used Kate as bait in a trap to catch him,” Peter said. “And when I say ‘we,’ I mean me.”
“I see,” said Tim, looking a little shellshocked.
“I knew it was probably a trap,” Neal added. “I went anyway.”
“Okay.” Tim nodded a few times. “Let’s put a pin in that and come back to it. Your history with managing interpersonal conflict is poor,” he summarized.
“I guess you could say that,” Neal agreed.
“The thing to remember,” Tim said, “is that Sentinel-Guide relationships are like all relationships; no two people get along perfectly all the time. Even in Bonded pairs, there are disagreements, miscommunications. First you have to know that you can survive them, then you have to know how to survive them.”
Towards the end of their pre-marriage counseling, he and El had made couples’ counseling Bingo cards. What Tim had just said was good for at least three squares.
“The up side to this difficult situation that’s developed over the past couple of months is that once you’ve dealt with it, you’ll have a lot more confidence in your ability to cope with future conflicts.”
And there was another one-finding something positive.
Tim went on to outline some ‘communication strategies’ that they could work on using. Neal, after hearing the list, said to Peter, “You used at least three of those last night.”
Peter nodded. “This is not my first rodeo.”
“Can I ask,” Tim said, “since you have learned about effective communication in the past, why did you….”
“Not do any of it before last night?” Peter finished for him.
Tim nodded.
Peter had to think about that one for a while. “I guess,” he finally said, “because I was thinking of this,” he gestured between himself and Neal, “as a job, not a relationship.”
Tim nodded. “And really, it’s a little bit of both, isn’t it?”
“Yes. In a job-in my job, at least-you build trust by being good at what you do, not by talking about it,” Peter said. “And I wasn’t doing that, either.”
Tim nodded again. “We’re going to address that, too, and it’s about time for your first lesson. Does anyone have any closing remarks?”
They didn’t, so Tim directed them to a part of the building they hadn’t seen yet. Peter was expecting a clean room, like they used for their lessons at the Bureau, but instead they found what looked like a vaguely Asian sitting room, with low tables and floor cushions, and even one of those little rock gardens with the sand and the tiny rake. A dark-skinned African American woman with a short natural hairstyle sat cross-legged on one of the cushions; Peter supposed she was Dr. Desai.
Neal matter-of-factly slipped off his shoes, and Peter followed suit, glad he hadn’t worn any of his more unusual socks today.
The woman stood. “Good afternoon. I’m Suzanne Desai.” She had a slight French accent, and Peter revised his opinion of her ethnicity: African, from one of the Francophone countries, rather than African American.
They introduced themselves, and Dr. Desai invited them to sit. Peter chose a cushion somewhat dubiously. Neal sat in what looked to Peter like a perfect half-lotus.
“Ah,” Desai said. “Do you meditate?”
“Not much,” Neal answered. “A good friend of mind dabbles in Zen.”
“You may wish to join your friend,” Desai advised. “Meditation is very good for Sentinels. But that is not why we are here today. You have had sensory theory instruction before?”
“I’m not sure if I’d call it theory,” Neal said. “But I’ve had lessons, yes.”
“With Mr. Ketner.” Desai nodded. “Tell me how you began.”
Neal summarized the first lesson. “He tried to start with some sensory tests-like we did here yesterday-but I didn’t know enough to do that. He asked if I knew how to link, which I did, so then we did that and worked on dials.”
“I see. And did he ask Peter if he knew how to link?” She turned to him.
“No,” Peter said.
“And you did not, did you?”
“No.”
“We will begin again,” she pronounced. “Linking creates an empathic connection between Sentinel and Guide….” She went on to explain the process at some length. If this was theory, then Ketner had definitely skipped it. Having read a little about it in Sentinels and Guides for Dummies, Peter could just about follow her explanation, but felt he ought to be taking notes. But she concluded, “All of that happens inside the brain; neither the Sentinel nor the Guide need be aware of it. Now, Peter, I would like you to link with me, if you please.”
“You’re a Sentinel?”
“Indeed I am.” She held out her hand. Peter went to grasp her wrist, but instead she clasped her hand in his. Peter waited for her to link with him, but instead of doing so, she said, “Both Sentinels and Guides can initiate a link, but it is generally easier for a Guide to do so, and the Sentinel must also control his dials, so it is fair for the Guide to perform this part, no? Reach out with your mind, as you reached out with your hand.”
Easier said than done. Peter ‘reached’-or thought he was, anyway-but nothing happened.
“Try again,” Desai said. “I am over here.”
It took him five tries-two more than it had taken Neal on their first lesson. And when he finally managed it, he realized that Desai was meeting him halfway, holding out her mental ‘hand’ for him to clasp.
“Very well,” she said, releasing her hand from his. “We will do it one more time.”
This time, Peter managed in one try.
“Good.” She turned to Neal. “Ordinarily, it is more difficult for the Sentinel to learn to hold himself open for the link, but Tim has indicated you already know how.”
Neal nodded. “Do you want us to try it now?”
“Yes.”
Neal held out his hand, and Peter took his wrist.
“Wait.”
Peter let go.
“You are doing this backwards. If you think it not masculine to hold hands, it is usual for the Sentinel to hold the wrist of the Guide. Do you know why this is done?”
“I always heard it was a dominance thing,” Peter said. For obvious reasons, he’d thought it was better not to do it that way.
“Many mundanes believe this, and even some Sentinels,” Desai said. “It is done because breaking the link unexpectedly, when the Sentinel is not prepared, is very disorienting. If the Sentinel controls the physical aspect of the link, he can be sure that this will not happen.”
Oh.
“I believe that this has been happening to Neal nearly every time that you link,” she continued. “What ordinarily occurs is that you discontinue the link and Neal immediately falls upon the ground, yes?”
“Not always immediately,” Neal said.
“You begin to feel unwell immediately,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Before ending the link, you must adjust your dials to their ordinary settings, and re-familiarize yourself with your surroundings,” she explained. “It is also best to end the link mentally before ending physical contact. We will practice this.”
They did. They linked, separated, and linked again at least fifteen times before Dr. Desai pronounced herself satisfied. Each time, she had Peter ask Neal if he was ready before ending the link.
All that, without Neal doing a thing with his senses. That didn’t come until after they had taken a tea-break (Jasmine tea in handle-less cups, to match the décor, Peter supposed) and Desai talked about dials for a while. She explained that there were several other metaphors the Sentinel could use. “Electronic devices with dials have been generally known for only a short time,” she pointed out, something that Peter had never thought of before. “And now that many of the young people have never used a radio or television with a dial, other metaphors are becoming more popular. As a child, I was first taught to imagine a sluice-gate in an irrigation system. One may raise it a small amount, to allow a trickle of water through, or raise it entirely to create a torrent, or anything in between. These were a familiar sight in the village where I grew up, and especially familiar to me because my father was a hydraulic engineer.”
She paused to pour them each a second cup of tea. “But most American Sentinels use the dial, and you may wish to continue. The metaphor that I was taught, however, is useful because any village child knows that opening a sluice gate too far, too soon, damages the tender young plants. It is only when they have grown large and strong that one can open the gate fully and water them quickly. As a Sentinel, you are a young plant, and must first learn to understand what your senses are telling you when they are opened only a little, before you are able to open the gate fully. This I believe Mr. Ketner neglected to explain to you.”
“Yes, he did,” Peter agreed.
Neal nodded. “I’ve been going up to nine or ten in lessons-I have to, to do the things he has me doing.”
“Once you have learned properly, you will be able to distinguish more at only six or seven than you now can at nine or ten,” Desai said.
When teatime was finished, they started up again. Desai instructed Peter in talking Neal through adjusting his dials-only to five and a half or six, for this lesson-and had Neal examine various objects using different senses. The sand tray turned out to be what she used for touch, instead of Braille dots. She had Neal start by touching and describing it, then placed small pinches in his hand for him to count the grains, then had him roll a single grain between his fingertips and describe its shape and texture. Peter expected Neal to rebel, if not at the second step, then surely by the third, but Neal apparently saw some point to the exercise.
By the time they finished, three hours had gone by-the same as one of Neal’s lessons with Ketner. But when Peter ended their link for the last time-first asking Neal if he was ready-Neal stayed upright, bright-eyed, and alert. Peter kept a close eye on him as he stood up, but he still seemed fine.
“How do you feel?” Peter asked.
“Good,” Neal said. “A little tired, but good.”
Desai recommended a nice dinner and some quiet time with his Guide, which led Neal to ask for restaurant recommendations. He’d already gotten several from Sandburg and Ellison, the hotel clerk, Tim, and the Clinic receptionist, but maybe he was keeping a mental list.
Neal finished up by bowing to Desai-something he definitely wouldn’t have done if he felt sick; he usually tried not to move his head then-calling her “Desai-Sensei,” which seemed to amuse both of them.
#
Despite everything they’d learned and how well he felt immediately after the lesson, Neal didn’t quite believe that he wasn’t about to keel over until they were outside the Clinic building. There, he could smell the flowering trees and hear the traffic noise, but neither was overwhelming. The trees were even pleasant. “What should we do about dinner?” he asked. He wasn’t quite sure who had picked the sandwich place where they’d had lunch-they had just sort of settled on it as the closest to the Clinic of Blair’s suggestions. Either way, it had been a mistake. It did, indeed, have sandwiches, but they were heavier on avocado and sprouts than Neal personally liked, and made on the kind of whole-grain bread that had you worrying about your dental work.
“You don’t need to lie down first?”
“No, I’m good.” He was sort of hungry for sushi, but the only sushi place he knew about had been another of Blair’s recommendations, and Neal wasn’t sure he wanted to risk another one of his places without independent confirmation. “What about the Spring Hill Brewery?” Sandburg had recommended that one, but so had Desai and the desk clerk, so it was probably all right. They made their own beer, apparently, which he thought Peter might like, and it wasn’t the place across from the motel, which Neal would definitely like.
Peter agreed, and it turned out to be a good choice. The place had a respectable wine cellar in addition to the handcrafted beer, and the menu had all the standards, plus some more innovative options. They ate and drank well, and Neal found himself explaining Mozzie’s Zen safecracking lessons, after a careful disclaimer that he had acquired that particular skill for entertainment purposes only.
“He was right, though, because if your heart’s pounding-as it might be when you’re cracking a safe for entertainment purposes-that alone can make you miss one of the tumblers if it’s a really sensitive mechanism.” He shrugged. “Practicing Zazen and learning Braille for safecracking turned out to be less crazy than it seemed, so I’m willing to give playing with sand a chance.” If it had been as painful and difficult as Ketner’s exercises, which did at least have an obvious point, he might have balked, but the lesson had been almost fun.
Back at the motel, Peter took off his shoes, pulled back the bedspread, and sat up against the headboard of his bed, Cyndi’s Kindle at hand. Neal went to assume a similar position on his own bed, but Peter patted the space next to him. “Sit with me.”
That, again? At least they weren’t shirtless. “I don’t need to.”
“Do you need not to?”
“…I guess not.” He didn’t have any particular objection to sitting on a bed with Peter, except that it was a little weird. He grabbed his book and sat down.
After a moment, Peter put his arm around Neal’s shoulders. “How’s this?”
“Okay, I guess.” They sat like that for another minute. “I’m going to read now.”
“Good idea,” Peter said quickly, picking up the Kindle.
It was, Neal had to admit, very convenient for when Peter found something in his book that he wanted to show him. Nothing quite as good as Blair’s baby picture, unfortunately, but there were some charts and tables about various situations and products Sentinels had trouble with, and explanations of how linking worked that were a little less technical than what Suzanne had explained that afternoon. Peter also pointedly drew Neal’s attention to the passage that explained how one was likely to see Sentinels and Guides touching a lot more than average, and it was perfectly normal and not necessarily sexual (see chapter 12.)
“That book has a sex chapter?” Neal asked.
“I haven’t gotten there yet.”
Neal’s book, once he got past the Stone Age parts, started explaining how the Holy Roman Empire’s march across Europe remade various indigenous cultures in Rome’s image. Now, finally, Neal was able to recognize a few landmarks, since the same process could be traced in art and architecture, as the classical and early Christian styles and themes of Rome mixed with those of the Byzantine, Islamic, and ‘northern barbarian’ worlds. He wasn’t particularly familiar with the period-most of what was still extant from that period tended to be incorporated into buildings or other structures, and therefore quite difficult to steal-but once he reached the middle ages, he was on familiar footing.
The practice of cloistering female Guides in nunneries from childhood to Bonding age, for example, he had known about because that particular class of holy virgins had been a popular subject for late Medieval and early Renaissance painters, the beautiful girls standing in for the Church and their handsome Sentinels for the Church’s bridegroom, Christ. Neal had never given much thought to where the male Guides were when that was going on, or the female Sentinels, for that matter, and was surprised to see that-according to Blair, at least-they were largely undocumented because the Church claimed neither existed. He asked Peter if he had ever heard of that.
“Yeah, there was a paragraph about that in the history chapter I read yesterday.”
“Well, if you want to know more about it, Blair has about a hundred pages on it.” Neal kept reading, and, oh look, his book had a sex part, too. It explained, in great depth, the early church’s attitudes about sex and gender, and how those shaped ideas about Sentinels and Guides even today. There was a lot of stuff on how Guiding was still ‘coded as feminine,’ which Neal thought probably had a lot to do with Peter’s objection to, as he put it, following a Sentinel around holding his hand. The fact that he was a lapsed Catholic might be relevant, too.
The next day, when they arrived at the Clinic, Neal was surprised to find that their first appointment was not with Tim or Suzanne but with yet another new person, a mundane named Patricia Wallace, who identified herself as the facilities director.
Neal wasn’t sure why they were meeting with her-they didn’t need any facilities, as far as he knew-but she got to the point quickly. “We understand that the FBI has you staying at the Best Western by the highway. It’s not a very Sentinel-friendly property, and since you’re going to be here for a while, we thought we’d try to arrange something more suitable.”
“We talked about that,” Peter said. “Neal’s fine, and they’re moving us to a different room tomorrow and doing some other things to help us get settled.”
Patricia turned to him for his opinion on the subject. Sensing an opportunity to obtain room service and a view, Neal was carefully noncommittal. “It’s been okay so far. A little noisy, but the new room should be better. What did you have in mind?”
What she had in mind turned out to be the Clinic’s on-campus housing for visiting Sentinels and Guides. Neal was skeptical, picturing a dorm, but Patricia took them outside and pointed out a ring of cottages surrounding the garden that adjoined the Clinic. “Each unit has its own defined interior and exterior spaces, which we find is more comfortable for Sentinels. The construction uses only organic, non-reactive materials….”
Neal listened with half an ear as she explained various things he didn’t care about. There was probably no room service here, but there was definitely a view, and the broad selection of restaurants within walking distance more than made up for not being up the street from their breakfast place anymore.
Patricia walked as she talked, and they soon wound up in front of what Neal thought might be the most picturesque cottage of the lot, half-hidden by a stand of lilacs just beginning to bloom. “We usually try to keep this unit vacant this time of year, for obvious reasons,” she explained, gesturing at the lilacs. “They’re a special variety that the Botany department wouldn’t allow us to dig up…it’s an ongoing issue. Anyhow, it’s vacant, and since Neal isn’t particularly scent-sensitive, we thought it might work for you. Would you like to see inside?”
“Yes, I would,” Neal said brightly.
The cottage had the same feel as the Clinic building-it was quiet but not muffled, and smelled clean but not sterile. It had the same bamboo floors as the clinic, here softened with some woven cotton rugs. The bathroom had a tub big enough to accommodate a fully-grown human being, and each of the-separate!-bedrooms had a large bed piled high with bedding that didn’t make Neal cringe to think about. There was also a small kitchen-so, definitely no room service, but Neal knew from experience that it was possible to get tired of going to restaurants three meals a day for a month. His per diem would go further with the occasional meal in, too.
“It’s nice-really nice-but unless the motel really is a problem for Neal, I don’t think the Bureau’s going to want to pay for an upgrade,” Peter said.
Patricia answered, “We provide housing for Clinic patients on government or corporate accounts with rates comparable to what they ordinarily pay.”
“All this for seventy-nine a night,” Neal translated.
Patricia nodded. “Yes. Are you interested?”
“Things like this just happen to you, don’t they?” Peter shook his head.
“People like me.” Neal shrugged. “You said we could see what else was available in the same price range as the motel.”
“I did,” Peter agreed.
“Turns out this is in the same price range.”
“We’ll take it,” said Peter.
The next day, they followed the same schedule as yesterday-morning at the warehouse, afternoon at the Clinic. Sandburg must have either gotten a better handle on his temper or decided that Peter wasn’t really an abusive prick; he eased back considerably on the hostility. Peter wondered if the Clinic had given him an update.
In any case, Peter gave him another one, explaining the general outline of what the Clinic had in mind for them, and how they were going to be liaising with Ellison and Sandburg in the mornings only. That was fine with them-great, actually, since they had other cases to work on, and identifying all of the stolen art wasn’t a huge priority for the Cascade PD. They agreed to take the weekend off from the case-apparently Sandburg and Ellison had plans, and Ellison still didn’t want them in his crime scene without him-and meet at the police station on Monday.
Midmorning, Hughes called. Mouthing, “Hughes” at Neal, Peter took the call outside the warehouse. It turned out that the Clinic had worked their promised magic, necessitating that Peter give yet another summary of the events of the last few days, on both case and Sentinel fronts.
“I didn’t know Caffrey was having problems,” Hughes said, when he had finished.
“Neither did I, until yesterday. I think we owe it to him to get him the best help, since we let things slide for so long, and the people at Rainier are supposed to be the best.”
“They have a good reputation,” Hughes said. “The Bureau’s sent a few Sentinels there before-usually, we try working with our own people first.”
“I told you about Sandburg, sir,” Peter reminded him.
“Yes. We’ll make do without you for a month-not that DC is giving us much choice. There are a few people down there who think Caffrey’s probably scamming the Clinic into giving him a free vacation on the Bureau’s dime, but even they think it’s better to just let it play out than risk making enemies with Rainier. They’re the biggest source of Guides outside the military, and if they start saying we mistreat Sentinels, we’ll have a recruiting problem on our hands, just for starters.”
“He’s not scamming them,” Peter said.
“I hope not. Make sure you keep an eye on him, though-it could be that he has his own reasons for wanting to be out there for a month.”
“I’ll watch him,” Peter promised. This, he supposed, was what Tim was talking about when he said that the roles of handler and Guide were incompatible. As Neal’s Guide, Peter had to make sure Neal knew he could trust him. As his handler, Peter had to distrust him. “Between the case and the Clinic, I hope he’ll be too busy to get into trouble.”
Hughes signed off, and Peter went back inside. Neal was looking over Sandburg’s shoulder at the laptop. “-almost the same,” he was saying. “If it’s an unknown canvas from the same artist, it could have been circulating on the black market since the forties.” He smiled up at Peter. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“What did Hughes have to say?”
“That they can live without us for a month,” Peter answered.
“Good. Shall we?” He extended his hand toward the depths of the warehouse.
After the morning’s work and lunch at a place near the University, recommended by Sandburg, they returned to the Clinic, where they were directed to Tim’s office.
“We thought, if it’s all right with you, I’d be your counselor moving forward,” he said. “If you’d rather meet some of the other counselors and make a choice, we can arrange that, too.”
“It’s okay with me,” Neal said. “No Michelle?”
“We got the impression that Peter and Michelle didn’t develop much of a rapport yesterday,” Tim said delicately.
“Accurate,” Peter said. He didn’t dislike her, but she seemed to alternate between being brisk almost to the point of abruptness and being excessively touchy-feely. He could have learned to tolerate either, but the constant switching back and forth was grating. “Yes, we can keep working with you. That’s fine.”
“Good. Today, after we talk for a little while, you’ll have your first theory and lab lesson. We have you scheduled with Dr. Desai-she specializes in working with Sentinels who have come out of latency, which isn’t exactly the situation you’re dealing with, but it’s similar enough that we thought she’d be the best person for you to start with. Are you available tomorrow? We only have morning hours on Saturdays.”
“Yes,” Peter said.
“Good; since your time here is limited, we’d like to keep working on Saturdays. Sundays we’re closed except for emergencies, so you’ll get a little bit of a break.”
With the logistics out of the way, they got down to business, which turned out to be a rehash of what they had decided yesterday, about Peter staying on as Neal’s Guide, with a number of questions about whether their thoughts or feelings had changed overnight. They also each related their conversations with Elizabeth. Neal seemed surprised that she has said mostly the same things to each of them; Peter wasn’t sure what he expected.
“That reminds me,” Neal added. “She said I should mention how the only time Kate and I really fought, she left me for several years.”
“Kate, your previous Guide,” Tim said.
“And my girlfriend, yes.”
“That explains a lot.”
“It does?” said Neal.
“Yesterday, you seemed certain that any conflict between you and Peter, or Peter and Elizabeth, would inevitably end in disaster for all parties. Even given your concerns about returning to prison, those fears seemed…exaggerated.”
“His breakup with Kate also led, indirectly, to the FBI finally catching him,” Peter put in. Why hadn’t he seen that?
“How’s that?” Tim asked.
Peter and Neal exchanged a look. “It’s pretty complicated, and probably not relevant,” Neal said. “We got back together literally minutes before I was arrested.”
“We used Kate as bait in a trap to catch him,” Peter said. “And when I say ‘we,’ I mean me.”
“I see,” said Tim, looking a little shellshocked.
“I knew it was probably a trap,” Neal added. “I went anyway.”
“Okay.” Tim nodded a few times. “Let’s put a pin in that and come back to it. Your history with managing interpersonal conflict is poor,” he summarized.
“I guess you could say that,” Neal agreed.
“The thing to remember,” Tim said, “is that Sentinel-Guide relationships are like all relationships; no two people get along perfectly all the time. Even in Bonded pairs, there are disagreements, miscommunications. First you have to know that you can survive them, then you have to know how to survive them.”
Towards the end of their pre-marriage counseling, he and El had made couples’ counseling Bingo cards. What Tim had just said was good for at least three squares.
“The up side to this difficult situation that’s developed over the past couple of months is that once you’ve dealt with it, you’ll have a lot more confidence in your ability to cope with future conflicts.”
And there was another one-finding something positive.
Tim went on to outline some ‘communication strategies’ that they could work on using. Neal, after hearing the list, said to Peter, “You used at least three of those last night.”
Peter nodded. “This is not my first rodeo.”
“Can I ask,” Tim said, “since you have learned about effective communication in the past, why did you….”
“Not do any of it before last night?” Peter finished for him.
Tim nodded.
Peter had to think about that one for a while. “I guess,” he finally said, “because I was thinking of this,” he gestured between himself and Neal, “as a job, not a relationship.”
Tim nodded. “And really, it’s a little bit of both, isn’t it?”
“Yes. In a job-in my job, at least-you build trust by being good at what you do, not by talking about it,” Peter said. “And I wasn’t doing that, either.”
Tim nodded again. “We’re going to address that, too, and it’s about time for your first lesson. Does anyone have any closing remarks?”
They didn’t, so Tim directed them to a part of the building they hadn’t seen yet. Peter was expecting a clean room, like they used for their lessons at the Bureau, but instead they found what looked like a vaguely Asian sitting room, with low tables and floor cushions, and even one of those little rock gardens with the sand and the tiny rake. A dark-skinned African American woman with a short natural hairstyle sat cross-legged on one of the cushions; Peter supposed she was Dr. Desai.
Neal matter-of-factly slipped off his shoes, and Peter followed suit, glad he hadn’t worn any of his more unusual socks today.
The woman stood. “Good afternoon. I’m Suzanne Desai.” She had a slight French accent, and Peter revised his opinion of her ethnicity: African, from one of the Francophone countries, rather than African American.
They introduced themselves, and Dr. Desai invited them to sit. Peter chose a cushion somewhat dubiously. Neal sat in what looked to Peter like a perfect half-lotus.
“Ah,” Desai said. “Do you meditate?”
“Not much,” Neal answered. “A good friend of mind dabbles in Zen.”
“You may wish to join your friend,” Desai advised. “Meditation is very good for Sentinels. But that is not why we are here today. You have had sensory theory instruction before?”
“I’m not sure if I’d call it theory,” Neal said. “But I’ve had lessons, yes.”
“With Mr. Ketner.” Desai nodded. “Tell me how you began.”
Neal summarized the first lesson. “He tried to start with some sensory tests-like we did here yesterday-but I didn’t know enough to do that. He asked if I knew how to link, which I did, so then we did that and worked on dials.”
“I see. And did he ask Peter if he knew how to link?” She turned to him.
“No,” Peter said.
“And you did not, did you?”
“No.”
“We will begin again,” she pronounced. “Linking creates an empathic connection between Sentinel and Guide….” She went on to explain the process at some length. If this was theory, then Ketner had definitely skipped it. Having read a little about it in Sentinels and Guides for Dummies, Peter could just about follow her explanation, but felt he ought to be taking notes. But she concluded, “All of that happens inside the brain; neither the Sentinel nor the Guide need be aware of it. Now, Peter, I would like you to link with me, if you please.”
“You’re a Sentinel?”
“Indeed I am.” She held out her hand. Peter went to grasp her wrist, but instead she clasped her hand in his. Peter waited for her to link with him, but instead of doing so, she said, “Both Sentinels and Guides can initiate a link, but it is generally easier for a Guide to do so, and the Sentinel must also control his dials, so it is fair for the Guide to perform this part, no? Reach out with your mind, as you reached out with your hand.”
Easier said than done. Peter ‘reached’-or thought he was, anyway-but nothing happened.
“Try again,” Desai said. “I am over here.”
It took him five tries-two more than it had taken Neal on their first lesson. And when he finally managed it, he realized that Desai was meeting him halfway, holding out her mental ‘hand’ for him to clasp.
“Very well,” she said, releasing her hand from his. “We will do it one more time.”
This time, Peter managed in one try.
“Good.” She turned to Neal. “Ordinarily, it is more difficult for the Sentinel to learn to hold himself open for the link, but Tim has indicated you already know how.”
Neal nodded. “Do you want us to try it now?”
“Yes.”
Neal held out his hand, and Peter took his wrist.
“Wait.”
Peter let go.
“You are doing this backwards. If you think it not masculine to hold hands, it is usual for the Sentinel to hold the wrist of the Guide. Do you know why this is done?”
“I always heard it was a dominance thing,” Peter said. For obvious reasons, he’d thought it was better not to do it that way.
“Many mundanes believe this, and even some Sentinels,” Desai said. “It is done because breaking the link unexpectedly, when the Sentinel is not prepared, is very disorienting. If the Sentinel controls the physical aspect of the link, he can be sure that this will not happen.”
Oh.
“I believe that this has been happening to Neal nearly every time that you link,” she continued. “What ordinarily occurs is that you discontinue the link and Neal immediately falls upon the ground, yes?”
“Not always immediately,” Neal said.
“You begin to feel unwell immediately,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Before ending the link, you must adjust your dials to their ordinary settings, and re-familiarize yourself with your surroundings,” she explained. “It is also best to end the link mentally before ending physical contact. We will practice this.”
They did. They linked, separated, and linked again at least fifteen times before Dr. Desai pronounced herself satisfied. Each time, she had Peter ask Neal if he was ready before ending the link.
All that, without Neal doing a thing with his senses. That didn’t come until after they had taken a tea-break (Jasmine tea in handle-less cups, to match the décor, Peter supposed) and Desai talked about dials for a while. She explained that there were several other metaphors the Sentinel could use. “Electronic devices with dials have been generally known for only a short time,” she pointed out, something that Peter had never thought of before. “And now that many of the young people have never used a radio or television with a dial, other metaphors are becoming more popular. As a child, I was first taught to imagine a sluice-gate in an irrigation system. One may raise it a small amount, to allow a trickle of water through, or raise it entirely to create a torrent, or anything in between. These were a familiar sight in the village where I grew up, and especially familiar to me because my father was a hydraulic engineer.”
She paused to pour them each a second cup of tea. “But most American Sentinels use the dial, and you may wish to continue. The metaphor that I was taught, however, is useful because any village child knows that opening a sluice gate too far, too soon, damages the tender young plants. It is only when they have grown large and strong that one can open the gate fully and water them quickly. As a Sentinel, you are a young plant, and must first learn to understand what your senses are telling you when they are opened only a little, before you are able to open the gate fully. This I believe Mr. Ketner neglected to explain to you.”
“Yes, he did,” Peter agreed.
Neal nodded. “I’ve been going up to nine or ten in lessons-I have to, to do the things he has me doing.”
“Once you have learned properly, you will be able to distinguish more at only six or seven than you now can at nine or ten,” Desai said.
When teatime was finished, they started up again. Desai instructed Peter in talking Neal through adjusting his dials-only to five and a half or six, for this lesson-and had Neal examine various objects using different senses. The sand tray turned out to be what she used for touch, instead of Braille dots. She had Neal start by touching and describing it, then placed small pinches in his hand for him to count the grains, then had him roll a single grain between his fingertips and describe its shape and texture. Peter expected Neal to rebel, if not at the second step, then surely by the third, but Neal apparently saw some point to the exercise.
By the time they finished, three hours had gone by-the same as one of Neal’s lessons with Ketner. But when Peter ended their link for the last time-first asking Neal if he was ready-Neal stayed upright, bright-eyed, and alert. Peter kept a close eye on him as he stood up, but he still seemed fine.
“How do you feel?” Peter asked.
“Good,” Neal said. “A little tired, but good.”
Desai recommended a nice dinner and some quiet time with his Guide, which led Neal to ask for restaurant recommendations. He’d already gotten several from Sandburg and Ellison, the hotel clerk, Tim, and the Clinic receptionist, but maybe he was keeping a mental list.
Neal finished up by bowing to Desai-something he definitely wouldn’t have done if he felt sick; he usually tried not to move his head then-calling her “Desai-Sensei,” which seemed to amuse both of them.
#
Despite everything they’d learned and how well he felt immediately after the lesson, Neal didn’t quite believe that he wasn’t about to keel over until they were outside the Clinic building. There, he could smell the flowering trees and hear the traffic noise, but neither was overwhelming. The trees were even pleasant. “What should we do about dinner?” he asked. He wasn’t quite sure who had picked the sandwich place where they’d had lunch-they had just sort of settled on it as the closest to the Clinic of Blair’s suggestions. Either way, it had been a mistake. It did, indeed, have sandwiches, but they were heavier on avocado and sprouts than Neal personally liked, and made on the kind of whole-grain bread that had you worrying about your dental work.
“You don’t need to lie down first?”
“No, I’m good.” He was sort of hungry for sushi, but the only sushi place he knew about had been another of Blair’s recommendations, and Neal wasn’t sure he wanted to risk another one of his places without independent confirmation. “What about the Spring Hill Brewery?” Sandburg had recommended that one, but so had Desai and the desk clerk, so it was probably all right. They made their own beer, apparently, which he thought Peter might like, and it wasn’t the place across from the motel, which Neal would definitely like.
Peter agreed, and it turned out to be a good choice. The place had a respectable wine cellar in addition to the handcrafted beer, and the menu had all the standards, plus some more innovative options. They ate and drank well, and Neal found himself explaining Mozzie’s Zen safecracking lessons, after a careful disclaimer that he had acquired that particular skill for entertainment purposes only.
“He was right, though, because if your heart’s pounding-as it might be when you’re cracking a safe for entertainment purposes-that alone can make you miss one of the tumblers if it’s a really sensitive mechanism.” He shrugged. “Practicing Zazen and learning Braille for safecracking turned out to be less crazy than it seemed, so I’m willing to give playing with sand a chance.” If it had been as painful and difficult as Ketner’s exercises, which did at least have an obvious point, he might have balked, but the lesson had been almost fun.
Back at the motel, Peter took off his shoes, pulled back the bedspread, and sat up against the headboard of his bed, Cyndi’s Kindle at hand. Neal went to assume a similar position on his own bed, but Peter patted the space next to him. “Sit with me.”
That, again? At least they weren’t shirtless. “I don’t need to.”
“Do you need not to?”
“…I guess not.” He didn’t have any particular objection to sitting on a bed with Peter, except that it was a little weird. He grabbed his book and sat down.
After a moment, Peter put his arm around Neal’s shoulders. “How’s this?”
“Okay, I guess.” They sat like that for another minute. “I’m going to read now.”
“Good idea,” Peter said quickly, picking up the Kindle.
It was, Neal had to admit, very convenient for when Peter found something in his book that he wanted to show him. Nothing quite as good as Blair’s baby picture, unfortunately, but there were some charts and tables about various situations and products Sentinels had trouble with, and explanations of how linking worked that were a little less technical than what Suzanne had explained that afternoon. Peter also pointedly drew Neal’s attention to the passage that explained how one was likely to see Sentinels and Guides touching a lot more than average, and it was perfectly normal and not necessarily sexual (see chapter 12.)
“That book has a sex chapter?” Neal asked.
“I haven’t gotten there yet.”
Neal’s book, once he got past the Stone Age parts, started explaining how the Holy Roman Empire’s march across Europe remade various indigenous cultures in Rome’s image. Now, finally, Neal was able to recognize a few landmarks, since the same process could be traced in art and architecture, as the classical and early Christian styles and themes of Rome mixed with those of the Byzantine, Islamic, and ‘northern barbarian’ worlds. He wasn’t particularly familiar with the period-most of what was still extant from that period tended to be incorporated into buildings or other structures, and therefore quite difficult to steal-but once he reached the middle ages, he was on familiar footing.
The practice of cloistering female Guides in nunneries from childhood to Bonding age, for example, he had known about because that particular class of holy virgins had been a popular subject for late Medieval and early Renaissance painters, the beautiful girls standing in for the Church and their handsome Sentinels for the Church’s bridegroom, Christ. Neal had never given much thought to where the male Guides were when that was going on, or the female Sentinels, for that matter, and was surprised to see that-according to Blair, at least-they were largely undocumented because the Church claimed neither existed. He asked Peter if he had ever heard of that.
“Yeah, there was a paragraph about that in the history chapter I read yesterday.”
“Well, if you want to know more about it, Blair has about a hundred pages on it.” Neal kept reading, and, oh look, his book had a sex part, too. It explained, in great depth, the early church’s attitudes about sex and gender, and how those shaped ideas about Sentinels and Guides even today. There was a lot of stuff on how Guiding was still ‘coded as feminine,’ which Neal thought probably had a lot to do with Peter’s objection to, as he put it, following a Sentinel around holding his hand. The fact that he was a lapsed Catholic might be relevant, too.
The next day, when they arrived at the Clinic, Neal was surprised to find that their first appointment was not with Tim or Suzanne but with yet another new person, a mundane named Patricia Wallace, who identified herself as the facilities director.
Neal wasn’t sure why they were meeting with her-they didn’t need any facilities, as far as he knew-but she got to the point quickly. “We understand that the FBI has you staying at the Best Western by the highway. It’s not a very Sentinel-friendly property, and since you’re going to be here for a while, we thought we’d try to arrange something more suitable.”
“We talked about that,” Peter said. “Neal’s fine, and they’re moving us to a different room tomorrow and doing some other things to help us get settled.”
Patricia turned to him for his opinion on the subject. Sensing an opportunity to obtain room service and a view, Neal was carefully noncommittal. “It’s been okay so far. A little noisy, but the new room should be better. What did you have in mind?”
What she had in mind turned out to be the Clinic’s on-campus housing for visiting Sentinels and Guides. Neal was skeptical, picturing a dorm, but Patricia took them outside and pointed out a ring of cottages surrounding the garden that adjoined the Clinic. “Each unit has its own defined interior and exterior spaces, which we find is more comfortable for Sentinels. The construction uses only organic, non-reactive materials….”
Neal listened with half an ear as she explained various things he didn’t care about. There was probably no room service here, but there was definitely a view, and the broad selection of restaurants within walking distance more than made up for not being up the street from their breakfast place anymore.
Patricia walked as she talked, and they soon wound up in front of what Neal thought might be the most picturesque cottage of the lot, half-hidden by a stand of lilacs just beginning to bloom. “We usually try to keep this unit vacant this time of year, for obvious reasons,” she explained, gesturing at the lilacs. “They’re a special variety that the Botany department wouldn’t allow us to dig up…it’s an ongoing issue. Anyhow, it’s vacant, and since Neal isn’t particularly scent-sensitive, we thought it might work for you. Would you like to see inside?”
“Yes, I would,” Neal said brightly.
The cottage had the same feel as the Clinic building-it was quiet but not muffled, and smelled clean but not sterile. It had the same bamboo floors as the clinic, here softened with some woven cotton rugs. The bathroom had a tub big enough to accommodate a fully-grown human being, and each of the-separate!-bedrooms had a large bed piled high with bedding that didn’t make Neal cringe to think about. There was also a small kitchen-so, definitely no room service, but Neal knew from experience that it was possible to get tired of going to restaurants three meals a day for a month. His per diem would go further with the occasional meal in, too.
“It’s nice-really nice-but unless the motel really is a problem for Neal, I don’t think the Bureau’s going to want to pay for an upgrade,” Peter said.
Patricia answered, “We provide housing for Clinic patients on government or corporate accounts with rates comparable to what they ordinarily pay.”
“All this for seventy-nine a night,” Neal translated.
Patricia nodded. “Yes. Are you interested?”
“Things like this just happen to you, don’t they?” Peter shook his head.
“People like me.” Neal shrugged. “You said we could see what else was available in the same price range as the motel.”
“I did,” Peter agreed.
“Turns out this is in the same price range.”
“We’ll take it,” said Peter.