The Reluctant Guide

Title: Reluctant Guide 5/?

Fandoms: The Sentinel/ATS/Bones and I just snuck a little Hellboy into

it. See if you can find it....

Author: Ne'ichan

Email: neichan22@gmail.com

Warnings: Slash, AU, Alternate History.

Summary: Spike wants a nibble, Angel is broody, Booth is kidnapped.

Blair is a trouble magnet.

A/N: This is what I call my fun fic. I have absolutely no plans as to

what will happen. What ever my tempermental muse decides is what is

written. However short or long. Comments are entirely welcome. Infact

FB makes me purrrrrrr. Hugs!

Now...on with the show......



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Booth paused for just long enough to peer out into the large room that

housed the secretary pool. Agent's offices surrounded the periphery of

the pool, windows mostly covered with drawn blinds, and a quick but

thorough glance told him that all the agents were out or had their

doors closed tight. He saw young, dark haired John Meyers in the

window on the phone and gesticulating in a manner that made his

unhappiness with the conversation he was having abundantly clear. In

spite of himself Booth smiled, as he scanned the rest of the room. It

was close to lunch time and the only people left were typing furiously

on computers at two desks near the far wall. Booth put to use his

rusty Special Forces training and slipped out and into the stairwell

without a sound. He eased the heavy fire door shut behind him and took

off down the stairs.



He passed no one in the stairwell, even agents who were expected to

keep in shape preferred the gym treadmills to walking stairs in the

old concrete building. The lighting was dim, and what heating there

was was inadequate. Untraveled it was the perfect escape route for an

ex-Special Forces guy like Booth. He used the stairs often, though he

avoided making his preference obvious when he could. Bones was the

only person who willing went up and down stairs any where and

everywhere with Booth, usually talking a mile a minute as she flew up

any number of flights, totally unaware of how impressive her feat was.

She was in great cardiovascular shape. Booth's drill instructors would

have drooled over her, hell, Ellison would have been impressed, he

reflected.



The silent trip to the first floor took four minutes, the soles of his

shoes sliding along the slick steps, another reason not to take the

stairs, it was easy, if your shoes were at all wet, to fall, there was

no traction. Booth made it all the way down without incident. He

exited the stairs from behind a grouping of huge potted plants which

served to shield the door from public view. The FBI didn't want people

in the stairs where cameras hadn't been updated since the Reagan

administration. He slipped out without even drawing a single glance

from the two agents manning at the front desk. He frowned, making a

note to have a word with them about it. If he could get out

unobserved, that meant others might stand a chance of getting in

unseen...not a good thing.



Booth made it to the street and chose to walk right. He walked at a

normal pace, knowing that Ellison would find him, and not wanting to

draw attention by loitering in front of the building or walking too

slowly. He didn't look around as if searching for something or

someone, he just walked. It took only minutes.



A tall, lean man, well tanned, with jet black hair razor-ed to a half

inch long, sporting the sharp cheek-boned face and cut body of a

career military man who was field ready at all times, stepped out of a

side street. He was visible only for a moment in casual clothes,

nothing remotely military, even kids wore all black these days, so

that didn't stand out here. He let Booth see him then was gone back

around the corner of the building. It was long enough for Booth to

recognize Captain Benjamin Sarris, one of Ellison's legendary team,

even before he saw the flash of eerie grey eyes take him in. The man's

eyes glowed, it had always creeped most of the recruits out. If you

could stand Sarris' stare you were halfway to completing boot camp.

Not the regular boot camp, but Ellison's camp. A very different thing.



Booth ambled along in the direction the man had disappeared in.

Rounding the corner he was just in time to see Sarris vanish into a

van with tinted windows. The side door was left open. Booth stepped

inside never slowing his stride and the panel slid shut behind him.

The van eased from the curb, going the speed limit and no faster,

before Booth felt his ass hit the seat.



Sarris was on one side of him, sitting close as the interior of the

van, big as it was, wasn't big enough to seat three large men side by

side with much in the way of elbow room. Booth turned as he felt

another person settle on the seat to his right. Will Sanders, black

and beautiful. There was no other way to describe the man. Dark

chocolate eyes, rich cocoa skin, absolutely flawless, without one

visible scar, his mouth was full, his teeth perfectly white, so even

they'd make a dentist cry. His hair was short, curled tightly, with no

attempt to change it's natural state. At forty he looked twenty, a

muscular man who people always assumed was a famous athlete. He

didn't smile often, and now he just nodded a greeting, his eyes moving

to the windows and watching.



Sam Harris was driving, Booth saw when he looked forward. Another tall

man with the same shape the other two had. Dark curly hair, cut short,

hiding the fact it did tend to curl. Booth had seen that hair long on

a mission once, it had been thick and blue black, hair a woman would

pray for. Harris had a Semper Fi tattoo on his forearm, USMC, where

he'd been recruited from. He was also missing the little finger from

the same hand, it had been lost during the boot camp Ellison's team

conducted, a loose wire, not noticed, turned into a slicing instrument

sharper than any knife. The finger was gone in an instant, and Harris

had never slowed in his run down the dusty street, blood pouring. The

error hadn't been his, the man who was responsible for the oversight

was out of camp by nightfall, and not seen again. Harris, at twenty

seven was the youngest member of Ellison's team.



Booth turned to look as a sound came from behind him. Ellison was in

the process of sitting up. He'd clearly been laying down, his head

pillowed in the lap of the man next to him. There was no one else

occupying the seat, only Jim and Rafi.



Rafi, smiled at Booth and gripped his shoulder for an instant. They

hadn't know each other that well, but that was just his way, Rafi

liked to touch, and he did, often and in a curiously intimate way.

Mostly people he knew well, but some times...Booth had seen him touch

strangers and they had allowed it, not moving away. Who wouldn't with

a smile like that directed at them? Rafi was close to six feet, lean

and brown, his last name, Mendez. He had the longest lashes Booth had

ever seen. Longer than his regulation quarter inch haircut. His hand

still rested on Jim's arm, typical of him.



Ellison looked awful in sharp contrast to the rest of his team. He was

gaunt rather than cut, his skin had a greying cast. His eyes, usually

a vibrant, icy blue were dull. His mouth was compressed in a way Booth

recognized from men he'd seen who were suffering chronic illnesses.

His skin had a sheen of sweat. Yes, Ellison looked like pure fucking

hell. Rafi slid an arm around his commander, supporting him. His chin

was hard now, no trace of his pretty smile remained. His golden borwn

eyes were concerned, attentive.



The van turned a corner and got onto the expressway, speeding up. They

were, Booth saw, heading out of town.



Ne'ichan