Blair juggled the groceries, dry-cleaning, his jacket and keys as he tried to balance everything and get the front door open. He'd left the station early, to pick up dinner makings and their cleaning but once home had found that Jim had beaten him there after all . . . . So why wasn't Jim, "Oh, Great Sentinel," opening the friggin' door for him?

Couldn't he hear Blair struggling?

He finally got the door shoved open and practically fell in, only to find Jim sitting on the couch, beer in hand, television droning.

"Hey, Jim, I could use a little help here."

"Chief, looks like you've already made it in."

And Blair landed against the table, bags falling everywhere.

"Shit. Thanks, man."

Jim looked at the mess on the floor and, taking pity on his partner and his loft, he got up and began helping to pick the groceries up, then went back and flopped back down on the couch.

Blair huffed into his hair but wasn't willing to ask what was wrong this time -- there'd been too many "wrong times" lately -- and Blair was afraid to delve too deeply. He knew he was doing his best ostrich imitation, hiding his head in the sand, but he was really afraid that deep down he knew what the problem was but wasn't ready to face it yet.

He was still putting stuff away when the phone rang. After the third ring, he realized Jim wasn't going to get it.

"Hello? ... Yeah, Simon, he's here. Just a sec."

He held out the phone, tapping his foot.

Jim got up and took it, barely giving Sandburg a second glance.

"Yeah, Simon, what's up?"

{Your snitch called right after you left. Wants a meet tonight at the old cannery}

"About Larson?"

{So he says . . . . Some action he claims is going down later tonight.}

"I'll be there. What time is the meet?"

{Seven . . . I want Larson, Jim. Bad. We've got to shut him down.}

"You don't want him any worse than I do . . . I'll be there at seven."

{Take Sandburg with you. I don't want a repeat of that little zone out that last time you went to that cannery}

"I'll take him . . . never leave home without him."

oooOOooo

"So, what's up?"

"My snitch has a tip on Larson. We're meeting him tonight . . . 7 pm."

"Sneakers has a tip on Larson? Isn't that a bit out of his league?"

Jim took his empty beer bottle into the kitchen, dropped it into the recycle bin and grabbed another, which surprised Blair. Jim? Having another beer, knowing he was meeting a snitch? But before Sandburg could say anything, Jim had continued,

"Not Sneakers -- this guy is different. I've used him a couple of times, name of Challenge, and don't ask, I don't know. He's proved himself reliable and he used to work for Larson. Indirectly, but still . . . he has some inside connections."

"Well, we only have an hour, just enough time for some stir-fry. You do the salad?"

"Not hungry. I had a late lunch, but you go ahead."

But Blair wasn't hungry either, not anymore. Seeing Jim fixated on the television, he moved into his room to read -- a steady habit of late.

oooOOooo

It was cold and raining, a condition that seemed to be SOP for stakeouts and meeting snitches. But that didn't explain the niggling little feeling of worry Blair had been entertaining for the last hour. He didn't like this whole set up, not one bit.

"Jim? Tell me more about this Larson guy."

"What's to tell? He uses kids, in elementary school, to push his stuff.

We want him off the streets, break him and his ring. That's it."

"Gee, such a fount of information. It's not like I was there, at the briefing. Come on, give."

Jim sighed, but added, "Two cops are dead. They went undercover, were exposed and their bodies found, throats slashed, tongues cut out. Larson was leaving us a message. We want him. Add the fact that three kids were hospitalized after using his shit, and you've got the whole story."

Okay, more than enough information for Sandburg. Children hospitalized and two dead cops. Shit.

"Did you know them?"

"Yes."

And that was apparently all that Sandburg was getting from him.

"He's here. Let's go."

They both got out of the truck and Jim moved carefully toward what appeared to Sandburg, to be the darkest corner of the abandoned cannery.

Blair knew that Jim could see his man, so all Sandburg could do was trust.

As they neared the building, a shadow separated itself from the wall and stepped toward them. The man was maybe Blair's age, but taller, thinner and his hair was short and blonde. He was jittery, his hands trembling as he shook out a cigarette and quickly lit it, taking deep puffs and blowing out fast and jerkily.

"Ellison. You're late."

"No. We've been here for twenty minutes. Stop stalling and give out with the information."

"You give, I give."

Jim reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out some folded bills, but held them just out of reach.

"Challenge" caught on.

"A man. He works closely with Larson. He wants to turn. He didn't like what happened to those kids. Has kids of his own. He's willing to meet with you. But it has to be tonight. Out on the bay. He has a boat and wants to make sure he can't be followed." Challenge spoke in a quick staccato, matching the way he smoked and moved.

To Blair, he seemed sincere. But still . . . a boat ride, in the bay, after dark . . . nope, Blair didn't like this one bit.

"What's his name, what time and are we supposed to just drive around the bay until he sends up flares?" Jim's voice dripped sarcasm.

"You've got two hours to get to buoy number seven. In the channel?

That's all the information he gave me. How to find buoy number seven is up to you. And his name is Wall. Just ... Wall. My money?"

Jim looked at Challenge for what seemed like hours, but finally, as if satisfied with what the man had given him, he handed over the roll of bills.

"You'd better be on the up and up . . . ."

"Not me. Him. I'm just delivering a message. I believed him. And he does have two kids. But it's your choice. I'm outta here." And with that, Challenge slunk back into the shadows.

Blair turned to Jim, his expression clearly asking 'what next.'

"We go see a friend of mine with the Coast Guard and find out where buoy number seven is; then, we get one of the PD boats and meet this guy."

"Sounds simple. Real simple. And dangerous. But hell, 'dangerous' is my middle name."

Jim snorted and said, "I thought 'Jacob' was your middle name."

"It was. Until I met up with you. I changed it to 'dangerous,' Naomi changed it to 'stupid.'"

And for the first time in weeks, Jim laughed. Really laughed.

"Come on, 'Dangerous,' let's go find buoy number seven. Or should that be, 'Stupidly Dangerous'?"

"'Dangerously Stupid.'"

oooOOooo

Getting the information from the Coast Guard had proven easy, with Jim's friend, Carl Holmby, providing a map of the bay with all the buoys and their locations marked in red. Getting the boat had proven a bit more difficult, as it turned out Jim wasn't 'rated' by the Cascade PD. A quick call to Simon had cut that particular red tape, especially since it turned out Blair was an expert and rated on the 22ft. Bayliner/2252 Classic Cuddy Cabin, which was the only PD power boat available.

The night was clear, with a full moon and little wind. Jim started to do the navigating, but was quickly waved off by Sandburg, who'd taken one look at the map and apparently knew exactly where to head. Twenty minutes later, Jim spotted the buoy.

"Got it, Chief. Stay with your present course."

"Is he there?"

"No. We're a little early yet."

Several minutes later, Blair pulled back on the power, and coasted alongside the buoy. Now all they had to do was wait.

"So, what summer did you learn about speed boats?"

"My fifteenth. One of mom's many boyfriends. Had a Bayliner. We cruised up and down the coast of Oregon. He was cool. Taught me a lot."

"So what happened to him?"

"Naomi's usual wanderlust. Had to move on. He offered to join us, he loved her that much, and maybe me too. But she said no. Never explained." His mouth clamping shut, Blair fell silent, reluctant to continue the discussion.

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence -- a silence that was both unusual and for Blair, like a step back in time, so like the beginning, when it was a major endeavor to get Jim to say good-morning, let alone open up about anything.

Jim frowned and looked out over the water, absently scratching the back of his neck. Feeling Blair's eyes on him, he occasionally glanced over to catch Sandburg stealing furtive, worried glances at him, then quickly glancing away, knowing he had been caught.

But while Blair knew that, he knew also that Jim would say nothing. But that was their life lately. Like old times. And it should have been so different. Better. Maybe the dew was finally off the rose? Or whatever the fuck the expression was . . . Blair didn't know and didn't care, and for the first time in his life, he was afraid to ask Jim what was wrong. But he'd have to . . . and soon.

"A boat's coming. One man."

oooOOooo

Blair finally saw the boat that Jim had undoubtedly seen miles before.

A Shortline Comp from International, not one of their cheaper ski boats.

"Not now. You stay in the background, let me do the talking."

"Gee. Now that's different."

"Sandburg . . . ."

Any further 'discussion' was forestalled by the ski boat pulling alongside. Blair couldn't make out any details of the man navigating the boat, their so-called 'contact,' but he heard the nervous voice just fine.

"Follow me. No discussion."

And he slid away, the boat picking up speed. Blair didn't wait for orders; he knew. He opened her up and followed. But he didn't have to like it.

"Jim," he yelled back, "This isn't right. Don't you feel it?"

"Don't lose him, and yes . . . I do."

The Shortline cut across the bay, heading out to sea . . . . the Bayliner following.

oooOOooo

They traveled silently, Blair concentrating on following, marking, checking the stars, doing his best to keep his direction and location.

After almost forty minutes Jim finally spoke.

"He's slowing and I see land. An island, maybe? Any idea where we are?"

"Where we are? No. How to get back? Yes."

"Yes, well, getting back is important."

"I think so. My bed is starting to look mighty good . . . especially under the covers. Deep under."

Jim couldn't hold back a chuckle and Blair smiled in the darkness, glad that once again he'd been able to make Jim laugh. Maybe there was hope.

Maybe. Of course, they'd have to survive this .

Sandburg noted the dock and followed the Shortline in, easily pulling alongside and directing Jim to toss out the line and secure the boat.

Jim was just finishing when the other man appeared above them.

"Come with me." And he turned and began walking away.

Jim quickly scrambled out with Sandburg about to follow, but Jim's restraining hand stopped him.

"Jim, you're not going to tell me to stay in the truck, are you?"

"No. Stay in boat, Chief. And here," he handed him the cell phone, "I don't like this; call Simon, give him what you can about our location," Jim hissed as he passed over the phone.

Blair could only take it and do as ordered. At least Jim felt as strange about this as he did. Jim moved quickly ahead, to catch-up with his contact, as Blair punched in Simon Banks' number.

oooOOooo

It only took a few of Ellison's long strides to catch up to their contact. He reached out one arm and snagged the man's jacket.

"Hold up. Now. I want an explanation. You want our help, remember?"

The man turned, looked down at the hand gripping his jacket, looked back at Ellison.

"And you want mine. But this is far enough. And where's your partner?"

"Back at the boat. Only one of us is needed for this. Now, what do you have to offer and what do you want in return?"

"I want my freedom. Simple, isn't it?"

The man gave a wry smile. He appeared to be about in his mid-forties, almost as tall as Ellison, but probably outweighing him by forty pounds. Forty muscular pounds. His hair was short and curly, black, with streaks of grey at the temples.

"I've known Mike Larson all my life. We grew up together. He was always tough, wanted money in the worst way. But somewhere along the line, he . . . slipped over the edge. I don't know him anymore. I have a wife, two kids, I want 'em safe. Completely safe. You give me that safety and I'll give you Larson."

Jim had been monitoring the man's heartbeat, his breathing, and he knew two things: one, the man was sincere; two, the man was deathly afraid.

"How can you deliver Larson?"

"A major buy. Wednesday night. So big, he's going to be there himself. I'll give you time, location, the whole ball of wax. But you get my family out. Tomorrow night. You do that, you get Larson."

"What about you?"

"If I'm not with him, we lose everything. Right now, I'm concerned with my family. Nothing else. I'll take my chances Wednesday."

Jim could find no holes in this man's plea. It seemed doable.

"One more stipulation."

Ah, the kicker. The item that makes it undoable . He should have known.

"No FBI. Just you and what you think is necessary to keep my family alive. I know you, Detective Ellison, know your rep. You're clean, you're honest, you can't be bought. That's why I asked Challenge to contact you. FBI shows up, all bets are off."

Still very doable.

Jim nodded, "No FBI. Breaks my heart to keep the Feds out of this. Really breaks my heart."

A smile creased the worried face of the contact, "Glad you feel that way."

"Care to share your name?"

"Stevens. Mitch. Do we have a deal?"

"We have a deal. I'm a little surprised, though. No immunity? No guarantees against prosecution?"

"I told you. My family is all I care about. But I wouldn't be immune to any other 'deals'; I would like to be with my wife and children."

Jim once again studied the man in front of him and oddly enough, he liked what he saw . . . . in spite of the criminal nature of his work.

"Mr. Stevens, just what exactly do you do for Larson?"

"I'm his ... 'launderer.'"

"I see. His ... 'dry cleaners'?"

"Exactly."

"Well, I do believe we're in business. And exactly where are we?"

"The one place Mike would never look for such a meeting. His place. And this is exactly where you will pick up my wife and children tomorrow night. Nine sharp. Mike uses this as his vacation getaway. I bought it for him. No one but me and him know about it. That's what makes it perfect."

Perfect indeed. They were standing on an island, belonging to Mike Larson, Cascade's biggest drug dealer, cop killer and all round nice guy . . . . . shit. He just hoped Sandburg knew how to get them out . . . .. . and get the others back tomorrow night.

He and Stevens spent the next several minutes fine tuning the 'arrangements,' putting everything together, including how Ellison would get the information needed to bring down Larson. They finally shook hands and Ellison went back to the boat . . . back to Sandburg.

oooOOooo

Jim hurried back to the Bayliner to find a pacing Blair.

"Shit, Jim, you had me worried. Is he legit?"

"I think so. Give me the cellphone, I need to contact Simon now ."

Blair did as requested and Ellison spent the next ten minutes filling Simon in on the 'deal' he'd made with Stevens. Even without Sentinel hearing, Blair could hear Simon yelling but eventually the conversation seemed to calm down and as Jim began to nod, and mumble, "yeah, Simon," Blair knew he'd won their Captain over. Again.

Jim finally closed up the cell and faced Blair.

"It's set. And if all goes well, Larson is ours."

"So, we head back?"

"If you can get us back, Chief." Jim spoke tersely, no trace of humor.

"What about the contact?"

"He'll be right behind us."

Blair jumped in as Jim untethered them and stepped in beside the younger man. The engine started up and Blair carefully pulled away and headed back. A few moments later the other boat could be heard as Stevens started up and followed.

It didn't take long for Stevens to catch and pass them, indicating that they should follow as he led them back to the buoy. Jim waved in assent and both boats speeded up.

The only sound was of the two purring engines, and the slapping of the waves against the side of the boat as it cut through the water. The spray hit Blair in the face and it felt good, almost cleansing. For a few moments he could forget and just live in the moment, enjoy the speed, the control. And enjoy the strength and silence of the man next to him.

But Blair's joy was short-lived.

"Chief, there's another boat. Four men and they have guns. They're on an intercept course."

"Fuck. How far?"

"A few minutes away. Coming up from our left. Can we outrun them?"

"How the hell should I know?"

Before Ellison could retort, the night air was split open as the Shortline exploded in front of them. The explosion was so intense, so powerful, both men were thrown back hard, Blair's body crashing into Ellison's as they both tumbled back over the seats.

Sandburg tried to crawl up almost immediately, shaking his head, pushing hair back, clearing his eyes, knowing they were about to go through the fiery mess that had been the Shortline a moment before. He pulled himself up, reached for a seat, climbed over and grabbed the wheel. But he was too late.

The Bayliner forged through the fire, debris flying up, flames licking at the boat and its two occupants. Blair, as soon as he realized he was too late, threw himself back, latched onto Jim, who was just struggling up, and threw them both sideways into the water.

Blair came up spluttering, still gripping Jim. How he'd manage to keep hold of the older man, he'd never know, but he had. Now, his only desire was to kick them the hell away from the destruction around them.

He could feel Jim starting to move, but he pulled him back against himself and staying on his back, kicked as hard as possible. Debris was still landing in the water around him and he could only pray that nothing hit them.

For the small cruiser still over a mile away, the blaze was a welcome sight.

Mike Larson and three of his men had watched as first the Shortline blew and then as the other boat crashed through the Shortline and another explosion rocked the night.

Larson stood there, watching the now huge blaze as both boats burned, and wondered why Mitch had tried to turn. And thought of Challenge, and how easy it had been to buy him off. And of course, no one would be using Challenge anymore as a snitch. And when they found his body?

Another message for Cascade's finest. His only regret was that he couldn't have left Cascade's Detective of the Year in a similar condition. But this was almost as good. Almost.

The boat pulled up as close to the blazing wreckage as possible, and two men broke out search lights, combing the water, just in case someone had survived.

"A boat, Chief, a boat." Jim managed to gasp out.

Blair turned his head and saw it. And saw the searchlight. Shit. A large piece of what had been the dash of the Shortline was drifting a few feet from Blair's grasp. He gave a few hard kicks, reached out and pulled it toward them. With Jim's help, they set it up around them, and ducked, just as the searchlight made it's way to them.

After several minutes, Larson was satisfied and with a terse order, the boat was turned around and headed back to Cascade, where a poker game with his name on it awaited him. Great alibis, these poker games . . .

especially when the Commissioner's assistant was one of the players.

After what seemed like an eternity, Jim gave the sign and both men popped back up, Blair expelling air in a loud whoosh, then gasping for much needed oxygen.

Seeing the boat was gone, Blair asked,

"JIM? You with me?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. The blast, my hearing . . . and my eyes . . . I didn't get them closed fast enough."

"You know what to do -- dial down. Are you hurt? Can you swim?"

"Yes, I dialed down; you think I haven't been listening to you all this time? And yes, I can swim and no, I'm not hurt. You?"

Blair deliberately chose to ignore Jim's tone and simply answered him.

"Fine. Can you see anything? The island we came from?"

Jim pivoted in the water, searching for anything.

"There's something . . . off to our right. Not where we came from, but yes, land."

"Can we make it?"

"Do we have a choice? Let's start swimming, Sandburg."

oooOOooo

The two men floated for a few minutes as they both gathered strength, their wits, their breath and their bearings. The blaze had subsided enough to be no longer blinding to Sandburg, and in fact, it illuminated the surrounding area, and combined with the full moon, it allowed him to see the dark shape on the near horizon that indicated land.

"Chief, your jacket -- take it off. And your shoes, socks, jeans -- they'll only weigh you down."

Blair reached down and grabbed at his shoes, bringing them up and quickly pulling out the laces. He worked fast and it didn't take long for Jim to realize what the younger man was doing. He had to give Sandburg credit; he may not know his north from his south, but he knew they'd need the clothing later. He joined him in making bundles and using their belts and shoelaces to tie and secure them. Once the bundles were ready, they secured them under their arms so that they floated behind them.

With a nod from Jim, they began the swim toward the land. Both men were good swimmers and they took it easy, grateful for the smooth waters, the clear night. When the going got rough, they'd stop and float until they caught their breaths again, then move on. And the dark mass indicating solid ground, got closer and closer. They had no strength for talk, not even for thought; they just swam.

Although the freezing water began to take his breath away and he felt his muscles begin to cramp, Blair refused to stop, not wanting Jim to take notice or feel held back. He soon swam blindly, just keeping Jim in sight, the cold beginning to permeate every inch of his body.

Jim felt sand grazing his shins and realized they'd made it -- shallow water. He touched down and stood, wiping water from his face and nose, then turning back for Sandburg. His eyes roamed the waves behind him, trying to pick out his partner's form. A brief glimpse of white and he had him.

He watched, mesmerized, as one arm and then the other, slapped down, pulling water and moving the body closer to Jim. He focused sharply as hair swirled about the face each time it lifted for a breath, tendrils reaching for shore, and the world seemed to shift . . .

And it was early morning, the sun up and warming dew moistened grass, and he was running up a set of stairs - then - stopping, turning . . . .

The sound of the fountain, the spray - he heard that first. He peered through the spouting water and saw the billowing jacket. Blair's jacket.

And Blair. Floating, as if - resting. But face down, hair spread out, tendrils reaching for shore . . . . . skin so pale, cold - body, lifeless, empty of Blair Sandburg . . . . Jim reached out, to touch the hair, the skin, to breathe warmth and life back into that lifeless body . . . .

Sandburg was oblivious, concentrating on just one - more - stroke, praying that he would last, when suddenly a hand touched him and he lifted his head to see Jim in front of him.

Standing .

Blair fumbled, tired legs fighting to stand, hand reaching out for assistance, and Jim grabbed his wrist and breathed out, "Blair," and Blair looked up, concerned. But Jim was already letting go, already turning away.

They'd made it.

They both struggled to shore and once safely out of the reach of the tide, they collapsed in a heap on the sandy and somewhat rocky shore.

Blair didn't know how much time had elapsed but he knew they needed to get up.

"Sandburg? We've got to move. Get a fire going, get warm. Come on."

He could do this, he could. He stood, shakily, and looked around him.

As Jim moved off, probably to collect driftwood, Blair gasped out, "Jim wait, man."

"What now, Sandburg?"

"Well, I don't know whether you've noticed, Ellison, but it's fucking close to midnight and the stars seem to be disappearing behind clouds up there and it's fucking dark for us mere non-sentinel types. I can't see a goddamn thing."

"Oh, sorry. You want to just stay here while I . . . ?"

"No. I think I may have something in my jacket. In fact, I think we should check to see what we have, tools we can use. Sound ok to you?"

Blair couldn't see Jim's slight nod but saw him pick up the bundle of clothes, so he did the same. He could barely control his quickly freezing hands as he fumbled at the knots in the shoestrings tying his bundles together. Shivering in his soaked and dripping shirt and boxers, he realized that they shouldn't spend too much time on this before starting a fire.

In his search, Blair discovered that he had lost everything that had been in his pants pockets during their swim.

Jim felt in his own pockets, checked his jacket and with an angry yell, balled it up and threw it as far as he could.

"I must have lost them in the ocean. Fuck."

"Lost what, Jim?"

"Matches. In a plastic container," came the terse reply.

Blair picked up his own jacket and found that almost all pockets were empty but found the zippered ones on the inside. //Aha!//

Hearing the zipping sound, Jim realized what had happened and retrieved his own jacket, searching its inner compartments, as well. Both men emptied the contents of their pockets into a small pile between them, Blair snatching up the miniature flashlight on his keychain with a crow of "Yes!"

As though taking inventory, Blair shone his light on the pile and listed the items.

"Two wallets, one badge, one handkerchief, one hairtie . . ."

And Blair stopped a minute to tie back his hair, getting its slimy wetness off his neck.

"One paper clip, one pen, one Peruvian carving -- don't ask -- one package of Lifesavers, unopened . . . "

Blair laughed at the irony and picked up the package.

"Want some? They're probably ok, just a little sticky."

He broke the package, offering half to Jim, who managed to look both irritated and grateful simultaneously.

Blair resumed, "One tube of Vaseline lip balm, SPF-15--"

"Oh, sun block -- that'll come in real handy, Sandburg."

Ignoring him, Blair continued, "And under the handkerchief, one Swiss army knife -- jackpot!."

But Blair's enthusiasm was dampened as a breeze came up, chilling him even further.

Jim, seeing Blair shiver, said, "We should get moving, Chief, get us some firewood," and moved off to begin collecting it.

Blair nodded and joined him to do the same.

Soon Jim had formed a circle and Blair added his collections to the ring.

Then, remembering that Jim's matches were gone, Blair sat down, cross legged, grabbed two of the sticks they'd gathered, and began to rub them together.

Jim watched a moment, then beginning to feel antsy, absently scratched his forearms. Then, grumbling, he began grabbing up the longer pieces of wood, then stomping on them, breaking them in to smaller pieces, ripping off branches, finally dropping them near the area where Blair worked to start their fire.

Blair's technique soon worked -- first a bit of smoke, then spark, then flame -- and Jim had the a small piece of material from his shirt ready.

It caught and Blair dropped it onto their 'campfire.' Soon, they were basking in warmth, laying out clothes to dry and getting settled. And waiting. For what, Blair had no idea.

"Well, Darwin, any idea of where we might be?"

The sarcasm was not lost on Blair. "No. we could be anywhere. Look up, Jim. Clouds. Lots of clouds now. Clear, then poof! Clouds. No stars. For all I know, we could be on the Oregon coast or in Canada. You, on the other hand, Mr. Sentinel, what do you hear, smell, see?"

"Nothing, nothing and more nothing. Unless you count the bear, about 500 yards into the forest over there. And you're the fucking navigational expert here, not me."

Blair bit back his retort.

Silence.

They sat -- each staring into the flickering flames.

Blair periodically fed twigs and leaves into the fire, watching the tiny flames climb a small branch like small live things. He found his attention drawn to two tiny flames which seemed to be drawn slowly towards each other. When they met they darted left and right, as though shy lovers -- kissing, blushing and turning away. Soon, no branch left between them, the two flames became one, flaring up hotly, then mellowing into soothing warmth.

Blair glanced over at Jim, who was clearly miserable. From where he sat, he could see Jim's skin flinching and wondered at that, having seen few mosquitos that evening. Maybe there was something in the downed wood that Jim was allergic to.

Jim flinched and scratched absently while he watched the fire, edging away from Blair in small fidgets. He felt ... closed in, somehow, as though the flames crept ever closer to his feet, as though with each lick, his feet would dissolve.

Trying to keep himself from losing it, Jim focused on the necessary.

"We ought to think about getting settled, sleeping. We can't do much until sunrise."

Blair couldn't argue with that. He'd have liked to argue, maybe even punch. He'd have liked to, but logic was logic. He was tired of the bickering, the put downs, of feeling guilty all the time, of feeling like Jim's own personal whipping boy, and now, God knows, they were stranded. Maybe rescue at daybreak, maybe not. And he was being unfair.

Shit.

He got up and started to look for anything to use to sleep on. Rocky shores, bumpy mattresses. Jim followed suit.

Near the entrance to the forest, he found evergreen boughs. And from trees, low branches, thick with greenery, he pulled and they snapped. In a little under twenty minutes, he had enough cushion to make sleep bearable.

When he got back to camp, Jim was already setting up on the other side of he campfire. And shooting him daggers. At least they looked like daggers, in the firelight.

Both men threw themselves into their work, ripping twigs from branches, stomping them flat, pushing them around until they created suitable bedding.

Blair slowly arranged his designated sleeping area while watching Jim out of the corner of his eye, intuiting that whatever was wrong between them was obviously coming to a head, since Jim's sniping was far worse than their current predicament warranted.

oooOOooo

Jim resented Blair's furtive looks just as much as he felt ashamed for having mouthed off at him. It wasn't as though Sandburg had blown up the boat or willed the cloud cover.

But Jim couldn't help feeling that the rage boiling up from deep within him was being drawn to the surface by something Sandburg was actually doing.

He soon felt he was really beginning to lose it; felt it at first as a mild irritation, much as he would if a fly had landed on the back of his hand. Then on his cheek, his nose, his forehead.

But really it wasn't a tactile sensation; it was more like a sound, like an insistent mosquito whining in his ear. And the whining and the itching had been increasing in intensity every moment he spent in proximity to Sandburg.

Jim was baffled. He could not pinpoint one damn thing that Sandburg had done to cause this irritation, this incipient rage.

But it intensified even now as they set up camp.

And the more Jim looked at Sandburg, the louder the now incessant buzz became -- a sound he now realized originated in his own mind -- the sound becoming louder every time Sandburg looked at him, spoke to him.

And now, as Blair came near him -- his eyes meeting his, his worry irritatingly evident -- now it was an internal scream.

"Sandburg, get the fuck away from me!"

oooOOooo

"Jim? You all right, man?"

And as he had a thousand times before, Sandburg reached out, his fingertips grazing Jim's arm. But Jim recoiled from him as though the touch had seared his flesh.

"Will you stop touching me?! You are always touching me, looking at me. Why are you always touching me?!"

"Jim! Jim! What is going on with you? I don't think I've ever seen you like this! At least, not since ..."

"Since what, Sandburg?"

"Since before . . . you know, when Alex was in Cascade and you were getting so . . . territorial . . . to the point that you . . . ."

"What? That I what ?"

"You threw a shitfit in the bull pen about people touching your stuff, you emptied the loft completely, you even . . . you even threw me out. . . . Jim . . . is that what you're trying to do now -- get rid of me?"

"No. I am not trying to 'get rid of you,' Sandburg. You are just too damn in my face. There's nothing going on with me. Why don't you ask yourself if there's something going on with you ."

And Blair looked down at his feet for a moment, shook his head and returned to his sleeping area, flopping down on top of it, stretching out on his back. A moment later, lacing his fingers behind his head, he took a deep breath and slowly released it.

"You know, Jim, a lot has happened in the past few months. Stuff that maybe we should talk about."

"Sandburg, I . . . not now, all right?"

"Why not? We're not going anywhere for a while. Might as well. And I know I'm not getting to sleep anytime soon, are you?"

Jim lay back on his bedding and looked up at the stars peeking between the clouds.

"No. I guess not. Haven't been sleeping too well, anyway."

"Jim?"

"Keep having these dreams "

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"You wanna talk about them?"

"No, Sandburg, I don't wanna talk about them. You're already in my face.

"It's like you've invaded me. Looking into my eyes. Getting under my skin. I practically itch -- like it's an infestation. "And now you want inside my head, inside my dreams.

"Makes me wonder how else you're going to . . . to get inside me."

And at that, Jim got up quickly, so quickly he felt clumsy, and stalked off a few yards towards the shore, to get . . . away.

oooOOooo

A while later, Jim returned to the campfire and the two men, settling into an uneasy peace for the moment, lay on their nests of needles in silence.

"Y'know, Jim, we're lucky."

"Lucky?

"Yeah. I mean, sure we're in the middle of nowhere, no cell phone, no radio. But we've dealt with stuff like this before.

"And I was thinking that we managed to get stranded on this deserted island in northwest Washington -- and there's no rain, man! In fact, it's pretty warm, considering it's a cloudy night."

"Yeah, lucky." Jim's irritation was unmistakable.

Silence reigned for a few more minutes, each man turning onto his side, resolving to get some sleep in preparation for the difficult day that awaited them.

"Um, Jim?"

"Sandburg, I'm trying to get some sleep here, do you mind?"

"Uh .. okay .. um .. it's just ..."

"In the morning, ok?"

"OK."

oooOOooo

The two men had managed to sleep part of the night, but at first light, they gave it up as a lost cause. Blair sat up, rubbed his eyes, then looked over at Jim, who had apparently been watching him for several minutes.

"Sandburg, I know you want to talk about something. Just spit it out. Get it over with so we can get on with trying to get ourselves out of this mess, all right?"

"Yeah, sure Jim."

"Well?"

At this, Sandburg sat up, pushed the hair back away from his face and said, "Okay, Jim, it's like this: I think we're going to keep sniping at each other until we deal with whatever is bugging you. And I'm beginning to think that it might have to do with the vision we shared at the fountain, you know, when I . . . I mean, we've never talked about what it meant. "

"What it meant ? I think it's pretty obvious what it meant, Sandburg."

"Oh, you find analyzing mystical visions to be just a snap, do you? Well, why don't you just clue in the rest of the class, Ellison. "

And Sandburg was up off his bedding and pacing in an ellipse around the campsite, stomping and shoving his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

"Because frankly, Jim, although we seemed to have the same fucking vision, I'm not so sure I know exactly what it meant. And this sort of thing is what I do. But even the experts are likely to come up with a whole freaking range of possible explanations for a vision like this.

"But not you -- no you think it's so obvious. God! What arrogance!"

"Okay okay, Chief -- just settle down; I get your point."

"You gonna talk about it? What you saw? What it meant to you?"

"I will if you will. I mean, you saw the same thing, right?"

"Yeah, we saw the same images . . . but we may have seen them, you know, differently . . . . I mean, I was . . . let us say, in a different place than you were when you saw them so . . . I may have had . . . maybe a different point of view or something, don't you think?"

And Jim nodded, seeing that there was some logic in that, somehow.

And Blair said,

"And maybe, then, what it meant to me might be different, right? Or maybe what it meant wouldn't be what you thought or what I thought but maybe the meaning, the message has to be built somehow between us. It's like it's just sitting there incomplete until we put our two heads together on it."

Jim wasn't really sure how this was going to work but he had a nagging intuitive feeling that Blair maybe really did know what the fuck he was talking about.

"Sandburg, I have no clue where you're going with this. . . . But . . . well, OK, if you think it'll do any good . . . ."

Blair, astounded by the faith that implied, no matter how reluctantly confessed, sat once again on his 'bed,' looked over at his friend, smiled, and said, "Thanks, Jim, I appreciate it. . . . So start."

And Jim sat up facing in the general direction of Blair, looked down at his hands and said, "Well, there was this wolf--"

"Before that, Jim. What were you doing? How were you feeling? Take it step by step."

"Aww, Chief, no."

And Blair thought he would cry then, because in the reflected light of the campfire, he saw the look of stark pain in Jim's eyes, the slump of his shoulders.

"Oh, Jim," he whispered quietly, thinking that maybe this was just asking too much.

"It's OK, Sandburg . . . I think I can do it." And Jim took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then expelled the breath slowly and began:

"You were laid out on the grass by the fountain, no breath, no heartbeat, your hair lying spread out around your head all over the ground . . . . And the damn paramedics just said "sorry"! My God! They just gave up on you! And everyone was just telling me to let it go. To let you go. And . . . ."

And Jim began to choke, eyes brimming with tears.

"Shh-shh, Jim, it's OK. I'm OK now. We're OK."

And Jim took another deep breath and let it out.

"And I couldn't let you go, Chief. I couldn't . . . because at that moment I felt like . . . I felt so lost, so alone, empty inside, like I was dying right along with you. . . . And then I saw it."

"Saw what, Jim?"

"Saw a glowing white light around your face and in the center was your animal spirit, the wolf."

"Jim, man, how did you know that was my animal spirit?"

"Because of the dream I had."

"The dream?"

"A couple of days before, I'd dreamed that I was in the jungle, everything was blue, and I shot an arrow and . . . the arrow landed in a wolf and the wolf died and turned into you -- you were naked, alone and dead on the jungle floor. And, ohmigod, I had killed you!"

"Aw, Jim, man, why didn't you tell me about this stuff? We could've figured things out. It makes a lot more sense now--"

"Well, I hope it makes sense to somebody, Sandburg, because none of it made a whole hell of a lot of sense to me. . . . I mean, why would I kill you, Chief, I . . . you are . . . I . . . . "

"I don't think you wanted to kill me, Jim. Maybe it was a warning. Maybe you knew I was in danger. Maybe you were afraid you might hurt me."

Jim thought a minute and nodded.

"But let's deal with one thing at a time, OK, Jim?

". . . So you knew that the wolf was my animal spirit. So what did you see it do? And how did you feel, what did you think?"

"It looked at me, then turned and ran off towards the jungle . . . I knew it was you and you were running away from me, Chief. You were leaving, you were speeding towards . . . death. And I . . . felt . . ."

"Jim? You felt ...?"

"I felt . . . like . . . Chief, I don't know what I felt, exactly. I mean you were going . . . away and I wanted . . . needed you with me . . . . felt empty inside . . . . But I couldn't decide whether I should just . . . I mean, was I going to follow you or bring you back? Because I really for a moment . . . I just . . . ."

"Shh, it's OK, Jim, it's all OK."

"I just . . . some part of me wanted to just die, thought I really was dying. . . . . And I had a split-second thought that I should just follow you."

"Ah, nah, Jim . . . . " And Blair reached out, grazing Jim's hand with his fingertips, his eyes wet with unshed tears.

But after a moment, Jim forged on.

"I saw a vision of Incacha telling me to use the power of my animal spirit. And I was still on that fence: follow you or bring you back.

"But either way, I figured I had to go after the wolf. So I put my hands on your head, around your face . . . it was so wet and so cold and clammy and . . . oh, God!"

"How did you know to touch my head, Jim?"

"How should I know? Seemed like the thing to do at the time... That's where the light was, I guess... What do you want, Sandburg? I was just going with my gut."

"Ok-ok . . so?"

"So .. I saw the black jaguar, knew it was me and I had to get him-me to find you."

"Jim, that's the first thing I saw! I never saw Incacha or the Wolf running towards the jungle. The first thing I saw was the face of the Wolf and the face of the Jaguar and then they were facing each other, right?"

"Well, yeah, which I really don't get, couldn't figure out. Because first I saw the wolf -- you were running away from me. But then the jaguar . . . um . . . I was facing you and I thought . . . you must've . . . ."

"Yeah the jaguar was facing me. You must've . . . ."

"Sandburg, I thought you turned back."

"Jim, man, I don't remember that part. I just figured somehow you leaped in front of me . . . somehow . . . flew or something . . . it's a vision right, so I figured it made sort of dream sense . . . like you just . . . the jaguar just somehow was all of a sudden ahead of me in the jungle . . . like maybe you had leaped into death to block my path. I think that's how you saved me."

"No-no Sandburg, that doesn't make sense! You must have turned back to keep me from going . . . there. I thought you saw me and knew I was trying to . . . I felt like I wanted to . . . and you changed your mind and turned back to ... you came back to me ... so I wouldn't go there.

It was you who saved me. "

"Then, all I knew was I wanted to be where you were, so I jumped across this--"

"Yeah, Chief, it was this chasm, so huge, I thought you might fall, so I jumped to catch you but . . . ."

"We . . we . . the animals seemed to crash head-on . . . but merged . . . were joined as one . . . ."

"It was like you swallowed me up . . . like disappearing into . . . ."

"A huge flash of light!"

"Yeah, a huge flash of light and I just knew, Chief, I just knew that you were with me."

"Wow!"

"Yeah, wow . . . .

"But later I felt like ..."

"Like what, Jim?"

"Well, like you were still there "

"And this bothers you? I'm glad to be here, thank you very much."

"No-no! Not like that.

"You're still . . . I'm still . . . .

"It's like sometimes I feel like I disappeared, was swallowed up by you. And other times, like today, it's like I can't get rid of you.

" I mean I like you. A lot, Sandburg.

"But it's like you've crawled inside my body like some sort of burrowing insect and I just can't take it, anymore. It's like after that . . . merge . . . thing . . . I just don't feel the same. I'm not me anymore."

And Jim was up off the ground, feeling the urge to run or hit something, but was unable to decide which to do first.

oooOOooo

But Blair grabbed Jim by the arm.

"No, Jim. I'm not going to let you just drop this, avoid this. You've got to tell me what you mean by all this, or ..."

"Or what, Sandburg?"

"Or our partnership is in serious jeopardy, here, man. There is something obviously bothering you and if you don't talk about it, it's going to eat away at you, and by extension .. us. So talk, dammit."

"I can't really explain this .... feeling. It's like . . . "

Jim's arms and neck began to feel hot, sweaty and crawly. He quickly removed his jacket, tossing it aside.

"Let's try another tack. How did you interpret the vision, Jim?"

Rubbing the back of his neck and scratching at the inside of this elbow, he began, "It's like .. the wolf .. like you swallowed me up or invaded me .. like there was no 'me' left. I was alive but not .. me."

"Have you felt this way before? Invaded?"

"Well, yeah, by the senses -- they took me over, but . . . it's something about ... you, Chief, . . . and some memories that I can barely make out . . ."

"From childhood? Peru?"

"Like from my whole life . . . ."

"The way you're talking, Jim, it's as though the merge, the flash of light, somehow illuminated some repressed memories, or something."

"Or something. It's like they have been hidden away in a box in the back of my mind. There but behind some door. And the vision, the flash of light, pried the door open. But just a crack that I can barely see through. I get this feeling of dread, like I don't want to look at what might be there and even more so, I don't want anyone else to see."

"Not even me, Jim?"

And Jim sat on a rock, studying his hands, then rubbing the skin between his knuckles, checking to see whether there were a rash. Then, looking up, he peered into those huge dark blue eyes, and felt a sadness coming over him. And swallowing around the tightness in his throat, Jim admitted, "Especially not you, Chief," closing his eyes against the vision of such anguish that flickered in Blair's eyes.

"You don't understand, Chief, this stuff feels really . . . dangerous . . . like whatever it is could just rip us apart."

"But how can you know that if you don't even know what it is? Jim, man, you are letting your fear control you, keep you in the dark."

Jim opened his mouth to speak but closed it, shaking his head slowly, hesitantly.

But unwilling to be dissuaded, Blair continued, "They say that knowledge is power, Jim. If you want to have power over whatever is scaring the hell out of you, you need to at least find out what it is. And once we find out what it is, we'll know how to defeat whatever demons these are.. . Before they defeat us. You have to open the door to that box, Jim."

And Jim's shoes felt too tight so he quickly tore them off and reached down to rub his toes, then looked up, his exasperation obvious.

"That's all very reasonable for you to say, Sandburg, but I don't really see how I can figure it out. I haven't suddenly acquired the ability to just snap my fingers and call up my animal spirit or Incacha -- those things seem to just ... happen to me when they goddam feel like it."

"I guess I'm lucky the universe saw fit to impose that last one on you, aren't I, then?," Blair spat.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, that those visions are just as much a part of you as they are a part of the universe. I seem to remember at least one time we were able to call one up through meditation -- remember, Jim?"

And Jim was taken back to a time when his other guide had been killed, a time on their roof, when Blair had been able to guide him to look within for knowledge residing in his own soul. Now, taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that following this man's guidance hadn't been a mistake in the past, would most likely be the right thing to do now.

And Jim began rubbing his forearms again, trying to remove the crawling feeling from his skin. Irritation in his voice, he answered, "Yes, Sandburg, I do remember. So let's just do it already."

Blair smiled a tight smile, pulled up another rock, and sat beside Jim.

"Ok, you know the drill: relax, take deep breaths..." And Blair reached and touched his arm to soothe him. But Jim flinched. So Blair pulled back, frowning slightly. "Relax . . . it's all right to remember, it's safe to remember."

And Jim remembered. Clearly.

oooOOooo

With a start, he snapped into the here and now and looked into the face of his best friend and with fear and pain warring for dominance on his countenance, he just moaned, "Oh, my god, Blair."

"Jim, it's ok, man."

"No, Sandburg, it's not ok. You just don't know how it was."

"So tell me."

Jim paused a moment to collect his thoughts, took a deep, hiccupping breath, and began.

"You know how it was with me and my dad. He was very distant, withholding. And my mom left before I was 10. And my dad put a wedge between Stephen and me. And when I was a kid, my dad made it clear that my sensory ability made me . . . different, a freak . . . that being different was . . . somehow a bad thing, something that would separate me from people. Separate, as in leave me 'alone.'

"What you didn't know and what I haven't thought about in a long time is that after Bud died and I buried my sensory ability and all memory of them, I felt even more alone. Unable to connect with family, friends.

"I kept my distance from people in a lot of ways. Pretty concrete ways. I stood the regulation macho distance from everybody. Never touched anybody. Felt strange when they touched me.

"It didn't change much about me and my dad; he wasn't a physically affectionate guy in the first place. And it didn't really change much for anybody else for a long time. "But about the time I was 16, I had this friend . . . Greg. He seemed to like me. Didn't seem to mind that I was different, reclusive. . . . And after a while, I started to notice that he . . . touched me sometimes. I know that seems trivial, but I wasn't used to it, then. And he started touching me . . . a lot. And eventually it was in places that seemed . . . not normal. Or something. But I couldn't pinpoint it. I mean, he never grabbed my crotch or anything like that.

"We started going to movies together every Saturday afternoon and I remember this one movie . . . can't remember the title or who was in it or anything . . . but there was this one scene where some guy was . . . touching this woman on her arm, her shoulder, her face, her hair . . . just before a big love scene . . . and then I realized that Greg had been touching me like that . . . and I thought maybe this boy was in love with me.

"And I couldn't deal with that little revelation. I mean I thought I liked girls, as much as I thought about liking anyone . . . sexually. And now it seemed as though he was suggesting this . . . other thing. And it just freaked me out.

"But I didn't know how to talk to him about it. Was never really good about talking about emotions -- nothing much changed there, eh, Chief?

So I just . . . tried pretending it wasn't happening.

"But he kept touching me and . . . I started looking at him a little more closely and saw this look in his eye and I just knew that . . . this guy really was in love with me.

"And what scared me more than how weird that seemed -- I mean I hadn't really known that that was possible -- what scared me more than that was I realized I really loved him. I really did. But I didn't know if it was the same thing that we saw at that movie."

"And then one night after coming back from another one of our Saturday matinees, we were talking about it and he started talking about how he wished he could find a lover like the guy in that movie. He said it just like that -- that he wanted a lover like that guy. And so really he was, in his own way, coming out to me. And he looked at me with such desire in his eyes and he started . . . kissing me."

"Shocked the hell out of me. And what shocked me more was that I wasn't . . . repulsed, like I thought I should be. And I realized that I really loved this boy too."

And Jim took a couple of deep breaths and swallowed tightly, searching Blair's face for signs of rejection and finding . . . a look. One that he refused to put a name to, yet, but one that was anything but rejection. Feeling slightly calmer, he continued.

"I wish I could tell a different story. But I have to be honest. I was so scared that I just flat out denied my feelings to myself. And since he never came out and asked me how I felt, I continued to pretend he wasn't talking about us.

"And that night, after he had left, I tried to imagine what it would be like . . . to be his boyfriend. And I would start down that path and freeze. In my head I could hear people calling me a freak. And even though by then I had forgotten the sensory thing, I still had this . . . feeling that I might already be a freak and that if I . . . did this thing with him . . . I really would be a one.

"But I didn't have any other friends and I didn't want to lose him, so I really didn't know what to do.

"And then, every time we got together, he started touching me even more often than before . . hinting, I think . . . and I began to feel so . . invaded.

"But not just by him, or by his touches. I felt invaded by these . . . emotions. Emotions I didn't even want to feel. And the more I tried to push those emotions away, the more they took me over until I couldn't take it any more.

"And I'm not really proud of myself but what I finally did was I just . . . "

And Jim froze, unable to speak, realizing at this moment that he was beyond 'not proud' of himself, that in reality what he had done to Greg he had never forgiven himself for. That it really was unforgivable. That to reveal this to Sandburg just might mean the end to their relationship as they knew it.

Jim had been silent for so long, Blair began to worry.

"Jim? You can tell me anything, man. No matter what it is, I'm still your friend, your partner."

And Jim took a leap of faith.

"God, Blair, I just . . . let him. And then the next day, I was so scared I just told him I couldn't see him anymore. Told him what we had done was wrong. Told him I didn't love him. I fucking lied to the only person who had touched me, who had shown me any kind of affection in years. And soon he was gone and I felt empty. Dead inside.

"After that, I did everything I could to put the memory of that time out of my mind. Because really it was an event not worth remembering. Not worth dredging up. And event that should have remained buried.

"And I stayed away from people, stayed closed up for years. Sometimes in the army there would be some guy who . . . approached me. And sometimes I'd let them . . . but I just couldn't bring myself to think of myself that way. And then I'd just try to forget.

"And every once in a while I would try to get close to women but . . . I couldn't connect.

"And then I met you and the first time we really met, in your office, you were touching me. You put your hand on my arm, my chest. And over time, I learned to touch back.

"But you did more than that. You moved in. Into my job, my home, my life. And now ...

"You're always in my space . . like Greg . . and . . . well I liked it dammit. But . . . And then that damn vision with you swallowing me up ... my space was completely gone. There was no more me . . . It's like you took me over. Like Greg and those emotions back then had taken me over. . . ."

"But Jim, there was no 'me' either; it was just us -- we were one, man. I thought that was beautiful."

"You don't get it, Sandburg. This stuff is easy for you, but I couldn't, I don't."

"Jim, man, being your friend has never been 'easy'; it's been a lot of things, mostly good things, but never easy. I would think you would be glad that you had Greg, someone who really loved you, who was willing to get close to you, closer than anyone in your life ever had, who was willing to reach out to you past all the messages we get every day that guys 'don't.' Because, Jim, you think it was the distancing you learned from your dad that separated you from other people, but it wasn't your dad who said 'no' to Greg. And it isn't your dad now who is saying 'no' to love."

And Blair stopped himself.

"What are you saying, Sandburg?"

"You know very well what I'm saying, Jim. But you just won't admit it to yourself. And I'm really getting tired of how you let your fear erode at our friendship. It's time, Jim. Deal."

oooOOooo

And at that, Blair turned and stalked off towards the edge of the forest -- unsure how much longer he could live with the frustration inherent in guiding someone as resistant as Jim.

Jim watched him stomp off, saddened and frustrated by the realization that once again he had alienated his best friend, the most important man in his life. And as his friend's form disappeared into the trees, Jim felt a sudden sensation he hadn't felt in weeks.

At first, he felt a split second of relief that the insistent whine had diminished and that whatever the hell it was no longer crowded his consciousness, that his body was his again.

But almost immediately, as the sensations left him, he began to feel that emptiness, once again. And he thought if he didn't follow after Blair, bring him back, Jim was sure he would die -- not because any thing would kill him, but because he would ... just ... go.

Suddenly, Jim heard it -- a growl in the distance. Listening more closely a second, he realized that the growl was out just beyond where Blair had disappeared into the woods. He sprang to his feet and took off at a dead run towards the sound.

There in the center of a small, almost-circular clearing stood a youngish black bear and on the perimeter stood Blair, who had just seen it.

Jim, having spotted them both before emerging from the trees, snuck around to the other side of the circle so that he was behind the animal and nearly opposite Blair. As he emerged, he held his finger to his lips, and Blair nodded, understanding the need for silence.

Blair tried to remember everything he had overheard or read about bears, but his fear blocked his memory so that what surfaced were only the very basic notions -- that if a bear were too close, he might attack and that one should back slowly from him, speaking in low soothing tones. Blair reasoned that since the bear hadn't attacked, he hadn't crossed the invisible line of safety. So he went with the next step, slowly inching backwards but slightly sidewards, nearing Jim in the process.

Jim, seeing Blair's plan, likewise moved along the perimeter towards his friend, but froze suddenly when he felt a shift in the bear's attention.

The bear, having sensed that Blair's movements took him not farther away but out of his line of sight, bounded onto his front paws a short distance towards Blair, a huff of warning escaping his lungs as he landed.

Blair froze.

Jim, feeling as though they were losing control of the encounter, readied himself to make a move to distract the bear from Blair, somehow, but despaired when he saw the bear crouch to take another bound for Sandburg, a move that would take Blair down.

"No! Not again!"

Jim howled his outrage, startling the bear, who turned slightly to size up this second invader, and in making that turn, he came closer to Sandburg -- an act that pushed Jim just too far. Jim took a step forward to take on the bear but was stopped by Blair's "Jim, no!"

But the combination of moves was too much for the bear, who crouched once again to pounce at Blair, the nearer of his two opponents. And seeing the tension in the bear's muscles, Jim himself crouched to take a leap, a scream of desperation and pain rending the air, just as Blair, seeing Jim's 'kamikaze' intentions, screamed "NO!" -- he also taking a flying leap at the bear.

But the bear, realizing it was outnumbered, suddenly took off in the opposite direction, leaving the two men mid-leap to fall one on the other in a heap.

oooOOooo

Moments later, Jim came to semi-awareness finding himself atop Blair, who lay moaning beneath him. Jim placed his open hands on either side of Blair's face, his fingers spread open. But this time he saw no halo of white light.

No, this time he felt an inner fire, the spark igniting below his naval and snaking up his spine, searing through his chest, burning his throat.

His eyes stung with unshed tears as he chanted,' almost lost you, almost lost you,' and slid his open hand into Blair's hair, grabbing whole hunks of the stuff, clenching his fists in it.

Still woozy from the fall, Blair peered up into his partner's eyes, unsure what to make of the proceedings but quite aware that something important was happening here.

"Jim? What's going on, man?"

"Not again, not again," came back the new mantra as Jim began opening and closing his fists, as though kneading Blair's hair. And with each grasp and release, his fingers threaded further under the mass, as though seeking hiding places there.

"Not again?"

"Can't lose you, can't lose you" And Jim' fingers slipped all the way through Blair's hair to the ground, where they aimlessly grasped leaves and clutched at the mud, before sliding down to burrow between the ground and Blair's back, where they once again began their desperate kneading.

Blair closed his eyes, moaning softly, and began sliding soothing hands up and down Jim's back. "I'm here, I'm here."

And at that Jim lost it. He sputtered and choked, great sobs shaking his body.

Blair grabbed on, hugging him harder than he had ever hugged anyone in his life, then was startled when Jim began ... well, there was no way to describe it other than he was attempting to swallow Blair's face.

Opening his mouth as widely as he could, Jim mouthed him, lips opening and closing on Blair's cheeks, chin, lips, forehead -- until Blair's whole face was coated in Jim's spit.

"So empty, so empty."

"Jim?"

"You left, I was empty," Jim moaned as he employed teeth and tongue, lapping and chewing at Blair's chin, neck, shoulder.

"You were inside me, but you left"

"I'm still here, Jim," Blair panted out his reassurance and clutched at Jim's hair, his neck, his collar.

"You swallowed me, wanna swallow you" and Jim suddenly sat up straddling Blair. He yanked open Blair's jacket and pushed it off this shoulders, then shoved his hands up under his shirt, burrowing under as far as he could. Then, he slid the shirt up to expose Blair's chest and began to mouth that great expanse of furry skin, licking and sucking and mouthing and chewing -- until not one inch of the exposed surface was dry.

"Yeah, Jim, swallow me," and Blair reached down and grabbed his shirt tails to pull them up and over his head.

Jim flipped him over and began mouthing his back and arms until there was nothing left unlapped.

"More, want more" And Jim rolled him over again and grabbed at Blair's belt buckle.

"Jim?!"

And Jim looked up, startled.

"Jim? I've never . . . "

And Jim nodded and stroked Blair from throat to belt buckle with two gentle fingertips, before sliding them inside and below his waistband just slightly.

Something in the gesture reassured Blair, so he stripped out of his jeans and boxers in a brief, abrupt motion, then sat looking into Jim's eyes, a questioning look on his face.

"Wanna swallow you up" was Jim's reply and Blair moaned in anticipation, as Jim pushed him back down. Jim dipped his head to mouth, lick, and chew his way over one hip, down one leg, lapping at ankle, instep, toes then working his way up the other leg to the other hip bone. Then, gasping for breath, Jim made a dive for Blair's groin, snuffling and licking as much as he could reach. Then frustrated, wanting more, he grabbed Blair's thighs with both hands and shoved them apart to reach as far as he could between them with his hungry tongue.

Blair gasped for breath and arched up into Jim's mouth, his head rocking from side to side.

Suddenly, Jim paused for a moment to look into the eyes of his lover, for he now realized that's what Blair really was.

Blair, startled by the loss of wet contact, opened his eyes to see a look of such love on Jim's face, that he felt his throat tighten and his eyes fill with tears.

"Aw, Jim," he sighed softly.

"Blair, I ..." and Jim slowly lowered his lips to the head of Blair's penis and took him in and swallowed him up until Blair cried out and he felt full of Blair once more.

But once the hunger subsided, the itching began, driving Jim to shed his clothes as quickly as possible. Jim knew somehow that he must now also burrow like an insect, so he shoved his fingers up inside Blair's hair, and shoved his nose under Blair's armpits, and writhed over Blair's body. But it wasn't enough, and Jim whimpered in frustration.

"Jim? Inside?"

"Can't hurt you."

"Come here." And Blair grasped Jim's penis, guiding it to his thighs where it could burrow between them.

"Yes," was all Jim could manage, before he began thrusting, Blair squeezing his thighs around him, flexing his muscles in rhythm. But Jim wanted even more, so grabbing on with both hands, Jim pulled Blair to him and covered his mouth with his own, his tongue burrowing inside to meet Blair's, 'kissoflife,kissoflife,' his only thought, before he saw a blinding flash of white light behind his eyelids and collapsed, sprawling all over the body of his love.

oooOOooo

When the men came to themselves a while later, Jim sat up, pulling Blair up with him. Feeling groggy, Blair looked around a minute and laughed.

"What's so damn funny, Sandburg?"

"We are a mess, man."

Jim looked both of them up and down, noticing for the first time that they were smeared with mud, leaves, spit and semen. He smiled.

"Yeah, Chief, I'd say you're right. Let's do something about this."

They gathered and bundled up their clothing and walked back to the beach. They set their bundles down on their bedding and each dashed out into the waves to wash himself.

Not really sure what to say next, they remained quiet for a while, not certain exactly what they thought about all that had happened.

But after a while, Blair looked up and smiled at his lover, then walked closer to him very quietly, Jim watching him thoughtfully, wordlessly as he approached. Blair got within a couple of feet, paused, then splashed water up into Jim's face, laughing when Jim spluttered. Jim grinned then gently swept his legs behind the back of Blair's feet, tripping him, landing him on his butt in the water.

> From where he sat, Blair looked up, smiled and said, "Hey, Jim, I feel as though I've been swallowed, like you've burrowed inside me -- think I oughta worry about that?"

Jim frowned for a moment, tilting his head to consider a moment.

"Do you worry about that, Blair?" he asked quietly.

Blair slowly rose to his feet, solemnly looked Jim in the eye and replied, "No, Jim. I don't worry a bit."

Jim sighed in relief, then caught a twinkle in his friend's eye.

"In fact, Jim, I think I could use a little more burrowing, if you don't mind."

Jim's mouth dropped open and he blushed a moment. But then, patting Blair's shoulder, he asked, "Are you sure? I mean, you said you never ... and I can't hurt you."

Blair felt a wave of love pass over and through him. He couldn't speak for a moment, could only gaze up into Jim's eyes and think about how much love this man was capable of.

Then, coming to himself, he grinned, cocked his head sideways and jogged over to his bedding. He reached into the pile of odds and ends they had rescued from their pockets, snatching something out, clutching it in his fist.

He jogged back to Jim, who still stood knee-deep in the water with a puzzled look on his face.

"I'm very sure, Jim. I know you wouldn't hurt me."

Then he reached out, grasped Jim's hand, turned it over and placed the item he'd been clutching into Jim's palm. Jim looked down to see the small tube of Vaseline lip balm (SPF 15) and chuckled, flashing him a crooked smile.

"Kind of a waste of sun block, considering where it's going, Chief," Jim deadpanned, and Blair exploded with laughter, knowing then that they were back.

Blair grabbed Jim's elbow and pulled him, saying "C'mon! c'mon!" He led him over to their bedding of the night before, grabbed their bundles of clothes, handing off one to Jim, and began smoothing the clothing over the pine needles. Jim added his own, then lay back pulling his lover to him on the nest.

Blair stretched out, sprawling all over Jim, trying to cover as much of his body as he could, reveling in the feel of it, the warmth of it, then reached up and placed his open hands on both sides of Jim's face, holding him still, gazing into those sky blue eyes, before finally lowering his own head to caress Jim's mouth with his own.

Jim gently stroked Blair's back, tracing his spine from neck to tailbone, listening to his lover's moans, feeling his shivers through his fingertips.

Then, clasping his arms around him, Jim rolled them over, so that they lay on their sides face to face.

The two, as one, ran their hands along each other's sides from shoulder to hip, murmuring their pleasure in unison, then reached for each other and felt one another grow harder in their hands.

Blair reached up, touched Jim's forehead and whispered, "Jim, look at me."

When Jim looked into his dark blue eyes, Blair said, "It's time, love, join me now, become one with me now."

His throat tightening, overcome with emotion, Jim uttered a brief sobbing "Yes."

Removing the cap from the tube, Jim began squeezing out the lip balm.

When after a few minutes Blair noticed that Jim hadn't begun to prepare him yet, he looked down to see what the problem was.

And laughed.

Because the tube was so small, the opening so tiny that it seemed as though Jim would be squeezing for hours to get enough to provide adequate lubrication.

Jim, at first embarrassed and frustrated, relaxed and joined him in the laughter.

"Here," Blair said, offering up his pocket knife so Jim could slice open the tube.

That taken care of, Blair positioned himself on his back with his jacket rolled up under his hips. Jim very gently spread his lover's strong thighs and carefully prepared him.

Jim asked Blair with his eyes and Blair nodded his go-ahead.

"Yes, Jim, join me, merge with me."

And he did.

Slowly. Gently.

Until after a while, he felt himself begin to get lost in Blair, in his soul, in his body, in all that he was, until he realized ...

That he was as much entering as being swallowed, as much filling as filled, that he was as much taken as taking, that he was as much joining as joined, that he had always been himself, that he had never been lost, that in finding Blair he had found himself, that in breathing the breath of life into Blair, he had saved himself.

That he knew what love was and that love wore Blair's face.

oooOOooo

Blair was the first to awaken.

He smiled warmly and patted Jim on his back.

"Jim?"

"Mmmm?"

"Love you, man, but you're kinda heavy here."

Jim grinned and rolled to his side, pulling Blair with him so they could lie together, Blair's head just below his shoulder. Sliding his hand down to Blair's hip, Jim asked, "How're you doing? You ok?"

"A lot better than ok, Jim."

"I mean .. "

"Oh, that. A little sore. But ok."

"I .. "

"Hmm?

"Love you, Chief. I .."

"I know, Jim. I think I've always known. ... Me, too, ya know. I feel like I've loved you my whole life."

"I just need you to know, Blair, that I know. That I'll never deny the reality of this."

"You bet your sweet ass, you won't. For one thing, I refuse to let you forget.

"And you have got to forgive yourself, man, for something that you did when you were 16 fucking years old. I don't think there's anyone on the planet who hasn't tried sex with someone who wasn't the right one. For whatever reason. Yeah, he might have been the right one, if you had been ready. But you just weren't ready for that, Jim. It would have been unusual if you had been ready.

"Besides, you have to remember that everything that we have done or that has ever happened to us has created who we are and has brought us to the place in life that we now stand. Or lie. As the case may be.

"So as rotten as it felt at the time, what you did, in the long run, brought you to me. And I am grateful for that. Because now you are here and we are one, Jim. And we can never be put asunder. Not if I have anything to say about it."

And Jim was so overwhelmed by the implications of Blair's words that the tears of decades welled up, and burying his face into Blair's shoulder, he let them spill, low sobs shaking him, his lover's strong hands gentling him.

Blair held onto him for long minutes. Then, the physical and emotional strain of the past 24 hours having taken its toll, they drifted off to sleep.

oooOOooo

After a while, Jim's attention shifted and he cocked his head slightly.

"What?"

"I hear - something."

"Just tell me it's not the bear. I'm in no shape for a rematch."

"No, not an . . . animal. But noise."

"So clear, O Great Sentinel."

At that moment, two dune buggies came around the curve of the beach.

Two dune buggies?

Blair looked up at his lover, one eyebrow cocked, a slight smirk on his face.

"Noise, Jim? Gee, could you be a bit more specific here? Define that 'noise'?"

At that moment, Blair Sandburg would have given his soul for a camera, to capture Jim's expression as he watched the dune buggies heading straight for them. (Oh, wait, he'd already given his soul. So, he'd have given his laptop.)

"Uh, Chief. I, um.....," he cleared his throat, once, twice, a third time.

The buggies pulled up alongside the two men in a flurry of sand. One rider took off his helmet and goggles and took in the 'camp,' the makeshift fire and the bedraggled, somewhat worse for wear men (who were now hurriedly attempting to put their clothes on) and his mouth dropped open.

"You guys have some trouble? Get lost or something?"

Blair, noticing Jim's thunderstruck expression, stepped forward and extended a hand.

"Wow, are we glad to see you guys. We had a . . . . boating accident. I guess you could call us 'shipwrecked.' Where exactly are we?"

The two riders gazed at each other, wonder on their faces. The other rider had taken off her helmet and she answered Blair, "You're on one of the San Juan Islands." Then she added, "You guys really swam here?"

"Yeah, yeah, we did. San Juan Islands, huh? So I can assume 'civilization' is somewhere close by?"

"About five miles back from the direction we came, a resort. You guys look like you could use a lift?"

Jim was still stunned, so Blair grabbed up their meager 'stuff' and pushed his Sentinel toward the man's buggy.

"We'd really appreciate it, yeah. By the way, I'm Blair Sandburg and this is Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade P.D. Glad you folks dropped by."

Blair had to actually put Jim on the back of the buggy, or at least as well as the shorter man could put someone of Jim's size on anything.

Then he hopped behind the woman and they were off.

oooOOooo

The two men said good-bye to their guardian angels, who turned out to be Mark Witherby and his fiancee, Maria Alvarez, both residents of Cascade.

They then stood side by side, dirty, dusty, tired. In front of them stood the main building of the Orcas Resort. White, three stories, gaily colored awnings from all the windows, a huge wrap-around patio, and people. People everywhere. Walking, biking, rocking on the patio, people in shorts, halter tops, jeans, tennis togs, people pulling golf bags, or in riding clothes.......and the smell of food, baking, grilling, frying.....

"So." Blair intoned.

"So." Jim added.

"A resort, Jim. A large, huge, gigantic, humongous resort. With lots of people. And sounds. And smells. And how far away? Five miles?"

"Uh, huh."

"Snappy reply. Got an explanation, Sentinel of the Great City?"

"um....no."

Blair took his Sentinel's arm and led him up to main lobby door.

"Man, what you won't do to get me alone, on an island, in the moonlight."

Guiding his stunned partner towards the hotel office, Blair grinned and urged, "Come on, Detective Ellison, let's go call Simon."

oooOOooo

Blair sat on the patio, overlooking the beach, sipping a Cranberry Juice Cocktail, waiting for Jim to return from calling Simon.

When their rescuers had told the manager of the hotel of their plight, she had been surprisingly accommodating to her "shipwrecked" guests, providing them with showers and clean clothes

The scraping back of the chair next to him was the first indication that Jim had rejoined him after finishing his call to Simon.

Blair looked carefully at the older man's expression and saw only calm and peace.

"I ordered you a beer. And sandwiches are on their way. What did Simon have to say?"

"Well, after the initial, "Thank God you and Sandburg are alive" there was a whole lot of yelling, cursing and . . . ."

"Simon being Simon," Blair finished.

"Yep."

"It seems Larson is behind bars. Challenge is dead. Larson killed him and there was a witness. It's over, and with our testimony, we've got him for Stevens's death too."

Blair let out a whoosh of air, then said, "Jim, I'm sorry about Challenge."

"Yeah."

Jim ceased disclosing any more information as a waiter appeared with his beer and their sandwiches.

When the waiter put Jim's down in front of him, Jim smiled in surprise; the plate held a huge double cheeseburger, with the works. And fries, extra crispy.

Jim gazed warmly at his love.

"I'm astounded, Chief."

Blair looked up from his crab salad sandwich and grinned back.

"Hey, you deserve it. Finding this resort and all. Saving our sorry butts. And all."

"Why do I think you are not ever going to let me live this down?"

"Because I'm not?"

"That must be it."

They ate in companionable silence, stealing glances at each other, grinning like idiots, looking for all the world like two people who'd just found love on a deserted island.

Finally, after every morsel had been consumed and both men had come close to licking their plates, Blair settled back and asked, "So, when do we head back? You make the arrangements inside? A ferry?"

"Not exactly.

"Not exactly?"

Jim made a show of cleaning up the area around him, piling silverware and napkins on his plate and pushing it aside before answering.

"Well, I kind of.....bookedusaroom."

A curly head was cocked and a very smug expression took over Blair's expressive face.

"Oh, you did, did you? King size bed, I hope?"

Jim nodded, his head down, a flush creeping up his neck. Keeping his head down, he added, "Figured we could use the down time, to talk, settle things . . . . you know."

"Um, 'talk.'"

"Yeah, well I thought maybe . . ."

"Yes, that's so like you, Jim, to want to spend time at a resort 'talking.' Lots of talking. Speaking of which, I'm ready for some talking right now. I think we should go right to our room, to our king size bed and 'talk.' All the rest of the day. Until we run out of . . . breath. What do you say?"

The chair scraped back so quickly and Jim stood with such speed that the chair tipped over backwards. He looked around, totally embarrassed.

"I'll take that as a 'yes.' Let's go."

Ignoring amused looks, the two men hurried from the patio, Jim's hand on the small of Blair's back, both eager to begin 'talking.'

As they stepped inside, Blair stopped, looked up at Jim and asked, "Gee, Jim. Do you suppose you were repressing all the sounds and smells of this place? You know, a subconscious --"

"Chief, shut up."

"Right. We don't want to waste time talking when we could be . . . 'talking.'"

"Exactly."