Shadows of the Past
Rated TEEN for language, violence, and angst
Chapters 6 7 8 9 or Go to Part Three
Jim gasped as his body slapped into the cold, dark water, Blair's weight pushing him deeper into the currents. The sensation of thousands of needles dragging across his skin temporarily distracted him from the very real need to get to the surface. After a few moments that seemed closer to an eternity, he released his death grip around Blair's waist while keeping the man's jacket firmly gripped in a tight fist. He could feel Blair rising toward the surface far faster than he could weighed down by his pack, but without the pack, they had no chance of escape, so Jim just kicked his legs hard, forcing his body to fight against the water as he let go of Blair so his guide would have a better chance of reaching the surface.
He hadn't taken more than two or three strokes when he felt a hand grab the strap of his pack and pull up. Just as his lungs started to burn with the need for air, he muscles ache from the struggle, his head broke the surface and he found himself hurdling down the river, the currents pushing him in a lazy circle even as the shore sped past.
"Holy fuck, don't *ever* do that again," Blair cursed, and Jim smiled at the irrefutable evidence that his guide was fine. Well, as fine as he could be considering they were wet, cold and probably already had Section trying to track their position.
"Shore," Jim panted, struggling to keep himself above water with the pack still on his back. Blair must have recognized his problem because he flipped over onto his back and started kicking as hard as he could while still holding the pack's strap.
Even with both of them working, they managed to get several more miles down river before he could feel his heels hit the rock of the river bottom. The whole time, Jim scanned the river, terrified that their bodies would be smashed into some huge boulder while the current flung them helplessly down river, but their luck had changed and the river remained clear. By the time they reached shore, they both lay in the shallow water, clinging to the ground and breathing heavily.
"God I hate heights," Blair finally managed between pained gasps.
"Keep going, Chief," Jim answered as he struggled up to his knees. Even though the night wasn't particularly cold, in their wet clothes, the exposure posed a real threat. Blair made unhappy noises, but he struggled to climb over rocks eroded smooth by the river. Because drought had robbed the river of many sources of water, they had to stumble over several yards of uneven, loose rock that would normally make up the river bed.
While Jim meant to help his partner, he found himself leaning on as much as helping Blair. Together they struggled up hill to a spot some distance from the water under big trees with a wide canopy. Jim pulled the pack off his back, shivering as the wind stole his fading warmth. He needed to either get out of his wet clothes or get moving quickly enough to get his blood moving.
"Strip," Jim ordered between teeth clenched against chattering as he used his Sentinel vision to map their campsite in the pale glow of the half moon. Several large trees offered some coverage from fly-overs, and more importantly, blocked some of the wind with their branches, creating a whistling sound that Jim had to intentionally block out to avoid having it work like a white noise generator. The ground didn't have any tracks from dangerous animals, just a deer or two, and tall weeds offered some protection for their small campsite. While not a perfect spot, it offered more protection than any other spot Jim could see from his current vantage point.
"No way. I'm cold enough now," Blair protested as he huddled at the base of a tree where exposed roots created some shelter from the wind.
"Chief, if your skin gets softened and rubbed raw, especially on your feet, we're as good as dead. The clothes need to dry and your skin needs to dry out. So strip and wrap yourself in this until the clothes dry." Jim handed Blair a thin but dry blanket he pulled out of the water-tight pack. Blair gave him a mutinous glare, but he started pulling his boots off, his teeth chattering the entire time.
"Melissa Haut used this line on me when I was seventeen... you know, the huddling for warmth thing."
"What? You were lost in the woods?" Jim asked as he leaned against the tree and pulled off his own boots.
"Oh man, no way, but her apartment was like brrrrr," Blair looked up with a smile and Jim realized he'd been taken.
"Your nose is growing there, Chief."
"Hey, I don't lie… I only obfuscate."
"Same thing."
"Not even," Blair shot back, and Jim found himself smiling at the familiar banter. Blair had now stripped off his shirt, dropping it on a low branch as he struggled to work his belt buckle with trembling fingers. Jim picked up the forgotten blanket from the ground and draped it over his guide's shoulders as the dim moonlight reflected off a tangle of limp curls.
"Thanks, man."
"This is a heat shield. It masks body heat from sensors and can keep a person warm in a fairly harsh environment," Jim said as he took the silver oval and snapped it out to a dome. "It's pretty sturdy, but you can't go kicking it in your sleep."
"Small problem," Blair immediately answered, and Jim knew exactly what Blair was worried about. The man couldn't stay still in sleep any more than when awake. Hyperactivity ran through every cell in Blair's body.
"Loop your belt around your thighs and ankles to keep your legs bent," Jim suggested. "I have to go cover our tracks so finish stripping and then pull the shield over you."
"I could..."
Jim knew exactly what Blair would suggest. "Chief, without Sentinel vision, you're going to create more tracks than you can cover, so you stay here and rest up." Jim watched Blair's determination slowly fade as he realized that he couldn't help.
"If you need anything..."
"I'll call for help, promise," Jim assured his partner. Knowing that Blair wouldn't be comfortable undressing with an audience, Jim headed back down the slope looking for the raw materials he'd need to cover their tracks even while he listened to his guide settle down under the heat shield, mildly cursing the twigs and rocks that poked him.
Nearly an hour later, Jim wearily dragged back up the hill, still barefooted, but with his clothes nearly dried and stiff against his body. Some time soon he would have to wash his clothing because dirty, oily clothes didn't hold body heat; however, tonight covering their tracks had been a priority. Since he couldn't hide the fact that something had disturbed the riverbank, Jim had carefully staged a bear's favorite fishing spot complete with enough bones and chunks of fish to throw off any dogs. Jim's nose had certainly protested. By tomorrow noon, the riverbank would stink bad enough that bears just might be attracted to the place, but by then he and Blair would be gone, one way or another.
Taking a brief moment to study the stars and drive a small branch into the ground, Jim pulled his clothing off and then arranged them on branches so that the wind would finish drying them before morning. As much as he wanted to get some distance between himself and the river, he knew that sleep was as essential to survival as food and water. The forest remained eerily silent, so Jim guessed he had several hours to sleep before dawn would send them running.
When he pulled up the edge of the dome, the heat seeped out onto the surrounding ground, warming his feet while the rest of his naked body shivered in the cold night air, the wind bringing every hair on his body to attention as goose bumps covered his skin. Obviously Blair didn't understand the danger of overheating, but then Blair didn't seem capable of overheating. Summer heat that left every detective in the department wilting and snapping grouchily just made Blair insanely happy. Jim slipped under, tucking his own body around his guide who now shifted unhappily and mumbled something about the cold without truly waking up. Using a flat rock, he propped up one edge of the dome and trusted his hearing to warn them if heat-seeking helicopters started sweeping the area.
Jim flinched when Blair shifted, pressing a hip into Jim's cock hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.
"Shove over," Jim said, and Blair struggled to kick out in his sleep, the leather of the belt creaking as Blair shifted around. Jim caught a flailing arm, trapping it between their bodies as Blair finally twisted so that he faced Jim in the cramped space, his body folding into Jim with an arm thrown over Jim's side.
The warmth spread through Jim who finally felt his muscles, which had been tense with cold, relax as the smell and feel of his sleeping guide coaxed him into a light sleep even as he listened to the sound of an owl's wings beating through the air over them. Blair twitched a little, pressing closer and suddenly Jim could smell the soft musk that he so often scented in the apartment. He suddenly realized it was the smell of a safe and happy Blair, and Jim felt another twinge because Blair had no right to feel safe or happy, and Jim had done that to his partner.
Hours later, when Blair's breath caught sharply, Jim instantly woke up. Ignoring the feeling of dirt clinging to his body and his sore back's complaints, he listened for any sound that would explain the sharp smell of Blair's fear.
"Chief?" he whispered softly when he couldn't find anything. Blair's heart pounded loudly, the beat echoing off the inside of the dome.
"Jim?" answered a voice confused with sleep.
"You okay?" Jim asked as the smell of fear dulled even though the dome held the bitterness close.
"Yeah. Oh, man. Just a little freaked is all." Blair started to push himself up, and Jim tightened his arm, pulling Blair close to his chest to keep him from lifting the dome.
"I can't hear any danger, but you still don't want to lift the dome quickly. The change in temperature won't do either of us any good," Jim answered, and then he relaxed his hold when the scent of fear sharpened again.
"Right. No problem," Blair quickly agreed and Jim tilted just the edge of the dome up a little farther up. Instantly the smell of fear dissipated as the smell of pine and dirt and animal scat rushed in with the cold morning air. Now, instead of pulling away, Blair pressed himself closer to Jim's warmth.
"Oh shit. That's cold. Man, why couldn't I have worn clothes to bed?" he complained as he pressed into Jim's chest, pulling both of his hands between their bodies.
"If you had slept in them, the side you laid on would still be damp, and then we'd have a real problem. Besides, we have to keep the clothes as clean as possible. Dirty clothes don't hold heat," Jim explained briefly as he tilted the edge of the shelter up again, leaving Blair now huddled against him and shivering.
"Fuck logic, I'm cold," Blair said in a voice intentionally petulant, and Jim realized his guide was entertaining him.
"You'd think with all that hair, you'd be warm," Jim teased back, and a sharp finger stuck him in the stomach. He retaliated by tilting the edge of the dome up again.
"Fuck."
"Such language, Chief." Jim got his answer in the form of another poke in the stomach. "Okay, I'm going for it," Jim warned his partner before tilting the dome again and rolling out into the brisk morning air. He had to admit that Blair had a point because his entire body instantly tightened into a shivering knot as he quickly but clumsily pulled his clothing on in the dim light of dawn, his breath leaving long trails of white clouds behind.
He was tying his boots before Blair's hand appeared out from under the dome, palm up. Jim didn't even need to ask, he tossed a pair of briefs so they landed on the upturned hand. Blair grabbed them and yanked them under the dome. When the hand appeared again, Jim tossed the green army surplus pants. Luckily Blair had been dressed like someone heading into the woods for a couple of weeks. Unfortunately, they had abandoned his pack with all his survival gear back in the compound.
"How much time do you think we have?" Blair asked as a tangled mat of hair decorated with leaf fragments and tiny twigs poked out from under the dome.
"Not much. We need to head south, down slope. We're more likely to find towns that way."
"How screwed are we?"
"Pretty screwed," Jim admitted. "If we can get to a safe phone line I have a couple of people I could call, but we can't risk any of the obvious people getting involved."
"No Simon," Blair said, and Jim could hear the tremor. Blair had moved around so much in his life that he had admitted to Jim that he liked having a stable group of friends. The man got positively giddy the first time he'd gotten an invitation to poker night not because he happened to be in the room but because Simon had gone out of his way to issue a curt "Poker, my place on Friday, Sandburg."
"No Simon," Jim agreed sadly. He would miss his cranky captain.
"So, who? Or is this one of those 'the less you know' situation because I think I've already proved that I can't hold up against torture." Blair shrugged, but Jim could see how much it disturbed Blair.
"Chief, enough. You've held up better than most men, so the self-flagellation is not needed."
"Self flagellation?" Blair looked up from lacing his boots, a look of amusement on his face. "Someone's been reading my books again."
"I did go to college, Sandburg. And you need to know the plan in case..." Jim didn't finish his thought, but Section wanted a Sentinel more than an anthropologist with a non-conformist background. If it came down to it...
"Oh, don't even go there. We're in this together." Blair said with crossed arms.
"Yeah, Chief, we are. But if it comes down to one of us making it or both of us going down, I'd rather one of us got out alive."
"You mean the way you tried to stay alive when Michael pulled the gun on me?" Blair asked in a tone of voice that dared Jim to explain that.
"I knew he wasn't going to pull the trigger," Jim lied easily. "But if something happens, you need to find a man named Henry Aplaner in Skokie just outside of Chicago. People call him 'Uncle John'; he's retired Special Forces." Jim had almost finished tearing down their small camp, brushing away tracks with a branch and tucking items away in the pack for the long hike before leaning it against the tree.
"Won't Section watch your old army buddies?" Blair asked, now trying to work the twigs out of his hair. Jim gestured for him to follow as he headed down toward the river.
"He wasn't exactly a buddy," Jim wondered how much of the past he wanted to share, but considering their situation, he figured Blair deserved some honesty. "A lot of young people go into the army looking for discipline and a way to find approval." Jim hesitated. Not everyone would be so understanding of this next part, and while he suspected Blair had a more open mind than most, their current sleeping arrangements made the next part awkward.
"Yeah, man, I can see how you would need that after your dad," Blair finally prompted him, and Jim steeled himself for definite shock and possible disapproval.
"Sometimes relationships develop from that need. It doesn't mean that two guys are..." Jim stopped. He didn't even have the words for it. He and Aplaner had a rather unique relationship.
"Gay?" Blair asked in a neutral voice. Jim glanced at his guide as he led them to the river by a winding route with enough hard rocks to prevent any tracks.
"Yeah. He was a captain on base, but he wasn't my captain and let's just say that we went out of our way to make sure our names weren't connected." Jim left it at that, leaving out the parts that would be more likely to shock his guide: the way Jim had needed a strong, supportive male, the way Jim had gone along with things he would never normally want or even allow. The way Jim had loved going along with those things under those circumstances.
"Oh man, are you sure he's going to want to hear from you after all this time?" Blair softened his words by putting a supportive hand on Jim's back as they closed the distance to the river.
Jim thought about those sharp brown eyes that had watched him from the edge of the practice field as he'd trained under the hot sun, ignoring him until night when large hands would pull him from the dark path behind the barracks into the small officer's quarters with the neat bunk and the shelf with training manuals neatly lined up. The man had been quick to point out Jim's flaws and quick to praise Jim when he'd done well and quick to promise protection from all the demons that had haunted Jim's adolescent nightmares.
When he'd gotten back from Peru, he'd lost himself. He hadn't been able to forgive himself for surviving when his men hadn't. If Veronica had tracked him down back then, he would have invited her to put a bullet between his eyes. Instead, a knock on the door had brought Aplaner, a little grayer, a little softer in the middle, but still with those same sharp eyes. Jim remembered the feeling of shock as those hands moved in without warning or permission, but they had taken the edge off the pain and guilt, allowing Jim to survive shame that had almost ripped him apart.
If Jim had to sacrifice himself, if he had to trust his guide to someone else, Henry Aplaner would be the man.
"He'll take us in," Jim said confidently. "And if we get separated, we'll meet up there." Jim didn't bother looking at Blair because he didn't want to see the expression whether it was mutinous or disbelieving. They had reached the edge of the water and Jim went on one knee, scooping handfuls up to his mouth.
"Aren't there... I mean, can't we get sick off that?" Blair asked as he went down to his own knees next to the running water.
"Yep. I don't have water purification equipment in my pack, so we're both going to have diarrhea and intestinal parasites in a few weeks. It's better than dehydration," Jim answered casually as he continued to drink. He watched as Blair shrugged and then lowered his mouth to the water, drinking directly from the river. He came up after just a few seconds.
"Drink more, Chief," Jim ordered. "We only have one canteen, and I don't know how many streams we're going to come across."
Blair lowered himself back to the water with a sigh. "I'm going to pee my way down the mountain," he muttered unhappily, but he continued drinking.
After he finished his own drink, Jim concentrated on the water, searching for that flash of shimmer like a gasoline streak floating through the water and casting back the light in subtle rainbows. Finding it, Jim struck out, keeping his feet on the dry rock while his upper body went into the river. His hands closed around a slick, writhing length of fish that he threw over his shoulder and up onto the dry rock.
Pulling himself up, he turned to find the fairly large fish flopping desperately on a gray rock now darkened with water spots. Jim grabbed the fish and used his fingers to dig into the flesh under the gills, ripping the fish's body in half.
"Okay, that's just disturbing," Blair complained, and Jim looked up to see him hugging his own stomach in distress.
"Yeah, but we need to make this look like a popular bear hunting spot. That means no tools since I haven't seen a bear use a sharp edged tool," Jim pointed out as he looked at the headless fish in his hand. "And we can't risk a fire either," he said sadly. He'd certainly done this before in training, but he had to admit he would rather have a Wonderburger right about now.
"I suppose I can think of it as sushi," Blair said uncertainly, and Jim used his fingers to pull at the ragged skin at the torn neck.
"That's the spirit," Jim said as he handed over a chunk of watery flesh. Blair took it, looking at the limp hunk uncertainly before popping it in his mouth. His entire face folded into an expression of disgust as his Adam's apple bobbed in a pained attempt to swallow.
"Mmm, good," Blair finally strangled out, and Jim laughed before dialing down his sense of taste and popping a piece in his own mouth. "You know, there are tribes in South America who considering it good luck to eat the catch straight from the river, especially the first fish a young boy catches," Blair offered.
"I just know the protein will keep us going."
"If I don't throw it up," Blair muttered. Jim didn't even bother to answer since he found it difficult enough to swallow without thinking about vomiting.
"So, now we hit the road," Jim said as he tossed the remains of the fish in the river and bent down to wash his hands."
"And do we know how long this particular road is?" Blair asked as he did the same, rinsing away most of the foul smell before standing up.
"Nope. That's why you need to learn a few things. Last night I used the stars to plot our direction, so let's head back up to the campsite and I'll teach you how to avoid walking in circles," Jim said as he searched the ground for any tracks before herding his guide up the slope to the campsite.
"Goody," Blair answered.
"I guess I get to play teacher now," Jim smiled at the revenge as he scuffed out the patterns he could see in tiny ridges in the dirt as he backed his way up the slope after his partner. He thought he heard one more sarcastic 'goody' from the man, but then again, he might have been mistaken.
"You warm?" Jim asked, scenting the salt on the wind. He found himself thanking god that they weren't in the city because his senses seemed to be in a constant heightened state so that he could hear the birds building a nest above them and smell the droppings from a bear far off in the distance and see every needle on every pine tree. In nature the senses created a pattern that soothed him, and he remembered this feeling from Peru. If they'd been in the city, Blair would have had to sedate him by now.
"A little," Blair admitted. Jim intentionally slowed a little more. Just because Blair insisted on taking his turn with the pack didn't mean they had to travel as fast when he had it.
"Open your coat."
"It's cold," Blair complained.
"And you're sweating. If you sweat into those clothes, they'll get too dirty to keep you clean and you'll lose too much water." Jim stopped and turned around to make sure Blair followed his directions and opened his winter coat. "Let me have the pack."
"No way, man. You're just as tired as I am."
"But I'm not sweating precious water into my clothing."
"All right, all right, I'll open my coat," Blair groused as he unbuttoned his heavy coat. "We can't be too low on water--we keep drinking." Blair lifted the canteen and shook it, looking up in alarm when he felt the water sloshing around. "Um, we seem to be a little low on water."
"We can't let ourselves get dehydrated. It's better to drink a little as we go and hope to find a creek," Jim said absent-mindedly as he started walking again. Every once in a while he could catch a whiff of algae, so he suspected they would find water soon enough.
"Luck doesn't seem to be going our way," Blair dryly offered.
"I know, Chief, but we can't afford to get dehydrated and make stupid mistakes."
"And if we don't find a stream?"
"I keep catching a hint of water on the air, but the senses are a little overactive, so it may be a way off. It's still better to avoid dehydration for as long as possible." Jim said the words as casually as possible, but Blair's hiss of breath told him he hadn't said them casually enough.
"Overactive how?" Blair demanded, and his footsteps quickened until he was right behind Jim, a hand resting on Jim's back.
"I'm just hearing and smelling more than usual," Jim brushed off the comment, not wanting to explain how he could see the arching beauty in every translucent blade of grass. Besides, with the sound of Blair's heartbeat and the rustling of a pair of deer through the leaves several hundred miles to the north and the smell of decaying plants and fresh dirt, he had too much input to zone on just one sense.
"How much more?" Blair insisted, and Jim sighed knowing that Blair wasn't going to let him off without full disclosure. The man could give Section interrogators tips on persistence.
"A lot more, but all the senses are equally intense, so I'm not in danger of a zone," Jim said and hoped it was enough to satisfy his guide.
"Oh man, I wonder if it's the isolation from civilization or the danger Section poses. The senses might be much more powerful than we've given them credit for. But with the psychosomatic features, it might be really hard to isolate the true cause."
Jim didn't answer, but he had to smile at the irrepressible nature of his guide. Not even being hunted by Section could faze him for long. Jim was about to tease Blair when the man started talking again, this time his voice lowered into a near whisper, his words suddenly serious.
"How far behind do you think they are?" Blair asked, and Jim found himself scanning the sky at the question. Twice they had hidden under the heat shield while helicopters scanned the area, but so far the machines had moved on in a standard search pattern without any indication they had spotted anything.
"The longer it takes them to get a general direction on us, the wider the search area becomes."
"And the better our chances," Blair finished.
"Exactly. We'll change directions slightly tomorrow morning just to make sure that if they do find our tracks we aren't too easy to find."
"Cool. Have I mentioned lately that if I had to be chased by a super secret government agency, I'm grateful to have you around?" Blair's voice had that amused, slightly sarcastic tone that Jim associated with far happier times, Blair teasing him about the girl in records hitting on him or chastising him for telling a young woman that her perfume reminded him of his grandmother.
"Chief, I'm really sorry..."
"Stuff a sock in it," Blair quickly cut him off. "This isn't my favorite part of the whole Sentinel experience, but I'm not sorry I'm here. We'll get through this and be okay. And speaking of... where exactly are we going to go once we get to Uncle John's place?"
"How's Peru sound?" Jim asked as he scanned the slope below them. His vision narrowed the view down as efficiently as binoculars, focusing on the land so precisely that he could see a rock balanced on a flat, hard section of clay-dense soil or a single dandelion petal. The land to the west was rock and would cover their tracks, but some of the rocks looked dangerously loose. They really couldn't risk the chance of a twisted ankle. Jim headed to the east where the carpet of pine needles would show their tracks at least for a few hours until the wind that pulled at them rearranged the ground and covered their tracks.
"Do I have to wear those skimpy tribal outfits?" Blair asked with a snort, following without questioning Jim's choice of direction.
"Nah, you can be the shaman in beads and feathers," Jim quickly answered, leading them down the slope while watching the ground for depressions and hillocks that would reveal hidden dangers below the surface layer of debris. A bird screeched overhead and Jim froze as he searched for the reason for the bird's alarm. Blair's heart sounded a steady drum beat as he finally identified the sound of small claws against bark. Probably a raccoon after the eggs. Jim started walking again, and Blair picked up the conversation.
"Cool. Well, except that I don't know how to be a shaman."
"You'll figure it out," Jim answered confidently since Blair did seem able to handle most things without much help. Hell, half the time Jim fought him, and Blair still managed to figure out things about being a Sentinel that Jim didn't understand.
"Yeah, yeah. Just maybe not fast enough," Blair said softly, and Jim could hear the self-reproach, he just truly didn't understand why. Whatever the reason, a change of topic seemed in order.
"So, are you bothered by my past?" Jim asked, curious how the man he'd lived with for nearly three years would take his newly revealed sexual history.
"Oh man, lots of people experiment with sexuality during adolescence; that it doesn't even count. I once played doctor with a boy named Charlie. It's all normal psychosocial development."
"And if I said that Aplaner isn't confined to my adolescence?"
"Um. Oh." Blair fell silent, and Jim felt his stomach tighten at the disapproval implied by that silence.
"Watch your step," Jim said even though the ground over which they were walking didn't have any particular dangers. It just seemed easier than listening to Blair's silence.
"That's cool man. You've caught me a little off guard is all," Blair finally offered, his voice sounding a little strained even though Jim could tell from the steadily beating heart that he was speaking the truth. "I guess I just never considered that."
"Even after Brackett's innuendo when we first moved in?"
"I thought he was just being an ass because of my hair and earrings. I do have a lot of people who assume I swing both ways."
"I know you don't," Jim quickly assured his partner. He really shouldn’t have broached the subject, but then he picked scabs too. Somewhere he suspected he had a self-destructive streak that came out at the worst times.
"It's not that I'm *not* attracted both ways, because I fully believe that the human body is programmed to respond to any stimulation that feels good, and did you know that stud animals like boars and bulls have to be tested to make sure they respond to females because every once in a while they just don't? There's enough homosexual behavior in nature to prove that the act is natural. Bruce Bagemihl's Biological Exuberance includes homosexual behavior in nearly 500 animal species. Killer whales will practice sexual behavior in all male groups before going out to mate with females, and some never leave the male group, remaining homosexual their whole life. … and I lost my argument somewhere in all that," Blair finally admitted as he fell silent again.
"Sandburg, you don't have to work so hard at it. I'm fine with my own sexuality, and I'm not trying to jump your bones. If I haven't climbed in your bed in the last three years, I'm not likely to start doing it now," Jim growled, angry with himself for bringing up the topic, a topic which had caused Blair's heart to start pounding faster as a odor that wasn't quite fear drifted off him in waves.
"Oh. No, I never thought you would. Oh man, I'm fucking this up. You're trusting me with one of your defining secrets, and I'm babbling about killer whales."
"You're not fucking anything up," Jim argued.
"Yeah, man. I so totally am. I'm okay with you being bisexual, and I trust you. This is just a little weird."
"Weirder than running for our lives from a covert government agency?"
"Okay, not as weird as it would have been a week ago, but still weird. I guess I've just always thought of you as the big ladies' man, and this is just a little unexpected. I'm totally okay, and this weirdness is all about me, man. Totally my issue, and I own that."
Blair fell silent again, but pieces started connecting in Jim's mind, and he didn't like the picture at all.
"Chief?"
"Water under the bridge, man."
Jim felt a nearly physical pull in his stomach as Blair confirmed his worst fear. "Fuck. Who." Jim stopped dead in his tracks, turning to look at his guide with a rising fury. Someone had hurt Blair, he could see the edge of that pain in the expression on Blair's face.
"Whoa there. Man, it was over a decade ago, and it really wasn't anything," Blair said with a small step backwards. Jim felt bile back up into his throat, the sharp acidic taste rising into his mouth as he scanned the woods with a fury he couldn't remember ever feeling.
"Who," he demanded, his eyes returning to Blair.
"This guy in this commune out east. He tried getting a little touchy, and I yelled for Naomi. It's okay, though, really."
"Fucking asshole," Jim said as he reached out to touch Blair's hair. He just needed to feel Blair whole and safe. Well, that and he needed to rip someone's arms off. Blair raised his own hand, and Jim went to pull back, afraid that Blair would push him away. Instead Blair curled his fingers around Jim's wrist, holding the hand in place so that Jim could feel the messy curls under his fingertips.
"Funny, Naomi said pretty much the same thing. She also broke a lamp over his head and threatened to rip his genitals off before chasing him out of the commune buck naked, and man, this was not a nudist kind of place." Blair laughed softly at the memory, and Jim could feel his anger start to ebb at the sight of that smile.
"God, Chief."
"Hey, he didn't exactly get far, and it was kinda neat to see how far Naomi would go to protect me. She meditated for a week over wanting to actually kill another human being, but then she decided that maternal instinct was a natural part of accepting her womanhood." Blair shrugged and gave a crooked smile. "It's part of my past, and since I like who I am now, I have to accept all the experiences that led me to become this person."
"I can't believe you aren't angry." Jim couldn't help himself any more, he curled his fingers around the back of Blair's neck and pulled the man into an embrace. "I'll kill him," Jim promised in a whisper as he wrapped both arms around Blair and held him tightly.
"And the fact that you look ready to do that is more than a little freaky. What are you feeling right now, Jim?"
Jim thought about that. He didn't usually like sharing his feelings, not even with Blair, but after Blair's confession he didn't feel like he had a right to hide his reaction. "Furious," he admitted. "If that man were here, I *would* kill him."
"We need to consider that this is part of the Sentinel deal."
"Sandburg," Jim opened his arms and stepped back so that he could look Blair in the eye. "I am about more than just my senses. I have a right to feel angry that someone tried to hurt a friend."
"Uh huh," Blair said suspiciously as he crossed his arms. "And when was the last time you got so angry that you honestly wanted to murder someone?"
Jim answered without even thinking. "When Yeagar tried to kill you, right after Incacha died." He remembered the panic and fury and blinding rage he'd felt when someone had taken Incacha from him. If Blair hadn't been there to stop him, he might have hurt the officers who'd simply come to get Incatcha's body. And if Blair and the whole city of Cascade with its laws and moral codes hadn't been there, he would have cheerfully snapped Yeager's neck when he caught him on the street. Even in his covert ops days, when killing had been more a part of his life than he wanted to remember, he hadn't ever *wanted* to kill, but that time, he desperately wanted to kill.
"Oh yeah, and that's not Sentinel related at all." Blair rolled his eyes dramatically, and suddenly Jim felt a wave of helplessness at the thought that his feelings might be nothing more than proof that he couldn't control his own life.
"We don't have time for this, let's get moving," Jim said as he turned his back and continued leading them down the mountain, the smell of crushed grass like sweet bread rising with each footstep. The smell made his stomach growl uncomfortably, but Jim ignored it. As long as their water supply remained limited, they couldn't afford to waste water digesting food, so he wouldn't stop to eat until they reached their next source of water. Giving the burdock plants they kept passing a hungry glance, Jim focused on the distant mountain top he was using for a walking marker.
"Sure, no time for talking as we spend hours just walking in a straight line doing nothing," Blair offered sarcastically, and Jim concentrated on ignoring both his guide and the tendrils of fury that still made him want to find that anonymous man and snap his neck.
For the next couple of hours, as the sun began to slide toward the horizon, Jim was so focused that the machine didn't immediately register on his senses. When the distinctive whir-whoosh sound finally triggered the warning center of his brain, he cursed their current position in the middle of a wide swath of land cleared of trees by some long past forest fire so that hip deep weeds that tangled around their feet. Unfortunately those weeds wouldn't protect them from anyone searching from overhead if they tried to hide here. Jim turned and yanked the straps of the pack off Blair, slinging it over one shoulder as he grabbed Blair's arm with his free hand and started running.
Without even asking, Blair ran beside him, his breath heavy as they raced for the tree line, their feet ripping the weeds out of the ground as the long blades tangled in their boots. Jim leapt over the half-burnt and rotting corpse of a fallen tree, dragging Blair over to the sound of soft curses as Blair struggled to get his shorter legs over the thing.
The mechanical sound continued to grow louder until Jim didn't dare keep running. When they reached the next deep shadow, Jim flung the pack down and snapped out the dome. Blair brushed twigs and leaves clear with sweeping arms before lying on the ground and tucking his knees up. Jim curled around his partner, pulling the dome all the way down around them. He had to tilt the structure up for a second so he could scrape the dirt with his boot to make the dome sit flat against the ground and then he lay quietly, panting through his mouth and tasting the pepper of Blair's fear as he listened to the helicopter come closer.
"Is that them?" Blair whispered roughly.
"Shh." Jim strained his hearing until the sound of the rotors roared in his ears and he had to fight to keep from flinching. As the roar came closer, nearly stopping overhead, Jim could catch snippets of conversation. A male voice asked for a second pass over the area, and a second voice agreed.
Jim had to fight down the growl that threatened to escape from his throat. He knew exactly what they were seeing: the trail of flattened and bent weeds that he and Blair had left behind as they made their mad dash for the trees. But at the time, he'd had a choice between leaving that obvious trail and being caught in the open with the dome as a visible as a signal flag. Now he just had to hope that someone on that helicopter came to the conclusion that they were seeing the tracks of some random hiker or grizzly bear or elk. Damn, he knew better, he shouldn't have tried to save time. They should've detoured around the open space. Jim tightened his grip on Blair's shoulders, lowering his forehead to a spot on Blair's back between his shoulder blades until he rested his head against his partner. He could feel Blair's heartbeat where their skin touched and smell his scent but with his head against Blair's back, he didn't have to see the fear or disappointment reflected in Blair's eyes.
"They'll go past, all the others did," Blair assured him in a Sentinel-soft whisper.
Jim fervently hoped so. Somehow, he didn't think they would get off so easily this time, though. The helicopter made another pass of the field, and Jim could hear the wind rushing by the dome even though they were far enough back into the woods that they weren't visible. If those two called for a ground search, Jim had no doubt about the outcome.
A heavy thud suggested to Jim that a person had just jumped from the low, hovering helicopter, and he sat up as much as he could in the confines of the small dome. Blair temporarily stopped breathing, and Jim could taste the panic growing in the small enclosed space. Then Blair's breath returned in heavy gasps that threatened to make his guide hyperventilate.
"Shhh," Jim crooned softly, and Blair lowered his head, resting his forehead on the back of his own hands as his breathing slowly evened out. The regular, slow pattern told him that Blair had retreated into meditation, and Jim absent-mindedly rubbed a shoulder though the heavy winter jacket, his glove sliding over the nylon making a small whistling sound that seemed unnaturally loud to Jim's ears. He stopped as he listened for the sound of the footsteps growing nearer or voices calling for backup or the helicopter lifting off. But none of that came. Somewhere out there, probably in that open patch of land, a Section agent stood and the helicopter hovered, and Jim knelt over his guide wondering what the hell he'd do when the enemy finally got around to searching under the trees. Technically, he knew what he'd do, he just wondered how to do it with Blair watching.
Jim closed his eyes and let his head rest on Blair's shoulder as the sweat ran from his hairline, over his cheek and then dropped onto the back of Blair's neck. The cooling trail lasted only a brief moment in the insufferable heat of the dome.
Outside the shield, Jim could hear the forest slowly quiet as twilight fell. The helicopter had landed nearly an hour ago, but the voice on the radio had ordered the two men to hold position and watch for anything unusual, so they held position as Jim and Blair struggled to not do anything unusual. Beneath him, Blair breathed slowly, and Jim knew that he would have to lift the shield soon. If he didn't, not only were they going to sweat away the last of their precious water, but they were going to be suffering from heat stroke.
"Anything yet?" Blair asked in a hopeful voice. Jim just shook his head. Blair must have felt the movement against his back because he gave a heavy sigh and returned to the deep breathing that suggested meditation.
They were running out of time.
"I'm going to lift the shield," Jim whispered in Blair's ear, and the body that had been limp with fatigue and heat tensed immediately."
"Oh man, they'll see us," he said in a desperate voice.
"The heat flare will be too intense. They'll think it's a mistake. They'll hesitate," Jim practically panted in his guide's ear. The heat was starting to make his head feel light, as though his senses were floating just outside the dome, and that was not a good sign.
"You run into the woods, down the mountain, I'll run straight for it, and hopefully they'll think it's some sort of equipment glitch." Jim sent up a quick prayer that the men in the helicopter were naïve enough to believe just that. The plan wouldn't fool Michael for an instant, but then Michael wasn't standing in that field.
"And what exactly do you plan to do against two armed men?" Blair's voice demanded sharply even if he did still whisper.
"What I have to do," Jim said, unwilling to say any more than that. "Now get ready."
Jim listened to the world around them, but he could only hear the same sounds that he had heard for the last hour, the shifting of a body against a plastic seat, the movement of a squirrel on the tree above them, the electronic whirr of machines that searched for him and his guide. Bracing himself against the fear that made his chest tighten, Jim threw back the dome.
He gasped as the cold air hit his wet hair, instantly causing his whole body to tense and begin shivering. He hesitated for just a second, making sure that Blair took off through the trees, and then he dashed toward the helicopter sitting in that field. With the engines cold, they wouldn't be able to take off fast enough to escape him, not that they would try. He counted on their arrogance in believing themselves safe from two unarmed men.
The night had grown dark, a half moon low on the horizon made the black helicopter glow slightly in the light, and he could hear the equipment burst into suddenly life with a series of beeps that sent the two men inside the helicopter scrambling. The staccato clicks of switches and the slide of fabric over plastic and the click of a door latch told Jim everything he needed to know. Jim bent low he started moving forward as quickly as possible while using a serpentine path that hopefully wouldn't attract too much attention.
As he expected, the motor of the helicopter started whining at it warmed up, and a voice in the helicopter reported the anomalies in enough detail that Jim knew that Michael would recognize what had happened even if these two obviously didn't.
Now Jim saw a shadow, a dark, muted blur against the dark shiny surface of the machine. Jim forced his cold and trembling limbs to move faster as the man crept along the side of the helicopter, his weapon held straight down against his leg. The man's steady sweeping gaze suggested the darkness didn't bother him, and as the agent's head turned, Jim spotted the deformed profile, eyes and nose squared off by the goggles over his face.
Jim knew that equipment cut off peripheral vision, but he also knew that the minute the man's sweeping gaze turned toward him, he would appear a hot white silhouette in the dark. Launching himself forward, he sprinted toward the man silently in the dim light reaching the man just as those all-seeing eyes turned toward him.
The agent took a startled, awkward step backwards, raising his weapon at the same time, but Jim grabbed the man by the neck and slammed his head into the side of the helicopter hard enough to stun him. The body went instantly lax so that when Jim grabbed the weapon and let go of the man, he slid to the ground. Jim quickly knelt and grabbed for the back of the man's belt where he would keep extra ammo, finding what he needed with his fingers while still watching the side of the helicopter.
"Campbell?" a quiet voice hissed, and Jim wished he hadn't heard the name. He didn't want to know whose heartbeat now skipped dangerously as the body lay still in the grass. The second man didn't make the mistake of instantly coming out after his partner, but Jim heard the door on the far side of the helicopter snick open. Jim dropped to the ground, using the unconscious body as a shield as he sighted his weapon.
The man's head appeared as he leaned out the bottom of the helicopter, his gun visible as a gleam in the moonlight, his arm blocking a clean shot to the head. Jim sighted down his weapon and waited. The man carefully turned, his face distorted by another chunky pair of goggles. As his head turned, his gun suddenly snapped to the figure in the grass and fired while at the same time, Jim pulled the trigger on his stolen gun. He hit the agent between the eyes and heard the thick heat sensitive equipment in those glasses shatter at the same time the body in front of him jerked at the impact of the bullet.
The smell of blood nearly choked Jim as he stood up and staggered back away from the heavy, brackish scent of the two bodies. He could hear one heartbeat still struggle with an irregular beat, and his guilt at taking yet another life rose a fraction. Well, it did until Jim considered that these same men wanted to kill Blair. They sat in the field hoping for a chance to kill or capture his guide, and Jim suddenly felt a fury rise up as he looked down at the dying beast at his feet. Wordlessly, he brought the gun up slightly so that it pointed at the prey. Jim could feel his arm tremble in the cold as he tightened his finger around the trigger.
"Jim?" a quiet voice called. Jim spun around and spotted Blair crouching down at the base of one of the trees at the edge of the clearing, his blind eyes searched the field randomly, and the sight of Blair so defenseless turned the dying man at his feet into a trivial annoyance not worth the bullet. He started across the field to his partner.
"I told you to run," he snarled, as he scanned the area with eyes that dismissed the darkness as easily as his conscience dismissed the heavy, wet breathing of the dying man on the ground.
"Oh yeah, you mean run blindly through the woods with no supplies and no idea where I'm going? I tried that, and when I tripped over our pack after running a perfect circle, I decided I'm not going anywhere without you," Blair sighed as he stood up and walked uncertainly forward toward Jim's voice. Sure enough, he dragged the pack behind him through the grass. Only when he stopped talking did Jim hear the teeth clattering together. Right. He had more important issues than yelling at his directionally impaired guide.
"Come on. We need to strip the helicopter of supplies." Jim closed the distance, and pulled Blair's shaking body to his side, wondering whether cold or adrenaline caused those tremors. Blair just followed uncharacteristically silent until they reached the helicopter. Jim pulled open the door, and the dome light in the helicopter seemed so bright that the beams of light stabbed outward like spotlights, making Jim flinch back away until a warm hand settled on his back.
"Dial it down, buddy. It's just normal light."
"Easy for you to say," Jim complained mildly as he squinted until he could force his heightened eyesight closer to normal even though the moon's reflections off the window of the open door still fragmented into a brilliant rainbow that reflected off the glass and onto Blair's hair and face.
"Nothing's easy for me to say right now," Blair pointed out, and Jim realized that Blair's body shivered in the cool night air, the shirt and pants damn with sweat and not holding in much heat at all. "So, any chance we can crank up the heater and fly home?" he asked with an expression equally hopeful and sarcastic.
"We'll be warm when the blow us out of the sky with a missile," Jim answered as he started the search. Section wouldn't send this out without serious equipment, and Jim started searching. The first blanket he wrapped around Blair's body, taking a moment to rub his own gloved but chilled hand up and down Blair's arms until the circulation improved enough that the shivering slowed.
"Thanks, man." Blair said as he clutched the blanket to him and leaned against the side of helicopter. Suddenly, Blair's body went stiff. "Oh man. I should not have looked down."
Looking down, Jim saw the man whose forehead had disappeared under the force of his bullet, most of the face mangled by flying glass and metal from the goggles. Part of his brain registered the horror of the sight, but a larger part could feel only satisfaction that an enemy that would have hurt his guide died before having the chance. With a grim smile on his face, he looked up and caught the expression of dismay on Blair's face. All satisfaction drained from him.
"He would have killed us," Jim pled for understanding.
"Yeah, I know. I'm okay," Blair answered even though he still looked ready to vomit as he looked at the faceless body. Jim stepped to the side so that he blocked the view, and Blair continued to stare in the direction of Jim's stomach for several seconds before shifting his gaze up to Jim's eyes.
"He was a killer. He tried to kill me." Jim knew he had no right to manipulate Blair's own protective feelings, but he couldn't risk losing Blair. He listened as Blair's speeding heart slowly returned to a more familiar pattern even though the salty scent of something even more disagreeable than fear lingered in the cold air the way his breath lingered in white puffs on the air.
"I know." Blair stepped forward and put a hand on Jim's arm, and the pressure of that hand on his arm said more than all Blair's words. Jim could feel his body relax under the knowledge that his guide wasn't going to abandon him. "I knew what you were planning."
Jim turned back to the helicopter and started handing out supplies: blankets, emergency rations, a flare gun, and a first aid kit. He handed each item to Blair who turned his back on the body and piling the items several feet away. "Stack this up with the other stuff," Jim said as he handed out a length of rope and a map that had been taped to the visor of the 'copter.
"I am not carrying all this crap," Blair commented as he slid past the body and added the items.
"No one is carrying," Jim said as he pulled the straps from the last item. Section obviously intended the agents to follow through the woods if needed.
"What's that?" Blair asked, and Jim ignored his partner as he struggled to single-handedly wrestle the motorbike out of the small space. "Oh man, is that what I think it is? Because I have to tell you I am entirely ready to not be walking any more."
Jim just continued to pull until the front wheel cleared the seat and he could pull the motorbike out, the tires bouncing on the ground as he lowered it by the handlebars.
"We're going to have to make some good time now. They'll be here any second. Spread a blanket out on the ground and put the first aide kit and rations in it. Roll it up…"
"And then tie the ends in a hobo pack that I can sling across one shoulder. On it." Blair finished the sentence and immediately started in on his project while Jim quickly searched the two bodies for additional weapons or information. The pilot had a panel like the one Michael often used in training, and Jim thumbed it on, wondering if he could glean any information before having to abandon the item. He wouldn't have taken the risk except that Section already knew their location because he'd failed to stop the pilot from transmitting the heat sensor data. He internally flinched at that failure.
When he flipped the switch, Birkoff's face immediately appeared in profile, a room of section Jim didn't recognize behind him.
"Did you identify the sou…" Birkoff broke off mid-word when he turned to find Jim's face on his screen. Jim studied the shadows on the wall behind Birkoff, the twitches of Birkoff's left eye, the hand frozen mid-typing over a keyboard.
"Leave us alone," Jim simply said. No threats or begging, just a simple statement.
"I can't do that," Birkoff said, his heart rate spiking so sharply that Jim could hear it through the panel.
"Then more people will die," Jim answered, and he could hear Blair take a deep breath behind him.
"You know you cannot win," said a French-accented voice as Michael stepped into range of the camera. Jim studied those cold features, but now he knew Michael's weakness.
"You have what's yours, and I have what's mine. Time to call a truce." Jim didn't push his threat any farther, but he could see from Michael's narrowed eyes that the man understood the other side of Jim's comment, the unspoken 'if you take what's mine, I'll take what's yours.'
"No." Michael offered no explanation, just the one simple word. Jim studied the man's face for a single second before turning off the screen.
"Oh shit. Man, shit, they'll know where we are," Blair nearly hyperventilated, and Jim let his hand rest on his guide's shoulder.
"They already knew, Chief. We need to move quickly, so wrap another blanket around you so that you don't get too chilled."
"But they'll track us," Blair objected even as he grabbed another blanket and tucked it up under his coat in front where it would help block the wind from riding the motorbike. Jim took the pack Blair had brought from the campsite, checking the heat shield which Blair had folded and slid into its sleeve on the underside of the pack. Rather than put the pack on his back, Jim slung it over one arm and pulled it around to the front. If they had to dump weight and move quickly, he would drop the pack and rely on the emergency rations in Blair's smaller bundle.
"First rule of escape is to evade the enemy; the second rule is to distract them." Jim took straddled the motorbike, kicking it into life before Blair climbed on behind him. The bottom of the pack rested on the gas tank, and Jim felt Blair's strong arms wrap around his waist. The wind whipped around his face, and between the wind and the extra weight, the gas would run out long before they reached a town, but it gave them a chance—and with Section resources heading this way, they had no chance without it.
"Okay, so distraction implies some sort of diversion."
"And we have one." Jim pushed the bike into gear and bounced across the field, Blair's arms tightening as he struggled to keep the skidding bike level. On the far side of the clearing, he stopped and took out the flare gun. Leaning back, he pointed it toward the helicopter.
"Whoa, man, hold on there. You could set a major fire," Blair protested, his hands digging into Jim's sides.
"I intend to." Jim said dryly. "It is a diversion."
"But, man, there could be campers up there and the environmental damage."
"Chief, this is the wrong season for hikers, and Section does not want to explain their presence to park rangers. They will either have to divert resources to stopping the fire themselves…"
"Or they'll have to get off the mountain because every radar unit in the area will monitor firefighting planes up here."
"Yep, and if the fire is large enough so many firefighters will come up that we'll just be two more people in the night. You see why this is a good idea?"
"Oh man, this is a horrible idea, it's just the best idea we have available."
"Exactly, Chief," Jim smiled as he took aim again. Blair muttered a warning for him to dial it down, and he did as he squeezed the trigger. The flare screamed from the gun with a unique whistle and then the helicopter exploded in a fiery ball that rose into the dark sky with a deafening crash. The red and orange and yellow of the exploding gas tank swirls and twisted like cats' lithe bodies ripping into each other in a fight. The entire sky seemed to glow for one second, and then the wind picked up the sparks and pushed them in a line across the grasses, the hungry flames licking the earth as they quickly scampered toward the trees on the far side of the clearing.
"At least I'm warm," Blair joked as the heat blast from the explosion enveloped them in the smell of burning rubber and hot metal.
"Keep your head down," Jim said as he stuffed the empty flare gun in his pocket and turned his attention back to the path ahead of them. Guiding the bike through the rough underbrush would challenge the most experienced rider, and now Jim had to do it in the dark with a passenger clinging behind him. Kicking the machine into gear, Jim used his feet to brace them until the bike sped into the forest, the engine whining unhappily under the weight and the need to maneuver around trees and fallen debris.
For one second, Jim thought he heard the sound of helicopters overhead, but the sound faded so quickly that Jim suspected he might have imagined it as they raced through the dark, following the Southern Cross at an angle that would both miss the nearest town and hopefully miss the Section agents who would definitely be covering that path.
For the third time, Jim felt the bike veering out of his control, both the wheels sliding too far left, and he leaned his weight so that they would slide into the fall rather than sail headlong into some tree. Blair's shaking arms tightened around his waist, that solid form almost becoming part of him as he adjusted his balance for both their weight.
Bringing the motorbike into a controlled slide, Jim ended up laying in a pile of pine needles, the scent irritating his nose as he listened to Blair's steady heartbeat. Either his friend was becoming far too used to the danger, or he was too tired to react any more.
"You okay?" he asked as he used the bike's silence to listen for any sign of pursuit. Around him, the forest rustled unnaturally, animals that would normally sleep through the night moving away from that crackling monster that Jim could faintly hear miles behind them.
"Other than scratched, bruised, exhausted and freezing, I'm peachy," Blair answered, and those arms slowly detached from Jim.
Jim pushed on the motorbike, lifting the machine carefully to avoid the hot muffler, and Blair scooted out from under slowly, the last of his reserves drained by the lack of sleep and cold, and yet he never complained as he rearranged the hobo's pack slung over his shoulder.
"I'll get the bike going." Jim stated the obvious, his own clear thoughts muddled by cold and the violent trembling of his hands. The sweat-damp clothing and the wind created by the bike's downhill flight had chilled him through until he had forced down the dial for touch until his fingers felt thick and clumsy as he struggled with the bike and the pack he still carried in front of his body. He wanted to get going again so that he would at least have Blair's warmth at his back, so he pulled the machine up and tried to start it. Unfortunately, the engine refused to turn over, grinding harshly without enough gas to actually start.
"Oh man, I guess that's the end of the free ride," Blair said softly, his voice quavering with a cold that made Jim want to curl around his guide, but they couldn't stop now. He could hear the high-pitched whine of a generator, an old generator with a belt that warbled an annoyingly high note that made his ears ache. Not Section equipment
"There's a house," Jim waved in the general direction.
"Please tell me I can crawl there without having to stand up," Blair said with a hint of humor, but Jim could also see the truth in the words as Blair leaned against a tree just to keep sitting up.
"I can hear the generator," Jim answered, realizing it wasn't really an answer since he could no longer track distance with his hearing, and he had admitted it to Blair. The offending generator could be 500 feet or two miles away.
"We are so testing your new limits when we get home," Blair said as he pulled himself up to his feet using the lower tree branches for leverage. Jim took two steps up the slope of the hill and held a hand out for Blair to take before the man fell forward on his face. He'd expected Blair to push it away and claim that he was fine, but instead Blair gripped his hand, holding on tightly and leaning heavily he struggled to get down the small incline littered with leaves and needles. Jim silently helped while Blair and an avalanche of debris finally reached the bottom.
Without another word, Blair started walking the direction the fallen bike still pointed, and Jim wished there were some way to put Blair back in his life at Rainer, to leave him and run on his own. However, Section would never let Blair go free because Jim wouldn't ever leave his guide behind, not even if it was for his own good. So Blair might have a long way to go before ever again calling a place home.
"I'm sorry I got you into this," Jim said softly. As much as he wanted to avoid the whole issue of his rising guilt, his guide deserved an apology.
"Don't be," Blair answered simply as he kept plodding forward. Blair sighed before continuing. "You're the first person since Naomi who's let me into their life." Blair stopped for a moment as though thinking and walking were too much to do at the same time. "You're the *only* person other than Naomi," he amended that with a shrug before he continued, his arms hanging limply at his sides.
"Chief." Jim stopped not sure how to answer that. He could hear the pain even under the tired and emotionless tone.
"Man, before you, I would cling to the edge of all these cultures, but I never fit in. I've never been invited to one of the other teacher's houses. When I started college, everyone avoided me because of my age… well, that and because I was a bit of a nudje there for a while, but now the older I get, the more students avoid socializing with me. I suppose I could cut my hair and try to fit in somewhere, but it wouldn't be the same. You and Naomi are the only ones to ever truly let *me* into your lives." Blair fell silent as he breathed heavily as though out of breath from the string of words, and Jim found he had no way to answer. He'd felt that rejection at home where his father and Stephen had eventually formed a sort of united front against him, but in the army and at work, he'd functioned as a part of a group.
However, when he thought back over the last couple of years, Blair hadn't brought any long-term friendships with him. College students wanting to just hang out with Blair hadn't invaded his home, and Blair hadn't spent too many evenings out unless except when it came to his ever-changing parade of ladies. He felt an instant wave of anger toward all the people who hadn't seen value in loving Blair. Then Jim's mind turned, and he realized that if Blair had found a place, a wife or even a group that demanded all his spare time, he would have given up his quest for a Sentinel. He had to admit to a small selfish part of him was grateful that their rejection had delivered Blair into his life. And that brought him back to the beginning: realizing that Blair's current suffering was his fault.
"Being in my life isn't the best place right now," Jim finally answered as they walked along the bottom of a dry ravine.
"Better than being out of your life," Blair answered. Jim had no answer to that, only an overwhelming feeling of gratitude that made his eyes sting because he knew that his father or Stephen or Carolyn or even Simon would never come to that conclusion—only Blair.
The moon hid behind the rising smoke of the fire, and Jim eventually slipped an arm around Blair, guiding his guide through the darkness as they stumbled toward that sound. With each step, Blair's body trembled under his arm even though he remained stubbornly silent, even when Jim now offered little tempting bits of information that should have sent his manic guide bouncing.
"Funny. I can almost see that sound we're following, like a trail of smoke that disappears if I don't concentrate." Jim watched as Blair ignored his words.
The silence from Blair worried Jim more than any amount of complaining, or in this case not complaining. Blair's heart still beat steadily, if anything more slowly than normal, as though meditating, and Jim feared hypothermia had more to do with it than Blair's intentional attempts to stay calm. Eventually, Blair's arm went around his waist, and Jim could feel the subtle pulls and pushes of Blair's muscles as he struggled to stay upright. He used his hold on Jim to keep his balance. Shock from the cold and dehydration probably added to the problem, and Jim could feel a rising desperation to get Blair somewhere safe, somewhere with water to rehydrate him and warmth to keep his body from going into shock.
"Almost there," Jim promised, and he realized his own boots were dragging badly enough that leaves piled up on top and behind them a trail announced to anyone with eyes that they were both ready to collapse. Jim closed his arm around the pack in front of him even as he considered dropping it. Blair didn't answer.
As they came around the edge of a hill, Jim suddenly flinched back as his world exploded into light that made his eyes immediately start to water as he dropped to his knees. Despite his squinting, the light stabbed at his eyes and caused his head to begin to sharply throb as he leaned forward and struggled to hold down what little food or water he had in his stomach.
"Fuck," he complained hoarsely as he held one hand up to his eyes.
"It's okay, man. It's a porch light. Come on, dial it down." Blair's words reached him even through the veil of pain. Jim struggled to follow the advice, his stomach nauseous as the light shone even through his closed eyelids as a series of dots that chased each other across his vision. "Dial it down. Concentrate on your other senses, feel my hand and listen to my voice, man. Come on, I know you're tired, but you can do this."
Jim could feel a pressure on his back, traveling up from the small of his back to his shoulders and leaving behind a trail of tingling skin until it moved back down again. Ignoring his vision, Jim lost himself in that sensation of his skin coming alive in warm tingling inches. He could feel the zone approaching, and he didn't fight the darkness that slowly fell over his vision.
"Oh man, not now. I can't exactly carry you," Blair's voice complained, and the dials Jim so often struggled with snapped back into place so that he could only feel Blair's hand and not the trail of tingling skin and he could see a small one or two room cabin with a yellow light shining over a plain door.
"I'm okay," Jim said as he struggled to get up, and only then did he realize he had taken Blair down to the ground with him so that one side of Blair's already messy hair was covered in leaves and the blanket pack he'd been carrying lay on the ground. Jim reached out to grab his own pack, the one from Section, but Blair's hand on his wrist stopped him.
"Let's just get us into the cabin, and we can worry about this stuff in the morning, hopefully one of us will be able to walk without falling down then." Blair gave him a half-smile and then struggled up to his feet, practically dragging Jim up with him.
"I don't need carrying, Sandburg." Jim couldn't see Blair as easily now with his dials returned to something closer to normal, but he could still recognize the bluish tint to Blair's lips that suggested his friend would be lucky to make it the last hundred feet to the cabin. He didn't need to waste his energy trying to carry Jim's weight.
"Grouchy asshole," Blair commented and continued pulling up until Jim got his own feet under him, and slipped an arm around Blair so that he could get the man into the heat. Together, they struggled over the lawn and up two solid wood steps. Jim didn't even bother to knock despite the wood smoke that suggested someone had recently started a fire.
Turning the large brass knob, he pushed his way in and let himself have one second of relief at finding a large empty room with a fire already burning. Blue denim-upholstered couches guarded either side of the fireplace, red and white quilts giving the place a patriotic color scheme. Deer and boar heads decorated one wall while a second had large colorful Indian blankets over the rough logs that made up the sides of the cabin. At one end, a small refrigerator and sink marked the simple kitchen; at the other, a bed stood with blue bedding pooled around the foot of it.
"Sit," Jim ordered as he pushed Blair toward one of the couches.
"Oh man, only if you do," Blair insisted as he made an awkward turn and tried to follow Jim. He didn't even make one step, but instead stood on the wood floor with one hand on a blue couch swaying slightly.
"I'm just getting water. Get out of the wet clothes," Jim said as he went to the sink set right under a window. He struggled to listen for whoever had started the fire, but the whine in the generator that fed the electric lights grew until it seemed to echo in his head, and no matter how Jim tried, he couldn't filter out the sound.
After trying three pine cupboard doors, he found a large pitcher, and he stuck it under the sink, standing and staring out the window and up to the red glow that created an irregular stain on the side of the mountain that reminded Jim of a coffee stain for some reason he couldn't quite figure out.
Water finally spilled over his hand, startling him, and Jim turned off the spigot, slurping out of the pitcher until the level was low enough for him to carry back to his guide. He turned and found Blair, stripped of his damp, dirty coat and shirt, and struggling to get his boots off as he leaned against the couch.
"For god's sake, Sandburg, sit." Jim put the pitcher down on the coffee table made of driftwood and deer antlers before grabbing Blair by the waist and pulling him around to the couch.
"Oh yeah," Blair said absentmindedly, and Jim could feel a dry sort of panic as he realized just how confused Blair seemed to be. They couldn't keep running like this… either of them.
"I just need to get these off," Blair said weakly as he pushed at his boots, finally getting one off before starting to work on the laces of the second one. Jim slipped out of his own gloves, coat and shirt before getting out of his boots far more quickly, his ability to turn down his sense of feeling allowing him to avoid the nasty tingling sensation that had set into his limbs. Getting up, he grabbed the quilt from the second couch, and then after a moment's hesitation, went over and grabbed the bedding as well. As much as he liked the idea of sleeping in the bed, they both needed to stay closer to the fire.
Heading back to the couch with his armload, he could see Blair sitting, looking vaguely confused as he gazed at the fire and rubbed a hand over his hairy chest.
"Get some water in you, Chief," Jim said softly, truly concerned now that he could see the pale face and blue tinged lips that suggested Blair probably should have fallen down unconscious a while back. Blair reached for the pitcher on the coffee table, and Jim dropped the bedding as he sat next to Blair, making sure he didn't drop it or pour the water all over himself with fingers grown numb with the cold.
Jim looked around again for a telephone or radio. Even if it meant Section tracking the transmission, he would have called, but the lack of any sort of communications device stole that option, and Jim could only keep his guide hydrated and warm as he hoped Blair could pull through on his own. Despite the derisive whispers in some parts of the station, Blair was a lot tougher than he looked.
Blair finished drinking, and Jim took the pitcher. He took a second long drink, feeling his stomach tighten at the uncomfortable fullness, but he knew he needed the water. While they could have lasted days if needed, the sweating had pulled every available drop out of him until he could feel his dry tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.
"Hey, slow down before you drench yourself," Blair commented, and Jim lowered the pitcher, feeling the twin rivulets of water dribbling down either side of his mouth. "We're quite the pair, huh?" Blair asked as he started untangling the blankets and quilt and sheet.
"We just need to rest up," Jim answered as he leaned forward and put the nearly empty pitcher down. He braced his hands on his knees to get up and go to the second couch, but Blair reached out and grabbed his leg, tugging at him, and he let his guide push him onto the couch.
"Pillows. I've never appreciated pillows so much," Blair said, handing a pillow over as Jim squirmed down into place on the large couch. He pulled the handgun out of his waist and shoved it between the seat and back before stuffing the pillow under his head.
"In the army, I sometimes went months without them on missions," Jim said as he let himself relax. The owner of the cabin or Section or the rangers would show up eventually, and Jim would have to face them with only one handgun and a single extra clip, but he would worry about that later.
"That sucks, man." Blair said, as he arranged himself on the outside edge, his body pressing into Jim. Then he pulled the mass of bedding over them. Jim felt Blair shifting until he finally put an arm around his restless guide and bodily lifted him until he first rested completely on top of Jim and then fell over to the other side where he lay wedged between the back of the couch and Jim's body.
"Oh man, I'm going to crush you," Blair said softly. Jim just picked up the second pillow which had fallen to the floor and shoved it in between his head and the couch so Blair had a place to rest his head.
"Go to sleep, Sandburg," he said, enjoying the weight of his partner resting against his side. It reminded him that he hadn't totally failed. Feeling Blair's heartbeat, he knew that he still had a chance to fix this and give Blair a life back, not the life Blair had before, but Blair was nothing if not adaptable. He could feel Blair's body slowly relax into his, their cocoon under the blankets warming until both their limbs stopped shaking.
"I'm glad I'm not alone out here," Jim whispered once Blair's breathing had slowed into the soft, natural pattern of sleep.
"Me too," Blair muttered back, barely forming the sounds as he almost immediately started to snore softly. Jim lay staring at the beamed ceiling for some time, listening to the fire crack and waiting for the next disaster to threaten them, but for now, the forest remained quiet, and the worst thing within range of his senses was a whining generator belt. Eventually, Jim's eyes burned with the effort to keep them open, and he finally closed them, the warmth and the steady sound of Blair's heart coaxing him into sleep.