Blair woke to darkness, his own breathing the only sound registering in his ears. His neck hurt, but he found himself unable to move around or try to correct the odd angle he was in. His whole body was stiff and sore.

"'Lo?" He cleared his throat and tried again. "Hello? Anyone?"

Silence.

What was going on? Where was Jim? Why couldn't he remember? Blair tried to remain calm. After working with Jim for almost a year, he knew how important it was not to panic. Although intellectually he knew this, Blair was finding the actual application of this principle to be more difficult.

He suddenly realized there was a sound, no, more like a vibration. He could feel it enter him, all the way to his teeth. He knew this feeling. It was like when he...

Was in an airplane?

The stomach-twisting drop in altitude confirmed Blair's assessment. His mouth suddenly became as dry as a desert. He was in an airplane.

This was `so' not a good thing.

He flexed his arms, finding them tied by thin flexible bindings behind his back. He moved his legs. The same things were wrapped around his knees and ankles. He was belly down on something soft, with a springy give, like a sofa maybe? Rocking himself from side to side, he discovered wider bindings that held him in place.

Seatbelts.

His mind briefly flashed on a bug display he once saw as a child. A friend of Naomi's had a collection of beetles under glass. Each specimen was held in place by small pins. He'd felt sorry for the bugs, not able to see the beauty of the collection.

Okay, fellas. Now I know how you must have felt.

Feeling more alert, he noticed his breath seemed to bounce back off something, warming his lower face. He rubbed his cheek against the cushion, something moved around his head.

A hood. The blackness was a hood around his head.

He felt the panic start to build.

What the HELL was going on?

Where was Jim?

"Ellison." Jim cradled the hand set against his shoulder as he finished fastening his pants.

"Blair Sandburg, please."

Jim retrieved the phone with a free hand and reached for his shirt. "He's not home right now, can I take a message?"

Click.

Jim frowned at the phone. "Sandburg, your friends need to learn some manners," he muttered.

Ten minutes later, he palmed the keys from the basket by the door and eyed the cane leaning against the wall. That stubborn kid, he thought, shaking his head. He had lectured Blair yesterday about not following the doctor's orders to use the cane for another full week. But Blair blew him off, insisting his leg felt fine.

Sure, like he knows all about bullet wounds.

Jim considered taking the cane and dropping it off at Rainier, but decided not to. He rationalized he was running late, plus he would be too tempted to use the damn thing on his friend's head.

Jim left the cane and arrived at work, forgetting about irresponsible roommates with no common since. He worked nonstop until noon, catching up his cases. The reports on the Quinn fiasco were typed, printed in triplicate and sent off to all the government agencies expressing an interest. That was one case he'd like to file and forget. No matter what Simon had said, he'd come too close to crossing that line. The intensity of his anger and hatred was scary. It was a dark side of himself that he never wanted to see again.

Pushing back from his desk, Jim eyed the clock on the wall. He felt like going out for lunch, tired of the stale sandwiches they offered in the vending machines. Before he could get up and wander into Simon's office to bounce a few lunch ideas off his friend, the phone on his desk rang.

"Ellison."

"Hello, is this the detective that Mr. Sandburg works with?"

"Yes, may I help you?"

The female voice hesitated before continuing. "Um...I just wanted to ask if Blair was with you this morning, you know, like working on an emergency case? Because I really don't mind covering for him, but usually he gives me some kind of warning...."

"Excuse me, miss. Are you saying Blair didn't show up at Rainier today?" Jim stood in alarm, his eyes returning to the clock.

Four hours! Blair had been missing for four hours!

"Oh, he's not with you? Forget I called, detective. I don't want to get Blair in trouble..."

Jim cut her off a second time.

"Listen, Sandburg left for Rainier at 7:30 this morning. Are you telling me that no one had seen him all morning?" Jim found his voice getting louder. Simon's door opened and the big man was standing in the doorframe with a scowl on his face.

"Uh, yes. That's what I'm saying."

They searched the campus. No Blair. No Corvair. Simon ordered an APB. Rafe called the hospitals. Brown checked the morgue, secretly. Jim called every friend he'd ever been introduced to by his roommate. No one had seen him.

Jim finally went home at midnight, lying in his bed for four hours before giving up and beginning another frustrating day. The results were the same. Every possible resource was checked, every person that knew Blair was located and interviewed, Major Crimes worked as a group possessed.

At the end of the second day, Jim sat in Simon's office. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he scrubbed his face, feeling his five o'clock shadow poking through his skin.

"Any word from Naomi?" Simon asked, his voice sounded tired. The captain leaned back into his plush office chair and stared at the clown figures that watched them from a position high on top of the bookshelves.

"No, I've tried every number I know for her. She's somewhere in Europe." Jim sat up and thumped his thigh with a fist. "Damn it, Simon. Why haven't we heard something?"

Simon sighed. "I know you're going to bite my head off, but I'm going to ask this anyway."

Jim gave his boss a wary look. "What?"

"Is it possible Blair just left? He's been kidnapped, beat up, shot..." Simon winced slightly. "Maybe he'd had enough."

Jim's face turned to granite. He gave Simon a cold glare as he rose stiffly and turned towards the door.

"Ellison, can the attitude and just plant your ass back in that chair," Simon ordered.

Jim swung around, his finger pointing at the seated man. He kept his voice low. "Sandburg does NOT quit! He doesn't back down, hell, he won't even stay in the truck! No way am I going to believe he just ran away."

Simon nodded his head wearily. "Yeah, I agree, Jim."

Jim studied the other man with a puzzled frown. "Then why ask?"

Simon leaned forward. "We have to consider all possibilities. I agree that something hinkie is going on here, but before I go to the Chief with a request for more manpower; I want to talk about it. You got a problem with that?"

Jim sat, his anger evaporating along with any strength he had in reserve. "No."

Later that same night, Jim wearily plodded down the hallway towards the door to his loft. He stopped suddenly, almost tripping.

He picked up a heartbeat inside.

Jim's breath caught as he hurried forward, his hand fumbling in his pocket for the key. He missed the lock cylinder with his first stab, his hands shaking from exhaustion. As he lined up the key for a second attempt, he realized the heartbeat inside wasn't Blair's. Similar, yes, but not his roommate's.

He also became aware the person inside was not alone.

This was it, he thought. This is where I learn what trick I have to perform to get Blair back.

Visions of Brackett came to mind as he quietly pulled his gun from its holster. Unlocking the door, he let it swing open as part of his brain wondered how the hell these intruders got inside in the first place. Anger and the long hours of worrying about his roommate's safety caused him to foolishly enter the loft, gun braced in both hands.

"Hi, Jim."

The hands holding the automatic dropped.

Naomi.

She was standing by the doorway to her son's room, dressed in practical black jeans and a matching black long sleeve shirt. No flowing scarves, no full-length clingy dress with handmade slippers from some third world country.

Jim gave the man sitting at the kitchen table an appraising look. He was Caucasian with dark hair, no facial hair or glasses. He looked about mid-thirties. His shoulders were broad, muscles defined and toned into shape. Jim guessed his height to be about six foot if he were to stand. No weapons visible. He had a coffee cup in both hands and as Jim watched, he raised it to his lips to drink.

That was the last straw. Jim was tired, worried sick and frustratingly out of ideas on how to find his guide. Now there were strangers stealing his coffee. He didn't need this crap.

"Well, please make yourselves as comfortable as hell," he said sarcastically as he holstered his gun and slammed the door shut with his foot. He looked again at the beautiful redheaded woman. "I've been trying to reach you for 48 hours."

"I know. I need your help." Naomi gave him a calm look. "Blair needs your help."

Jim watched as she moved forward and stood behind the man sitting at the table. She was different, and he wasn't just thinking about her clothes. She talked, walked and held herself totally differently to the last time he'd seen her. She didn't ask where Blair was, yet she knew he was in trouble.

She knew.

This wasn't about him being a sentinel, or one of his old cases or anything to do with Cascade Police.

Crossing his arms in front of his chest he gave them both a steely glare. He stood straight with his weight balanced evenly between both legs, his body ready for battle. "What's going on, Naomi? Where's Blair?"

The silent man pulled a small box from his jacket, setting it on the table. With the flip of a small toggle switch, it began to give a low hum. Jim's eyes narrowed as he recognized the device or ones similar to it from his days in Special Ops. He realized with dark humor that they'd learned how to make them smaller.

If they were being listened to, this box would jam any attempt at overhearing the conversation. Oh, yeah. Naomi had some serious explaining to do.

"I'm sorry, Jim." She pulled out a chair and sat down. With a slender hand she gestured that he join them. "Please."

Jim approached and sat down stiffly across the table. Naomi's friend seemed content to just listen, a real party animal.

"First, I want you to understand, Blair knows nothing about this. He's an innocent." She gave Jim a sad smile. "I worked very hard to keep him that way."

"Running out of sage to burn?" He couldn't stop his face from twisting into an ugly sneer.

Naomi sighed and continued as if Jim hadn't said a word. "I'm in a very delicate position. But I'm not the one being manipulated. A powerful person is being pressured to do something he would normally never consider..."

"Why Blair? What is he to this guy?" Jim cut her off impatiently.

She continued, remaining calm. Jim was reminded of his housekeeper, Sally, back in the early days when Steven would throw a fit over something. She would deal with him in the same manner. Jim hadn't thought he could get any madder at this woman. He was wrong. He held his tongue, though. He needed all the information he could get.

"We can't let this happen," she continued. "I can buy a little time. I need you to go in and get Blair. Keep him safe and out of sight. Then my people can eliminate any future threat, this may take up to seven days." She glanced at the dark hair man next to her. He looked at her and nodded. She leaned forward, her attention back on Jim. "I've read your military files, I know you're good. I can't do this myself. I'm being watched too closely, you're the unknown factor. Please, Jim. Get my son back."

"What the hell is going on, Naomi? How could you let this happen?" Jim slammed his palm down on the table. Jim couldn't explain the anger he felt at the moment. He wanted to strike out, scream at her. Naomi had lied to her son his entire life. He didn't want to be part of this. He just wanted Blair back.

"Ellison, stop being an ass and answer the damn question, mate." The black haired man spoke for the first time, his Cockney English accent thick.

Jim leaned back in his chair, his spine straight. "Just tell me this, if I do this, am I selling out my country?" Jim was afraid of the answer. Because leaving Blair in the middle of some possible cold war scenario was not going to be an option.

Naomi must have read Jim's mind, because she smiled. For the first time since he entered his home, Jim saw the same woman he'd first met cooking tongue in his kitchen.

"No. I've done a lot of shitty things in my life, Jim. But I've never sold out my country."

"You didn't answer me, what is Blair's relationship to this `important' person."

Naomi's eyes softened. She laid her forearms out on the table, her hands clasped together as if in prayer. The dark haired man stood quietly and crossed over to the front door, slipping out into the hallway. Jim could hear him striding towards the back stairs. He dismissed the man and returned his full attention to the woman he had always thought of as Blair's ditzy mother, until tonight.

"I was recruited very young," she began softly. "We fell in love when we weren't supposed to. But you know youth, we thought we knew what was best. Anyway, Blair was born."

"Skip the Hallmark moment. I'm not in the mood, Naomi," Jim said, not caring about manners. If Blair ever found out Jim had talked to Naomi this way, he'd be in hot water. Jim didn't care. He would deal with the new change in his and Naomi's relationship after Blair was safe.

Naomi didn't react to his verbal attack. She continued calmly, totally in control.

Oh, yeah. This woman was a player.

"We found ourselves on different paths. You'd be surprised how a young single woman with a baby gets overlooked in this world. I became very good at my job." She raised a slender finger. "But I never used Blair in any way that exposed him to danger. He was left with friends if anything looked remotely hazardous." "A regular June Cleaver."

"Blair's father went the political route. He was a natural and very good for the security of our country. Blair would be proud if he knew." For the first time, Jim could see a hint of self-doubt in her eyes. "He worked his entire career with a reputation of being untouchable, someone high up has turned, Jim. Only a few close friends know he's Blair's father."

"What about the Brit that just left?"

"He doesn't know. He's one of my best, but he's just following orders." She coolly eyed Jim, as if setting him on one side of a scale and wondering how much weight to place on the other side. "Blair is a genius. You know that, I'm sure. He could have followed any path he chose and become the best. But he had a passion from an early age to find a sentinel. It consumed him like nothing I've ever seen before."

Jim refused to acknowledge where she was heading.

"You don't have to answer me, but I know he found you. I'm glad you're together, although finding out this partnership has exposed him to some of the elements that I spent the last twenty-six years to avoid did not please me," she admitted with a frown. "It can't be helped, I suppose. Now, I have a very short window right now. In a few hours I'm going to be back under constant observation. You're the ace up my sleeve. Can you function adequately without Blair, enough to get in and retrieve him?"

It never occurred to Jim to deny her contention that he was a sentinel. What was the point?

He nodded.

"Good. You can't tell anyone where you're going or why. Find a reason to tell Banks you'll be gone for eight to ten days, just in case my timeline doesn't work. After you get Blair out, stay under everyone's radar." She eyed him with a firm look. "That's everyone, Jim. No police, no friends. I'm not kidding when I take a page out of Chris Carter's book and say `Trust no one'. I'll give you an all clear when it's safe to return to Cascade."

"How?" Jim could hear the footsteps of Naomi's companion returning.

"Keep listening to the radio, when you hear there's been a small fire in the kitchen at Camp David, you can come in."

Jim's eyes widened slightly. He tilted his head, his sneer returned. "Tell me Naomi, is Blair a valuable item to this guy, or a political embarrassment?"

A flash of fire swept through her calm green eyes and then was gone, her manner again as cool as ever. "Rest assured, Blair is the single most important thing to him."

The Brit returned, walking into the loft without knocking. Jim eyed the black leather case he held in his right hand. "Please, come in." He was not able to resist another dig.

If the man caught the sarcasm, he continued on without acknowledging it. He placed the case on the table next to Naomi. Opening the flap, she removed a bundle of ten by twelve inch manila envelops, a smaller white envelope and a few small electrical devices.

"We've got an hour to go over the Intel. It's the best I can give you." She pulled a large glossy picture from the first envelope and slid it over to Jim. "This was Blair's condition at noon today. He was still ambulatory at that time. We have to assume he will be when you reach him."

Jim picked up the color photograph with a grimace, a good quality picture, catching the nicely darkened colors of the black eye and bruising in the jaw area. Blair's upper lip was swollen and bleeding. They had stripped him to his last layer of clothing, a T-shirt and his jeans. His belt, shoes and socks were gone. He stood holding a New York Times paper dated that day. The wall behind him had a large clock that showed noon.

Jim studied Blair's face. Blair was obviously mad, furious even. Jim recognized the defiant gleam in his friend's eyes. They'd better not turn their backs on him if they knew what was good for them.

"As usual, he's fought them every inch of the way," Naomi told him with a sigh. "I'm concerned he'll go to far before you can get him out."

"You seem to have a lot of faith in me, I'm touched." Jim's tone refuted his words.

"I'm only repeating the sentiments of my son. He believes you are capable of anything. I have no choice but to trust his judgment."

That struck a chord deep inside Jim like no other comment Naomi had made that evening. He felt his anger begin to wane.

"What if the radio never mentions the Camp David fire?"

Naomi leaned back in her seat, pausing from sorting out the paperwork and maps on the table. She gave Jim a steady look. "Then I failed and Blair is in serious danger." Her face showed a vulnerability that caused the Jim to look away for a moment. "Jim, promise me you'll take him and run as far as you can. Please keep my baby safe..." Her voice lowered until the last part was barely a whisper.

Jim gave the woman he had considered the queen of the airhead parade a searching look.

"I promise."

Forty-eight hours later, Jim lay on his stomach observing the activities of the estate where Naomi believed Blair was being kept. Jim had arrived the day before. He had spent yesterday and all of today getting the pieces in place. Now he was ready to go in and get Blair. He studied the ranch below him. White fenced acreage and paddocks housed purebred Tennessee Walkers. Their long silky manes and tails floated in the breeze as the horses trotted playfully down the fence lines.

The ranch house was modest, for a multi-million dollar home. Heavy timbered supports held a clay-tiled roof. Large front windows overlooked a landscaped yard that belonged on the cover of a gardening magazine. Beyond the house and out buildings of the horse ranch, the rolling hills of Maryland were a canopy of greens, like a plush bedspread waiting to be smooth out.

The sun was setting and the spring air began to cool considerably. Jim double-checked the small rucksack hidden in a low bush, scanning the area in order to memorize the location. A similar pack was still riding on his back; he would need it when he found Blair. The rental car was a few miles away though the trees. He wasn't pleased with the location of the escape vehicle, but he had no choice. In order to keep to the cover of trees, he'd left the car in the only possible spot that would work. That's what worried him.

He'd spotted the private airstrip as he crossed the woods from above. A small airplane was tied down at one end along with a very expensive private helicopter. Would he be able to get Blair safely to the vehicle before the search started?

Jim circled around and waited for darkness, making himself comfortable in the shrubs and grass. He'd been briefed on the routine of the ranch personnel. The first to drive away was an older woman, a cook. Jim watched a man in an expensive suit get into a new Cadillac SUV. Two beefy guys accompanied him, probably bodyguards. He watched them drive away. Damn, he was hoping they'd take the helicopter.

It was the helicopter that worried him the most. It wasn't supposed to be there. With a high tech pair of night vision goggles from that bird, they would be sitting ducks. A brief study of the fence and the Germen Shepherd dogs inside, it made sabotaging the helicopter a risk that he was not willing to take.

There would be no second chance tonight.

When the darkness was complete, Jim slipped into the ranch grounds as silent as a shadow on the wall. Using the devices supplied by Naomi, he easily breached the security system and found himself standing inside a utility room off a big kitchen. The house's air system control kept the inside a warm seventy-five degrees. A commercial size washer and dryer dominated the room. Jim found himself having to dial down his sense of smell as he picked up the ripe smell of human sweat on the clothes in the large hampers.

Jim crouched against the wall under shelves loaded with cleaning supplies and closed his eyes. Using his hearing, he located four human heartbeats in the home. None of them was the one he had flown across the continent to find.

Damn.

He silently eased himself back out of the building. Where was Blair? Naomi seemed sure he was at the ranch.

A soft whinny drew the sentinel's attention. He studied the large red barn. Okay, it was worth a shot. Risking the short time exposed in the open yard, Jim raced towards the barn, grateful that the dogs were guarding the airstrip and not the main yard. A side door gave him access into a dark room, strips of leather from halters hung on the wall, expensive English and western saddles perched on large poles that stuck out from the opposite wall. Jim again dialed down his sense of smell to avoid a sneezing attack caused by the musky smell of hay, horse and leather cleaning products.

He located the multiple heartbeats of the horses in their stalls. Tuning them out, he locked on to two human hearts in the building. One was a slow rate of a man nearly asleep. The other was the most welcoming sound he had heard in the last four days.

He'd found his guide.

Blair was awake. He rolled his head back and forth, wondering how long he'd been out. It was colder than before. It must be nighttime, but he couldn't be sure because of the blindfold. Blair decided being awake sucked, there was nothing to do except worry and dwell on his current situation. How cold and hungry he was. How much his arms ached as he hung from the rafter overhead. He's been unable to feel his hands for a while now. How long would it take before his fingers would no longer work due to the lack of oxygenated blood flow?

But at least these questions distracted him from more serious issues at hand. Why had he been taken? Why hadn't they bothered to question him, about anything? Blair knew he was a pawn in a larger game, but against whom? Jim? That was the most obvious answer, yet you would think they'd have a few questions to ask the man they'd kidnapped, the man that knew more about modern day sentinels than anyone.

Blair was pissed at the way his captors totally ignored him. Even when they slapped him around and blackened his eye, it was performed without comment, no explanation or questions. As if it wasn't worth the effort to communicate with him.

At first, Blair had tried reasoning with the two men when the beating started. They looked like matching bookends with their short-cropped hair, large muscular physique and heartless eyes. But reasoning gave way to shouts of anger when they remained unresponsive. Finally he'd shut up and just endured it, knowing that he was wasting precious energy. The bookends took turns with him. No use tiring one goon out needlessly.

The pictures they took of him, holding the newspaper, let Blair count the passage of time. He knew he was in his third day of captivity. They fed him every other day and watered him daily. He snorted, realizing the horses were getting better treatment. He'd eaten a sandwich yesterday; so he figured no food was coming until tomorrow, if he was lucky.

The sound of something hitting a nearby wall followed by the creaking of the door reached Blair's ears. He held his breath, his heart hammering in his chest. Earlier today, he'd caught one of the goons in the jaw with a bare foot, resulting in his current accommodations. They'd knocked him around some more and dragged him out of the house and into the barn. The blindfold was yet another privilege they revoked, as obviously Blair had already seen his guards. Blair knew it was another show of power on their part to take away his sight.

Was the guy returning alone to dish out a little more pay back?

"What's wrong, you ape? Can't accept that a longhaired geek managed to get a shot at you? Back to save your goon-hood?" Bair taunted, knowing he was risking more pain.

"Sandburg, think you can keep it down? I'm in the middle of a rescue here."

"Jim!" he gasped, almost choking in relief.

The blindfold was removed from around his head. In the darkness, Blair could only sense a dark form standing closely behind him. A strong arm encircled his chest, hugging him, as the rope above became slack. His bound hands dropped. Blair's pain was so intense, he barely noticed his bare feet touching the dirt and straw floor.

"Aauuuggghh."

"Easy, kid. Hold still."

Another tug dropped the rope around his wrists to the ground. Blair leaned heavily against Jim, finding his legs too weak to hold his weight, his arms just wooden limbs. Jim guided him back in the dark and lowered him until Blair found himself sitting on a scratchy bale of hay, his legs stretched out before him.

"Jim, what's going on? Who are these people?" Blair whispered urgently through chattering teeth.

"It's complicated, Chief. Let's get you out of here first, okay?"

"'Kay."

Blair felt a soft sock being slipped on his left foot. A second one covered his right, Blair sighed at the warmth they provided. Who knew that heaven was actually a pair of wool socks?

"Close your eyes."

Blair obediently did as instructed and a thick sweater was pulled over his head. The sound of his teeth clicking together was becoming loud enough to cause Blair to wonder if he could be heard from the house. Blair opened his eyes as pins and needles started gnawing on his hands. The blood flow was returning. He let Jim thread his numb arms though the sleeves. When the sweater was situated correctly, Blair found his eyes began to fill with grateful tears as the warmth started to spread into his chest.

A soft cap was pulled over his head; Jim took the time to pull his filthy hair back from his forehead. The gentle gesture was Blair's undoing as the tears broke over his lashes and he felt them fall down his face. Tucking the long strands behind Blair's ears, Jim situated the knitted cap firmly and moved wordlessly back to the young man's feet. He recognized the unmistakable feeling of a hiking boot being slipped onto his left foot and laced up. The right foot was given the same treatment. Finally, wool mittens covered both hands.

"Can you walk?"

Blair nodded, not trusting his voice, knowing Jim could see him in the darkness. One hand reached down to grab Blair's waistband at the small of his back, the other on his arm. Suddenly Blair was being lifted off his butt and was standing on his own feet again.

"Show me."

Blair felt Jim back off a little. God, he was stiff! He demonstrated a few clumsy, off-balanced steps.

"Good enough. Hold on and stay close."

Clamping his tingling fingers around a fold of sweater, he let Jim lead the way. The door opened and a splash of dim light entered his prison.

"Step high."

Looking down, Blair saw one of the bookends curled on his side on the dirt floor. He lifted his leg and stepped over the still form, wondering if the man was still alive. Jim towed him through the barn and into a tack room, until they stood outside. Blair shivered from the anticipation of pending freedom.

They avoided the house, the large lit areas of the yard and used the shadows of the barn as they snuck between parked trucks and horse trailers. Within a few short minutes, Blair was walking up a hill in high grass toward the tree line. His arms felt better and he could use his left one to wipe at the tears that were drying on his face.

They were in the tree line. Blair allowed himself to smile. They were going to make it.

His feet fell into a clumsy rhythm as he was led through the darkness between trees and over hills. It never occurred to him to ask where they were going or how long it would take.

It didn't matter, Jim was here.

He let his mind drift, just relishing the warmth from the sweater and the support the hiking boots provided his feet. He swore he'd never go barefoot again.

The moon was only a sliver in the sky as it dodged in and out of cloud cover. His eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and Blair realized that Jim was wearing a small pack. It looked empty. Of course, he thought with a smile, that's how Jim brought him his clothes.

After a quarter of an hour of following at a brisk pace, Jim paused. Blair released Jim's sweater, giving it a chance to recover from the abuse he'd caused. Rubbing his leg, he concentrating on catching his breath. He had started to limp. The healing bullet wound in his right thigh was beginning to throb.

"Wait here."

Before Blair could respond, the tall man slipped away. A nearby owl called to him from a high tree. Blair stood and hugged his chest tightly feeling suddenly exposed and wishing he could become invisible.

A fellow teacher had a two-year-old baby. Once when they were playing a game in his office, she hid her eyes behind her hands, believing no one could see her. He had a crazy desire to do the same thing.

"How's the leg?"

Blair jerked back, not realizing Jim had returned. The moon picked that moment to come out from a cloud and for the first time Blair could see the worried face of Jim Ellison looking down at him. Jim's face was covered with black soot for night maneuvers. A large hand gripped his shoulder.

"Sorry, Chief." A water bottle was place in his hand. "Take a drink." Raising the open bottle to his mouth, Blair felt a surge of strong emotion tighten his throat and threaten to start the water works again. He forced himself to take a few gulps.

Shit! What was wrong with him?

Handing the bottle back, he wiped his mouth with a shaky hand. Man, he was going to lose it. He swallowed hard and kept his eyes down.

Jim must have understood. Blair found himself pulled into a tight embrace. Blair's entire body started shaking as he returned the hug. He gave himself the luxury of burying his face into Jim's shoulder for a moment, knowing they really didn't have time for this and thankful that Jim gave it to him anyway.

After a moment, Jim patted his back. "We need to move out. You okay? Need more water or take a piss?

Blair snorted a laugh, reluctantly pulling away from the taller man. He shook his head as he pushed away from Jim's chest with both hands. He still did not trust his voice to speak.

The moon was hiding again, taking the little light available with it and leaving the darkness behind. Blair resumed his position behind Jim and latched onto the sweater. Jim moved out again with complete confidence that only came to others when they walked in the sunlight. Blair limped along. If he stayed close behind Jim, he found the bigger man effectively blocked the low limbs that wanted to swing back and hit him.

There was a lesson in that somewhere.

Jim kept his dial for hearing turned up high. It was amazing how easily he could manipulate his senses when Blair was near. He'd missed Blair more that he'd realized in the last four days. When had his senses come to rely on his Guide so much?

The chop of a distant helicopter caused Jim to stop, Blair bumping into his back. He searched the dark sky out of habit, but his ears were telling him the copter was still too far away to see. After a minute, it became obvious the pilot was heading towards them. Any chance of reaching their escape vehicle disappeared like a crowd of marines when K.P. duties were posted.

Jim ran possible plans through his mind, aware of Blair's slightly elevated respiration rate behind him. Taking the physical condition of his friend into consideration, he changed direction and headed downhill. Jim smiled as Blair followed without a word. If the circumstances weren't so grim, he'd have made a joke about the length of time Blair had remained quiet. It was approaching a personal best record.

But he knew Blair was near the edge of his physical limitations. Blair had an inner strength that always came through when they found themselves in a hazardous situation. But he was beat up and still in shock. Days being someone's prisoner were hard to shake off in a few minutes. All in all, he thought Blair was doing great. But he knew the kid needed to rest, especially with that leg.

The helicopter was close now; Jim knew it would soon be visible through the trees. He picked up the pace, almost at a trot, slipping slightly on the rough slope and exposed roots that seemed to reach up and snag both men's feet. Blair stumbled behind him, dropping hard to his knees. Jim skidded to a stop, turning back to pull Blair back up to his feet. The sounds of the copter blades were close enough for normal ears to hear.

"Jim!" Blair gasped, his breath ragged from the run.

"A little further." Jim could hear the soothing sound of water moving across a rocky creek bed. He waited till Blair had re-attached a hand to his back again and started toward the sound. He reached the bank and paused, searching the options available to him. Locating a bend in the creek, he moved downstream staying close to the edge of the water.

The small creek flowed down the small mountainside in a wide bed. Obviously during the rainy seasons, the creek swelled into a fast moving river as the water rushed downwards towards the ocean. In the bend ahead, Jim hoped to find the result of what happened when tens of thousands of gallons of water hit a high bank of earth with force. Sure enough, Jim saw a shallow overhang carved out of the dirt.

He scanned the earthen shelf for possible tenants. A fox with a bushy red tail darted out and ran into the shrubs. Jim slowed as he drew near; the shelf was above the current water line by at least a foot and a half. Barring a flash flood, they should be safe.

Jim stopped. He slipped out of his pack and quickly removed a small space blanket from an outside pocket. In a few seconds he had it spread out on the dirt. He caught and pushed Blair's shoulders down until the shorter man was on his hands and knees, then pushed Blair's rump in the direction of the shallow cave.

"Get in."

He dropped down onto his knees and watched as Blair bumped into the end of the cave and turned his body so that he was lengthwise under the earthen overhang. He lowered his butt down to sit on his heels, his arms still extended straight out keeping his head and shoulders pressed against the exposed root system that hung from the low ceiling.

Blair waited as Jim placed the pack at the top of the blanket and crawled in to lie down on his back. Jim had to smile at the confusion on his friend's face. Jim was so close now; Blair didn't have room to lie down. It was going to be tight, but the helicopter was too close now to scout around for a larger shelter.

"Okay, lay on your side, you can use me for a full length pillow." Jim instructed up to Blair. Jim reached to his left and picked up the edge of the blanket and curled it around them, or at least tried too. Blair was still on his hands and knees. "Come on, Chief."

Blair lowered himself down. Jim lifted his right arm and watched his friend use his shoulder as a pillow for his head. After Blair settled in, he folded the space blanket over the top of them. As the last stiff-sounding crinkle stopped, the helicopter passed over head in a low search pattern and moved on. There would be no more hiking for them tonight.

Jim listened as Blair softly sighed and his body slowly relaxed. He laid his arm on Blair's back, pinning the paper-thin blanket around them both. The top of the blanket was level with the cuff of Blair's cap. They lay together for a few moments, just enjoying the relative safety of their current location.

"Jim?"

"Yeah."

"You gonna tell me what's going on now?"

Jim thought about it for a few minutes. Should he? Naomi hadn't told him to keep her secret. But this was her secret, her lie to explain, not Jim's. As much as he wanted to tell his best friend, he couldn't be the one to destroy his reality about his mother. That duty belonged to her.

"You going to stay awake and worry about it if I don't?"

Jim waited while Blair thought about that for a few seconds.

"Uh, probably not."

"Then no, Chief. I'm not going to tell you right now. Go to sleep."

A few more seconds clicked by.

"Jim?"

"Yes?"

"You didn't think to pack an air mattress?"

Jim lightly smacked the hip under the blanket. "Go to sleep, Blair," he ordered with an amused snort.

"Jeez, man. I was just asking."

God, he was glad to have Blair back!

Blair woke to the creepy feeling of a spider walking around under his ear. Warm fingers plucked something from his neck. Opening his eyes, he saw his world had become an unnatural blue sky and a fuzzy black earth. In a moment he realized the ground was Jim's sweater and the sky was the space blanket that had helped to keep him warm all night. He shifted; his hip was bruised and sore where it pressed against a rock.

Well, it gave him a distraction from his aching bullet injury. But more important than the hip, leg or whatever had been tap dancing on his neck was the pressing matter of his full bladder.

"Jim, I gotta go, man."

Jim unfolded their emergency bedding and eased out from under Blair. Jim seemed to move slow, even stiffly as if spending the last five hours sleeping on the ground wasn't his idea of fun either. But they were alive and free, for the moment, so Blair decided not to comment. Returning to his hands and knees, he crawled out into the morning air. The forest was draped with a low hanging mist. Blair saw that these woods were missing the abundance of evergreen that he saw in the Pacific Northwest.

Picking a direction downstream, Blair stiffly walked over and took care of his business. When he returned, he joined Jim at the waters edge and they washed their hands in the cool water. Jim removed the camouflage from his face and hands with a cloth.

"Hungry?"

"Oh, yeah. I could eat." Blair splashed his face with the cold water feeling the short stubble from a four-day beard. Jim placed a restraining hand on his arm when he began to cup the water to his mouth.

"Drink only bottled water, wait here."

He returned with his pack and under the watchful eye of Jim, Blair eagerly accepted the water and energy bar.

"Slow sips of water and chew the bar slowly."

Blair had a brief moment of indecision as he looked at both hands, which one first? Jim removed the bar from one hand, giving Blair both hands to open the bottle and start to drink.

Jim gently pulled the bottle down after Blair's third gulp. "What part of `slow sips' had you confused, Sandburg?" Jim grinned as he handed back the unwrapped bar.

Blair returned the grin, accepting the food. "Yes, dad."

As if a switch had been thrown, Jim's grin became a frown. Blair paused in the middle of his first bite.

"Jim?"

The cop stood abruptly. "Nothing, stay and eat, we're moving out in five." He climbed up to their `bed' and started folding the space blanked back into a small package.

Okay. What was that all about?

After the blanket was reduced to a small square and returned to the backpack, Jim returned to Blair's position exposed boulder by the creek. Blair munched happily on oats and nuts with dried cranberry as he watched Jim sit down beside him. He picked up Blair's left hand and pushed the black sleeve up a little to reveal a raw looking wrist.

Jim opened another pocket on the black backpack and removed a small field first aid kit. After he'd finished wrapping the left wrist, Blair switched the bar to that hand and crossed his right wrist over for the same treatment.

"Anything else?" Jim asked has he finished with the tape.

"Nope, that's it." Blair said finishing the bar and eyeing the magical pack at Jim's feet. "Got anymore of those?"

Jim grunted and opened yet another pocket. "When's the last time you ate?"

"Day before yesterday." He snatched the bar out of Jim's hands before the man could unwrap it for him. "I'll do it."

After he took his first bite, Jim removed a third bar and started his own breakfast. He finished his bar a few seconds before Jim did.

"Where to now, man?" Blair asked with a shiver. The rock was cold. He wanted to start moving knowing the activity would warm him up.

"Before we head out, you need to tell me if you have any other injuries," Jim said before popping the last bite into his mouth. He gave Blair a no nonsense look as he chewed the bar.

Blair rolled his eyes and gathered up the bottom of his sweater and T-Shirt. Turning sideways on the bank, he lifted his clothing and showed Jim his back. A footprint size bruise decorated his back, just to the right of his spine, a few inches above his jeans. Jim gently touched it, feeling the heat radiate off the injury.

"Piss any blood this morning?"

Blair shook his head, holding his position until Jim was happy. He felt the ex-medic pull down his sweater, signaling it was okay to turn back around. Jim was pulling out a small bottle. Removing the cap, he shook out four red Advil pills and handed them over. Blair accepted the medication and used the last of the water to wash them down.

"Anything else?"

"Nope."

Jim nodded, seemingly satisfied with Blair's response this time and stood. He fished something out of his front jean pocket and dropped it into Blair's open hand. "Okay, then. Guard the pack, I'll be right back."

Blair glanced down at one of his leather hair ties then watched the man disappear into the foliage, knowing he was still listening. "Here that, raccoons and squirrels? Ya gotta get through me to get to this pack."

In less than the time it took Blair to remove his cap and finger comb his hair and tie it back, Jim reappeared, striping green branches off a sturdy looking stick. Blair's face burned as he realized what Jim was fashioning for him and where he'd left the one the doctor had ordered him to use. Had it been only four days ago he'd purposefully left that cane behind in a spontaneous act of defiance? Jim had been so `in-his-face' about following the doctor's orders to the letter that Blair couldn't resist doing the opposite. He felt more than a little childish.

Jim wordlessly handed over the walking stick and picked up the pack to slip on to his shoulders. "We're looking at a few hours of walking, I want to know to minute you have any problems, got it?"

Blair used the new walk aid to push himself off the bank and studied the tip. He nodded his head in complete agreement.

"If we're lucky, we'll be sleeping on something a lot better than an air mattress tonight, Chief." Jim teased with a twinkle in his eye.

According to Jim's watch, they had been walking for twice as long as he'd estimated before he spied the paved two-lane road through the trees. They had been forced to circle around ranches and homes to stay out of sight. Leaning against a tree, Jim listened carefully to the surrounding area. Blair dropped with a grunt to sit on a fallen log. He must be warmed up by now, Jim guessed, tired as well. The cap was missing from the shorter man's head, now stuffed into the backpack. They had stopped for a break two hours ago, only because Jim ordered it. Blair seemed to refuse to acknowledge the need, stubborn kid, but he drank a second bottle of water and ate another energy bar. The supply of energy bars was down to one. If they needed to, he had small capsules he could use to help make any stream water safe, but he wasn't looking forward to drinking it.

Jim listened to a car drive by, doing about forty miles an hour. He continued to wait. So far, the search had been from the air, though he'd detected people behind them on foot as well. By now the people responsible for Blair's kidnapping had to be searching the nearby roads. He assumed they'd found the vehicle he'd left, although it wasn't a problem, as Jim had very carefully searched for anything that might identify him before leaving.

It wouldn't take a huge leap in guesswork to put two and two together and correctly guess who was behind the rescue. As soon as Blair's kidnappers checked with Cascade, they were going to learn Jim was missing. He didn't care. He was willing to stay under as long as Blair was in danger anyway. The big risk now to both men, was being hunted with dogs. Naomi's information had run an eighty percent chance they couldn't get a team of trackers together fast enough to catch them. He prayed that the other twenty percent wasn't going to bite him in the ass, literally. His automatic was strapped to his side under the sweater, just in case.

A large truck drove by. This time Blair heard the sound and stood with a hopeful expression. "Jim! We're near civilization!"

Jim grinned at his friend. "We never left it, Sandburg."

"Wha...You mean we've being walking all morning for no reason, man?" Blair was going from elated to surprised and heading towards anger with lighting speed judging from the expressions on his face.

Jim's grin slid away, replaced by a sigh. He'd better take a few minutes here. "Let's take five, Chief. We need to have a talk."

Blair continued to glare, but returned to his perch on the log, scooting down to make room.

"So spill it. And don't think I'm not totally thankful for the `cavalry-to-the-rescue' scene you did last night, man. But what the hell is going on?"

"I told you it's complicated and I wasn't kidding. We're in some serious deep shit right now." Jim scrubbed his face, letting some of his exhaustion show for the first time in the last twelve hours. Last night while Blair slept, he'd listened to the men searching for his partner. Several times they passed within hailing distance of them. God, when was the last time he'd had more than a few hours of sleep? Sunday? Saturday?

"Jim!" Blair nervously clutched his hiking staff.

Jim clapped a hand on the back of Blair's neck and squeezed lightly, forcing himself to smile. Blair looked scared.

"Sorry, Chief. I didn't mean to sound so grim. We're going to be okay. I just meant that for a few days, we can't come in."

"Come in? When did we go out?" Blair looked more confused than scared now as he watched Jim's face carefully.

"I mean we can't go home right now."

Jim watched as Blair tried to wrap his mind around that idea. "Can we call Simon?"

Jim shook his head.

"We can't call for `any help?"

"No." Jim gave another squeeze. "We're going to practice a little military `escape and evade' for a while."

Blair's dropped his eyes to watch a beetle lumber across the ground. "Was it some thing I did? Did I screw up again?" he asked, his quiet voice sounding miserable.

"No, Sandburg. I can, without hesitation, tell you that in no way, no how, you're to blame for this. Am I getting through your thick head or do you want it in writing?" Jim shook Blair slightly by the neck as he spoke.

Blair snorted and weakly slapped Jim in the chest with his hand. Jim was pleased to see a ghost of a smile appear, but it was gone in the next sigh. Blair looked awful. His hair was filthy. His unshaved face made him look scruffy. He smelled like someone that had not bathed in days. He was like a person living on the street, without any hope for a different life. Seeing Blair in this condition was a shock.

The sound of another truck driving down the road reached their ears.

"Jim, I really don't want to play army right now. I want to go home," Blair said, as if he already knew what Jim was going to tell him.

"Sorry, buddy. It's just not an option." Jim hated doing this. He hated Naomi right now more than anyone he'd ever hated before in his life.

"Don't I get a say in this?"

Blair was beginning to come across with a little more attitude. It was time to nip any thought of mutiny that was sprouting in that curly head right in the bud.

"No. You don't," Jim said slowly with emphasis. "And if I catch you trying to give me the slip or making a phone call, you're going to find yourself `my' prisoner, understand?"

Blair gave a small smile, his eyes still on the ground. "Well, at least I know your thoughts on the subject, Jim." He poked at the beetle with his staff; it had stopped in the middle of the path. Blair urged it into the high grass.

"I'm serious, Sandburg. If you let `anyone' know where you are, you're back in their hands and I'm dead."

Blair's head whipped around, his face openly displaying real fear. "Okay, man. I swear. I won't do anything until I clear it with you." Blair clutched Jim's arm. "I mean it, man. You're the boss."

Jim gave him a nod, but schooled his expression to remain stern.

"We're going to make it, Chief. I promise."

Jim gave Blair the last energy bar then they walked parallel to the road for several miles, staying in the cover of the woods. It was harder work and Blair finally had stopped asking why they just couldn't walk on the shoulder. Jim had to smile, Blair would let him be the boss, but he never promised to be a quiet subordinate.

Still, as he watched Blair stumble through a particularly thick, bushy spot, he gave the man some due. It was not an easy trek for Jim, and he wasn't recovering from a bullet wound.

Looking through the trees, Jim recognized a large oak snag that had been killed from a lightning strike years ago.

Finally, they had made it.

"Take a breather, Chief," Jim ordered.

Blair dropped to the ground. "Man, the charge of the Light Brigade was easier than following a bossy sentinel."

Locating a pile of tree limbs, Jim began pulling the top branches off and throwing them to one side.

"Uh, Jim? You okay, man?"

"Stay put, Sandburg," Jim told him. The pile was shrinking in size. Bits of chrome started to peek out between the leaves.

After a few minutes, he had an old Suzuki 1100 motorcycle uncovered. It was in need of a wash, road dirt dulled the maroon-colored fairing and rear luggage box. One side of the windshield had a crack in the Plexiglas. Its tires looked in good condition. Before paying for the bike with the money Naomi had provided, he had taken it for a test run. The bike had good speed and sounded in fair condition. Jim rolled it out into the clearing.

"Oh, wow! Where did this come from?" Blair was at his side, reaching for the black helmet hanging on the handlebars.

"I stashed it here yesterday. This is plan `B'. Plan `A' died when the helicopter started searching for us last night."

"Awesome! I am `so' into giving my feet a rest. I didn't even know you rode." Blair had the helmet on and was fiddling with the chinstraps. "What was plan `C', man?"

Jim opened the rear compartment and pulled out a heavy jacket. "Didn't have one." He handed the jacket to Blair and pulled out a larger one for himself.

Jim had ensured that Blair's clothes, the bike and their coats were secondhand to avoid attracting attention, but the full-face helmets were brand new. He'd mussed them up a little with grease and let dirty water dry on them, but they were the best he could buy.

After stowing the backpack into the same compartment he'd taken the jackets from, he pushed the bike through the bushes and out onto the road. Jim straddled the bike, the powerful motor roared to life. He nodded his head for Blair to get on behind him.

Holding his stick up, Blair pointed to it with his free hand. Jim made a throwing gesture with his hand toward the woods. The stick sailed into the brush. Reaching back to grip Blair by the waist of his jeans to steady him, Jim watched over his shoulder as Blair slowly worked his injured leg up and over the seat. Finally, Blair was settled in.

"Hold on!" Jim shouted over the motor.

"Got it," Blair answered grasping the bars that supported the luggage box behind him.

Jim twisted sideways and took one of Blair's arms off the bar. He wrapped it around his own waist.

"I mean, hold on to me! Both hands!"

"Oh."

Blair fought sleep as they rode. The sound of the tires on the asphalt, the vibration of the motorcycle and the warm sun on his back all combined to lull him into a doze. More than once, he came fully awake from the sound of his helmet hitting the back of Jim's. Both of his hands were hooked by his fingers into Jim's belt, Blair could feel the holstered gun that the cop was wearing.

Without a watch, Blair didn't know the time, but he guessed they had been riding for a few hours. They rode without stopping, sticking to small two lane roads and bypassing any major cities. The road signs told him they were in the eastern part of the United States. Jim kept the bike pointed in a southwestern direction. The sun felt so good. Blair shifted in the seat and closed his eyes, just enjoying the heat.

Tap.

"Oops, sorry, man."

Jim responded by slowing the bike down and pulling into a gravel parking lot in front of an old-fashion looking hamburger stand. Blair sat up with sudden interest.

Food!

The bike coasted over to the far corner of the parking lot, into the shade of a tree. Jim killed the engine. He gave Blair a nod to dismount. Blair groaned as he slid sideways, on to his good leg and eased his injured one off the saddle. He felt Jim's hand snag his arm to steady him.

Together they got the bike high-centered onto its stand, then Jim removed his helmet and rubbed his forehead with one hand.

"You ready for some food?" he asked as he reattached the chinstrap and hung his helmet on the nearest handlebar.

"Oh, yeah. I'm starving!" Blair eagerly set his own helmet on the seat and started across the large gravel lot towards the outside order window.

Jim stopped with a hand on his arm. "Not so fast, Sandburg. You walk over there with that face, and everyone's going to remember seeing you. Tell me what you want and I'll go get it."

Blair rolled his eyes, the thought of food so close was too much. "Jim, give it a rest, we've got to be hundreds of miles and three states away from that horse ranch."

Jim jerked him back to stand near the bike. "Sit. Down. And. Wait."

"Fine." Blair said. "Get me a sandwich. Turkey or chicken, whatever. And a big order of onion rings." Blair grabbed Jim's arm as he started to turn. "Hold it, man. I'm just getting started here! Give me a pen, I'll write this down."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Just give me the order, Godzilla, I'll remember it."

A few minutes later, Jim stood in line behind a large family of six. Hyperactive kids raced around their parents and the outside picnic tables. Blair watched from the bike, listening to the pinging sounds coming from the bike as it cooled down. The aroma of food floated on the breeze. Blair's stomach growled in response. He wanted to jump off the bike to push his way past the line and into the window and start eating everything in sight.

"Oh, man. This is going to take forever! Just flash your badge and cut in, Jim," Blair whispered with a groan, half serious. Jim tossed him an exasperated look. Blair wasn't sure if Jim was directing the look at him or the kids.

Just then a black Cherokee pull into the opposite end of the parking lot. Blair watched Jim step out of line and walk over to a nearby picnic table.

"What the heck?" Blair muttered.

Jim casually picked up some trash left on a picnic table and even went so far as to wipe his mouth with a napkin. Crossing to a nearby garbage can, he tossed the wrappers and paper cup away and headed back toward Blair.

"Hey, man! What about the food?" Blair blurted out as his friend neared.

"Get your helmet on," Jim ordered. Blair opened his mouth to ask why. Jim picked up the Blair's helmet and thrust it into his hands. "Now, Chief. No questions."

Blair eased his leg over the seat and pushed himself backwards, making room Jim. He didn't even have the strap threaded through the two `D' rings before they were back on the road.

Blair was numb with disappointment. His thoughts briefly flashed back to his freshman year in high school. His mom had promised he could finish his year at a school that he really liked. But the next day, when he got home from classes, he found all their stuff loaded into the van. No explanation, no appeal, no nothing.

Blair's stomach rumbled, this time painfully. He let the front of his helmet purposefully tap the back of Jim's.

"You'd better have a good reason for torturing me like this, man."

He felt Jim pat his left leg then they accelerated down the road.

Jim read the approaching billboard for a Super 8 motel more than a mile down the 2-lane road. He was still nervous after the near miss with the Cherokee earlier in the day. Thankfully, he'd overheard the two men inside talking about Blair. Neither man noticed them leaving on the bike. Since then, Jim had only stopped once. That stop couldn't be avoided. The bike had been down to a few drops of gas. He'd ordered Blair not to remove his helmet as he left him to fill the tank. After paying for the fuel with cash, he dropped a pack of Starburst fruit chews into Blair's hand before they continued down the road.

Now they were nearing the outskirts of Memphis. It was past midnight. The pressure of Blair's weight on Jim's back told him that Blair had fallen asleep. If Jim continued any more riding tonight, he'd most likely fall asleep as well.

With the sound of the bike downshifting, Blair shifted and sat back up. Jim patted his leg and pointed to the motel sign.

"Okay, sounds good," he heard Blair mutter around a yawn.

After ringing the doorbell, Jim got the clerk to let him into the office and started the paperwork for checking in. The bike was parked out front where Jim could keep an eye on it.

"Will you and Mrs. McDonald be staying more that one night?"

Jim picked up the fake ID that Naomi had given him and glanced over his shoulder at Blair. With the bulky coat and the brown hair poking out from the bottom of his helmet, he could be mistaken for a woman.

"No, we're on our way to New York to visit her sister. One night is all we need."

Wait until Blair finds out about this.

Their room was on the ground floor in the back of the building. Jim unlocked the door and flipped on the light switch. It was small but clean. A bathroom was visible through an open door to their left. A low set of dresser drawers doubled as a coffee station with a small Mr. Coffee and packets of grounds. The green floral bedspread was dulled from multiple washing. Jim closed the door, locking it at the knob and the safety chain.

Blair worked at the strap under his chin and removed his helmet. "My body wants to crash. My stomach wants to eat. I can't decide who to listen to, man." He fell face down on the bed with a groan. His next sentence was muffled as he spoke into the bedspread. "Jim, did I just walk into a motel room with a single bed?"

"Yep." Jim set his helmet down on the dresser and headed for the bathroom. "Don't leave the room, Sandburg. I checked you in as Mrs. McDonald. You're going to confuse the staff if they see you as a man."

Blair sat up. "What did you say?"

"The night clerk just assumed we were a couple, that's why we have a single. It's a better cover than two men checking in."

When Jim re-entered the room, Blair slowly pushed himself off the bed and headed for the bathroom. Jim rummaged around in his backpack. "If you want, I'll go get us some food at the corner gas station, they have a food mart."

"I want, man. I definitely want. Can you get a razor? I'm gonna shower and I really need a shave." He disappeared into the bathroom.

Jim had a large sack in his hand when he returned to their room. The shower was still running, telling him he'd better wait till morning if he wanted any hot water. Removing a few items they would need that night, he entered the steamy bathroom.

"Hey, you want that razor now?"

"Sure, thanks, man."

Jim stuck his arm over the top of the curtain rod. "High."

The razor was carefully taken out of his fingers.

Jim picked up a small bottle of shampoo with cream rinse added and held it over the curtain. "Here, for your hair."

"Awesome, man. Thanks."

A clean and whisker-free Blair walked into the room a few minutes later. A white towel wrapped around his waist. Jim had set out hotdogs, chips, chocolate milk and peanut butter crackers. He watched as Blair grabbed a hotdog and ripped off the wrapper, shoving half of it into his mouth. Blair began to eye the rest of the food items greedily as he chewed.

"It's all yours. Just do me a favor and eat it slowly, okay?"

Blair gave Jim a guilty look and nodded. The food was consumed at a slower rate, giving Jim time to get out more Advil and a clean pair of boxers for Blair to sleep in.

"Jeez, man." Blair exclaimed as the underwear was laid out next to where he sat. "You got a free weekend in Mexico in there too?"

Jim scratched his head with a wry grin. "In a way. I have some fake I.D. for both of us, good enough to get us into Mexico, if we need to."

Blair had finished the hotdog and chips. He had the crackers opened and was reaching for the milk. "Mexico?"

"Maybe, we'll see." Jim reached out and snagged a bag of chips for himself. He didn't have the energy at the moment to discuss why they were running. Frankly, Jim was amazed that Blair wasn't demanding an explanation.

Blair sat on the edge of the bed, drinking the last of the milk. When Jim handed the Advil over, Blair swallowed them and yawned. He set the uneaten crackers back on the dresser and reached for the boxers. "I can't stay awake any longer, man."

By the time Jim had double-checked the locks, turned off the light to the bathroom and tossed the trash from their picnic, Blair was already under the blankets.

"Night, Jim."

Jim flipped the switch by the door and stripped down to his T-shirt and boxers. Blair had left him the side of the bed near the door, which was just fine with him. He got under the covers, flipping the top spread off him and doubling up over Blair.

"Try not to kick me, Sandburg."

Blair answered with a snore.

The next day they crossed over the state line into the rolling plains of Texas. The sky was heavy with angry, dark clouds that threatened unpleasantness. Jim eyed the storm warily. Riding a motorcycle could be an exhilarating experience, but not in a storm. As if God himself threw a switch, the clouds began to toss large grape-size hailstones. He heard Blair yelp in pain and felt him curl his body in close.

The landscape they rode through was bleak. No trees or shelter in sight. Jim had picked this route because of its remoteness. That was turning out to be a disadvantage. Jim twisted the throttle on the handle-bar, increasing the bike's speed. Most of the hailstones were deflected by the large nose and windshield of the bike, but Blair was too far back to benefit.

"Stay close!" Jim yelled over his shoulder. Blair drew closer, flinching each time a stone struck a part of his body.

Shit, he had to find shelter. Fast.

Using his sentinel vision like a zoom lens on a camera, Jim spotted a dry wash over a mile ahead. It ran under the road and looked like the best shelter they were likely to find out here. As they neared, he slowed down and parked on the shoulder of the road. Thankfully no cars had passed them for the last half an hour. The bike would be safe while they waited the storm out.

Kicking the side stand down, Jim dismounted and quickly pulled Blair off the bike. He retrieved the pack from its compartment and headed for the wash, towing Blair. The hailstones hit his shoulders and arms with tiny painful blows that stung even through his layers of clothes. Thankfully the helmet protected both their heads from any injury.

The ground was becoming white from the hail, causing them both to slip and slid. Blair stumbled, almost going to his knees except for Jim's hand around his upper arm, yanking him back up onto his feet. They scrambled towards the large metal pipe under the asphalt road. During the rainy season, when the wash would fill with water, the pipe would allow the flow to run safely under the road without eroding it away.

"Hold it, Chief." Jim held Blair back and scanned the dark interior carefully for snakes, finding none. "Okay."

The pipe was large, about five feet in diameter. Both men ducked their heads low. The ribbed metal floor was covered with loose rocks, causing both men to slip a little as they entered.

Blair pulled his helmet off and slid slowly down to sit on his butt, his arms propped on knees, gasping for breath and shivering. "Oh, man!"

"Yeah." Jim removed his own helmet and sat down in front of Blair, sitting at a ninety-degree angle to watch the storm. He wanted to keep an eye on the dry bed, knowing he would hear the water long before it arrived. The last thing they needed was a flash flood. "You said it."

Blair rested his head in both hands. "God, I feel like a slab of meat that's just been tenderized with a mallet!"

"Sorry, Sandburg. I didn't figure a hailstorm into the situation."

Blair started laughing. It sounded good to hear that laugh. Jim had missed it, even though he thought it was currently tinged with a dash of hysteria.

"Oh, my God, Jim. Listen to yourself, man! Now you're taking responsibility for the weather." He smacked Jim's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Lighten up, even Superman couldn't control the storms. Now, if you were one of the X-men; now that chick with the white hair could really..."

"Sandburg, are you okay?"

Blair pulled his hair out of its tie and scratched his scalp with both hands. "Yeah, man. I'm cool."

"You need more Advil?"

He shook his head. "Nah, but I wouldn't turn down a hot tub. You manage to pack one of those?"

Jim returned the smile and rolled his eyes. He removed a water bottle from the pack and handed it over. "This is the best I can do, Chief."

Blair accepted the bottle and took a long drink. Jim was happy to see Blair's swollen lip was getting better. The black eye was starting to fade but was still a visible reminder of what Blair had gone through that week.

"Jim. What's going on, man?" Blair rolled the bottle between the palms of his hands as he asked. "I know you saved my ass. I understand we have to keep moving to avoid being recaptured." Blair raised his head to look Jim squarely in the eyes. "I just don't know why."

Jim rubbed his forehead, unable to hold eye contact with his friend. "I told you it's complicated..."

"NO!" Blair's voice bounced off the curved walls of their shelter. "You are NOT going to pull that shit!" He snapped his mouth shut and hid his face behind the water bottle. Jim watched him breath deeply a few times. When the hands were lowered, Blair looked calmer.

"Okay, okay. That was over the top, sorry. I'm a little freaked out here." Blair handed the bottle back. "Please, man. Just tell me what's going on."

Jim took the bottle out of the hands and replaced the cap.

"Listen. I'm not just blowing you off when I say it's complicated. I don't know much. I was handed your location and the means to get you out. Frankly, at the time, that's all I cared about. You were being used to influence some person in a powerful position, to get this person to do something out of character and possibly at risk to national security."

Blair's eyes narrowed, his brow wrinkled in intense concentration. Then he shook his head wordlessly. Before he could say anything, Jim glanced outside to see large raindrops had replaced the hailstones.

"Come on, Chief. The storm's switched to the rinse cycle, let's ride." Jim stood and brushed the seat of his jeans with both hands. He grasped the hand that Blair raised and hoisted the frowning man to his feet.

The scenery flew by Blair at sixty miles an hour. He clutched Jim's belt with his mitten-covered hands. Before they had started riding, Blair had put the sweater back on, under the coat. It didn't help, he was still shivering. How could Texas be so cold? The fact that his jeans were wet didn't exactly help matters much. Jim had promised they'd stop in the next town that had a motel. He couldn't wait.

He leaned in closer to his friend, hoping to steal whatever heat he could from the bigger man. The broken yellow line painted on the wet asphalt was inches from his booted foot. Blair watched it in almost a trance. The effect of the moving dashes was like a yellow blinking light.

He purposefully let his mind become mesmerized by the effect of the painted line. It was a relief to stop thinking about the statement Jim had made in the pipe.

National security?

Blair Sandburg?

I don't think so.

He'd been pondering it for the past hour while he shivered. He was tired of thinking about it.

Man, Texas was huge! How far to the next town? The last couple of communities they had passed through only had farms and a gas station. One had an old singlewide trailer turned into a post office.

His thoughts returned to the reason for their travels. He had been so stunned at Jim's statement, he didn't think to ask who the `very important person' was. Why would this bigwig care about what happened to some grad student from Cascade, Washington?

If Blair didn't know better, he'd accuse Jim of using the motorcycle to prevent them from continuing their talk. Sure Blair could talk and Jim would hear him. But hearing what Jim said was another story. The wind snatched away every other word Jim said. No way could Blair understand anything more than `hold on' or `stay awake'.

He realized that their time in the pipe was the first time they'd had a chance to talk since the rescue. That morning, Jim had hustled him onto the bike before sunup after eating the food items left over on the dresser. Blair would have expected to be starving by now, but he wasn't. In fact the thought of food actually turned his stomach. Now it had to be close to dinnertime judging by the fading light. Blair still wasn't hungry, for food that is, he was starving for a warm dry bed.

The bike gears dropped a level, a signal that Jim was slowing down. Blair leaned out a bit to see around his back.

A motel? He looked down the road hopefully.

A small log cabin style restaurant appeared down the road. A few cars and several trucks were parked in front. Blair ducked back behind his wind block, disappointed to learn they were only stopping for food, not sleep.

"Okay, Sandburg. Let's get out of the rain for a bit." Jim waited for Blair to slide his leg over the seat before he got off and pulled the bike onto its stand. They hung their helmets on the handles. "No names while we're inside. Try not to attract any attention."

Blair eyed the eatery. It was obviously a barbeque. The first clue was the name on the large sign above the building `The Warthog', the second clue couldn't be missed as they entered the front doors. Mounted heads of wild pigs, antelope and other animals hung on the walls. Everywhere they looked the gleaming peeled logs were decorated with hunting and animal trophies.

"I suppose asking to see the vegetarian menu would fall under the category of attracting attention," Blair muttered under his breath. The place was over half full of diners. He shivered as they walked towards an empty table in the corner. It felt as if the air conditioning was on, for crying out loud.

Jim set the backpack under the table and draped his coat over the back of the bench seat. He sat facing the front door, reaching for the menus tucked behind squirt bottles of barbeque and hot sauce. Blair sat with his shoulders hunched, hugging his chest.

"Ribs smell good, what are you getting?"

"Pneumonia, you think they'd turn the damn heat up in here." Blair ignored the menu and pulled the collar of his coat tight. The coat was fairly waterproof, but Blair's jeans and boots were soaked.

"You need food. Order something hot."

Blair shook his head. "I think I'd end up just hurling if I ate anything, J--, man."

"Hi! Y'all ready to order?"

Blair looked up at the young woman wearing jeans, cowboy boots and a `Warthog' apron over a red T-shirt. She looked about nineteen.

"I'll have a rack of pork ribs with cornbread and a coffee. What's your soup today?"

"Chicken `n carrot with noodles." She showed off her dimples. "My dad makes it himself. Everyone loves it." Her Texas accent caused Blair to smile through his misery.

"Okay, you sold me. Large bowl with crackers and some tea." Jim folded the menu.

She nodded and looked at Blair. "How `bout you, sir?"

Blair shook his head. "Nothing, thanks."

She frowned. "You okay? Ya look a mite chilled."

Blair looked at Jim, unsure how to respond.

"We're on a bike, got caught in the hailstorm. He's a little cold-blooded," Jim explained.

"Oh, honey, I'm the same way." She looked around the dining room briefly. "Y'all follow me."

They followed her to a flight of stairs, which took them up to a smaller empty room with tables and chairs.

"The local lodge uses this room for their meetin's." She pulled a space heater away from the corner and pulled it in. "You just sit down and warm up. I'll bring your food up."

Blair felt a wave of blessed warmth as he sat. "Oh, wow. Thank you." He leaned forward and extended both hands towards the heater.

"Thank you, miss. We really appreciate this." Jim gave her a genuine smile that Blair suspected warmed the woman up as well.

"You're welcome." She leaned closer to whisper. "My boyfriend rides a Harley. Pa hates it, but I love to ride with him."

After the meal arrived, Jim moved the soup and tea over to Blair's side of the table.

"I told you, I'm not hungry," Blair said with a frown. He didn't have time to eat. He was too busy getting warm.

"Eat, the soup will help," Jim ordered.

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