The walk back did much to cool Blair's temper. He'd done it again. Why was he losing his cool every time he turned around? It wasn't like him. Jim wasn't at fault, and yet, he continued to be the brunt of his foul mood.

He stood quietly as Jim unlocked the door, waiting for the larger man to go first. Jim froze after taking one step, causing Blair to walk into his back.

"Wait," Jim ordered softly.

Blair's heart began to pound on his rib cage. He held a breath as Jim stood, seeming to survey their room with all his senses. Jim's nose flared, his eyes darted from corner to corner, he tilted his head to one side and opened his mouth as if to taste the air.

"We've had another visitor," Jim whispered so softly that Blair had to lean forward to catch the words.

They found the message left on Blair's bed, the one that hadn't been made with the military-like precision of Jim's. It was a commonplace tourist brochure for a local casino. Blair remembered seeing them on the rack in the resort's main lobby.

"What do you say we play the slots a little this evening, Junior?" Jim said in a normal, casual voice. "I feel like trying another restaurant for dinner tonight." Jim handed the glossy, colorful brochure to Blair.

No hidden message that he could see. Just an advertisement that promised good food, fun gambling and dancing for those inclined. Blair gave Jim a puzzled look. How could he be sure this is a message from Naomi?

"The smell," Jim said pointing to his nose. "Same as before."

Ahhhh.

Later that evening, Blair found himself sitting at a small, round table watching the people on the dance floor having fun. He'd been on pins and needles all afternoon, anxious to get to this casino. Now that he and Jim had arrived, wearing the best clothes they'd both packed, he was disappointed when a full hour had gone by without a sign of his mother.

He took another sip of his beer and considered switching to something stronger. No. He needed his head clear and too much alcohol had a way of making him sleepy. He fingered the spicy buffalo wing on his plate. Jim had eaten about a dozen, leaving four for Blair. Three were still left. Blair wasn't hungry. He pushed the plate away, his attention roaming the large room again. A long authentic canoe hung from the high ceiling. Black and red painted Indian wooden carvings of salmon and eagles decorated the walls of the game room. Rows of slot machines stood at attention nearby. At the other end of the room people sat around green tables, taking their chances with the card dealers.

"Excuse me, would you like to dance?" A pretty blonde woman smiled brightly at Jim.

Blair hadn't even noticed her approach. It wasn't the first time in the last sixty minutes Jim had been asked. Apparently, a Secretarial convention was being held in the nearby city of Ocean Shores this week and a busload of them had decided to hire a driver to bring them north to the casino tonight. Jim had quickly become the most popular male in the building.

"No, thank you. I'm danced out." Jim softened the answer with one of his lady-killing smiles.

Blair had to hide his smile. He'd never seen a swoon before.

After she was gone, Blair chuckled softly. "Dad, you are one hot ticket tonight."

Jim rolled his eyes. "It's the gray hair, I think. I may never go back." He stiffened, his eyes sliding off Blair to some point over the younger man's shoulder. "Don't look," he ordered sternly.

Blair wanted to turn, but held himself in check. "What?"

"I may change my mind about that dance." Jim stood as a newcomer neared their table.

It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. Blair gripped the edge of the table to steady himself.

"Care to dance?" she asked, her eyes for Jim alone.

"Love to," Jim answered, lightly taking the slender elbow and leading the woman away from Blair.

They were gone. Just like that. Blair remembered to breathe as he turned to watch the couple enter the dance floor. She was a beauty, with dark hair, the color of midnight. She was wearing a fire engine red dress that clung to all the right places. She moved like liquid mercury on the dance floor and it was easy to see dancing with her was a pleasure as Blair watched Jim hold her tight for the slow dance.

But then Blair knew what it was like, since this was the same woman that had taught him to slow dance nearly ten years ago, that day he'd run home with the news he'd finally asked a girl out on a date.

Naomi Sandburg knew how to sweep a man off his feet.

Waiting was painful. Blair was beginning to regret the single buffalo wing he had eaten. It was trying to burn a hole through his stomach lining. He knew he shouldn't stare, so he worked on acting casual while he nursed his beer and waited. He kept track of the music. Jim and his mom were on their third dance. Blair was about to consider leaving the table in search of his own dance partner when Jim returned to his seat with a sigh.

Alone.

"Where...?" He turned towards the dance floor, she was gone.

"Well, that was fun," Jim said brightly, picking up his drink and downing the contents in one swallow. "Ready to get some dinner?"

It totally sucked being undercover.

"Lighten up, Junior!" Jim slapped his back as they stood to head toward the restaurant in the back of the casino. "Is it my fault none of the ladies here are even close to your age?" He laughed, playing the part of the amused parent as he drew his son in for a brief hug. "Stop looking for her, she's gone," he whispered while they were close. "Let's eat!"

Blair obediently followed.

Their table was next to the large picture windows that faced the beach. Darkness hid the surf; the constant melody of the waves cresting and crashing reminded the diners they were beside the Pacific Ocean. Blair could see their reflections in the glass. Jim was studying the menu, looking every bit the man on vacation. He caught a look at his own reflection.

The term `shell-shocked' came to his mind.

How could his mother totally ignore him? Didn't she understand what the last four days had been like for him?

Right, Sandburg, it's all about you.

He lifted the heavy menu. It looked more like a novel with its thick cover and glossy pages. When the waitress came to take their order, he was still staring blankly at the appetizers.

"I'll have the seafood stew." Jim handed her his menu, looking to Blair expectantly. "Son?"

"I'm not very hungry," Blair replied honestly, giving his menu up as well.

"Bring two stews please," Jim ordered.

After the waitress wrote down their orders and headed for the kitchen Blair leaned over the table. "I hate it when you do that, man," he whispered, feeling his face flush with warmth.

"I can fit everything you've eaten today in a pencil cup," Jim answered, his eyes hard. "You need calories."

Blair knew he was right, but his mouth was like a train heading for the end of the track. "You let me decide what I need and don't need!" he hissed. "I'm not a kid."

"I agree, but you're acting like one," Jim answered with infuriating calmness. "I'm still your father. You may be over twenty-one, but you've still got a lot of growing up to do."

Blair's brain went into a rolling boil. Jim was using their roles to win the argument!

This was so not going to happen.

A million replies fought in Blair's mind for the right to be spoken next. Before he could select the proper one that was sure to peel paint, he realized they had a one-man audience.

He was standing off to the side, his attention obviously on the father and son and the fight in progress. Blair snapped his jaw shut and reached for his coffee with an unsteady hand, willing himself to calm down. The man seemed to see this as an opportunity to approach.

"Please, forgive me." His voice was smooth, refined and elegant sounding. Blair immediately pictured a vat of black oil. "Seeing you two together reminds me of times with my own father." He laughed, holding out a hand towards Jim. "I'm Christopher Staples."

Jim shook the hand coolly, looking like a person ready to rebuke a salesman. "James Polson, this is my son, James, Junior."

Blair nodded, his anger still on a slow boil, yet beginning to become curious about the strange intrusion.

"I won't stay long; I know you two are on vacation. I just wanted to introduce myself. My partner told me you were in computers and that you showed an interest in my business."

Jim waved a hand to an empty seat. "Yes, I have to confess, though, at the time I was more interested in dancing with your partner than in what she had to say."

Staples sat down, a smile playing on his face. "Yes...well, she has that effect on men."

"Frankly, my business is rather small. Most of my contracts are with Uncle Sam. It takes more than ninety percent of my resources to meet them. I doubt I could find the time to work with your business partners," Jim explained.

"That's the beauty, James. We'd be interested in looking at your current contracts."

Jim shook his head with a soft chuckle. "Sorry, those contracts are exclusive. I'm afraid I'm still too small of a fish yet to play with the big boys. I'm going to have to pass."

Staples stood, mirroring Jim's smile. "I understand. It was worth the effort to ask. Well... enjoy your vacation and excuse the interruption."

"No problem, good evening," Jim said, dismissing him while he reached for his coffee.

Blair waited until the man was out of sight before speaking. "You knew he was there."

"Yep."

"So, the fight was just an act?"

"Nope."

Blair waited until they were in the Chevy before grilling his friend.

"Spill, man."

Jim nodded. "Okay, first... she said she's okay. Not to worry."

Blair couldn't stop from snorting. Yeah, right.

"Then she said to pull out, head back to Cascade."

"What! You danced with her for an eternity! And that's all you two talked about?"

Jim shot him an exasperated look. "We talked, Chief. But we talked as if we'd just met. I'm guessing her job is to make initial contact with the targets and see if they are worth Mr. Staples' time."

Blair scrubbed his face hard with both hands. Okay. That did make sense in a sort of `spy-world' kind of way. Still, it irked him that they still knew so little. "When is she going to leave? How are we going to help her if we go home? What about Tristan? He's waiting for us to report!"

"Show down, Sandburg. Take a breath." Jim switched on the wipers. It was starting to rain again. "Remember what Cahill said? She probably didn't expect us to have these covers. I'm thinking it's too dangerous, she did tell me to turn Staples down if he made his move. Cahill knows where your mom is and he'll likely send trained operatives to back her up. We'll get a message to him and Simon when we get back to our room and update them on what happened tonight. In the morning we'll check out."

Blair couldn't answer, if he did, he'd be yelling again. He had to remember this was not Jim's fault. On one level, he even understood what the cop was saying. They weren't CIA agents; they'd probably screw it up somehow. But on a more basic level, the one closer to his heart, he refused to give in to that logic. He wouldn't leave his mother behind.

"I'm staying," he announced calmly, turning away to watch the dark trees pass by.

Jim just sighed, taking a hand off the wheel to rub his chest.

When they arrived at the resort, neither man had said anything more. Blair followed Jim into the room, not surprised to see Jim head for the bathroom and close the door.

What a mess.

Blair pulled the laptop out and powered it up. By the time Jim reappeared, he had it running, ready for Jim to type the message to send to Tristan. They exchanged places and Blair took his turn in the bathroom getting ready for bed. A travel-size roll of Tums peeked out from Jim's shaving kit. Blair frowned as he reached for his toothbrush.

Wonderful. Now Jim's got indigestion. It was always fun to fight with the man when his stomach was launching its own attack from within. Blair studied his reflection in the glass as he moved the brush up and down. His mom used to say she could take one look at his face and know when he'd done something wrong.

Blair had a feeling that look was there now, he felt guilty. This wasn't Jim's fault. In fact, Jim had really been there for him. It wasn't like he asked for a roommate who had a set of spies for parents.

Blair finished and left the bathroom, ready to apologize.

"Jim, I'm sorry." He stopped in surprise. "Hey, man, you okay?"

The older man was sitting stiffly on the edge of his bed, the laptop at his side. Deep lines of pain were etched in his face. His breathing was labored, one hand rubbing his chest. "I think something is... disagreeing with me."

Blair moved to his side, alarmed at the sick pallor he saw. When he touched Jim's arm, he realized his skin was cold and clammy. "Describe the pain, Jim."

"Crushing... like you're standing on my chest," Jim answered, then grunted in pain as he doubled over at the waist. "Oh, God!"

Realization hit Blair like a rude slap in the face. Suddenly, being in a remote resort with no phones did not appear so attractive.

"Where's the pain? Just in your chest?"

Jim stayed doubled over, his forehead pressed against his forearm that he'd draped over his knees. He shook his head. "No, it's going... into my shoulder and jaw."

Shit! Shit! Blair raced back into the bathroom and grabbed his bottle of aspirin. Returning to his friend's side, he managed to get the cap off with shaky fingers and spill several out into his palm. He handed one over to Jim, tossing the rest on the covers of his bed. "Take this! I'm going to get help. I'll be right back! Don't get up! Just stay here."

He waited for Jim to nod before flying out the door, running for the main desk. Susan was at the desk and responded immediately. "Okay, I'll call an ambulance from the phone at the store. Go back and stay with your dad."

Blair started to run back, skidding to a halt as he thought of something. "How long till it gets here?"

"Fifteen... maybe twenty minutes." she tossed the reply over her shoulder as she ran for the main doors. "Keep him calm, loosen any tight clothing, like a tie or collar." Then she was gone.

Back in his room, Jim was still on the bed. Blair opened up the two buttons at his collar. "You want to lie down?"

Jim shook his head. It was obvious the level of pain was still high. Blair was terrified. He'd seen Jim in grief, in pain from a sensory spike, even beat up. But this was different. This was Jim's own body hurting him, failing him.

"I told you those wonder burgers were no good, man," Blair said, trying for a joke, but choking on the last few words.

God, he felt so helpless.

"Listen to me," Jim whispered as another spasm of heart pain passed. "Get to Simon, he's staying in Aberdeen." Another bad spell caused Jim to stop and roll over onto his side; his face was white, his eyes scrunched shut. A low moan vibrated deep within the man's chest.

"Jim!" Blair fell to his knees next to the bed, clutching Jim's upper arm in frustration. "Don't talk! Please, please, just breathe. Relax for me and keep breathing." Blair looked over his shoulder at the open door. How long had it been? Where was the ambulance?

Susan came through the door. "How is he? Help is on the way." She was carrying a portable oxygen tank and clear tubing connected to a mask.

Blair was never happier to see anyone in his life.

When the two men wearing white uniform shirts arrived with their medical boxes and rolling gurney, Jim was barely conscious. They quickly started an I.V. of clear fluid, checked blood pressures and pulses. Amazingly, Blair remembered to stay in character. This was to his advantage, because the ambulance crew only let members of the family ride along.

Susan walked them out to the waiting ambulance, squeezed Blair's arm and wished them luck as they loaded Jim into the back. The older man's pain seemed better now, not as extreme and for the first time since it started, Blair began to believe everything was going to be okay.

"Want to ride in the back?" the attendant asked, looming nearly two feet over Blair's head. He looked about thirty, his tree-trunk sized arms stretched his uniform and his muscular chest could be rented out as a billboard.

"Thanks." Blair scrambled in, settling on the long bench next to Jim's gurney. He eyed his friend's face. Jim looked like he was sleeping, his face peaceful again. His color was still much too pale, but he didn't look as sweaty as before.

"So, when did this attack start? My name's Jay, by the way," the large man asked.

"Ah, right after dinner, I guess," Blair answered, not taking his eyes off Jim's face. "He thought it was indigestion at first."

"That happens a lot," Jay said, busy stowing their equipment. The ambulance began to move and he folded into a seat above the gurney, leaving Blair to sit next to Jim. "Your dad ever have heart problems before? He looks pretty fit to me."

Shaking his head, Blair leaned forward as Jim's eyelids fluttered for a second. He nearly blurted out `Jim' before stopping himself in time. "Dad?"

"Chief... go to Simon." Jim seemed so weak, barely able to speak.

"I'll call from the hospital. Everything's going to be okay now. Just rest, man." Blair patted his friend's arm, careful of the I.V tubing.

"He's going to sleep for a bit, that medicine in his drip makes folks sleepy," Jay explained as he wrote on a clipboard.

Blair didn't bother to answer, content to watch the rise and fall of Jim's chest.

When the ambulance stopped, Blair glanced out the two boxy windows in the rear doors. The last few blocks had been rough, like the road was under construction. It was black outside, no streetlights, no sounds of cars passing by. Blair frowned. What kind of backwater hospital would this turn out to be? Jim was right; he did need to get a hold of Simon right way. They could transfer Jim to a bigger hospital as soon as possible, maybe in Olympia.

"End of the ride," Jay announced, leaving his seat and removing the IV needle from Jim's arm then taping a quick cotton ball over the puncture site.

The back doors swung open and Jay's partner appeared. The two attendants released the rolling bed from its clamp and slid Jim out. Blair followed, shivering in the coolness of the night. The rain was falling hard, soaking all of them within seconds. Blair stayed close to Jim's side. The man was asleep, not even the rain on his face waking him.

Adjusting the blanket higher to try and protect as much of his friend from getting wet as possible, Blair glanced up to see how far before they reached the safety of the hospital.

They weren't at a hospital at all.

They weren't even in a town.

"What the hell!" He froze, then twisted his neck, peering around to take in their location.

"Keep walking, kid," Jay ordered, his friendly demeanor gone.

Two men stepped out from the darker shadows holding guns. Blair gripped the gurney's rail hard with both hands, furious with himself for not recognizing what had happened. "We don't have time for this! He needs a hospital!"

One of the gunmen gestured up the slope towards the huge house, the only structure visible in the thick forest they'd driven out to. "Move or we'll drag you by your hair."

Blair moved, keeping close to Jim. The kidnappers took them inside through a side door. They watched Blair carefully as they moved through a large commercial-sized kitchen, as if he planned to lunge for a drawer in search for a butcher knife. The next doorway led to a long hallway. They followed this to the end, emerging in a sitting room of sorts, apparently decorated by a person with an interest in hunting.

Eyeing the animal heads, Blair refused to think of them as trophies. He didn't notice the familiar man in the room until the other man spoke.

"James, Junior... welcome."

It was Staples. Blair released Jim's bed rail and took several angry steps towards him, stopped only by the sudden presence of one of the gunmen.

"Unless you've got a doctor and a complete medical setup for my dad..."

"Relax." Staples held up a calming hand. "Your father's not having a heart attack. I had something added to his stew just to make him think he was."

Blair had heard the expression `seeing red' a million times, but he hadn't realized that it was physically possible, until this moment. With a primal scream, he launched himself at Staples, hands out, reaching for the throat, ready to rip it apart. Staples fell back, a flash of fear ghosting across his face. But Jay moved quickly, cutting off Blair's attack and holding the smaller man back.

"You stupid idiot!" Blair screamed, twisting in the man's hirsute, muscular arms. "You could have killed him!"

Staples took another step back and Blair felt a momentary surge of satisfaction to see the man forced to regain his composure before replying. "Such fierce loyalty! A rare commodity in today's children," he said in a slightly shaky voice. "These men will take you to your room. We'll talk more when your father is awake."

They rolled Jim through another door and Blair stopped struggling. He didn't want to be separated from Jim. Not if he had some unknown drug in his blood. He needed to be watched. Thankfully, he was taken in the same direction. A full size elevator lowered them down one floor. Blair tried to memorize the turns and hallways, but it was hard. The house had been built with a main structure and two wings. He remembered seeing at least three levels from outside.

"Here you go, little man," Jay announced as they opened a metal door. They rolled the gurney into the small room, then, with a sudden movement, upended one side, dumping Jim to the concrete floor. The dull thud of the unconscious man's head hitting the floor caused Blair to flinch.

"You shit-heads!" Blair yelled, furiously trying to jerk free from Jay's iron-like grip.

Blair got his wish as Jay shoved him hard, too fast to catch himself. He fell on his hands and knees into the room. The gurney was being rolled out. In a blur, Blair snatched the blanket off as it left and scrambled backwards to squat next to Jim's body.

Jay laughed. "Keep it, little man."

Seconds later, Blair was alone with his sentinel. The sound of a deadbolt being driven home was followed by footsteps walking away.

The first thing Jim registered when he woke was the absence of pain. The second was the warmth at his side accompanied by the familiar sound of Blair's snores. Thoughts were fuzzy and his mental processing seemed off, like an old computer that had fallen behind in the world of technology. Blinking a few times, Jim noted the bare concrete walls, the cool temperature in the room, the roughness of the wool blanket over his and Blair's body and made a few rapid conclusions.

Not a hospital.

An obvious shortage of beds.

They were in trouble.

Blair faced him, pressed close on the narrow bed, asleep on his side. Neither of them had a pillow, so his head was tilted at an awkward angle. Jim lifted an arm, still sore from the I.V. and gently laid a hand over his friend's mouth. "Rise and shine, Chief," he whispered. Blue eyes opened in alarm, followed by relief as they locked with his. Jim removed his hand. "Hey, son," Jim continued, hoping Blair would understand the unspoken reminder.

"Hey," Blair answered quietly, his eyes searching Jim's face. "Are you okay? They drugged you. It wasn't a heart attack."

"Staples?" He should have seen this coming. Damn, these guys moved fast. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Blair sat up, moving stiffly off the bed. Jim followed. Their prison was small, about ten by fifteen feet, no windows, no rugs, just a bed and a drain in the floor giving off a strong smell of urine.

"I don't think this place is listed in the Northwest Escape Magazine," Blair noted.

The words were meant to be light and casual, but the delivery spoke to the underlying fear. Jim had to give his friend credit, he was trying. But whoever was behind this was expecting the typical reaction of a software business owner.

Going to the heavy metal door, Jim tried the knob, found it locked and kicked it hard with his foot. "Hey!! Open the damn door!" After playing the part of the furious victim for a few more minutes, he gave up and made a show of closely examining the lock to the door, then surveying the walls. Blair stood in the center of the room, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso.

The result was as expected. They seemed to be in a secure holding area. Jim detected a miniature lens high in a corner, sunk into a rough patch of concrete, unseen by the casual eye. A microphone was probably in the recessed light fixture, safe behind a heavy-duty mesh.

"What happened? How did we get here?" he asked, rubbing a sore spot on the back of his head.

"The ambulance, I don't think those guys really work for the hospital. They gave you something that made you sleep and brought us both to this huge house in the forest." Blair dropped his eyes, as if in shame. "I didn't watch which direction we were going, sorry."

Jim rolled his eyes, pulling Blair back to sit beside him on the bed. "It's not a problem; you had other things on your mind." Draping an arm around Blair's shoulders he realized his friend was shivering. Blair's shirt was damp. One problem with being in a rainforest is the high humidity. Wet clothes took forever to dry, especially if they were forced to remain in this cold room.

"Here." Jim took the wool blanket off the bed to wrap around his guide. "We may have a long wait," he whispered. "There's a camera over there in the corner, they're listening in on us, too."

When the guards came for them, Blair had dropped off to sleep again, sitting next to Jim, still wrapped in the blanket. Jim woke his friend and the three gunmen escorted them to an elevator, ending up in a large room with a long oak table, a braided rug and picture windows that gave a full view of a lush rain forest. Bronze figurines of cowboys on horseback sat on shelves next to antique china cabinets.

Staples sat at the table, his back to the window. Two place settings waited for Jim and Blair. The guards pushed them to the table and indicated they were to take seats. Apparently it was time to feed the prisoners. Jim pulled the chair back and sat, Blair copied the movement.

"What the hell is going on? My son tells me I was drugged; made to think I was having a heart attack so you can - what, kidnap us?" Jim demanded, gripping the edge of the table angrily as he talked.

"Calm down, Mr. Polson. I'll explain everything." Staples waved in a heavyset man wearing a white apron. "First, it's time for breakfast. You two must be hungry."

The plates set down before them held a feast for the eyes, golden French toast, two eggs, and four sausages. Jim lifted Blair's plate to his face, taking a careful sniff before returning it. He couldn't smell anything, but then again, he'd never smelled anything in the stew. Jim made a sign to Blair, telling him not to eat yet.

"I want some answers, Mr. Staples. If that's really your name."

"It's not, but that's not your concern. The food is fine, here, let me show you." He picked up his own plate and switched it.

Jim switched it back. "It is my concern. Kidnapping is a serious issue. I want a car, we're leaving, we'll buy our own breakfast on the way back to Quinault."

Staples found that amusing. "So you can call the police and send them back? I don't think so. Here's the ugly fact, Polson." He picked up his fork and started to eat, taking time to pat his mouth with a cloth napkin in between sentences. "I want a look at the software you're designing for the military. We know you have several contracts. We're not greedy; we'll only take those we need. The military will never know."

"I'll know. That's enough," Jim said flatly. "The answer is still no."

"We've done our homework," Staples went on, unconcerned at Jim's lack of cooperation. "You're a widower. You have a single child, rather you had a single child." Staples looked at Blair with a hint of a smile. "Now, I have your son. If you want him back... alive, then you'll do as we tell you."

Jim could hear Blair's heart rate increase and he took a second to look at his guide. Blair sat perfectly still, looking unflappable in face of the obvious threat.

"He's not a traitor," Blair stated calmly.

"Maybe, but he is a father."

Jim never saw the signal, maybe there wasn't a physical one, maybe these people have been in the business of extortion for so long, they'd learned to read each other's minds. Whatever the reason, two of the gunmen hauled Blair out of his chair causing the younger man to yelp in surprise.

"Leave him alone!" Jim barreled out of his chair only to be stopped short, coming face to face with an automatic handgun.

Blair's arms were pinned behind his back by a large, muscular man, allowing the other man to deliver solid blows to his body. Blair grunted in pain as each rock-hard fist sank into his stomach, smashed into his cheek and ribs.

"I want those programs, Mr. Polson," Staples said, calmly resuming his breakfast. "I'll have James, Junior killed, right in front of your eyes and go find someone else you love. A girlfriend, maybe?"

"Tell them to stop!" Jim shouted, cursing the man, not having to pretend to be furious.

Staples seemed to read an adequate amount of terror and rage in Jim's voice because the attack stopped and Blair was dropped to the floor like last weeks dirty laundry. The other thugs stepped back, giving the sentinel silent permission to go to his guide. Jim knocked his chair back, toppling it in his haste. Blair was still conscious, bleeding from a deep cut on his cheek, curled into a fetal ball as Jim reached his side.

"Let me look," Jim demanded, his tone more harsh then he intended. Blair uncurled with a groan, his eyes screwed closed in pain, his breaths coming in short rapid gasps as if normal sized inhalations hurt. Jim pressed gently into Blair's stomach, holding his partner still with one hand on his shoulder. Still soft, but it was really too early to know if anything had been ruptured. Jim looked over his shoulder, his body literally vibrating with anger. "Touch him again and I'll kill you!"

Staples never looked up from his meal. "Take them back to their room. Mr. Polson has a lot to think about."

When the two bruisers moved to take Blair, Jim snarled. "Hands off!" He rolled Blair into a sitting position, ignoring the soft cry of pain it caused. "Come on, Darwin," he whispered. "Stand up for me."

With help, Blair managed to get to his feet. Pulling the injured man's arm over the back of his neck, Jim half supported, half dragged him back to the basement room. Blair held on tight, using his free arm to splint his ribs. Back in their room, Jim laid Blair down on the bed.

"I want first aid supplies, drinking water and more blankets!" he barked at the guards before they could close and lock the door. "You tell Staples I'm not considering shit until I get them."

Alone in their room, Jim turned his attention back to Blair. "Hey, talk to me, kid." He pulled the tail of his own dress shirt out of his belt and ripped a large section off to press against Blair's face. Blair groaned, weakly pushing at Jim's hands as he tried to roll towards the wall. Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, Jim captured both of the uncooperative hands in his and continued to apply the makeshift pressure bandage with the other.

"Lay still."

"Jjjiim-"

"Hush, listen to your father," he ordered quickly, freeing Blair's hands and patting his shoulder. "It's going to be okay, they're not going to touch you again."

Blair moaned. He drew his knees up, wrapping both arms around his abdomen. "Oh... God, it hurts."

"I know, you're going to have a few spasms. They'll pass, try and take deep breaths."

"Can't, man... that hurts worse."

Jim reached under Blair's shirt and lightly checked for broken ribs, easily feeling heat from multiple contusions. Blair needed ice, hell, he needed a hospital. Footsteps neared. The door opened; they had delivered the requested supplies. The first thug set them down by the door while the second man covered the prisoners with his gun. After they'd left Jim gathered up the supplies taking a quick inventory; two more blankets, a first aid kit and four small water bottles.

Tearing into the kit, Jim found pre-moistened towelettes to clean Blair's face, and butterfly bandages to close the wound. Blair suffered through the attention quietly, his eyes closed. Next, Jim opened up two packages of aspirin and made his friend take them with small sips of water. He double-checked Blair's abdomen, checking again for hard spots that might hint at a ruptured organ. Still soft. Jim begin to relax, maybe they'd get through this okay, after all, they still had a few hidden cards to play; the biggest one being a certain red-head.

"More water," Blair asked.

Jim picked the open bottle off the floor and handed it over. "Just a few more sips. I want to make sure none of those punches did any real damage."

Blair grunted, took the allotted drink and lay back down. "Not like... they're gonna... drive me... to the hospital."

Jim smiled. "True, but I'm not taking any chances. Let's get those damp clothes off. We've got extra blankets now."

Blair didn't have to be told twice, once out of his damp shirt and black jeans, he let Jim swathe him in two blankets. With a sigh, he settled back down on the bed, curled on his side and closed his eyes. Jim had enough room to sit sideways at the head of the bed, his back against the concrete wall, Blair's curly head just brushing against his thigh. He rested a hand on his guide's blanket-covered shoulder.

"Get some sleep, Junior. I'll wake you if anybody comes."

"'kay. But when I wake up... we need to split," he whispered so softly there was no chance anyone could overhear the words. "I don't like it here."

Jim snickered, patting Blair on the shoulder once and squeezing. "Deal."

Blair slept for three hours, giving Jim time to think about their situation, drink one of the water bottles and use the drain in the corner of the room. He was on his third set of stretching exercises when Blair moaned in his sleep.

The aspirin had worn off.

Jim took out another dose and set it aside. He needed to check his friend one more time for internal injuries. "Time to wake up," he said, easing Blair over onto his back and working at the edges of the blanket.

"Oh... damn, I'm sore."

The beating had left bruises on Blair's face, to including a black eye. Jim quickly checked, relieved to still find Blair's stomach tender but soft. He opened the pill packets and helped Blair to sit up to take them. He let Blair finish the bottle, then helped to finish unwrapping the blankets from around his feet so he could get up to use the drain to relieve his bladder.

Just as Blair finished donning his slightly damp clothes, Jim heard the footsteps.

"Show time," he warned quietly.

The last thing Blair felt like doing was going back upstairs to face Staples. He hurt. But he wasn't letting Jim go with these cavemen alone, so he bit back his groans as Jim gave the warning. The door opened and they retraced their steps to the main floor. This time they were taken to a cozy den, complete with dark green walls, bookcases filled with interesting titles and a state of the art computer system.

"Well, you look like a man that's made a decision." Staples was in the same clothes as earlier that day, expensive gray corduroys and a hand-knit green Irish cable sweater.

Blair snuck a quick peek at Jim, wondering what the man was thinking. He didn't have to wonder; Jim's face clearly showed what was on his mind. If he ever got the chance to follow through, Jim would be serving life.

"Cut the crap and tell me what you want," Jim answered with icy abruptness.

Staples gave a knowing nod and pointed to the computer. "This is Bill Gate's best system. You should be able to access your personal files. I want the files on your miniature long-range wireless communication devices you're doing for the Navy, the ones that work underwater."

Blair bit his lip. Jim was no stranger to computers; would he remember Tristan's instructions on how to navigate the fake files the CIA had dummied up?

"No."

Staples seemed truly surprised. "Really? Your son doesn't look too happy with the prospect of more attention from my men."

Jim crossed his arms. "Then you're more of an idiot than you look. My son is the computer brain of the business. If you want our secrets you'd better stop knocking the golden goose around."

"What?" Staples eyes narrowed. "Your bio doesn't say that."

"Do I need to reveal every fact about my life to the public, I hadn't realized." Jim was really pouring on the sarcasm now and Blair had to work to keep from smiling. "I'll admit, I'm surprised you've manage to last this long, judging by the way you leap to conclusions without getting any facts."

"Enough!" Staples pointed to Blair. "Sit down at that computer and get me those files, or you're going to watch your father get ten times worse than what you got."

Shooting a glance at Jim and getting the okay to proceed, Blair did as instructed. The computer was already on and running. He found the Internet link and started to type. Staple's computer was fast and Blair found himself wishing he owned it. He was aware of the presence behind him as he typed and he shoved the envy aside to concentrate on the task at hand. A few minutes later the file was located.

"Move away," Staples ordered.

Blair stood up with a smile. Lovely thing about the Internet, he thought to himself, it looks at you while you look at it. Now all they had to do was stay alive until Tristan and his people could find them. He returned to stand at Jim's side while their host studied the screen with interest. The man's fingers flew over the keyboard.

"It's not copying," he complained with a frown, then his eyes widened in alarm. "Shit!" Frantically he began typing for a few seconds. He finally stopped and looked up as his prisoners, his face twisted into an angry mask. "You set me up," he accused.

Jim shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest in the typical `what did you expect' stance that Blair knew so well. "Think about it for more than two seconds, Einstein. I deal in government contracts. I'm bound to have something a little more sophisticated than Radio Shack for security."

Blair could see Staples' temper was nearing critical mass. The man rose to his feet. "Take the kid!" he yelled, his earlier cool demeanor completely replaced now with fury.

Jim shoved Blair into a nearby corner, reducing Blair's world to a view of Jim's back. Blair grabbed the cotton shirt with both hands and held on, still aching from the last beating. He wasn't looking forward to more of the same.

"Back off!" Jim commanded. "I'm willing to cooperate; we just can't download the file with a simple remote hook up!"

Miraculously, Jim wasn't knocked aside.

"Let me make myself perfectly clear," Staples voice answered, still sounding pissed but becoming calmer. "You're getting me that program if you have to walk into your company, retrieve it personally and walk out. That little dog and pony security didn't get past my firewalls. I'm secure here and you'll do well to remember that. Now step aside."

Oh man, here it comes. Blair's hands involuntarily tightened into fists, wrinkling Jim's shirt. He watched Jim's back and neck muscles tense, ready for a fight.

"No, you touch him again and all deals are off!"

Now Jim sounded pissed and Blair realized both of them were likely to end up holding the short stick, or in this case, bruised faces. There was no point in Jim getting hurt, not when it could be avoided. Blair uncurled his fingers and lightly patted Jim's back. "Hey, man..."

Jim interrupted, totally ignoring Blair's whispers. "I can have what you want delivered. I have an assistant that will bring them. I just need my laptop from the resort. It's under the bed."

Staples seemed to consider Jim's offer and Blair risked a peek over one shoulder. Yep, the man did seem a lot calmer now. Maybe this would work and he wouldn't have to be a punching bag for the goon patrol again.

"I can provide that," Staples said with a nod. "Okay, for now we'll play it your way, Mr. Polson." He looked to his men. "Take them back. Have cook prepare a meal and deliver it to them."

Jim pulled Blair out of the corner to walk closely by the cop's side as they were marched back to their room. Once they were safely locked in and alone, Jim turned him free and Blair dropped to perch on the edge of the only piece of furniture available, the bed. Jim sat at his side. They stared at the floor for a moment. The room was probably still bugged; there was nothing to say. Blair fingered the cut on his cheek, the swelling around his black eye kept the lid from opening all the way. His ribs still hurt whenever he forgot and took a deep breath and his stomach... well, it just plain hurt.

Jim lifted his arm and dropped it around Blair's shoulders. "It's going to be okay, son."

Blair knew Jim was acting the part of the protective father for the hidden camera, but it still was kind of nice.

"I know, Dad."

Lunch turned out to be sandwiches, potato chips and more bottled water. Jim carefully checked over the food before either of them ate. He swallowed each bite without tasting. They needed the calories. They needed to keep physically prepared to fight, or run, depending upon which opportunity arose first. Jim glanced over at his friend, noting Blair was eating without having to be told. The kid seemed to be holding up. Jim was proud of him.

Now if they could manage to get through this without any further `beating lessons' ordered by Staples with Blair on the receiving end. He raided the first aid kit one more time and offered Blair the last of the aspirin; just two left, he'd need to demand more.

"Why don't you get some more sleep?" Jim suggested, moving down to the end of the bed to let his friend curl up as before.

"Nah ... I'm good."

"That wasn't a suggestion, Junior," Jim told him sternly.

Under normal circumstances, Blair would remind Jim in clear English `why' he didn't need rest, why he was an adult and could make these decisions on his own, without Jim's help. For a few seconds, the younger man looked like he was going to go into such details, but just for a second. With a nod, Blair picked up a blanket and wrapped up to lie down.

"Wake me if they come, man."

"I will."

Soon, Blair's respirations leveled out and he was asleep. Jim's own eyelids felt heavy and he took his own advice. It occurred to him maybe Staples did drug them, but he doubted it. He just felt like a man who had been through a rough day.

When he woke to the sounds of approaching footsteps, his neck felt stiff. Blair was still asleep, his arm folded under his head as a makeshift pillow. He woke quickly and they both were sitting side by side by the time the door opened and the guards motioned them to exit and escorted them back to the main level.

Staples wasn't alone this time.

"Susan!" Blair blurted out fearfully as they entered the same office they'd been in before.

Jim recognized the young woman from the resort. Dressed in jeans and a light green sweater, she seemed older and it occurred to Jim they'd been set up from the first day.

"Hey, guys," Susan answered with a knowing smile. "I brought your things from the resort."

Blair looked pole-axed, his mouth opening and closing as if he'd forgotten how to talk. He shot a puzzled look at Jim.

"I'm guessing she's the reason we didn't get a real ambulance, son," Jim noted dryly.

"Here's your laptop," Staples said, pointing to the familiar looking computer and cutting the reunion short. "Contact your assistant. I want the software delivered to the resort."

"Don't bother, darling," a new female voice interrupted. "James Polson is really James Ellison."

Shit! Jim turned to shoot a poisonous glare at the newcomer. The gasp from Blair caused him to grab his guide's arm and squeeze, hoping Blair would have the sense to keep his mouth shut.

"What!" Staples shouted, causing the four armed guards to straighten up and look ready to shoot.

She still looked as beautiful as she had at the casino last night. Her hair was still dark and she wore a cream-colored cashmere knitted dress that clung to her curves. She entered the room like an aloof debutante and laid a slim file down in front of Staples. "I just got the information from the CIA a few minutes ago. He's a dead ringer for the real James Polson, but he's a cop from a town called Cascade," Naomi Sandburg said as if discussing the weather. "This is why I told you not to make a move until I had a chance to check them out."

Staples slammed his fist down on his desk. "I refuse to believe they've located us already! It had to be pure chance they ended up at the resort. Who's the other one?" He pointed to Blair. "I'm supposed to believe he's a cop, too?"

Naomi leaned against the desk, eyeing Blair like an interesting sale item at the local market. "No, he's who he claims to be. I'd guess the Feds felt they needed some authenticity for Ellison's cover." She crossed her arms and gave Staples a look of disapproval. "The real issue now is what do we do?"

"Kill them both," Staples stated in a firm, angry voice. "We've got bigger problems than those two."

Naomi shook her head. "Darling, there you go again," she purred. "It's that narrow minded thinking that got us into this mess. Ellison could be a source of information and Junior is our bargaining chip with the real James Polson."

Staples looked doubtful, but he did appear to listen to the woman and Jim felt the roots of hope start to sink into his gut. No doubt Blair's mother had a plan. He just hoped Blair didn't say or do anything to ruin it. For that matter, Jim prayed he didn't screw up. Silence seemed the best way to proceed, so he kept his mouth shut and waited for a signal from the woman who held everyone's attention.

"Ellison wanted Susan to bring his laptop because he planned on signaling the Feds. Let me dispose of it first and then we'll come up with a plan. I've got other contacts in the agency, I can discreetly find out how much they know about us." She favored Jim and Blair with a lovely smile. "It pays to be semi-retired from the CIA."

Staples pushed the case towards her. "Make it fast; I want you with me when I explain this mess to the board. I'll make arrangements right away to call a meeting. Susan, get back to the casino, pull our people out." He turned to the nearest guard. "Take these two back to the room, I'll deal with them later."

The guards motioned for Jim to walk on ahead. Keeping a hand on Blair's arm, he chanced one last look at Naomi. She had completely dismissed them, her attention on the laptop that she'd been ordered to destroy. She'd been correct. Jim had intended on activating a tracking device inside it. Why had she blown his cover now? Why couldn't she have waited a lousy ten minutes to make her entrance?

He was just going through the doorway, Blair at his side when his sentinel hearing picked up the soft whisper coming from behind him. He recognized Blair's mother's voice instantly.

"Be ready."

The waiting was torture. Blair hugged his shins tightly and rested his forehead on his knees. The guards had locked them up and an hour ago. Jim had taken the empty potato chip bag and crammed it into a crack in the corner, then he'd taken the lighter blanket and gathered up the first aid kit, extra blankets and water bottles and formed some kind of crude sling to carry it all in. The entire time, he'd never even looked at Blair.

How could he stand to? He was the son of a traitor.

No, Blair's brain refused to buy it. Not Naomi. Never.

But surely Jim thought she was a double agent. Why else would she do what she did upstairs?

Maybe... maybe she really was...?

He tightened his hold and curled into a tighter ball. Hell, he didn't know what to believe. Anything was possible now. Eight months ago, he'd thought Naomi was just a free spirit, living a lifestyle of meditation and spiritual enlightenment. She talked of auras, karma and cleaning rituals. She traveled the world and sent home trinkets.

It had all been a lie.

And he'd bought it, every last bit.

What was the old saying? Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.

The bed dipped and he felt a familiar arm around his shoulders, drawing him off balance and into the solid, warm side of his best friend.

"You don't have to pretend anymore, Jim," he muttered miserably.

"I'm not," Jim whispered back, his lips so close his breath tickled the side of Blair's neck. "Whatever happens, Chief, you don't give up, do whatever you have to do, but get away. Understand?"

Blair raised his head, frightened. He'd wondered what Jim would say to him. He'd never expected that. "What?" Jim didn't look mad; he didn't even look particularly worried. None of this made any sense and Blair felt totally alone in his lack of knowledge. "What are you talking about?"

"Just be ready," Jim repeated, squeezing his shoulders briefly before letting go. "Here we go."

The lock was disengaged and Jim quickly stood, gathered up the blanket sling and motioned for Blair to join him. When the door opened he moved forward, dragging the younger man along.

Naomi stood in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder to check the hallway. She was dressed in dark jeans, a black sweater and hiking boots. She passed a handgun over to Jim wordlessly before leading the way. Blair moved as if in a dream. They reached the elevator, walking in single file, Blair in the middle.

"Stairs," Naomi whispered, passing the elevator and continuing. Further down the hallway, a door opened to grant access to a narrow stairwell. Once inside, she paused and gave her son a brief, but warm hug. "Hey, baby."

"Mom..." Blair's throat tightened with emotion.

"We'll talk later." She released him and turned to Jim. "I've deactivated the monitors and motion sensors. I figure we have twenty, maybe thirty minutes before they know we're gone."

"Vehicles?" Jim asked, taking an opportunity to drop the clip from the automatic, check his rounds and slam it back in place. He pulled the slide back; Blair could see the deadly bullet in place.

"Not an option, I'm afraid. Too risky. I'm thinking we go on foot," she answered.

Jim nodded. "It's your show, lead the way."

Once again, Blair was following his mother with Jim behind him. They arrived at the main floor. Jim gave the okay when the route was clear and they continued until they were outside. It was late afternoon; the shadows, cast by the trees, were long. A cool mist floated between the boughs, giving the impression they were high in the mountains.

Naomi followed the exterior back wall of the mansion towards the corner. The back yard had no landscaping except ferns and other low native bushes. It looked like his mother was heading towards the closest stand of tall trees that would lead them into the rainforest. Blair stayed close, not hearing Jim, but knowing the tall man was right on his heels.

They reached the halfway point between the door and the corner when Jim suddenly grabbed Blair and pulled him back. "Wait!"

Naomi froze. Before they could get to adequate cover, two guards appeared around the corner. Blair felt Jim's hand on his shoulder and he dropped obediently. A waist high wooden utility box gave the three scant protection. Gunfire erupted all around him. A bullet ricocheted off the brick wall; chips stung his hand and wrist. Sounds of gravel crunching underfoot warned Blair that more bad guys were approaching and he risked lifting his head to look. Jim was on one knee, intent on firing at two men who had drawn a bead on Naomi. He easily dropped them in the dirt, leaving Naomi to contend with the original guards who were shooting at them from the corner.

Blair was the only one that saw Jay, the fake ambulance attendant, sneaking up behind his sentinel. He didn't seem to have a gun, but his arms alone could be considered lethal.

"Jim! Behind you!" Blair shouted, the warning arriving just as the man swung a meaty fist.

Jim ducked and turned to shoot, but caught enough of the blow to the side of his head to stun him, his gun flying from his grasp. A sharp grunt of pain caused Blair's head to swivel back to his mother. She was down, lying still in the dirt. Only one of the original pair of men advanced on her with a look of intent malice.

Jim's gun!

Blair eyes madly searched the dirt and duff for the dark, dull metal of the gun Jim had dropped. He'd seen it fly towards that shrub. Jim was on his back, locked in hand-to-hand combat with his attacker. Blair scuttled on his hands and knees towards the bush, his fingers scrubbing the darkness beneath.

There! He felt the round tip of the barrel, still warm from firing.

Shouts sounded from within the mansion. More of them would be here soon. Blair's fingers fumbled a second before he recognized the grip and had the gun up and pointed. Which one? Who should he shoot? Both Jim and Naomi were in danger.

Blair's mind froze; then the reality of his situation hit him.

Jim was fighting to live. Naomi might already be dead.

Blair pointed and fired.

A split second later, a second shot rang out. Blair turned to look. Naomi was on her side, her gun in hand. The last man dropped, a bright red blossom appearing on his forehead. The sight of the gunman lying in the dirt, his face turned towards him in death brought Blair's world to a stop. His ears, still ringing from Jim's gun going off in his hands, felt stuffed with cotton, dulling all sound.

Then the gun was gone and Blair turned back to see Jim kneeling in front of him, wearing the strangest look on his face. Jim's lips were moving, but no words came out. Blair felt himself being lifted to his feet and propelled forward. Then Naomi was on his other arm and the three of them were running for the trees.

A part of Jim's mind registered the cooling temperatures, the mist that hung in the air and the spongy ground under his feet as they ran. They'd found an animal path that wound uphill and Naomi had deferred to him to take the lead. Jim kept his pace at a fast jog once they'd gotten out of sight from the house. He knew Naomi had taken a bullet, but wasn't sure where. He was just glad he didn't have to carry her. The rainforest trees were huge, nearly blocking the filtering sunlight. It allowed for easy travel on foot, something they didn't have the luxury of doing in the woods around Cascade where the vegetation could grow too thick to allow a person to easily pass. Another part of Jim's mind was still frozen in shock. Blair had fired a gun. He'd made a kill. Sure, Jim was glad; otherwise they would all be dead. He had no idea where his attacker had come from, but he had some serious muscle. He remembered seeing the man take the bullet high in his chest, almost dead center, just below where his neck attached to his sternum. It was a perfect kill shot and he'd instantly thought of Naomi, already planning on calling the florist to order her roses in gratitude. But when he'd cleared his head to look - his thoughts still fuzzy from having a pair of mammoth-sized hands around his throat - he got the shock of his life, his roommate literally holding the smoking gun.

Jim's thoughts were jerked back to the present by a quiet voice.

"Jim ... I can't..."

The plea was soft and filled with pain. He'd been aware of Naomi's faltering stride for the last thirty minutes. He brought them to a stop. Blair was panting, his face covered in sweat. Naomi looked like death on a stick, her face pasty white. Jim could see the rusty stain darkening her left hip. He transferred the blanket sling to Blair, who took it without comment, then picked up the woman easily and started up the mountain trail again. Naomi sighed, closing her eyes in exhaustion and looping her arms around his neck.

She was light; he could manage until they found shelter.

It came in the form of a shallow cave. They'd been climbing the side of a mountain the entire time and nearing the top. The trail followed the base of a cliff that rose straight up for thirty to forty feet. Decades of seasons had allowed the wind to reduce the face of the cliff to hard rock, preventing everything except for a few hardy trees to grow in a couple of niches. An age-old landslide had deposited a few car-size boulders at the base of the cliff. Jim found the cave behind the boulders. Checking with his senses to make sure it was deserted first with his senses, he carried Naomi in.

"Sandburg, lay one of the blankets down over there."

Blair lifted the sling from around his neck, dropped to his knees in the dirt and did as instructed. When the bed was finished, Jim set the woman down. Blair saw the blood and gasped.

"I'm okay, sweetie," Naomi told him weakly, adding a smile turned grimace as Jim peeled her jeans down to examine the wound. "Jim, aren't you going to buy me dinner first?"

"Shut up," Jim ordered gently, appreciating the woman's attempt at levity. She was probably hoping to ease some of Blair's fears. "Sandburg... first aid kit."

"Oh, right." Blair picked up the white box and passed it over. The cave entrance faced the west, allowing dim light around the boulders. It wouldn't last long, the sun had already set and they were living on borrowed light.

Jim cleaned the wound and examined the damage. The bullet had cut a path in her flesh about two inches long as it passed, painful and resulting in some blood loss, but not lethal if kept clean. This was good; they needed all the breaks they could get. He taped the sterile bandage in place. "You'll live."

"But will I still look pretty in a bikini?" she muttered quietly, nearly asleep.

"Drink." Jim lifted her head and held the water bottle until she'd downed half. After she was finished, he folded the blanket over her slight form and patted her shoulder. "Sleep."

"I had no idea getting you inside a cave... reduced you to speaking like a caveman, darling," she teased lightly before slipping into a healing sleep.

Jim's life was now complete; two Sandburgs had now insinuated he was a prehistoric throwback. Taking the other blanket from the sling, he laid it out next to the woman, holding half of it up. "Climb in, Chief."

"Huh?"

"Your Mom's in shock. She needs to stay warm," he explained, keeping his face passive. "Something tells me she'd rather have you snuggled beside her when she woke than me."

"Oh." Blair toed off his best sneakers, the ones he'd deemed good enough to go to the casino in, and crawled in. "What about you?"

"I'm going to take the first watch, make sure no one sneaks in," Jim said, waiting for his friend to find a comfortable spot on the hard ground next to his mother before tucking them both in.

"Wake me when you're tired, Jim," Blair mumbled, already looking half asleep as he gently draped an arm around his mother and laid his head on her shoulder.

"You got it, partner," Jim said, knowing he was lying. In fact the whole `Naomi in shock' tale had been a stretch. But he felt okay about the misconception. Blair needed to sleep. Jim wasn't above a few well-meaning lies if it achieved that end.

Soon the cave was still, silent except for the soft breaths of mother and son. Jim unrolled the last blanket, the one he'd fashioned into a sling. The temperature had dropped significantly; he could see his breath in the darkness. He and Blair still wore the same clothes they had dressed in for dinner at the casino. They'd dressed for a night on the town, not on a mountaintop. The charge up the mountainside through the mist had caused his damp shirt to stick to his back, making him shiver. Draping the light blanket around his shoulders, he moved closer to the entrance and sat with his back to the rock wall.

It was going to be a long night.

Simon Banks leaned out as far as possible, carefully scanning the treetops below. Tristan sat as his side, behind the helicopter pilot doing the same on the other side. They'd been in the air for two hours now. The heavy ground fog only made it possible to view the tops of the mountains. They looked like chains of islands rising from the white, fluffy clouds.

"There!" Tristan's voice said over Simon's earphones.

Simon eagerly looked in the direction the man was pointing. Three small figures stood in a low saddle-like depression between two mountain peaks. They were waving their arms. Simon closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward.

When the message had arrived from Naomi yesterday with general coordinates and a vague timetable, Simon had been skeptical. But it was their only hope to find the missing cop and observer who had last been seen two days ago when a bogus ambulance had taken them from the resort. Visions of the dead woman's face kept appearing in Simon's overactive imagination and he had prepared himself for the worst.

"Can you set this down?" Simon asked.

"Not a problem," the pilot said with confidence.

True to his word, the helicopter landed without incident. Simon was the first to climb out and run for the threesome, with Tristan close on his heels. The reunion was a happy one, Simon caught Jim in a bear hug, both men smiling widely and pounding fists on each other's back.

"Jim! My god, man!"

"Simon!"

"Naomi!"

"Darling."

Four voices shouted greetings. Simon released Jim and caught Blair up in an identical hug, even lifting the younger man off his feet. It took a second to realize the enthusiastic greeting was not being returned. He set Blair back down, pulling back to gaze down in concern. "Sandburg? You okay?"

Blair pushed his matted, dirty hair back with one hand and nodded, giving Simon full view of the black eye, bruises and cut. "Fine."

Simon shot a look of disbelief at Jim, who shook his head in a hidden message not to pursue the issue. "Okay, then. How'd you all like a ride back in style?"

"Mom needs a hospital, she's been shot," Blair said.

Tristan raised an eyebrow, giving the woman a once over. "Naomi?"

"I could use a few stitches. Jim did a fine job patching me up," she answered, her arm still around Tristan's waist as she patted Jim's arm. "Let's get going, you can tell us all about the arrests... you did get them, didn't you?"

Back in the air, Simon gave his headset to Naomi. There was only three in total, Jim didn't need one. Simon already knew about the arrests the Feds had made yesterday at the mansion, so he didn't need to listen to Tristan retell that part. That only left Blair out of the loop. Simon snuck a glance over at the younger man. He'd retreated into a silent shell, not at all acting like himself. Sure, all three looked as if they'd been dragged backwards through the forest for a few miles, but Simon knew Blair enough to know the difference between a tired Sandburg and a Sandburg with a problem. Right now, he'd guess Blair had a problem.

What had they done to him? Other than the obvious beating?

He met Jim's eye for a moment, both caught in the act of studying Blair. Jim was no help, his face remaining impassive and stoic, typical Ellison behavior. Even Naomi was acting normal, well, Spy-Naomi normal, that is.

The helicopter landed on the roof of the Aberdeen hospital, allowing all passengers to disembark. A gurney waited for Naomi and she let Blair talk her into laying down, holding her hand and basically hovering at her side as the attendants wheeled her down to the emergency room. Simon and Jim followed behind Tristan. Once they got to the trauma desk, both Blair and Naomi became swept up by the nurses to side-by-side examination rooms with Tristan watching on. Simon and Jim held back, peering inside from the doorway. The room was not large enough for two more men.

"Let's get some coffee, Simon."

Simon held up a hand. "Truthfully, Jim, I think you should get checked out, too. You don't look very good."

Jim fingered the bruise on his cheek. "I'm fine, barely damaged."

"I'm looking at those marks on your neck, Jim," Simon added. It was easy to see from the placements of the bruises that someone had tried to choke his detective.

"It's nothing, come on. Let's get that coffee while Sandburg is busy." Jim headed down the hallway, probably able to smell the coffee.

After letting Tristan know they'd be back, Simon caught up with his friend and paid for two large, black coffees. He tossed in a bagel with cream cheese and set it down in front of Jim.

"Thanks." Jim took a large bite and started chewing.

"What happened to Sandburg?" Simon asked.

Pausing in his chewing, Jim sipped his coffee and swallowed. "He shot and killed a man yesterday."

"What!" Simon exclaimed, then looked around. He'd startled more than one hospital personnel on their break and waved apologetically. He continued in a more subdued voice. "How? Why?"

"It was a righteous shoot, sir."

"Okay, start at the beginning."

"Yeah, good idea." Jim rubbed his forehead wearily. "Okay, they faked my heart attack to kidnap us."

"Right."

"Well, apparently, that was against Naomi's recommendation. She was away doing an errand for Staples, she left with one of his men right after we danced at the casino, that's when she told me to take Blair and leave in the morning. She gave me a message to give to Cahill. That CIA agent we pulled out of the lake was dirty. Naomi managed to convince them both that she was willing to go `turn coat' if the price was right. Only the first time she tried to send out a message to tell Cahill where she was, she nearly got caught. She managed to shift the blame, unfortunately the dead CIA ended up looking guilty and Staples killed her."

"Ouch," Simon muttered.

"Yeah... anyway, she sent the messages to Blair, hoping we'd respond and bring Cahill. She never figured Cahill would give us a cover that would attract Staples' attention. When she realized what had happened, she set up the meet at the casino."

"But you didn't get away in time," Simon guessed.

"Right. And it's a good thing Cahill took the time to brief us on our covers," Jim continued after taking another bite, chewing quickly before swallowing. He ate like a man who'd been starved. "According to Naomi, Staples would have killed us both without hesitating. In fact, she made a point of blowing my cover."

"You're kidding? Why?"

"I was getting ready to active that tracking device in the laptop," Jim explained. "I didn't know they had an ability to monitor all outgoing transmissions. She walked in, told everyone I was a cop, but said Blair was really the son of the man I was supposed to be. I guess she figured she could talk Staples out of killing either of us, or at least prevent it long enough to give her time to modify the laptop, send you guys that message, then sneak Blair and me out of the house to meet with you guys on the top of that mountain."

"But..."

Jim pursed his lips, clutching his cup with both hands and staring unhappily into the dark brew. "We got spotted. There was a firefight. I got sloppy, I guess. I didn't hear this guy come up behind me. I lost my gun, dropped it when he chopped my neck, kind of numbed my entire arm. Blair found the gun." Jim looked up at Simon, his face filled with misery. "This guy was gigantic. He had me nailed. Blair put a bullet into his chest, killed him instantly."

"Wow." Simon was stunned. Picturing Blair holding a gun was hard enough, but firing a round? And that single round killing? It was hard to fathom.

"Yeah. He hasn't talked about it, Simon. You saw how he acted when you picked us up."

"Jim, you've both been through hell," Simon told him. "Give Sandburg a chance to process all this shit."

Jim tossed back the last of his coffee and stood. "This is going to take more than his normal session with candles and meditation. I'm just glad the Feds managed to arrest Staples and his people before they escaped. Come on, we've been gone too long. Let's get back."

Tristan was holding court with several `suits' in the hallway, just outside the treatment room. Jim suspected they'd been kicked out by the ER staff. Simon stayed behind to listen in as Jim slipped back into the room. Blair was still on the treatment bed, lying on his side, watching as the doctor and nurse worked on Naomi. Naomi looked asleep, oblivious to the medical attention. The small room smelled of antiseptic mixed with the faint aroma of unwashed bodies. Considering he and Blair hadn't seen a shower in the last three days, Jim had a feeling he contributed to the smell.

"Hey, Chief," Jim greeted his roommate.

Blair raised a tired hand in greeting.

"What's the news?"

The doctor answered, "Mr. Sandburg checks out fine, he's bruised and needs to rest for a few days, but no internal injuries or broken bones. Mrs. Sandburg is almost finished. I'd like to keep her for a day or so, but she's made it perfectly clear that she's not staying."

"Ms. Sandburg," Naomi muttered, her eyes still closed.

"Ah... sorry, Ms. Sandburg," the doctor amended. "I'll be finished in a few minutes."

True to his word, the doctor finished quickly and all agents, police officers and one anthropologist left the small hospital behind. Tristan had already booked a large suite for them at the main hotel in town. It was the size of a small apartment with three bedrooms with separate bathrooms, a kitchenette and a living room. The entire town of Aberdeen was visible from the small balcony as well as the tip of Gray's Harbor. After assigning rooms, Tristan picked up a phone and ordered hot sandwiches, soups and drinks as Jim and Blair each took a long shower. Tristan then ordered Naomi to bed, personally seeing that she followed his orders by tucking her in.

When Jim stepped out of the shower fifteen minutes later, he eyed his pile of filthy clothes with distaste. A knock on the door caused him to quickly wrap a hotel towel around his waist. "Yeah?"

Simon's hand appeared holding a set of clean sweats. "Interested?"

"Oh, yeah." Jim snatched the clothes from the fingers. "Thanks, Simon. I owe you."

"No sweat, Cahill's loaning a set to Sandburg," Simon answered from beyond the door which had closed again. "Your stuff is being retrieved as we speak, should arrive later tonight."

"Great." Jim climbed into the sweats.

He joined Simon and Tristan in the living room and helped himself to a roast beef sandwich sitting on the breakfast bar, nodding his thanks as he began to devour it. It tasted incredible and he eyed the rest of the sandwiches longingly. Tristan had ordered enough food for a small army. The guy certainly had a head for details.

"So, what's the plan?" Jim asked between bites.

Tristan answered from his position on the sofa, his brief case opened on the coffee table and the phone ready at his side. He looked like a businessman setting up a portable office. "Well, we've got Staples and his men in custody. I hope to have enough to tie him to the murder. Naomi tells me our missing agent was dirty, but I can still push for murder one. The ones I really want are the people that Staples answers to. At least now we have faces, it shouldn't take much for us to ID them. We'll work on Staples and get him to roll over."

"At least their operation is shut down," Simon noted. He was relaxed in a recliner, a cold drink in hand.

Tristan nodded. "That's true, it will take some time to sift through all the information in that mansion. We've got plenty with just your three testimonies to hold them for a long time."

Jim sat on a bar stool, keeping close to the food. "Where was that place anyway?"

"Deep in the mountains, but just outside of the National Park. You guys were in the `Colonel Bob Wilderness'. We picked you up on the top of the Quinault Ridge," Tristan said. "Naomi gave us an idea which direction you would be taking. She planned on getting you two out of harm's way while we came in and made the arrests."

"It almost worked," Jim said darkly. "Apparently Staples had armed guards making patrol sweeps, we ran into two of them on our way out. I didn't hear them until too late."

Tristan gave Jim a sympathetic look. "Don't beat yourself up too much. According to Naomi, there was a lot going on. You did warn her in time. We found five dead bodies behind the building. I assume those were the guards you both took out."

Jim set the uneaten part of the second sandwich down, his thoughts returning to the firefight and how he'd looked up from just being nearly choked to death to see Blair holding his gun. "About that..."

Tristan waited patiently for Jim to finish.

Damn, this was hard. Maybe it wasn't his place to tell. Then again, he was a police officer, technically reporting to his temporary supervisor. Of course it was his job to tell. He just couldn't bring himself to say the words out loud. He didn't want to tell this man that his son - a son that they'd tried to shelter from their world of violence - had shot and killed another man last night.

A son that was currently taking a very long shower.

"Excuse me a second." Jim stood and entered the bedroom that had been assigned to Blair and himself. Jim had used the shower connected to Simon's room; Blair had taken the one off their own. A set of sweats had been laid out on Blair's bed. The shower was still running. Jim stood in front of the closed door and listened. Maybe Blair was just enjoying himself. After all, Jim had enjoyed a few extra long minutes himself.

Then he heard the muffled sob and knew Blair was doing more than washing his hair.

Crap.

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to think. He really didn't want to do this. But he couldn't leave Blair alone. He wished he could wake Naomi up and send her in. But he'd seen Tristan give her some pain medication that promised to keep her down for the rest of the night. And Tristan was not an option; father and son barely knew each other.

The next sob nearly broke Jim's heart, causing him to open the door and slip inside the steam filled room.

"Sandburg?" Jim called out quietly, reaching for a large hotel towel.

The dark form on the other side of the opaque shower curtain was curled low in the tub. "Go away... Jim." The voice was soft and broken.

Jim pulled the curtain aside enough to allow him to reach in and turn the water off. "Come on, Chief. You know I'm not going to let you deal with this alone."

Blair was sitting in the tub, as far away from the faucet as possible. He was curled into a tight ball, his arms wrapped around his shins, his forehead resting on knees. He looked like he'd managed to finish the shower before breaking down. His long hair was clean and Jim could smell the conditioner he'd used.

"Time to get out, Sandburg." Jim held the towel open.

Blair kept his head down. Reaching out and taking the towel, he pressed it against his face. Taking a second towel down from the wire rack, Jim waited to see if his friend was willing to come out. A light tapping at the door caused Blair to jerk and hunch down in an attempt to hide.

"Jim? Everything okay?" Simon asked.

"Give us a minute, Simon," Jim called back.

After Simon left, Jim dropped to a knee next to the tub. Blair's body remained curled, his face buried in the pristine white terrycloth. "I'm going to grab us some food. There's a change of clothes on your bed. Come out to the bedroom and we'll talk about it." Jim draped the towel around Blair's shoulders and left. Simon and Tristan were standing in the middle of the living room, looking worried. "Sorry, Blair's dealing with ... issues," Jim explained. "I'm going to take him in some food and talk to him. It's going to take a while."

"What issues?" Tristan asked, looking angrily at Jim. "What happened to him that you haven't told us?"

"I was going to tell you, just a second ago, in fact," Jim answered as he piled a few sandwiches on a plate and added a bowl of soup. "One of Staples' men managed to get the drop on me; he would have killed me if Sandburg hadn't found my gun and shot him."

Tristan stepped back in shock, his hands curling into fists. "He killed someone?"

"He saved my life," Jim corrected hotly. "And if you even think about copping that attitude in front of Sandburg, I'll knock your teeth out!"

"Jim..." Simon moved quickly, placing himself between the two men.

"He doesn't deserve that, Simon!" Jim hissed. "He saved my life."

"I know," Simon held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "Go. Take care of Sandburg. Just calm down a little first, okay?"

Firing one last glare at Tristan, Jim scooped up a can of soda and returned to their bedroom. Blair was just pulling a sweatshirt over his head. Jim set the food on the dresser.

"Sorry, Jim," Blair mumbled, obviously embarrassed. "I'm just a little tired."

Taking the cover off the still steaming soup, Jim transferred it to the bed stand, along with a spoon. "Eat some of this, we'll talk."

"I don't want to talk."

"Then eat and I'll sit here and watch you."

Blair rolled his eyes, which were red from crying. The effect was a lost cause under the circumstances. But the younger man did pick up the spoon. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he cradled the bowl in his other hand and began to eat.

Knowing Blair would actually eat more without an audience, Jim left him to his meal and began to tidy up the bathroom. The hotel left plastic laundry bags in the bathroom for guests to put their dirty clothes into and leave outside the door for cleaning. Jim bagged the Blair's clothes left on the floor.

Let the Feds pick up the bill for their cleaning.

"Be right back." Jim walked through the living room, making a point to ignore Tristan, retrieved his own dirty clothes from Simon's bathroom and added them to the bag. He then left the bag outside, in the hallway. On the way back to his room, Tristan stopped him.

"Jim," the CIA agent said. "You misunderstood. I'd never think less of Blair for what he had to do. I'm only upset that he was in the situation. Naomi raised him to avoid violence."

Jim crossed his arms, not ready to accept the man's apology. "Blair does avoid it, as much as humanly possible. And this incident may significantly affect him in ways I don't want to think about. I just don't want you or Naomi standing by with a righteous frown or even a hint of disappointment on your face when the dust settles. He needs our support, not our judgment."

"Absolutely," Tristan swore. "I was just surprised, I swear. Naomi never gave me a clue."

"She doesn't know," Jim admitted, uncrossing his arm and rubbing the back of his neck. "I was hoping he'd say something to her this morning when they woke up in the cave, but he hasn't been talking. Look, I'm sorry I jumped down your throat, but I've got to get back in there."

Tristan stepped aside. "Certainly. I understand. Blair's lucky to have such a loyal partner." Tristan gave Jim a rueful smile. "Actually, I kind of stopped believing that sort of partnership still existed. Is there anything I can do for him?"

Jim shrugged. "I'm not sure, but I'll let you know."

When he got back to Blair, the soup bowl was empty. Jim eyed the plate of sandwiches. They hadn't been touched. Well, some food was better than none. Blair was using a small hotel comb on his hair. He had half of it untangled.

"Want to talk?"

"No."

"Aren't you always telling me that it's not healthy to keep strong emotions inside?" Jim asked calmly, sitting opposite to his partner.

Blair scooted backwards, as if Jim's nearness might cause him to break. He crossed his legs, Indian-style and resumed his combing, his eyes focused on the blue bedspread. "I don't have strong emotions. I'm just tired."

Jim appeared to give that some thought before replying. "That's odd. After I shoot and kill someone, I always have strong emotions."

Blair froze.

"And I've had hours of training and debriefing under my belt. But I still have problems dealing with it," Jim continued, watching Blair's throat constrict as he swallowed hard and blinked his eyes rapidly. It was painful to watch Blair as he pushed down the emotions that threatened to escape. This didn't make any sense. Jim knew from past experience that his friend was openly vocal with his feelings, even eager to share them on occasion. Why was he withdrawing? The only difference that Jim could see was the fact Blair knew his mother and father were in the other rooms.

Jim tried again. "It never gets easier. If it did, I'd know it was time to quit."

A fat tear broke, rolling down Blair's bruised cheek, leaving a wet trail in his three-day-old stubble. "Jim..." He threw the comb down angrily and fisted his hair with both hands. "I killed someone!"

Jim switched beds and grabbed both Blair's forearms to steady him. "You had to, Chief."

Blair didn't seem to be listening as he began to punish himself by yanking outward on his hair. Jim transferred grips, clasping his hands over both of Blair's fists and pinning them to his head to stop the abuse. "You saved my life, Blair! Understand? If you hadn't shot him, I'd be dead."

Blair's sobs rose in waves, physically breaking him down little by little until he'd curled over his folded legs like a limp rag doll. A feeling of helplessness hit Jim. How was this any better? Blair wasn't hiding behind a wall of denial anymore, but it was still painful to watch him cry as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest. Not sure what do to, he awkwardly patted a shoulder. He glanced over at the closed door, maybe he should ask Tristan to come in and deal with this.

Long fingers wrapped around Jim's arm as Blair latched on blindly to his partner and cried. Blair was searching for support and the act gave the cop confidence. Jim shifted on the bed until he had his back to the wall, his legs stretched out on the bed. He pulled Blair backwards until the younger man could curl up with his head and upper body resting in his embrace. Blair responded immediately, fiercely holding on with both hands as if he were a drowning man being offered a life ring.

Okay, then. This was better. Weird... yeah, but still better.

Jim ignored the dampness that seeped through his sweatshirt and rode out the emotional storm of Blair's grief. It was the least he could do for the man that had traded his innocence to save a partner's life.

Simon busied himself with the coffee pot. The sounds of distress coming from the other room filled the suite and he knew, had Naomi not been under the effect of the pain medicine, she would have awakened to go to her son. Curious, he snuck a glance at Tristan. The man sat on the couch, all pretense of looking busy with the paperwork around him forgotten. He looked like man in pain, as if each cry from the other room was driving red-hot knives through his chest. He stared at the closed door to Jim and Blair's bedroom, his expression lost.

Simon went with his instinct and fixed a second cup of coffee with creamer as he'd seen Tristan do in the past few days. Taking both mugs back to the living room, he set one down in front of the man and flicked on the stereo unit next to the couch. Soft chords of music from stringed instruments filed the room and broke Tristan out of his trance-like state.

"Thanks." He reached for the coffee. "Banks... are Blair and Jim lovers?"

Simon nearly spewed coffee all over the man's briefcase.

A slow smile found its way to Tristan's face as he watched Simon choke for a few seconds. "Sorry, I guess that answers my question, though."

Simon found his voice while using his fingertips to wipe some of the coffee off his chin. "I can see where Sandburg inherited that little trick," he complained without true animosity. "You two need to come with warning labels, `do not mix with hot liquids.'"

That even brought a brief chuckle and Simon was suddenly glad he'd almost inhaled hot coffee. The mood lightened and some of the tense posturing dissolved in the other man's shoulders. Simon tilted his head as he openly studied the person sitting across from him. He was a little like Blair. Simon could see it in his eyes, his hands and the way the man was always observing his surroundings. But this person had lost Blair's perpetual enthusiasm for living. He lacked the eternal drive to `go forth and make everyone he met a friend.'

"They're just close. Not too different from growing up with brothers, I guess," Simon explained. "I'm the first to admit it happened so fast it made my head spin, but then Sandburg is always making my head spin," he added, shaking his head.

Tristan's eyes returned to the closed door. "I didn't have any brothers... or sisters for that matter."

"What about close friends?"

"I've got friends," Tristan replied, a little too quickly in Simon's mind. "Naomi and I are still very close."

"Uh huh." It was time to let the man talk. If he felt like it.

Tristan sipped his coffee then absentmindedly worried the scar on his face with his left hand. "I had a partner once, we were real close. Did a lot of stuff together off duty..."

Simon nearly held his breath, afraid that even that would break Tristan's concentration and cause him to stop talking.

"We got assigned to go south, help with the mess the CIA had made in Uruguay. It was worse then we'd imagined. Well, than I'd imagined anyway." Tristan paused, his eyes unfocused, as he seemed to remember something from his past. "I didn't think we were going to get back in one piece. I was so glad Naomi hadn't come down with us."

Simon's eyes went to the long scar that Tristan was lightly stroking now. Whatever the guy was talking about, Simon was willing to bet his pension that scar had something to do with it.

"I used to think partners were like family. I'd have been ready to take a bullet for mine, too. Too bad he didn't have the same sense of duty towards me." Tristan blinked, suddenly focused and back in the present. He glanced over at Simon, his face back to normal. "I'm glad that Jim is there for Blair. But if I find out he's just using my son until he's able to control his special abilities..."

Simon shook his head. "It's not like that. I know Jim. Yes, he needs Sandburg, but it's more than that. They share something that's very rare. Sometimes Jim can act like a horse's ass to everyone, even Sandburg. And sometimes Sandburg will pull some hare-brained, stupid stunt. But they always land on their feet and they land side-by-side. They are partners... in every true sense of the word."

This seemed to pacify the other man. He nodded without comment, his eyes straying one more time to the closed door before returning to his paperwork. Simon leaned back in the chair and thought about what he'd just said. Jim and Blair were partners, but would their friendship be enough to pull Blair through this trauma? It was easy to see Blair's father had endured some serious shit in his life that left scars, some obvious, some not so obvious, but just as damaging.

Simon hoped that Blair wasn't about to take the same path his father had taken. Maybe the difference between them was that Tristan didn't have a person like Jim by his side when his ideals came crashing down.

Simon rubbed his forehead. All this deep and philosophical thought was giving him a headache.

By the time Blair worked through his grief and the sobs subsided, the front of Jim's sweatshirt was soaking wet from his partner's hair. Jim shifted slightly. He wasn't ready to turn Blair loose just yet, and the younger man didn't seem ready to move away so he might as well get comfortable.

Blair held the towel he'd used on his hair in both hands, pressed against his face as he cried. The towel lowered as the breathing leveled out with only an occasional hitch.

"Sorry."

Jim craned his head, trying to get a look at Blair's face as he lay collapsed against his chest. "Why?"

Waving a limp hand in the air in both their directions, Blair sighed. "This, man. I fell apart."

Jim tilted his head back against the wall, his eyes contemplating the popcorn-textured ceiling. "Oh, that... no big deal. The important thing is you knew when to fall apart."

"I did?" Blair asked, still boneless, but sounding just a bit curious.

"Of course."

"So... you're saying there's a time to... do this. And a time not to do this?"

Jim had to smile. "Yeeeaaahhh," he drawled in his best Bonanza voice. "You kept it together when it counted, pahd'nah."

"Sheeze, Jim... your accent still sucks."

"Thanks."

Blair stayed perfectly still for a full minute. Jim could almost hear the gears turning. Finally the younger man broke the silence. "So, you're perfectly okay with this."

"With what?"

A light slap against his shoulder spoke of rising irritation. "Me, you doofus, being held by you... while I blubber like a baby. That what."

"Oh... yeah, I'm perfectly okay with this," Jim answered blandly. "I'm not thrilled you're going through this shit, though," he added in a suddenly serious tone. "Because I've been there and I know what it's like. It's not your fault, Chief. And it's perfectly normal for you to be upset. It won't go away, either. You'll have more bad days, but you're going to see someone when we get back to Cascade. With help, you're going to pull through with flying colors."

"You know all this, huh?"

"Yep."

"Am I going to have to do that `shooting inquest' thing?" Blair asked in a small, quiet voice.

"Nope, you're a civilian. That's only for us cops."

"Oh... good." Blair relaxed, his cheek pressed against Jim's chest and the room became quiet except for the melodious sounds of music drifting under the closed door.

Jim waited for the next question to come, knowing Blair wouldn't be able to stay quiet for very long.

A small snore caused the cop to crane his neck again and stare down in wonder. "I didn't say I was all right with you sleeping on me, Chief!" he whispered.

Blair slept on and Jim gently slid out from underneath. After laying his friend down and flipping both edges of the queen-sized bedspread over him, Jim wandered out into the living room with the plate of uneaten sandwiches. Tristan looked up from the reports he'd spread out around him. Simon was just ending a phone conversation with his son.

"How is he?" Tristan asked.

"Better." Jim set the plates down and glanced at his watch. It was early in the evening still, but he was exhausted. "I'm going to get some sleep. Blair probably won't wake till morning. What's the plan tomorrow?"

"I'm going to go out to where Staples' held you two with Naomi. We'll be working on securing the ID's of the men that ran the operation. Your things should be delivered later tonight. Simon can drive you and Blair back to Cascade if you want," Tristan said.

"Sandburg's going to want to spend some time with Naomi first. Maybe we can all have breakfast in the morning?" Jim suggested.

"Good plan," Tristan nodded, returning to his paperwork.

"Okay, then. Good night."

Blair woke slowly, his stomach empty and his mouth dry. Soft morning light filtered around heavy drapes and he remembered he was with Jim in Aberdeen. The last forty-eight hours returned in a rush, causing his head to pound.

God... he'd killed someone!

A strong urge to pull the blanket up and never get out of the bed overwhelmed him. Jim had warned him this feeling wasn't going to go away overnight, and he was right. Blair still couldn't believe Jim's patience with all his tears last night. He'd acted like it was perfectly natural for a grown man to break down completely and cry himself to sleep. Yet, Blair had to admit, he did feel better now. Not great, but better. The darkness that had suffocated him, completely surrounding him until it felt like he had to fight to breathe was now gone.

Unwrapping himself proved more complicated than he first thought, but finally he was out of bed and stumbling towards the bathroom. Surprisingly, Jim was still in his bed. Blair tried to move as quietly as possible, closing the bathroom door before turning on the bright lights.

One look in the mirror was almost enough to send him back to bed. "Oh, man." He eyed his hair with disgust. He'd never finished combing it out last night. Now it stood straight out from the sides of his head like a clown in a three-ring circus. All he needed was the stupid red nose.

He saw his shaving kit on the counter, next to Jim's. Their stuff must have been delivered from the resort. Good, he had a serious crop of fuzz sprouting all over his face and he wanted it gone. But first, he needed another shower if he had any hopes of controlling his curls.

Much later, feeling better with a clean, bare face and combed hair, Blair left the bathroom. Jim was sitting up on his bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Leave any hot water?"

"Yeah, plenty. Our stuff is here, too." Blair spotted his luggage on the end of the bed.

"We're all having breakfast together before we head back to Cascade," Jim said, climbing out of bed wearing boxers and passing Blair as he headed for the bathroom.

"I hope they have pancakes, I'm starving," Blair said, rubbing his stomach.

The door to the bedroom opened without warning. Naomi entered, smiling brightly at her son.

"Mom!" Blair blurted, catching Jim shooting into the bathroom and slamming the door out of corner of his eye. "You need to knock," he warned her.

"Pooh, darling. I've seen it before. How are you feeling?" She limped as she neared her son, gathering both his hands in her own and making him feel like he was under a looking glass as she stared.

She knew.

"I'm okay," he replied simply, then shivered. Pulling one hand free he pointed to the towel around his waist. "Kinda cold, though..."

"Oh!" She backed towards the door. "I'll wait in the other room. You boys hurry and dress, Tristan's treating us to breakfast."

Blair nodded, making shooing motions with his hands. "We'll be out in a sec, mom. No more barging in, okay?"

After the door was closed, Jim peered through the partially opened bathroom door. "She gone?"

"Yeah, coast is clear." Blair headed for his luggage.

"I swear, she does that on purpose, Sandburg," Jim grumbled as he walked towards his own suitcase.

"Now, Jim, what are you trying to insinuate?" Blair asked as he stepped into a pair of clean boxers and reached for his jeans. "My mom's a peeping Jane?"

"Or something, Chief," Jim told him, pulling out a pair of dark Dockers and looking them over with a critical eye. "But it's not like I'm a stranger to beautiful woman wanting to catch a glimpse."

Blair snorted and almost fell over as he balanced on one leg to climb into his jeans. "Oh, please!"

"Hey, I'm just calling it like it is. The proof's in the pudding, Junior. The ladies go for the strong, silent ones. Doesn't hurt to have a body like a Greek god." He flexed a bare arm, making his biceps jump while striking a pose.

Blair couldn't hold in the laughter as he collapsed onto his bed. Part of him knew what Jim was doing, but he didn't care. It just felt good to laugh. His mother was alive, Jim was safe, and everything had turned out okay. Sure, he had therapy to look forward to, but Jim had promised he wouldn't have to muddle through it alone.

He'd survive.

He didn't have a choice; he was a Guide to a Sentinel.

"Yuk it up, Darwin," Jim challenged as he stepped into his pants. "I bet I could get Naomi to -"

"Hey!" Blair choked down the laughter and threw a pillow, catching Jim squarely in the side of the head. "That's my Mom we're talking about!"

The End

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