Part two

"Blair!"

Crossing the yard toward the house, Jim left the barn. "He's taking a walk, Naomi."

Naomi watched Jim jog up the stairs to the porch, disbelief in her eyes. She let the screen door close with a bang. Jim opened it to follow her back into the living room, noting her stiff back and clenched fists.

No question where Blair got his temper.

"He needed time alone," Jim explained.

She whirled on him. "He NEEDS to get away from Buck, from you, from all the violence!"

"Give me a break, lady," Jim snapped back, unable to force his irritation down. "The world is a violent place. And it sounds to me like he saw plenty when he was growing up with you."

She visibly puffed up, her expression hard. "You don't know anything."

Shit, time to back down. Blair would rip him a new one if he found out about this fight. Jim held up both hands, peacefully. "Blair's an adult. He chooses where to spend his life."

She gave an unladylike snort.

It was funny how Naomi never seemed to apply her liberal idealisms to her own son. Buck was right, she wanted to control him.

"Are we ready?" Thelma entered the living room wearing a light cotton drawstring pair of pants and a loose fitting T-shirt. She looked like an escapee from an exclusive health spa.

Naomi pasted a smile on and turned to her fiend. "Yes, let's get you in the car."

"Gladly," Thelma answered with a shiver, glancing about as if demons waited in the corners to attack her.

"Jim will see us off." Naomi took her friend's hand. "I'll call Blair later, after we're in Arizona."

"Are you sure? We could wait." She looked as if that was the last thing she wanted.

"I'm sure." Naomi led her to the door.

He was so stupid.

Blair gazed up at the cave. When Jim had said Buck was dry, it should have been obvious: the early man cave. Blair scrambled up the talus slope as quickly as he could, but the cave was empty. No, there, camping gear.

"Uncle Buck?" An enameled blue cup sat on a flat rock. Blair checked it. It was still warm. He was just here. Perhaps from this elevation he could spot him. Blair turned.

Buck stood behind him.

"Shit!" Blair stumbled back a step.

"Figured you'd be gone by now," Buck said, going around Blair to tuck a small towel into his pack.

"Why?" Blair squeaked, then cleared his throat. "Did Jim say that?"

"No, just made sense."

He had so many questions. Blair didn't know where to start. He watched Buck finish his packing. Taking the mug and stuffing it in with smooth, economic movements. The top flap was closed and tied. Buck hoisted the frame into his shoulder and slipped his other arm through the dangling strap. Avoiding Blair's eyes, he left the cave.

Blair hurried to keep up. They slipped and slid down the slope, reaching the bottom safely. Blair was breathless, but unable to take the silence anymore. He caught Buck's sleeve. "What did I do wrong?"

A measure of Buck's stony facade dropped away. For the first time, the older man met Blair's questioning look. "I'm not mad at you, runt."

"I don't understand why you're acting like this," Blair whispered, finding it suddenly hard to talk around his tight vocal chords.

Buck didn't answer, the delay grew. A horrible thought came to Blair's mind. He tried to push it back. "Oh, my god." He dropped his hand. "You're not going to deny it, are you?"

The stone mask was back. Buck was a stranger. He hitched his pack higher and left Blair standing on the trail.

Jim heard the approach long before he saw his guide. Buck had already arrived, stiff-backed and tense. He'd gone straight into the barn and hadn't been out once. Now, minutes later, Blair stomped up the stairs into the house, tracking mud over the floor.

Not promising.

Jim sighed and followed. "Sandburg?"

Blair was in the spare bedroom, slamming drawers. Jim leaned against the door jamb and folded his arms. "Didn't go well?"

"That would be a no, Jim." Throwing sweats and underwear onto the bed, Blair began stuffing them into his duffle bag. "He won't talk to me. He won't answer any questions. Hell, man, he won't even look at me!"

"Give him time. It's not easy."

Blair spun on Jim, jabbing a finger at the air. "It's a military thing, isn't it?" he demanded. "I bet you two had a nice long chat. But I'm the anti-soldier, so I don't get the same membership privileges!"

"Hey," Jim snapped, trying not to match anger for anger. "Don't take this out on me, Sandburg. I'm not the enemy. Neither is Buck."

Raking fingers through his hair, Blair dropped to the edge of his bed. He hunched over and stared at the floor. "I know," he whispered miserably. "I just... he's never shut me out, Jim."

Settling in next to his partner, Jim dropped an arm around the bowed shoulders. "Not all memories are easy to talk about. You know that." He waited, looking at the open drawers. "You really think leaving is the right thing to do?"

Blair shrugged and leaned into Jim's side.

The moment was interrupted by the arrival of a fast moving vehicle. Jim looked out the window, not recognizing the rusty old green ford truck. The front and rear bumpers were missing. The door screeched in protest as a lone man got out. Buck appeared in the open barn door and a short, intense conversation took place.

Jim dialed up his hearing.

Blair had straightened to watch as well. "What are they saying?"

"It's Spanish," Jim said, tilting his head. "Something about... the road being blocked, I think."

Blair stood, going to the window. "That's Miguel. He works for Buck. His family lives in that trailer across the lake."

"He's saying - Shit!" Jim grabbed Blair's arm and pulled him along.

"What?" Blair demanded as they ran for the front door.

Screen door slamming open, banging the wall, the two men ran out into the yard. Buck was barking orders to Miguel. He turned to Jim. "Get shovels out of the barn! Take the Chevy. We'll follow with the backhoe!"

"What's happening?" Blair exclaimed as he followed Jim into the barn, taking two shovels that Jim thrust into his arms.

Jim spotted work gloves on a tool bench. He snatched them up and grabbed the tool box and a crow bar. "Let's go!"

He ran for the truck and found the keys in the ignition. The shovels clanged as Blair threw them into the bed and breathlessly climbed into the passenger seat. The engine started with a roar.

"What the hell... is going on, Jim?"

Jim gunned the motor, spun the wheel and the truck spewed mud as they jetted out of the yard. "Mud slide. Miguel thought a car was buried."

"A car? Mom!"

"Let's find out."

The ride lasted a life time. Blair's hand was sweaty on the door handle. Buck's truck danced over ruts, washboards and potholes. Jim drove like an Indy contestant, his reckless desperation sending icy daggers of fear into Blair's chest. Then, all at once, it was over. They rounded a curve and the road disappeared under tons of mud.

They parked and grabbed the shovels. Jim latched onto the toolbox. Blair ran after Jim, awkwardly pulling a glove over his hand. Jim took two steps up the wet, brown sludge and sunk to the top of his ankles.

"There." Jim pointed.

Half a twisted, crushed hubcap peeked out of the deadly mound.

"Mom!" Blair attacked the mud with his shovel.

Jim dug with wet, slurping shovel sounds. They slung impossibly heavy loads of mud over their shoulders. With every shovelful, more mud flowed in to replace it. The slide was easily two stories high.

Blair felt a sob escape. This was impossible! They needed... He grabbed Jim's arm. "Wait."

"Sandburg, they don't have a lot of time," Jim panted.

"Listen, man." Blair took a shaky breath. "Listen for them."

Jim bowed his head. He nodded. "I can hear a heartbeat."

Pain twisted his gut. He forgot how to breathe. "O-one?"

Jim flicked him a glance. "Only one."

"God," Blair whispered, then jabbed the shovel hard into the mud. "Damn it!"

Fifteen minutes of hard work barely made a dent. Blair's back ached. His injured arm was on fire, throbbing with every pulse of his heart. Sweat stung his eyes. They were covered in mud as missteps brought them both to their knees more than once.

"Are we close?" Blair grunted out.

"Hold up," Jim ordered. He dropped his chin to listen.

Blair hated the fearful look Jim tossed him. "What?"

"The heartbeat is starting to--"

"NO!" Blair threw himself forward, digging madly. Mud and grit rubbed the skin under his cast raw. He ignored it. Jim huffed and puffed at his side, shoveling three spade loads for every two of Blair's. Yet the mud continued to backfill the hole.

"DAMN IT!" Blair shouted, kicking the mud.

"Finally!" Jim was pointing at something behind them.

Blair turned.

The orchard backhoe was lumbering down the road. Buck rode in the control seat. Miguel leaned out from the cab, holding on with one hand.

Jim pulled Blair out of the way as the old, yellow machine rumble by. Miguel shoved off and shouted at Jim in Spanish. Jim translated, yelling over the noise into Blair's ear. "Police and fire are en route."

Blair nodded, pushing his hair out of his eyes and smearing mud on his cheek. Buck stretched the bucket high in the air and scraped down the mud, depositing a sizeable mound at the base. It cut a six inch swathe into the slide, doing more in thirty seconds than he and Jim had managed the whole time they had been working.

On the third pass, the bumper of Naomi's rental appeared, chinking loudly against the rim of the bucket.

"MOM!" Blair leaped forward, only to be held back by Jim.

"Wait! He'll tell us when to move in," Jim shouted.

But waiting was torture. Time seemed to stop. What was it like for his mother? She was buried alive. Was she awake?

"Okay," Jim said suddenly, moving forward.

They worked rapidly to clear the door. Buck kept the backhoe bucket raised over their heads, bracing the slide for them so they weren't in danger of it burying them. The car was at a forty-five degree angle, with the driver's side high. The passenger door window had shattered. Cold mud filled the compartment, packed to the roof. Blair's vision blurred. Hot tears washed his cheeks. No way could anyone survive that. Blair dropped his shovel and scooped mud with both hands, sobbing quietly as his brain told him this was merely a body retrieval. Turning the shovel upside down and gripping it closer to the blade, Jim probed gently under the window until he found the door handle.

"Stand back, Blair."

Stepping back, Blair bumped into Miguel, who was kneeling in the mud, scooping it back to keep it from building up at their feet.

With a mighty heave, Jim wrenched open the door and the mud-bathed body of Thelma slid out with a slurping sound. Blair covered his mouth, ashamed of the noisy sobs he was releasing. Jim brushed her neck free of mud and checked for a pulse. Jim shook his head and hooked both hands under her shoulders. He dragged her back, out of their way.

Blair picked up the shovel and went to work on the mud spilling out from inside the car.

A sudden shout was all the warning he got before heavy mud tried to swallow him whole. It flowed with deadly speed up his legs to his hips, knocking him hard into the open doorway. Blair screamed as his arms flailed uselessly. His back bent close to breaking as the mud pushed and shoved.

Strong hands jerked him up and out. Blair was free and in Buck's arms.

"You okay?" Buck demanded.

"Blair!" Jim yelled as he charged around the backhoe, nearly knocking Buck over.

"I'm okay, I'm fine." Blair answered breathlessly, still shivering from the tingling sensation of being swallowed by cold earth.

"The whole damn thing shifted on me," Buck said angrily. He turned Blair loose. "Miguel? You okay?"

"Si," Miguel answered, crossing himself, his face white.

Keeping one muddy hand on Blair's shoulders, Jim pointed back at the car. Blair looked. All their work was gone. Mud filled the passenger area again. But Jim's words offered hope. "I thought I saw an air pocket."

Buck sprinted back to the backhoe, climbing into the operator's seat. Blair and Jim shouldered for first place. Blair lost.

"Jim!"

"I have two working arms."

Hating that Jim was right, Blair joined Miguel in scooping mud. They advanced by inches, reclaiming their hard won space. Tons of mud, held up by a backhoe bucket, threatened to bury them all. Jim dropped the shovel to hand scoop and Blair saw a patch of ceiling fabric.

There was an air pocket!

"Mom!" Blair surged to his feet, shoving into Jim's shoulder. His mother's face stuck up from the mud. "Oh, god, Mom!"

"She's breathing," Jim shouted. Another powerful scoop and her arm appeared.

"Hurry," Blair begged.

"Here we go," Jim warned, taking one of her arms, and reaching around the top to cradle her head and reach for her far shoulder.

Blair tried to give him room. He tried to get in to help. Jim was tugging. His mother was moving. Without warning, the whole car moved. Mud flowed toward them.

"Get out!" Jim screamed.

"Don't leave her!"

"I'm not," Jim snapped, straining as he pulled. "Move!"

Hands fisted the back of Blair's shirt, jerking him back, threatening to rip his clothes apart at the seams. It happened so fast that Blair couldn't get a good grip on Jim like he wanted. Slipping on the shifting mud, he glided on his back, leaving a wake for Jim to follow. Grit scraped his back, got into his waist band. They were clear of the car and still the mud followed. More hands joined Miguel's and now Blair was really moving, which was good because Jim had Naomi's body in tow and he was flinging himself backward from the mud as fast as he could move.

Finally the mud stopped. They were safe.

Blair was dropped and left as Miguel and Buck went to help Jim carry Naomi to a clear, mud-free spot. They gently lowered her to the ground. Panting from exertion, Jim dropped to his knees and went into medic-mode. Arms and legs feeling pounds heavier, Blair managed to roll onto his side and rise to his hands and knees. He crawled over, pain shooting up his arm with each movement.

"Jim?" Blair asked timidly.

"She's not breathing," Jim answered. He pinched her nose and lowered his shoulders down to start mouth to mouth.

Jim's whole world narrowed down to five steps: breathe, lift, turn, suck in good air, get a seal again, start all over. Naomi's heart was still beating. They had a chance to bring her back. Jim extended his focus to check on Blair, make sure the younger man didn't go near the mud again. Buck was talking to Miguel in Spanish. Jim didn't bother to follow the conversation.

Breathe, lift, turn, good air, seal, start over...

A puff of air hit his cheek. Jim froze. She was breathing again. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he realized someone new was speaking to him. A man squatted at his side.

"Hi, there. Why not let us take over?"

Jim was surrounded by fire uniforms. He sat back with a weary nod. "She just started breathing on her own."

The firemen checked a pulse, barking orders for oxygen and another man slipped in to fit a mask over her mouth. He squeezed a large bladder attached to it and Naomi's chest rose.

It felt great to give her care over to others. Stiff, Jim rose to his feet, swaying a minute, his head hanging with exhaustion. He stumbled over to Blair and dropped down to sit. His back hurt. His hands stung. He propped his arms on bent knees.

"She okay?" Blair asked in a whisper, his eyes red.

"She's breathing," Jim admitted. "That's all I know." He took in his surroundings with detail.

Fire apparatus were parked on the other side of the slide, as well as a SUV with county sheriff markings. Buck stood nearby, talking to the deputy. Thelma's body was being covered with a blanket Naomi was being prepared for transport, EMTs busy cutting off her mud-caked clothes and wrapping her within a special, foil-lined blanket to keep her body temperature from dropping any further. Blair had curled into a tight muddy ball at Jim's side, rocking back and forth as he watched.

Jim sighed and dropped a filthy arm around his guide's shoulders.

The call was made and Naomi was airlifted to Spokane where they had a level one trauma center, rivaling Seattle's own Harborview hospital. The men drove back to Buck's house long enough to change clothes, wash their hands and face and get their wallets. Buck locked up his house and they piled back into the Chevy to drive to the hospital.

Getting around the mudslide was tricky, but Buck handled the wheel like a pro and soon they were speeding down the asphalt. The drive took over an hour. Buck dropped them off at the ER doors and went to find a parking spot. Jim noticed the way Blair supported his cast as he hurried into the bustling waiting room.

"Excuse me, my mom was flown in this morning? Naomi Sandburg?" Blair said in a rush as he bent over the counter as if trying to read the nurse's computer screen. Jim caught up with his guide.

"Are you family?" the nurse asked, never looking up from her work, her fingers flying over a keyboard.

"Yes, I'm Blair Sandburg." Blair said, more than exasperated. "She's my mom."

"Right." The woman looked up with a smile. "Sorry, the mouth kicks in before the brain. Your mom's still in treatment room six. We really need these forms filled out."

A clipboard laden with paperwork was pushed forward. Jim took it. "What's her condition?"

"I'll tell the doctor you're here," she replied without answering, already filling a new clipboard with more blank forms, as quick as a foot soldier reloading an assault rifle. The phone at her elbow shrilled for attention as a frantic looking mother with a screaming toddler pushed by Jim to get the nurse's attention. Jim reluctantly stepped back. "Come on, Chief."

They'd find another way to get information.

The hallway leading to the trauma rooms was well guarded. Jim found a semi-quiet alcove with seats and gently pushed Blair into one. Pain lined Blair's eyes and mouth.

"Let me see," Jim asked, setting the clipboard aside as he squatted down.

Blair seemed oblivious, not reacting as Jim carefully took the injured arm. The exposed skin below the cast was muddy and cool to the touch. Under the mud, the arm was pale. Jim pinched a nail bed and frowned when the blood took forever to refill.

"Scale of one to ten, Sandburg. How's the pain?"

Weary blue eyes focused a little. "Jim?"

"Yeah, it's still me. Tell me what's going on with your arm."

Blair wiggled in his chair. "Mom? Is Mom okay?"

"We're still waiting for news. Let's talk about your arm now."

"Arm?" Blair blinked.

"What's happening?" Buck asked, striding toward them from the other end of the hallway.

Good, reinforcement had arrived. Jim nodded at the forms. "Still waiting. Can you get those forms started?"

"I'm on it." Buck scooped up the board.

"Come on," Jim said, urging Blair to stand. He circled an arm around Blair's back and guided him back toward the triage nurse.

Amazingly, they got a room right away. Either all the other patients in the waiting room were not as badly injured or the woman behind the counter took pity on them. After explaining his suspicions with Blair's arm, she took them into the trauma room area and set them up in a spare bed. The urgent atmosphere lacked the mayhem of the waiting room. Nurses and doctors moved with purpose and efficiently. Each bed was separated by white curtains. Jim could hear at least four teams of doctors and nurses working. The other rooms held patients waiting their turn.

"Mom?" Blair asked, looking around.

Jim started to lift his friend's shirt off his head. "The doctors are with her. Lift your good arm."

Flakes of dried mud littered the pristine sheet. Jim tried to keep as much as he could from falling off, but it was hopeless. Working the sleeve down over the cast had Blair gasping with pain.

"Sorry."

Blair started to shiver from a combination of air conditioning and shock. Jim reached under the bed for the light cotton blanket, draping it over Blair's shoulders and drawing it around him like a cloak.

"What are we doing here?" Blair mumbled.

"You need your arm looked at."

Trying to slip off the exam table, Blair protested, "No time..."

Jim stepped in close and blocked Blair's access to the floor. "Stay put, Sandburg." Anger and determination flashed over Blair's face. Jim rushed to explain. "Your mom is not going to be very happy with you when she wakes up to find out you ignored needed medical attention. Yes, you need it. Your circulation is compromised. Now, there's nothing we can do but wait. Sit still and let them fix your arm."

Petulantly, Blair hunched and glared. Jim endured the daggers and patted the blanketed shoulder. He'd take any form of cooperation.

A nurse breezed in to gather a brief history, blood pressure, pulse and oxygen sat level. After listening to Blair's lungs, she breezed out with a promise to take a quick peek into Naomi's treatment room.

Blair perked up.

Minutes later she was back. "She's breathing on her own. She looks stable."

Collapsing back on the treatment table, Blair's lips moved in a silent prayer of thanksgiving.

"Is she awake?" Jim asked.

The nurse shook her head.

Blair tensed up. "That's bad, isn't it?"

"It's... not unusual," Jim answered carefully.

The nurse clapped her hands together in a business like manner, expecting compliance. "Ready for those x-rays, now?"

"Jim."

"Blair."

"Jim."

The X-ray technician was still fussing with his machine, something about a batch of film being defective. Jim only knew that the extra time was driving his partner crazy with worry.

"Listen, I told them to call if there was any change," Jim explained.

Sitting on the edge of another exam table, dressed in a hospital gown over his filthy jeans, Blair hugged his broken arm and glowered. "You saw how busy they are. They're going to forget." Blair lowered his voice. "I get that you want me to stay put. I'll stay, okay. But please, man, I'm begging you. Go find out what's happening."

"Fine," Jim capitulated, rubbing his eyes. For some strange reason, he didn't want Blair out of his sight. "You don't move from this room until I get back. Got that?"

"Got it."

"I'll be right back."

Blair pointed at the table. "I'll be right here."

Jim nodded, but didn't push it. Once in the hall, he nearly broke into a jog.

"How is he?"

Jim spun. Buck Stevens pushed his shoulder away from the wall and frowned. Jim had completely missed his presence. Unacceptable. He needed to stay focused. "They're still trying to get x-rays," Jim said. "Go in, keep him there till I get back."

Buck stiffened. "I'll wait out here."

Exasperated, Jim scrubbed his face. "Fine, just don't let him slip by you." He didn't wait for a reply. Seconds later he stood next to the ER triage desk. The nurse gave him a flicker of recognition and answered his unasked question.

"She's still stable, unconscious. Blood sat is up."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," she replied briskly, then unexpectedly pushed a foil wrapped granola bar across the counter. "Here, great for those long shifts."

Jim was starving. Smiling warmly, he took the bar. "I didn't know angels worked day jobs."

The doctor cut the cast off with a battery operated mini-saw. Lying on his back, Blair kept perfectly still, his injured arm straight out from his side, propped up on a rolling table. Jim stood at the head of the exam table, his focus on Blair, not missing the grimaces of pain as the doctor and nurse bent over the table.

"Want a pain killer?"

"No," Blair answered tightly, eyes squeezed closed. "Makes me sleepy. Can't sleep."

Jim knew he'd say that, but still hated it. It made him crazy to see his partner in pain. Made him want to hit something, or someone. Jim blew out a tense breath and watched the second hand sweep the face of the clock hanging on the wall. He couldn't fault the hospital's diagnosis. Digging in that mudslide had undone whatever healing Blair's arm had done. Now the swelling threatened his hand. And a one armed Sandburg was unthinkable.

Blair flinched as the saw finished the last cut and the cast fell open. His muddy arm was pale and deformed looking. Once the swelling went down, the possible use of pins would be discussed. Until then, Blair would wear a splint. Blair's attitude had been `yeah, whatever. I'll put it on my schedule.' Jim had been the one to listen and ask questions about his options.

And amazingly, the doctors did talk to Jim about Blair's treatment. Did they think Blair was his family? That was fine with Jim. They'd let the military doctors follow up on Blair's treatment. That way Blair would not be dealing with additional charges to his minimal insurance plan.

By the time the arm was set, cleaned and in a splint, Blair's face was mottled, his eyes red with silent tears of pain.

"No movement, Mr. Sandburg, absolutely none," the doctor admonished. "That swelling needs to come down. If you'd waited any longer, just a few hours, we'd be having a totally different conversation right now."

Blair nodded, distracted by the sounds from the hallway.

The doctor turned raised eyebrows on Jim.

"He gets it. He'll follow instructions."

"Good, thank you. Please see the nurse." The dismissal was perfunctory. The man had forgotten about Naomi.

"My mom?" Blair blurted out, standing too fast. He steadied himself with his good hand on the bed.

Reaching the doorway, the doctor turned back. "Oh, right. My colleague is working with your mother. You can wait in the private lounge. It's more comfortable. I'll have them bring you an update as soon as we know."

The lounge was as comfortable as the doctor promised; warm, softly lit and relatively quiet. Jim sank into a sofa with a weary sigh. Blair paced. Jim briefly thought about forcing him to rest, but gave it up. He'd pick his battles.

"Why hasn't anyone come?" Blair demanded.

"We've been waiting a whole three minutes," Jim pointed out. He stretched out both legs and crossed his ankles. It felt good to be off his feet. Even after the granola bar, he was hungry. They'd missed lunch. Maybe he'd find Buck and have the man make a food run.

In the end, the wait was only twenty minutes. A young doctor armed with a clipboard and a stethoscope around his neck entered, greeted them warmly and shook hands. He got down to business immediately.

"She's breathing on her own. I was hoping she'd be awake by now, so we could evaluate her mental status. I understand you two rescued her from the mud. Did she speak at all?"

Jim shook his head. "No, she stayed unconscious. She stopped breathing, but never lost her pulse."

The doctor scratched notes. "This could be her body's way of healing. Obviously we're checking her into the hospital."

"But she's going to be okay, right?" Blair asked.

Sympathetic brown eyes met anxious blue. "I don't believe in giving up. She'll get the very best care possible." He sighed and folded his arms over the clipboard. "The big factor is how long her breathing had stopped."

Blair paled. "You're talking about brain damage, aren't you?"

The doctor nodded. "It's a possibility."

"Oh, god..."

Jim squeezed his shoulder, desperately wishing he had the power to fix Blair's world. "Possibility, Sandburg. Not fact."

"We'll get your mother settled in. You can sit with her until visiting hours end." The doctor left.

Blair slumped into a chair. "I never said goodbye."

"Don't give up on her, Blair."

"She probably thought I was mad at her. I just left."

Jim squatted down, his knees creaking in protest. "So tell her when she wakes up that you two are good."

"Thanks, man." Swiping his damp eyes with the back of his hand, Blair twisted to look around the room, searching for someone who wasn't there for him.

"Sandburg, we're kicked out," Jim insisted, getting in his face. "Or do you want to be talking to hospital security next?"

Jim had him cornered in the corridor down from his mother's room. It was late, past visiting hours. Blair didn't care. He wanted to go back and sit at her side. Even if it was all night, he would. The doctor had lured them both out to talk about Naomi's condition, then told them in no uncertain terms to go find a hotel and get some rest.

Jim's face softened. "We'll be back first thing in the morning."

"She hates Western medicine, man. I can't let her wake up alone in there." Blair ignored his throbbing arm, which incidentally was trying to out do his pounding headache.

"She'll be fine," Jim answered.

Blair looked up and down the hallway. "Where's Buck?"

Jim fished out a key card from his jeans. "He dropped this off a few hours ago. The hotel is close enough we can walk."

Confused, Blair let Jim guide him to the elevator. Minutes later they were walking outside. The freeway noise flowed down from the elevated roadway two blocks to the north. Streetlights lit the deserted sidewalk and joined with the city lights to hide the stars. After days of desert solitude, the city seemed obnoxiously loud in the middle of the night.

The Ramada Inn was three stories high and new, but built to match the old red brick buildings around it. Their room had two beds and a small table. A sliding glass door opened to a small balcony. A green duffle bag sat on the chair. Blair stared numbly at it while Jim secured the deadbolt and drew the curtains to hide the balcony.

"How'd this get here?" Blair asked, pointing at the duffle.

"Buck drove back to the house and packed us some clothes." Jim stuck his head into the adjacent bathroom. "You want the first shower?"

Feeling the weight of the sling around his neck, Blair wondered how he'd manage. He looked back at the duffle. "Where's Buck now?"

"Actually..." Jim started pulling clean clothes out of the duffle bag, sorting them on the two beds. "... I'm not sure."

The hollow feeling inside Blair's chest threatened to swallow him whole. Blair wondered if it was possible, to implode from misery.

"So, about that shower," Jim said softly. "I'm thinking it will help."

Blair doubted that very much.

They walked back to the hospital in silence. After getting clean - Jim ended up calling the manager for a shower stool for Blair - and catching a few hours of sleep, they looked human again. Perhaps small children would stop staring at them.

Buck had been a no show, even though Jim knew the room next to theirs had been reserved for him. Blair wasn't talking, but Jim knew the kid was hurting from the other man's prolonged absence.

The morning nurse greeted them with a warm smile and doe-like eyes of sadness. Naomi's condition had remained the same through the night. Blair sank into the chair next to her bed and picked up his mother's hand. Naomi barely filled the bed. Wires snaked over to machines which monitored her heart and breathing. Blair stroked her arm, his lips moving too silently for even Jim to hear what he might be telling her.

Jim backed out of the room. They needed breakfast. Blair wouldn't even know he was gone. Jim arrived to find the cafeteria doing a good business. He waited in line to purchase two small boxes of Grape Nut cereal, a carton of milk and a bowl of questionable fruit diced into Goliath sized chunks. He'd eat first, then pick up something for Blair to eat back in the room.

But the tables were all full. Jim was reconsidering his plan when he saw Buck sitting in the corner. The man looked exhausted. He hunched over a cup of coffee, both elbows on the table. Jim went over.

"You been here all night?" Jim sat in the extra seat.

Startled out of a light doze, Buck sat up straight. "Drove back to the house again. Hospital needed more information, had to dig out her purse to find it."

And here Jim figured he spent the night in a bar. "Thank you."

Buck shrugged. "Blair okay?"

Jim poured half the milk into the first box. "He'd be better if you went and sat with him. He's asking for you."

Buck didn't reply.

"Look, I appreciate everything you're doing here. But it's time to knock off the recon stuff and just be there for him."

"You're there."

Jim rolled his eyes. "I'm not the one he's asking for, Stevens. His mother is slipping deeper into a coma by the hour. You're the closest thing he's ever had to a father."

Leaving his half finished coffee, Buck stood and walked out of the room.

Jim reached out to touch the mug. The coffee was stone cold.

After finishing his meal, Jim bought the freshest muffin by smell, banana-nut, and a container of orange juice. He found Blair sitting alone next to his mother, exactly as he'd left him. Damn Buck, Jim had hoped to find him here.

"Here you go. Breakfast is served." Jim tore the foil cap off the top.

Blair's good hand was in use holding his mother's. He didn't even look at Jim.

Giving the still damp ponytail a light tug, Jim persisted. "Come on. You have to eat."

He was rewarded with a sidelong glance. "Thanks, man, but I'm not hungry."

"Yes, you are, you're just not paying attention to your body," Jim joked lightly. "At least drink some juice."

That bought a snappy huff, but got a result. Blair let his mother's hand go long enough to chug the juice down in two gulps. He pushed the empty drink container back at Jim and went back to watching his mom breathe.

"That's a start," Jim said, reaching for the muffin and pulling at the clear plastic around it. "Here's some--"

"Jim," Blair snapped. "Give it a rest."

Yeah, okay. Jim backed off. He'd take the small victory and try again later.

Jim had finished the front page, sports and classified section of the local paper and was working on the food section when the doctor arrived on his rounds. The doctor examined Naomi thoroughly before scribbling his notes. He tucked the file under his arm and turned to Blair.

"Mr. Sandburg, have you reviewed your mother's insurance?"

Blair had hoped for news, not questions. "Um, not really. Is she going to wake up soon?"

"Your mother is not responding as we'd hoped. She's experiencing minor cerebral edema."

There were only two chairs in the room. Jim stood and quietly moved to stand behind his friend. The doctor moved the now empty chair to face Blair and sat.

"It's still very early, so there's no reason to become alarmed, but I'm afraid it is time to look at the cost of her care."

For the first time all day, Blair's attention was not focused on his mother. "Cerebral edema... that's bad, man. How do you fix that?"

Removing his half-circle reading glasses, the older man proved his passion to heal his fellowman since he spoke with feeling. "Like I said, we're in a waiting game right now. Any invasive action on our part might hurt your mother more than help her. I recommend we continue to monitor, see if that swelling gets better on its own. If not... well, some drugs can be used to reduce some edema. Frankly, we could fill a building with the information we don't know about our bodies."

"She's not brain damaged," Blair said fiercely.

Jim cupped his shoulders from behind. "How much will Naomi's insurance cover, Doctor?"

"Not enough I'm afraid. You need to be looking for a less costly alternative. Unless there is coverage from her spouse?"

Blair trembled under Jim's hands. "No husband," Blair answered softly. "I could... sell my car?"

"Other family?" the doctor pressed.

Blair shook his head, slouching miserably in his seat.

"Chief, I've got some savings."

Blair shrunk further in his chair. "I can't let you do that, Jim."

The doctor stood. "Well, for now, we're keeping her here. I'll file the proper paperwork to keep the bean counters happy. There might be some programs available that could help. I'll have the nurse send in some brochures." He offered a sincere looking smile. "I'll admit my focus will always be on my patient, but I'll do what I can to help."

"Thank you," Jim said, shaking the man's hand. "For everything."

After the doctor had left, Jim slipped back into his chair to face his partner. "Hey, we'll work something out."

Blair's face had paled significantly during the doctor's talk. Panic showed in his eyes. "She never thought she'd need this, Jim. She's always been so careful with her health." He swallowed painfully. "She's not a flake. She'd never purposefully--"

"Hey, I know. I know." Jim could feel Blair's pain, scraping painfully over Jim's senses, somehow bleeding through the connection they found and forged during their struggle for survival. Jim couldn't explain it, couldn't even begin to understand it. But it did exist. And it fueled his desperation to make everything right again. "Let me get you some soup or something, Blair. It's dinnertime and you haven't..." The offer died on Jim's lips as he realized he'd already lost his partner's attention.

Blair leaned toward his mother, her hand in his again.

Frustrated, Jim stood up, running a hand over his short hair. Maybe once Blair actually smelled soup, he'd eat it.

Maybe.

But unlikely.

The walk back to the hotel that night was quiet. Jim carried a slew of paperwork on programs that might offer relief from high hospital costs. Blair's stride was sluggish and off-balance as he tried to read by the streetlight and manage the sidewalk at the same time. Jim kept one hand on his good elbow, afraid of what a fall might do to his guide's broken arm.

"Shit, man. Look at these costs," Blair muttered, squinted at the fine print. He stumbled.

"Read it when you get to the room," Jim advised.

Blair crumpled the paper. "God, why doesn't she just wake up? I never should have walked out like that."

Jim sighed. No matter what he said, no matter how he laid out the facts, Blair would still blame himself. The guilt, the misery, the fear, it radiated. Jim felt as if he glowed from the fallout. In fact, the migraine pounding behind Jim's eyes originated from Blair's distress and Jim's inability to help.

Back at their hotel room, Blair fell, fully clothed, across his bed. He rolled into his back and stared at the ceiling.

Jim set the bag holding the paperwork, muffin from the morning, and other snacks he had unsuccessfully tried to get his friend to eat, on the side dresser. "Want the first shower?"

Blair shook his head.

"How about dinner? There's a twenty-four hour burger joint down the street."

Throwing his arm over his eyes, Blair waved his hand. "Go ahead. Not hungry."

"Riiight," Jim answered, tamping down his irritation. The walk to the restaurant appealed to him. "I'll be right back. Lock the door."

Blair rolled off the bed with effort, looking half asleep as he walked back to the door. Jim took pity. He'd bring back something hot, something that might tempt his friend to eat. Waiting until he heard the chain slide in place, Jim started down the hall, walking by the door to the adjacent room. He paused, extending his hearing through the wall and knocked.

Buck opened it.

Jim nodded down the hall. "Walk with me."

Once outside, Jim waited until they reached the corner before speaking. "Naomi's insurance is crap. The hospital bill is already in five figures, heading toward six. Blair's accepted the debt as well as total guilt for her injury."

"Tell him not to worry about the money," Buck instructed crisply. "And you tell him he's not to blame. What happened just happened."

Skidding to a stop on the sidewalk, Jim turned on the man. "No? Really? Why the hell didn't I think of that?" He threw both arms out from his sides. "What ever would I do without you?"

Buck raised an eyebrow.

Dropping his arms, Jim curled his hands into tight fists, willing himself not to swing. He felt his body shake with frustration. "I'm going to try this one more time, you ex-squid-see-the-world-through-a-porthole. Blair needs YOU right now. Not me telling him what you say." Jim pushed a stiff finger into Buck's chest.

Buck slapped the hand away.

"Drop the self-centered shit, Buck! Get your head out of your ass and help Blair!"

Buck turned away. Jim snarled and lunged, to hell with remaining peaceful. This was going to end. Buck was not going to turn his back on Blair.

Looking back, Jim blamed the migraine. Otherwise he knew for a fact he'd never have let a man his senior get him into a choke hold as quickly as he found himself. Buck's breath was hot on his neck. Jim couldn't break free.

"I let you sucker punch me once, Ellison," Buck said, deadly soft. "Not going to happen a second time, understand?"

Well, at least he had the guy's attention now. "Buck, listen to me. Blair doesn't need a roommate, best friend or even a freaking sentinel right now. He needs his dad."

The arm loosened and Jim was released. He rubbed his neck as Buck ran a palm down his face. "I'm not his father."

"You're the closest thing to one he's ever had." Jim crossed his arms. "Trust me on this."

"He can't want me around," Buck whispered.

"If it were anyone else, maybe," Jim said. "But we're talking about Sandburg."

Buck turned away and walked back to the hotel.

Jim let him go, hoping...

Blair stared at the textured ceiling, his mind blank. Was it possible a person could be so exhausted that sleep was too much effort? Not that he'd done anything to be exhausted, just sat next to his mother's bed. Rolling over, he curled up and pressed his forehead to his knees, hugging his ankles.

Numbers appeared when he closed his eyes. He'd never been afraid of debt before. Hell, he had a Master's in student loans. He could close his eyes and recite a loan application by memory. But those debts involved his education and, hey, a student is expected to be poor while working for a doctorate.

This was different. This was his mother's life. She had to get better. Blair had to figure out a way to get the money to make her better. He had to hear her voice again, see her smile and feel her hands pressed against his head as she gushed over his latest hair cut.

To hear her voice one more time...

*"It's okay, runt. I'll wake you when she calls."

How cool was that? Buck's words vibrated in his chest when he talked. Ear pressed against Buck's shirt, Blair wiggled into a more comfortable position under the man's arms and yawned. "Not sleepy."

Buck chuckled and tucked the flannel blanket tighter around Blair's curled up legs. The house was cooler than normal. Sometimes Buck would leave the window open at night after a rain squall had hit. Tonight was one of those kinds of nights.

It was late. They were waiting for Naomi to call. A letter had arrived yesterday, saying to expect her call because she would be at a place that had a phone and really wanted to talk to her son. Only the call was coming in at two in the morning, eastern Washington time. At first Buck had acted all annoyed, Blair could tell. But then Blair had explained the way it was with Naomi. She liked places where phones were not so easy to find. And a lot of the stuff she was into had weird hours. Sometimes they'd sleep all day and stay awake all night.

Then, for some reason, Buck had really looked annoyed, so Blair clammed up. At least the guy was letting him wait up for her call. Normally Buck was all about bedtimes and getting up early. Blair was sure it was on account of him not sleeping very good the last few days. In fact, Blair was a little fuzzy on how he ended up with Buck in the first place.

Not that he was complaining. He liked being here. Just sometimes, he liked to hear his mom's voice too.

Blair pressed close to Buck's side, snug and safe. He was too big to be actually sitting on the man's lap; that was for babies, although part of him wished he could. He'd never admit that. Still, it was nice to be this close. The coyotes yipped in the canyon. They sounded like real dogs and Blair was sure if Buck would let him, he could find a pup to play with. He'd lost count of how many times he'd asked Buck if he could have a coyote pup. Maybe Buck didn't like dogs.

His orchard book was balanced on the arm of the sofa and Buck was reading. Blair had his Dry Falls book, but he wasn't interested in reading right now. His eyes refused to stay open. His mind drifted with good thoughts, all good stuff. Blair was nearly asleep when the call came. Buck picked it up.

"Stevens... yeah, he's right here."

Eager, Blair took the handset. "Mom?"

"Hi, sweetie! How are you?"

That voice was sunshine and laughter, fun and home. Blair rode on the wave of elation it caused inside him. "I'm good! Buck and I are working. He's grown an orchard. We're going to start planting trees soon."

"That's wonderful. Trees are the earth's way of breathing, baby." Background noises filtered through the line. Where ever his mom was, she was with a large group. "I'm very proud of you," she continued. "Are you eating and sleeping okay?"

Blair rolled his eyes. Naomi was the coolest, but she sometimes proved to be a hundred percent `mom.' "Yeah, sure. It's all good. What's happening with you? What are you working on now? Buck said you went to Arizona? Is it a protest? I read something about Indian land rights being challenged by some rancher group. Are you kicking butt?"

"Not this time. We're working on plans for other things. I can't really get into it over the phone. You know how `big' brother is always listening." She dropped her voice to a stage whisper and laughed.

A giggle worked out of Blair's chest.

"It's so wonderful to hear your voice, Darling. Listen, I'm having Sharon mail you your schoolwork. I want you to study so you don't fall behind."

"Mommmmmmmmm, I'm like way ahead of other kids already," Blair whined.

Buck's chest rumbled with disapproval, a sure sign that Blair did not want to continue down this road. "Okay, mom. I'll study. At this rate I'll be going to college a year early, though."

She laughed. "Knowing you, honey, probably more than one year. Put Buck back on, okay? I love you, Blair."

"Sure," Blair responded as the room blurred. "I love you, mom."

With gentle movements, Buck took the phone back and the arm around Blair's shoulders snugged him close. Blair was tired. He turned his head into the man's shirt and rubbed his face a little. His throat grew tight.

"I'm here," Buck said. "Okay... fine. No problem. We'll be here." He returned the handset to the phone base and circled Blair with both arms.

They sat without talking as Blair's shoulders shook.

Next thing Blair knew he was waking up in his bedroom with late morning sunbeams streaming through the open curtains.*

The memory faded to the present, someone was knocking on his hotel room door. Jim had his key, of that Blair was sure. He stayed quiet, not up for company at the moment.

"Open the door, Runt."

Blair was on his feet and sliding back the chain before realizing he'd left the bed. "Buck?"

"Can I come in?" Buck asked quietly.

"Yeah, sure, please... yeah."

Entering the room with hands tucked deep into pockets, Buck's gaze slid over the dark TV, the window, the cheesy wall picture and the beds. He finally looked at Blair. "You okay?"

Memory and present day overlapped. Blair felt his throat tighten as Buck's image became blurry.

Buck took a step closer, speaking softly with concern. "Hey."

Oh, god, he was going to lose it. Blair hugged his ribs tightly and willed himself not to break down. Taking a deep breath, he looked at his feet. "I thought... you'd left."

"No," Buck answered. "Just taking care of unimportant things. I get stupid sometimes."

"Oh," Blair answered lamely, unable to process Buck being stupid at any time.

Buck examined his thumbnail. "See, I got it in my head that you didn't want me around."

"Uh?" Blair stared up at the man in shock. "What? Why?"

"What your mother's friend said back at the house." Buck cleared his throat nervously, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "I was in that village."

The village in Vietnam.

Blair shook his head. "You... okay. I'm sorry, man. I just assumed she was wrong." He rubbed his eyes a second thinking hard. "I'm not completely naive, in spite of what you and Jim think. I know... sometimes soldiers are forced to... make horrible choices. I guess I'm trying to say, you don't have to prove anything to me."

Looking at something over Blair's left shoulder, Buck spoke in a strange monotone. "The Viet Cong were using the orphanage as a base of operations. They had tunnels everywhere. They sent a kid... with grenades." His voice cracked, raw and painful. "The pin was out. I could tell my youngest team member was going to break cover. I gave the order--"

"You did what you had to do." Blair insisted.

Buck met Blair's gaze with a touch of fond humor. "How do you know, squirt? You weren't even born yet."

Blair waved the comment away. "I don't need to know. I know you, man. That's enough for me, okay?"

Looking like he was swallowing something painful, Buck's eyes glistened just a little. He closed the distance between them and caught Blair in a bear hug. "Okay."

Blair leaned into the warmth, welcoming the strength he'd been missing for days, delighting in the rough weave of Buck's shirt under his cheek, reliving the past. He thought he could actually feel the hope return.

Tomorrow he'd go back to the hospital and find a way to get Naomi's medical needs met. Hell, she had friends. He was an idiot. She knew people, people with power. He just needed to get the word out. What an idiot he'd been.

Jim smiled. He was leaning against the wall, just outside the door to their room. He pushed off the wall and headed for the hotel exit. A beer would taste good about now.

An hour and a half later, a mellower Jim swiped his room card and waited for the flashing green light. He could hear two heartbeats inside; the one he knew as well as his own face in the mirror was beating slower than the other. Blair was asleep.

Buck greeted him with a nod. He was sitting on Blair's bed, back against the headboard, ankles crossed, one hand resting on Blair's blanket-covered shoulder. Jim smiled, seeing Blair asleep with just the crown of his head showing, his curls spilling over the pillow in tangles. The room was lit by a single lamp on the low counter holding the TV.

Buck eased off the bed. The mattress never moved. "See you in the morning."

"Right." Jim caught the other man's smile in the mirror as he toed off his shoes. He replaced the chain after Buck closed the door and listened to the man finally enter his own room. Turning off the light, Jim quickly undressed, tossed his clothes over the foot of his bed and slipped between the clean sheets.

"Night, Chief."

Jim had no sooner slipped into dreamland than some idiot began pounding on their door. His hand went for a gun and found nothing. Jim cursed and reached out his senses.

Unbelievable! What did those two want?

Blair was groaning awake as Jim yanked open the door to find a civilian dressed Captain Packert standing in the hallway at three-freaking-thirty in the morning. Sam stood at his back, waving a hello over his shoulder. Buck's door was wrenched open a second later.

"What's wrong?" Both men asked at the same time.

"We need to talk." Packert motioned everyone into Jim's room.

A very groggy Blair pushed off the mattress, blinking owlishly at the crowd growing around the beds as Jim closed and relocked the door. "What's happenin'?

Jim hit the wall switch and bathed the room in light. "We're about to find out."

Buck yawned, scratched his chest and sat down at the table. Packert and Sam remained standing.

"Bad news, dudes," Sam began.

"I'll tell them," Packert ordered tolerantly. A partnership was already forming. "He's missing."

"Who?" Blair asked.

Jim knew and instantly saw red. "What the hell? You let him walk away from an army detention center?"

"Who walked away?" Blair asked the room at large.

"We didn't let him walk away," Sam clarified defensively.

"Shut up, Sam," Packert ordered.

"Right, sorry. I'm not talking." The young sentinel made a show of zipping his lips shut.

Jim rolled his eyes. "You had him. He's gone. How's that not your fault?"

Buck covered his eyes wearily.

"A group of suits had the proper paperwork. I wasn't notified until he was already taken."

"Shit," Jim swore, pinching skin between his eyes in frustration. "Who?"

"Yeah, who?" Blair echoed, standing up.

"All I know is they were Feds." Packert crossed his arms.

"Oh, out-freaking-standing. Way to run an investigation, Packert."

"Would someone tell me who the hell we're talking about?" Blair snapped.

Packert answered, turning sadly to Blair. "We never got his full identity, the dark skinned man from the helicopter."

Blair went white. "B-but... he's still in someone's c-custody... right? Right, man? Jim?"

Jim snarled at Packert. "Yeah, Captain, answer the man's question."

Sam stomped forward. "Your ears failing you? He said they took the guy without telling us!"

The two sentinels were face to face, toe to toe and ready to get dirty.

"Your new army buddy used us without our permission, rookie. Now we're supposed to - what? - come a running to help capture him again?" Jim snarled back.

Packert and Blair moved together to squeeze between the two protectors. Blair shoved Jim back, managing to get the older man to break eye contact with the other sentinel. They reached the door before Jim dug in and caught Blair by the shoulders.

Blair poked Jim's chest. "Come on. Even I can see they're here to warn us, man. Let them finish without ripping off arms, okay?" He was still pale and scared, but more like the `warrior' Blair Jim had grown to count on during the tough times.

"I wasn't--" Jim's denial couldn't hold up to Blair's tilted head and knowing look. "-- Much, anyway. Damn it, Sandburg. When is this shit going to end?"

"Hey, like I have a clue?" Blair answered, briefly bouncing his forehead on Jim's sternum before turning back to the room. "Okay, what next?"

Jim spoke, pointing at them over Blair's shoulder. "We want full disclosure."

Packert still had a hand on Sam's chest, holding him back. "Not here. We'll go somewhere quiet for coffee."

"Give us five minutes to get dressed," Jim answered.

"We'll wait out front. We're in a silver Trans Am." Packert changed his grip and towed Sam toward the front door.

Buck waited until they were gone before speaking for the first time. "That was fun."

Five minutes and change later, they were in the hotel parking lot talking logistics. Once more there were more people than car space so they needed Buck's truck. Blair offered to ride along, which meant Jim would go too and that was stupid because Packert's car would have an empty back seat while three grown men were crammed together in the front of a Chevy truck.

In the end Buck followed, driving alone.

Jim and Blair sat side by side in the back seat, with Sam riding shotgun next to Packert. The streets were busy, reminding Jim that Spokane was a large city, as large as Cascade. Twenty-four hour convenience stores kept the parties going for the college kids that attended the local university.

Packert was making a careful left turn on a green light in a double four lane intersection when a large SUV appeared out of nowhere. The crash was deafening. Jim was thrown hard against the door as their car spun sideways, the force of the collision to the side rear trunk. Blair had omitted to use his seatbelt and Jim managed to catch him by his head and shoulders before the smaller man was forced head first through Jim's window.

Even as the car spun in a stomach-lurching arc, Jim shouted out a warning. "It's them! I'm not armed!"

Packert was shouting to Sam at the same time, something about a radio.

Sprawled over Jim's lap, Blair grabbed a death grip on Jim's left arm with his good hand as the car slid to a jerky stop. Other cars barely avoided them, their tires screeching on asphalt. Hot radiator coolant sprayed the air, seeping into the passenger space and attacking Jim's sinuses. Blair was chanting Jim's name over and over breathlessly.

Jim caught a sudden movement by Blair's door. Twisting free of his own seatbelt, he turned, roughly throwing Blair down to the floorboards. Packert's door was open and the army captain was gone. Sam followed, bailing out the same door to the close sounds of gunfire.

Blair's door swung open.

"Stay down!" Jim yelled, leaning back and lifting his legs as a man, completely dressed in black, leaned in. Jim mule-kicked with both feet aimed toward the silenced automatic in the would-be killer's hand. The gun went off as Jim's foot missed but hit the man's forearm, sending the bullet whistling by Jim's right ear and shattering the window behind him. As glass cubes rained down, Blair screamed Jim's name and tried to get up off the floor.

Jim ruthlessly shoved him back with his hip. "STAY!"

The assailant took aim again and Jim vowed never again to leave home without a gun. A second man appeared behind the first and the lead attacker jerked to the side, sliding bonelessly down the open door. Jim raised his feet again, ready. The newcomer leaned in. Jim slumped with relief. It was Buck, with a large crescent wrench in hand. Buck reached down, picked someone up off the ground and tossed the assailant's handgun on the seat. "I'm going to help the others." Then he was gone.

More gunfire sounded. Jim snatched up the gun and checked the clip. Military Berretta, not his choice of weapon, but it would do.

"Get off me, Jim!" Blair demanded, wiggling under Jim's left hip.

Outside, car doors slammed nearby and a third car sped away into the night.

"Packert!" Jim shouted, sliding forward to give Blair room. Someone had shot out the streetlight and except for scattered headlights, the intersection was dark. Jim dialed up his vision, seeing gawking onlookers but not the men they'd been riding with. Where had the others gone?

One handedly, Blair managed to pull himself out from the tight fit between the seats. His face was flushed with anger and fear. Jim twisted back to help and to look at his arm.

"I'm fine," Blair snapped, then proved the statement a lie by curling over his splinted arm and hugging it to his chest. "Check on the others, man. Please."

Jim patted his knee. "Stay put, I'll be right outside the door."

Before Jim could move, Sam stuck his head inside the front open door. "You guys okay?" His eyes were bright with excitement, blond dreadlocks swinging as he surveyed the scene. "Cool, you're good. Hey, wow, you nailed one of them."

"Where's Packert?" Jim asked.

"With the guy we got, only ours is dead. The rest got away."

Three-quarters of the Spokane police, a special unit of military police from Fairchild Air force base, and nearly four hours later, the last vehicle was towed away. An unknown airman had arrived with a new rental for Packert. He gave a smart salute before handing over the key.

Morning had also arrived with clear skies and light fluffy clouds.

The bodies had been removed. The official count was one corpse, one unconscious - more than likely with a skull fracture - and two other men at large. Jim still found it hard to believe they thought four men could kidnap Blair while he traveled in a group of five. He had no problem guessing who had sent them. Even with the CEO of Pharaoh Industries behind bars, someone was running the show again. Jim held a theory on that as well.

Packert had been hit during the firefight as well, a crease along his rib cage. Sam's reaction had been over the top with worry and a major helping of guilt on the side. Jim almost felt sorry for the kid, knowing how he felt when Blair was hurt.

Scratching his head in realization, he pondered. Was Packert a guide for Sam?

Jim looked over to where his own partner was waiting and extended his senses. Blair had fallen asleep in the cab of Buck's truck. Buck had somehow managed to appropriate a morning newspaper and was using the steering wheel for support as he read. The local medics had checked over Blair's arm, deeming it stable, but had suggested a follow up x-ray later in the day. Blair had gone along with the plan but Jim had seen that look one too many times. He used it for everything from promising to hit the laundry basket with his dirty, wet towels, to telling Simon he'd never enter his office without knocking again.

It didn't matter; Jim would make sure he got another x-ray.

"You two need protective custody," Packert announced, just finishing his conversation with a small group of MPs. "My men will take you to--"

Jim held up his hand. "Three reasons why I hate that idea. One, I don't trust the military to keep a bunny rabbit safe right now. Two, Sandburg is going to refuse. Three, keep referring back to `one.'"

"Cute," Packert said sourly. "So what's your plan for keeping him out of their hands?"

"I'm not saying I don't want your help, Packert," Jim countered. "I'm just not willing to go into protective custody yet. What I want from you right now are facts. All of them." Jim switched his attention to Buck's truck. Blair had woken up and was getting out. "Plus we still have the issue of Sandburg's mother."

"Jim!" Blair skidded to a sloppy halt. "That MP just said--"

"We're not. In fact, I was just explaining that to Packert. We're going to check on your mom."

Blair nodded. "Okay, good. I'm down with that plan."

Packert looked heavenward and sighed. "Would either of you object to an escort?"

With the marked military jeeps taking the lead as well as bringing up the rear, they all parked in the `authorized only' area of the lot.

Packert was sketching his hastily drawn plans as they walked toward the wing where Naomi was housed. "I suggest we transfer her to Madison today."

Even early, the hospital buzzed with activity. Nurses talked on the phones. Doctors hurried through rounds. Volunteers pushed carts down the hallways. The gift shop clerk worked cheerfully on a display in the window with `get well' balloons and blue/pink teddy bears.

They piled into the elevator, filling it with the two extra armed MPs in their group. Blair leaned against the brushed steel walls, his eyes drooping.

Today promised to be a long one.

The elevator deposited them on the correct floor and a voice greeted them with surprise. "Mr. Sandburg!"

Naomi's doctor hurried toward them. His short hair stood up on end and he wore a wrinkled set of scrubs. A light band of sweat stained his collar.

Tense, Blair stepped forward. "Is mom okay?"

"That's what I wanted to speak to you about," the doctor answered, cautiously eyeing the crowd.

"Is she awake?" Blair demanded.

"Ummm... we should speak privately."

"No," Blair snapped. He rubbed his forehead. "Sorry, man. You can talk in front of these guys. Just tell me, please."

"I don't know if she's awake. She wasn't when I last checked her." The doctor tilted his head. "When I spoke to you about her care, I certainly didn't mean to imply you had to move her this soon. I hope you understood that."

A sick feeling punched Jim's gut.

Blair's head jerked up. "What? Moved? Mom?"

Jim grabbed the doctor's arm. "Are you saying she was transferred out? Someone took her?"

"Y-yes, her son signed the paperwork hours ago." The doctor's confidence faltered with confusion.

Blair backed away, then turned and ran down the hallway toward his mother's room.

Jim pointed at Packert, "Get the full story!" before breaking into a dead run after Blair, ignoring the doctor's startled protests. The MPs were half a second behind him.

Jim caught up to Blair, who stood inside an empty, cleaned up hospital room that just the night before held his mother. The bed was made, neat and tidy, the curtains drawn to let in the morning sun.

Blair slowly pivoted in a full three-sixty to end staring balefully at Jim.

The MPs held back in the hallway.

"Blair." Jim eased into the room, reaching out as Blair swayed as if in shock.

"Theygothertheygother." Blair backed away.

Jim stopped. A new sensation registered on his senses. Blair was causing it. If a heart could burn with raw grief, then Jim knew what it felt like. It made him want to curl into a ball in a dark corner.

Steeling his strength, Jim pushed past it and stepped forward again. Blair held up both hands and shook his head in denial.

Hurried footsteps approached the room and Buck was at the door. "None of the night shift would know Blair on sight. Her doctor was in emergency surgery all night. They thought of everything."

Jim had already surmised possible ways to pull it off. Maybe they had found someone Blair's height and stuck a wig on him. It didn't matter right now. They'd piece together the clues later. Jim's only focus now was the rapidly growing panic attack in his partner. "Sandburg, calm down."

Buck entered the room, his voice dropping as well. "Blair?"

Jim could feel the wall between him and his roommate strengthen. He hated this mystical shit. Did Blair even know he was doing it? The meaning was crystal. The guide didn't want any part of the sentinel. He'd had enough.

Buck stepped forward without hesitation. Blair didn't retreat. Jim reluctantly moved back as Blair let Buck draw him into a gentle embrace.

Packert entered with Sam at his shoulder. "Paperwork was top grade. No chance of the hospital figuring it..." his voice tapered off as Sam gasped and gripped his shoulder.

"What... is that?" Sam muttered, cringing.

Vision blurring, Jim impatiently waved the younger sentinel quiet. Packert was shifting uncomfortably on his feet. Blair's soft sobs could rip a sentinel's heart from his chest. Jim turned and pushed Packert and Sam out of the room. Once in the hallway, he closed the door. Jim sucked in a deep breath while unobtrusively trying to wipe his eyes.

"I should have anticipated something like this," Packert whispered.

Sam looked incredulous. "An hour ago, we didn't even know his mother was hurt."

Jim had to agree. "No one's at fault."

"Well, they've made their move." Packert held up his cell phone. "I think we should call for reinforcements. They'll try for Blair next."

Jim remembered his promise. "Not while I'm still breathing."

TBC

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