The stone-wood house that Buck Stevens called home had a slight elevation over the adjacent lake, as well as the rest of the coulee valley floor. Jim Ellison used this to his advantage, making the front porch his personal watchtower. He let his gaze roam the desert landscape before coming back to his friend. Blair Sandburg sat, legs folded, in a modified lotus on top of a haystack boulder. The morning sun had just topped the eastern basalt cliff, its fresh rays reflected in the kid's hair. Blair's breathing was slow and shallow, his posture perfect and eyes closed. He held his face tilted upward as if welcoming the day.

Shifting in his rocker, Jim absentmindedly scratched at a healing abrasion on the back of his hand, careful not to pull off the rashy scabs.

Blair's injuries were more than physical. His arm was broken, but Jim knew their adventure with Dupont, Pharaoh Industries and the dark sentinel had left damage an x-ray machine would never reveal.

Yet Blair insisted everything was fine. Jim wasn't buying it.

They'd only been back a few days, but the signs were there: the odd look Blair would get when no one was looking; the way he jumped at unexpected noises; the nervous bouts of energy that didn't seem to find any outlet.

Yesterday, Jim had made a point of catching Buck alone in the barn to ask his advice. Their conversation had led to Buck sharing his memories of Blair's arrival to Dry Falls after being kidnapped by Paul Dupont. Blair had only been twelve-years old at the time...

*"Naomi, you drag him off on one of your tangents and he'll never get better," Buck said, fighting to remain calm on the outside, when all he really wanted to do was find the bastard who had hurt Blair and rip his heart out.

Naomi squinted her eyes and crossed her arms. "I'm his mother. I know what's best for my son, Buck Stevens."

Buck held up both hands, palms out. "I'm not judging you. Look. Here's the deal. Let Blair stay with me. You can call collect every day. The minute Blair tells me he's ready to join you, I'll bring him personally... wherever you are."

"I can't ask you to do that. It's too expensive to--"

"I want to." Buck captured her small hand in his rough ones. "Why else would you bring him to me? You said the clinic can't find anything wrong. You know he'll get better here."

"He asked for you," she whispered sadly and smoothed Blair's hair back. He slept in Buck's spare bedroom, oblivious of their presence. "It was the first word he said after I found him in that basement. I still can't believe Paul took him..."

"He needs time to feel safe again," Buck said.

Naomi closed her eyes and agreed to the deal.*

Jim rocked, frowning as he remembered Buck's story. How could a parent not see her kid's need? Blair had been kidnapped, forced to help commit a crime which resulted in a man murdered. Blair had been told it was his fault. Any one of those elements would scar a kid for life. How could Naomi not see that Buck was right?

Letting the anger wash over him, Jim let it go, as his guide preached. Jim had seen the residual anger in Buck as the ex-seal had shared his memory. No wonder he and Naomi had issues. Jim forced his thoughts to the present. Obviously Blair still found sanctuary here at Dry Falls. Was it the desert canyons or the man who lived in this house? Or both?

The distant sounds of Buck's truck reached Jim's ears. A few minutes later the Chevy approached, its tires working to keep traction in the loose gravel. Buck parked on the hard-packed yard and opened the door. He moved stiffly, pressing one hand against his lower back as he stretched. He reached into the bed to lift a box filled with groceries.

"You made good time." Jim left his rocker to help carry in the food.

"My parts are on backorder. Seems I'm not the only orchard grower looking to expand. Where's Blair?"

Jim pointed down the coulee. Blair was meditating a mile away. "Out communing with rattlesnakes."

"As long as he leaves them out there," Buck said mildly. "That kid used to bring more critters into my house..."

Jim didn't want to know. "I'll get him."

"No reason to interrupt him," Buck interjected, leading the way to his kitchen.

"It's okay," Jim told him, setting the full grocery bags down on the kitchen counter. "Time for him to get out of the sun."

Jim followed the faded dirt ruts. Once the trail had been a jeep road leading toward a few small lakes. The canyon floor was riddled with trails, both animal and human. The heat was already climbing by the time Jim reached Blair's perch. Jim shaded his face as he looked up. "Sandburg."

Blair didn't open his eyes. "Go away, Jim."

"Buck's back."

Blair looked down in surprise. "Already?"

"Yep, come on." Jim held up his hand and snapped his fingers.

With a mildly exasperated sigh, Blair rolled on a hip and began the careful process of one-armed climbing down. He backed down on his hands and knees, blindly trusting Jim to brace each toe hold until he stood on the ground, slapping the dust off his knees and butt. They walked back to the house, shoulder to shoulder, comfortable in each other's silence.

When they reached the house, Buck was standing on the porch. "Banks' on the phone."

Jim reached it first. "Hey, Simon."

"Hi, Jim," his boss greeted. "How you doing?"

"We're getting there. How's the PD?"

"We're managing without the dynamic duo."

Blair had been leaning in to listen. He snorted.

"Hi, Sandburg," Simon said, guessing correctly.

Jim held the handset between them.

"Hi, Simon," Blair answered. "We miss you. How's Daryl?"

"Sassy and growing like a weed," Simon quipped.

"Cool, later man." Blair pointed toward the kitchen and mouthed the word `coffee'.

Jim nodded and waited until he was alone. "Actually, Sir, I'm glad you called. I need a little more vacation time."

"How much?" Simon sounded less than pleased. "Brown's got a vacation planned in a few weeks. I'd have to borrow a detective from-"

"Two weeks is more than enough, sir. Thank you." Jim crossed mental fingers. "We'll probably be back before you know it."

Simon sighed. "All right, fine. But you're working through the Christmas holidays for this one, Ellison."

It was time to sweeten the deal with a little bribery. "So, the fish are really biting out here. What's the chances of you joining us?"

Simon growled. "Get thee behind me, Ellison."

Jim laughed.

Jim woke to the sound of a heavy thump. The bedroom was dark and he quickly adjusted, seeing a blur of white on the floor. Blair, wearing boxers and t-shirt, had fallen off his mattress, arms and legs thrashing within a tightly wrapped blanket. Jim rolled out of his own bed and dropped to his knees, reaching out. "Blair, wake up."

Blair jerked and twisted. "NO!"

"Easy, easy buddy," Jim soothed tugging the blanket. "You fell out of bed. You're dreaming."

"L'mmego!" Hands freed, Blair rolled and pushed off the floor with one arm. Long hair obscured his vision. He flinched under Jim's touch, recoiling against the bed. "Jim? Wha..?"

"You okay?" Jim asked, aware of their door quietly opening. Buck looked in, but stayed out of the room.

"I'm fine," Blair mumbled, dropping his chin to his chest and rubbing his eyes.

"Let me see your arm."

Blair shook his head. "I said I'm fine." He pushed off the floor, sliding upwards. The blanket was still snarled around his legs. He tugged and kicked, losing his balance. He fell back on the bed with an impatient curse.

"Here." Jim worked the blanket free. He could hear Buck returning to his own room. "You going back to sleep?"

Blair nodded and stretched out. He pulled the bedding up to his chin, shifted and sighed. "Don't even remember dreaming, man. Weird," he said.

Jim returned to his own bed. "Must've been the hot sauce."

Blair snorted. "Night, Jim."

"Good night, Sandburg."

Even after Blair's breathing had smoothed out in sleep, Jim listened to the nocturnal movements of the desert animals and thought about the terror he'd seen on Blair's face.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what the dream had been about. Jim had been having a few bad ones himself. This was the reason he'd asked for more time off. They needed time to adjust, away from the pressures of work.

Just as Jim had fallen asleep, the shrill ring from the kitchen phone shattered the night. He heard Buck curse. Blair jerked awake with a gasp.

"Easy, Chief."

"Waz `appen'?"

"Just a phone call."

The hall light came on. Buck entered the room, looking like he'd just sunk his teeth into a juicy lemon. "It's your mother."

"Relax, Jim," Simon advised knowingly. "It's Naomi, not a serial killer."

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "You didn't see them together."

"What are you talking about? He adores his mother."

"No, I'm talking about Naomi and Buck."

"Oh."

"I gotta go, Simon," Jim said, hearing Blair coming. "Call you later."

Jim hung up the payphone. He stood inside in a small waiting room at Ephrata's airport. The worn carpet was stained with countless dropped coffees. The row of chairs bolted to a long steel bench looked older than both their ages added together. A pair of white-haired citizens sat contentedly, reading paperbacks. Floor to ceiling windows overdue for a decent cleaning offered a passable view of the cracked tarmac.

Blair jogged around the corner, eyes sparkling. "The plane's on time. Be here in ten minutes." He skidded to a stop. "I can't believe she's really coming, man."

Jim managed to suppress his smartass comeback. The kid was really excited and he didn't have the heart to squash it completely. "Have you thought about where she's going to sleep?"

"Ahhh... no, not really." Blair blinked, his bouncing stilled. He pinched his lower lip in thought. "I guess Naomi and I could go--"

Jim held up his hand. "We'll figure something out without anyone going anywhere."

The plane landed without incident. Blair grew more and more excited with each passing minute.

"Flash your badge or something!" Blair joked. "Go and get her."

A loud cheer broke out as the first group of passengers entered the waiting room. A small family of four greeted an older woman with squeals of' grandmother'.

Blair stood on tiptoes to see over the heads. "Where is she?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "Patience, Junior."

Business men hurrying by, glancing at their watches. Young couples strolled arm and arm. The smartly dressed and professional-looking flight crew passed, pulling their small luggage behind.

But no Naomi.

Jim watched Blair's enthusiasm wane. He stopped bouncing as he eyed the last of the passengers wandering through. The crowd was gone. They were the last ones in the waiting room.

Jim caught sight of a flight attendant talking to an agent behind the counter. She was just finishing her conversation and preparing to leave. "Ask her."

"Excuse me. Is there anyone left on the plane?" Blair hurried over to ask. "My mom didn't get off."

"I'll check for you, sir. What's her name?"

"Naomi Sandburg," Blair answered. "Thanks."

She returned a few minutes later, looking apologetic.

"She never got on the plane. I checked the computer. She had a ticket, but she didn't board." She shrugged. "I'm sorry, that's all I know."

Blair frowned, rubbing a small spot over his left eye. "She told me this morning she was flying out from Chicago."

"Maybe she missed the flight?" Jim suggested.

"She called from the airport," Blair answered slowly. He looked once more at the corridor leading to the plane before nodding. "Okay, then. No big deal." He smiled at the attendant.

On a one to ten scale, Jim would have rated the smile a pathetic two.

"She'll call. Thanks for checking," Blair added.

The attendant left.

Eyes down, Blair headed for the main entrance. "Come on, man. Let's get out of here."

Towering mushroom-shaped clouds with scorched underbellies overshadowed the basalt columned cliffs to the west. Jim eyed them glumly, smelling ozone in the air. He didn't need the weatherman on the radio to tell him a thunderstorm was scheduled for later in the day.

Jim parked Buck's Chevy truck and Blair bounded out of the seat before the engine stilled. He cradled his cast as he raced up the steps into the house. Jim listened while he asked if Naomi had called. Buck answered no, then went on to ask where she was.

Blair met Jim on the porch as the first raindrops, fat and warm, pinged off the roof. Wind swirled and danced, lifting Blair's hair and obscuring his face. He pushed it back impatiently. "She didn't call, Jim. I don't get it."

"There's nothing we can do about it now, Sandburg." Jim gently pushed him back into the living room. "Let's fix lunch."

Lunch was a simple meal of sandwiches and dark beer. They ate in the living room and watched the storm. The red cliffs darkened with deep shadows. The air temperature had dropped drastically. Wind now pushed the rain sideways with fierce intensity. Puddles formed. White caps danced on the lake.

"If this keeps up, we're going to lose power," Buck predicted. He got up from the recliner, draining the last of his drink. "Best check on the generator."

"I'll help." Blair had been sitting, Indian-style, on the sofa. Before he could unfold, Buck held him in check with a hand on his shoulder.

"Stay put, it's a one person job."

After Buck had donned raingear and headed out to the barn, Blair sighed and checked Jim's watch. "Why hasn't she called?"

Jim leaned back, prepared to watch the storm and finish his beer in peace. "I'm sure she's got a reason. Probably has a hot date with the Dalai Lama."

Blair snorted. "That's not even funny, man. They're just good friends."

"You don't mean to tell me-"

Blair held up both hands. "I'm not admitting to anything."

Three hours later, Blair and Jim had a cutthroat game of gin going and Buck was reading the paper. Outside, the wind blew, lightening crackled from the blackened heavens, followed almost immediately with mortar-sounding booms of thunder. As Buck foretold, the living room lights flickered, then went out. Buck laid the paper down, going for his raincoat hanging by the front door. When Blair tried to follow, reaching for the second raincoat, Jim stepped in and snatched it first.

"What is it with you guys?" Blair snapped, even stamping his foot unconsciously and making Jim grin. Blair's scowl deepened. "Damn it, Jim. I'm fine!"

Jim shrugged into the yellow slicker. "Stay put, Mr. Fine. You get that cast wet and we're looking at another trip to Moses Lake for a new one."

Tilting his head and closing his eyes in frustration, the younger man took a deep breath and held it. Jim didn't like the way his mouth was pressed into a hard line of anger. Before he could reassure his roommate it wasn't a big deal and they all knew Blair was perfectly able to carry his share of the load, Blair brushed past him and disappeared into the spare bedroom.

Well, damn.

Buck had already left for the barn, and Jim hurried to catch up, rain pelting him as he avoided the largest of the puddles in the yard. Inside the barn was warm and dry. The generator sat in the back corner, with vents built under the eaves. Several full cans of diesel stood ready. Jim found Buck studying a circuit breaker box mounted on the wall nearby.

"Tell me more about Blair's recovery, after Dupont kidnapped him the first time," Jim asked.

Buck's face was totally unreadable. "Why?"

Jim sighed. He cupped a palm behind his neck, searching for the proper explanation. "Sandburg's acting like everything's normal, but I can tell it's not. Maybe knowing more about what you did the first time...I just want to know what I'm up against."

"All of a sudden you're a shrink?" Buck threw a few switches on the box and closed the lid.

"Of course not, but I want to help. I'm lousy at this type of thing. Now with Naomi coming out, it'll get even more complicated"

Leaning a shoulder against a support column, Buck stuck both hands into his jeans pockets. "The kid loves his mother."

"I know."

"We didn't see eye to eye on much." Buck sighed, looking ready to talk.

Jim thought back to the auto ring case. How Naomi had yelled at Simon in his office. "Join the club."

*Buck watched the red tail lights disappear and closed the door in weary relief. Naomi was gone and Blair was still here. He'd managed to talk some sense into her.

It was a start.

Going into the spare bedroom, he studied the boy. Blair had been asleep ever since she'd brought him earlier that day. Naomi had told him that she'd found Blair last Tuesday and it was Friday. According to the woman, he'd been totally un-responsive to her.

"Okay, runt." Buck bent down, flipped the covers down and turned Blair over on his back. "Come on." Scooping him up, he went to the kitchen. The kid smelled of stale body odor and car exhaust. Blair stiffened as he woke. He sniffed at Buck's wool shirt and relaxed.

"Don't get comfortable yet, kid." Buck pulled out a kitchen chair and planted the PJ clad butt on the seat. "Stay." He ignored the sleep creased, unhappy face and ladled out a helping of stew. Setting the simple dinner before the boy, Buck commanded, "Eat."

Not waiting to see if the order was followed, Buck went to the refrigerator and retrieved a carton of milk. He filled a glass half way to the top, watching Blair out of the corner of one eye. The stew remained untouched.

Buck pondered his options. Was he out of his league? Should he call someone professional? Who? Patty Green came to mind. Blair knew the doctor had trusted her. He'd save her for later. First he'd try a little bluffing.

Buck set the milk down next to the bowl. "Blair, eat your dinner."

Blair didn't move.

Going to a drawer, Buck took out his largest wooden spoon and returned to the table. He pulled out a second chair. He set the wooden spoon on the tabletop with a loud clunk and sat. "Blair, if you don't start eating, you'll get sick. I'm not letting that happen." He leaned forward and gently cupped the pointed chin, turning Blair's face until their eyes met. "Do you understand?"

There it was, a mere flicker of defiance peeking out from behind those blue eyes and the older man felt like cheering. He knew he was on the right track.

Come on, kid, don't make me say this again. Buck held Blair's chin. Finally, Blair submitted, dropping his gaze and reached for the spoon. Blair ate.

Buck relaxed; thankful the kid hadn't called his bluff.*

"So, how many times did you spank him?" Jim asked.

Buck quirked a half grin. "I've lost count of all the times I've threatened to punish him. The thing is, all I had to do was mention it and the kid straightened up." Buck squatted down next to the generator and checked the choke. He turned a small lever in a quarter movement and Jim heard fuel flowing through small lines. With a yank on a rope, the heavy duty generator started, quickly smoothing out to a regular tempo. Buck nodded toward the lake and shouted over the motor. "Just need to switch the water pump over to the secondary."

Together, they braved the rain, jogging toward the lake. When Jim heard the sound of a car nearing, he waved Buck on and stopped. Zooming in, he spotted the car trudging over a distant rise. Naomi was behind the wheel, another woman with her. Their car slipped sideways in the mud and Naomi's knuckles were white as she struggled to keep the tires on the road. Finally, she reached the yard.

Jim stood ready to open the driver's door. "Watch yourself," he shouted over the storm's racket.

"I'm fine." Naomi waved a hand toward her companion. "Help Thelma, would you?"

Dutifully, Jim hurried around the car to assist the passenger. A few years older than Naomi, Thelma wore tennis shoes, light canvas pants and a sweatshirt under her jacket. Jim took her elbow and led her to the front porch where a watchful Naomi waited.

"Sandburg!" Jim called into the house as they climbed the steps. "Your mother's here!"

"MOM!" Blair shot out the screen door, nearly taking the hinges off.

Thelma and Jim paused to watch the reunion. Mother and son hugged until Blair broke off, clutching his mother's hands. "Why didn't you call? I was worried."

"I know. I'm sorry, sweetie." Naomi brought their joined hands up to kiss his knuckles.

A violent gust knocked Thelma into Jim's side. "Let's get inside before we end up in Kansas," Jim suggested, moving toward the door. Jim hung up their raincoats, noticing the puddles. Living with hardwood floors caused him to retrieve spare towels, grabbing a few extra for the ladies. He dried up the puddles as Blair continued to quiz his mother.

"Why didn't you take the flight you said you'd be on?"

"We started to board, but the numbers were all wrong. The times and the flight, plus the number of passengers." She dabbed her face with a towel. "So we transferred to a Spokane flight and rented a car."

Blair rubbed his eyes in exasperation. "Okay, I get all that. When did you get back into numerology? Never mind, what I don't understand is why you didn't call to-"

"Blair! What happened to your arm? Is it broken? Why didn't anyone tell me you broke your arm?" She took Blair's cast in both hands, instantly ignoring everything her son was asking her.

"Mom, it's fine," Blair was saying as he tried to get his arm back.

"How?" She turned on Jim. "Was it police work? I knew riding with pigs would get you hurt!"

Jim bristled, but focused on his task.

"Mom!" Blair tried to intercede.

"I don't care, Blair. Police work is too dangerous," she snapped.

"He jumped out of a moving car," Jim answered, gathering up the wet towels

"Jim..." Blair made cutting motions with his good hand.

"What!" Naomi exclaimed, turning back to Blair. "Why?"

"Because," Jim added innocently, "he was being kidnapped. And it was nothing to do with police work."

Blair stepped between Jim and his mother, slapping Jim on the chest. "Stop it, man."

"Hey, she asked, Chief."

They all had Thelma's attention now. She sat, towel in hand and stared at them, eyes wide. "Oh my goodness."

"Is this true?" Naomi demanded of her son, then continued before he had a chance to confirm or deny it. "I don't believe it. Of course it was the police work. Look at you, sweetie, your aura is pale yellow."

Jim fought the urge to gag.

Blair tried once more. "Mom, everything is fine. Honest."

"No, it's not. A mother can tell these things." She turned to her friend on the sofa. "We'll take him with us. The Gathering Power retreat will help him."

"Mom, no, no, no. I can't go anywhere with you right now."

"Why not?" She shot Jim a dirty look, as if Jim was Blair's prison guard.

Seeing Blair's frustration mount, Jim cleared his throat. "Um, Naomi, Blair and I should stay close for a while."

She dismissed him. "Blair, this is a mystical place we're going to. `Becoming the Land' will gather power and help you discover and awaken the sacred places. They do all types of journeys. If you don't want that, I'll get you a Shaman-healing course."

To Jim's horror, Blair's eyes widened and his heart picked up its pace. "They have that?"

"Sandburg..." Jim said, with a low growl.

The front door opened with a gust of wet wind. Buck entered, his rain slicker hooding his face. As he forced the door closed, the lights in the house blinked off, then on and finally off for good.

"Damn," Buck said, reopening the door.

Blair bolted for the extra rain slicker. "I'll help!"

Buck read the tension in the room. He nodded and waited for his adopted nephew to struggle into the large rain coat. Its hem dropped well past his knees. Before Jim could mentally recite the Ranger's Creed - just to check if anything within allowed him to harm ditzy red-headed mothers of best friends - the other two men were gone and Jim was left behind.

Naomi advanced.

Jim ducked toward the kitchen. "I think I'll get dinner started."

Rain pounded the roof. Darkness arrived to the coulee a full hour ahead of schedule. The desert floor, unable to absorb the downfall fast enough, formed a miniature river system rivaling the great river deltas of the world. Small waterfalls formed, falling hundreds of feet from the surrounding cliffs. Tiny swallows watched the storm from their mud nests, protected in the lee of the towering rock walls. Coyotes stayed in their dens, knowing the scent of potential prey would be gone. The desert was on hold.

Dinner had been a simple affair; spaghetti and Texas toast with melted cheese. Kerosene lanterns burned in the kitchen and living room, small candles in the bathroom. A solitary front door light glowed, powered by the generator. The remaining power fed the water pump and the refrigerator. The women took turns in the bath. The hot water tank used propane.

Buck spent the majority of the time between the pump house, nursing his temperamental pump, and his employee's trailer across the lake, helping with a leaky roof. When he finally arrived for a late dinner, joining Jim and Blair in the kitchen, he solved the sleeping arrangement issue with a simple command decision.

"The ladies will take the guest room. You two can toss a coin for the sofa and a spare cot I have in the barn." Buck leaned against the counter, holding his plate with one freshly washed hand as he dug into the mound of spaghetti with his fork.

An unspoken burden lifted from Blair's shoulders. "Thanks, Uncle Buck."

Buck twirled his fork and brought a mound of pasta to his mouth, pausing to ask, "She giving you the usual crap?"

Blair shook his head. "It's just her dealing with stuff she can't change. She'll be fine."

Buck tactfully changed the subject. "Power should be restored tomorrow. Day after for sure." He stabbed a meatball. "More delays, I'll never get any work done."

Work. Guilt pierced Blair. Jim had been missing his work, too. Days had blurred together since their abduction. Rainier could wait, but was Jim in trouble for being gone?

Jim seemed to read his mind. "Simon's letting me cash in some vacation time." He reached for the hot pad hanging on a hook above the stove. Lifting the old-fashion coffee pot, the kind with the little glass dome in the lid, Jim filled three mugs and returned it to the low flame.

Buck swallowed the last of his food and slipped the plate into the sudsy water. "I think we're looking at an early night."

Later that night Blair sat on the sofa in boxers and a T-shirt, watching Jim sort out his bedding on a sturdy looking army cot. "Jim, man, take the sofa."

"And have my feet hang off the arm? No thanks." Jim patted down the last blanket and stood, nodding in satisfaction. "There." He unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his jeans. Sitting down, the bed creaked loudly. "This is one time where your short legs are your advantage."

"My legs are not short." Blair tucked said legs under his blanket and propped his head on a bent arm, elbow digging into the sofa cushions. "I'm average height."

"Yeah, on pigmy island."

Blair laughed. "Dick."

The sound of the spare bedroom door opening caused Jim to dive under the blanket. Naomi entered wearing a long, white nightgown that brushed the tops of her feet as she walked. She carried a candle, its glow softening her features and making her look angelic, eternal and young.

"Are you men going to be comfortable out here?" She stopped next to the sofa and bent over to kiss Blair on the forehead. Blair reached up to hug her shoulders and she giggled like she always did, even when he was just a little kid.

"We'll be fine, Naomi," Jim answered, folding both hands behind his head as he watched.

For a second, it looked to Blair like his mom was going to give Jim a goodnight kiss next, but she patted the older man's head as she headed back to her room. "Good night, then. See you both in the morning."

Jim watched her as he reached out to dial down the lantern on the end table. "You know, Sandburg, your-"

Blair leaned over quickly before he lost Jim's arm in the darkness and slapped it. "Forget about it!" he growled quietly, half in fun.

Jim's soft cackle was the last thing Blair heard.

Some time later, he woke with a start, heart wedged in his throat. Jim was bending over him, a hand on his shoulder.

"Shhhh, you're okay," Jim whispered.

"Wha'?"

"You were getting restless," Jim answered with a pat. He returned to his cot and settled in. "Figured you didn't need me ogling your mother a second time in the same night."

Restless? Blair blinked in confusion, unable to remember anything. Had that dream started up again? He couldn't remember. Jim must be so tuned in; he caught it before it even registered.

Listening to Jim's easy breathing, knowing Jim would keep him on sentinel radar the rest of the night brought peace. He hadn't thought of that dream at all during the day. His energy had been on his mother, wondering where she was, and when she did arrive he had other pressing matters to worry about. Man, if Jim had not woken him, if he'd woken Naomi up because of that nightmare he would have died from embarrassment.

"Thanks, man."

"No problem. See you in the morning."

The power was still off the next morning. A steady rain fell. Naomi turned breakfast into a grand affair, treating them to crepes with cream cheese and blueberries from the freezer. Buck made a trip to the root cellar and brought up a bottle of sliced peaches, home canned by his lady friend.

"Where's your friend, mom?" Blair asked, after a quick head count.

Naomi waved a hand toward Buck's room. "She's not feeling well. I'll take her a tray in a bit."

Blair knew most of his mom's old-time friends. He remembered hearing Thelma's name before, but couldn't remember ever meeting her. "You worked with her a long time ago, right?"

"Thelma and I go way back." Naomi's face softened with a fond smile. "We lost track of each other right after that trip to Japan. Oh, did I ever tell you men about the time Blair got lost in a Geisha house?"

"Mom!" The heat on Blair's face had to have raised the room's temperature a full degree.

Buck poured more coffee into his cup. "Most guys run off and join a circus, Runt."

"Oh, that was later," Naomi said, smoothly switching tracks, rolling a crepe with ease and sliding it onto a spatula to transfer to Blair's plate. "A group of us were protesting a local circus. The way they treat those poor animals! Anyway, Blair's only four. I look down and he's gone. I find him an hour later in the monkey house."

Jim snickered. "Even then, eh, Chief? What is it with you and primates?"

Blair smiled politely, "Getting trained to work with you, bubba."

Buck laughed out loud. Blair snickered. Jim swung out to swipe Blair's head, but aborted the move to reach for the serving bowl of peaches.

After breakfast, Buck disappeared toward the barn, saying something about needing to check the orchard. Jim washed while Blair wiped down the table and tidied up as best he could with one good arm. As he worked, a persistent itch began to make itself known under the cast.

He needed something long and narrow. Blair went to the junk drawer. "How long did they say I had to wear this?" Moving around batteries, old bits of small chain, thin coils of wire, loose finishing nails and broken pencils he spotted what he wanted. "There you are." He pulled out a wooden chopstick. Sitting down at the table, he carefully inserted the smaller end into the space between the cast and skin.

Relief.

"A few weeks. We'll schedule a follow up doctor's visit when we get back to Cascade." Jim rinsed the last coffee mug and let the water drain from the sink. He reached for the cast iron griddle. A kettle of water boiled on the flame. Jim poured the water over the griddle and scraped bits of food off with a spatula.

"Great, another doctor's bill," Blair grumbled as he moved the stick around.

"No, we'll drive down to Fort Lewis. Packert's already fixed it."

"Cool." Blair winced as the chopstick hit a tender spot.

The overhead light blinked on.

"We're back on the grid," Jim said.

Blair should have seen it coming.

His mother was meditating with Thelma. They had commandeered a corner of the barn and laid out blankets to suit their purpose. The men were staying clear. A rancher to the north had called Buck for help, something to do with irrigation. Buck had insisted he didn't need any help and would be back soon. Jim was tinkering with the back door. Apparently the hinges squeaked.

It just seemed natural to stretch out on the sofa with a book and listen to the rain on the roof. His body still ached from their mad dash through the forest. Relaxing was the best cure. The book was a techno-thriller he'd read a long time ago. It failed to keep his interest and before he realized it, the weight of the hardback bent his wrist until it lay on his chest and his eyes were closed as his breathing leveled out...

"You're mine."

Blair spun, his heart kicking into overdrive. He was standing in the middle of a large, dark room. The stone floor was cold against his bare feet. Even the walls were stone, like a castle. Old fashioned fire torches lit the area, their black smoke marking the walls and ceiling, scorching it like a dragon's breath.

And he was there, the man from the helicopter.

"No," Blair gasped.

Arrogant and sure, the dark sentinel advanced, a fierce predator, knowing its next meal was in sight. Blair backed away.

"You have no say, bug. You exist to serve me."

Blair shook his head, unable to break eye contact. His whole body shivered. "N-no. You're wrong. It's a partnership."

A cruel mouth twitched in mirth as he advanced. "You delusional idiot. Who told you that? Your old master?"

Blair backed into something large and cold. He turned. "JIM!" Blair fell back. His best friend's body swung back and forth. Jim's neck had been stretched by the thick rope. Jim's head tilted to one side. His face was blue and lifeless. But it was Jim's condemning eyes that transfixed Blair.

Hands grabbed Blair's upper arms, pulling him back into a hard chest.

"You failed him," the anti-sentinel whispered into his ear. "You're lucky I even want you."

"No!" Blair tried to break free.

The stagnant air was heavy with death, clogging his throat, poisoning his nose, burning his eyes. He couldn't pull oxygen into his burning chest. And that was okay, because he'd rather die then work with this monster.

"Stop it!"

"No!" Blair fought the hands holding him.

"Blair! Calm down. You're okay. You're safe."

What? Blair felt his world tilt and change. The stone floor had turned soft and warm. He was lying on his back. The smoky torches were gone, replaced by natural daylight, filtered by rain clouds. Jim's concerned face was bending over him.

"J-jim," Blair choked, reaching up to grab a fistful of the man's shirt. Yes! Jim was really alive. "N-not dead."

"Aw, damn it." Jim pulled him up into a sitting position and wrapped him in a fierce hug.

And all Blair could do was soak in Jim's presence. The dream had been so damn real! Jim's macabre expression in death returned each time he blinked. Blair's skin still crawled from the touch of the dark sentinel. He'd never had a dream cause such a reaction before. Was it more than a dream? Was it some type of warning?

"Jim," Blair choked out through a fear-constricted throat.

Jim started to rock him, gently like a child. "You're okay."

Blair pounded Jim's shoulder with a weak fist. "No... You were... Dead."

"Everything's fine," Jim insisted. "Come on, Sandburg. Slow your breathing for me."

What? Jim had it wrong, he couldn't breathe. Something was wrong with his lungs, no wait. Blair realized he was breathing so fast, he was panting. The air was too thin. There was no oxygen in the room.

Jim's hands framed his face and Blair had no choice but to look into Jim's eyes.

"With me, Sandburg. Breathe in and hold." Jim demonstrated, then shook his head when Blair failed to comply. "Come on, try. Hold it."

Blair managed to stop the out-of-control breathing rate long enough to hold it a few seconds and was rewarded by a smile. Jim nodded and said, "Again."

Blair found it easier the next time. And the next. Until Jim led him out of the panic attack. The reality of the nightmare dissolved, breaking up into smaller bits of memory, finally relaxing their grip on his heart until Blair was left as weak as an old man.

"Better?" Jim asked, dropping both hands to his shoulders and gently massaging.

Blair slumped forward, rubbing his face. "He came back. Y-you were dead, Jim."

Jim didn't ask who the `he' was in the dream. Expression hard, gaze feral, Jim stiffened. "That son of a bitch is not getting anywhere near you."

That evening Naomi insisted they dine out. Even though none of their vehicles would carry five adults, even though Jim thought Blair looked too tired and Buck looked like he would rather fight off rabid wolves with a butter knife, they all dressed in their best jeans and trudged out to the vehicles.

Jim couldn't figure out how the woman did it.

Finding a restaurant which suited a vegetarian in cattle ranch country was another problem. They settled on a place in Soap Lake which promised decent pasta. The menu had been taped to the window by the door and looked promising. Most of the tables were empty and the hostess was glad to pull two tables together to accommodate their group.

Naomi ordered a bottle of red wine. It arrived with a large basket of warm rolls. Buck shook his head as Jim filled the wine glasses. He made a point to fill his own glass halfway. Buck had volunteered to drive the women and Jim had driven his truck, insisting that Blair keep him company. Jim wanted to make sure the effects of the wine would be completely gone before they left.

"Naomi tells me you teach at a university, Blair," Thelma said as she sipped her wine. It was the most Jim had heard from her since her arrival at Dry Falls. Her voice was deep for a woman. Jim noticed her hands were tan and rough, nothing like Naomi's.

"I'm a teaching fellow, actually." Blair broke his roll into halves and reached for the butter. "I'm working on my PhD. in anthropology."

"I knew an anthropologist," Thelma admitted wistfully. "Most courageous man I'd ever met."

Naomi patted her friend's hand. "Thelma started the peace corps back in sixty-one."

"Really? Cool," Blair said. "That must have been amazing."

"Naomi is exaggerating," Thelma hastened to clarify with a fond look of exasperation. "I helped. We were on the ground floor of the planning stages." She folded her menu and set it next to her plate, then turned to Jim. "Are you an anthropologist too, Jim?"

Jim ignored Blair's small snort into his wine. "No, ma'am. I'm a cop."

The fine furrow between Naomi's eyebrows spoke volumes.

"Jim's more than a cop," Blair huffed, "he's a detective with Major Crime. I ride with him. I'm writing my thesis on police culture. Roll Mom?"

"Thank you, dear." Naomi accepted the basket, took a roll and passed it across the table to Jim.

"You must see a lot of unpleasantness, Jim," Thelma said, her eyes soft and caring.

Jim shrugged. "Some." He snuck a glance at Blair, who was leaning toward Buck, pointing out something on the older man's menu. "The work has a positive side as well."

The waitress arrived to take their orders.

"How is it your mom doesn't work but has enough money to pay for dinner, Chief?"

Surprised at the subject Jim chose to break the quiet drive back to Buck's place, it didn't even occur to Blair to be insulted on his mother's behalf. Obviously Jim had been pondering this for a while. The question was so `un-Jim.'

"She never seemed to have to worry about it, man." Blair rubbed his eyes. Watching the heavy rain in the headlights was causing a headache. He decided to let Jim worry about driving. "In the old days we didn't do much eating out. Now, Mom consults a lot, you know, environmental issues and stuff. She's got this whole `speaker' gig that keeps her busy, that usually comes with room and board."

Jim wasn't exactly frowning, but Blair could read the disapproval in the older man's jaw and the way he wrung the steering wheel with his hands. "No medical insurance? No retirement plan?"

Blair barked a short laugh and started to answer when, without warning, Jim wrenched the steering wheel. The tires squealed in protest.

Blair slammed against the door. Pain seared up his broken arm and into his shoulder. The seatbelt bit into his middle.

Jim swore, stomping the break. They were sliding sideways.

A blinding light from a passing vehicle bathed the interior of the cab. Jim over-corrected their skid and Blair was thrown side into the door again. He cried out. Jim pumped the brakes.

At last they stopped.

Rain drummed the truck's roof.

Both men shook - one with adrenaline, the other with pain.

"Son of a bitch!" Blair muttered, hunched over his arm.

"You okay?" Jim asked.

Blair nodded his head, his eyes screwed closed. He bit his lower lip.

"Sandburg." Jim sounded scared.

Pain ebbed as the light show behind his eyelids dimmed. "Shitshitshit... That smarts." Blair tried to sit up. He inhaled deeply and puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled. "It's... good, man. I'm okay."

But Jim was not put off. He was out of his seatbelt and sliding over to gently take Blair's broken arm, light touches as the sentinel did his exam. "Wiggle your fingers."

Blair obeyed. "It just surprised me, that's all."

"Cast isn't cracked," Jim muttered more to himself than Blair. He slipped his hand into Blair's grip. "Squeeze."

"Roll over and bark," Blair mimicked, but he obeyed. The pain was almost gone, just a dull ache remained. He drew a shaky breath.

The door behind him opened and a wet Buck Stevens leaned in. He reached over the seat to get something long and narrow from the back. "Everything okay?"

"Seems to be," Jim answered, patting Blair's knee and sitting up "You taking care of it?"

"The car kept going," Buck answered with a nod. "Nailed her good first."

Blair saw Buck had grabbed a rifle.

"What?" Blair looked about, unable to see anything in the heavy rain and darkness. He could make out the shape of his mother's car parked on the side of the road. Its dome light was on. Both women sat inside.

"A car swerved into our path trying to miss a deer," Jim explained as he opened his own door.

"No need you getting wet too, Ellison," Buck pointed out.

But Jim was already climbing out. Blair fumbled for his belt release. Buck saw the action and scowled. "Stay put."

Blair ignored him. "Did the deer get hurt?"

"Yeah." Buck backed away and tried to close Blair's door.

Scrambling out, sneakers sinking into cold mud, Blair tried to follow. Rain drenched him in seconds. It was falling in sheets now. Huge drops smacked his face and his hair went heavy with water instantly. Blair paid no attention to it, glancing around. The truck was several feet off the road. "How bad? Can we call a vet?"

"For crying out loud, Sandburg!" Jim was at his side instantly. "Get back in the truck. Your cast--"

There, a dark mound about twenty yards out. Blair could see it was a large deer and his stomach tightened. Oh, god, it was moving its legs. "Jim, we've got to help it!"

"Sandburg, she's dying." Jim snapped, pulling a raincoat out from behind the truck's bench seat. He wrapped it around Blair's shoulders and tucked it over his cast. "Let Buck take her out of her misery."

"You're going to shoot it?" Blair demanded.

"Not much choice." Buck ducked his head. Rain poured off the brim of his cowboy hat as he chambered a round. He turned, taking a step toward the injured deer.

"Wait!" Blair tried to catch his arm.

Jim held him back.

"Jim!"

"Shut up, Blair," Jim said.

There were times Blair resented how Jim was taller and bigger and stronger. Only a few times in their partnership did Jim use his physical advantage; once when Blair thought Brother Marcus was dead and again when Blair thought Buck had burned up in a car accident. Like those times, Jim proved he could still keep him in check.

"Damn it, Jim!" Blair tried once more to break the iron grip on his good arm.

Jim spun him in place. Now Blair couldn't even see Buck or the deer, only the wet front of Jim's coat. "We can take it to a vet, man," Blair pleaded, head butting Jim's chest as he tried to back up and escape. "We don't have to--"

"Blair, listen to me." Jim said quietly. Jim shook him once to get his attention. "I know you want to save every animal on this planet, okay? But she's got a head injury, four broken legs and a punctured lung. She's dying. Hell, she's already dead, but her body doesn't know it."

A sharp clap-explosion ripped through the canyon, bouncing off the cliffs, causing Blair to jump.

"This SUCKS!" Blair screamed into Jim's startled face. Weeks of bottled up frustration and fear erupted. "WHY?" he tried to stomp on Jim's foot, only missed when the other man saw it coming and dodged. "I'm SICK of it! That deer didn't do anything!"

Jim jerked him close and the end of Blair's outburst was muffled by Jim's coat. "It's NOT right." Strong arms wrapped his shoulders. Fury and strength deserted Blair as fast as it had taken him over. "It's not r-right, Jim," he added weakly. He one-armed hugged his friend back. "They do what they want. They take what they want," he whispered brokenly.

"This isn't about the deer anymore, is it?" Jim whispered back.

Oh, man... shut up, Blair told himself. He squashed his nose against Jim's shoulder. Warm rain hit his back and dribbled under the neck of his raincoat. Blair started to shiver. Still locked in their hug, Jim walked Blair backwards until Blair felt the edge of the truck seat against his butt.

"Sit," Jim ordered.

Blair managed to get back onto the seat, keeping his chin tucked. He just couldn't meet Jim's gaze right now.

"I'm sorry, Chief," Jim said.

Buck walked by, a dark shape in the rain. He carried his rifle in his left hand, cowboy hat low over his eyes. He didn't look their way. Blair's cheeks burned as he realized the older man must have heard his outburst. Totally embarrassed, Blair covered his eyes with his good hand.

The Chevy's defrost worked overtime to keep the windshield clear during the drive home. Their wet clothes made the cab a sauna. Rain fell with a tenacity that shortened visibility to twenty feet. Wind frothed the lake into pointy whitecaps and tugged on tree branches.

Parking in front of the house, the ladies made their dash, holding jackets and raincoats overhead as a shield. Already wet, the men followed at a less frantic pace. Blair hesitated on the porch, eyeing the door with reluctance.

"Sandburg?" Jim paused at his side, his hand coming to rest low on Blair's back. "Come on. Let's get out of this wind."

"I thought I wanted her here..." Blair whispered. He was so tired.

"Hey, she knows we've had a bad couple of days," Jim told him. "You don't have to entertain her."

Blair snorted. "She's my mom."

Jim opened the door and gave Blair a gentle push. "Go rest. I'll keep her from bugging you."

Buck's well-built house greeted them with a warm embrace. Blair ducked into the room that still held their clothes and stripped. A pile of clean sweats sat on the dresser. His mother's suitcase was open in the corner. She had clean, folded clothes too. Someone had done laundry. He hastily pulled on the sweats and found a towel for his hair. As he formed a damp ponytail, he heard shouts from the kitchen. Another Buck and Naomi battle. Sighing wearily, Blair hurried to stop it.

He was mistaken.

Blair froze, hand on the entryway, unable to believe what he was seeing. Nice, quiet Thelma, who helped start the peace corps, was leaning over the table, screaming at Buck.

"It was you! Don't try and deny it! I'll never forget your face that night. It was raining then, wasn't it, Captain? Raining when you gave that order!" She slammed her hand down on the tabletop and stood.

"Thelma, please!" Naomi urged, tugging her friend's arm. "Please stay calm."

Thelma shrugged free, her focus on Buck. "I recognize you now! You're a murderer!"

Jim entered the kitchen, pushing by Blair. "What the hell is going on?"

Naomi, here eyes big, shook her head. "Jim! Thelma thinks--"

"NO!" Thelma shrieked, her body trembling. "I don't think anything! I know!" She spun around. "Naomi, he's the one I told you about. The village, the Vietnam orphanage, they came up from the coast and murdered those children."

Naomi's face went pale. "Are you sure?"

Thelma's head bobbed up and down in jerky motions. "It wasn't until I saw him with that... that gun before I realized where I'd seen him before!" She swayed and her legs folded, barely catching herself with a hand on the table. Jim moved fast, reaching her as she gasped once and went completely limp. Jim easily scooped her into his arms.

"Bring her to our bedroom." Naomi took the lead.

Blair stepped out of the entryway as Jim passed by. "What's wrong with her, mom?" One of Thelma's arms hung down and Blair tucked in up, walking ahead of Jim to open the bedroom door.

"She's real sick, honey," Naomi answered in a rush.

In Buck's small bedroom, Jim eased Thelma onto the bed. Blair stood, uncertain how to help. The room was crowded. Jim and Naomi had everything under control. They worked together to get her shoes off and get her under the covers. Blair backed out and hurried back to the kitchen. He found the back door ajar and the kitchen empty.

"She got sick a few years ago," Naomi explained quietly to Jim as she tucked the edge of the blankets snugly around her sleeping friend. "High fever. By the time she reached a decent hospital, her heart was already damaged."

Jim didn't need Naomi's explanation, he could hear Thelma's heartbeat, feel her pulse and measure the fluctuation between the beats. "Doctor told her to avoid exerting herself? Stay calm?"

Smoothing back Thelma's short bangs, Naomi nodded. "She should be fine when she wakes up."

"We should take her to a hospital."

"No, she doesn't want that." Naomi smoothed the blanket. "I'll sit with her for a while."

Jim didn't like it. He picked up Thelma's wrist and checked her pulse. It had slowed. "Okay, but if she says she's having chest pain, or looks like she's having difficulty breathing..."

Naomi nodded. "I know. I'll call you."

Jim found Blair alone in the kitchen.

"What the hell is going on, man?" Blair demanded.

"Sandburg, I know as much as you do." Jim nudged him to one side to reach the coffee pot. "I was in the bathroom when the screaming started."

Pivoting on a heel, Blair started pacing the length of the kitchen. "She's got to be confusing Buck with someone else. It was a long time ago."

"Well, the timeline is right. Buck would have been active duty during the Vietnam war." Jim filled his mug.

"She's wrong."

"Where's Buck now?"

Looking miserable, Blair slumped against the wall. "I don't know."

Jim didn't know what to say. He carried his coffee to the living room. The Chevy was still parked out front. Naomi's car was next to it. He returned to the kitchen. Blair hadn't moved. Taking the phone book from a corner shelf unit, he opened it on the table. "What's the name of that doctor lady in Soap Lake?"

"Mom says Thelma's okay."

"Humor me, Junior."

Blair crossed the room to slump into a chair at Jim's side. "Patty."

"Patty what?"

Blair slid the book out from Jim's grasp and flipped the pages to the back. Jabbing a quarter page ad with a finger, he pushed it back. "There."

"Soap Lake Clinic. Doctor Patricia Green. Good, there's a twenty-four hour number."

The number reached a pager. Jim left Buck's phone number and hung up. Blair watched without making a comment, his arms crossed on the table. He watched Jim as if waiting for something.

"What?"

"You can find Buck," Blair said with certainty. "Let's go."

"It's dark. It's raining. Someone has to be here when the doctor calls back," Jim pointed out.

"Mom's here."

"Someone with a..." Jim let his comment drop as Blair's eyes glinted dangerously. "...unattached, non-biased medical opinion as to Thelma's condition."

"Jim, he wasn't even wearing a raincoat."

"Okay, fine." Jim rose. He never could refuse Blair when he started pleading. "You stay put. Talk to the doc when she calls. But I'm taking a thermos of coffee with me."

"And take an extra raincoat." Blair left the table. "I'll get you a pack ready."

Jim slipped quietly into the wet night, dressed in a knee-length raincoat, jeans, a sweater, hiking boots, and his Jags cap. Blair watched from the doorway. The rain had changed from a downpour to a steady soak. After a minute, he couldn't see Jim anymore. Blair backed into the house and closed the door. He leaned against it, forehead pressing against the cool wood. He didn't like being left behind. He glared at the phone.

Ring already!

Naomi was still in the room with her friend. Blair didn't want to go in, didn't want to talk to her. He wanted all of this to disappear.

Wandering back into the kitchen, Blair forced his thoughts away from the day's events. The lunch dishes were done and put away. Everything was neat and tidy. Taking the broom leaning against the wall in hand, Blair methodically worked with purposeful sweeps, covering every inch of the floor with care, as best he could with the cast. Sweeping the kitchen floor had been another one of his jobs when he'd been a kid.

*"Eat your dinner, Blair."

Buck's voice pulled him out of the cold dreamland, away from the dark nightmare. Blair took a sluggish inventory. He was in his pajamas, sitting on a chair. He could feel the hard edge of it against his legs. The air was warm. Buck sat to his right. A fragrant bowl of stew was on the table before him.

Blair saw the dreaded wooden spoon.

Feeling stiff when he moved, Blair reached for the stew. Steam rose from the bowl. His stomach took interest and growled loudly. Blair ate slowly. After a few bites, Buck nudged the glass of milk closer. The milk tasted like heaven and helped to wash down his meal. Eating with more speed, he finished off the stew and drained all the milk. As good as it tasted, he didn't want seconds.

"Come on, runt. Time to clean up." Buck held out his hand.

Blair let himself be led by the hand. Looking up at Buck's familiar face, at the furniture in the living room, then the large claw foot bathtub, he realized he was back in Dry Falls. Big hands lifting him, Blair was perched on the closed lid of the toilet as Buck fussed with the bath. By the time the water was deep, Blair's eyes drooped. Buck tugged a PJ pant leg.

"Bath first, sleep later."

Right, a bath sounded good. Blair slipped off the toilet and started to strip, noticing his pajamas were stiff. They smelled too. More sensory information kicked in. Yuck, his hair was the worst of all. Suddenly he couldn't get into the bath fast enough.

Buck tossed the filthy clothes into the far corner and held Blair's elbow. Blair climbed in, sinking into the warmth with a sigh. The last of the coldness dissipated, along with his strength. Now he just wanted to float and sleep.

A sudsy washcloth began rubbing over his arms and back. Blair didn't mind. He listed to the side, closing his eyes. Buck's deep chuckle filled the small room. Blair drifted for a while, then grabbed the edges of the tub in panic when his upper body was gently forced back into the water.

"Easy. Time to wash your hair," Buck said. The man knelt next to the tub, his shirt sleeves rolled high on his arms.

Blair relaxed, remembering where he was again. The soothing feel of fingers massaging his scalp finished him off. He was more than half asleep during the rinse, didn't even realize he'd been lifted out of the tub until a large, soft towel was patting him dry. Then his cheek pressed against Buck's flannel-covered shoulder as he was carried back to his room. Buck lowered him to the bed. His legs were threaded through clean sweatpants. A T-shirt was tugged gently over his head. A large toothed comb tugged through his hair.

When Buck tried to ease him down into the bed and cover him up with blankets, Blair managed a disapproving noise. He knew what was coming. Buck would turn off the light and leave him in the room.

Alone.

Blair caught a fistful of flannel.

Silently, Buck picked him up with one arm and secured him to his hip. He lifted the top blanket off the bed. Returning to the living room, the man sat in the large recliner, positioned Blair comfortably on his lap and covered him with the blanket.

"Go to sleep."

Fed, clean, warm and knowing he was safe again, Blair did.*

Boots slugging through the mud, Jim tracked Buck's journey. The trail was faint. Buck had circled around his own house and entered the barn, then taken off on foot heading north. Jim walked slowly, mindful of the rocks. Buck's occasional footprint seemed deeper now. Had he picked up a pack in the barn? Supplies to make this nocturnal excursion more comfortable?

Thunder rumbled, bouncing wetly off the cliffs until it tumbled and faded into exhaustion. Rain fell with drenching straightness from the sky, no wind now to drive it horizontal. Jim kept his senses finely tuned, catching occasional wisps of gun oil. Buck must be carrying his rifle.

The trail climbed, then forked. Jim looked right, then left, then right again. He picked right on a guess. Sure enough, a hundred feet down the trail another footprint was filling with rainwater. It left the trail, pointing up the sloop toward the cliff to the right. Trying to climb a steep sloop of loose rock was never high on Jim's list of amusing ways to spend an evening. Rocks scratched his palms as his feet slid. What the hell was Buck doing out here? There had to be better places to sulk.

"A herd of water buffalo make less noise, Ellison."

The comment came from above. Jim zoomed in, cutting through darkness and rain to see a faint glow against the base of the towering rock walls. Jim continued his climb and found the mouth of a low-ceilinged cave. Buck sat on an irregular shaped rock deep within. He was calmly smoking a cigar. A Coleman lantern hissed, throwing off enough heat to make the cave bearable.

"Comfy?" Jim asked sarcastically, removing his pack and working the fasteners open on his slicker. He shrugged the heavy rain jacket off his shoulders.

"What do you want?"

There were broken columns of basalt everywhere and smaller, fist-sized fragments which made up their floor. Jim took a seat on a convenient angled boulder and sighed. "Sandburg sent me."

Buck grunted.

"Why take off?" Jim batted a trickle of cigar smoke drifting too close to his nose. It wasn't obnoxious, like cigarettes, but it still stunk. Simon smoked similar cigars, expensive enough to make each one an indulgence.

"Go tell him I'm fine," Buck ordered.

"Tell him yourself."

Buck's silence was dense and it filled the cave. He puffed and stared into the harsh lantern light. A blue backpack leaned against the back wall, its top flap open and rolls of military green clothing stuck out. A sleeping bag was tied to the bottom. Rain hadn't been able to wash the thick coating of dust off. Jim kept a similar disaster pack back in the loft for him and Blair.

Jim sighed, unhappy with the situation. "Listen, we're not going to stay at your house while you live up here like a hermit."

Buck tapped the ash off his cigar. "Then don't."

"Damn it, Stevens! Don't do this to Sandburg. He doesn't need your shit on top of everything else that's happened to him."

After a few minutes of strained silence, Buck flicked a furtive glance at Jim. "What did he say?"

"He figures she was confusing you with someone else." Jim rubbed his jaw and sighed. This was messy and promised to get worse. "Is she?"

The ex-Seal was good. Jim had to give him credit. If not for the fact the older man's heart was pounding within his chest, all appearances showed calm. Expression neutral, Buck leaned forward, muscles lax, elbows propped on his knees. After a long silence, Buck answered with a brief shake of his head.

"Sweetie."

Blair jumped, unaware of his mother's stealthy approach. "Mom?"

She caught his wrist and gently tugged him back. "Come away from the door. It's too wet and cold outside. You'll get sick."

Blair closed the back door with a sigh. He couldn't see anything anyway. If the phone would just ring, he could give the information on Thelma and take off to find Jim and Buck. Except, he shouldn't leave his mom alone with a sick woman.

Blair didn't know what to do.

"Thelma's still sleeping," Naomi offered as if reading his thoughts. "She woke up and talked for a bit, then fell back asleep." She pulled Blair into the living room and down onto the sofa. Cupping her son's hand within her own, she looked him in the eyes. "Honey, she told me. It happened a long time ago, but she's positive it was Buck Stevens."

Blair shook his head in denial. "No, I don't believe it. Buck wouldn't murder anyone, especially children."

"We don't know. He was military. He carried a gun. He still does." She stroked Blair's jaw line. "He's dangerous."

Jerking back, Blair sprang off the sofa. "Naomi! Jim carries a gun. Hell, I've carried a gun! I've even fired them."

"What?" she said, gasping and shrinking back.

Blair bit his lip. God, he planned never to tell her that. Sinking a knee into the cushion, he lowered his tone. "I'm sorry. No, mom, don't cry."

Tears filled her eyes. Naomi hugged herself. "No doctorate is worth this, Blair."

"Mom... please, don't."

"I'm sorry, I can't ignore this anymore. You're not seeing what I see. I didn't raise you to carry guns."

"No, Naomi, you raised me to think for myself, make my own decisions. And this is my choice. Jim needs me. We do good together. We help people."

But she waved her hands to fight off his words, standing. "I don't want to fight with you." Her voice hitched. "If you can't see the way this is killing your karma, if you... refuse to see the situation for what it is, just think about what Thelma said. Buck is a killer. He's a murderer and belongs in prison!"

Heart sick, Blair watched her walk away. The bedroom door closed with a soft click, but to him it sounded like a crash.

"I'm never going to believe that," he whispered fervently to no one but himself.

"Talk to me."

Buck scratched a spot above his left eye, never dropping his cigar. The movement caused the smoke trail to dance as it floated up toward the blackened ceiling. A few feet away, the rain continued to wash the desert with a low, earthy drumbeat.

"The Viet Cong took over a coastal village," Buck began in a pained tone. "Just some fishermen families, but the place was wealthy enough to support an orphanage."

A sour taste grew in Jim's mouth. He wasn't going to like this story.

"We didn't get intel about the Americans working with the kids. I guess they never filed for permission from the government." Buck paused to puff lazily. The perfect picture of an uncaring, unmoved man; except Jim could hear that heartbeat hammering. "It promised to be a shitty detail, but we had orders to take out the Viet Cong nest. They were killing too many of our guys." Buck fell silent.

"They used the orphanage for cover," Jim guessed.

Buck nodded. The hand holding the cigar showed minute tremors; otherwise the guy was a rock. "The American group was clueless," Buck said. He wiggled his tongue around until he spat out a small particle of tobacco.

Jim made a leap. "The bastards booby trapped a kid?"

Buck nodded.

Jim sighed. The safety of his men verses the life of a child. Only, the child was doomed to die, by the sick sons-of-bitches that rigged the explosives. And Buck had been the leader. The one to give the order to fire.

"Shit."

Blair was torn. Go make peace with his mom or go find Jim and Buck?

He did neither. The phone rang.

Blair ran to snatch it up. "Hello?"

"Hi, Blair," Doctor Patty Green answered.

"Oh, god, thank you for calling. We've got an emergency here and I need to go help Jim and--"

"Hold on!" she demanded. "Slow down and tell me what's happening. Is Buck having more chest pains?"

"No, no. It's not Buck," Blair answered in a rush. "But I'm worried about him. He's out in the rain. This lady, a friend of mom's, she's sick, and she said Buck was a killer, that he murdered some kid and I know that's not right. I told Jim to find him. I had to wait for you to call back. Jim said to tell you her condition, she's like got a bad heart or something, and she fainted when she was yelling at Buck and now--"

"BLAIR!" Patty yelled over the run-on narrative. "Shut up! Just answer me. Is this woman breathing okay?"

"Yeah." Blair said, blinking in surprise. He didn't know Patty could yell that loud.

"Is she awake?"

"No."

"Okay, you're doing good. Is she taking any medication?"

Crap, he should have thought to ask. Had Jim asked? He couldn't remember. "I don't know."

"Listen to me, honey. I'm only half an hour away. You stay put, understand?"

No, no, no. "But I need to go--"

"Blair." Patty used her `get up on the table and don't give me any grief' tone. "Stay. Put."

Frustrated, Blair thudded the wall with his fist. "Okay, fine. I'll be here. Please hurry."

"As fast as this weather will let me."

Blair paced the living room. The headlights appeared twenty-two minutes after he'd hung up. Patty's Jeep Cherokee pulled up. Finally! Blair met her on the porch and took her straight into Buck's room. Thelma was still sleeping. Naomi gave a full report on her friend's heart condition.

Carefully, Blair backed out of the room to plan his escape. He snagged a raincoat and headed for the back door armed with a strong flashlight. Reaching for the knob, he was startled as it twisted on its own and the door pushed inward.

"Where are you going?" Jim asked, frowning. He stood dripping on the kitchen floor.

Blair leaned to one side, peering over the wide shoulder. "Where's Buck?"

Jim shook his head as he struggled out of his raincoat. "I left him the thermos. He's fine for tonight."

What the hell was Jim saying? "No way, man, not in this weather." Blair edged toward the closed door.

"Hold up." Jim slapped the door shut with a flat palm, his arm reaching over Blair's shoulder.

"Jim," Blair protested.

"Sandburg, he doesn't want company right now."

"I don't care." Blair tugged ineffectively on the door. Fine, he'd use the front door. Pivoting on his heel, Blair strode off. Jim caught his good arm before he reached the living room.

"Someone's here." Jim announced, tilting his head as he listened.

"Patty's here. Let me go, Jim."

"Introduce me to her."

Gritting his teeth, Blair took Jim to the back bedroom and made introductions. Jim's wide frame blocked the doorway as Patty Green updated the men her diagnosis. Thelma didn't need a midnight drive to the hospital. She was awake. Naomi sat perched on the bed's edge. She held one of Thelma's hands in her own.

"Sandburg and I will wait in the living room," Jim told the doctor, his unspoken request to have a few minutes of her time clear.

Once more, Blair was towed away.

"Jim, let me go," Blair whispered in a hiss.

"Do you know where he's staying? Or are you planning on wandering around the coulee all night?"

There were times Blair really wanted to forget his peaceful ways and punch his best friend in his smug face. He knew by the determined glint and the flexing jaw muscles he'd never get Jim to share Buck's location. "Fine! Have it your way, man!" Blair tore off his raincoat and wadded it into a ball before throwing it at the chair.

"I'm just telling you what he wants," Jim offered, showing a bit of repentance.

"Yeah, whatever," Blair snapped. He dropped onto the sofa. "At least tell me what he said."

Jim turned away. "It'd be best if Buck told his own story."

"This just sucks." Blair couldn't run the guy out of his own house. "He's used to solitude, having his own space, Jim. We should leave. I'll talk to Mom."

Jim picked up the raincoat and smoothed out the wrinkles. He avoided Blair's gaze as he sat in the chair, the coat folded over one arm. "Look, I'm not opposed to finding new accommodations for the women, but I think you... we should stay."

"Why?"

Jim shrugged. "Trust me. I think he needs us around a few days."

The door opened and Patty came out, her face sour. She glanced at the men and pursed her lips. "That's one stubborn woman." She closed the door behind her.

"Which one?" Jim asked seriously.

Patty rolled her eyes. "Naomi promised to bring her in later this morning, if she was agreeable to it." Yawning widely, the woman arched her back with a lazy stretch. "Gawd, these night shifts are brutal. What's the chances of a girl getting some coffee?"

Jim poured fresh decaf coffee into three heavy ceramic mugs. He added creamer to Patty's, working with his back to the table where Blair and the doctor sat. His watch said it was two in the morning and every light in the house was ablaze.

"How long's your arm been in that cast, Blair?" Patty asked, taking her coffee and cradling the mug with both hands, elbows on the table top.

"Few days," Blair replied absentmindedly. "No big deal."

"Several clean breaks to the wrist," Jim shared.

The scowl deepened as Blair sat. "Like I said--"

"No big deal. I know, I know." Jim sat down, sliding Blair's coffee within the other man's reach.

Blair took a testing sip. "What did you put in here?" Blair asked.

"Flavor." And a little whisky to help you relax, and hopefully, sleep. Jim smiled innocently.

Blair's retort was side railed when Patty leaned toward him, placing a commanding, yet gentle, hand on his. "I want you to come into the clinic later today too, Blair. Let me check you over. You look tired."

"I'm fine, really, totally fine."

She squeezed his good hand. "Please."

Blair never could refuse a lady, Jim thought. The younger man slumped in his seat. "Yeah, okay maybe."

"I'll drive you in, Chief."

Mumbling into his spiked coffee, Blair answered, "Thanks."

Patty nodded. "Okay then, now what's this business with Buck?"

"Nothing but mistaken identity," Blair insisted.

"How much did Thelma and Naomi tell you?" Jim asked.

"Only that she believes Buck is some war criminal."

"Oh, come on!" Blair slapped the table. "You know Buck! He'd never--"

"What did Buck say?" Patty continued, looking at Jim.

"He didn't. He just left," Blair snapped before Jim could respond.

Folding her hands together as if in prayer, Patty looked pointedly at both men. "I'm going to tell you a little about Buck Stevens. We grew up together. No man ever worked harder. After their parents died, Buck took care of his brother. Those were hard times."

What it would have been like: young, alone and taking care of another kid. Jim thought of Stephen.

"But when he came back from Vietnam," Patty continued, "things were different. He was distant, nearly a hermit. I figured it was just his way of dealing and he'd get back to his old self with time." She paused to drink her coffee.

The old clock on the wall ticked off the seconds. She had their complete attention.

"But he got worse. I knew then something awful must've happened over there."

"No..." Blair whispered.

Patty looked him in the eyes. "Yes. Blair, think a minute. You're a very educated young man. Think about what you've learned about wars, the atrocities suffered."

"I know him. He wouldn't," Blair insisted. "Not Buck."

"I agree," she answered, cupping his trembling hand again. "But horrible things happened to good people. They were forced to make painful decisions."

Jim couldn't agree more. Few civilians could even begin to understand this. "I have one question. What happened? Buck's hardly the hermit you've described."

Smiling warmly, Patty squeezed Blair's hand. "This bratty, precocious, know-it-all kid got dropped on his doorstep."

*Blair woke with a pounding headache, bringing tears.

"Blair? Drink some of this for me."

New voice, new voice. Danger!

"Doctor Patty is here, Runt. Everything is fine."

Blair settled, knowing the second voice well. Buck was here. He remembered now. He was back in Dry Falls. Not with the monster.

Safe.

The warm blanket was tugged from his hold and cool morning air tickled his neck and tried to slip under his T-shirt. He groaned in annoyance. Buck's big hands lifted his head and shoulders off the mattress, which dipped as the man sat. Those hands slipped under his butt and he was lifted to sit in Buck's lap. The blanket came back to cocoon him with warmth. Blair relaxed into the hold, ready to slip back into slumber, where the headache couldn't reach him.

Someone tapped his cheek. "Come on, Blair. This is going to help make your head feel better."

Blair opened his eyes to see the worried face of Doctor Patty. "Hey."

"Hi, kiddo." Two pills were pushed between his lips and the rim of a glass tapped his teeth.

Blair drank. Apple juice. The sweet liquid glided down his throat until it was all gone. He smacked his lips and looked around. He was back in the room he stayed in last summer. Doctor Patty sat on a chair next to his bed.

"Your Uncle Buck asked me to come visit. He said you didn't feel good." Patty had a real doctor bag, like the ones on television.

"Naomi said doctors don't make house calls anymore," Blair rasped out, his voice rusty.

Buck's rumbling laugh sounded like a train. Blair liked it. He pressed his ear to Buck's shirt to hear every bit. His head didn't hurt as much. Buck's arm tightened around Blair. More sleep sounded like a good thing. Blair closed his eyes.

"Stay awake for me," Doctor Patty ordered firmly. She arranged the blanket in a way she could reach his arm.

Blair drifted as she wrapped a cloth cuff around his bicep. As long as he didn't have to leave Buck's lap, he didn't mind if she wanted to check him out.*

The house was dark again, the women asleep. Patty had left. Jim checked the front door, making sure the deadbolt was in place. Buck had a house key. If he felt like returning, he could get in. The rain had slacked off. In a few hours, the sun would be rising. Now he just needed to get Sandburg to rest.

He found Blair standing by the open back door, staring out into the desert night. Damp smells of earth and sagebrush filled the kitchen.

"Time to hit the sack."

Blair didn't turn. "See you in the morning, man."

"I meant both of us, Junior."

Blair looked at Jim over his shoulder, his expression set. Dragging a rhino by its horn across the Serengeti might be an easier task. Jim opted for the guilt tactic. "Come on, Sandburg. You know I'm not going to get any sleep with you out here. There's nothing more you can do tonight."

Crossing his arms, Blair returned to his vigil. "How am I supposed to sleep?"

Jim wearily scrubbed his face. "He's got camping gear. He's dry. He'll be fine."

The normally strong shoulders crumpled. "I don't get it, Jim. Why'd he take off like that?"

"He must've felt he needed it." Jim drew close enough to squeeze Blair's shoulder.

"I want to help him, Jim," Blair whispered painfully. "I owe him."

"Don't do this to yourself." Jim silently cheered as Blair allowed himself to be pulled away from the door. Jim closed it. "You need sleep. Buck needs time. Everything will work out."

Naomi was packing.

Already mid-morning and Buck had not returned. Blair was frantic with worry. The rain had stopped sometime before dawn, but the sky was dark with clouds. So many things could have happened.

"Carry this one to the car?" Naomi asked as she pushed a heavy looking suitcase into the living room.

Jim swooped into the room and beat Blair to the case. "I've got it."

Mother and son were left alone in the room. Naomi eyed her only child. "Come with us."

"Mom, please don't start." As much as he loved her, he wished she was already gone.

"We're keeping our promise to your doctor friend," she said. "Then we're driving south. You've always loved the southwest. The climate will heal you, cleanse your--"

"Mom, no," Blair cut in. "I'm not coming. I'm not leaving Jim and Buck right now."

She threw up her hands, spun on her heels and disappeared into the bedroom. The door slammed. With a groan, Blair started to follow her. Maybe if he explained again.

Jim's hand stopped him. "Leave it, Chief."

Eyes suddenly burning, temples throbbing, Blair grabbed Jim's arm and held on. "Tell her... tell her bye for me, okay?" He brushed past Jim and headed for the back door.

"Where are you going?" Jim dogged his movements.

"Out. I gotta get - come on, man. Don't. Jim, move out of the way."

If he wasn't so tired - he didn't get more than ten minutes of sleep after Jim made him lie down - Blair would have laughed at the way his normally calm friend was freaking out. Geeze, Sandburg, the guy cares. Cut him some slack.

"I need some space, Jim." Pushing on his temples, Blair squeezed his eyes closed. "I swear I won't be far or gone very long, okay?"

Thankfully, Jim reluctantly stepped aside. "I'll be here."

"Thanks." Blair fought the urge to run, settling instead for a fast walk up the trail heading north.

It occurred to him that this was why Buck must have left last night. He needed space. Blair needed space. Naomi could push and push until you said something that might damage a relationship beyond repair. He loved her. God, he loved her. But he was beginning to see the truth to her long string of relationships. She just didn't let up. She had to have her way.

Blair paused. He'd reached the fork. He could head left and hike around the lake or go right and follow the canyon along the cliffs. Lately, all he'd done was come up to fish. He hadn't taken the right fork in a long time. He didn't feel like seeing the lake, maybe running into other fishermen. He'd go right.

"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

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

Home

[an error occurred while processing this directive]