"Sorry, Elliot." Blair Sandburg cradled the phone to his ear with a shoulder as he jammed papers into his backpack. "No can do, man. My summer's packed."

"But this is a superb opportunity for you, my boy," Elliot's deep voice rumbled over the phone line.

Blair rolled his eyes, but kept silent out of respect. What Elliot was really saying was this was an opportunity to take the entire summer off and play while the younger `not yet a professor' did all his work. No, thank you. Even if Blair didn't have plans for the next 3 months, he would have politely backed out of the offer.

"... to your resume. I don't have to tell you that this position would further your..."

Zipping his backpack closed, Blair switched ears. His left shoulder was starting to ache. He let Elliot's plea flow around his conscious while visually checking his office one last time. His desk computer was unplugged. All personal items were safe at the loft. Nothing left here that he would miss.

Blair had already dropped hints with professors and teaching fellows about an overseas expedition he might join. The admin office was on notice he would not be available to play last minute replacement lecturer.

All his bases were covered.

Except Jim.

"... so, what do you say, Blair? Can I count on you?"

"Like I already explained, sir," Blair replied. This will teach the old twit for bad planning. "I can't. Good luck. Bye."

Replacing the handset, Blair flipped off the lights and locked the door behind him. Jim was due to give him a ride to the station. Blair hoped he'd have the same courage with his sentinel that he had found to refuse his senior colleague.

"So, how much time off you taking?" Jim asked, guiding the truck into the afternoon traffic flow. The weather was sunny, but still cool with a light breeze off the water. Perfect for getting projects around the loft completed. "Feel up to earning some spending money?"

Blair cleared his throat before answering. "Uh, I sorta have some plans, man."

Jim cast a sideways glance. "Plans?"

The police radio mounted under the dash picked that second to release an `all points' on a car jacking in progress. Jim leaned over to crank up the volume and floored the gas pedal. "That's less than five blocks away. Hold on." He slapped the blue police light on the dash and flipped the switch.

Traffic continued to remain sparse. They made good time. The dispatcher had relayed a brief description of the stolen vehicle: late model black BMW.

"There!" Blair exclaimed, pointing out the racing vehicle ahead.

The heisted car held two males. It made a tight turn at high speed into a quiet neighborhood. Jim followed, the truck hugging the turn perfectly. He keyed the microphone and briefly updated the other police units, giving his location and current direction. The speedometer needle held at seventy. Jaw muscles tense, Jim set the mike down and scanned the oak-lined sidewalks for kids.

These speeds were lethal.

The stolen car executed a tight left and disappeared. Jim relaxed a bit. They would be leaving the houses behind and heading for a coastal freeway. He cranked the wheel hard and keyed the mike again. "Suspect is north on Oakdale. Possible destination One-oh-one."

"Copy, All units... suspect northbound on Oakdale."

The mature, calm tones of a shift sergeant followed. "Frank Six. Meet me for a roadblock on one-oh-one and Levee Road."

"That's only going to work if they're heading south, man," Blair said. He braced his feet on the floor and grabbed the door and dashboard.

"Frank Two, take north and do the same at Calvin Drive. I'll send you a trooper to assist. Let's get these guys boxed in," the sergeant ordered.

"He's good," Blair commented.

Jim agreed. "I just hope these clowns head south. Less routes available."

A small band of car thieves had been hitting Cascade for three weeks now. So far they had lifted half a dozen expensive cars and a few not-so-worthy. It was obvious they were in it for the kicks as well as the money. The mayor wanted it stopped. The Auto Theft Unit wanted to slip out from under all the jokes being circulated among the brothers in blue. Jim wanted these assholes to quit terrorizing his city.

The black import crested a rise in the road and leapt into the air, returning to earth with a spring-groaning slam.

The coastal highway neared. Jim watched the BMW shoot up the on-ramp, passing a Staples delivery van as if it were standing still. The large panel truck inadvertently blocked Jim's attempts to follow until finally pulling over. By the time their truck reached the highway, the BMW was three quarters of a mile away.

"Hold on." Jim stomped the pedal and the Ford responded gleefully with a burst of speed.

Cows and barns flew by. Drivers managing to catch sight of Jim's blue light pulled over but most did not. The road was two-laned with wide shoulders. If a cop ever got a chance to pick a route while conducting a high-speed pursuit, this would work. Jim flicked a glance at Blair's side to make sure the seatbelt was plugged in.

With speeds pushing high nineties, the car serpentined between unsuspecting motorists causing brake lights to appear in its wake. The Ford's engine rose to the challenge, but the chase was starting to vibrate the truck in ways that made the sentinel worry.

"Jim," Blair said tersely.

"I know."

They were approaching a construction area and still two miles short of the planned roadblock. The BMW lost speed as the driver was forced to deal with the construction fallout: broken road, temporary steel plates over the road and a long patch of loose gravel. The Ford truck now held the advantage.

"We're catching up," Blair exclaimed excitedly, leaning forward.

But their presence proved disastrous as the stolen car cleared the gravel patch, slewed sideways into a skid and cut off a semi-truck pulling a double trailer.

"Watch it!" Blair yelled as five foot monster tires bore down upon the passenger door. Jim didn't hesitate. He cranked the wheel hard left, sending them off-road, plowing through dense shrubbery. Jim stood on the brake pedal. Visibility was gone. Tense bushes cracked against the bumper and grill of the truck. Branches flew by, slapping the sides. The heavy smell of sap attacked Jim's sinuses.

Then they were through it and Blair's scream was the last thing Jim heard as the truck dropped over a sudden precipice and they were nose down, the ground rushing up at them.

Broken glass. Sounds of metal ripping and tearing.

Then nothing.

Simon Banks parked in front of the `Police Only' parking sign. Flipping down his `Official Police Business' visor, he trotted through the hospital ER doors. The afternoon crowd in the waiting room was dressed in shorts, T-shirts and sandals. The woman behind the trauma desk had her long brown hair pinned up in a sloppy bun as she spoke into the handset trapped between her ear and shoulder, her fingers clicking on the computer keyboard.

Her busy demeanor stalled Simon's urge to demand the location of his detective and ride-along. He stood, impatiently tapping the countertop until she looked up in annoyance. Simon flipped out his badge and she held up four fingers as she continued to talk on the phone. She pointed down the hallway.

Simon didn't need to be told twice. He hurried down the white corridor, dodging a man pushing a cart loaded to the brim with small, glass jar fluid samples. Trauma room four was long and narrow. The first bed was empty. The second bed held one of the two men he was looking for, the third bed was missing.

"Simon!" Blair bleated out as he struggled under the four hands holding him down. "Jim's hurt. They won't let me see him!"

"Mr. Sandburg, calm down," an older man barked, sounding like he'd spent the last half hour repeating himself.

Blair's face was bloody. Simon could see the cut on his forehead and the swollen nose. His button up shirt was soaked with blood. His jeans were dirt crusted. One foot was bare, the other athletic sock was half off and flapping. He wore a wide, white C-collar, which pressed into his chin, but otherwise he looked whole as he writhed on the bed, reaching out for Simon like a lifeline.

"Simon, make them let me go."

"Sandburg," Simon said, approaching the exam table and catching Blair's hand, ignoring the feel of dried blood. "Settle down, right now."

"But-"

Simon pressed Blair's shoulder back against the mattress. "I'm here. I'll take care of Jim. Calm down and let them do their jobs. That's an order, son."

Blair deflated like a punctured balloon. Pain seemed to register as if for the first time, filling his eyes as he rushed to explain. "Jim was out, like the whole time. The truck dropped into a-a ravine or something. I couldn't wake him. I tried. I swear I tried everything-"

"I'm sure he's fine, Sandburg," Simon soothed, patting Blair's shoulder. "I'll find out. Your job is to lie still and do what they tell you. Understand?"

Somewhere down the corridor, a metal tray was dropped. Blair jerked on the cot, eyes wild again. Simon squeezed his shoulder hard and leaned down. "It's okay. I'm here. I will take care of everything now. Trust me."

Chest heaving, Blair stared into Simon's determined gaze, searching and finding the police captain's commitment. The guide relaxed. "Okay... thanks, Simon." Blue eyes filled as shock checked in. "God, it happened so fast."

"I know, son," Simon consoled. "It always does."

"Are you the doctor treating James Ellison?" Simon asked the woman standing in front of the X-ray board.

"Is he the officer who drove off the ten-foot embankment?"

Simon took the question as a yes. "How is he?"

She pointed back at the film clipped on the backlit board. "Puzzling. No broken bones, no skull fracture, concussion that will likely slow him down for a few days, so why's he still unconscious?"

She was young for a doctor, but already possessed a sureness that Simon associated with experts in the medical field. She was chubby, the top of her fuzzy brown head only reached Simon's shoulder.

"I'm Captain Simon Banks, Cascade Police. Jim's one of my mine. Can I see him?"

"Sure." She tugged the three films off the clips and set an energetic pace down the bright corridor. "My grandma used to tell me family and friends are the best medicine."

Simon followed her, eager to see his friend. Covered in a light sheet, Jim was cleaned up and looked peaceful. His clothes had been removed and the staff had robed him into a thin hospital gown. Jim's long legs and arms filled out the narrow exam table with less than an inch to spare. A fine network of scrapes and shallow cuts spread over the left side of his face, in front of his ear. A deeper looking slice in the outer fold of his ear still oozed blood. Simon suspected Jim's driver window had shattered and caused the damage.

"Jim." Simon laid a gentle hand on Jim's arm. "Time to wake up."

The doctor thumbed Jim's eyelid and played the narrow beam from a penlight back and forth. "He should be responding to us. Does he have any medical history? Seizures? Allergies? Drug problems?"

"No, nothing like that." Simon chewed his lip, forming a ghost of a theory. "You know, his roommate was in the car. He's still in ER. Maybe he knows more."

"I remember him, Dr. Mellon's patient. He's not being admitted, is he?"

"I don't know," Simon answered. "Blair's awake and seems alert."

"Well, I'll be ordering some Cat scans... maybe an MRI. There's no reason Mr. Ellison can't wait in ER for availability."

"Great." Simon had a feeling Blair would be able to wake Jim up.

"Jim, you're so starting to piss me off, man."

Typical, Jim thought fuzzily. His head housed an entire symphony of percussion instruments all banging at the same time, causing the mother of all migraines, yet somehow Blair was the one who was pissy. Cracking open one eye, Jim groaned.

"Jim!" Blair cheered.

The kid looked like shit, worse than Jim felt. "Ahh-adha?" he managed to croak.

"Hey, I'm fine. You're the one all weirding out the doctors here," Blair responded, leaning over Jim and smiling broadly.

A new face appeared, gently pushing Blair out of Jim's line of vision. "I'm Doctor Landenberg. Can you tell me your full name?"

Dragging a heavy, parched tongue over teeth and cracked lips, Jim tried to remember how the vocabulary worked. "J-james Ell... ison, C-cascade Po... police."

"Excellent," the doctor said.

Jim thought back over the events that led up to this moment. Doctor meant hospital. Blair was standing and talking. That was good. He finished the mental checklist and realized he'd forgotten someone. "How's... my truck?"

Moving around the loft like a senior citizen, Jim let Blair sort out their Chinese food while he managed to pour two tall glasses of ice tea. They met in the living room, Blair setting the plates down on the coffee table and Jim adding the drinks. Each man groaned as they eased into their respective sofas. Jim thumbed the remote and found a soccer game on ESPN before he picked up his plate.

"This was a good idea," Blair mumbled around a mouthful of soft noodles. He glanced sideways at Jim. "Sorry about your truck, Jim."

Jim tried for a nonchalant shrug but didn't pull it off. Even though the city was going to cover the cost because the incident was work related, Jim felt the loss keenly. He had really liked that truck. "Tomorrow, I'll look around for a rental. I don't feel up to shopping for its replacement yet." He shoved a fried prawn into his mouth, the sweet and sour sauce exploding across his taste buds.

Jim dialed it down.

"I can't believe those clowns got away," Blair grumbled.

Their escape was like salt water on an open wound. Jim forced his jaw to relax before he fractured a molar. He refused to dwell on his failure. "If you're not too sore from all this, I was hoping you'd give me a hand redoing the floor this week. I was going to take some time off and rent a machine."

Frozen with a look of guilt, Blair sputtered a second before swallowing his food. On screen, the guys running around with the red jerseys had just scored another goal. The light of the TV reflected off the balcony windows.

"Ah... well, see. I sorta had plans."

"Plans?"

Blair was stirring his noodles, winding them up on the tines of his fork, collecting a glob of food too large for his mouth. "Yeah, plans. Thought I'd take a trip."

"Trip?"

"Yeah, sort of a summer break of sorts, man. Cleared the way at Rainier. That's what I was going to tell you before ...." Blair glanced up, a mixture of apprehension and something else - guilt, why guilt - on his face. "You don't mind, do you, Jim?"

"No, no, of course not." Jim shoved another fried prawn into his mouth and followed it up with fried rice. If Blair wanted a vacation, the kid was entitled. Jim wasn't going to let the hurt show.

Two days they were both still stiff from the accident, but moving around without much pain. The bruises were fading and the cuts only hurt while shaving. Jim had headed out to spend the afternoon truck-comparison-shopping but turned around on the sidewalk when he realized he'd forgotten his current consumer report issue, the one with the SUV statistics. Riding the elevator back to the third floor, he automatically extended his hearing and heard Blair on the phone.

Jim slowed and paused at the closed door as he eavesdropped on his friend.

"Yeah, yeah, I understand. No, don't sweat it, Stacy. I'll find someone else. Nah, he's a nephew. Do you know anyone else that could take him in? The thing is, I'm not sure how long I'll need a sitter. Could be a week, maybe longer. His Mom? Ah, she's out of the country right now, it's sorta complicated. But, he's no trouble, really. Only five years old and knows how to take care of himself..."

Jim threw open the door.

Blair jumped. "Jim!"

"Hang up the phone," Jim ordered.

"Gotta go, Stacy." Blair dropped the phone back into its cradle and tucked his hair behind an ear with a shaky hand. "W-what are you doing back so soon. I th-"

"Save it," Jim demanded icily. "What's with the call?"

"Call?" Blair slid two steps toward his room. "Just talking. You know, talking... on the phone?"

Jim tracked his guide until he had Blair cornered. "I can only think of one kid you would need a babysitter for. Care to explain? And don't bullshit me."

Blair drew himself up straight and lifted his chin defiantly. "Back off, man. What I decide to do is my business."

"I'd have to disagree, Sandburg." Jim tapped his own chest. "I'm the one that calls the shots when it involves that kid. I don't appreciate you trying to sneak him away from me. What the hell are you thinking?"

Blair tried shoving by Jim to reach his room. Jim caught an arm. It was the `post Incacha death' fight all over again. Blair knocked Jim's hand away and shoved hard, but this time Jim wasn't backing down. He held his ground, catching Blair by both upper arms and pinning him against the bricks.

"Talk to me, damn it!"

Blair struggled a second, unable to free himself, then took twin fistfuls of Jim's shirt and hollering back. "We're not talking a weekend, Jim! It's too much!" Blair shook his head, wilting in Jim's grip. "Jim, it's too much, man. Come on, put me down."

Jim returned Blair's feet to the floor, but didn't release him. "What are you talking about?"

"It's going to happen again. But for more than a week," Blair answered, still cranked on anger, fists wrinkling Jim's shirt. He closed his eyes, bowed his head and took a deep breath before continuing. "I can't ask you to watch him that long. You have a job to do, man."

"More than a week? How do you know?" Jim asked, turning him loose.

Blair stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest, looking uncomfortable. "How else?" he answered softly, with an unhappy sigh. "A dream. Incacha told me the next lesson was going to be a doozy." He dragged a palm down his face. "That is, if I decide to complete the next step. That's why I'm trying to find someplace to stick the kid."

Jim's anger boiled anew. "He's not just a doll to lock in a closet, Sandburg! He's a five-year-old child and he stays with me. I can't believe this!" Jim spun on his heel and started pacing the loft. Blood pounded in his temples. "We're talking about you!"

"Don't you think I know that?" Blair snapped. "Jim, listen to me. I've stayed with people before when I was that age. It's okay. I'm used to it."

"No!" Jim wasn't even going to consider it. "Absolutely not. I'm keeping him!" He punctuated the declaration with a palm smacking the kitchen table.

The slamming of the French doors ended the argument.

That went well.

Pulse pounding in his temples, Blair studied the ceiling. Jim was such an ass sometimes, a damn control freak that had to own the last and final word on every freaking issue. And Blair had had it. He was fed up. It was time to put an end to the Ellison era. Lying on his back, he threw a pillow at the door. Who did he think he was, anyway?

Weeks had passed since he'd returned from the last session with Incacha. Blair had started to think of them as fieldtrips. He and Jim had recruited Kelso to phony up the papers and they'd even cracked a few jokes, their typical way of dealing with `weirdness'.

Sure, a few times Jim had acted out - making Blair reflect upon the new dynamic in their relationship - but in general, everything went back to normal.

Damn, if he wasn't still so sore from the crash, he'd go down to the park, maybe find a basketball game. With summer arriving, a guy could pretty much count on one going from dawn to dusk. Blair needed to burn off this negative energy.

A light tap on his door had him considering a fake doze. Then he remembered you couldn't fake with Jim.

"Yeah?"

The door opened, releasing the aroma of freshly baked bagels. Jim had a small brown bag in one hand and a tiny tub of cream cheese in the other. "I could smell them down the block. Thought we could use a snack."

Blair hadn't even realized the guy had been gone.

With a groan - no way was Jim going to let up, and he was hungry - Blair swung his legs over the edge of the futon and stood. "We'll need fresh coffee."

They worked in silence. Jim plugged in the toaster and sliced bagels while Blair measured coffee into the filter and filled the reservoir with bottled water.

This was the latest craze. Blair had entered the loft a week ago with a new coffee maker and a rule that only bottled water was to go into the machine. The way both of them guzzled the stuff, Jim had considered buying stock in `Talking Rain'. If the kids on campus were into this new craze, he could retire in five years.

On a side note, the coffee did taste better.

"So, why didn't you tell me Incacha talked to you?"

Blair shrugged, intently watching the first drops of brown liquid splash into the carafe.

"Did he quote a timeline here?"

Blair shook his head.

"You're like talking to a washing machine, Chief, lot of shaking, no real communication," Jim told him, earning a brief, snarky glance.

Damn, the guy was pissy.

The first bagel popped up, golden brown on the edge. Jim offered it with a nod. Blair passed with a head shake. Jim moved down the counter to fix his treat as Blair stepped in to start his own, working until every bite held a blanket of cream cheese. He took his plate to the table.

"Everything's changed," Blair finally admitted in a soft voice, his back to Jim. "Before, when we were talking two, maybe three days, it wasn't a big deal."

"It still isn't," Jim said. "You're the one having an issue over this. So you're gone and he's here for longer than a week. We'll deal."

Blair silently poured coffee while his bread toasted. He brought a mug to the table and set it down. His bagel popped up and he returned to fetch it along with his own coffee cup. He rejoined Jim at the table and began pulling apart the dry bagel. "What if we're talking more than a week? What if it's two or... three?"

Jim set his coffee down with a thud. "What did Incacha tell you, Sandburg?" he snapped.

Blair immediately looked miserable.

"Hey," Jim said. He had to remember Blair was new to this. "This is not your fault. I'll admit I'm irritated, but only because I've been kept out of the loop."

"Right," Blair admitted. "Sorry."

"Okay, then. Knock off the drama and spill."

Simon entered the bullpen, harried and wearing his `I hate meetings' expression. "What's with Sandburg?"

Jim sniffed. Rhonda had fresh flowers on her desk and the pollen was getting to him. He sneezed, wiping his nose on a handy tissue before replying, "Why do you ask, sir?"

"I just passed him in the hall." Simon scowled. "He's navigating by Braille and looks worst than my Uncle Hal. Did I mention the old man's been dead for fifteen years?"

Jim lowered his voice, mindful of the other detectives in the room. "Your office, please?"

Groaning, Simon led the way, barking out an order at Rhonda in passing to hold all calls. Door closed, the captain fell into his chair. He set the notebook stuffed with yellow ledger papers on his desk and leaned back wearily. "What is it this time?"

The comment stung. Frowning, Jim stood at parade rest.

"Oh, for crying out loud, Jim," Simon said. He waved at the chair. "I'm just tired. It's Friday afternoon. Give me a break and knock off the `tude."

He sounded so pathetic and `un-boss-like' that Jim relaxed and dropped into the chair. "You've been hanging around Daryl."

"Yeah," Simon chuckled openly as he mimicked his son. "Jeeze, Dad! Don't cop the `tude with me, man."

It felt good to laugh along. Jim scratched his nearly healed ear. "You know I withdrew my vacation request, right?"

"Yeah? What's that have to do with Sandburg playing the walking zombie out there?"

"He doesn't want to fall asleep."

Simon's furrowed brow took a second to smooth out. "Mini-Blair is coming?"

"Yep," Jim said. "And apparently this is going to be an extended visit. I was hoping..."

Simon waved a hand. "We'll handle it. But you still haven't explained Sandburg's behavior - if that is even possible."

"He feels guilty," Jim explained. "I even caught him trying to slip out of town and leave the kid with some friend of a friend."

"What?" Simon's feet slapped the floor as he rocked forward on his chair.

"Please, sir." Jim held up both hands. "Do not mention this to him. Something is going on here that runs deep. Took us forever to square it away, but we did. I keep the kid."

"Damn straight you will," Simon growled. "What the hell was he thinking? Even if you couldn't, he's got to know I'm not going to let-"

A knock on the door ended the tirade. Simon turned, face still scowling. "I thought I said I didn't want any - Jim."

Jim was already out of the chair. He crossed the room in two long strides.

Rhonda held a five-year old Blair. The boy was wrapped in a jacket, his cheek pressed against her shoulder in sleep.

"Jim," Rhonda whispered with absolute amazement. "I found him sleeping in the break room, just huddled in a corner by the candy machine. He took off his clothes. I couldn't find them. I didn't even know he was in the building."

Jim gently accepted the child to his own arms. Blair molded to his body and drooled on his neck, snoring softly in his ear. "Thanks, Rhonda."

Still looking dazed and confused, Rhonda backed out of the room and closed the door.

"Good grief, I knew he was tired, but this..." Simon muttered as he rose, coming around his desk to lay a hand on the tiny back. "I can't fathom how this happens."

"Simon..." Jim softly implored.

"Go," Simon said. "I'll swing by later. Consider yourself on vacation as of now."

Jim carried Blair down to the rental car. He used the remote to pop the trunk. After doing some research a few weeks ago, Jim had replaced Blair's previous booster seat with one rated the safest in `Parent Magazine.' He pulled out the plastic seat, wondering if it would prove to be a nightmare to figure out. It wasn't. Within minutes he had the sleeping kid belted in. Blair's tiny chin rested on his bare chest as Jim used his emergency blanket to prop the child into a comfortable looking position.

The drive was uneventful. Casting frequent glances into the mirror at the sleeping boy, uneasiness grew. The recent fight in the loft come back to taunt him. Jim hadn't been lying when he'd told Blair he wanted the child version to stay with him, but for more than a week? What was he thinking? What did Jim know about extended childcare?

Getting off in the early afternoon had perks. Lots of empty parking stalls. Parking close to the door, Jim lifted Blair from the booster seat without waking him. He unlocked and entered their home while creating a mental list of `to do's. Number one on the list was settling the kid in for a long nap.

Carefully unwrapping the coat, Jim noted it belonged to Joel. It was the one the bomb squad captain normally hung on the coat rack in the break room. What a shock Rhonda must have had when she spotted Blair asleep. What had happened? Had Blair been in the middle of a standing catnap? It was truly amazing how much energy his roommate burned when he put his mind to it. During exams or nearing a grant deadline, Blair could go on for days, catching five minute naps at odd times, guzzling coffee like a junkie and running on automatic until he crashed.

Jim made a mental note to drop Joel's jacket off at the dry cleaner before returning it. Maybe he'd pick up some flowers for Rhonda as well. The jacket was tossed over the desk chair and Jim unzipped the tote bag to pull out a tiny pair of briefs. He worked Blair's pencil thin legs through the underwear before starting to reposition the child in the center of the futon.

Jim's hands froze, his unbelieving eyes captured by the faint bruising on Blair's upper arms. He went dizzy with nausea. The bruises were light green and sickly yellow, just a shadow, but to Jim they were a freaking neon sign. He lightly ran a fingertip over one.

He had done this.

`But not to the child,' Jim reminded his guilt.

Guilt talked back, `the two are the same, you idiot. These are from your hands.'

And they were. They circled Blair's underdeveloped biceps like a cuff, left over from an argument that was days old. Jim straightened, closed his eyes tightly and pinched the bridge of his nose hard.

He hated the way his orderly world got turned upside down and shaken by its heels until all the important parts were scattered over the cosmic floor in a messy heap. Jim liked structure. He craved organization.

What he got was primal genes and throwback actions.

And Blair ended up with the bruises.

Jim opened his eyes. The futon made the child seem even smaller. Jim pulled the bottom of the light cotton blanket from where it tucked under the mattress and gently picked up the boy, carrying him back to the living room. He settled on the sofa with the boy wrapped loosely in the blanket, comfortably draped over his lap and chest. Blair snored into his collar. Jim clicked on the TV, tossed the remote on the cushion next to them and settled in to watch the afternoon movie.

The rest of the `to do' list could wait.

Blair stretched his legs. It felt so good that he added his spine and bowed his back a little. The loft was warmer than normal, warmer than Jim liked it. Gentle heat soaked into Blair's skin and made his bones all pliable.

Heavenly.

He opened his eyes to blue.

Or not.

Incacha squatted by a fire, fingers busy stripping cooked meat from a fat lizard skewed on a stick. "You have slept a long time, Young Shaman."

`Not long enough to want any of that,' Blair thought as he sat up with a yawn. "Good morning, Teacher."

Incacha bowed his head, pleased with the respect Blair offered. However his next statement was to the point. "Your fear cripples you. Have you not remembered anything I have taught?"

Blair couldn't meet the shaman's gaze. Clearing his throat, intently staring at his thumbnail, Blair realized there was no answer he could offer.

Incacha went back to his lizard.

Jim was lost in deep reflection when the child on his chest groaned and twitched.

"Hey, bug," he whispered as Blair peeked through shuttered lids. "Sleep well?"

"'urt... ow, ow, ow," Blair said, voice breaking. A fat tear toppled down a long lash.

Jim sat up, carefully cradling his guide. Fear spiked his heart. "Where?"

"Everywhere," Blair answered, looking mystified as he moved his legs and arms. "What happened, Jim?"

The accident. If the bruises on his arms still showed, the aches and deep joint pain they both had been plagued with would still be with the kid too. Jim stood and carried his friend to the bathroom. Blair took the children's Advil without much coaxing and snuggled sleepily against Jim's shoulder.

"No, you don't, Pipsqueak," Jim told him. "It's dinner time and you're going to need some food before you go to sleep for real."

"Not hungry." Blair yawned like a tiger cub, showing sharp white baby teeth.

"Doesn't really matter, Junior." Jim tried to sit Blair down on a kitchen chair. It was like peeling off an octopus. "Come on, Sandburg. Work with me here."

Blair had a lock on Jim's ear and left sleeve. A knock on the door distracted the kid long enough for Jim to finish the disengagement and step away to answer. Simon stood in the hall triumphantly.

"I did it. I knocked."

"Jim!" Blair groused from the table, looking down peevishly. "I'm naked!"

"You're wearing underwear. Hello, sir. Come in." Jim waved and mouthed the word `help'. "Wouldn't you like something to eat? Since it's dinner time and all?"

"I'm not hungry," Blair snapped as he clambered down from the chair. He walked, paused to cringe and limped another step before Jim caught up with him and returned him to the chair. "No! No, no, no."

"This isn't open for discussion," Jim told him. "We're eating."

Simon watched from the coat rack with a big grin. "Have a pleasant afternoon?"

"Blair slept." Jim sighed and threw up his hands as Blair slipped off the chair again and darted into his room, trailing the blanket like a runaway bride's train. "He's sore from the accident, Simon."

"He'll be fine," Simon told him. "The doctors checked you both over carefully."

"That was the adult version," Jim reminded him.

Blair re-emerged in his doorway, one hand on the door handle, the other clutching his blanket around his skinny neck. "Where's my stuff?"

Simon was snickering softly. He pushed Jim toward the French doors. "Go, I'll fix something for us all to eat. Take care of his majesty."

"Thanks," Jim said, eyeing the midget stomping his foot and looking up at Jim with a scowl.

Simon was getting the easier deal.

"My crayons and coloring book is gone, Jim. So's my backpack, neither."

Jim approached the small fury. "I know where they are, Blair. How about I help you get your room back together while Captain Simon fixes us some dinner?"

"But how come it's all gone?" Blair sniffed, getting really upset now. His chin quivered. "How come I'm all sore?"

Jim squatted down and palmed back Blair's locks from his forehead. The skin felt warm. The little body was being taxed, no doubt about it. "We were in an accident and you're still feeling it, Chief."

"Really?" Blair caught at the blanket trying to slip off his shoulders. "When I was big? How come I don't remember when I'm big?"

"I don't know."

"Does the big me remember the little me?"

"Yes, he does."

Another fat tear rolled down. "That's not fair."

"I know." Jim picked him up and kissed a warm cheek. "I don't make the rules. I don't even understand half of them." He sighed and rubbed a bare back as Blair dropped the blanket and laid his head on Jim's shoulder.

"Don't feel good."

"I know," Jim told him. "Let that medicine kick in and help you, okay?"

"'Kay."

One hand on the door frame, Jim stood and watched as Blair slept. Dinner had been simple but delicious. Simon had a knack for omelets. He even managed to make Blair's look like a half smiley, complete with olives for the eyes. The chocolate milk had been another stroke of genius.

Jim was starting to hate how the man could make dealing with a cranky five year-old look so easy.

"He'll be fine, Jim," Simon said from the sofa. A baseball game was into the fifth inning. Two empty longnecks were lined up on the coffee table, a third in the captain's hand. The fourth was still on the table, unopened. "Get back here and watch the game."

Jim scooped up the beer as he passed. He settled into the other sofa and slumped.

"Hell, man. You look like your best friend just got... cancel that." Simon snickered. "What the problem?"

Jim shook his head. "I wish I knew."

Jerking his head back toward the room, Simon said, "This all getting to you?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"It's hard to explain." Jim wasn't sure he even wanted to.

Simon took a long drink from his beer and swallowed loudly. "Listen, Jim. I want to make something clear this time."

That didn't sound very promising. Jim tensed. "What's that?"

"I'm your back up, okay? No more daycare shit." Simon picked at his pants crease.

"Simon, none of that was your fault."

"I'm just offering."

"Thanks." And somehow Jim felt not so alone and a hell of a lot better. "Seriously, thank you. I think I needed to hear that."

"Good," Simon said looking up, unspoken demon exorcized. "I know I needed to say it."

They watched two `outs' and a double.

"You know," Jim said during a commercial break. "I wanted to do some work around the loft."

"What type?"

"Floor sanding, staining... fix those loose window panes."

Simon made a face. "Wouldn't recommend it."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

The next runner was walked and the one after that struck out. The teams changed positions.

"So, what are you going to do with your time off?"

"I have no idea." Jim shifted on the sofa for a more comfortable position and sighed.

"Draw the power up from the earth," Incacha instructed, watching as Blair mimicked his own position.

They were crouched side by side, their left hands over their heads, palms flat to the sky. Right hands were now palm flat on the blue dirt. Knees and thigh muscles strained to keep balance.

Blair felt like he was playing a fourth dimensional game of Twister. He knew he was supposed to be looking for the flow of power within, but he couldn't stop worrying about Jim. Was he okay? Did he have any problems from the accident? Here in the blue jungle, Blair seemed to have left his aches and pains behind because he felt great. So far there had been no trees to climb, caves to crawl through or rivers to cross. Mostly they'd been doing a lot of talking.

Incacha stood abruptly and brushed his palms together. "Your mind wanders."

Blair plopped down on his butt and crossed his arms over his knees. "I know."

"Do you not want to guide Enqueri?"

"Yes!" Blair scrambled to his feet. "Yes, of course I do. He's the reason I'm distracted."

"Why is this?"

How could he make the Chopec warrior understand? Blair waved his hands in frustration. "Are you sure he's okay? We just had an accident a few days ago and he was like, totally out of it."

Tilting his head, his eyes losing focus as if staring off into space, Incacha smiled fondly. "He is fine.'

"Whoa, wait a minute," Blair blurted out. "You can see him? Seriously?"

The taller man simply nodded.

"Oh, wow. Can you teach me to do that?"

Looking puzzled, Incacha widened his arms. "Have I not been trying?"

Jim woke to smoke.

Not just campfire fragrance, this was oily, coat-your-lung-lining crap that reeked of melted plastic mixed with prehistoric tar pits. Surging up from the mattress, he tripped as his foot became entangled in bedding and nearly planted his face into the floor.

"Blair!" Jim shouted, then coughed as acrid smoke rushed into his lungs.

Oh, god, how could he have let this happen?

Spilling down the stairs, vision blurred by tears, Jim made his way toward the tiny room by feel. The only light seeped in from the city streetlights through the blinds. The French doors were closed and much of Jim's panic ebbed as he found Blair's room smoke free. In fact the lower floor of the loft only held a trace.

Blair was asleep on his back, one arm tossed overhead, his childish features lax in repose. He woke with a startled cry as Jim scooped him up.

"It's just me, Blair," Jim said.

"What'z `appenin'?" Blair muttered sleepily.

Jim tucked him close and ran for the front door. He felt the wood with his palm: hotter than it should be. Distant sirens sounded in the night, growing louder. Back door then, Jim reversed directions and found that door even hotter.

"Looks like we get to do some climbing." Jim rushed back into Blair's room and stood him on the futon.

"Jim, I'm scared," Blair said.

"We're going to be fine." Jim threw open the double sash window and scanned the old metal fire escape for problems. Everything looked in working order. The air outside was cool and clean on his face. "Grab your blanket."

A basket of laundry still sat in a corner of Blair's room from the previous weekend. Jim recognized a pair of his own jeans. He snatched him up and hastily put them on. One of Blair's oversized flannel shirts was hooked on the back of his chair. Jim stuck his arms through the sleeves before reaching for his kid again. Blair had his blanket clutched in a wad against his chest.

"Here we go," Jim said, managing a smile. "This is gonna be fun."

Blair's eyes were huge as Jim climbed out into the fire escape. The five-year-old looked down at the alley and back at Jim. "You're not going to fly, are you?"

With a chuckle, Jim shook his head. "I'll leave that to Superman, Sport. I feel like taking the ladder tonight. Can you hold onto my neck real tight?"

Blair nodded. He even managed to stick his feet into Jim's jeans pockets, which was the best he could manage, as his legs were too short to reach all the way around Jim's waist. The tight grip on his neck told the Sentinel his mini-guide would hold on.

"Here we go." Jim started down the ladder with Blair in front. It rolled on well-greased pulleys as he reached the movable fly section. On the last rung, Jim cupped one arm over the narrow back to anchor Blair's small body to his as he jumped the last ten feet to the asphalt. He dialed touch down to three to silence the painful aches coming from his bare feet as he jogged down the stone-littered alley.

"Is there a fire?" Blair asked.

"I think so." Jim headed for the street and the red flashing lights of the arriving fire engine.

"Wow." Blair looked up at the stone building in awe. "Is all my stuff getting burned up?"

"I don't know." Jim thought about the neighbors. Had Blair not been in his shrunken form, the two of them might have cleared the floor. No way was Jim risking a five year old.

Two large Cascade fire engines began their work. Crews extended charged hose lines into the building. The whining revolutions of the pumps grated his nerves and he forced his hearing dial down as he scanned the surrounding small crowd looking on in robes and slippers.

Most of the buildings occupants stood in a small huddle down the sidewalk. Jim turned back to watch the activity, absentmindedly patting Blair's back. Colette's appeared to be the cause of the emergency. The large front windows were blackened and broken. Thick, oily smoke rolled out and drifted upwards. As nasty as it looked, the fire appeared to be contained to the shop and not yet spread up to the apartments.

"Ellison? You Ellison?" A red helmeted fire officer asked, approaching at a trot.

"Yeah," Jim answered, juggling Blair higher on his hip. "I'm Ellison."

"Good, you're the last one out." The man flashed a warm smile at Blair. "Hey, slugger. Exciting night, huh? You two okay?"

Blair answered with a nod. "Jim and me crawled out the window."

"Smart move." The fireman patted Blair's arm. "My dispatcher tells me there's a police captain on his way down here to check on you two. He should be here soon."

"Okay, thanks." Jim watched the man return to the fire command post in front of the lead engine. He could hear the firemen inside reporting back on their progress over the radios.

Blair snickered. "Capt'n Simon's going to be mad."

"What makes you say that, Darwin?"

Blair scrunched up his face as a trickle of smoke blew their way. Jim stepped back. "He said to stay out of trouble."

Jim chuckled. "Not our fault. Trouble has a way of finding us."

Simon spotted his detective almost immediately. Jim stood on the sidewalk, barefoot and wearing an open flannel shirt with the long tails hanging down over jeans. The boy in his arms looked healthy and Simon forced his white knuckles to unclench the steering wheel as he sent up a thankful prayer.

"Jim!" Simon called out as he flashed his shield at the uniformed officer moving to block his approach. He ignored the apology from the young street cop and jogged on.

Jim was limping. His face bore greasy smudges. The sentinel was awkwardly trying to bundle Blair up in a blanket. The night air was cool and Simon could see the kid was shivering.

"You two okay?" Simon asked, reaching Jim's side and finishing the job of wrapping the blanket around Blair's body.

"We had a fire!" Blair exclaimed. "Jim says all my stuff is okay."

"That's real good news, Blair," Simon told him.

"Take him, sir." Jim held Blair out. "Chief, stay with Captain Simon while I go talk to the fireman."

Simon found himself with an armful of five year-old. "You okay, Blair?"

`Uh huh. Jim came and got me. We had smoke." Blair's face was alive with excitement, eyes sparkling with interest.

"Did you breathe any of the smoke?" Simon asked, tilting the child's face back by the tiny chin to peer into his nasal passages. No sign of soot.

"Na huh." Blair shivered, suddenly scowling. "But what if the smoke comes back tonight and I'm asleep again?"

"You're both coming home with me," Simon promised.

Wide ribbons of smoke continued to pour out the ground floor window. Simon had been to enough fires to recognize the majority of the fire was knocked down, but parts still smoldered. Firefighters pushed racks of burned clothing onto the sidewalk. Inside, they pulled ceiling plaster with long, hooked poles. Another fireman held a black and yellow boxy camera that Simon knew was a thermal imaging device. They were searching for small fires hidden in walls and ceiling.

This would likely go on the rest of the night. There was no way Jim and Blair could go back into their home, in fact, he wondered how long it would be before the lingering stench would dissipate.

Simon needed to prepare for an extended stay.

Jim limped back. "They'll let me go up and get a few things. Credit cards, keys and some clothes. We're going to need a hotel for a while."

"No, Jim," Blair told him with innocent confidence. "We're gonna stay with Capt'n Simon."

Expecting the boy to tilt out of his arms upon Jim's approach, Simon was pleased when Blair snuggled close. "I've got plenty of room. Daryl is with Joan. What's wrong with your foot?"

Jim glanced down, paused a second before wincing. He tilted his head, before he shrugged. "Just a stone bruise. You sure you want to put up with us?"

"For as long as you need, Jim." Simon found his right hand patting Blair's curved back. The child was half-asleep again. Soft snuffling sounds were drifting into his left ear. Simon dropped his voice. "We'll wait here for you to get your stuff."

Jim scrubbed his face with both palms. "Okay, I'll pack two bags. Can I use your washer and dryer?"

"Of course."

"Be right back." Jim limped away.

Simon lived in a small townhouse near the museums and fashionable shopping area of Cascade. A gated parking garage was accessed by a key guard. Jim parked in the guest area. By the time he had the sleeping child unbuckled from the booster seat and in his arms, Simon had joined him. Jim was introduced to the security guard staffing the booth. After explaining the new living situation, he was issued a temporary key card.

The complex had been built around an enclosed park, complete with a pond and fountain. Each townhouse opened up to the center park, yet the street side of the city only saw three story high brick veneer buildings. Jim was reminded of the East Coast the way the narrow and tall homes lined the blocks. Simon's front door was painted pool table green. Inside, the hall was trimmed with rich oak and smelled of lemon oil.

"This is nice, Simon," Jim whispered. Blair slept on his shoulder. Jim envied the kid. He was tired too. The events of the night had caught up to him.

"Joan kept the house. I moved closer to work," Simon explained, closing and locking the door. He quickly entered a six-digit sequence into a number pad on the wall and then led the way to the Mexican tile and oak staircase. "You two can take Daryl's room."

Daryl's second floor room was a little larger than Blair's. It held a twin bed, dresser and a student desk with a small TV. Posters of snow boarders and other extreme sport figures decorated the walls. Simon did something to the twin bed and rolled out a second mattress from underneath. Jim smiled, pleased he would not be kicked all night by a sleeping five year-old. He dropped his large duffle bag in a corner and watched Simon fold down the bedding on the roll out.

Blair was boneless during the transfer.

Jim used extra care not to wake him, checking the soles of Blair's feet, even though he never let the kid touch the ground. He had to look. Both small feet were fine. Still, Jim was not satisfied. Blair's pajamas still smelled of burnt plastic.

"What are you doing?" Simon asked.

"Can I borrow a shirt?" Jim eased the boy's arms out of his top. "These reek."

Simon started to say something, his face showing doubt, but he bit back the comment and went to the dresser. "These will be big on him, but Daryl won't mind." He handed over a blue t-shirt.

Blair stirred, opening his eyes to peer up at the man looming over him. "Tayta?" he murmured sleepily.

Jim smiled. "Shhh, ari wawa. Sleep now."

Blair closed both eyes. Jim dressed him in the large T-shirt and tucked the blankets up to the boy's chin.

"What was that?" Simon whispered. "Spanish?"

"Close, Quechua. Blair spoke it when he first appeared. He never remembers. I think it's a subconscious thing. Something Incacha must do."

"Okay," Simon said with a shiver. "That's too weird. What did he say?"

Jim felt his face warm. "Ah, he said `father'."

Simon checked the pancake batter and found it perfect, not too runny, not too thick. It was time to wake up Blair and get their morning started. Turning, he was surprised to see the boy standing quietly in the arched doorway between the kitchen and the small dining room.

Blair's gaze searched the room nervously as he twisted his fingers into the hem of the knee length T-shirt. "Where's Jim?"

"Morning, Blair." Simon smiled, pointing to the skillet on the stove. "Ready for breakfast?"

"Is Jim here? I can't find him."

"Right, Jim went back to the loft to take care of a few things." Simon rushed the explanation as Blair began to hyperventilate. "He's coming back, honest, kid. He thought you'd like to sleep in."

Shit, it was not working. Blair's chest was rising and falling like a pogo stick. "Left? He left me?"

"No." Simon crossed the room and dropped to one knee, careful not to touch the boy. "He's coming back. You want to help me make him a nice breakfast?"

Chin still quivering, Blair rubbed his eyes. "What do I have to do?"

Simon chuckled deeply. "You don't have to do anything. You're my guest. I need someone who knows Jim well enough to know how he likes his pancakes. For instance, is he a blueberry or chocolate chip man?"

Blair's fear seemed to vanish with the mention of chocolate. "You put chocolate into a pancake?" he gasped with awe.

"Yep."

"Can I have chocolate in my breakfast?"

Simon offered a conspiratorial grin. "Sure. I like mine with chocolate chips and peanut butter."

"Ooooh," Blair was practically drooling now. He followed Simon to the stove like a puppy. "Me too. I want peanut butter with my chocolate. Jim likes blueberries, so we don't have to share with him."

"We don't?" Simon could imagine the small horns sticking out of the curly head. "You trying to finagle more for yourself?"

"Huh?"

Simon laughed. "Never mind. Here, let's get this apron on you. You can stand on this chair here and mix in the chips."

They worked together, Simon manning the griddle while Blair stirred the batter. Two or three chips found their way into the small mouth.

"No more, sport," Simon warned. "Jim will have my head on a platter if he catches me feeding you chocolate for breakfast."

Blair giggled. "Taste testin'."

"Riiight."

Simon turned and Blair squealed Jim's name as he launched himself off the chair and raced across the room.

"You're back!" Blair said from the safety of his sentinel's arms. "Me `n Capt'n Simon is making breakfast. I get chocolate with peanut butter and you get blueberries. Can we make pancakes at home with chocolate chips? I know we got peanut butter cos I saw it but we need to buy cho-"

"Whoa, hold on, Pillsbury Doughboy," Jim said with a laugh, juggling the boy. "Enough with the grocery list. That stack of pancakes looks good. Let's eat."

Jim sat on the closed lid of the toilet bowl and watched Blair play with the bath bubbles, letting his mind replay all the things he'd managed to take care of that day. After a lengthy talk with the building owner's insurance guy, he lined up various cleaners to go over the loft. First, the clothing boutique on the street level would need to be overhauled. Only after the entire stench from the fire was gone would he let them start cleaning his apartment.

So where should he and Blair stay while this happened? No way would he impose upon Simon for more than a week. If Blair was in his adult phase, no problem, he would stay here and Blair would crash with one of his many friends. But he was not about to prevail upon his boss with a five year-old.

Small butt sticking up, Blair was crawling on his belly through mounds of bubbles, holding his breath and coming up for air when the top of his head met the sides of the large spa-size tub. Rising from the water like infant sea-spirit with wet ringlets falling over his face, Blair tucked his butt back underneath himself and wiped the suds from his face. "Jim?"

"Yeah?" Jim handed the child the washcloth.

"We going home tonight?" Getting the soap off his face, Blair opened his eyes carefully.

"No, not tonight." Jim pointed at his own ears. "Clean back here."

"Tomorrow?"

"Nope."

Pausing from his ear scrubbing, Blair frowned. "When then?"

How do you tell a child - who did not know from one day to the next if he was going to be a child or an adult - he might not go home? "I'm not sure. I don't want to go back until all the smoke smell is gone. I think it's time to wash your hair."

This was the hardest part of bath time. Blair found no problem with getting his own hair wet during play, but did not have the patience to sit still long enough for Jim to wash and rinse his hair.

Blair screwed up his face. "I'll do it."

"No," Jim told him, kneeling by the tub. "I want it done right."

Skin squeaked on porcelain as Jim pulled Blair down to the end of the tub toward the fancy hand wand installed above the faucet. Maybe he would have one of these installed back at the loft. It could make this part of bath time half as long.

Blair was instantly enthralled with the device as Jim turned it on and tested the temperature. "I want to do it."

"Sandburg, cut it out," Jim said when tiny hands tried to take the wand out of his. Water arched up and over the window above the bath.

"Let me do it!" Blair screeched.

"Everything okay in here?" Simon asked, his head and shoulders coming around the door.

"We're good," Jim quickly answered over a shoulder while feeling the pull again on the wand. "Hey, I said no!"

"Give me!" Legs kicking angrily, Blair slapped the water with his hands.

Jim caught a face full of sudsy water and reared back in surprise. Before he stopped to think, he smacked a bare, wet thigh and shook a long finger at his kid. "Stop it right now!"

Both man and child froze.

"You hit me!" Blair uttered, eyes filling rapidly and chin starting to quake.

God, he did. What had he been thinking? Jim looked up at Simon. What was he supposed to do now? Apologize?

Simon chuckled, entering the bathroom. "Hey, guys. It's been a long day." He sat on the toilet seat and looked sternly at the child. "You're lucky it was Jim and not me. I'd have done more than smacked your leg, young man. Now, I know you're tired, but you still do what you're told, understand? If I were you, I'd tell Jim I was sorry right now."

Amazingly, Blair did. Tears falling, he ducked his head. "Sorry, Jim."

Jim felt out of his league. His old man never explained any disciplinary actions he'd done to his kids, but Jim wanted to. "I'm sorry too, sport. You okay?" He checked the skin. No red mark. Thank God. The smack had sounded so loud. Jim felt like a heel.

Simon cleared his throat. "Did I mention I have a Sponge Bob video of my very own?"

"Sponge Bob?" Blair asked as he wiped his eyes. "Really?"

Jim lifted his eyebrows at his boss, receiving a smirk back. He turned back to Blair. "First we wash, okay?" Jim picked up the Johnson bottle. Maybe they should stay with Simon. The guy just had a knack for this parenting thing.

"Do you feel the power?"

Biting his lip to keep from snapping back a retort about how the only thing he currently felt was another stupid charlie-horse, Blair closed his eyes and tried to feel something more than dirt under his fingers. "I'm trying."

The problem was he had been trying all day.

"It's no use." Blair plopped back and rested his arms on his knees, his hands limply hanging down. He dropped his head. "I'm not getting this."

The shaman folded gracefully down to the earth and crossed his legs as he regarded Blair.

"It's not your fault, man," Blair told him. "I'm just not cut out for this. I mean I talk a good story. But I've always been the anthropologist, you know? I watch, record and lecture. I watch shamanism, I'm not meant to practice it."

"You prefer to stay safe."

"Er... well, yeah. I suppose." Blair tilted his head. "Jim sort of insists on it. I'm the one that supposed to call for back up. Get off the street. Stay in the truck. Oh, and my personal favorite, `you're not a cop, Sandburg'."

"I do not mean your body. I mean your heart."

"You're an idiot to pass up a chance to take a real vacation, Jim."

Jim rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. He did not need his co-workers calling him an idiot. Switching his cell phone to his other ear, he watched Blair play in the ball pit. They had just finished lunch and Jim had promised the kid thirty minutes. "And you're calling for a reason, Brown?"

"Simon tells me you've got a week down time and you're watching your kid - by the way, what are the odds his name's the same as Hairboy's."

Jim choked and spat the fry out. "Eh, Sandburg is my cousin's kid. His mom liked the name when she heard it five years ago."

"So little Blair is really your kid? Who's the mom? Anyone we've met?"

Jim fell back on his pre-Sandburg people skills. "You got a point for this call, other than to butt into my private life?"

"Hey, chill, babe. I'm just calling to share the deal with you. Guy in my jazz band has a place out on the peninsula. He lets friends stay cheap-like and it's available this week. That's all I'm saying."

"Where on the peninsula?"

"Near Forks. Real nice, Jim. You should see it. Close to the ocean. On the Sol Duc River. Sweet place." Henry cleared his throat. "Hey, man. I'm sorry about butting in li-"

"Forget it, H." Jim rubbed his forehead. "Truth is, it sounds good. Can you get me a number for this guy?"

"You bet."

Jim wrote down the number and hung up. Blair was diving into the colorful balls with wild abandon. Two older boys, close enough in looks to be brothers, had joined him and all three were playing nice. Jim let it continue as he considered the offer. Getting a cabin somewhere beat camping. Blair could cut loose and play all he wanted without Jim having to worry about something valuable belonging to his boss being broken.

He just had one thing he wanted to do first.

"You got a mini-van?"

Jim nodded, walking around the new blue van to open the slider. "It's a rental."

Simon stood, mouth open in wonder. "James Ellison driving a Plymouth mini-van. My god, isn't that one of the signs of the apocalypse?"

"Funny sir," Jim said. "I did have an ulterior motive." He opened the slider.

"Hi, Capt'n Simon!" Blair beamed from his booster seat.

A prince would be hard pressed to own a more glorious perch. A small DVD player hanging from the back of the front passenger seat was showing Sponge Bob. Blair had a tiny table at his elbow, a tray of coloring books at his feet and a bin of toys at his side.

"Sheer genius, Jim," Simon exclaimed with sincerity.

"Actually, it was Sharon's idea. Remember her? The attorney we met? She suggested this for an easier travel time." Jim lifted Blair from his seat and set him down on the ground. "Blair and I wanted to take you to dinner tonight as a thank you for putting up with us these last two days. We're going to head out tomorrow."

Simon held Blair's hand as they strolled through the parking garage toward his home. "I'm always up for a nice meal out, but as I already explained, you two are welcome to stay." Did that sound too needy? Simon didn't want them to go. Having a kid in the place had brought back fond memories of Daryl. Simon didn't mind the sticky fingerprints on doorknobs and the refrigerator handle. It was nice to hear sounds coming from other rooms and know he wasn't alone in the townhouse.

Jim was talking now. Simon had missed the first part.

"... saw the pictures of the place on line and it seems comfortable. Price was fair. All in all, I think it will be a perfect vacation."

Bouncing on the balls of his feet and hopping sideways like a pogo stick, Blair was cutting in with his own descriptions. "It's gonna be so cool, Capt'n Simon! We get a whole river and Jim says we can walk on the beach and we'll be near a rainy-forest. I'm gonna go fishing, huh, Jim? And I'm gonna catch a whale because my book says whales live in the ocean, huh, Jim?"

Simon swung him up into his arms with a laugh. "How are you going to eat an entire whale, young man?" He pulled out his keys and unlocked the door to his home, tickling the boy as he entered.

Blair giggled and tried ineffectively to push away the large hands. "I get really, really hungry! Stop, stop, nooo!"

Simon set him back down and shoved his hands into his pockets as he nodded at Jim. "Well, okay then. Glad you found something to do with your vacation."

Blair suddenly frowned up at the two adults. "Jim? How come Capt'n Simon doesn't get a vacation? Can we share ours?"

The two men exchanged the awkward glance that always follows a child's impetuous outburst.

Jim smiled. "Actually, Junior, that's a great idea. How about it, Simon? You up for some Olympic Peninsula peace and quiet?"

Exhaustion was always a good motivator, Blair reasoned as he ran. He could see Incacha's back disappearing and reappearing through the blue foliage ahead. How did the guy cover that much ground so quickly?

Leaping over a fallen tree, Blair landed wrong, fell to one knee and took a second to catch his breath before struggling back to his feet and continuing.

`If I keep falling like this, I'll be totally left behind.'

He had to stop looking far away and focus on the half-dozen feet right in front.

Another obstacle, an octopus-shaped fern blocked his way. Blair kept his eyes down and leapt over it, landing on the far side and managing to stay upright. With a grim, but tired smile, he pushed on.

He'd ask for a break, but first he needed to catch up with his teacher.

"Jim?"

Jim gritted his teeth, waiting for the one-millionth chorus of `are we there yet?' to come from behind his seat. Instead, he got-

"I haf'ta go to the bathroom."

"Again?" Jim asked. "You went on the ferry."

But Blair was squirming, so Jim instantly backed off the gas pedal. He'd use one of the many trees on either side of the two-lane road if he had to.

"Yeah, but I gotta go again."

"Hold on, kiddo. I'm stopping," Jim promised.

They were in luck. A tourist trap coming up on the right advertised a bathroom. A row of old railroad cars appeared ahead, modified into gift shops selling junk, an ice cream/candy store and a cheesy museum. Jim parked in a gravel lot and helped Blair out of the booster seat. It was late morning and the brisk breeze off the bay to the north held a bite that caused Jim to grab the small jacket from the back bench seat. Blair was three steps away by the time Jim slid the door closed.

"Sandburg, what's the rule?"

"Jiiim." Blair was bouncing on bent legs, expression urgent.

"Why do you wait until the very last second?" Jim asked as he caught the little hand waving at him and hurried toward the first railroad car with the international sign for restrooms.

No one was using the men's and Blair got his business done quickly. Never one to pass up a chance to use the john on a road trip, Jim went as well. With luck, they'd be back on schedule soon.

"Jim," Blair blurted out, tugging Jim the wrong way as they headed toward the parking lot. "They got an alligator with a man's head! Let's go see!"

Jim groaned. "Give me a break, Chief."

"Come on," Blair was tugging with all his might. "We gotta! I've never seen a manigator before."

Of course Jim gave in. They saw the `manigator' and bought a postcard with his image. Blair asked dozens of questions of the amused old man that ran the place. Jim tried to be patient. If the five-year-old noticed his crossed arms, eye rolling and scowl, he didn't mention it. After thoroughly exploring the museum, Blair talked Jim into an outrageously priced lunch of skinny hamburgers and limp fries. They made a decent milkshake and Jim indulged in a banana flavor while Blair slurped a small peanut butter and chocolate.

After a ninety-minute bathroom stop, Jim got his mini-guide back into the van and settled in with his brand new coloring book of starfish and seahorses they had found in the gift store. They continued on their way toward the town of Forks.

"Jim," Blair said after a quiet hour of coloring. "How come Capt'n Simon can't come with us today?"

"Because he has to tie up some work issues first. He'll join us later."

"Who's he tying up?"

Jim glanced up at the rearview mirror and caught the impish face. "You know what I mean."

"How come we can't ask Sam and his mom to come too?" Blair leaned forward, looking ready to crawl out of his seat.

"Stay put," Jim told him, worried he'd manage to unclip his seatbelt. "They can't come because she has to work. Besides the place isn't that big, remember? You're going to have to share my room now that Simon is coming."

Blair sighed, looked out the window at the passing scenery for a split second before squirming uncomfortably in his booster seat. "Why can't I sit up there with you?"

Jim slowed the van and pulled into a wide shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Blair suddenly blurted.

Surprised at the fearful outburst, Jim turned around. "Hey, it's okay. I'm pulling over to start a DVD for you to watch. That okay? Don't you like the van anymore?"

Shrugging, Blair tilted his head, tucked in his chin and rolled the yellow crayon back and forth on his side table. "You're too far away," he muttered.

It was a reach, but Jim managed to tickle the boy. "I'm right here, bucko."

Blair giggled, the mood broken. He pointed to the small screen. "Sponge Bob and the evil scientist guy."

"Coming right up." Jim found the requested movie and popped it into the player, then pulled out a small Tupperware container from under the front passenger seat, unsealed the lid and selected an object from within. "Here, Sandburg. This should keep you busy for a while. You're only getting one, so make it last."

"What?" Blair leaned forward again, unable to see over the seat. His eyes widened with surprise and Jim offered him the treat. "JERKY!"

"It's not peppered, but I think you're gonna like it." Jim watched Blair stick the end of the teriyaki flavored jerky strip into his mouth, his face becoming blissful.

The child hummed happily. "Mmmmmm-gooooddddd."

"Thought you'd like it." Jim turned around, checked for traffic in his side mirror and pulled out onto the road.

Jim rolled into the wet town of Forks at two-thirty. They'd picked up a rain squall around Crescent Lake and the windshield wipers had been working ever since. Blair snored in his booster seat and Santana played on the van's stereo system. Gas stations, video stores and seedy motels lined the streets. Jim wanted the Rainy Day Vacation rental agency. He had the address scratched on the back of one of his business cards.

But the address turned out to belong to a cinder brick tavern with darkened windows and peeling red paint.

"You've got to be kidding me," Jim muttered. Then he saw it, the small hand printed sign in the bottom corner of one window. The place was also the vacation rental agency he wanted.

Parking in the adjacent lot, Jim pondered his options. No way was he leaving Blair in a van alone. Even locked. Jim managed to gather the kid into his arms and cover him with his own parka without waking him. Entering the tavern, he was amazed to find it crowded in the middle of the afternoon.

"What'll ya have?" a burly man asked. He had a bald head, and tattooed oak trunks for arms.

Jim shook his head. "I'm here to get the key for the Sol Duc Cabin? Name's Ellison." Jim laid his credit card on the bar.

"Right," the bartender nodded, glancing at the parka still covering Blair. "Hold on a second."

Someone jostled Jim's arm as a group of men shoved by on their way to sit down. Jim leaned closer to the bar corner and tucked Blair protectively close. A sudden eruption of drunken laughter caused him to frown. The place was too damn rowdy for his comfort.

"Hey!"

The shout came from a table that was making eighty percent of the room's noise. Six men that matched the barkeeper's size looked Jim's way. They wore jeans, grimy T-shirts and boots that spoke `loggers'.

"You a Fed?" one guy shouted. He wore a bright orange baseball cap on his greasy-haired head. "You here to put more of us out of business, you son of a bitch?"

Any other time and Jim would have yanked out his shield and invited the yahoo to step outside. He didn't like mouthy drunks much and enjoyed teaching them manners. Remembering the curly head pressed against his shoulder, Jim shook his head and avoided eye contact. If it worked with Barbary apes, it might work with this group.

It didn't.

A meaty hand reached for him. Jim stiff-armed the man and turned so he stood between the threat and his kid. "Back the hell off, Mac!" Jim snarled.

Three of the loggers were coming at him now, all looking pissed and drunk. Jim felt boxed in. Blair picked that moment to lift his head and the parka slid to the floor.

"What's happ'nen, Jim?" Blair asked sleepily. He looked over Jim's shoulder at the group coming at them. "Who's them?"

Jim couldn't spare time to answer. He kept his gaze locked on the lead ape, his arm still out, finger still pointed. "Back off, right now. I'm not looking for any trouble. I'm not a Fed, but I'm sure as hell not feeling very friendly right now."

The second man chuckled and slapped the first man's shoulder. "Ah, shit, Fred. He ain't no job-killer. Feds don't bring their kids with them. They ain't got the balls to make them!"

Most of the patrons had been watching. They erupted with laughter, dissolving the aggression in the bar. Fred wasn't smiling, but he let the others tug him back to their table.

The bartender returned with a key and a Zeroxed copy of a map. "Here you go. Just need your signature and a license plate."

Jim quickly filled out the form. Thankfully, Blair was silent as he took in his new surroundings with wide, innocent eyes. Snatching up the key and map, Jim nodded to the man behind the bar, ignored the men at the table, picked up his parka from the floor and left.

"Who were those guys?"

"No one we want to get to know." Jim buckled Blair into the booster seat with shaking hands. What was wrong with him? It wasn't as if he was running from a fight or anything. "I'm going to have a few words with Brown when we get back."

"You gonna tell him about the manigator?" Blair asked.

"Something like that."

Standing naked in cold water to mid-shins, Blair let the shaman pour another gourd-full of river water over his head. The sweat of the day, dust of the run and stench of his own body left him.

Blair felt cleansed.

Incacha was chanting something in Quechua. What he was saying, Blair had no idea, but it had something to do with him. It was as if the impurities within and without were being carried away by the river, by nature, by mother earth.

Was this part of the power the shaman was trying to show him?

After the bath, Incacha gave Blair a scrap of cloth and demonstrated how to tie it over himself and secure it with a leather strap around his waist. It felt like a diaper. Blair fumbled with it, but after it was in place, he felt comfortable. He belonged in the jungle now. The temperatures around him were cool, but the chill bother him.

"Come."

Barefoot, Blair followed his teacher to a clearing of blue grass. A large mat of woven reeds waited for them. Bowls of crushed berries sat on the edge. Blair followed Incacha's motions and sat, cross-legged, in the middle of the mat. He was hungry and looked expectantly at the berries.

Instead of offering him nourishment, the shaman took the first bowl of red berries, dipped in two fingers and started to draw on Blair's face.

"We're here!" Blair shouted, kicking his legs straight out and smacking the side table with both hands excitedly.

Jim turned off the engine and eyed the cabin. Brown had been right to call the place a sportsman's dream. Right on the edge of a bluff, the windows overlooked the wild waters of the Sol Duc River as it flowed over large boulders on the way to the ocean. Tall cedar and fir trees surrounded them and towered overhead, letting in green filtered light that played over the carpet of forest ferns. Bright red and orange berries dotted the low shrubs. Everything glistened from the recent rain.

"Jim! Let me out! I want to es'plore!"

Twisting in his seat, Jim put on his most commanding expression. "Let's cover the rules first."

"I know the rule: hold hands." Blair wiggled and fumbled for the buckle.

"Blair," Jim said, leaning back to catch a sneakered foot. "Look at me."

Blair looked. "What?"

"I know you're tired of sitting in that chair, Hoss, but I need all your attention right now."

Expelling an exasperated sigh, Blair stilled.

"Thank you. Now, we have some new rules." Jim ignored the five year-old rolling his eyes. "The first one is this: no eating any berries without permission. The second one is very important." Jim paused, hoping to add a little emphasis. "No going near that river unless I'm with you."

"Yes, Jim."

Was that the same `yes, Jim' that the adult Sandburg used all the time? Then the little shit had promptly picked up his date and driven straight to Club Doom? Visions of the local fire department pulling a dead five year-old from the river came uninvited to Jim's mind. A strong desire to start up the van and drive back to Cascade rose.

Jim turned loose the boy's foot and pointed. "If I catch you near the edge of that drop-off, I'll..."

Blair was breathless, eyes big as saucers.

Jim faltered. Yeah his old man had spanked, but this was Blair. Jim couldn't.

"...we'll leave for home immediately and the vacation is over."

"Yes, Jim."

And that time Jim really felt the child meant it. "Okay then. You follow those two rules and we're going to have a fun time. Sound like a plan?"

Smiling shyly at first, Blair nodded, then grinned with renewed vigor and started to squirm again. "Let's go inside!"

The cabin was two stories with an A-frame roofline. Jim would take the upper floor. Simon would be sleeping in a smaller room off the kitchen. Jim let Blair in first and checked the place with his senses before letting the child `es'plore' the rooms. Making several trips between the cabin and the van, Jim brought in their clothes and the groceries he'd purchased before leaving Cascade.

"Where are you, Chief?" Jim called out as he brought in the last box and set it on the red and chrome kitchen table. The kitchen was Spartan but suitable. A small clothes washer was tucked in the corner. His nose twitched from the dust floating in the air, telling him it had been a while between rentals.

"Up here!"

The upper room's access was a narrow, steep set of carpeted stairs rising from the living room. Jim climbed them with a hand on the rail fixed to the wall. He paused as his head cleared the upper floor. Their room had rough wood planking for a floor. The walls pitched together overhead to form a peaked ceiling. Blair was tugging on a sliding glass door, dingy from lack of cleaning. A small balcony lay beyond.

"Third rule, Mini-Livingston. You stay off that balcony unless I'm with you. Just like at home."

Blair stopped tugging and frowned. "I don't get to do anything, Jim," he groused.

"That's not true. You're going to get to help me clean this place."

"Oh, like that's a barrel of fun."

Jim snorted and crooked a finger at him. "Come here, you little wiseacre."

Holding out both hands in a very adult-Sandburg way, Blair backed up against the glass. "I'm kidding, I'm kid-" He cut off his explanation to squeal in delight as Jim charged up the stairs. Blair bolted.

Jim chased him over the top of the bed - sans the bedding, thankfully - and around the room twice before he snagged the boy and tossed him back onto the mattress to tickle him into breathlessness. When they were both calmed down, Jim rolled over onto his back and toed off his driving loafers. He `ooffed' as Blair flopped onto his chest, their faces inches apart. Blair propped his face between the heels of his hands.

"Ouch, hey! Watch the pointy little elbows, big man." Jim tweaked the pug nose squashed between two fat cheeks. "What do you say to some dinner?"

"I'd say, `'ello, dinner. I'm going to eat you all up!" Blair said with a snicker.

"Ummm, I think it's time to cut back on Sponge Bob."

"But it's still light outside."

"That happens in the summer, Blair. It doesn't change the fact it's eight-thirty." Jim pointed up the stairs. "Get."

Tiny feet stomped as they climbed to the second level. "You're mean."

"I heard that." Jim followed, keeping several steps between them.

"You hear everything," the child grumbled, reaching the top and pausing. "What's that?"

"Your bed."

"You said we're sharing." Blair eyed the large queen-sized bed before turning back to the smaller rollaway next to it.

"Yeah, a room. We're sharing a room. Not a bed." Jim nudged him forward. "You're like sleeping with a Mexican jumping bean, Sandburg. You get your own bed."

Blair poked the mattress with a stiff finger. "It's little."

"So are you. Here, put on your pajamas." The two beds were close enough that Jim could sit on the edge of his and still help Blair change. If he didn't supervise, the kid would take hours to get ready. He pulled Blair's T-shirt up over his head.

"I can't go to bed yet. I didn't take a bath," Blair said, his voice muffled.

"You're not taking a bath tonight." Jim arranged the long sleeve pajama top just so, allowing the arms to align before he dropped the shirt over Blair's head and gently tugged it down.

Blair contorted his arms within, bulging and poking elbows this way and that until his fingers emerged from the cuffs. "We don't hafta stay clean when we stay here?"

He sounded so hopeful that Jim had to smile. "You're going to bathe in the morning, Chief. We used all the hot water cleaning this place. There's none left for a bath."

"Oh," Blair said, crestfallen. He perked up as he stepped out of his jeans. "Will you read to me?"

"Did you bring a book?"

"Yes! Capt'n Simon packed it for me. He let me borrow it." Blair didn't wait for Jim to hold out his pajama bottoms. He scampered to his toy bin wearing just his briefs and PJ top and rooted around for a few seconds. "I know it's here somewhere..."

A brief twinge of loneliness hit. There were times the kid was such a perfect miniature version of adult Blair that it amazed him.

"Here it is!" Blair held the book high, waving it victoriously as he rushed back to Jim. "See, see? Can we read it, Jim?"

Jim accepted the book. "My Side of the Mountain."

"What's it about?" Blair climbed up next to Jim and leaned over to look at the cover.

"Well, if you'd get out of my way, Sandburg, I could tell you." Jim turned the book over and scanned the back. "Uh, looks interesting. It's about a boy that lives in the forest all by himself. You sure you want to read this one?"

"Yeah! Capt'n Simon said his son read it and really, really liked it."

"Okay, then. First let's finished getting you ready for bed." Jim got the pajama bottoms on their owner and tried unsuccessfully to coax Blair into his own bed. They ended up together on the bigger bed with Blair, wrapped in his comforter, pressed close to Jim's side. Jim leaned against the headboard, pillows stuffed behind his back. He opened the book and began to read.

Blair asked no questions. He listened to the first two chapters with a solemn intensity. During the beginning of the third chapter, the boy started yawning and his eyes drooped. Jim waited until he was asleep and drooling onto his own shoulder before he closed the book and set it aside. He gently lifted the child and cradled him close with one arm while he folded down the bedding on the smaller bed. Blair didn't wake as Jim positioned him on his side, covered him back up and kissed his temple.

"Night, Slugger."

"Chew." Incacha placed the small, folded bundle of leaves on Blair's tongue.

It had a bitter quality at first. Chewing slowly, Blair's mouth tingled. The feeling spread down his neck and chest and flowed out like thick oil into his limbs. He listed. Incacha caught his shoulders. Panic began to set in as the shaman gently lowered Blair to the mat.

"You are safe, Young Shaman. You will travel tonight on your vision quest."

`Jim, oh god, man, you are so not going to believe me when I tell you about this one.'

Blinking and marveling at the time it took to open and close his eyelids, Blair hummed the tune his blood made as it sailed through his veins. Funny how he never heard it before. Something pressed down on his body. Oh, right. Body paint covered his chest, arms and face. It pulled on his skin as it dried. How weird.

Oh, wow! The earth was talking to him!

The cabin didn't have TV reception and cable wasn't an option. Jim stretched out on the bed to read Kelso's book. If he dialed up, he could still smell the smoke between its pages, even after he'd wiped it down at Simon's place with lemon scented cleaner. He kept his senses at normal and tried to read. Actually, he would have preferred Blair's book. Nah, he was just too tired to focus.

Smiling, Jim laid the book aside and turned off the lamp. The moon was out, shining into the bedroom through the triangle of glass. The wind played the forest like a harp and Jim enjoyed the sounds the boughs made as they swayed against each other. Slowly, he let the day go, dismissing the incident at the bar, the long lines at the ferry dock, the delays caused by a five year-old and allowed himself to be on vacation.

Consciousness dissolved into dreamscape as moonlight faded into blue.

"Hi, Jim!"

Jim swiveled in surprise to find a near naked man standing a few feet away. "Sandburg!"

Blair bounded across the blue field and caught Jim around the chest with powerful arms. "Man! It's good to see you."

He was real, as real as Jim. Touching painted skin in wonder, Jim staggered under the realization. "B-but how... am I with... you're here, so..."

Blair laughed. "I'm on a vision quest and I wanted to check on you. This is, like, incredible. Totally off the wild charts! Incacha gave me some leaves to chew. Oh, and I got this purification ritual that you wouldn't believe. I mean, I could totally write a thesis just on that alone."

Jim held up a hand to stop the rushing explanation. "Hold up, hold up. What did he have you chew?"

"Oh, knock off with the Joe Friday stuff." Blair grinned as he swatted his friend's arm. "It's not like you have jurisdiction in this world. So, how's everything? How's the kid? How're your senses? I've missed you, you big goumba."

Head still spinning, Jim tried to keep up. "It's good. Kid's good. What about you? Hey, what's happening?"

The blue jungle was blinking in and out. Jim reached out to his guide.

"It's okay... `abaly mean's..." Blair's words were blinking with the dreamscape. Blair waved at him as their hands passed through each other, unable to hold on. "... care of yourself... `s you, big gu..."

Then Jim was sitting up in his bed and morning light poured into the room. Mini-Blair snuffled into his pillow, lying diagonal on the mattress. Jim held his hand to his nose and sniffed.

Berries.

When morning arrived, little Blair ate Captain Crunch with toast. He talked nonstop. Jim listened and nodded, but his thoughts were on his dream. He remembered his time in Peru and how Incacha painted his body using a berry dye. Jim had smelled the same scent on his hands this morning. He had washed up before going to bed. This meant... Blair had really visited him.

"Can we? Pleeease?" Blair sang, his legs swinging back and forth under the table.

"What?" Jim noticed the kid's bowl was empty.

"Can we hike? I want to fish. I saw them poles in the back of the van. Can we go see the ocean? Can we-"

"Whoa, Hoss." Jim waved both hands. "Slow down a second. We're not going to do everything under the sun on the first day. Pick one thing and I'll consider it."

"One?" Blair wrinkled his nose. "Only one?"

"Take it or leave it, Sandburg."

"Beach. I wanna find a starfish like in my coloring book." Blair pushed away from the table."

"Chief."

"Oh, may I be excused?" Blair asked with a rush, pausing in his slide to the floor.

This was something that Simon had instilled into the boy during their short stay at his place. Jim wished he'd thought of it. He wondered how many other manners he'd forgotten.

"You may, but only to go get ready for your bath."

"Oh, man."

The drive to the coast took them back through the town and offered Jim a cell phone signal. He pulled into the local grocery store parking lot and hit the speed dial for Simon's cell phone.

"Why are we stopping?" Blair asked, craning forward as much as his seatbelt allowed.

"I'm making a call-"

"Banks."

"Hi, Simon."

"Hey, Jim how was the drive? You didn't call last night."

"HI, CAPT'N SIMON!"

Jim nearly dropped the phone. "Blair! Stop shouting!"

The kid had the grace to look abashed for half a second before leaning back with a smirk. Jim waited for his ears to stop ringing and realized Simon was laughing on his end. "It's not funny, sir. I'm deaf now."

"Well, that answers my second question: the kid's okay."

"Yeah, he's fine." Jim glanced back to see Blair had his nose in his coloring book. "We're heading down to La Push so Blair can find a starfish. When can we expect you out?"

"Got a load of work done yesterday. If this morning's meeting goes as well as I expect it to and Joel is feeling generous, I might be on the road around noon." Simon sounded pleased with his plan, a man looking forward to his vacation.

"Perfect. We'll plan on your company for dinner tonight."

"Get any fishing in?"

"Nope," Jim said, looking back at his passenger again. He didn't want to go near the river without another adult with him to help keep Blair safe. "Going to wait for you to join us."

"Understood. I'll be out as soon as I can."

When Jim folded his phone and plugged it back into the charger, Blair spoke. "Time for the beach?"

"Yep," Jim answered, dropping the van into drive and pulled back into the flow of traffic. "We're on our way."

The drive took them through lush forests of the Olympic National Park. Jim found the trailhead for the path that would lead them to Second Beach and parked. Released from his booster seat, Blair bounced excitedly, impatient to be on the way. The morning sky was crystal blue. Both sentinel and guide wore shorts and short sleeve shirts. Jim knew the walk through the forest was less than a mile and the beach was only two miles long. During his teenage years, he used to sneak down to the coast and he and his buddies learned to surf on this beach.

An older couple was just starting down the path. They smiled as Blair broke free from Jim's hand and raced past. Jim jogged behind, nodding at the man and wife. "Excuse us, please. Blair, slow down!"

Blair obediently slowed down, letting the adult catch up.

"Race you!" Jim shouted as he shot on at full speed, grinning as Blair squealed with surprise.

The trail was sandy, level and an easy run. Jim kept his speed reasonable, his hearing directed backwards to keep track of his charge. Blair was giggling madly as he ran. Spotting another family ahead on the trail, Jim slowed to a walk, turning to catch the child as he rushed headlong into his arms.

"You cheated!" Blair exclaimed breathlessly.

Jim tossed him over one shoulder and continued down the path. "I did not. I just evened the playing field a bit. After all, I'm an old man."

Hanging upside down now as Jim held his ankles, Blair set up a steady drum roll with his tiny fists on the small of Jim's back. "Cheated, cheated, cheated."

"Better be careful, cheaters tend to drop little kids on their heads."

"Not a cheater, not a cheater." Blair fisted Jim's T-Shirt. "Don't drop me, Jim."

Hauling the kid back up and over, Jim propped Blair against his hip. "Before I set you down, I'd like to go over the rules."

It was somewhat cute how Blair's peanut-sized nose would crinkle when he was exasperated. Jim schooled his expression to remain serious.

"First of all, you can't run off. You have to stay in sight. However, it is perfectly okay if we get our sandals wet, but you can't let the water up over you knees, understand? That means you have to watch for the waves. And finally, don't be picking up starfishes or anything else without me looking at it first."

"How come?" Blair asked, curious about the last rule.

"Because, some of these sea critters are still alive and they would love to eat little boy's fingers. Capiche?" Jim held up his own hand, folding his first finger at the knuckle. "That's how I lost my finger when I was your age."

Blair's eyes bugged, then he tilted his head. "Waaait a minute. You had all your fingers at breakfast." He captured Jim's hand and unfolded the missing digit.

"That's amazing." Jim set him down and looked at his own hand. "You found it!"

Snorting with laughter, Blair rolled his eyes.

"Seriously, Blair. You might get stung by something with spines or tentacles, so no picking up stuff until I see it."

"Right." Blair caught sight of blue ahead. He cut free with a piercing, "JIM! Look it!"

They had found the beach.

When had he thought all the problems in the world were his alone to solve?

Back and shoulder muscles relaxed as the sunshine's warmth penetrated. Brown was right; this vacation was a good idea.

Blair currently was recharging his little body, walking demurely at Jim's side, his little hand in Jim's bigger one, a ball cap on his head to keep his face from turning pink. He had run, skipped and charged through the saltwater. Every little pebble and sand dollar needed investigation. Every stick he found was a tool for digging in the sand. Twenty questions had stretched into a game of a hundred and twenty. Thankfully, Jim knew most the answers, but Blair was totally happy when Jim promised to look up some answers back in Cascade.

"How come we can't find a starfish?"

"They live in rocks and on pylons. I think this beach is too flat for them," Jim explained. "Maybe when Capt'n Simon gets here, we'll drive down the coast and find a place where they live. I know a harbor with ships and docks."

Blair lifted his face and stared out across the water. "But this place is nice, huh?"

Jim's gaze followed Blair's. Fishing ships rode gentle swells on the ocean's surface. Other vacationers walked the sand. A few brave souls in wetsuits tried surfing the waves. "It's more than nice, Chief."

"OH! Look it!" Blair broke away and ran a few feet up the sand. "Can I? Can I?"

The sand dollar was about the size of Blair's palm. All its fuzziness had long ago worn off, leaving just the skeleton. Jim was proud of the boy for asking first. "I'd say that's your special sand dollar. You can touch it."

"Kewl!" Blair held it reverently, turning it over several times in his small sandy fingers. "I'm going to call him Twinkle."

Jim couldn't make the connection. "Why?"

"Coz he's not a starfish," Blair explained simply, still studying his find, running a finger down the design on its curved back.

No point in figuring out child's logic. "Ready to head back for lunch?" Jim's stomach was ready. They had stayed too long already.

More folks strolled down the trail as they headed back toward the parking lot. Blair lasted halfway before his pace faltered.

Jim turned back to study the boy with raised eyebrow. "Something wrong with your `go button'?"

Blair yawned and swayed. He crossed the short distance between them and buried his nose into Jim's thigh, lifting both arms up. His free hand opened and closed like the starfish he had wanted to find.

Jim bent down, wrapped an arm under the skinny bottom and stood. He caught the hand with the sand dollar in time to prevent it from scraping the back of his neck. "Here, let me carry this." Twinkle slipped into his cargo pocket with room to spare and Jim took a second to rub the sand off the boy's hand, knowing if he didn't, his back would be itching.

Blair lowered his head onto Jim's wide shoulder.

Jim endured the sappy smiles from the passing women and a few knowing looks from their husbands. Reaching the van, Jim buckled in his kid and pulled out a juice box and fruity granola bar from the cooler. Blair accepted them with a yawn.

By the time they reached the cabin, the juice had been slurped down and two-thirds of the bar was missing. Blair was crooked in his booster seat and snoring.

Jim smiled, already looking forward to a few hours of quiet, maybe a nap of his own.

"Hello?" Simon walked into the seemingly empty cabin and admired the roomy space. He could smell lasagna baking. A floor puzzle sat abandoned, half completed on the floor next to a large bookshelf, the coffee table had a coloring book and spilled box of crayons and a small bin of Legos spilled out next to a brownish-red recliner. "Jim?"

"In the kitchen, Simon!" came the answer.

Frowning at Jim's strange tone, Simon dropped his luggage and entered a cheerful kitchen decorated in a nineteen-fifty diner motif. Jim held Blair with arm around the boy's waist. Both were facing the kitchen sink. Water flowed from the tap and Blair's hands worked up a lather as they scrubbed together.

Jim turned to one side, his face pinched with disgust as he dry heaved.

"What the..." Simon rushed over, expecting the worse. It took a lot to make the ex-ranger retch. "What's wrong? Is he hurt? Let me see."

"Hi, Capt'n Simon." Blair turned, his mouth and chin glistening.

"Oh, God, Simon," Jim muttered miserably. "Take him. Take him, please."

Simon accepted the boy and watched Jim whip a dishcloth off a hook and start wiping at Blair's face. Amazingly, he turned to dry heave into the sink.

"Would one of you tell me what the devil is going on?" Simon demanded as he realized Blair was a happy and healthy five year-old.

"I... he..." Jim's face was green as he glanced at his dishtowel, folded it once and went back to wiping Blair's face. "Isweartogodhewasonlyoutofsighttwominutes."

Another retch.

Simon caught sight of an oddly tubular, yellow-greenish thing in the sink and was able to put the clues together.

"Blair," Simon asked, turning to sit the boy on the counter's edge and taking the towel from Jim's shaking hands. "You didn't try to eat a slug, did you?"

Blair shook his head. "Nah, I just licked it. Jim's wrong. It don't taste nothing like bananas."

Jim ran into a small bathroom and slammed the door.

Chuckling, Simon finished getting the slick mucus off the boy's chin. "That's what Daryl told me once. I think I'll take your word for it, Champ. But you shouldn't be licking things that you find without first asking an adult. Understand?"

"I know about berries. Didn't know about slugs." Blair tilted his head. "Is that another rule?"

"Yes, that's another rule. And it's very important." Simon cleaned the small hands and set the boy down on the floor. "There are things that are poisonous, that would put a little guy like you in the hospital. Luckily, slugs are not one of them."

"Yeah..." Blair bounced on his toes. "I'm glad you're here, Capt'n Simon. Jim said we get to eat when you came. So we can eat now, huh?"

Simon cracked open the oven and checked the contents. Warm, delicious airwaves rolled out. "Looks like. Why don't you pick up your toys in the living room and I'll get supper on the table."

"Okay!" Blair microburst his way out of the kitchen at a dead run.

A toilet flushed and Jim staggered back to drop into a kitchen chair. "Oh my god, Simon. We were outside. I was stacking the firewood. He was exploring the ferns..."

"Jim, you're lucky it was just a slug. Two minutes is all it takes for a disaster around five year-olds." Simon slid the pan into the two hot pads and returned for the foil wrapped garlic bread. "We getting a salad with this?"

"In the refrigerator," Jim mumbled, his head resting in his folded arms as he draped his upper body across the table. "I don't think I can eat."

Simon smiled. He opened and closed the cupboards until he found the plates. "Suck it up, Ranger. I thought you guys had to eat all sorts of gross stuff in training."

With a guttural groan, Jim rolled his head back and forth on a forearm.

This was not the Jim that Simon knew. "Ellison? You okay?"

"I don't think so, sir." Jim sat up. "Started feeling off after we got back from the beach."

"Off?" Simon set the small stack of dinner dishes on the table and took a close look at his friend. "You do look like shit. You must be coming down with a bug."

"No," Jim said with a whine. "I can't be sick, Simon. I've got a five year old to take care of."

"What am I? Chopped liver milkshake?" The statement had an odd effect on the other man and Simon chuckled. "Nice shade of green there, Jim. Sorry, sorry. What I'm trying to tell you is take the load off. Go lay down. Sleep and get better. I'll take care of Blair."

"No." Jim shook his head, offering a pathetic attempt to sit up straight and look normal. "I can't ask you to do that. This is your vacation, too. I invited you to relax, not-"

"All picked up!" Blair announced like a public address system at a busy bus station as he ran into the kitchen. He ran a lap around the table once before slamming into Jim's thigh and attempting to scale the man to get into his lap. "Are we eating? I'm hun - hey!"

Simon swung the child up and into his arms. "Come on, Small Fry. Let's get your hands washed one more time before dinner." He tossed his last instruction to the ill-looking man left alone at the table. "Think about it, Jim. You really want to beat this thing without my help?"

Jim struggled to his feet. "I'll be upstairs."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll just explain things to the little master here," Simon called back as he set the boy on the three step wooden stool in front of the sink.

"Why's Jim upstairs?" Blair asked. He held his hands under the running water. "It's time to eat."

"Here, soap first." Simon pulled his hands out, pumped a few squirts of liquid soap into the pink palm. "Scrub them together."

"Kay."

Simon explained the situation. Blair's eyes widened with fear. His lower lip began to quiver. "I need to stay with him."

Simon had to physically keep him in the bathroom. "Hold on a second. Let's talk about this, man to man." He held the small hand tightly as they returned to the kitchen. Lifting the boy to sit in the chair already fitted with a booster seat, Simon sat down and tried again.

"Blair, Jim is going to be fine, honest. We just need to let him rest and get better."

Breathing in panicked, short bursts, Blair shook his head. "I want to go upstairs. Jim needs me. He's scared `cos he's sick."

"Jim is not scared. He might be worried about the fact he can't take care of you, but that's okay because I'm here now. The best thing for Jim right now is sleep." Simon patted the small shoulder. Fear was etched on the five-year-old face. "You and I will take care of Jim together. I promise Jim will be better soon."

That seemed to settle Blair. "We can take him dinner?"

"Well, first he needs to sleep. If he's hungry, we'll make him some toast and tea." Simon judged the boy was now willing to stay put. He stood and began to set the table. "Now, let's fill our own tummies. We need our strength if we're going to nurse Jim back to health."

Chaos reigned.

The entire Seahawk football team was using Jim's brain for tackle practice, relentlessly pounding. His gut twisted and churned. His skin was hot one second, ice cold the next. It was painfully obvious these were not his own sheets and this was not the mattress in his loft. The cabin's bed was closer to a torture rack. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to blink. He couldn't sleep and he didn't want to be awake.

"Jim?"

The tiny voice was very close. When had Blair come up the stairs? He groaned as the mattress shook. Jim cracked one eye open and saw the fear on his guide's little face.

"Hey, Chief," Jim whispered, managing to lift one arm and pull the boy close.

Blair snuggled against his side, a tiny arm returning the hug and clutching at Jim's T-shirt. "Sorry you's sick," the child whispered.

"Me, too."

"Blair?" Simon's whisper was urgent sounding. Footsteps mounted the stairs. "Oh, crap. Come here, Sandburg."

"No!" Blair whispered with a petulant whine. He squeezed Jim tighter.

It took every bit of waning strength he had left, but Jim managed to return the gesture and wave his boss off. It had to be close to bedtime anyway. "It's okay, Simon. Let him stay until he falls asleep."

"You sure?" Simon was just a dark shadow against a dark room.

Jim couldn't explain it. He couldn't deny that some of the pain and chaos had fled the moment the five-year-old crawled next to his side. He was the best medicine for a sentinel.

"Please."

Simon's rumble was either mirth or disgruntlement; Jim couldn't tell. "Okay, I'll put him into his own bed after he falls asleep."

Jim stroked the curly hair, appreciating the fact Blair was still for once. He took a deep breath and catalogued the smells of hot chocolate, toothpaste and Dial soap. Blair was properly cared for. Some of the guilt ebbed.

"Thank you, Simon," Jim said, opening his own achy eyes and adjusting until he could clearly see his boss's face. "I'm glad you're here."

"I'm happy to help, gentlemen," Simon answered while flipping over the edge of the comforter and tucking Blair in. "You want something to eat?"

"No way." Food was the last thing Jim wanted to think about. "Thanks anyway."

"No problem."

"Tomorrow - if I'm not better - please watch him carefully. He knows he can't go near the river, but..."

The bundle next to him stirred unhappily. "Jiiiimmmm."

"Ellison, relax," Simon said with a tolerant growl. "I will watch him. Now, both of you go to sleep."

"Nite, Capt'n Simon," Blair whispered from Jim's shoulder.

"Good night, sir," Jim added as the big man went back down the stairs. "So, kiddo. How was dinner?"

"Yummy," Blair answered with a wide yawn. "Capt'n Simon and me finished the puzzle. We played Shoots and Ladders and we had popcorn and cocoa."

"Wow, sounds like a good time."

Blair's head nodded. The tiny hand began to finger the collar of Jim's T-shirt. "How long are you gonna be sick?"

"Not long, I hope," Jim answered.

"I don't like when you're sick."

"That makes two of us." Jim patted the minuscule back. "How about we go to sleep. Maybe I'll be better in the morning."

"Promise?"

Jim sighed. "I'll do my best, Buddy."

"Your thoughts are fractured again."

Blair pressed his fingers against his temples. "I know."

Incacha stood with fluid moment. "Come, we will run."

"Oh, man." Rolling from his sitting position onto one hip, Blair stood with a groan. "Can't I chew on some more leaves? I want to check on Jim. Make sure everything is okay."

The shaman shook his head. "You lack focus."

"Captain Crunch!" Blair demanded.

Simon eyed the selection in the cupboard. "Okay, for the final time. Here are the options we have: Cheerios, Life, Trix, and oatmeal. There are no little boxes of Captain Crunch."

"There was a box yesterday," Blair explained. He sat like a patron at a highbrow restaurant dealing with a slow-witted waiter. "I saw it."

"And I'm thinking you also ate it." Simon selected the box of Trix. Funny after all these years, they were still for kids, he thought. "I'll make you my famous cinnamon toast to go with your cereal."

"Famous?" Blair scratched his neck. "How come?"

"Well, it's a very interesting story involving my great aunt Erma and four little boys that liked to dig in the garden."

Blair listened as Simon related his experience with his cousins on a small Arkansas farm. Simon made enough toast to include the sleeping man upstairs. Blair laughed at the story, asking questions about the old plow horse and why Simon had to clean the stall and where did the word `muck' come from, anyway?

Leaving the boy happily eating cereal and munching toast, Simon took a tray upstairs. Jim was asleep, an unusual thing to see at eight o'clock in the morning. The ex-ranger had always been up, dressed and busy whenever Simon had had the occasion to stop by the loft early. The air in the room seemed stuffy. Quietly setting the tray on a side table, Simon opened the slider to allow in the fresh morning mountain. When he looked back at the bed, he found Jim blinking sleepily at him.

"How do you feel?" Simon asked, even though the answer was visible in the other man's expression.

"I'll live." Jim struggled up to one elbow and flipped the bedding down. "How's Blair?"

Moving fast, Simon arrived in time to keep the sick sentinel from getting off the mattress. The resistance given was pathetic. "Hold it right there, Detective. You're staying put." He purposefully used his `I am the captain' voice.

"Simon..." Jim swayed. "I'm fine."

"Right, sure you are." Simon picked up the tea mug and dunked the tea bag up and down before pulling it out and setting it aside. "Jim, you don't have the strength to deal with my church's senior club right now, let alone a five year old. Stay in bed." He offered the mug. "Here."

Jim took the tea, sniffing the steam gratefully. He took a sip and grunted. "I'll have you know, some of those seniors can be dangerous."

"You're telling me? Try parking in their reserved stall on any given Sunday." Simon trembled. "Seriously, Jim. Blair and I are going to have fun. We've got a hike planned, videos to watch, he's going to take a nap later-"

Jim's eyes widened. "Naps? You can make him take a nap? Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never asked." Simon served the plate of toast. "Can your stomach take this?"

Jim looked at the offered plate with interest. He took a careful bite of toast and chewed. Simon made `lean forward' motions and fluffed his pillows. Jim settled in comfortably as he ate. "I think I could get used to this."

"News flash, Ellison." Simon folded his arms. "The minute you're well, I'm reverting back to my normal self."

Jim cocked his head. "Blair is calling for you."

Heading for the stairs, Simon tossed one last order over his shoulder. "I don't want to see you downstairs unless you're on the way to the john. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," Jim said, munching his toast. "Have fun with the mini-terror."

"Can I take my shoes off?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you never know when a sharp rock or stick might cut your foot."

Blair stopped suddenly and bent over to peer down at the trail they walked. "I don't see anything sharp."

Waiting for the hike to resume, Simon looked heavenward. "You're still not going barefoot, young man."

They continued. The morning was overcast but dry. After making sure Jim was sleeping soundly, Simon had packed a small snack and two rain parkas just in case, one large and the other ridiculously small. So far, they had not needed them. The trail followed the river, keeping well away from any steep banks. Every once in a while, it allowed them to approach a tame looking section and skip stones in the water. Anglers in pointy drift boats would float by and Blair would wave madly at them, excited beyond words when they waved back.

"What's that?" Blair pointed up.

"It's a tree," Simon said, falling into another round of twenty questions and not minding it.

"No, that thing on the side of the tree."

"Oh." Simon searched his memory. "It's a burl." He watched Blair try to wrap his mouth around the new word before continuing. "It's like a wart on a person's skin. Actually, they can be very useful and even pretty when they're carved into bowls."

"Wow," Blair said, pausing a second before moving on down the trail. "Look! Another banana slug!"

"Don't pick it up."

"I won't." Blair dropped into a squat that would break an adult's body if tried. The child got his little nose less then an inch away. "How come they're called bananas?"

Simon scratched his jaw. "I'm not sure. I guess because they look sorta like one without the peel. In fact, the slug doesn't even have bones."

"Why?"

"It's a mollusk. It doesn't need any bones."

"What's it do?"

"Breaks down compost."

"Is that important?"

Simon hooked his thumbs in his pockets. "Well, everything is connected, Blair. Everyone in the forest has a job to do. It's all part of the ecosystem."

"Ickysystem?" Blair picked up a limp, tiny section of cedar bough and nudged the snail-like creature.

"Ecosytem and don't do that." Simon leaned down and tapped on his shoulder. "Leave it alone."

Blair rose and swiped his hands on his pant leg. He continued down the trail. "What's an eco system?"

By the time the sat down to eat their snack, Blair had exhausted all forestry related questions. Pulling apart his string cheese, he chomped while dangling sections over his face. Finishing the last piece, he slurped his grape juice. The sun broke through the clouds and Simon enjoyed the warmth on his upturned face.

"Is Jim as smart as you?" Blair asked abruptly.

"Nope." Simon chuckled.

Blair scooted closer. "I'm still hungry."

"I believe we have fish crackers in here somewhere." Simon made a production out of rummaging through the daypack. "Here we go." He carefully tore open the top.

"Wow, you packed all my favorites!"

"I have a special degree in feeding five year-olds," Simon explained, looking down his nose and crossing his eyes.

Giggling with delight, the boy ate. Simon leaned back on one elbow and watched the river flow. He was enjoying the trip, not missing the hassles of his job or the responsibilities that came with it. Being around a kid was making him reminisce on his early days with Joan and the wonder of being a parent for the first time.

"Capt'n Simon?"

"Yes?"

"Does you and big me know each other?"

That took a minute to unravel. How weird. Simon nodded. "Yes."

Blair studied his crackers with intense interest. "Are they friends?"

Simon was watching Blair now. Where was this coming from? "I'd like to think so."

Orange stained lips parted in a big grin.

Jim had a full bladder.

Standing carefully, he inventoried his body: head not so stuffy, joints not so achy and he didn't feel like death warmed over much anymore. Could he be recovering? Getting out a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt, he shuffled toward the stairs and held the handrail tightly as he descended. The clock by the bed had said it was nearly two in the afternoon. The house was quiet.

"You look much better," Simon declared in a quiet voice. He sat in the recliner with a thick book in his lap. The remote for the TV was on one arm of the chair. The video recorder was off.

Blair was sprawled on the sofa. His head on a pillow, his mouth open, he looked like an exhausted angel.

"You've got to show me how to do that," Jim said with admiration.

Simon followed him into the kitchen. "I'll fix you something to eat."

"Thanks." Jim closed the door to the bathroom and emptied his bladder. He stripped, anxious to get the sticky feeling off his skin.

Twenty minutes later, Jim felt human again. He toweled his short hair dry as he sat at the kitchen table. Simon set down a large bowl of chicken and rice and Jim's stomach growled impatiently. He dug in. When his spoon revealed the floral pattern waiting at the bottom, he tilted the bowl to get the last bit. Stomach comfortable, he picked up the glass of apple juice and sipped. Simon took the bowl to the sink and filled it with hot water.

A warm breath tickled his arm. Jim looked down at the tousled curls framing the sleepy face. Jim pushed his chair back. "Hey."

Blair was doing his best to climb into Jim's lap.

Bending sideways at the waist, Jim lifted the small butt and gave the child the extra advantage needed to reach his goal. He waited for the lad to settle in before wrapping him in his arms.

"Did you get better?" Blair mumbled, leaning dozily into Jim's chest.

"I'm starting to."

"Good." Blair yawned. "Me `n Capt'n Simon hiked."

"That so?"

"Mmmm hmmm," Blair hummed then added with a whisper, "We're friends."

"That's good," Jim answered in the same whisper. "You can't have a better friend than Simon. Remember that, okay?"

"Okay."

Jim woke the next morning looking forward to the day. He was still under par around the fringes, but ready to get back into the swing of vacation. The three men, or two and a quarter anyway, had spent yesterday afternoon playing dominos and watching videos until dinner, then retired early.

Lazily stretching, Jim turned and studied Blair as the boy slept. Simon had tucked the midget into the roll away last night. The kid had passed out halfway through Jurassic Park, snoring with his head in Jim's lap and his feet in Simon's. It was weird. He'd seen other cops get all soft and sappy when their kids had been born. He used to pity them.

Used to. Not now.

Blair opened his eyes and boldly met Jim's gaze, all trace of sleep instantly evaporated. "It's morning!"

"That it is."

Blair scrambled out of bed backwards and flung himself onto Jim's mattress, bouncing on his hands and knees. "What are we gonna do?"

"Breakfast?" Jim suggested, keeping a droll expression. "Maybe a little more sleep and a rousing crossword puzzle until dinner?"

`No!" Blair flopped over on his back and kicked his feet in the air with impatience. "Let's take Capt'n Simon to the beach! Let's hike and throw stones in the river! Oh! Oh! Let's take-" He broke off with a shriek as Jim attacked his ribs with nimble fingers. "S-stop! JIM! NO!" Peals of laughter filled the upper room.

"I see you two are up," Simon commented calmly from the stairs, just his head and shoulders above the floor and peering at them through the railing.

Blair bolted from the bed and ran toward the captain. "Save me!"

Jim had a moment of terror as Blair threw himself into the stairwell, but Simon caught him easily, frowning as he settled the kid on his hip. "Come on, you beast. I'll fix you breakfast while Jim gets up." They started down the stairs. "By the way, young man. We are not to sail down the staircase like that again, understand? What if I'd...?"

Jim lost track of the reprimand. Opening his jaw wide, he tried to clear his ears. His flu bug was still messing with his hearing. He could only budge the dial up to three.

"Stay with me, Blair." Jim held out his hand. A light rain was falling, making puddles too tempting for a five year-old to ignore.

Reluctantly, Blair stuck his small paw in Jim's and obediently walked across the gravel parking lot between his two guardians. "Can I get an arrowhead?"

"We'll see," Jim answered. He leaned toward Simon. "I knew we should have done the timber museum. It wouldn't have had a gift store."

"Right, Jim. Like a visual exhibit on the history of chainsaws would have kept his attention." Simon held open the heavy wooden door to the tourist shop - slash - native art store. "At least this way I have a decent chance of getting something for Daryl."

The store had a low, open-beam ceiling. The faint haze of burning incense had Jim sneezing three times with rapid-fire delivery. He held up a hand to the questioning looks directed his way. "It's okay, I'm fine."

Soft drum and flute music was playing on a decent sound system. Under the incense, Jim could smell leather and wicker. One corner of the shop had a large assortment of leather goods, all handmade. Baskets hung from posts and walls. There was artwork, too. Jim liked the authentic looking carved cedar painted black and red with Northwestern designs depicting wolfs, salmon, eagles and bears.

"Ooohhhhh." Blair pulled Jim toward a display of glass beads.

Visions of picking up small beads for the rest of his life made Jim point out the box of fake arrowheads in a case meant for kids. "Here you go, Hoss."

It worked, Blair diverted to the new attraction without missing a beat.

One arrowhead and a leather wallet for Daryl later, they had their purchases. The old man behind the counter handed Simon his Visa receipt with a smile. "You guys hear about the protest?"

"Protest?" Simon looked at Jim, who shook his head. "What type of protest?"

"The Feds are trying to shut down all the small sawmill operations. Just letting Sampson and Werehauser stay in operation. Gonna kill this town." The clerk closed the drawer. "Not like folks are going to drive all the way out here for our sunny weather."

"Something to do with the environmentalists, right? The whole spotted owl thing?" Jim asked. He had read a few magazine articles. Actually - Jim looked down at his mini-roommate who was happily examining his new arrowhead - Blair had read the articles to him, advocating the cause of the activists. Jim was suddenly grateful this five year-old version didn't retain the memories of the twenty-seven year-old version.

"Yeah, foolishness." The man spat into a tin can on the floor. "Damn college kids have nothing better to do than stir up trouble for hardworking people around here."

"If they cut down all the trees, then how's the fish and birds supposed to live?" Blair asked.

The old man leaned over the counter to gawk at the child. "Say what?"

Simon clapped his hands. "Well, anyway. Very nice store you got here. We've got to be going now."

"You telling me you guys are with them protestors?"

"We're on vacation." Jim hoisted Blair onto his hip.

The storekeeper scowled. "Well, listen up, little britches. Those fish and birds are here for man's use. Not the other way around."

Blair shook his head. "Everything in the forest is important. Not just people." He looked at Simon. "Right, Capt'n Simon?"

Expecting his boss to evade the issue, Jim did not expect Simon's reply. He winked at Blair and grinned. "That's right, Blair."

"Do we need more cereal?" Jim asked.

Blair hung off the front of the grocery cart like a figurehead on a turn of the century clipper ship. He answered exactly at the same time and with the same words as Simon.

"Captain Crunch!"

Simon tossed a large box into the cart and shared a knowing grin with the child.

A green worm of jealousy twisted deep within Jim's chest. When had this happened? He'd only been out of action for twenty-four hours yet he found himself outside, looking in today with these two. Another wriggle and Jim recognized the memory: his old man had picked Stephen over him to take on that trip.

For crying out loud, Jim shook his head, angry with himself. Get a grip, Ellison.

"Jim, I checked the propane in the tank last night. We could fire up that BBQ and grill some steaks for dinner," Simon suggested as he eyed the meat counter.

Exhaustion kicked in on the drive back to the cabin. Jim dozed in the passenger seat to the sound of Blair's voice asking Simon every question that came to his mind. It was like watching droplets of water fall over Niagara. The constant chatter lulled him into a sleepy daze, punctuated by the deep and familiar baritone of Simon's patient answers.

A gentle hand on his shoulder woke Jim from his sleep. The passenger door was open and Simon stood with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

"Looks like I'll be putting two kids down for a nap this afternoon," Simon quipped.

Between them, they carried the grocery bags into the house with Blair handling a bunch of yellow-green bananas. Lunch was cold-cut sandwiches and potato chips. Simon stood Blair on a chair at the sink and had him rinse the dishes to stack in a drying rack. Jim had to suppress his first instinctive protect. What if Blair fell off? Yet the little guy rinsed, chattered, and laughed. When Simon draped the washcloth over the drying rack and told Blair he had thirty whole minutes to play in the living room or watch a video before his nap, Blair leapt from his chair like a diver from a springboard and raced into the living room.

"How to you make it look so easy, Simon?" Jim asked, unjustifiably irritated by his boss.

Simon poured two mugs of coffee and eased himself into a vacant chair at the table. He sat one mug in front of Jim. "We're still in that `I'll obey you until I get to know you' phase."

Jim cradled the mug between both hands. "So you're saying..." God he was tired. "What are you saying?"

Simon chuckled. "Jim, you do a fantastic job. Everything I've seen tells me the boy worships you. However, you have to understand kids, God made them look adorable so you don't murder them when they act bratty. And let me tell you, every kid has bratty days. This version of Blair will be no different."

"So when he throws a tantrum because I make him go to sleep or sit still or hold my hand crossing the street, that's natural?"

"Yes."

Jim sipped his coffee and thought about his first days with the shrinky-dink version of his roommate. "There's no secret way to make it easier?"

Simon traced the rim of his coffee cup with a fingertip. "Consistency is important. Don't evoke a rule, then bend or break it to make your life more convenient. My mother always told me that raising kids is work. You don't get time off because you're tired. There are no shortcuts, Jim." He tilted his head, shooting Jim a sideways look. "Although, I'd think having Superman hearing would be a definite plus."

The comment automatically caused Jim to reach out to check on his kid. At least he thought he had. "Blair's not in the house!"

"Shit!" Simon bounded out of his chair, beating Jim to the living room by a split-second.

The front door was open.

"Simon, the river!" Jim's knees nearly failed him. He caught the back of the recliner, blaming the flu. Simon was half way across the room before Jim found the strength to follow. He burst out into the small porch, his senses searching.

Simon stood, spinning as he searched. "Jim, can you hear him? BLAIR!"

Terrified, Jim tried to pick up the lub-lub from the five-year-old.

"What?" Blair popped up from behind a fanned-out fern like a duck at a shooting gallery. He was on the opposite side of the yard area from the steep bank leading to the river.

"Blair Sandburg," Simon said in a sharp tone. He strode toward the boy. "Did you ask permission to leave the house?"

Trembling, Jim sank down to the step. He wanted to puke. He wanted to scream. Suddenly, he remembered he'd never told Blair he couldn't leave the house. "S-simon, I never-"

But Simon wasn't listening. Blair had dropped his chin to his chest. He shrugged his shoulders.

"What did I say you could do?" Simon asked.

"Video or play," Blair mumbled.

"Where did I say you could play?"

Jim could see the tears build up all the way across the yard.

"Young man?" Simon pressed.

And even though Jim had been scared beyond all realms of belief and even though Simon was being extremely calm during the rebuke, Jim wanted to crush the child to his chest and never let go.

"Living room," Blair whispered, sniffling and wiping his nose.

Simon squatted down directly in front of the child, his elbows on his knees as he interlaced his hands together. "So you can imagine how surprised Jim and I are to find you outside, when I told you, just this morning, you were never to leave the house without first asking permission."

Jim might have forgotten, but Simon had remembered.

"Why did you come out here?" Simon asked.

"Looking for a stick." Blair had something clutched tightly in his hand. He opened it to reveal the chipped triangle. "To make it an arrow again."

Simon nodded. "You should have asked permission first."

"Yes, sir."

"Go inside. Find a corner and stand in it for five minutes."

Blair bolted for the porch. He faltered and slowed as he saw Jim sitting on the steps. Large tears spilled. "D-do we haf'ta l-leave?"

Jim opened his arms and let the boy fall into his hug. "No, buddy. You're in trouble for leaving the house, just like Captain Simon said, but I'm proud you didn't go toward the river."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

Soaking up the warmth and treasuring every warm huff on his neck, Jim reluctantly tilted the boy away and nodded over his shoulder. "Go on, now. Do what Captain Simon told you to do."

Alone, both men silently stared at each other for several seconds. Then Simon rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged sheepishly. "Guess I should have asked you first before I took the lead on that. Sorry, Jim."

"Don't." Jim shook his head. "I was too scared to think. I probably would have just yelled. You didn't even raise your voice."

Blair was clingy after his corner time and nap, forcing Jim to stay on the sofa in front of the TV. Simon took his fly-fishing gear and a cigar down to the river for some solitude. Jim dozed on and off while the lonely bell-ringing Quasimodo and the beautiful Esmeralda had their exciting adventures.

The temperatures outside had dropped a good ten degrees. Jim was sprawled on his back, comfortably propped against the sofa arm by several large throw pillows. He wore an open shirt over his T-shirt. Blair used Jim's chest like a mattress, fingers fussing with Jim's buttons as the video played. Blair swung his bent knees side to side, idly bouncing them off the sofa back.

When a particularly funny scene failed to elicit a giggle, Jim stroked the springy curls under his hand. "You okay?"

Blair shrugged, rolling over on Jim's chest.

"You know Simon was only worried you might get hurt. I know I was."

Blair's chin dug into Jim's sternum. Young eyes, fresh and strong, bore into Jim's. "Does he still like me?"

"Yep, lots," Jim assured.

"Even when I'm bad?"

Video forgotten, Jim took a minute to consider his answer. He ran a hand up and down the boy's spine, chasing the tension from the little muscles. "When I'm bad, Simon doesn't stop being my friend. Good friends are like that. They don't go away just because you make a mistake."

"But I'm still being punished."

As if a person could call being limited to watching video or playing with toys real punishment. Jim managed not to grin. "That's right. Outside is off limits for the rest of the day."

Blair huffed and planted his ear back against Jim's sternum. "I was only getting a stick."

"That's not the point."

"Tomorrow, will you help me get a stick?"

Twirling a lock of silky hair around and around his finger, Jim closed his eyes and yawned. "I suppose."

"You know..." Blair said in a slow drawl. He drew Jim's open shirt over his face and hid. "If I'm grounded, so is you."

"Are you."

"I am."

"No, the proper way to say it is: if I'm grounded, so are you."

Blair wiggled. "That's what I said."

"No, it's not."

"Close enough."

Jim snorted. "I can't believe you hold several degrees and I'm having to correct your grammar."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Not."

"Too... AHHHHHH! Jim!" Blair squealed as his ribs were ruthlessly tickled. "STOP! STOP!"

"Do you surrender?" Jim asked, laughing as the child tried without success to pitch himself off the sofa. Jim brought his legs up to lock Blair's knees in place as he continued to tickle.

"Surrender! Surrender!" Blair hollered like a banshee. Gasping for breath when the assault eased up, he slapped Jim's chest. "No fair. You're bigger."

Jim folded both hands behind his head. "Okay, give me your best shot."

His grin infectious, Blair tried to tickle Jim's ribs. He frowned when nothing happened. With a thoughtful look, he switched to Jim's underarms.

"Hey!" Jim bolted upright. "Who told you I was ticklish there, you little tadpole?"

Giggling madly and trying to free his hands to continue his attack, Blair shook his head. "Not talking!"

"I'll get you, me pretty!" Jim threatened in his best Wicked Witch of the West voice. He lifted Blair up, pinned him against the back of the sofa, pushed up his shirt and planted a wet, noisy raspberry on his soft belly.

Blair screamed with delight, right as Simon walked in the door. "It's a good thing we don't have neighbors for ten miles."

Jim paused in his raspberry giving. "How was fishing?"

"Good. Tired out from all that catching and releasing."

"Really?" Jim was ready to grab his fly rod and race down to the riverbank. He sniffed through his stuffed nose. He couldn't tell if Simon was jerking his chain or not.

"Nah." The other man dropped into the recliner with a sappy, happy smile. "Found a nice spot though. I'm going to try first sunlight, catch us a steelie for dinner tomorrow. Hey, Blair. How was your nap?"

"Good." Blair slithered off Jim's chest and climbed up onto the arm of Simon's chair. "Do I get to fish, too?"

Jim watched as his boss set Blair's shirt right again on his little body. If the kid had any ideas in his head before about the other man's feelings toward them, they were gone. The child boldly fingered the paraphernalia dangling by lanyards on Simon's fishing vest.

"Careful of the hooks, young man," Simon warned. "Your fishing is up to Jim."

"But you're the boss of Jim," Blair said reasonably. "What's this?"

Tucking his chin close, Simon crossed his eyes to see what Blair had in his fingers. "That's my bottle of `dry fly'. I put in on my feathers to keep them from getting wet. So they will float."

"Why?"

"Because some flies imitate bugs that walk on the water. The fish are hungry and they come up to eat the bug."

"Only it's your feather and hook instead!" Blair announced with understanding. "Then you catched a fish!"

"Caught a fish,." Simon corrected. "And as to me being Jim's boss, that doesn't work when it concerns you, Mister Big."

Sounds of tires crunching gravel made Jim look glance to the window. "Someone's coming."

Simon lifted Blair off the chair arm and set him on his feet within Jim's reach. He went to the door and waited. Jim swung his feet off the couch and held out his hand for Blair to take before going to stand behind his friend.

Their driveway ran several hundred yards from the main dirt road. The car was definitely turning onto their driveway. A few seconds later a green and white four-wheel drive SUV glided through the cedars and firs to park between Jim's van and Simon's sedan. It had the markings of the local sheriff department. A deputy about Simon's age stepped out, adjusted his gun belt and walked purposefully toward the porch.

Simon opened the screen door. "Afternoon."

"Good afternoon, I'm visiting all the folks on the river today. Asking if anyone's seen any suspicious activities."

"I'm Captain Simon Banks with Cascade Police. This is Detective James Ellison, one of my men in Major Crime." Simon shook the man's hand. "Come in."

The man nodded to Jim as he entered. He tilted his head to look around Jim's legs at the suddenly shy child peering back. "And this must be your Chief of Police?"

"I'm just Blair.'" Blair had Jim's jeans fisted in both hands.

"I'm Deputy March. Pleased to meet everyone." The man was short and round with a red, leathery face and neck earned from countless seasons of working outside. He removed his uniform ball cap. His gray sprinkled hair was thinned on top and cut short around the sides.

"We have sodas or bottled water," Simon said. "Why don't you sit down and take a break while you explain what's happening."

"I'll take a water. Thank you." March settled into the recliner, his gaze taking in the room. "I used to know the guy that built this place. Nice guy, retired from the lumber mill, name of Curtis, I think."

"We're renting it from a vacation company in town," Jim told him. He sat at the sofa. Blair stood quietly, leaning into Jim's legs as he openly stared at their visitor. Jim circled an arm around his waist. "What sort of suspicious activity are you expecting way out here?"

"Here you go." Simon returned with two bottled waters and a can of Sprite for Jim.

"Well, it's probably nothing," March said and he twisted the cap of the water. "But the sheriff is looking at an election this fall and he's worried some of the protestors might get roughed up by the logging crews around here. We're just nosing around; making sure everything is going smoothly."

Simon, comfortable on a large rocker in the corner, nodded thoughtfully. "It's a good idea if you've got the manpower. A show of presence might keep any ugly situation from escalating. We'd heard about the protest in town today."

Blair was leaning over Jim's lap now, his pointy elbows digging into leg muscles as the boy rested his chin on his palms. Jim took the empty water glass from the side table, a leftover from Blair's earlier nap, and poured in three inches of Sprite. "Here, Blair. Sit up here with me and drink some soda."

Blair scrambled up to his side, eagerly accepting the glass. Normally Jim was firm about no sodas between meals. Even then, he limited the child to one small helping a day. He'd read what pop did to their teeth and didn't want to get him hooked.

"Actually, Blair and I ran into some less than friendly people when we picked up the keys to this place," Jim added.

"Jim was mad," Blair said.

Frowning, Simon leaned forward. "You never told me."

Waving a hand, Jim tilted his head down at Blair. "It was nothing. Unemployed yahoos blowing off steam."

"That's the problem. The cost of retooling for the smaller trees is shutting down the smaller mills." March hooked one ankle over his opposite knee. "We've got good people here, third and forth generation loggers. They're used to working hard. Now the work is just hard to get."

"Changes brought on by the environmentalist groups?" Simon asked.

March pulled a face and shrugged. "They're a pain in the a-", he glanced at Blair, "er, backside. Still, it's obvious the mills can't go on cutting everything down. I know I'm spouting treason around here, but eventually the trees will be gone. Someone has to admit it's time for some changes."

Simon chuckled. "You must be a transplant, talking like that."

March grinned as he gulped the water. "I moved out here from Seattle because I wanted something other than asphalt and concrete to look at twenty-four, seven. I'm rather fond of these trees. Anyway," he said, wiping his mouth. "I expect you guys know better than me what suspicious activities look like. Give us a holler if something doesn't seem quite right." He stood up, moving slower than it looked like he wanted to. "I'd better be moving out. Thanks for a break from those washboard roads."

"I've got to check on Jim!"

"What do you feel, Young Shaman?"

Pacing angrily. Blair couldn't describe it. He just knew. He knew!

"Blair, eat," Simon ordered.

But the boy continued to push the food around on his plate. Jim had diced his meat and he knew for a fact that potato salad was a favorite dish. "What's wrong?"

Blair shrugged. "Not hungry. Can I be excused?"

Giving permission, Jim watched as Blair slid from his chair and wandered back into the living room. This was not a good sign.

Several hours later, long after everyone had gone to bed and the cabin was dark, Jim heard the soft cries from the small bed. He lifted his head in time to see Blair jerk on his mattress. The sound and smell of sickness made him groan.

"Jiiimmmm!" Blair wailed.

"Hold on, Blair." Jim reached for his pants draped over a corner chair and dressed quickly, listening to Blair cry. The kid was panicked. "You're okay, Pal. You're okay."

The damp towel from his before-bed shower hung over the banister. Jim snatched it up and knelt over Blair. He wiped the child's face and neck. Vomit covered his pillow. Blair had stuck one hand in the puddle. "Come here, Hoss." Jim picked up the child and cleaned his hand and face. The smell caused Jim to seek the fresher air on the main floor.

Crying, Blair collapsed on Jim's chest. They met Simon in the living room.

"What's wrong?"

"I now know why Blair didn't finish dinner," Jim said. "He caught my flu."

"What do you need?"

Jim jerked a chin back up the stairs. "Can you deal with his bed?"

"I'm on it."

Jim took Blair into the bathroom. Wetting a washcloth, he sat down on the closed toilet and transferred Blair to his lap. "Let's get you cleaned up proper."

"I huuurt," Blair whined.

"I know." Jim started unbuttoning the small top. Between the vomit and the boy's night sweat, it wasn't fit to wear. When Blair began to shiver, Jim leaned down to turn up the small room's baseboard heater.

Simon entered with clean sweats, a blanket and child's Tylenol. "How is he?"

"Miserable," Jim answered.

"That ten bucks for my flu shot is looking like a wise investment," Simon said as he measured the medicine into the clear, plastic cup. "Here."

Jim wheedled and coerced the boy to swallow the fluid, not an easy task when gazing upon the tear-streaked face. This was not the tough adult that favored natural remedies and suffered in silence. Jim redressed him in warm sweats. Simon followed him into the living room with a room temperature can of Sprite and a large bowl.

"There's no reason for both of us to stay up, Simon." Jim settled into the rocker and arranged the blanket over the boy curled in his lap. "Why don't you go back to sleep?"

Looking fondly down at the boy clutching Jim's shirt and sniffling, Simon nodded. "I think I will. Holler if you need anything?" He set the bowl and soda on the floor and laid a hand on Blair's curls. "Night, Blair. You should be feeling better soon."

Alone again with his kid, Jim rocked back and forth. He stroked the sweat-dampened hair back from Blair's temple. "How you doing?"

"Hurts," Blair whispered, his brow pinched. "Make it stop, Jim."

"It'll feel better real soon. You want a sip of soda?"

Blair jerked his head back and forth. He turned his face into Jim's chest and pressed his nose flat.

"Come on, for me." Jim coaxed a small swallow and hitched him up enough to rest his head on his shoulder. He rocked and rubbed his back. "When I was sick, Sally used to sing to me."

"Sally?"

"Our housekeeper," Jim explained. "Don't worry, Sandburg. I'm not mean enough to add my singing to your problems. I sound like a frog on a hot skillet." To prove his point, he croaked out the words to `twinkle, twinkle little star.' The effect was worth the sore throat. Blair gave him a little smile.

"That's real bad, Jim."

"I know." Jim rocked and let the baby-fine eyelashes brush the side of his neck. Blair settled in.

But a muscle twitched in the boy's gut and Blair whimpered with fear. "Jim!"

"It's okay. Your tummy is too empty to do anything serious. Try and relax." Jim patted and rubbed and wondered how difficult it would be to find a doctor if he needed one. Did Forks even have a pharmacy open this time of night? Was he looking at an all-night drive to Port Angeles?

After a few minutes, Blair relaxed once more into Jim's hold and closed his eyes. His breathing evened out and for twenty minutes he slept before moaning anew and tossing his head fitfully on Jim's shoulder.

It was bound to be a long night.

Jim woke with a start. Blair was still curled against his chest, head tilted up to Jim, his hair tamed back from the small face by Jim's hand.

What had woken him?

The house was quiet, Simon's snores a gentle backwash of sound over the river. A second later Jim knew. The distant snap from a rifle made Jim tense. His head still stuffed from illness, he judged the distance at several miles. What would anybody be hunting this time of the night?

"Zhim?" Blair blinked up in sleepy concern, his face sleep wrinkled and puffy with a low-grade fever.

"It's okay, Hoss." Jim pressed Blair's head against a shoulder and started rocking again. "Go back to sleep."

The spiky eyelashes fluttered and Blair lost the battle with the soothing motion, falling back into his sleep with a huff and wiggle. Jim listened to the night, frustrated he couldn't hear as well as he was used to. Sentinels should not be allowed to get sick. However, the sounds did not return. When Jim's wristwatch told him it was after four, Jim carried the child upstairs.

"You look like crap, Ellison," Simon said as Jim poured a cup of coffee and shuffled to the table.

"Thank you, sir." Jim dropped into the kitchen chair and yawned so wide he popped his jaw. He dug the sleep crust from the corners of his eyes. "God, when did I get so old?"

"The day before yesterday," Simon quipped, flipping pancakes.

"Glad you're having a fun time." Jim eyed his friend: canvas pants, flannel shirt and his tan hat. "You've already been down to the river, haven't you?"

"Yep, check the refrigerator."

Pushing off the table, Jim opened the icebox and groaned. Cleaned and missing their heads, the two enormous steelhead fish filled the lower shelf. Their tails curled up the sides in a wave. "Color me officially jealous."

"Some herbs, sliced oranges, my famous mayo spread," Simon sing-songed, shuffling a quick dance step as he turned and set a full plate on the table, "and we're going to eat like kings tonight."

"I wanna fish," Jim muttered, returning to the table.

"How's the kid?"

"Sick." Jim slid two pancakes onto his plate and reached for the syrup bottle. "He finally went to sleep sometime after two. I stayed up a little longer, just in case we needed another dash for the bathroom. Got back to bed an hour or so before sunrise. Probably explains why I never heard you leave the cabin."

"It was a glorious morning. Too bad you missed it." Simon was shoveling breakfast into his mouth.

"I'm never skipping another flu shot," Jim groused.

Both men stood as they heard the sounds of an approaching car. "March is back," Jim said, recognizing the SUV's motor. They met him outside.

The deputy didn't look happy. He rolled down the window of his patrol vehicle and waved off offers of breakfast. "We had a situation last night," he told them. "Seems my peaceful protestors fired a few rounds into some parked logging trucks."

"I heard a rifle about three-fifteen this morning," Jim told him.

March rubbed his jaw. "Yeah, that fits. You guys meet anyone on the road last night?"

"No." Simon shook his head, looking at Jim before continuing. "Blair's got the flu, so we stayed in."

"Okay, do me a favor and keep your cop radar on high." March dropped his car into gear, executed a tight turn in the dirt yard and drove out.

Simon gazed longingly after him. "I'd trade my pension for a job where the worst crime committed was a little vandalism."

The faint sound of Blair tearfully calling his name cut off Jim's answer. "I'd settle for a healthy roommate." Jim trotted back into the house and up the stairs to find the child standing and shivering in the middle of the bedroom. "Morning, Blair."

Blinking up at the adult, brow furrowed in confusion, Blair weaved on his feet. "Can't find the bathroom."

Jim caught him before he walked into a wall. Blair's skin was warmer than it should be. He pulled a cotton blanket off the smaller bed and folded it in half to wrap around the child. "Let's get you into a bath and back to bed."

Blair fussed in Jim's arms, wanting down. Jim shushed and soothed him with assurances. Blair's head finally leaned onto Jim's shoulder and he sighed. Jim cupped the back of the thin neck. His temperature was not dangerously high, but high enough.

"How is he?" Simon asked, cleaning up from breakfast as Jim walked through the kitchen on his way to the bathroom with Blair on his hip.

"Feels about a hundred and two," Jim answered.

Simon followed him into the bathroom. "You want to take him to a doctor?"

"Nah, I have some medicine. We'll watch him, keep him resting." Jim opened the medicine cabinet. The bottle of children's Tylenol was right where he left it. "Can you fix him some toast, maybe? Do we have any juice left?"

"Sure." Simon backed out of the room. "One Blair special coming right up."

"Jim?" Blair whispered.

"Yeah, Pal?"

"I gotta pee."

After eating one-third of a slice of lightly dusted cinnamon toast and drinking half a glass of watered-down cranberry-grape juice, Blair allowed Jim to herd him back into the bathroom. He had the tub filled with tepid water and the heater on high. Sweat broke out on Jim's forehead as he closed the door behind them. Blair sighed and relaxed under Jim's hand. Apparently, mini-Blair had the same love for heated climates that his adult version held.

Jim unfurled the blanket. "Off with the clothes, kiddo. Into the tub."

Blair reached out, blindly grabbing Jim's ear while lifting one leg out of his pajama bottom. I'm reduced to a handle, Jim thought without any real irritation.

Slipping into the water, wearing nothing but a dopey smile, the boy lay back into the heat. His skinny body popped to the water surface like a cork bobber. A halo of curly hair fanned out around his face.

Jim chuckled as he folded the blanket. Perched on the closed toilet lid to monitor, he used a washcloth to dab the sweat on his brow. Another day or so of fever and Blair should be back to normal. The trick would be keeping the kid down so he could recover. Perhaps Simon would go into town for a few more quiet toys or a new video, anything to keep a five-year-old-going-on-thirty mind busy.

"Jim?" Blair folded, his butt bouncing off the porcelain tub as his wet head rose like a phoenix. "Can I go fishing today?"

Jim slipped off the seat to kneel on the blanket. He reached for the Johnson's bottle. "We'll see how you feel."

Blair scrunched up his face. "That means no."

"That means maybe." Jim worked the shampoo into the wet hair.

Blair let Jim tilt his head back. He pointed at his own closed eyes. "Them say no."

"Blair," Jim said patiently, remembering how he had felt when he'd had the flu. He didn't want a fight right now. "You're sick. Your body says `hey, I need to rest.'"

"But my brain says `booooored.'" Blair made a hand puppet for illustration, flapping at the air.

Jim caught the puppet and leaned down to nibble on the fingers. Blair giggled weakly. "Ready for a dunking?" Jim asked. He easily supported the small frame single-handedly, baptizing the child's lathered head and bringing up a squeaky-clean result. "You going to wash yourself in under two hours or do you need help?"

"I got it." Blair sighed as he accepted the washrag and held it out for Jim to squeeze a dollup of body soap.

Jim sat back on the toilet lid and waited. He'd use the hair rinse last and turn on the showerhead to finish the job.

Fifteen minutes later, an exhausted Blair stood between Jim's knees. Dressed in clean sweats and thick cotton socks, hooded under a white towel, Blair swayed to the tempo of Jim's attack on his wet hair. Combing out the wavy strands, Jim watched Blair's eyelids droop and figured the fishing issue was tabled for now.

"Stay awake long enough for me to get this mop dry." Jim reached up for the hairdryer and plugged it in. He squeezed his knees closed as he felt Blair start to list away. "Stay awake, Chief."

"Kay..." Blair sagged against Jim's legs, his feet slipping on the floor.

Jim rushed through the procedure, knowing it was a race. Finally, with hair mostly dry and Blair practically snoring, Jim unplugged the dryer and set it aside. "Okay, champ, let's get you back to bed."

Blair yawned. "No, no, no. Fishin'."

As if. Jim rolled his eyes as he herded Blair out of the bathroom. "Maybe later, Sandburg." He could smell the salt of Blair's tears before they spilled over. Jim sighed deeply as Blair paused in the kitchen to knuckle his eyes and sniff.

Simon sat at the table with a cup of coffee, watching with a bemused smile and lifted eyebrows. "Problem?"

"No, everything is fine." Jim knelt down and placed his hands on the skinny shoulders. "Hey, come on. Don't do this, buddy."

"You promised..." A fat tear, followed by another raced down a bath-flushed cheek. "I don't wanna go back to bed."

"Not even if I read another chapter from `My Side of the Mountain?" Jim waited until Blair leaned against him, his normal non-verbal request to be carried, before standing up with the boy in his arms. It was like holding a blast furnace and the sentinel took a few minutes to readjust his touch dial before heading upstairs.

"You cannot go. It's not safe," Incacha said.

Blair knew this was the way out. The river couldn't stop him. He'd crossed worse. Yet the dark mist was uninviting, dangerous even. Blair paced the river's edge, snapping his fingers. What should he do? He could feel the danger now. What was happening?

Crouching down, Blair dug fingers into the ground, his other hand reaching for the sky. He closed his eyes to search for the answer.

"Jim?"

Rising from the fog of his own nap to the sound of Simon's call, Jim instantly checked the soundly sleeping child at his side. He slipped out of the big bed, careful not to let the book slip to the floor, and met his friend at the head of the stairs. Simon wasn't alone. Deputy March stood in the living room.

"What's up?" Jim asked as he followed Simon back down.

"I've come to borrow your boss," March stated, looking impatient to get going.

"They have a body," Simon explained further. He spoke softly, glancing guilty upstairs. "I'm going to look at their scene for them. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"You think the protesters did it?" Jim asked.

March shrugged weary shoulders. "Possibly. The victim was a local crew boss. I can see him facing off his killer."

"The shooter that used a logging truck for target practice," Jim concluded.

"Right," March said, heading for the door.

Simon glanced up the stairs. "I'll take my car. I'll be back as-"

Jim waved him off. "Go, we'll be fine. I feel nearly a hundred percent. I can take one munchkin with an attitude for a few hours."

Smiling, Simon clapped Jim's shoulder. "Well, if I were a betting man..."

After Simon and March drove off, Jim took a leisurely shower. He did feel better, not perfect, but better. His head still felt a little stuffy. His senses seemed slow to respond, dull and out of tune. He realized how he had come to rely upon Blair's ability to help. Navigating through the confusing maze of Sentinel trap-falls alone would have been hell.

Lunch was still two hours away, but Jim wasn't going to wait. Wasting a few minutes to stare longingly at Simon's steelhead fish, Jim decided upon a fried egg sandwich. He ate on the front porch, watching the gulls and a hungry eagle patrol the water. The sun warmed the air. The evergreen boughs rubbed together in the breeze and soon Jim's head was nodding and he stood with a lazy stretch. The sofa was calling his name. After all, vacations were about resting. He settled onto the sofa, knowing Blair was safely asleep upstairs and let sleep take him...

"Jim! There you are, man." Blair appeared suddenly, waving his arms. "Took you for-freakin'-ever!"

"Whoa," Jim said, rearing back and glancing around the blue jungle in surprise. "Calm down, Sandburg."

"No!" Blair snapped. "Listen to me. Simon's in serious trouble." Blair grabbed Jim's arms and shook.

"What?" Jim was slow to follow. "What are you saying?"

"There's a dirt road that branches off the road leading to the cabin where you guys are staying. It's a few miles up that road." Blair looked as afraid as Jim had ever seen him before, more afraid then when he'd been pulled into Kincaid's helicopter.

"How do you know this?"

"I don't have time to explain it. Incacha's been showing me stuff. Now, go and stop it from happening."

Blair's words sunk into Jim's confusion. "Wait, you're saying it's gonna happen? As in... it hasn't yet?"

"Right, right. Now go!" Blair pushed. Hard.

Jim woke as his body rolled off the sofa and fell with a thud to the floor. He struggled to his feet, his ass bruised and his thoughts spinning in useless circles. What the hell was that? Upstairs, he heard a shrill, panicked cry. Jim bounded up the stairs.

Blair sat up in Jim's bed, eyes wild with panic. Two tiny fists gripped the edge of the bedding.

"Blair! What's wrong?" Jim asked.

"Capt'n Simon's in trouble!"

Okay, message delivered, Jim decided. His handgun was already in a special lock box in the rental. He grabbed his wallet from the nightstand. Wordlessly, he scooped up Blair - taking the blanket as well - and ran for the front door.

The side road was one of many. Jim wasn't even sure he had the right dirt road, except of all the options, this one had evidence of recent traffic. Faint tire treads in the places where the soft dirt gathered on the road reassured him he was on the right track. The road was narrow. It winded up and over a low rise, leaving the river behind. The forest changed, looking more like the top of an old man's head as the hair began to thin and fall out. Only this type of thinning came from the selection by lumber harvesters.

Jim could see why the protesters were so enraged. After spending days in the cabin among the beauty of the trees, seeing them brutally cut from their roots seemed like a felony.

The rental van shuddered as the sound of compressed air exploded from every direction. Too late, Jim saw the bent nails, welded to stand like a tire-eating hoard of scorpions. "Shit!"

Blair woke with a snuffle. "J-jim?"

Stopping the car, Jim took a deep breath before pasting a smile on his face and turning. "Sorry, pal." He reached back to tuck the blanket over a fevered shoulder. "Everything's okay."

"Where's Simon?"

"We're going to him right now," Jim answered. "I've got to check the tires. Be right back."

"No!" Blair's fevered brow wrinkled with panic as his tiny hands struggled with the buckles holding him in place.

"Stay put!" Jim ordered. He gentled his tone. "You'll be able to see me the whole time, Sandburg." Jim slipped out, ignoring Blair's protests and the buildup of tears. He darted around the vehicle, grimly noting the flattened tires.

Oh yeah, he was screwed.

Reaching the side slider, Jim opened it to find Blair out of the restrains and wiggling down from the perch. Tears and snot were running down his face as he hiccupped in distress. He fell into Jim's arms, latching on like a sheet of Velcro.

Finding his senses sharper than ever with Blair tucked close, Jim spun around and perched on the edge of the van's floor. He didn't really have a choice, he had to deal with Blair first. Without pausing in his soothing rocking, gentle reassurances and one-handed pats, he reached for the box of tissues between the front seats. Blair's crankiness was evident as he nose-dodged the tissue. Jim knew why. Blair's reddened nose was fast growing chapped. Still, Jim managed to catch it and gently hold on.

"Blow."

Like a baby Beluga, Blair did his best before leaning into Jim's chest and closing his eyes. Jim took a second tissue and dabbed at the hot tears as he thought over their situation.

He had no idea how much farther Simon and March were on this road. He did know how far it was to the paved road and help. Too far. He had one spare and one can of `Fix a Flat' with him, but there were multiple holes in all four tires. The van was effectively out of service. If not for the object in his arms, he would simply continue on foot.

Jim was not leaving Blair behind. The kid was sick. Hell, even if he wasn't, Jim wouldn't leave him alone.

Yet... Jim knew he had to help Simon.

What was he supposed to do?

"I could use a little help here, Incacha."

Jim jogged, pacing himself. He could feel the aftereffects of the flu. Out of breath, he slowed to a fast walk and adjusted the blanket slung like a huge sash over his torso. Blair nested within the folds. Jim pulled back an edge and peered down. Amazingly, the kid was asleep. One small hand had found its way to Blair's mouth and the kid was sucking on his fingers. The other hand was currently stretching the neck of Jim's T-shirt out of shape.

When Jim had first come up with the idea, after remembering some of the ways Incacha's tribe had carried their young, he figured Blair would have protested being trapped within the blanket, not being able to see. But it didn't happen that way. Blair had instantly relaxed against him and even calmed down. The tears had dried up. The hand had pulled on his T-shirt and Blair had stilled.

The sound of a car motor snapped Jim's attention back to the task at hand. It was still a long ways off, but it sounded like March's jeep. He wrapped an arm around the bundle and started jogging.

Fifteen minutes later, Jim rounded a turn to find Simon's car parked on the edge of the dirt road. It was empty. Jim could see the problem. More nails. The tires were flat. More nails had been kicked off the road. Seeing the doors locked and no signs of a struggle, Jim figured they had gone on in March's vehicle.

The hood was still warm. Another thought occurred to Jim. The nails that had crippled his van were set down after Simon and March had gone by.

Someone else was on the road.

"I agree. Your sniper would have had a perfect view from this ridge." Simon squinted against the sunlight as he peered out over the narrow valley. "The logging camp is in plain sight."

March rubbed his jaw. "You know, those protesters don't strike me as the type to pull off this shot. A hunting rifle with a decent scope would do the job, but I can't see any of them hunting on their down time."

"I agree." Simon looked at the lay of the land around them as he puffed on his cigar. The logging road they had clawed up the side of the ridge had ended here, in a wide, circular landing big enough to turn a semi-truck around in. The tall firs and cedars still grew, but the sheer drop off below offered a panoramic view of the valley and the ridge across from them. Simon could see the skid trails caused by the huge crane and pulley system as it hauled the cut trees up the steep slopes. It wasn't a large operation; just a handful of men worked the camp, according to March. "You say you have several of the protestors in custody?"

"Yeah, they swear they had nothing to do with the murder," March said. "They've been protesting down by the Hoh Valley, nowhere near here."

"I'd start looking into your victim's past," Simon advised, crossing his arms and leaning against the side of the jeep. "You might find someone with a grudge."

March nodded. "My thoughts exactly." He slapped the hood. "Okay, that's what we'll do. Let's get you back to your car and see about fixing those flats."

They were just getting back into the jeep when the first crack exploded the blue light on the light bar, fracturing it inches from Simon's head.

Simon dropped to the dirt as March yelled, "Sniper!"

Rolling under the vehicle for protection, Simon pulled his service weapon from his waistband. "March?"

"I'm good!" the man answered. The driver's side door opened. The deputy's knees were visible from under the jeep. The big man grunted with effort as he jerked out the shotgun and slid it under the vehicle. "I'll call for help. Can you use this?"

Simon took the shotgun. "You got anything else? A rifle?"

"Yeah! In the back. Here."

The sound of the rear door release caused Simon to scoot down the undercarriage toward the back of the vehicle. He could hear March calling for help. But would the call get through way out here? Another crack came and the sound of the windshield breaking silenced the deputy. Simon's heart stopped.

"March!"

Nothing.

"March! Answer me, damn it!"

Lying on his stomach, his head inches from the Jeep's rear axle, Simon felt very alone.

Jim skidded to a stop at the sound of the rifle shot. He was too late!

Then he could hear March and Simon shouting to each other. They were less than a half mile away. Snatching the blanket over his head, he used the long ends to wrap Blair into a tight mummy. Blair's body stiffened with alarm as he woke.

"It's okay, Blair." Jim hugged the child tightly to his chest and whispered quickly. "Listen to me, Hoss. I'm going to leave you here and go help Simon."

Blair's protests cut through the layers of blanket. "No! Jim, no, no, no!"

But Jim was already looking for a place to lay him down. There, two trees grew out of the wide and decayed remains of an ancient fallen cedar. The thick bed of moss and ferns would make a perfect hiding place. Jim ran into the forest and wedged Blair between the trees, ignoring the cries to stop.

The second rifle shot came and Jim could hear the anguished calls from Simon.

Blair was still crying.

Jim tied the two ends of the blanket into a firm knot. At the last minute, he folded back the fabric to uncover the boy's panicked face. "Shhhhhh. Stop it and listen to me."

"Jim!" Blair sobbed, wriggling madly.

"Blair, Simon needs us. Don't you want me to help him? He's in trouble."

Blair stilled, his mouth trembling. "I wanna go with you."

"No," Jim answered, leaning down to kiss the tip of the boy's nose. "I'll be right back. You be quiet, understand?" Jim pulled up large clumps of sword fern by the roots and placed it around the child. Thankfully, the blanket was an earth-brown color.

"Jim." Blair's final plea was weak and pathetic.

This wasn't going to work unless the child stayed quiet. "Blair!" Jim said with as much authority as he could manage. He leaned back over the fern blind he had created. "You stay quiet, understand?"

The boy's eyes widened. He sniffed, then nodded his head.

Jim felt awful. He sucked it in and forced himself to stick with the plan. "Good, I'll be right back."

Running away and leaving Blair was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. He listened to the quiet sobbing, his heart telling his brain to go back. Still he ran down the road, his Sig in his hand. Casting out his hearing, he listened to Simon call for March. The deputy wasn't answering.

Jim ran faster.

Simon risked a quick look into the back of the Jeep. The rifle was locked into a special clamp and he didn't have the key. Simon belly crawled forward and pulled on March's lax legs until the injured deputy flopped out of the driver's seat to fall on the ground. Huffing, Simon dragged him under the jeep. He was breathing. A bloody uniform shirt showed the path of the slug had pierced the man's collarbone, just to the left of his neck, right above the edge of his bulletproof vest. A large goose egg decorated his forehead. At least Simon wasn't looking at a bullet to the head.

Simon slapped the man's cheek. "Come on, Deputy. Wake up."

Two more bullets hit the jeep. Glass rained down like a shower of square diamonds. The sniper was closer now. Another shot struck the right front tire rim and ricochet off with an angry scream.

Simon rolled over to shield March's head. Whoever this person was, his intentions were more than a simple warning. Simon doubted they'd get off this ridge alive. The jeep made a decent cover for now, but all the sniper had to do was get close enough to shoot from the cover of a tree while lying on his belly and they were both goners.

"Wha'... `et off!"

Simon lifted onto his elbows. "March?"

The deputy squinted up through dazed and pain-filled eyes. "'z h'ppnen?"

"You took a round. The sniper has us pinned down," Simon explained quickly.

March licked his lips and grimaced. "Knew I... should'a retired... last year."

Simon spared him a quick grin. "I know the feeling. Did your call for back up get through?"

"Don't think so," March answered thickly. He closed his eyes. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Simon said, wanting to ease the man's fear. Hell, what was he thinking? March knew the score. They were in serious trouble. "We'll figure something out."

"Right," the injured cop whispered.

"Do you think you can move? If the engine isn't too shot up, we can try driving out." Simon glanced down when he didn't get and answer. "March?"

The man had passed out again.

"Hell."

Jim worked up the slope. He could hear the sniper now and his plan was to get the guy before he did anymore shooting. Jim could hear Simon and March talking below. Jim's eyes narrowed in anger. He could see a flash of plaid between the trees. Dropping to a crouch, Jim watched as a familiar man passed by between a stand of vine maple and a large outcropping of granite, one rise over, along the ridge.

It was Fred, the asshole from the tavern. He carried a hunting rifle mounted with an expensive scope. Before Jim could get a bead on him, the sniper was out of sight again.

Crap. The guy was heading for Simon and March. Jim started down the slope in a silent run. He had to get there before it was too late. Jim leapt over a narrow stream and ducked under a low cedar bough. He judged Simon's location as halfway between his current location and the sniper.

Five minutes later, Jim heard the rifle fire and the bullet plunk into sheet metal. Jim was breathing hard, his strength nearly tapped. Simon's Smith and Wesson answered. They were close. Jim slowed down and forced himself to listen. Where was he? Seconds later, he reached the edge of the tree line. The jeep sat alone in a wide roundabout.

The rifle fired again. Jim's vision zoomed in on the muzzle blast. His right arm swung up, straight and tense. He locked his left hand around his right and let his senses guide his police training as Simon's gun fired. The bullet chipped the bark three trees over from the sniper's location.

As the logger rose, his weapon aimed to shoot, Jim squeezed off two fast rounds.

With a choked scream of surprise, the man disappeared backwards into a tall fern.

"Simon!" Jim called out. He was nearly certain he'd made a crippling, if not killing, hit, but he ran in a half crouch for the sniper's position. "It's Jim!"

"Jim!" Simon shouted back. "Watch your back. I don't know how many."

"Only one, sir." Jim answered as he ducked behind a dirt mound on the edge, left over from a dozer. He tilted his head and listened for the sound of breathing. It wasn't there. "Sounds like I got him."

"You sure?"

Jim stood, gun pointed, as he covered the final yards. The sniper lay sprawled in the foliage. One round had traveled through his heart, the other had blown out his throat. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Simon combat crawled out from under the jeep, his face streaked with dirt and sweat. "March is hit."

Jim left his victim to help Simon pull the deputy out from the under the vehicle. They lifted his unconscious form into the back seat and laid him down. Simon's arms shook with shock. Jim caught his elbow. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Simon cupped a hand around Jim's neck and took a deep, shaky breath. "God, I'm so glad to see you. How did you-?"

"No time," Jim said. "We've got to get back to Blair."

The Jeep started and Jim sent a prayer of thanksgiving skyward. With Simon in the back seat holding pressure on March's shoulder, Jim drove as fast as the fractured windshield allowed. Upon spotting the place he'd left his kid, Jim set the parking brake, left the motor running, and raced into the forest.

The only thing Jim found was the blanket.

Tripping for the third time, Blair's knees sank into the forest floor. He wiped a shaky hand over his sweaty face. God, he was so wiped! His brain was fuzzy, this thoughts muddled. A headache the size of Detroit was slamming railroad spikes into his brain, making every movement hurt. He had woken up alone and that scared him. Jim had to be in some kind of serious shit. No way would Jim leave him wrapped up like some Egyptian dead guy, face-up over a massive rotted log. It had taken forever to get free of that blanket.

He had a vague memory of Incacha telling him not to return, but Blair ignored the warnings. In fact, it was doubtful that the spirit plane had ever witnessed such a tirade. Only now... he couldn't remember now why he had wanted to return.

The memories were not returning, like they had before. Now it seemed he'd been wandering forever in these woods and he was no closer to remembering. None of this looked familiar. The trees around Cascade didn't have this much moss.

Blair steadied himself with a hand on the rough bark of a nearby tree and tried to stand. He had to find Jim.

"I'll help you search," Simon said. "He couldn't have gone far."

"No," Jim answered firmly. "March needs a hospital. Just get back here as soon as you can. I'll find Blair and meet you at my van. Watch for nails."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Jim dug into the supplies March kept in the back of his Jeep. "There're no footprints on the road. Blair must have wandered deeper into the forest." He pulled out a daypack, thankful that police training had taught all good cops never to be without survival gear.

"Okay, I'll be back." Simon slid behind the steering wheel.

On his own, Jim tightened the shoulder straps and started to search, sweeping the forest for sign. Within seconds, he had a broken twig. Five steps away, he found a bent fern leaf.

It was enough. He had a direction.

The rock outcropping made an efficient `dead end' sign.

Blair dropped onto a moss-covered log and buried his flushed face into his hands. Hell, he was lost, and tired, and seriously out of shape because every muscle hurt. His face felt hot and yet he was shivering.

His body ached for rest, but his brain demanded action.

Where was Jim? Was he hurt? He had to be, there was no way Jim would leave a five year-old alone out here in the woods. Why weren't the memories coming back? He'd been awake nearly an hour but his time as a child was a blank on this trip.

Enough, he needed to double back and... whoa, a wave of dizziness hit. Blair sank back down waited for it to pass. A nearby cedar bough looked strong enough to pull him up. Blair leaned out. Bad move, the trees tilted crazily and before he could blink, the ground rushed up to slap his face.

"Ouch, damn!" Pushing weakly with his arms didn't break the pull of gravity. Blair giggled. This was too stupid. He couldn't even stand up. Fuzzy close-ups of mushrooms made him think of small blue people. What were they called? They used to be on Saturday morning, back when they lived with that guy that had two TVs. Blair almost had the name when an intense pain ripped through his brain. Fingers digging into the forest's carpet, Blair rode out the attack. His vision grayed. Just before he passed out, he felt a tiny hand touch his back.

Jogging and making good time, Jim followed Blair's trail toward a steep incline. Blair would surely be boxed in by the topography.

"Sandburg!" Jim called out. "Where are you? Blair!"

A distant, tiny voice answered. "Jim?"

Yes! Jim broke into a run, easily zeroing in on the sound. The kid sounded okay, scared perhaps, but not hurt. Jim could see the rock face through the trees now. Just as he thought, Blair had had nowhere to go.

Ducking under the last low fir branch, he spotted a familiar head of curls.

"Blair!"

The five-year-old turned as Jim entered the tiny clearing. "Jim! Jim! He's hurt!"

What? Jim skidded to a stop, dumbstruck.

Five year-old Blair was kneeling next to the still form of adult Blair Sandburg, who was lying unconscious on his side.

"Oh my god..."

Mini-Blair was shaking adult Blair's shoulder. "Make him wake up, Jim," the kid said with a quivering note of panic.

Jim slipped out of his pack, landing on his knees next to the child. He reached out a disbelieving hand and touched Blair's neck. Relief surged as he felt a pulse. Mini-Blair latched on to Jim's arm.

How could this be happening? Both of them were real. "You're here at the same time," Jim whispered in amazement.

"Help him!" Mini-Blair demanded, tugging impatiently on Jim's arm.

Jim went into automatic mode. Basics: airway - check; already know there is a pulse; level of consciousness... Jim leaned over and patted Blair's face. It was hot to the touch. "I think he's got your flu, Buddy," Jim said to the child.

God, how weird was this?

"Sandburg?" Jim patted his guide's face.

Blair twitched and tried to roll away from the attention. Jim kept it up.

"Kn'kitoff," Blair muttered.

"Chief? Sandburg? Come on, wake up."

Rolling onto his back, Blair blinked up at Jim, clearly annoyed. "Wha'?" He grunted and smacked his lips together. "Do'n feel so good."

"I'll bet," Jim answered, reaching back for his pack and finding the water bottle in the side pocket. He twisted off the cap. "Here."

Blair drank while Jim supported his head. One hand managed to latch onto the bottle and fight for possession when Jim tried to take it back.

"That's enough," Jim ordered.

"Is he okay, Jim?" Mini-Blair asked, leaning on Jim's thighs and getting in the way as only a child could manage.

Adult Blair stared at the child in confusion, then his eyes grew wide and he tried to back away. "SHIT!"

Jim found himself with a lapful of frightened child and scowled. "Knock it off," he snapped as Blair buried his small face into Jim's shirt. "You're scaring him."

Adult Blair scooted away until he pressed his back against a log. "Well that makes two of us, man. I'm freaking terrified here! How could this happen?" Blair demanded.

Mini-Blair whimpering, Jim held him close as he answered, "Like I have a clue? What did Incacha tell you?"

Eyes still locked on the kid, Blair licked his lips nervously. "I didn't exactly.... I only know I had to get back." Blair pinned Jim with an accusing look. "I woke up alone."

"Couldn't be helped," Jim answered. "You came to me in a dream and told me Simon was in danger. Don't worry, he's okay. You got the message to me in time. Why did you wander off the road? Why bring the kid out here?"

"Road?" Blair looked around. "What road? And I didn't even know he was here until you woke me up." Blair waved a hand at Jim's lap. "Shit, man. What does this mean? How can I be in two...?" He swallowed hard. "Jim, this can't be a good thing."

Mini-Blair shuddered. "Don't send me away."

"Hey," Jim said, ignoring his adult roommate for a minute. "I'm not sending you anywhere, Hoss."

"This is too freaking weird," Blair muttered, wiping a grimy brow with his arm.

Jim rolled off his knees to sit cross-legged and wrapped both arms around the boy. "Blair, come on. Stop crying and listen to me. Everything is fine."

"No," Little Blair sobbed. "He came back and I didn't go away. It's bad. You said."

If only Jim could take back the words.

"I only meant that I don't understand what's happening. That's all," Jim explained. "I'm not sending either one of you away."

Although, now Jim carried a kid... him... sorta?

Blair's head hurt. Bad. His boot toe caught a tree root. Jim grabbed his arm, keeping him from sucking needles again.

"Just a little further."

"Thanks," Blair answered automatically.

"I don't feel good," the kid whined.

Blair turned. Jim was doting on him again, checking his forehead for fever and whispering soothing encouragements. It seemed to work because the munchkin sighed and leaned bonelessly onto Jim's shoulder. God, that kid was so small.

A rock turned under Blair's foot and Jim's hand shot out again to grab his arm. "Okay, eyes forward, Sandburg."

Five minutes later, they were back at the road. Another ten minutes of easy walking and Blair got his second shock.

"You bought a mommy car?"

Jim was unlocking the side slider. He flicked an annoyed look at Blair. "It's not a mommy car. It's a van. It's practical. And it's only a rental."

"Jim, man. You're a soccer mom." Blair wanted to laugh aloud. "Hey, the tires are flat." Jim was laying the sleeping kid down on the back bench seat and wrapping him in the same blanket Blair had woken up in. How were they supposed to go anywhere? And where was Simon? Jim took his arm and tugged him around to the other side. "What?"

"Sit down before you fall down." Jim had the front passenger door open. He manhandled Blair into the seat. "Do me a favor and knock off the cussing around the kid, okay?"

"Jim, I'd heard cuss words at five. It's no big deal." Now that he was off his feet, Blair had to admit it felt good. He caught the dark look from his roommate and sighed. "Right, can the cussing. Got it. What are you doing?" Blair tried to bat away the hand on his forehead.

"Stay put." The older man walked to the back of the van.

Wonderful. Jim was reduced to two word commands. Blair obeyed.

While Jim rummaged around in the back, Blair twisted to ogle the sleeping kid. Was that really him? And if so, was part of Blair's own soul missing? Blair didn't feel different. Okay, yeah, maybe he did, but Jim said he had a fever. So, who really knew?

Thinking caused his head to pound. Blair let his mind coast and stared. The kid was small. His face was so innocent. He only remembered how Naomi looked to him at that age. She had been his everything and too many times she had been somewhere else. Frankly, her picture taking skills had not been so hot. Or was it because she was borrowing cameras as Blair grew up? All those pictures he'd seen of himself at that age were fuzzy or had other people in the frame.

"Here, drink."

The water cooled and soothed his throat. Jim was tucking another blanket around Blair's legs and shoulders. Blair sucked the last from the water bottle and let Jim take the empty, then the back of Blair's seat was tilting and he was semi-reclining. It was nice. Blair's eyes drifted closed on their own accord. "Jim," Blair mumbled.

"What?"

"I'm not remembering yet. I've been back for more than an hour." Blair opened his eyes to see Jim pause in closing the door. "I don't get it."

Gaze flicking toward the back of the van, Jim shrugged. "Maybe you don't get them. Maybe the little you keeps them this time." And that opened up a whole new avenue of worry. Blair tried to sit up. Jim moved close again and pushed him back down. "Stay put."

"How can you be so calm?" Blair snapped. "What are we supposed to do now? I'm like... bilocated. What if we never rejoin?"

Jim quirked a smile and patted Blair's cheek, lingering to check for fever. "Relax, we'll think of something. Until we do, just consider this a crash course in Quantum Blair Entanglement."

The cabin wasn't locked. Jim had flown out the door, freaked beyond reason that he'd be too late to help Simon, not even knowing what he would be saving Simon from. They made a strange sight as they trooped into the living room in single file. Adult Blair first with bits of moss and pine needles clinging to his hair and clothes, followed by Jim with Little Blair sleeping peacefully in his arms and. Simon looked completely bewildered by the unexpected return of adult Blair.

Life simply could not get any weirder.

"Come on, Chief," Jim said, passing Blair and heading for the stairs. "I'll show you where you can rest."

"No way can I sleep right now, man." Blair stood, taking in the surroundings with glazed eyes. He pushed his hair back from his face. "Do we have a computer with internet?"

"I'm making coffee," Simon announced, escaping to the kitchen.

"No, Sandburg." The warm weight in his arms shifted restlessly. "Stay here, I'll be right back."

Upstairs, he unwrapped Mini-Blair from the blanket and did a quick inspection. Fever wasn't too high. His tiny feet were dirty. The boy slept through the brief exam. When Jim arranged him on the mattress, head on the pillow and covered him with a sheet and blanket, Blair snuffled once and briefly wrinkled his forehead before settling in. Jim took a moment to smooth back the child's hair.

Returning to the living room, Jim found Blair hadn't moved. God, the kid looked terrified. Jim cupped an elbow and urged him to the sofa with a hand on the small of his back. "Come on. Sit down."

"Jim..." It was more of a collapse than an act of sitting. "...I need to research this," Blair implored.

"I know, but we're in the middle of the Olympic peninsula," Jim explained as Simon entered the room with a glass of juice, which Jim took. "Even if we left right now, we wouldn't get home for five hours and none of us are up to that trip right now. Drink this."

The glass was ignored. "You don't understand. This isn't good, Jim. I don't know how to fix this. Theories on time continuums are-"

"Whoa, whoa. Slow down and breathe," Jim said. He pulled Blair's hand down from its hair clutching and wrapped it around the juice glass. Guiding the glass up to the frowning lips, Jim continued, "Small sips. Relax, okay? You have the flu. Getting all worked up over something you can't control isn't going to help here."

Resistant at first, Blair finally noted the juice and drank deeply until the glass was empty. Simon took it and returned to the kitchen.

"Let's get you comfortable." Jim pushed and pulled until Blair was stretched out on the sofa. Jim tugged off the hiking boots, nodding to Simon who had returned with a blanket.

"I can't... this is... Jim, please, man." Blair pushed down the covering and tried to sit up.

"Shhh, we're fine, Sandburg," Jim coaxed, perching on the edge of the sofa, one hand planted on Blair's sternum.

"You're not listening to me!"

"I'm listening. I'm right here." Jim leaned over, catching Blair's gaze. "I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me."

"I'm not remembering," Blair muttered fearfully. "Why not? What's happening?"

They were going in circles. "What did Incacha tell you?"

"He wasn't happy with me. I remember that." Blair scrubbed his face with one hand, no longer fighting to get up. "I don't remember all of it. That can't be good."

"You're sick. Maybe it will come to you later."

"How'd I get sick? I wasn't sick when I left."

"I think you caught it from me, from the mini-you. I don't know."

"This is so weird," Blair whispered, his eyes starting to close. With a start, he opened them wide and reached for Jim. "I don't want to go!"

"Shhh," Jim repeated, catching Blair's hand. "I'll be right here. You're fine. I bet if you don't want to return, you won't."

"We don't know that," Blair answered fearfully.

"Sandburg, rest." Jim started working the knots of tension out of Blair's shoulders with his fingers. "Everything will work out. I promise."

Unable to resist, Blair's head sank into the throw pillow. His eyes closed. Still frowning, he slipped into sleep. Jim kept up the massage until his friend's forehead smoothed out and breathing evened. Moving carefully, Jim stood and joined Simon in the kitchen.

"Is he okay?" Simon asked.

Jim shrugged as he dropped into a kitchen chair. Simon set a full coffee mug before him and Jim cupped his hands around it to soak up the warmth. Gazing into the oily surface, he answered. "He's asleep."

Simon took a chair across the table, propping both elbows on the surface. "I nearly had a stroke when I saw them both in the van. How is this possible?"

"No clue." Jim was tired of fielding these questions. When had his job description included answering paranormal events?

"It's just that I figured you'd have some take on this."

"Nope."

"Does this mean we have two Blair Sandburgs from now on? How are we going to explain that?" Simon seemed to read the exhaustion in Jim's eyes. He held up a hand. "Never mind. We'll think of something."

It was good to have friends.

Slowly becoming aware of a small hand mistaking his cheek for a tom-tom, Blair peeked through eyelashes at the face inches from his own. Pug nose, perfect skin with faint freckles and round blue eyes looked back.

"Want somethin'?" Blair croaked.

"You're gonna sleep all day? I wanna watch Sponge Bob."

"Hey, Rugrat!" Jim whispered, charging into the room and scooping the child up. "I told you to leave him alone."

Blair watched the drama play out. The kid crossed thin arms over his chest, boldly leaning back to ignore the sentinel's glare. "I'm allowed two hours of Sponge Bob. You said."

"After Blair wakes up," Jim pointed out. He had one hand under the kid's butt, supporting him easily. The other hand had a tissue. "Blow."

The kid tried unsuccessfully to dodge the maneuver, but gave up and blew. Blair cringed as the sound of snot cleared the air passage. He groaned and sat up, noticing it was early morning. "I slept all afternoon and night?"

"Yeah," Jim answered as he folded the tissue and tidied up the kid's face with it. "You needed it. How do you feel?"

"Like sh- er, crap. I need the head."

"Through the kitchen, back there." Jim nodded over one shoulder. He was bending over and sorting through a stack of videos on the side table. He'd lift one, check to see if the kid shook or nodded his head, then set it back down until the result was a nod. The five-year-old took the box and squirmed until Jim set him back on his feet. Wasting no time, the kid went to the VCR under the television and pushed it into the slot. The machine hummed. Jim picked up the remote and turned on the set.

"He feels better, huh?" Blair asked Jim.

"Yeah, woke up this morning hungry. His fever broke around two." Jim cocked his head and reached out to cup Blair's forehead. "You?"

"You're like Mrs. Doubtfire," Blair quipped. "I feel fine."

"You still have a fever," Jim corrected as Blair used his arm to pull himself off the sofa.

"Whoa, head rush." Waiting for the spinning motion to end, Blair glanced once more at the boy sprawled, belly down over three throw pillows and eating a banana. Some square guy and a starfish guy were fighting a battle with a squirrel on TV. It looked... violent. "Should he be watching that?"

Jim looked surprised. "Why not?"

"It's teaching violence."

Jim rolled his eyes. "It's a sponge that lives with a snail in a town called Bikini Bottom, Sandburg. I think he understands it's make-believe."

Speaking up in defense of his show, Mini-Blair lay on his back and talked through smashed banana. "Patrick and Sandy Cheeks are gonna save the princess."

All this took too much effort to think about. Blair shuffled toward the kitchen. "I need to pee." He ignored Jim's chuckle.

After using the bathroom, eating a bowl of cereal and taking some aspirin, Jim had insisted Blair go up to the second floor and climb into a freshly made roll-away bed for more sleep. Blair didn't fight too much. His body ached and a headache had taken permanent residence behind his eyes. Even though he'd slept nearly eighteen hours, he drifted back to sleep and woke much later, sans the headache, to the sound of the front door opening and a shrill voice.

"Captain Simon!"

"Blair, quiet," Jim called sharply.

"Hey, slugger," came Simon Bank's voice.

Blair lay in bed, feeling suddenly lost. It all sounded so normal down there. He was an interloper.

Minutes later, Jim rose like a phoenix through the floor as he climbed up the stairs. "Feel better?" Jim asked.

Blair took stock. His body felt used up. "I'm fine."

"Think you can manage ice cream? Pecan praline."

Typical. Jim fixing everything with food. "No, thanks."

Jim leaned against the banister. "Simon says March - that's the deputy we told you about - is doing well. Doctor removed the bullet without a hitch. The sniper turned out to be a fired logger with a grudge against the company."

Blair thought back to yesterday. A bunch of cops had appeared with Simon while they had waited in the crippled van. Blair remembered Jim and Simon holding a heated discussion with some sheriff. They had wanted Jim to go somewhere and Jim had been adamant it had to wait; he had to take care of a sick kid and roommate. The lead investigator had been pissed as hell.

"Did they ever interview you? Are you in trouble?" Blair asked.

"They came yesterday."

"While I was asleep?" Blair was appalled.

"You didn't drool too much," Jim said, smirking. "Relax, Chief. We brought them in through the back door and let them interview me in the kitchen. They never saw you."

"So, do you have to go in?"

Jim shrugged. "Maybe, it's just procedure. We saved one of their own. The killer was trying to take out everyone he could find."

Blair remembered other cases like this back in Cascade. He'd overheard the guys in the bullpen call it `death by cop' and he remembered at the time how jaded they'd sounded. Now he understood. Better the guy end up dead than Simon or Jim.

"You going to come down?" Jim asked.

Was he?

Simon was putting a bowl of ice cream before his highness when Jim entered the kitchen. Mini-Blair's expression was one of pure anticipation. He held his spoon in a clenched fist, pouncing on the bowl.

"Whoa, must learn to be careful when feeding wild animals," Simon joked, pulling back in mock fear.

"You scored permanent favor status for bringing back the ice cream," Jim noted, watching a spoonful of dessert disappear into the smiling boy's mouth. Jim laughed when Blair rolled his eyes and performed a delighted wiggle in his booster seat. "Is that good?"

"Ummm, humm!" The spoon dipped in for more.

"Sandburg..." Simon pointed at the ceiling with the ice cream scooper. "... I mean, that Sandburg want any?"

"No, he'll take a pass for now." Jim pulled out the chair next to his kid and sat down. "I, however, could do with some." Jim tried to filch a bit from Blair's bowl with his fingers.

"Hey! No fair!" Blair circled a protective arm around his bowl and leaned away.

"Sorry, Sire."

"Here, let's keep peace in the family." Simon set Jim's own bowl down on the table and joined them with coffee. "March is going to retire."

Jim paused. "Because of the shooting?"

Simon's attention was on Blair as he answered, his face thoughtful. "Mostly, but not entirely. It makes a man think about what's important when you're... in those types of positions. Frankly, I don't blame him. I wonder sometimes. Daryl is growing so fast and this job keeps me from seeing him as much as I'd like."

No Simon at work. Jim didn't want to think about it. "You're too young."

Simon's grin was relaxed. "I could recommend you for the job. You'd be perfect."

"Okay, that's just mean, sir," Jim snapped, swallowing a mouthful of ice cream. He had no desire to be captain and deal with department politics. "I'd rather have a root canal. Or listen to Sandburg's drum music."

"I have drums?" Blair asked, ice cream dripping off his chin.

Jim plucked a paper napkin from the stack Simon had wisely set on the table. The kid started his typical evade and escape maneuvers. Gently capturing the small jaw, Jim wiped the messy face. "The idea is to get it into your stomach, squirt."

Blair didn't seem to hear. "Are we fishing today?"

Jim could hear footsteps on the stairs. "We'll see." He pointed at the bowl. "First you have to finish that."

"Good afternoon, Sandburg," Simon said.

Jim turned to see his roommate shuffling toward the bathroom. His hair looked fresh from a cotton candy machine. Blair raised a silent hand in greeting and closed the door.

"Be right back," Jim said, standing. He jerked a head at the bathroom when Simon raised an eyebrow. "He'll want fresh clothes. I'm going to see what I can loan him."

"Good plan."

The world felt better after a shower. Blair dressed in Jim's clean sweat pants and t-shirt. The pants spilled over his ankles, but the cuff was elastic so he didn't have to worry about tripping. He opened the door to see Simon sitting alone at the table.

"Hungry? I have soup," Simon asked, glancing up from reading a newspaper.

Actually, he was. "I could eat."

Simon stood with a groan and Blair felt guilty. "Simon, I can-"

"No, no." The big man arched his back. "I'm just stiff. Need to move. I'll be fine."

Blair sat at the table. "Where's Jim?"

Simon stirred a pot warming over a low heat, then ladled out a serving and carried the bowl and a spoon to the table. Blair peered inside. "Is this homemade? Chicken noodle?"

"Yep, I'm letting you guys taste from the wealth that is Grandma Bank's recipe box."

Blair took a sip. "It's good."

"Glad you like it. To answer your earlier question: Jim is upstairs napping and the little guy is watching his second video."

"Second?"

"Jim allows two a day." Simon was back in his seat after placing a jar of peanut butter and wrapped tube of crackers on the table.

"Cut back to two?" Blair reached for the cracker. He took four and smashed them in his hands, letting the destruction rain down on his soup. He ignored Simon's flinch.

"Jim's got a set of rules for that kid longer than my arm."

"Yeah, I remember."

"That's right, you do remember afterwards, don't you?" Simon rubbed his eyebrow. "I still have a hard time understanding all this. I forget you're one and the same."

"At least we were." Blair chased a fat noodle with the spoon. "I think I screwed all that up by coming back early. I'm not getting any of the memories this time."

"That makes sense, in a crazy way." Simon nodded toward the door to the living room. "He still has them. Maybe you have to go back and when you return in the normal time, you'll be... things will be... hell, you know what I'm talking about."

`Yeah," Blair answered. "But what if Incacha doesn't ask me back?"

"You can't go on your own?"

"No. I don't even remember how I got back on my own, except that Incacha didn't want me to. I crossed a river. I remember that." Blair pinched his lower lip as the memory teased him. "It happened before, but this river was dark and fast moving, like it was on the edge of the jungle. I couldn't see across to the other side."

Simon nodded. "I'm glad you did. From what Jim said, you saved my life. Thank you, Blair."

Blair's cheeks warmed under the unexpected praise. "I just don't know what I'm going to do about him."

Simon seemed surprise. "You sound like he's the enemy."

"No, I didn't mean that. It's just... what if we never join again? What am I supposed to do with a kid that shouldn't even exist?"

Simon leaned back. He hooked one arm over the back of the chair. "You're going to find Jim will have a plan, Sandburg. He's more than just a little attached to that kid."

Blair pushed the empty bowl away. His hands needed something to keep busy so he reached for the peanut butter. "I know he likes him. But you can't tell me Jim is ready to saddle himself with a kid that's not his for the rest of his life."

"You sure about that?" Simon asked.

Was Simon being purposely obtuse? Blair had seen it over and over again. First, the guy starts dating his mother, then he gets to know her kid and everything is all `we're a little family' - for a while. Reality usually comes in the form of a small disagreement, an unexpected expense or Naomi just getting itchy feet and - bam - everything gone and Blair's head is left spinning.

No, thank you. This was Jim. He couldn't risk losing his sentinel.

Blair rubbed his forehead. "We'll find someone else to raise him. If it turns out he's here to stay, there are plenty of people looking to adopt a kid that age."

The sound of the front door slamming reached the kitchen. Simon's expression changed from puzzlement to fear. "Oh, shit! He was listening at the door!"

"What?"

But Simon was up, knocking over the chair in his haste. He wrenched open the door between the kitchen and living room. Blair followed, seeing the larger room was empty. Simon bolted for the front door. "Blair!"

They spilled out onto the front porch, Blair moving to stand at the older man's side. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the yard. No kid in sight. Simon was yelling Blair's name in a panic that Blair had never heard before.

"He can't be far," Blair said. He didn't expect Simon to drag him down the steps. "Hey!"

"Check the river, Sandburg," Simon commanded. "I'll check where he went last time."

Before Blair could point out he was only wearing socks, Jim's socks in fact, Simon was running toward the edge of the forest where tall, green layers of Bracken and Sword fern grew between the evergreens. Okay, Blair was already standing in the dirt. Ten steps carried him to the edge.

The river was wild, littered with large boulders the size of compact cars. Blair admired its beauty. No wonder Jim and Simon had wanted to vacation here. Suddenly Blair's heart skipped a beat. The kid was scrambling over large rocks and logs near the edge of an overhang, right where the river made a turn, throwing its stronger current along the edge.

"Hey! Get Back!" Blair yelled, plunging over the steep sloop in time to see the five-year-old misjudge the mossy edge of a rock on the river's edge for a solid step. In the time it took to blink, the kid fell into the river. "SIMON! HELP!"

Blair didn't hesitate. He leaped, feet first, into water. Cold ripped air from his lungs, so intense it burned. Blair fought to keep his head above water. He kicked hard, flailing arms just in time to smash hard an unforgiving boulder. He bounced off. The current threw him toward the next boulder. He lost track of the shore. His world was only current and hard rocks.

Twirling around, Blair caught a flash of red ahead. The kid had been wearing a red shirt. Blair forced his numb limbs to obey and struck out with purpose. He reached out, caught a wrist, and pulled. The child was still conscious. He clung to Blair, nearly pulling them both under. Another massive granite wall loomed. Blair twisted, protectively hugged the kid close, stiff armed the boulder and was spun to the side.

They were picking up speed. The river was channeling through a tight spot. Blair lifted his feet and used his legs to push off another boulder. He could see white waves down stream and fear gripped harder than the kid's arm around his neck. This was bad. If he snagged a foot on a submerged log or rock, they were done. The banks were too high. There was no place to climb out.

They were going to drown.

Blair's cry for Simon catapulted Jim from a deep sleep. Exhausted from all the events of the past couple days, it took Jim three seconds to realize he was alone in the house. Surging from the blankets, he raced barefoot down the stairs wearing sweatpants and muscle shirt. On the front porch, he caught the top of Simon's head as the man disappeared over the bank toward the river.

"Oh god, no." Jim ran. He could hear splashing and Blair's heartbeat, two sets of heartbeats. A stick jabbed his instep. Jim ignored the pain. He could see the river. Two people were in the rapids. A man and a child. Simon stood at the edge, looking ready to jump into the water. "Stop!" Jim yelled. His survival training kicked in. River rescue was tricky. Jumping in was the wrong way. "We need to get ahead of them!"

"How?" Simon called back.

Jim saw Blair reach out and pull the child to him. Thank you, God. They had a chance now. Blair would do his best. "We take the car, come on!" Jim ran toward the house. His tennis shoes were just inside the door. By the time he had them, Simon was starting his car. Jim piled into the passenger side and they were off.

"I can hear them," Jim said, rolling down the window.

Simon's knuckles were white as he drove. Jim focused. He tuned out the sound of the engine and the tires on the gravel and Simon's breathing. There, he had it. Blair was grunting every once in while, as if in pain. He could hear Mini-Blair's fearful whimpers. They were still downstream.

"Faster, Simon."

They were catching up. They were along side. The road paralleled the river, offering a few glimpses through the trees. Wait, they were in front now.

"Stop!"

Simon stomped the brake pedal to the floorboards.

"Back up, they made shore," Jim said, slapping the outside of the car door.

Flinging the gearshift up, Simon threw an arm over the seat, twisted to look out the rear window and floored the gas pedal.

"Stop!" Jim was out and running through the trees. There were other reasons the two might have stopped moving down river. He didn't want to think about it. All he cared was the dual heartbeats were still pumping, so similar it was frightening. The bank's slope was gradual here, but the topography had tilted so the water was shooting through at an alarming rate of speed. There was no sign of the Blairs on either bank of the river.

Then Jim saw why they had stopped.

Two large boulders had caught half a dozen stripped tree trunks, which formed a snarl in the middle of the river. Blair had one arm around the lowest tree; the other hugged the child to his chest.

"Sandburg!" Jim called out over the roar of the water.

"JIM! Get a rope!" Blair called back.

Shit! Of course, why hadn't he taken the time to grab one?

Blair's arm slipped and the water tried to suck him under. Mini-Blair's face did submerge for a few seconds, and then Blair hitched himself back up on the log. Jim watched, helplessly. They were only twenty to thirty feet out, but the water ran deep and fast.

"Jim," Simon called, running toward the river with a rope in his hand. The sedan's trunk was open. Simon was prepared.

Jim held out a hand for the rope, he looked back at the river. Blair was pushing the kid up, forcing him to climb up onto the logs. The act scared Jim. He could see Blair's arm trembling from the strain of holding on.

"Sandburg, don't you dare let go! You hear me?" Jim screamed out, knowing if his partner did might never surface again. He looked down at his feet and found a rock the size of a baseball. "Hold on."

"Jim," Blair called back weakly. "Get the kid, man. Save him."

"Blair," Jim called back, busily tying one end of the rope around the rock so it wouldn't fall out. "Get on the log!"

"Can't, man," Blair whispered. He finished pushing the child all the way up on the log pile. The boy was crying. "Too tired."

"Look at me!" Jim coiled the rope carefully at his feet, making sure it would play out. Simon took a turn around his waist and held the bitter end securely. "I'm throwing a rope. Catch it!"

But Blair had both arms over the log now. The current ran underneath the logjam and wanted to take the man with it. If Blair tried to catch the rope with even one hand, he'd likely go down.

Jim had never been so terrified before in his life.

"Sandburg, move down the log toward the boulder!" Jim yelled.

"What?" Blair was sounding confused.

"The boulder will brace you," Jim called out. The logs sat broadside in the river, but the log that Blair held was at enough of an angle that Jim thought he could manage. "Use the river to move you to the rock. Get in front of the boulder. Hey, Hoss!" Jim yelled to the child. "Real careful now. Move toward the rock."

It was torture watching Blair and Mini-Blair slowly work toward the large slab of granite, worn smooth by millions of gallons of water. The boy reached it first. He shivered as he clung to the broken limbs and stubs protruding from the logs. His adult counterpart took more time. Once, twice, three times Blair slipped and Jim thought it was over, but Blair held on. Finally he reached the boulder where the water cycled around, not under. Blair sobbed softly and visibly relaxed.

"Okay, Blair," Jim called out. "Catch!"

Jim pitched the rope out. It bounced off the rock and fell back into the water. Jim cursed and quickly pulled it back hand-over-hand, halfway the rope snagged on the river bottom. With an angry jerk, Jim ripped it free. He finished pulling the rope in and checked the knot. The rock was still good.

Okay, take more time. Jim studied the logjam. Blair's lips were blue with cold. His eyes half closed. "Look sharp! This is it!"

This time the rock sailed over the highest log. Mini-Blair caught the rope. The sight of rescue must have caused Blair to gain the strength he needed, because with a mighty shove of both arms, he surged up out of the water and fell, gut down, over the log. Wiggling and throwing one leg up and over, he managed to sit on the log, his shins dangling in the water. He held out a wet arm toward the boy, who tearfully fell onto his chest.

Jim saw Blair start to tie the rope around the boy's chest.

"No!" Jim hollered, cupping a hand around his mouth. "Blair, not that way!"

"Jim, shut up and let me make sure this kid makes it," Blair answered softly.

Damn it, Jim was going to throttle his guide when he got him to shore. "Sandburg, look at me!" Blair obeyed, looking beyond exhausted. "If you tie that rope to him, you're signing his death warrant. I can't be sure the rope isn't going to snag and that will pull him under."

Blair's shoulders sagged. "What do you want, man?"

"Both of you," Jim answered. "I want both of you. It's the only way. Hold him in front of you. Take the rope over your right shoulder and hold on. Face downstream with your feet up. Simon and I will swing you in. You just hug that kid and that rope to your chest, got that?"

Blair bit his lip, his eyes briefly on the water around him. "Jim, you sure?"

"Yes, damn it. I'm sure."

"Okay." Taking a deep breath, he nodded. "Okay, man. Come here, buddy." Mini- Blair straddled Blair's lap, both arms around his adult-half's neck. Blair took a second to figure out the rope position then scooted down the log as far is it would allow. "Ready?"

Jim looked back at Simon. Simon gave a nod. "We're ready. Let's bring you in."

Jim could only imagine the courage needed to willingly slip back into the turbulent waters. Blair fumbled a second and the water took them down, but he kicked off the rock hard, turned and swept down river. The rope went taut, tipping Blair onto his back, his toes coming out of the water. Mini-Blair buried his face into the man's neck.

Jim and Simon skidded on the forest floor a few inches, but dug in and watched the rope swing closer, closer until Blair smacked into the riverbank.

"Go!" Simon barked. "I got it."

Jim bolted down the hill, dropping on his ass and sliding to the edge of the bank. He rolled on his hip. Upper body hanging out over the edge, Jim grabbed the boy and pulled him up, flinging him well away from the edge. "Stay!"

Adult Blair's face floated in the water, wide eyes looking up at Jim in numb fatigue. Jim reached back down and caught the waistband and a handful of T-shirt. Simon slid in at his side, bending over the edge, and together they pulled Blair free of the Sol Duc River.

"Are you okay?" Jim asked, seeing a knot the size of a plum growing on his guide's forehead. He reached for it.

Blair caught his hand and swayed. "I-I'm good... c-c-cold."

"Come on." With one arm around Blair's waist and Blair's arm around his shoulders, Jim supported the younger man to the road.

Simon had a blanket out and wrapped around Mini-Blair. Jim could see the boy was still crying, but in exhaustion, not pain. Simon was dealing with the child as only an experienced father could. He cuddled the boy close and rocked him while he sat on the edge of the driver's seat, turned sideways to face the road. His large hand pushed the wet strands from the boy's face, stroking down to pat his back.

Jim opened the back door and urged Blair in. "Keep sliding over, Chief." Jim got in beside him and closed the door. "Simon? Heat?"

"Right," Simon answered, drawing in his long legs. He twisted to tuck the boy in close next to him before closing the door. The sound of the heater fan on high came next.

"Come here," Jim said, tugging his guide close.

"Jim, if you're thinking hospital, it's an hour drive. Better to get them back to the cabin and warmed up," Simon suggested.

Jim had to agree.

Blair huddled at Jim's side, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around his torso. Jim ignored the wetness and one-armed hugged him tight. The car pulled away from the side of the dirt road. Simon executed a three-point turn and they were heading back to the cabin.

"How many fingers?" Jim asked, waving a hand.

"Three," Blair muttered wretchedly. "Why's the r-river so f-f-frigid?"

Jim felt giddy with relief. They were going to be okay. Simon and he just needed to warm them up. "Snow melt. Notice the mountain peaks are white all year round? Come here, Junior."

Jim tilted his guide sideways. Blair didn't fight him. Rolled up like a human potato bug, Blair let Jim lean him over his lap and curl around his shivering form to share body heat.

They reached the cabin. Simon carried the child Blair while Jim and Blair followed. Once inside, Simon carried little Blair directly into the kitchen.

"I'm going to warm him up in a bath," Simon said.

"Okay, I'll take Blair upstairs."

"Jim..." Blair tried to free his arm. "I'm fine, man."

"I'd believe that if your body wasn't shivering." But Jim released his arm and made a grand gesture toward the stairs.

Rolling his eyes, Blair limped up the stairs, leaving a trail of wet sock prints. Jim found another set of sweats in his dresser. "This keeps up and I'll be sewing cedar bark together for clothes." He tossed them on the bed. Blair had stripped down to his boxers. Jim saw his back. "Shit, Sandburg. You're black and blue. Let me see."

"Jim!" Blair had stepped out of his boxers, not expecting Jim to walk around in front of him. He turned away and snatched up the dry clothes. "Get out of here, man."

"For crying out loud." Jim pulled the sweats out of his hand and switched it for his thick robe. "Put this on."

"Jim, I'm fine." Blair tried to push the robe back and reach for the sweats.

There were just as many bruises forming on the younger man's front side as his back. Jim shook his head. "No, you're not getting dressed until I look. I'll get a towel for your hair. Wrap up in a blanket."

Blair looked ready to mutiny.

"Please?" Jim carefully cupped the back of Blair's cold neck and locked gazes. "You scared the shit out of me. Let me make sure you're okay."

Blair's rebellion deserted him. He rubbed a hand over his face. "Whatever. Fine." He put on the robe.

Jim jogged down to the bathroom. Simon had Blair in the bathtub. The child had stopped crying. The bathroom's heat was oppressive. Simon looked up from washing Blair's hair. "He's fine, Jim. Scraped a knee, that's all."

"Good to know." Jim took a second to sit on the closed toilet lid. "So, Hoss. You want to tell me why you went down to the river after we told you repeatedly not to?" It pierced his heart to cause the kid's eyes to fill again. He leaned forward, cupping a hand around the face looking back at him. Simon leaned back, wisely staying quiet. "Blair?"

"I was going away," Blair said with a sniff. A fat tear trailed down his cheek.

"Why?" Jim couldn't understand.

"He said ... you didn't want me. I was gonna cross the river and find Incacha."

"Oh, no," Simon said under his breath. He caught Jim's eye. "He overheard Blair talking to me in the kitchen."

"Blair said this?" Jim demanded.

Simon silently wrung water from the washcloth in his hands, not answering.

Jim knelt next to the tub. He leaned over and kissed the boy's forehead. "You listen good, Buddy. No one takes you away from me when you're here, understand? I want you. You're more important to me than anyone or anything else. Now, will you excuse me while I go back upstairs and beat that into your older self?"

Blair's eyes widened. Jim kissed him again and left.

Back on the stairs, Jim heard the child whisper, "I think I'm in trouble up there."

Simon's answer was short. "Don't worry, happens all the time."

Jim tuned out the voices below and focused on his blanket-wrapped guide sitting on the bed with his back leaning against the wall. Jim lobbed the towel at him.

"Thanks," Blair said as he caught it. He winced in pain as he raised his arms to dry his hair.

Jim went to his small duffle bag and found his bottle of Advil. He shook out three red pills and picked up a small bottled water he kept for when he got thirsty during the night. Cracking open the cap, he handed them over, waiting for Blair to swallow them before speaking.

This version of his guide looked just as miserable and forlorn as the one he'd left downstairs. Jim's anger began to loosen enough to let him take a deep breath and think things through. No way would Blair willingly hurt the kid.

Blair let the towel drape around his neck. "He heard me, didn't he?"

Jim nodded. "Why?"

Blair dropped his head forward, his chin bumping his chest. "Oh, man. I didn't know he was listening." He closed his eyes tightly.

Blair had picked the bigger bed to sit on. Jim sat on its edge and leaned forward to tuck in Blair's cold toes. "Why?" he asked again.

"Jim, you have to believe me, man." Blair leaned forward. "I never would have said that if I'd thought-"

"No, Einstein. Tell me why you still think I don't want to take care of him, of you. Tell me that." Jim's anger returned. "Because I thought we already handled that the day I caught you on the phone. Why would you tell Simon I'd give him away?"

A flush spread over Blair's face.

"That was different, Jim!" Blair retorted. "Okay, so you don't mind keeping him one or two weeks. What about now? Huh? Tell me what you're going to do if I can't figure out how to-" Blair waved one hand over his head. "-fix all this!"

"Easy, because it's a no brainer. I'm going to raise him!"

Blair snorted. "Yeah, right. Heard that one before!"

Jim froze.

Blair slapped a hand over both eyes.

The room became silent. The truth became crystal. How many times had promises been made and broken in his partner's childhood?

Blair suddenly folded bonelessly at the waist in a move that would make a yoga instructor green with envy. "Forget I said that," the younger man whispered into the folds of the bedding.

"Blair..." Jim laid a hand on the wet head.

"Please, Jim," Blair answered quietly. "Just go."

"Not a chance." Jim said with feeling. "I'm not going anywhere. When are you going to figure that out?"

When it looked like no answer was coming, Jim nudged Blair's shoulder. Jim would respect his friend's desire not to talk about it... for now.

"Come on, Junior. Sit up and let me look at those bruises."

Red faced, Blair sat up. He avoided eye contact, but allowed Jim to examine the damage from the trip down the river.

The next morning, the bruises were tight and hot with pain. Blair couldn't move without groaning. Jim heard him from somewhere below and appeared at his side with a glass of water and more Advil.

"Might want to wait a while for these to kick in," Jim suggested when Blair rolled over and tried to get his legs to the edge of the small bed.

"Can't, need... toilet."

It was hard to believe he could hurt this badly and not have a broken bone. Blair dry swallowed the medicine and managed to sit up. He breathed through his mouth in short controlled pants. This had to be what labor felt like. Maybe he should ask for a bedpan and just stay in bed until November. Jim held out his arms to use for leverage, crossed forearm on forearm, like that genie chick on the old TV show right before she'd blink. Blair took a deep breath, grabbed and pulled himself up all in one move. It felt worse than ripping a crusty bandage off a wound.

"Ow, ow, ow! Shit! This hurts."

Jim lightly touched Blair's forehead, brow wrinkled in thought. "Are you dizzy? Any problems with your vision?"

"No, just my bladder."

After managing the staircase, under the sentinel's careful direction, Blair used the bathroom and emerged looking for coffee. Jim had left a full mug on the table. The brew was rich and tasted like hot mountain jungles. Blair lowered himself into the chair to give it proper respect and watch Jim stirring something on the stove.

Sounds of a washing machine made Blair look around. It came from behind a door he hadn't noticed before. Outside the window, he saw jeans and t-shirts along with towels and underwear clipped to a rope between the house and a tree. It appeared to be washday. They were fortunate the morning was sunny.

"How'd you sleep?" Jim asked.

"Good." Blair remembered the living room had been empty. "Where is everyone?"

"Simon has mini-Blair fishing."

"What?" Were they nuts? Blair never wanted to see another river and they took the kid back?

"Relax, it's a stocked pond near town. We noticed the advertisement a few days ago. If we're lucky, we'll have trout for dinner."

Oh. Blair relaxed. "What, a `get back on the horse that threw you' strategy?"

"More like a `take the kid fishing like you promised before he drives you nuts' strategy." Jim brought a bowl of oatmeal to the table. He flashed a grin. "You are very persistent when you're five."

"Then... he's okay?" Blair stirred his oatmeal.

Nursing his own cup of coffee, Jim leaned against the kitchen counter. "He's fine. You took the brunt of the river. You saved his life, Sandburg."

Blair couldn't answer. The obvious truth left unsaid. If he hadn't been jawing with Simon, the kid wouldn't have gone down to the river in the first place.

"You going to eat that? Or continue to whip it into a foamy froth?" Jim asked.

His appetite had deserted its post. Still, Jim would nag and bully him into eating so Blair blew on the first spoonful and ate. The sticky concoction tried to clog his airway and Blair had to figure out how to swallow and breathe again with harmony. He was so tired. Why did everything take so much concentration? After managing half the breakfast, he begged off and limped back upstairs to sleep.

Jim napped on the sofa. With Simon and mini-Blair out and his roommate sleeping upstairs, a few hours more sleep made sense. Sleep had been iffy last night. Every twitch and kick from the small body sleeping at his side woke him. With four people and three beds, mini-Blair had slept with him and Jim had monitored him all night. It was exhausting work with an energetic five year-old.

"Enqueri."

When had the dream turned blue? Jim turned to see his first sentinel mentor standing, a tightly contained smile on his brown face. "Incacha!"

They clasped each other's shoulders, both smiles growing with genuine warmth.

"I will be taking the shaman soon, my friend," Incacha said.

Jim had wanted to ask this man so many questions, but Incacha's words filled him with fear and left his mind blank. "W-what?"

"To finish his training. He must come back."

Oh. Of course. Jim shook his head. "He's scared he screwed everything up by returning too early," Jim explained. Incacha always had an irritating way of looking like he knew everything, yet explained little. Jim had always figured the man did it to keep the tribe in awe and respect for his position. Now he wasn't so sure. "Was it a mistake?"

"What is done is neither wrong nor right. It is done," Incacha said. "The man must accept his inner child. Your young shaman has many bad memories to free."

Before Jim could ask more, he was blinking up at the A-frame ceiling and Simon's heavy boots were clumping into the living room. A strong smell of fish slime filled Jim's nostrils.

"Jim! Jim!" Mini-Blair landed with a thud on Jim's chest.

"Ooff! Hey, fishboy. You stink." Jim tugged the small body up until he was sitting on Jim's gut and getting needles on the sofa with his tennis shoes.

Jim would clean later. He was going to enjoy the moment.

"I caught a whoopie!"

Simon's snorted.

Jim engaged his `mini-Blair interpretation program.' Whoopie could be a... whopper? "You caught a big fish?"

"Uh huh!" Blair was wiggling in delight. He pointed a grimy finger toward the ice chest Simon was lugging. "It's in there and it's bigger `en anythin' Cap'n Simon caught."

"Do I sense a slight element of pride in your voice, Sandburg?" Jim asked as he started to tickle.

"What? Stop!" Blair squealed and squirmed off. He looked up and grinned anew. "Blair! Come and see my fish!" And in a flash, the boy was racing after Simon into the kitchen.

Jim craned his neck to see his roommate, rumpled and confused looking, on the steps. "Hey, you're up."

"Like anything can sleep through that," Blair answered, his deadpan face betraying him with a small twitch of amusement. "He climbs all over you."

Jim was pulling his weary body off the sofa. He bent to knock some of the dirt from the cushions. "You don't remember that when you return?"

"No, I guess I miss the details," Blair said thoughtfully as he preceded Jim into the kitchen.

Waist hooked over the edge of the kitchen counter, Mini-Blair dangled, his shoes a good twelve inches off the floor. Simon stood at his side, hands in the sink.

"Back off, Lefty. Keep your fingers away from this knife or you'll be parked at the table," Simon growled. His tone would have sent the detectives of the bullpen running for their lives.

Mini-Blair giggled, but kept his hands to himself as the captain began to prepare the fish.

"Lefty?" Blair whispered to Jim.

Jim was peering into the sink. Damn, the biggest trout was a good sixteen inches. Jim was officially jealous. "Name of a famous fly-fisherman," he answered Blair before patting the small head leaning over the sink. "Nice fish, Hoss."

There were five other fish in the ice chest, the second biggest clocked in at twelve inches. Jim nodded. They'd have a decent trout dinner tonight. "I'll need my garlic and tomato relish."

"See? See?" Min-Blair pointed and Simon gently slapped his finger back. "That one I caught. All by myself! Huh, Capt'n Simon?"

"That's right," Simon answered. "Why don't you help Jim with something?"

"What?"

"Anything!" Simon answered, cutting Jim a desperate look over the top of his glasses.

Jim lifted the boy into the air. "Bath."

"Jiiiiiiiiiiiiim!"

"Bath." Jim tucked him under one arm and headed for the tub. Little Blair's legs kicked the air. Jim nodded to the refrigerator and spoke to his adult roommate. "Would you start the relish?"

Blair watched himself squirm and wiggle under Jim's arm. "Sure, man."

Dinner was a huge success.

The trout were the best Blair had ever eaten in his life. After Jim meticulously plucked out every bone, Simon had fried the fillets and served them with garlic-mashed potatoes and a fruit salad. The dinner talk had nearly caused him to choke with laughter as Simon tried to explain why he had been one-upped by a munchkin.

Blair found himself wishing he'd gone along.

During the cleanup phase, Jim had insisted Blair go rest. Frankly, Blair couldn't fight him. He lacked the energy needed to push back at Jim. Blair wondered how long before he stopped feeling like a walking contusion. Stretching out on the sofa, he closed his eyes. It felt good to be horizontal.

"You going back?"

Damn, that kid could sneak around when he wanted to. Blair opened his eyes to see the five year old standing uncertainly, a tattered looking paperback in his hands. Gone was the happy expression, the exuberance and excitement he had witnessed earlier. This kid was unsure of his welcome.

Blair hated himself for causing it.

Sitting up, Blair propped his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. "I'm not sure."

"But, if you're me. How we gonna be..." The munchkin wrinkled his nose and crossed his eyes.

It made Blair laugh. "I don't know. That part has me confused too."

"It does?"

Leaning back, Blair sighed and patted the cushion at his side. "Yep. I'm afraid getting older doesn't mean you get all the answers. What's that?" he asked as mini-Blair climbed up next to him, plopping down so hard that he bounced.

"My other book."

"Other book, you mean you have two? This is your second book?"

The kid held the book up for Blair to read. "That's what it's called."

Blair read the title. "Other Side of the Mountain. Right, I got it. Is it good?" When the little guy nodded and suddenly acted all shy again, Blair put it together. "Do you want me to read some to you?"

With the kitchen now able to pass a surprise inspection by any passing drill sergeant, Jim folded the hand towel over the back of a chair. He'd been keeping an ear on the two in the other room, happy they were finally connecting.

"I'm going to try my luck on a few new spots in the morning," Simon said. "I think I'll head for my room and get my beauty sleep."

"Night, Simon."

"Night, Jim," Simon said from the doorway to his room. "Tell the Blairs goodnight for me."

"I will." Strolling into the living room, Jim smiled. Adult Blair was reading. He had one arm around his smaller self as the child leaned into his side, small fingers playing with a miniature transformer toy while he listened to the story being read aloud.

"Hey, what's this?" Jim asked, sitting down in the chair. "You're skipping ahead without me?"

The boy nodded happily. "It's happy Halloween and the animals is playing tricks!"

"I see." Jim eyed the book. "Looks like we're going to have to find Daryl a new copy. This one isn't holding up to the task."

"I can read some words," Mini-Blair proudly shared. "I've been practicing."

Adult Blair blushed. "You should have seen what I did with library books. I once washed a page that got dirty." Blair looked down at the boy. "Don't try it, man. The book falls apart in the bathtub."

"Okay," came the very serious answer, then the child squirmed free, slid off the sofa and crossed over to Jim.

Jim picked him up and settled him on his lap, enjoying the smell of baby shampoo. The warm head burrowed into his shoulder as mini-Blair found his favorite snuggle position while Jim examined the bruise he had received while in the water. It was still dark and ugly looking.

"How's the knee feel, Hoss?"

"Don't hurt anymore." Blair played with his toy, not meeting Jim's gaze.

"Really? I'd think it'd be pretty sore."

"Nope." The robot was becoming a truck again. Small fingers worked with competency.

Jim looked over at Blair, who was watching wistfully. The confession from last night returned. Blair had grown up missing this sort of connection. Jim could remember the early days of his own childhood, before his father had become powerful at his job and too busy to spend time with his boys anymore. Sitting in his old man's lap was nothing like cuddling with his mother.

Shit, how many times had the child tried to connect with one of Naomi's boyfriends and watched as he walked out of their lives?

"Jim, I'm sorry," Blair said unexpectedly.

"For what?" If anything, Jim was ready to apologize, and he wasn't even sure why.

Blair waved a hand at man and child together. "Me going around behind your back to try and find someone else to... you know. I guess I was being stupid. But I think I get it now."

It was growing late and the kid grew still in Jim's lap. Jim knew if he stroked the boy's hair just right, he could send him into slumber. Fingers gently playing in the silken locks, Jim counted on the boy's full day of fishing and playing to send him to sleep.

"I think I understand better what was going on inside your head, Chief," Jim said. "I know you said it was great. But there were times it wasn't so hot, huh?"

Blair's eyes were on the boy falling asleep in Jim's lap. "It was okay." He sighed and rubbed his forehead, wincing when he accidentally brushed the bruise still decorating it. "You know what scares me, man?"

"What?"

Blair didn't answer at first. He leaned his head back, setting the book aside as he stared at the ceiling. "God, I feel so guilty," he whispered.

"What about?" Jim asked.

"Is he...?"

"Yeah, he's sleeping." Jim glanced down at the trusting face in relaxed pose. So small, so perfect. "He won't hear."

Sitting up, Blair pulled his feet up and hugged his shins. It was an unconscious move to shield himself. Jim wondered if he had even realized he'd done it. Blair had such expressive body language. Jim had learned to read it as clearly as he could the book laying face up on the sofa.

"It's when I come back. When the memory of being with you as him comes to me..."

Jim felt the familiar tightness in his gut. What had he done to cause Blair pain? "You said it was weird when the memories hit."

"Right, weird and good. It's all good. I know some weird shi-, er, stuff happens. But even that aside, it's all good."

Jim relaxed. "What's the problem, then?"

Now his face was hidden behind his knees. This was bad.

"It's stupid. Forget I said anything."

Not a chance. "Come on, Sandburg," Jim said gently, keeping his tone easy for the kid sleeping. "Don't make me kick your sorry butt all the way back to Cascade."

Lifting his head to stare at Jim in surprise, Blair's first reaction gave way to a wry smirk until he shook his head. "You're such a jerk."

"Sure, okay. Enough about me, spill it," Jim said.

Blair rested his chin atop his knees, face serious. "She did her best, man. She was only a kid herself."

Now they were having one of those Sandburg conversations. The ones where Jim had to read between the lines and plug in the implied parts. Wonderful. Jim did the calculations quickly. She had to be his mom. Yeah, Jim figured she had to have been young when Blair was born. She was such a babe even now.

"Okay, so you compare your first set of memories with the second set. Why do you have guilt over that?" Jim asked. "I think it's only normal."

Blair smiled. "I guess. But when I have the two memories side by side, I wish... sometimes, I wish that the ones with Naomi didn't happen."

The room was quiet. Jim could hear Simon snoring in his room and the river murmuring contently in its banks. Raccoons were scampering in the forest. Owls chased field mice. The wind swayed the tops of the evergreens and faraway, the large cargo ships moved into Admiralty Inlet on their way to Seattle and Tacoma.

"Sometimes, when you're here like this," Jim shared, looking down at the sleeping kid, "I have the same wish."

Jim stood in the blue jungle. He was dreaming. He knew his body was in the cabin and mini-Blair was sleeping safely at his side, while adult Blair had gone to sleep on the roll-a-way.

"Jim."

Turning, Jim saw his roommate standing a few feet away. Blair was wearing the traditional garb of the Chopec again. His bruises from the river stood out like badges of honor on his body.

"You're back in school," Jim said.

Incacha stepped out from behind a tree and stood at Blair's side. "He never stopped learning, Sentinel. Now that his old fears are at rest, he can begin to learn the ways of the Shaman."

Blair smiled at his new mentor. He rocked up on his toes with a mischievous grin. "Cool, I'm so ready, man."

Jim knew his role in the plan. "Okay, I'll keep the munchkin out of trouble while the two of you talk shop."

"Thanks, Jim," Blair said, stepping forward.

Jim caught him in a tight hug. He whispered into his guide's ear. "No, thank you, Sandburg."

end

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