"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."

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