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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