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

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

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

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

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

Oh, wow! The earth was talking to him!

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

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

Consciousness dissolved into dreamscape as moonlight faded into blue.

"Hi, Jim!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Berries.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Take it or leave it, Sandburg."

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

"Chief."

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

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

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

"Oh, man."

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

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

"I'm making a call-"

"Banks."

"Hi, Simon."

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

"HI, CAPT'N SIMON!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Get any fishing in?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blair obediently slowed down, letting the adult catch up.

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

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

"You cheated!" Blair exclaimed breathlessly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snorting with laughter, Blair rolled his eyes.

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

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

They had found the beach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blair lowered his head onto Jim's wide shoulder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another retch.

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

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

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

Jim ran into a small bathroom and slammed the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kay."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chaos reigned.

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

"Jim?"

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

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

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

"Me, too."

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

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

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

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

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

"Please."

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

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

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

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

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

"No problem."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wow, sounds like a good time."

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

"Not long, I hope," Jim answered.

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

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

"Promise?"

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

"Your thoughts are fractured again."

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

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

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

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

"Captain Crunch!" Blair demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I take my shoes off?"

"No."

"Why?"

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

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

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

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

"What's that?" Blair pointed up.

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

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

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

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

"Don't pick it up."

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

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

"Why?"

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

"What's it do?"

"Breaks down compost."

"Is that important?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nope." Simon chuckled.

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

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

"Wow, you packed all my favorites!"

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

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

"Capt'n Simon?"

"Yes?"

"Does you and big me know each other?"

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

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

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

Orange stained lips parted in a big grin.

Jim had a full bladder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm starting to."

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

"That so?"

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

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

"Okay."

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

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

Used to. Not now.

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

"That it is."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do we need more cereal?" Jim asked.

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

"Captain Crunch!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

The front door was open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Video or play," Blair mumbled.

"Where did I say you could play?"

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

"Young man?" Simon pressed.

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

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

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

Jim might have forgotten, but Simon had remembered.

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

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

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

"Yes, sir."

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

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

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

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blair shrugged, rolling over on Jim's chest.

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

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

"Yep, lots," Jim assured.

"Even when I'm bad?"

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

"But I'm still being punished."

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

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

"That's not the point."

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

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

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

"Are you."

"I am."

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

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

"No, it's not."

"Close enough."

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

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Not."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simon opened the screen door. "Afternoon."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jim was mad," Blair said.

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

Waving a hand, Jim tilted his head down at Blair. "It was nothing. Unemployed yahoos blowing off steam."

"That's the problem. The cost of retooling for the smaller trees is shutting down the smaller mills." March hooked one ankle over his opposite knee. "We've got good people here, third and forth generation loggers. They're used to working hard. Now the work is just hard to get."

"Changes brought on by the environmentalist groups?" Simon asked.

March pulled a face and shrugged. "They're a pain in the a-", he glanced at Blair, "er, backside. Still, it's obvious the mills can't go on cutting everything down. I know I'm spouting treason around here, but eventually the trees will be gone. Someone has to admit it's time for some changes."

Simon chuckled. "You must be a transplant, talking like that."

March grinned as he gulped the water. "I moved out here from Seattle because I wanted something other than asphalt and concrete to look at twenty-four, seven. I'm rather fond of these trees. Anyway," he said, wiping his mouth. "I expect you guys know better than me what suspicious activities look like. Give us a holler if something doesn't seem quite right." He stood up, moving slower than it looked like he wanted to. "I'd better be moving out. Thanks for a break from those washboard roads."

"I've got to check on Jim!"

"What do you feel, Young Shaman?"

Pacing angrily. Blair couldn't describe it. He just knew. He knew!

"Blair, eat," Simon ordered.

But the boy continued to push the food around on his plate. Jim had diced his meat and he knew for a fact that potato salad was a favorite dish. "What's wrong?"

Blair shrugged. "Not hungry. Can I be excused?"

Giving permission, Jim watched as Blair slid from his chair and wandered back into the living room. This was not a good sign.

Several hours later, long after everyone had gone to bed and the cabin was dark, Jim heard the soft cries from the small bed. He lifted his head in time to see Blair jerk on his mattress. The sound and smell of sickness made him groan.

"Jiiimmmm!" Blair wailed.

"Hold on, Blair." Jim reached for his pants draped over a corner chair and dressed quickly, listening to Blair cry. The kid was panicked. "You're okay, Pal. You're okay."

The damp towel from his before-bed shower hung over the banister. Jim snatched it up and knelt over Blair. He wiped the child's face and neck. Vomit covered his pillow. Blair had stuck one hand in the puddle. "Come here, Hoss." Jim picked up the child and cleaned his hand and face. The smell caused Jim to seek the fresher air on the main floor.

Crying, Blair collapsed on Jim's chest. They met Simon in the living room.

"What's wrong?"

"I now know why Blair didn't finish dinner," Jim said. "He caught my flu."

"What do you need?"

Jim jerked a chin back up the stairs. "Can you deal with his bed?"

"I'm on it."

Jim took Blair into the bathroom. Wetting a washcloth, he sat down on the closed toilet and transferred Blair to his lap. "Let's get you cleaned up proper."

"I huuurt," Blair whined.

"I know." Jim started unbuttoning the small top. Between the vomit and the boy's night sweat, it wasn't fit to wear. When Blair began to shiver, Jim leaned down to turn up the small room's baseboard heater.

Simon entered with clean sweats, a blanket and child's Tylenol. "How is he?"

"Miserable," Jim answered.

"That ten bucks for my flu shot is looking like a wise investment," Simon said as he measured the medicine into the clear, plastic cup. "Here."

Jim wheedled and coerced the boy to swallow the fluid, not an easy task when gazing upon the tear-streaked face. This was not the tough adult that favored natural remedies and suffered in silence. Jim redressed him in warm sweats. Simon followed him into the living room with a room temperature can of Sprite and a large bowl.

"There's no reason for both of us to stay up, Simon." Jim settled into the rocker and arranged the blanket over the boy curled in his lap. "Why don't you go back to sleep?"

Looking fondly down at the boy clutching Jim's shirt and sniffling, Simon nodded. "I think I will. Holler if you need anything?" He set the bowl and soda on the floor and laid a hand on Blair's curls. "Night, Blair. You should be feeling better soon."

Alone again with his kid, Jim rocked back and forth. He stroked the sweat-dampened hair back from Blair's temple. "How you doing?"

"Hurts," Blair whispered, his brow pinched. "Make it stop, Jim."

"It'll feel better real soon. You want a sip of soda?"

Blair jerked his head back and forth. He turned his face into Jim's chest and pressed his nose flat.

"Come on, for me." Jim coaxed a small swallow and hitched him up enough to rest his head on his shoulder. He rocked and rubbed his back. "When I was sick, Sally used to sing to me."

"Sally?"

"Our housekeeper," Jim explained. "Don't worry, Sandburg. I'm not mean enough to add my singing to your problems. I sound like a frog on a hot skillet." To prove his point, he croaked out the words to `twinkle, twinkle little star.' The effect was worth the sore throat. Blair gave him a little smile.

"That's real bad, Jim."

"I know." Jim rocked and let the baby-fine eyelashes brush the side of his neck. Blair settled in.

But a muscle twitched in the boy's gut and Blair whimpered with fear. "Jim!"

"It's okay. Your tummy is too empty to do anything serious. Try and relax." Jim patted and rubbed and wondered how difficult it would be to find a doctor if he needed one. Did Forks even have a pharmacy open this time of night? Was he looking at an all-night drive to Port Angeles?

After a few minutes, Blair relaxed once more into Jim's hold and closed his eyes. His breathing evened out and for twenty minutes he slept before moaning anew and tossing his head fitfully on Jim's shoulder.

It was bound to be a long night.

Jim woke with a start. Blair was still curled against his chest, head tilted up to Jim, his hair tamed back from the small face by Jim's hand.

What had woken him?

The house was quiet, Simon's snores a gentle backwash of sound over the river. A second later Jim knew. The distant snap from a rifle made Jim tense. His head still stuffed from illness, he judged the distance at several miles. What would anybody be hunting this time of the night?

"Zhim?" Blair blinked up in sleepy concern, his face sleep wrinkled and puffy with a low-grade fever.

"It's okay, Hoss." Jim pressed Blair's head against a shoulder and started rocking again. "Go back to sleep."

The spiky eyelashes fluttered and Blair lost the battle with the soothing motion, falling back into his sleep with a huff and wiggle. Jim listened to the night, frustrated he couldn't hear as well as he was used to. Sentinels should not be allowed to get sick. However, the sounds did not return. When Jim's wristwatch told him it was after four, Jim carried the child upstairs.

"You look like crap, Ellison," Simon said as Jim poured a cup of coffee and shuffled to the table.

"Thank you, sir." Jim dropped into the kitchen chair and yawned so wide he popped his jaw. He dug the sleep crust from the corners of his eyes. "God, when did I get so old?"

"The day before yesterday," Simon quipped, flipping pancakes.

"Glad you're having a fun time." Jim eyed his friend: canvas pants, flannel shirt and his tan hat. "You've already been down to the river, haven't you?"

"Yep, check the refrigerator."

Pushing off the table, Jim opened the icebox and groaned. Cleaned and missing their heads, the two enormous steelhead fish filled the lower shelf. Their tails curled up the sides in a wave. "Color me officially jealous."

"Some herbs, sliced oranges, my famous mayo spread," Simon sing-songed, shuffling a quick dance step as he turned and set a full plate on the table, "and we're going to eat like kings tonight."

"I wanna fish," Jim muttered, returning to the table.

"How's the kid?"

"Sick." Jim slid two pancakes onto his plate and reached for the syrup bottle. "He finally went to sleep sometime after two. I stayed up a little longer, just in case we needed another dash for the bathroom. Got back to bed an hour or so before sunrise. Probably explains why I never heard you leave the cabin."

"It was a glorious morning. Too bad you missed it." Simon was shoveling breakfast into his mouth.

"I'm never skipping another flu shot," Jim groused.

Both men stood as they heard the sounds of an approaching car. "March is back," Jim said, recognizing the SUV's motor. They met him outside.

The deputy didn't look happy. He rolled down the window of his patrol vehicle and waved off offers of breakfast. "We had a situation last night," he told them. "Seems my peaceful protestors fired a few rounds into some parked logging trucks."

"I heard a rifle about three-fifteen this morning," Jim told him.

March rubbed his jaw. "Yeah, that fits. You guys meet anyone on the road last night?"

"No." Simon shook his head, looking at Jim before continuing. "Blair's got the flu, so we stayed in."

"Okay, do me a favor and keep your cop radar on high." March dropped his car into gear, executed a tight turn in the dirt yard and drove out.

Simon gazed longingly after him. "I'd trade my pension for a job where the worst crime committed was a little vandalism."

The faint sound of Blair tearfully calling his name cut off Jim's answer. "I'd settle for a healthy roommate." Jim trotted back into the house and up the stairs to find the child standing and shivering in the middle of the bedroom. "Morning, Blair."

Blinking up at the adult, brow furrowed in confusion, Blair weaved on his feet. "Can't find the bathroom."

Jim caught him before he walked into a wall. Blair's skin was warmer than it should be. He pulled a cotton blanket off the smaller bed and folded it in half to wrap around the child. "Let's get you into a bath and back to bed."

Blair fussed in Jim's arms, wanting down. Jim shushed and soothed him with assurances. Blair's head finally leaned onto Jim's shoulder and he sighed. Jim cupped the back of the thin neck. His temperature was not dangerously high, but high enough.

"How is he?" Simon asked, cleaning up from breakfast as Jim walked through the kitchen on his way to the bathroom with Blair on his hip.

"Feels about a hundred and two," Jim answered.

Simon followed him into the bathroom. "You want to take him to a doctor?"

"Nah, I have some medicine. We'll watch him, keep him resting." Jim opened the medicine cabinet. The bottle of children's Tylenol was right where he left it. "Can you fix him some toast, maybe? Do we have any juice left?"

"Sure." Simon backed out of the room. "One Blair special coming right up."

"Jim?" Blair whispered.

"Yeah, Pal?"

"I gotta pee."

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