Jim stood in the familiar blue jungle-scape. Another strange chapter in his life. Why couldn't he dream like regular men? Was it too much to ask for a little normalcy?

"Enqueri."

Jim squinted and raised a hand to shade his eyes as he sought out the person behind that familiar, welcoming voice. It brought bittersweet feelings. A long figure waited next to a blue fire, surrounded by a ring of darker blue stones.

"Incacha." Jim crossed the jungle floor with ease.

The Chopec medicine man waved his hand in invitation and Jim squatted at his side. The fire's warmth lightly touched his skin. How many times had they done this in Peru? It seemed a life-time ago. Jim extended a hand toward the flame. It felt so real.

"Your new shaman is troubled," Incacha said sadly in his native language.

At first puzzled, Jim finally understood. "Blair. You mean Blair, right?"

The Peruvian shaman nodded. "His spirit wars with his duty."

No kidding. Jim raked a hand through his closely clipped hair, struggling to explain. There hadn't been much breathing space between Incacha's murder and the business with Orvelle Wallace. Jim was still sore from that fight with Krause in the rafters two days ago. "A lot has happened."

"He needs to learn the ways of the shaman."

Jim made a face. "Well, see. I'm having a problem with that. Why did you tell him to guide my animal spirit?

"It is his duty."

Jim shifted to sit in the blue dirt. He wrapped his arms around his knees, staring into the fire. "I don't mean to disrespect, my shaman. Sandburg is a great guy, but he knows nothing of the way of the shaman."

Incacha nodded sagely. "His education is late. A shaman learns as a young child. He has much to learn."

Irritated, Jim tried again. "He's a graduate student. He's going to write a paper on me and get on with his life. He's not a shaman."

"You know this? You see the future now?" Incacha reproved sharply. He tapped Jim's temple with a tanned finger. "He will learn. I will teach him. We will talk again when all is ready."

In the time it took for his heart to beat once, Jim woke. He lifted his head. The loft was dark. He was in his bed. Jim checked out his loft. Blair slept in the room below. An alley cat prowled the area around the dumpsters and a flock of pigeons roosted on the roof above.

"Too much garlic," Jim muttered, rolled over and went back to sleep.

"I had the weirdest dream, man," Blair said as he dug his fork into his scrambled eggs.

Jim paused. "Dream?"

"Yeah, like I said: weird."

Resuming his own breakfast, Jim thought of his own dream two nights ago. Had to be a coincidence. "You're starting a heavy quarter, Chief. It's probably stress."

Blair shrugged, wiped his mouth quickly with a paper towel before carrying his empty plate to the sink. "Maybe. Don't remember much. Lots of mystic smoke and blue trees and stuff. Hey, I know you freak when I leave the dishes for later, but I'm running kinda late."

"Go," Jim waved a fork, his eye on the clock. "Don't speed. Your record can't take another hit. I'll do the dishes. You can take the laundry this weekend."

"Thanks, Jim!" Blair bolted for his room, reappeared seconds later with a heavy flannel shirt and his backpack. "Tootles."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Men do not say `tootles, Junior."

Palming his cell phone from the charger, Blair laughed and opened the front door. "I know, they belch and drag their knuckles when they walk. I'm raising the bar. Catch ya later."

"You're hilarious, Letterman," Jim responded dryly.

The sound of the old Volvo faded away. Jim leaned back, pushed his plate away and sighed. "What the hell are you doing, Incacha?"

"Not this again," Blair muttered, waving an arm to dissipate the blue mist. "Why can't I dream about a short Cindy Crawford wearing just a blush, like other guys?"

"Welcome, Young Shaman."

Blair spun, heart pressed against his tonsils. "Incacha!"

The older, mature shaman nodded slowly. "I welcome you."

"Ah, t-thanks." Blair bit his lip. He felt his teeth pressing into his skin. "This is a dream. Right?"

The man's braids swung forward to the front of his bare shoulders as he nodded a second time. "The body rests. The mind does not."

"But, you're real?" Blair asked. He took a small, yet bolder than he felt, step closer. All of this was suddenly fascinating. "I mean, we're really together. Like on a spiritual plane?"

Incacha pointed over Blair's shoulder. "You are still part of both worlds."

Turning, Blair saw blue mist. It shifted and moved, growing dense in one spot and thin in others. In the sparse areas, Blair saw a golden stream of glittering dust, like a trail. He spun in place. "Whoa, it's connected to me."

"It is time to learn the ways of the shaman. Are you ready?"

"You kidding?" It had been all he could think of since he had heard this man say those very words with his dying breath. "Yes, yes, I am. I want to help Jim. Is that why I'm here? Are you going to teach me? Are we talking just one dream or more? Because I have notes I need to take and-"

"Enough." A trace of a smile played on the red-painted face. "I will teach. If you are ready to learn. Truly ready."

"I am!" Blair patted his chest. How weird, he still wore his sleeping t-shirt and sweatpants. He checked his neck. No necklace. His feet were bare. "Ah, do I need shoes?"

Incacha held out a polished stick. "Take this."

Blair accepted it, surprised at the heavy, solid feel to it. No carvings, just a peeled limb from a tree. He didn't recognize the wood. "What's it for?"

"Sever your link to your body."

Blair leaned forward. "Excuse me?"

Making a slashing motion in the air with his hand, Incacha pointed over Blair's shoulders.

Ookay. Blair swallowed and turned. Yep, the gold dust was still trailing along. He hefted the stick. This was just a dream. "My training is... like... symbolic, right? I mean, we're talking about religious iconography," Blair asked the stern figure. He had to remember this was Jim's friend. Jim's old, old friend. "Right?"

Incacha shook his head. "You will be cutting your link with your body. When you have learned the lesson, you can rejoin."

"W-what if I don't get a passing grade?" Bad, bad, this is bad. Blair could hear his mother's voice warning him, telling him no partner was worth this.

"Do you wish to guide Enqueri's animal spirit?" Incacha asked with a single raised brow.

Jim.

Taking a deep breath, Blair slashed with the stick. Silently, the gold dust retracted into the blue mist and Blair shivered. "Oh, god."

"Come."

Blair licked his lips. "What about the `me' back there?"

Incacha didn't look back. "Your sentinel will watch over that one."

Jim trotted down the stairs, anxious to start his day. The kitchen was lacking a certain roommate who should be taking his turn preparing their breakfast. "Shake a leg, Sandburg. Clock's ticking," Jim called out.

On the plus side, a sloth for a roommate meant Jim got first hit on the hot water. Jim took his time in the shower. Yeah, it was going to be the start of a great weekend. He was cashing in comp time. Blair had the day off. The plan was to hit a few upper mountain lakes for a peaceful fly fishing getaway, lots of walking, but absolutely worth it.

Humming happily, Jim dried off, wrapped in a robe and opened the door.

Still no roommate fixing breakfast.

"For crying out loud," Jim muttered crankily. "If you're sick or something..." He tapped the French door and angled his head to listen. Blair's heart and respiration rates were slightly fast, but well within the ballpark for normal. He twisted the handle and pushed the door in on well-oiled hinges. "How about - shit!"

A kid, a male child, with corkscrew dark hair that pointed in every direction huddled against the wall, blankets held like a shield. Enormously terrified blue eyes, wide forehead, tiny nose, little fingers with white knuckles that clutched the covers to his impossibly skinny frame as if demons from hell had just invaded his bedroom, looked back at him.

Jim briefly glanced to the window. Closed and locked from the inside. "How the... did Sandburg let you in? Who are you?" Jim barked.

The child received the barrage like a physical attack, flinching with every question.

Shame spread. "Hey," Jim added in a softer tone. He raised a hand. "Hey, I'm sorry. It's okay." He took a step forward.

The kid scuttled to the corner of the bed, pressing his body into the joining of the two walls.

Jim froze. Bad move. Stay put. He listened for a second heartbeat and found none. Where was Blair? "Listen, I'm a cop. I'm not going to hurt you. I live here. Question is: how did you get in my home?"

Blinking, lifting his quivering chin and managing to straighten just a little on the bed, the boy answered in a young, high voice, speaking perfect Chopec. "Am I dreaming?"

Jim saw the ornamental Rhino horn bead on the waxed cord, made by the Samburu Masai in Tanzania, a gift from Wallace on the tiny neck. Oh, shit. He staggered back a step, recognizing the face of the child. It only took a little imagination to roll back the years. "Chief?"

"Don't I get to use ayahuasca? I mean, I've read books and I know most the Peruvian people -"

Incacha raised a hand. "Enough."

Blair snapped his mouth shut, cursing his own impatience. He couldn't help it. He had a habit of talking, asking, questioning when he got nervous. He knew it drove Jim nuts sometimes. Blair had no idea how long he had been with Incacha, but he knew he already missed Jim.

They were huddled around a campfire. Well, Blair huddled, fighting the cold of the mist. Didn't the sun ever come up around here? Not that he wanted to wait and find out. Which reminded him, he needed to get these lessons moving along. He still had classes to attend and stuff to do, to say nothing of that business with the severed gold dust trail.

Blair pinched his arm. It still smarted.

"You will be covered in marks if you continue," Incacha said.

Blair chewed his lip. "I still expect to wake up."

"You did."

"What?" Blair's spine stiffened. "What do you mean I woke up? Wouldn't it end," he rolled his hand in the air, "all of this?"

Incacha picked up the stick. "You cut the tie. Do you not recall?"

Blair pinched the bridge of his nose. He squeezed his eyes closed. "Vividly."

"You try too hard, Young Shaman." Incacha leaned back, looking comfortable against a tree root that rose from the blue ground.

"I multi-task. I sort of like to keep things moving, you know?" Blair rubbed his hands. How could he get the man to understand? "And frankly, the thought of my body waking up without me sort of... freaks me out."

"Your sentinel will guard the young one."

"Young one?"

"You."

"Me? I'm here."

"This is true."

Blair ground his teeth, feeling like he was trying to pick up beads of liquid mercury. "Okay, let's start from the beginning."

"Yes, a good place."

Blair waited for more.

Incacha blinked, a vision of patience.

The silence stretched.

A sinking feeling brought something very close to panic. Blair squeezed his hands into fists. He spoke through clenched teeth. "I meant, would you please start from the beginning."

Incacha met anger with composure. "What do you fear?"

Jim stood in the middle of his loft and eyed the open door to Blair's bedroom, afraid to approach it a second time.

Incacha. The dead shaman had to be behind this. Irritation for his old friend brought a wave of shame. Jim remembered bits and pieces of his time in Peru, how Incacha had taken him into his home, cared for him after the crash. Jim had been sick with a fever, pretty much at death's door. A leg wound had become infected. Problem was, the cure had been as mind-bending as the illness. Jim remembered visions. Incacha had been at his side the entire time.

Seeing the shaman die on his sofa had been equivalent to having his intestines ripped out.

"Why are you doing this, Wayqi?" Jim whispered.

Street noise below, boats motoring in the harbor, the fan in the kitchen rattled on a loose ball bearing. No whispers from beyond the grave. Inside the small room off the kitchen, a child's heartbeat continued to pound in fear.

"Okay." Jim pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead. "I've got three days to keep this under wraps. Whatever's going on better be finished up by Monday." He took a deep breath and held it to a five count before carefully exhaling.

He'd keep the kid, this mini-Blair, inside all weekend. Or, wait... the original plan was still a go. They were packed. A trip to the mountains would be perfect. No one would see the little guy, ask questions Jim couldn't answer.

"Okay, we have a plan," Jim said to himself with relief. He rubbed his hands together. "First thing's first." He crossed over to the French doors.

The kid was still on the bed, pretty much as Jim had left him a few minutes ago. He tried a bright smile. "How about some breakfast?"

Blair stared back mutely, not moving.

"Food? You've got to be hungry, kid. It's almost eight." Jim searched his memory for the Chopec translation. "Ah... comida criolla?" He added eating motions.

Little Blair watched speculatively for a moment before giving a silent nod.

"Great," Jim said, thrilled with the first positive sign of the day. "Let's eat."

Blair dropped the blanket and backed off the futon, given Jim an eyeful.

"B-but first let's find you some clothes," Jim blurted out, turning away to raid adult-Blair's dresser.

After copious use of safety pins and rolling cuffs, a clothed child sat on two phone books, giving full attention to a large bowl of Cheerios. Jim watched from the safety of the other side of the kitchen island. Dressing this Blair had sealed his resolve. He'd taken the opportunity to examine the tiny body. Adult Blair had a large mole on the back of his left shoulder blade. Jim had seen it while taping ribs after the Amber fiasco. This child had the same mole, although smaller. The birthmark on his right knee was there, still looking like a crooked map of Italy. And there were other things. His roommate was in that face, he saw it in the eyes, the proportion of the tiny nose to his mouth, the shape of the ears, the width of the forehead, the shape of the hair line.

He was Blair.

And Jim was very afraid.

The ring of the phone caused Blair to lose his spoon, which fell to the floor with a clatter. Jim sprang to answer, alarmed at the sudden look of terror on the small face.

"Ellison!"

"H-hello?" came the feminine voice. "Is Blair there?"

Jim crouched next to the boy, picking up the spoon. "No, he's out at the moment. Can I take a message?" No sudden moves. He went to the drawer and got a clean utensil and returned to set it carefully by the bowl. Nodding encouragingly, he waited for Blair to pick it up and resume eating. "He should be back Monday."

"Oh, right. The fishing trip." She laughed. "No message. This is Molly. I'll talk to him at Rainier."

"Okay, then. Bye, Molly." Jim punched the `end' button and set the handset down, smug in his cleverness. "That wasn't so hard. Now, just need to get the real Blair back by Monday."

The spoon fell again.

Jim bent to pick it up and smelled tears.

"Kid?" Smugness switched to panic. Was the kid hurt?

Blair's fists were small under the multiple rolls of the long sleeve cotton T-shirt. The boy hugged his own ribs and ducked his head as tears dripped off his chin.

Jim knelt by the chair, afraid to touch. "Hey, soldier? What's wrong?"

Blair shook his head, sending locks of hair into mini-seizures.

"You hurt?"

Another toss.

Shit, they were communicating, Jim realized with shock.

"C-can you talk to me?"

More tears, but no shake of the head this time.

"Come on, kid. Ah... dolor de barriga?"

Nothing.

Jim licks his lips. God, if he had to call a doctor, this would get complicated. "Okay, if it's not a belly ache, what is it?"

"... scared..."

Rocking back in surprise, Jim gawked. "You speak English!"

Blair curved his back protectively around his crossed arms, his hair getting dangerously close to taking a dunk in the cereal bowl as he quietly sobbed.

Jim's heart broke. "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. It's just..." Words failed. Jim watched with guilty realization. While this may be Blair he was dealing with, it was still a very, very young child. Jim scooted the chair away from the table, causing the boy to sway. "Come here, Chief."

Jim picked him up and carried him to the sofa. He had to fix this now. "I totally screwed this up. I never introduced myself to you, did I? My name is Jim Ellison."

Blair continued to cry, but turned to press his face into Jim's robe. Jim got comfortable on the sofa, letting small legs curl up until the boy was a ball of misery. The kid fit in his lap with room to spare. He rocked and patted the thin back, hoping the actions were helping. If this little guy understood both English and Chopec, or at least the basic Quechua spoken in Peru, he was smart. Perhaps Blair had retained all his memories and was just scared.

"Blair? Do you remember me?"

Blair slowly shook his head side to side. The deep sobs were slowly tapering off.

Okay, scrap that idea. So, where did that leave them? "What do you remember?"

The answer never extended past Jim's shoulder. Blair had spoken directly into the robe's fabric. Jim smoothed the wild hair back, gently turning the head until he could see the flushed, tear streaked face. "Want to try that again?"

"I-I'm Blair," the child whispered.

Jim mentally kicked himself, remembering the comment he'd made after hanging up with Molly. "Yeah, I know you are. I didn't mean it that way. I thought I was talking to myself," Jim blundered. He took another deep breath. If this kept up, he'd hyperventilate by Monday. "See? I told you I screwed up. Will you let me start over? Please?"

Wide eyes watched carefully. Blair nodded.

"Thanks, partner." Jim smiled down at him. "So this is what we know. You are the real deal, I'm your goofy roommate. What else? Oh, right, you can speak English."

Shyly glancing up at Jim's face, Blair relaxed a bit, but remained silent, apparently content to listen.

"And... your tummy doesn't hurt." Jim got daring and lightly tickled Blair's exposed side, earning a weak squirm and s small smile. "But, you're scared, right? I'm sorry about that. I think that's mostly my fault." Jim gently squeezed. "You have nothing to be scared of, okay? You're totally safe and everything is okay. I know you don't remember me, but we're like... the best of friends. The best. Got that?"

Blair nodded. He leaned his head against Jim. "Am I sick or somethin'?" Blair asked shyly.

Well, that was certainly better than anything Jim could think up. "Yeah, right, that's why everything seems new and strange. But you're getting better. We'll just take things slowly, okay? The important thing is we stick together. How's that sound?"

"Kay," Blair whispered, making no moves to get down.

A scary thought hit Jim. What if Blair started asking about Naomi? Would he even remember her? Damn, why didn't Incacha give him more warning? One dream is not enough. Dream. A dream.

Was all of this a dream? Jim covertly pinched his own arm.

Ouch.

Damn.

Blair eyed the trees with heavy reluctance. "Why do I have to climb this?"

"I have already explained," Incacha said.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Blair cast look of annoyance toward the shaman. "You and I have two separate definitions of what an explanation is." Blair shoved back a lock of hair that impeded his vision. The tree was just so damn... big and all. The upper branches looked strong, but they might as well be in outer space.

"So, I climb this and pass the test, eh?"

Incacha remained silent.

"Right, then." Blair reached for a low limb and places a bare foot against the rough bark. "Here I go."

Don't look down. Blair focused on the next limb up, just out of reach or his foothold. He stretched, grasped, pulled, hoisted and perched. Only do start all over again. The rhythm continued and he felt a tug of accomplishment. He was doing this, he wasn't looking down. That had to be the test and he was passing. The blue mist was thinner in the upper limbs. Blair could see the tree canopy now, thick foliage of blue that filtered a blue sun above. He pulled his body upwards to another stout limb and got his chin level to it when he saw the first tarantula scurrying inches from his nose, its velvety legs brushing his clutching fingers.

Blair screamed as he pushed away from the tree limb and started to plummet.

Coat hiding the makeshift attire, Blair stood silently at Jim's side. His wide eyed, serious expression drew sympathetic glances from every woman that walked by.

"May I help you, sir?" a clerk, wearing a plastic name badge stating Alice was a Wal-Mart Associate for eight months, inquired politely.

Jim held up the shrink-wrapped package. "Where's the chart that tells you measurements?"

"Oh, are you shopping for your son?" She beamed at Blair. "He's going to need something from this rack. You're in the toddler area. See the `t' on the label?" She lured Jim to a taller display case between T-shirts with Power Rangers and outrageously priced jeans.

Thirty minutes later, after subtracting an indecent three digit figure from his checkbook, Jim drove toward the foothills. The sun hid behind high, harmless looking clouds. The traffic was not displaying the typical `everybody's getting away early on a Friday' ritual prevalent during the summer months. Jim tapped the wheel, keeping tempo with the music drifting from the speakers and snuck a look at his passenger.

This Blair was quiet.

Of course, if Jim stopped to think about it - and he tried avoiding that as much as possible - the entire morning had been unreal. His roommate was a kid. Hell, judging by Wal-Mart Alice's chatter, his partner had lost nearly two decades overnight.

Familiar twin golden arches approached. Jim recognized the last opportunity for an easy lunch before the endless miles of trees that would be their weekend playground. "Hungry?"

The boy straightened in obvious interest.

"I'll take that as a yes." Jim tapped the turn signal and swung the wheel to the right, guiding the Ford into a parking stall. "Let's go in."

Before the motor had quieted, Blair had the seatbelt off, the door opened and had hopped down on his own. Jim didn't recognize the danger until the kid made a beeline for the door.

"Sandburg!" Jim bellowed and moved fast. He caught up and jerked the kid backwards by the back of his new rain-proof parka. He squatted down until he was face to terrified face. "You do not go anywhere without me. In fact, here's a new rule. We hold hands."

Funny how a quivering chin and drippy eye sockets could reduce a pissed off ex-ranger to a worthless heel within seconds. Jim looked heavenward. "Hey, kid. Listen. I'm just saying... I care. Got it?" Jim continued in a gentler tone.

Heat bent down, eyes on his sneakers, Blair nodded.

"So, what's the rule?"

Blair's answer took a sentinel dial setting of eight to pick up. "Hold hands."

"That's right." Jim stood up, checked the parking lot for potential homicidal drivers, wrapped his hand around the miniature hand that had once shoved him bodily under a garbage truck and strode forth.

"Chicken nuggets or burger?" Jim asked, reading the large billboard menu overhead.

Blair rolled his left sneaker sideways and frowned.

This was a new facet of Blair he'd never experienced: indecision. Jim glanced at his watch. He wanted to get to the trails sometime before nightfall. "Okay, how about a happy meal cheeseburger with orange drink. I'll have a number three, super sized. Coke."

The man behind the counter tapped the buttons, took Jim's twenty and handed over a numbered receipt with change. Jim picked a corner table and sat facing the door. Blair climbed onto the plastic stool bolted in place next to his. A few minutes later, when their number was called, Jim ordered the boy to stay put and went back to get the food.

Blair swallowed four bites of his burger before losing interest. He did slurp down half the soda, but it was a small size.

"What's wrong with the food, Chief?" Jim asked.

Blair lifted and dropped his shoulders. His face looked flushed.

Setting his large double patty with bacon down, Jim wiped his hands on his napkin. "Let's get you out of that coat."

Hooking the coat on the back of Blair's seat, Jim nodded. "Better, finish eating, please."

Blair silently studied a fry before biting off the end and chewing. His gaze roamed the nearly deserted dining area. Legs that had a long way to grow before they would reach the ground again began to swing back and forth. Every swing kicked the center table support.

The resulting vibration got under Jim's skin. "Don't."

Blair froze, looking terrified.

Jim suppressed a groan. The grey-haired couple three tables over were sending twin glares of hatred reserved for puppy kickers and men who beat little kids for sport. He forced the frown lines between his eyes to smooth out. "Are you going to eat anymore of that?"

Blair crammed another fry into his mouth.

Opening his eyes took determination. A memory sprang to him.

Shouldn't he be dead?

Blair lifted his head. Incacha sat a few feet away, calmly meditating. As Blair's confused thoughts sought understanding, the shaman's eyes opened.

"What have you learned?"

Blair rose on shaky arms. He looked down at his body in wonder, amazed it moved without pain. "I fell."

"Surely that lesson was not new." Incacha had a wispy grin that played on his face.

"How come I'm not in a full body cast?" Blair patted his chest. His clothes were becoming gray with grime and dried sweat. He glanced up at the trees towering overhead. "Spiders."

"They live in the trees."

Blair pointed upward. "I'm not going back up there, man."

"What did you learn?"

They were back in the truck. Jim turned off the paved road and switched the Ford to four-wheel drive. "It's been a while. I hope the road isn't too bad."

Blair's small hands gripped the door handle as they bounced over a series of deep ruts and washboard surfaces. The road climbed out of the narrow valley, leaving a wild creek below. They broke out of the forest where a slide of large boulders soaked up the heat from the afternoon sun.

Jim maneuvered around the rocks that littered the road. At one point he had to stop, get out, and roll a rock the size of a chair to the road's edge. The road then forked to even a less used route left over from the original timber operation some sixty years ago. Towering cedars and firs had replaced the first old growth forest. Finally they reached the trailhead.

They would be doing without the comforts of a more maintained campground, but Jim was willing to endure the extra work. A remote trout stream lay within a thirty minute walk. There was plenty of dead wood available and no burn ban in effect to keep them from enjoying a campfire.

"Ready to hike?" Jim asked.

Blair frowned. "I thought we were camping?"

Jim snorted. At least Blair was starting to talk again. Jim turned off the engine. "I prefer not to camp next to a road, Chief. So we take a short walk."

"Walk?"

"You ever camp, Chief? Sleep in a tent?"

Blair was looking around. "Sometimes..."

"We're going to follow that trail." Jim pointed to a path that left the road. "We'll carry what we need. I know a place that has a waterfall. Would you like to see it?"

Blair's hand rested on the door handle. He looked at Jim expectantly.

Jim nodded. "Good for you, kid. You're learning."

"Does this test involve big, hairy spiders? Because I just want to say, for the record, I'm so not into those."

Incacha ignored the comment, as he had many others during the last hour. Blair rolled his head from side to side. A little rest would be nice. He wondered if the blue sun ever went down around here or was he expected to take test after test until the Chopec felt him worthy.

They stood before a cave. Blair could see in enough to know the formation was natural. No timbers supported its walls. The back of the cave was pitch-black. The floor was hard-packed earth.

"What do you fear?" Incacha asked.

"Other than your tree spiders?" Blair licked his lips and tried not to look afraid. "Uh, cave spiders?"

The other man merely pointed toward the opening.

"Right, I had feeling you were going to do that." Blair rubbed his palms down his pajamas. "In my normal dreams, I get to wear daytime clothes." He started forward.

"Far enough, Sandburg," Jim called out.

Mini-Blair was jogging from boulder to tree and back again, his delight in everything he saw making Jim see more and more of his guide with every passing minute. They'd been hiking for two hours and the sun was low in the sky. Blair had a small X-Man backpack stuffed with warm clothes while Jim carried the bulk of their supplies. If he'd known Blair would be this energetic on the trail, he would have added more weight.

"Jim, Jim." Blair was dodging off the trail again, into a clump of sword fern. "Look it!"

`It' turned out to be a white and pink flower growing up from three oval, sharp-pointed green leaves. Blair was nose to pistil and in total rapture. Jim leaned against a nearby tree. They really didn't have time for all these side excursions into the biological wonder that was the Pacific Northwest woods, but his back appreciated the respite.

"It's a Trillium."

"No, it's a flower," Blair said with an adult-like seriousness.

"Right, that's the type of flower it is, a Trillium, from the lily family."

"Oh," Blair whispered. He glanced up from his accordion-fold pose - butt on heels and knees under chin. "You're smart."

"Can I get that in writing?" Jim asked with a grin. "You know, for later?"

"I know my alphabet, but not so many words." Blair dropped back onto his haunches.

Jim offered his hand to pull the child to his feet. "I'll show you which words I want."

"Kay." Blair bounced up and bounded down the path again.

"God, I should have stuffed more weight in there." Jim muttered as he followed. "Hey, Sandburg. Stay close."

Reaching their destination, Jim slipped out of the shoulder straps, unclipped the padded waist belt and let the pack drop to the forest floor. It felt great to stretch. He looked around. The place was as he remembered. Plenty of space off the trail for a camp. A trout stream flowed twenty yards away. Normally this was just a stop over on the way to the higher lakes, but for this trip it would make a fine camp.

Dinner was a simple affair of crackers topped with processed cheese and dried salami. Afterwards, Jim set a pot of water on the hiking stove for hot chocolate and ordered Blair to find rocks to build a fire ring. He told Blair to stay away from the creek - the last thing he needed was a wet six year old - before turning to the job of pitching the tent.

"Damn," Jim whispered, eyeing the pathetically thin bag from Wal-Mart he had just rolled out inside the two-man tent. Was it going to keep Blair warm? He took the space blanket from his first aid kit and folded it under and over the bag. He still worried. Maybe if he dressed Blair in one of his own wool shirts and wool socks, the kid would stay warm.

"It's done," Blair called from outside.

Jim made a point to study the uneven circle of stones. "Good job. Ready for some hot cocoa?"

Blair nodded and shivered. The temperature was plummeting.

Yeah, it was time to call it a night. Jim handed the boy a small flashlight. "How about you climb in and I'll bring it to you? Take off your sneakers. We don't need dirt on our beds."

Blair scurried into the tent, eager to play the beam of light on the walls and floor. Jim fixed a small mug of cocoa for his tiny tent-mate and a full size cup for himself. "Please tell me he's housebroken, Incacha," Jim whispered to the star-filled night sky before turning off the stove and following.

Whimpers woke him from a light sleep. Blair was restless under the blanket. Jim propped himself up on one elbow, his vision picking up the icy condensation on the walls of their tent. He cursed himself for not being more prepared as he reached into the smaller bag. Fingertips brushed a cold, tiny neck.

Not acceptable.

Blair woke as Jim unzipped the smaller bag, his own sleeping bag already opened. Not wanting to scare the young child, he whispered, "It's just me, Blair. This old mountain is colder than I thought it would be. Time for a change of plans."

"Uh?" Blair blinked in confusion but didn't resist as Jim pulled him out of the worthless sleeping bag. Using one arm to lift Blair's entire torso and butt, Jim smoothly tucked the boy into his own bag.

Blair latched on like a knobby-fingered tree frog as Jim zipped up his bag, then, still with one arm wrapped around the boy, holding him tight, he used the child-sized sleeping bag to cover them both. Jim was likely to roast, but he wasn't going to allow his friend to shiver again.

"Mmmmm, warmmmmm," Blair hummed, relaxing into a loose lump of sleepiness, half draped over Jim's chest.

Okay, roasting and dragging around a numb arm by morning, Jim thought as he listened to Blair's respirations plane out into a level, slow rhythm of breaths and snores. The reality of Blair's situation hit him full force. Jim could lift his best friend with one arm. Blair could fit inside his backpack.

The truth scared him.

"Incacha," Jim whispered as he cradled the boy enough to free his arm and make them both more comfortable. "You'd better know what you're doing."

Blackness suffocated him. Too paralyzed with fear to even run, Blair concentrated on breathing. If he let it, the fear would shove its way into his windpipe, into his lungs and it would be over. Can't happen. Can't let that happen, have to stay calm.

Calm.

He knew calm; that state of mind he had been searching for when Lash had broken down the front door to the loft, a reality he'd nearly accomplished as the gunfire started while hiding behind that vending machine.

Without warning the ground under his bare feet buckled and rolled.

No! Not now. Not while he was turned around and lost and hundreds of feet into a mountain side. Not an earthquake!

The rumbling started. Its ominous sound overhead.

Screw calm, get out now!

Blair ran.

The first rock thumped his left shoulder. Blair screamed as the others crushed him into the ground.

A large bird, a Northwest Flicker, hopped along the ground a few feet away from the tent, searching for food and waking the adult sleeping inside. Spotting a fat caterpillar creeping across the forest floor, he fluttered his wings, covered the short distance in seconds and flew back up into the evergreen canopy with his prize.

Jim lay on his back, staring at the delicate stitching in the tent seam, content to feel the small heart within the small body beat its soothing rhythm. Loathe to wake the boy, Jim stayed still, his mind drifting to the strangeness of his life. Roommates were not supposed to lose twenty years overnight. But, then again, cops were not supposed to hear a deer fart two miles away.

A tiny hand touched his nose and Jim was eye to eye with his mini-guide.

"Morning," Jim said.

"I'm hungry," Blair announced.

"I wonder what we should do about that."

"Eat." Blair was nothing if not a problem solver, even at this age.

Catching hold of the hand that was gently patting his chin, Jim eyed the miniscule fingers. "I bet these little guys have a lot of meat on them."

Blair giggled. "No, no, no. You can't eat those."

"I can't?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Them's my fingers."

"Oh," Jim said, looking sad. "I guess we'll have to make do with oatmeal."

Blair made happy sounds. He scrambled out of the bag when Jim unzipped the bag and held it up. "I like oatmeal."

"Good." Jim caught the child-size sleeping bag before it slipped down and hooked it over the boy's shoulders. "Use this to keep warm while I get our clothes out."

Dressing quickly, they left their tent. The morning air was brisk and fresh with new promise. Towering evergreens sparkled in the morning light. Jim started the stove with practiced ease. Blair followed him to the creek and watched while he filled the pot with water and kept him company during the short hike back to their camp. While the water boiled, both campers put the foldable latrine shovel to use and washed up in the collapsible bucket. The hot water was ready by the time they were finished and they ate oatmeal. Jim drank instant coffee while Blair slurped his hot chocolate.

"How about another hike?" Jim asked as they ate, sitting side by side on a tarp covered boulder turned into their camp sofa.

"Where?"

"There's a lake about five hundred feet up that mountain side. If we're very, very good, we have trout for dinner."

Incacha's face was blurry.

Squinting and staring up at the tall shaman standing over his supine body, Blair once again wondered how he survived the cave in. How had he reached the outside again?

"What have you learned?" Incacha asked pleasantly.

Blair levered his shoulders off the cold ground, propping himself up on both elbows. He glanced down at his filthy pajamas. They looked like they had just had half a mountain ground into the fibers. His bare feet were filthy. Yet nothing important appeared broken.

"I learned I'm going to start asking questions before the next test," Blair answered.

"Ah, that is promising. Search for knowledge is a good start."

Blair let the other man help him up. He was sore, that much was real. The campfire waited for them and he let the shaman take the lead as he limped along and dropped next to the blue flames in exhaustion. "Why am I failing?"

"Failing? Why do you believe you are failing?"

Blair snorted, raking his fingers through his tangled hair and finding several bits of root and twigs there. He began to work them out as he spoke, keeping his gaze on the fire. "I figure you're having to bring me back to life each time I get myself killed. So I must be failing, even if this is all symbolic."

"This is not about survival. This is about fear."

Blair sighed. "Well, man, if I'm here so you can teach me to be afraid, you're too late. I know how to be scared."

"Everyone has fear." Incacha leaned forward and tapped Blair's chest with a brown finger. "The lesson is what do you do with this fear?"

"Do?" Blair's attempts to de-forest his hair paused. "What are you talking about? I thought the idea was not to be afraid."

"This works better when you stand relatively still," Jim said to the boy with him.

"Where are the fish, Jim?" The end of Blair's fishing pole tilted once more toward the sky then down at the ground, then swung dangerously close to Jim's face.

"Okay, slugger, enough." Jim set his fly rod down and reached for the red and black fishing set up he had bought at Walmart. Taking the pole from the boy's hands, he wound the fishing line back to the `batman' reel. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in taking a nap."

Blair looked horrified.

"Right, I thought so." Jim sighed. "You know, I never told you about how the kids in the tribe used to make animals from grass and strips of tree bark, did I?"

Blair's eyes gleamed brightly. "Toys?"

"Right, let me show you." Jim took the boy's hand and let him over to a stand of tall grass, safe from the water's edge. "We can use these just as easily."

Fifteen minutes later, Blair was set up with enough stripped reeds to keep him busy. Jim returned to his fly fishing, checking every few seconds to make sure the boy was happily making daisy chains with tiny fingers, bundling grass blades and bending them clumsily. Still, he could make out the primary shapes of two and four legged beasts. Jim returned to his fun. He caught and released several cutthroats, saving three of the larger fish for dinner. The sun climbed high overhead, its warmth baking Jim's shoulders and back, releasing a month of work related tension.

Playing happily in the dirt, Blair had used the reed chains to form a makeshift fence to corral twig horses. Blair talked as he played. Jim recognized the characters from the old Bonanza TV series as he lassoed stallions and Indian ponies broke free to run wild in his imaginary world. The boy's energy was amazing. Jim had been forced to remind him to stay in sight when they had hiked up to the lake. He'd run up and down the shoreline while Jim had set up their fishing equipment. It was no surprise when the child had refused to settle into the low energy task of fishing, preferring to play with sticks, rocks and grass chains.

Jim chuckled. Actually, it wasn't much different from adult-sized Blair.

Hours later Jim set his fly rod aside again and shared granola bars and beef jerky with his charge. Blair tried to fish again afterwards and caught a small fish. Before Jim knew it, Blair was wet up to his knees and whooping triumphantly. After the fish had been inspected, carefully poked, named, kissed and released, Jim let Blair wade for another ten minutes before calling him back out of the water, helping him use the nearby bathroom bush and ordering him to play quietly in his underwear and shirt while his pants, socks and shoes dried on a flat rock.

When Jim deemed it time to go, Blair was curled into a sleepy ball on Jim's parka. The clothes were semi dry and he wrestled them back over the skinny legs and dressed the itty-bitty feet. With the gear broken down and packed and their dinner wrapped up in paper and tucked into a special rubber lined pocket in the bottom of his pack, Jim nudged the sleepy boy with his boot tip.

"Come on, Blair, time to hike back."

Blair yawned and stood swaying as he took two steps before stopping, turning to Jim and lifting both arms.

"Oh, no, you don't, Chief," Jim said with a groan. "Every Cartwright for himself."

Eyes half closed, the kid wasn't even hearing him. He caught Jim's shirt tail and wordlessly leaned into his legs.

Jim hooked the tiny rib cage under the arms with both hands and lifted. Blair was as light as a bag of groceries. He fit on his hip perfectly. Slightly damp pant legs circled his waist and Jim could smell dirt and beef jerky as little arms hugged his neck. Blair laid his head on Jim's shoulder and went to sleep.

"I'm such a rube," Jim whispered as he began his trek back to their camp.

"You are ashamed of your fear."

Blair rubbed his chapped lips together and studied the blue blade of grass he rolled between his dirty fingers. "Okay, I'll give you that, man, but you don't know what it's like to work with him."

Incacha poked the fire once before tilting his head in censure.

"Okay, so maybe you do." Blair rolled his stiff shoulders. "But he's like... so there all the time. And I'm trying, really I am, but I screw up. We had a killer we were looking for, in a church, and I, like, totally screw-"

"Enough." The shaman raised a hand. "You focus too much on days already spent. Look within. Know yourself. Know your duty. Know your weakness and embrace it."

Blair had to admit, he sounded like a whiny five year old. God, if Jim knew how pathetic he sounded right now...

"Huurrrtttttssss."

"Shhhhhh," Jim soothed. He hurried down the faint trail, fighting panic. "It's a tummy ache. Your silly roommate should have his head examined."

Blair curled in Jim's arm and wriggled. "Owwww."

Why had he fed this child spicy beef jerky? He knew Blair didn't eat a lot of red meat. And this was the mini version. But the way the little guy had enjoyed his first bite, Jim had let him eat most of the package. Now as he held a squirming, hurting child, he wanted to kick himself all the way back to Cascade. He cupped the back of Blair's head and pressed it against his shoulder. "Try and sleep."

Blair's moans tickled his collar bone.

Finally, they reached the small camp. Blair had settled down but Jim could see the tiny pain lines around the closed eyes. He dropped the day pack holding their fishing gear and knelt down to one handedly unzip their tent. Crawling forward on his knees, he snatched the kid's sleeping bag. It would be perfect as a sick bed.

But when he tried to lay the boy down on the opened bag, Blair latched onto him with adult-strength fervor. "Noooo."

"Hey, sport, come on. Let me set you down so I can get you something for your tummy." Jim gently pried the hands from around his neck, capturing both hands and bending over so Blair could feel the softness of the bed against his back while he went to work on releasing his waist from the tiny legs that had him pinned. He twisted sideways, free, and quickly flipped the quilted bag over Blair like a taco.

"Jiimmm."

God, that sounded so Blair. "Hold on, partner." Jim pulled out one of the grass horses he'd saved in a weak moment of memory building while packing up. He carefully placed it into one small hand. "Here, take care of him. He told me he wanted to come home with us."

"Ooo." Blair squinted at the horse. "He did?"

"Yes, you make sure he's okay while I get you some medicine."

Blair rolled on his side, curling his knees up to his chin but brought the object within millimeters to his eyeballs. "'kay."

Jim hurried off to find his first aid supplies, hoping the instructions would tell him how much to give a five year old.

Blair stood at the edge of a raging river. The wind caused by the waters lifted his dirty hair from his shoulders. The water frothed with violence as it hurled down the mountainside. Set out like stepping stones, tiny boulders somehow managed not to be swept away.

"Tell me again why I need to cross over?" Blair asked, briskly rubbing his arms. Goosebumps grew on his skin from the wet breeze.

"It is the way of the Runa."

"Yeah? How come I don't see them using it, then?" Blair bit his lip and sighed. What was he doing? He knew very well he was going to cross it. He probably was going to fall in and drown. How many times had he died on this plane? "I'm not filling up a punch card or anything, am I?"

"What do you fear?" Incacha asked, a perfect still picture of patience.

"Letting Jim down," Blair whispered, and leapt to the first stone.

The rocks had mostly flat tops, but the moisture gave them a slickness that made Blair glad he was barefoot as he wrapped all his little piggies around the edge and calculated the jump he'd need for the next. On the fourth stone, both shores were about the same distance away and it caused a spike of fear to pierce his chest, pinning his heart to his spine.

"Incacha!" Blair shouted, too scared to look back over his shoulder. He was mesmerized by the rushing water, the sound filled his head, blocking out everything. The power would tear him apart. No one could survive the pounding ride down the mountainside.

He was going to fall. He was going to die again.

Jim stirred the fire and sipped his coffee, enjoying the late afternoon, the pleasant weather and the soothing sound of a child's pain-free breathing pattern. Thick, chunky stew bubbled in the pot over the fire and Jim used a charred pot holder to move it to the edge of the lightweight grill to keep warm. He settled back against a tree root, comfortable on the soft forest floor.

A soft sniff and huff, followed by a groggy sounding "Jimmm?" caused him to smile. Blair was awake. He glanced back. The flap of the tent was tied back and he could see the tousled head moving on his pillow.

"Your shoes are next to the door, Chief," he called back.

A few seconds later, Blair approached the campfire, rubbing his eyes and shuffling. Before Jim could warn him not to get too close to the fire, he had a lapful of five-year-old.

"Well, hey, Rip Van Winkle. How's your stomach?" Jim asked as Blair shifted about to face Jim, comfortable with his head and back braced by Jim's left thigh and his tiny, knobby knees pressed into Jim's chest. The amused Sentinel and sleepy guide studied each other comfortably.

"I'm hungry," Blair announced.

"That must mean you're better."

"Can I have more of that peppery meat?"

Jim's eyes narrowed. Was that a hint of Sandburg teasing around the edges of that tiny mouth? "That would be a big, fat `no'."

Blair giggled.

Jim lifted the front of the Wal-mart t-shirt and mocked a shocked look. "Oh, no! You're turning into an eating monster! The forest is in danger of being all eaten up."

Blair growled, his face scrunching up to look fierce and pulling off `hilarious' instead. But Jim kept from laughing as he continued to play the game. "Will any of us be safe from the Blair-monster?"

Blair cracked up with more giggles. "Yes, yes. You're the protector, remember?"

All humor stopped as Jim gawked at the boy in his lap. "W-what?"

Blair shrugged and sniffed the air. He turned toward the stew. "You protect the forest and the city. No monsters can hurt us. Are we going to eat soon?"

"Yeah, real soon." Jim carefully tickled Blair's ribs until the boy was squirming and looking back at him, both hands trying to keep Jim's one hand from the attack. "Tell me where you learned that, Sport."

"Stopitjim," Blair trilled. "I just knows it."

Amazingly, Blair did not fall into the river. Even with the vertigo caused by the rushing, pounding, swirling water, he kept his balance and jumped to the next stone. Now he only had two more stones and he'd be on the other side. Blair grinned even though he was terrified. The familiar rush of adrenalin reminded him of how it felt to work with Jim during some of their more exciting cases.

Blair leaped for the stone, already planning his victory speech for Incacha followed by a `can I go home now' summation.

As soon as his foot hit the stone, he knew he was in trouble. It rocked hard, and not in a good way, like a Grateful Dead Reunion.

"Noooooo!" Blair bellowed as his body lost the war with gravity and he hit the water with a splash. The current swept him away, filled his mouth, ears and eyes with frigid pain. He took a smashing knock to the small of his back from a submerged boulder and rolled forward with the violence of a runaway mule team.

God!

Another smack to the arm.

When was he going to wake up, safe and bruised with Incacha? Like before?

His head bounced off a tree limb.

He wasn't supposed to feel all of this. Was he?

Something tried to snatch and hold his bare foot as he tumbled. Blair jerked his knees up, feeling as if all the skin had been ripped off his ankle.

Where the hell was Incacha?

Blair grabbed a gulp of air.

This was so not a good thing.

When the next object smacked him, Blair swung a frantic arm and caught it, another limb or root, it didn't matter. He held on with all his strength as the river tried to rejoin him in the race. Blair dragged his other arm up and over the limb, praying it would hold.

The cold water stole his strength. The longer he stayed in it, the quicker he would be dead. Blair had to move. He had to move now! Even though he was sure he couldn't.

It dawned on him then that his eyes were still screwed tightly shut. What the hell was he trying not to see? More tree spiders? Right now, he'd welcome them with open arms, as long as they didn't mind sharing this...

Blair opened his eyes.

Branch. Okay, then. He had a low branch in his grasp. It looked strong, even if weirdly blue. He hooked his right arm by the elbow and pulled himself up, getting his torso out of the water and becoming giddy as the pull of the river lessened. Dragging himself hand over hand, Blair worked toward the bank. The current seemed just as strong near the edge, if not more so, than it had in the middle.

Still, Blair's determination not to become swept away kept his task on track and before he knew it, he was on his hands and knees. He crawled away from the river's edge and fell with a soggy sigh into the blue jungle floor.

"Can we live here forever?"

Jim tucked the last bowl back into the kitchen bag and set the small towel on a rock to dry. It was dark and the camp was lit by the modest fire. Blair was playing with more rocks, twigs and his horse named `Grassy'.

"That would be hard, pal. We both have jobs."

"Really?" Blair looked up from his serious duty of building a mini rock wall. `Cos Grassy likes to jump, Jim.'

"Yep." Jim dropped back down in his earthen lounge chair and rested an elbow in the dirt as he rolled over to watch Blair play. "In fact, we'll need to head back tomorrow so we can clean up. I've got to work on Monday."

"What will I do on Monday?" Blair asked.

Wasn't that the six million dollar question? Jim hid his uncertainty and shrugged. "We'll figure something out."

"Can I come and work with you?"

"I'm not sure. I'm hoping you'll be going back to teaching and school."

"I teach?"

Jim reached out to rough up his hair. "All the time."

"I know, I can teach people how to make more horses, so Grassy can have friends." Blair's attention returned to his wall building and soon he had Grassy looping across the dirt and jumping the wall.

Jim watched. It had just been two days, but he already knew. If something bad happened, if Incacha was unable to undo whatever it was that he did to shrink Blair, then Jim would have to find a way to make sure no one ever took this Blair away from him.

Hell, even if he had to find Naomi and marry her.

Blair looked up. "Are you cold?"

Laughing, Jim shook his head. "No, but we probably should get our food sack hung up and call it a night. Want to help?"

"Sure!" Blair bounded to his feet.

Hanging food supplies between two trees was a precaution that Jim had always insisted on, even when adult Blair had ribbed him about the fact that there were no grizzlies in the area. Jim used to point out that the statistics of black bear attacks on humans were higher than grizzly attacks anyway. And Blair would counter with, that's because humans are too stupid not to stay away from them in the first place.

There was no way Jim was going there with mini-Blair. It was a conversation that made a perfect recipe for nightmares. After the food was hung - so the mountain air would keep it cool - they neatened up the camp, returning all the odds and ends into stuff sacks and pockets. Jim stowed the pack under a lightweight tarp tucked under the shelter of a cedar tree, leaning against the trunk and guided the boy out for his last bush visit. Afterwards he helped Blair wash by the stream, prevented him from scooping up any water to drink but allowed one swallow of purified water from the bottle before they retired into the tent.

"Jim," Blair said, sitting on the tent floor, pulling off his sneakers.

"What."

"How'd I get sick?"

"You ate too much spicy jerky," Jim answered as he rolled out his insulated pad and then added Blair's on top. They might as well be comfortable.

Blair was shucking out of his coat and shivering. "No, before today. How come I don't remember before?"

The act of unrolling the sleeping bag stopped. Jim turned with no small amount of trepidation in his heart. Blair patiently waited for his answer.

"Ahh, do you remember what you first said to me when you woke up back home?" Jim asked after a short mental struggle.

"I thought I was dreaming."

"Right, but did you remember how you said that?"

Blair tilted his head. "With my mouth?"

Jim managed not to snort... barely. "You asked me in another language. Do you remember?"

"No."

What did that mean? Jim had no clue. "Do you remember anything before waking up in your bed?"

"No." Blair was starting to get that frightened look, where his eyes widened and small lines sprouted between his eyebrows. "How come?"

Their bed was made. Jim reached out a hand. "Come here."

Blair scooted over on his jean butt and Jim pulled out his flannel Wal-mart pajamas. "Did you believe me when I told you we were best friends?"

"Yeah." Blair let Jim pull his shirt over his head. His long mini-Blair `do' flopped back into place.

"That's because it's true. When you called me a protector today, you nailed it right on the head. But you're my protector."

"The protector has a protector?" Blair asked in awe as he threaded his flannel pajama bottoms over his legs and stood so Jim could finish pulling them to his waist.

"Yes, sir. And I have you. Before you, I had a very nice man whose name is Incacha."

Blair went still.

Jim waited.

Lifting his head to look squarely into Jim's eyes, Blair gave a peaceful nod. "I know that name."

"I'm glad." Jim held up the pajama top and waited for Blair to stick his arms in before pulling it over his head.

It seemed Incacha's name erased any further lines of questioning and Blair dove into Jim's sleeping bag.

"Hey!" Jim laughed. He hadn't planned on making Blair sleep in the kid bag. It was still too cold at night. But he figured Blair would need to have that explained to him. "That's my bag."

"I need to protect you, right?" Blair's muffled voice came from within. He stuck his head out and pulled Jim's little camping pillow to him. "Mean's we gotta share."

"Really? So you're saying you're suddenly the boss around here?" Jim started to strip off his coat and shirt. He'd sleep in his thermal bottoms and t-Shirt tonight.

Blair giggled. "Yep."

"Got news for you, Short Stuff." Jim gently moved Blair to one side so he could get in. "You've been bossing me around since the day we met."

Blair really expected Incacha to appear soon.

Yep, anytime.

Walk right out of the tree line and ask him something important, something about what he feared, no doubt.

Rolling onto his back and staring up at the blue fog that seemed to cover the world all the time, he counted the places on his body that hurt. When he lost count and realized it would take three seconds to list the body parts that didn't hurt, he gave up.

"Incacha!" Blair yelled into the mist.

"Yes?"

Blair turned his head. The Shaman sat, cross-legged at his side. Incredulously, a blue flamed fire burned next to him. Blair felt the beginnings of a hysterical giggle break on the shore of his insanity.

"What do-"

"NO!" Blair held out a hand. "Please no. Please, God no."

The man's braids fell forward as he dipped his chin to his chest in respect to Blair's outburst. He fell silent.

Blair sucked in a big breath. "It's just. It's just I'm really trying, you know? I try to do my best. It's all I can do, right? I want to help Jim. I'll climb every damn tree he asks me to, I'll crawl through caves, mines, don't matter. I'll cross or jump into rivers. Hell, I'll even jump out of an airplane. But you know what? I'm still going to be afraid. I am. There's nothing I can do about that."

The speech cost him all his strength. Blair rolled over onto his side, toward the warmth of the blue flame and closed his eyes, exhausted. He missed Incacha's response as he fell deeply asleep.

"You have learned well, Young Shaman."

Reaching the city limits of Cascade, Jim's cell phone rang. He checked the number on the display. Simon. Fifteen minutes later Jim parked in his normal spot in the parking garage and killed the engine. Blair's eyes were wide with wonder.

"This is a police station?" he breathed softly.

Don't like this, Jim thought. "Yeah, at least the police station's parking garage. Listen, Blair, we're just going to go up, I'm going to sign the report I forgot to sign and we're out of here, got it?"

"Got it." Blair nodded his head in somber agreement. "Will you have to shoot anyone?"

"No!" Jim exclaimed as he opened the door. He waited for Blair to walk across the front seats and lean out for him to catch, one arm under his skinny butt. "At least, I hope not."

"I want to walk." Blair leaned over Jim's arm, hands stretching for the concrete ground.

"No." Jim adjusted to keep a firm grip, jostling Blair upright again. He knew he could move much faster without dealing with munchkin steps. The elevator was empty, typical Sunday afternoon. He reached the bullpen quickly and spotted Simon in his office. He whispered into the button ear, "What do you think about a new nickname? Let's call you Adam. Okay?"

"I wanna be Hoss," Blair whispered back, his head swiveling back and forth like a washing machine as he tried to take in the sights.

"Ellison?" Simon stood at the door, eyes fixed on Blair. "Who's this?"

"A friend of mine. His mom and I go way back. Hey squirt, this is Captain Banks. Captain, this is Adam." He ignored Blair's low growl.

"Pleased to meet you, Adam." Simon offered his best smile and Blair grinned back. "So you and Jim went camping? What happened to Blair?"

"I went," Blair explained. "We had fun. We fished and cooked over a fire. Jim's a good cook. Do you protect too? Jim protects. I protect him."

"Riight," Jim said brightly, jiggling Blair and whispering. "Ick-snay on the protect-snay."

Simon's eyebrows lifted, looking both surprised and puzzled at the same time. "If I didn't know better..."

"Okay, then. Let's get that report signed, shall we?" Jim set Blair down and nudged him towards his desk. "Wait for me, okay, Adam? I'll just sign the report and we'll be on our way."

Simon held open the door, but never took his eyes off Blair as the boy made his way over to Jim's desk and climbed into the chair. Grinning with glee, Blair began to rock it side to side then spun it completely around. Jim pulled Simon into his office. The sooner they were out of here, the better.

"It's right here." Simon retrieved it from a stack of forms on his desk. "Say, Jim. Doesn't that kid remind you of-"

Whatever Simon was thinking was cut off by a shout and curse from the bullpen as the main door was slammed forward and two weekend detectives entered with one prisoner apiece, hollering insults and threats at each other. The smaller one, a man with a bald head and sporting an array of tattoos, proved to be the more difficult one to keep under control even though both had their wrists cuffed in front of them.

"I'll kill you, mother-"

"You couldn't snuff out your grandma-"

"Will both of you shut up!" one of the detectives shouted.

Simon went to his office door. "That's enough!"

"Sir, we're trying," the smaller detective said just as his prisoner, tattoo head, broke free and slammed into the other prisoner, sending both of them crashing into Jim's desk and over and into...

Jim lunged out of Simon's office, shoving his boss aside. "Blair!"

"JIMMMM!" Blair wailed in terror as his chair was shoved back into the wall and two adult men fell into his lap, swinging clumsily at each other and spitting murderous oaths.

Leaping over his own desk, he landed feet first on the back belonging to Tattoo Head. He sucker punched the other in the face while his left hand snatched a fistful of his guide's coat, lifting him bodily out of the seat and holding him high. Jim backed away, snorting through flared nostrils and glaring at the room at large.

Blair's little feet flailed in the air, his arms pin wheeling.

Once cleared what was left of the fight, Jim tucked Blair back against his side and turned his back to the men to shield him. "You okay, Chief? Let me look. Stop squirming, damn it." He caught Blair's chin. Face looked untouched. He felt the back of the small skull for bumps. Sweeping with his senses, he found the heart rate fast, to be expected. Both tiny lungs were expanding fully. "You're okay, you're fine. I've got you."

Wide eyed, Blair went from terrified to curious in seconds, craning to see over Jim's shoulder. "What they fighting over? Fighting is bad karma, Jim. What's wrong with them?" he demanded breathlessly.

"I don't know." Jim checked over his shoulder. Both the men were sitting quietly on the floor, now in cuffs with the chagrinned-looking detectives standing over them. "They're not nice men, Blair."

"Ellison," Simon said, saccharine sweet. He waved a hand back toward his office. "Could you and... Blair join me in my office, please?"

Oh, crap.

Blair leaned into Jim's ear. "Bet you coulda remembered Hoss."

"Let me get this straight." Simon leaned back in his chair and glared at Jim. "Two days ago, you found a five-year-old Blair in the loft and you took him camping and you're hoping everything's back to normal tomorrow morning."

Jim shrugged. "Basically, yeah."

"What's this, Simon?" Blair held up the figurine in his hands. The five-year-old sat on the police captain's lap.

Simon glanced down, his stern expression softening. "That's a saxophone."

"Why's the clown got a saxyphone?"

"He plays it."

"Why?"

Simon chuckled. "See those other guys up there? They all play different instruments to make people happy. They're in a band."

"Ahhh." Blair ran tiny fingers over the figure. "That's good. Jim showed me how to make a horse from grass and stuff. Do you know how to do that?"

"Nope." Simon still couldn't believe this was really Blair. But he knew when he first saw this kid, there was something different about him.

"Jim and me, we're best friends." Blair lifted an eyebrow as if Simon would challenge the statement.

"I know." Simon looked back at Jim. "I've known that for a while now."

"Good," Blair said then leaned back against Simon's chest to continue to quietly examine the clown.

Simon caught Jim's eye again. "What are you going to do if things don't go the way you hope?"

Jim looked fierce for a second, as dangerous as when he'd snatched Blair from danger in the bull pen. "Whatever it takes, sir."

"I like Simon," Blair announced from the bathtub. He scooped up another handful of bubbles and tossed them up. The glob of iridescent soap film flew a short arc and plopped back into the sea of suds.

"I'm glad," Jim said from his seat on the closed toilet lid. "I thought I asked you to stop throwing scud bubble bombs."

Blair snickered. "Forgot, sorry."

Jim yawned. He was beat and it was only eight. "You finished?"

"No, still dirty, see?" Blair held up an elbow.

"Waiting for that dirt to fall off on its own, sport?" Jim hunkered down next to the tub, using a fresh towel to kneel on. He searched for the missing wash cloth.

"You said I can do it," the child protested as Jim squirted a good dollop of shower gel into the washrag.

"You had your chance. I want to get to sleep before it's time for work in the morning." Jim stretched out a pencil thin arm and began to scrub.

"Grassy wants to take a bath with me."

"No way, Chief. He'd fall apart in the water."

"Oh, horses can stay dirty?"

"That one can."

"I want to be a horse."

"Believe me, the bit would never stay in."

"What's a bit?"

"Never mind. Give me a leg."

Blair unfolded his legs and grabbed the edge of the tub for balance. "What are you hoping for tomorrow?"

"What?"

Looking surprisingly adultish, Blair studied Jim's face. "You said to Simon you hoped everything was back to normal Monday. That's tomorrow, right?"

"Right," Jim said carefully, switching to the other leg. He'd already washed and rinsed Blair's hair so all they needed to do was finish this and rinse. "Tomorrow is Monday."

"What do you want to happen? Do I get better tomorrow? Not sick?"

"You're not sick, Blair."

"Broken?"

"You're not broken. You're you, remember? You're fine the way you are."

Blair grinned. "Kewl."

Jim pulled the plug and had Blair stand. He used a spare Tupperware glass to pour water over Blair's body to rinse him off before lifting him out and onto the floor mat. He wrapped him into a towel that was twice the boy's size and dried him. His thoughts meandering to finding temporary daycares.

By the time he got Blair into his freshly laundered pajamas and led him into the small room under the stairs, Blair was yawning. He climbed up on the bed and let Jim tuck him in, not even commenting when Jim bent down to kiss his forehead.

"Night, Chief."

"Night, Jim."

After the loft was locked up, a nightlight was burning downstairs outside the bathroom and Jim was up in his own bed he folded his arms behind his head and pondered his options.

Seriously, how could he explain this new Blair to the world? Not that he didn't trust Incacha. He did. But if he'd learned anything from his time with the shaman, he had learned the future was uncertain. Things can change in an instant. Jim had to be prepared to take care of Blair until he was once again an adult.

A sniffle and a shuffle of bare feet at the head of the stairs spoke of Jim's deep state of thought.

"Blair?" Jim lifted his head in surprise, seeing the boy standing, uncertain at the foot of his bed.

"I miss you," Blair said in a small, scared voice.

Jim knew that other parents were smart enough not to allow a pattern to develop, that kids should learn to sleep in their own beds, that letting them have their own way would only prove to make it more difficult to teach them later.

Jim knew all this, but figured he was still new at this parent thing and should be cut some slack. He lifted the edge of his comforter. "Me too, partner. Get in here."

Blair scrambled up with a happy grin splitting his little face. He burrowed into the bed, cuddled up against Jim's side and commandeered the best part of his favorite pillow.

"Hey," Jim mock protested.

"Share, man," Blair giggled.

"Riight, silly me and you get the middle half, right?"

Blair was afraid to open his eyes. It didn't feel like the jungle floor under his back. It felt soft. Like a real mattress.

Blair peeked and saw a close up of his Sentinel's jaw line.

"JIM!"

"ARRGHH!" Jim bolted up in bed, knocking Blair back.

"Hey!" Blair protested, nearly falling off the bed.

Looking like a man who'd woken to find the creature from the Black Lagoon in his bed, Jim Ellison stared in slack-jaw wonder.

"Jeeze, what a dream." Blair scrubbed his face with both hands. "What are you doing in my bed?"

"S-sandburg... Chief... Blair" Jim exclaimed before lunging forward to grab Blair's upper arms and shake. "You're back!"

"Yeeah, ouch, man. Watch the bruises." Blair looked down at his filthy sleeping attire and realized he wasn't in his own bed. "Hey, what am I doing in your bed? Oh man, it wasn't a dream." He looked up at the dark skylight. "Incacha, this is so not funny, man!"

Jim seemed trapped between laughter and coughing. Or was it epilepsy?

"Okay, I'm getting seriously freaked out here." Blair patted his still damp clothes. "Sheesh, I'm never going to sleep without a full set of hiking clothes on my body."

"Blair," Jim choked out the name.

"Yeah, Jim. I got that. I'm Blair. You're Jim. And we're in bed together." He scrambled for the edge. "This will ruin my image at the university. Listen up, you will not tell a soul. Got that?" He limped for the stairs. "Ouch, ouch. I nearly lost a limb in that river, man. I'm starving. I want food now. Don't even care what it is."

Jim trailed behind him, stopping a second to grab his robe. He followed Blair down the staircase and into the kitchen.

Opening the refrigerator, Blair pulled out the first thing he saw, an opened bag of baby carrots and started chewing as he eyed the other contents. "Want a sandwich? I'm going to build one a mile high... and an omelet, yeah."

Jim tugged him back. "Go and shower. I'll fix something." Jim gave him a gentle shove toward the bathroom. "Go. You stink."

Reluctantly, Blair backed away from the food, still clutching the handful of carrots. He sniffed. "If you knew half of what I went through, you'd be more understanding," he groused.

The water was hot and heavenly. Blair washed his hair twice. The shampoo smelled funny and he glanced at the bottle in awe. The door opened.

"Clean boxers and robe, Sandburg. On the toilet."

"Hey, when did we start buying Johnson's Baby Shampoo?"

"Yesterday." The door closed.

"Weird." Blair let the water clean the suds off his body. He was seriously bruised. How could that happen? Incacha had said his body was in Jim's care. How weird was that? Of course, that probably meant that Blair was mostly asleep the whole time here at the loft. Yeah, one of those Sci Fi shows where the hero returns to find out no time had passed.

"Totally weird."

Jim had pancakes and fresh strawberries and a Greek olive and feta cheese omelet dished up.

"Oh, man. That looks good." He smelled the fresh coffee. "Thank you."

"Welcome." Jim pulled out a chair. "Sit."

Halfway through the meal, Blair slowed down long enough to realize he was being stared at. He swallowed his eggs with a mouthful of coffee. "Jim? Something you want to share?"

"We have plenty of time," Jim said, seemingly content to just sit and watch Blair eat. "Finish."

When breakfast was over and Jim told him it was Monday morning Blair looked floored. Jim poured him another cup of coffee and helped himself to a muffin he'd bought yesterday when he and mini-Blair had been on their way back from the police station. Mini-Blair had been `starving' and didn't think he could last the twenty minute drive, so Jim had stopped.

Glancing at the grown man at the table, a deep pang of sorrow knifed through Jim's chest. Little Blair was gone.

"Jim?"

Forcing the smile back on his face, Jim looked back at his roommate. "Yeah?"

"You okay? You suddenly looked sick."

"I'm fine." Jim glanced at the clock, he had plenty of time. Blair had started their morning at four AM. "You were moving pretty stiffly when you woke. I think I should look at that ankle at least."

"Oh, man, wait until I tell you," Blair said, his voice following Jim into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. Blair had his chair turned sideways to the table when Jim returned. "So first, I'm like having a normal sleep, right? Everything's cool. Then I'm chatting with Incacha in a blue forest..."

Jim let Blair talk, listening but at the same time checking out the adult body and mentally comparing it to the little man he spent the weekend with. Blair's ankle was swollen, but not broken. He taped it carefully, moving up the leg to inventory the bruising. Blair was talking about falling out of a tree now, something about spiders. Jim's fingers ghosted over the birthmark of Italy on his knee.

"Hey, no tickling, man." Blair slapped at Jim's hand. "So then, I'm walking into the cave and..."

Blair turned back toward the table and reached for his coffee. Jim lowered the robe from his shoulders and checked over Blair's ribs and back. The bruising continued.

The mole was large again, nothing like the little dot on five year-old Blair's shoulder. Jim laid a hand over Blair's back, feeling the adult-sized heart pound out a healthy bongo beat.

Jim's hand had nearly spanned mini-Blair's entire back.

"... suddenly I'm in the river and I'm getting knocked stupid on the rocks." Blair paused, craning to look over his shoulder. "Jim?" He turned in alarm. "Jim? Are you crying?"

"No." Jim ducked his head and cleared his throat as he reached back into his first aid kit. "I'm listening. Here, take these for the bruises."

"Thanks," Blair accepted the Advil, growing quiet after washing them down with coffee.

"Go on, Chief." Jim lifted the robe back over Blair's shoulders and returned to his seat. "Finish the story."

"What happened here, Jim?" Blair asked softly.

Jim's gaze strayed to the small grass figurine on the chest behind the sofa where mini-Blair had left him last night before taking his bath. His throat was too tight to answer.

Shit.

"Jim?" Blair sounded scared. He tracked Jim's gaze to the living room and gasped. "Grassy?"

"What?" Jim watched Blair stand and limp over to the figurine to pick up and hold with reverence. "Sandburg? What did you call it?"

"This is Grassy, I made him when I was just a kid..." Blair turned back to gawk in shock at the doors to his room, then up at Jim's room and slowly turn to take in the entire loft before his gaze rested on Jim. "I... I... what's happening? How can I be remembering this?"

A strange thing happened in Jim's chest. Some of the pain started to blend back into the joy of learning his adult guide had returned. He stood and went to his friend. "You in there, Mini-Blair?"

Still looking shell-shocked, Blair nodded. "Holy cow, Jim. This is... wild!" His face was split with a wicked grin. "I can't believe I sat in Simon's lap, man!"

Jim's laughter bounced off the brick walls. He dropped an arm around Blair's shoulders and squeezed, careful of the bruises and not to crush the grass toy.

Blair was still chuckling madly. He looked up at Jim with wet eyes. "You took care of me."

"Well, you were off learning how to take care of me, remember?"

"I've got to. I protect the protector, right? And Incacha told me there were lots more lessons to learn." Blair laid his wet head on Jim's shoulder and snickered some more. "Simon's lap, man. This is blackmail material."

Jim's heart soared. More lessons.

More mini-Blair.

End - for now.

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

Home

[an error occurred while processing this directive]