The usual--the characters aren't mine and never will be. I only play
with them and return them to their Pet Fly box when I'm done. This was written
strictly for enjoyment--mine and fellow fans.

This story originally appeared in the Senses of Wonder zine published by BlackJag Publishing.

As always, thanks to the multi-talented TSL gang for their input and encouragement.

Major James Ellison was an officer, and had always taken his duties and responsibilities far more seriously than other soldiers. So, when he felt the first tremors before anyone else, he didn't stop to question his knowledge of the coming earthquake. Ellison immediately hit the embassy's alarm, sending the inhabitants scurrying out of the building. The vibrations swelled, growing until he wasn't the only one who could feel the earth's trembling.

Screams deafened him, but he continued to usher people out of the building even as he moved deeper into it. His head throbbed, and his stomach rolled from the violence of his headache. Just when he thought he was going to be sick from the noise and smells and sounds, Eunice Graham grabbed his arm, the strength of her arthritic fingers surprising him.

"Edward is still in there," the sixty-one-year-old executive secretary said, her voice thready and frightened.

Jim gave her a gentle shove toward the front door as his instincts to save the people he had been entrusted to protect overruled his body's distress. "Get out of here. I'll find him."

Plaster pieces rained down on Jim's black beret and shoulders as he dashed toward the stairwell. He yanked open the steel door and climbed the concrete stairs two and three at a time, his hand on the metal rail as the earth twitched beneath him. Stepping on to the second floor, Jim "knew" nobody was there. Again, he didn't question how he knew, but continued up the stairs to the top floor to be met with the same nothingness. Eunice had to have been mistaken. Edward had already made it out.

Jim flew down the stairs as the earth tossed violently, breaking chunks of cement from the walls and the stairs overhead. He didn't acknowledge the danger, but kept his mind focused on the mission at hand--a fallback to his Ranger days. Keep an eye on the damn finish line and make it there before the poor bastards on the other team did.

He crashed out of the stairwell on to the first floor and found the path to the exit blocked by overturned furniture and huge chunks of ceiling and walls. Spinning around, he charged toward the kitchen where the delivery entrance was located. The ground shifted. Jim lost his balance and fell to the floor, which opened beneath him. He dropped fifteen feet to the storage area below the kitchen. He landed on his side and the air whooshed from his lungs. Even as he struggled to breathe, he covered his head with his hands.

Hell of a farewell party, Ellison, he thought wryly as the world crashed down upon him.

The call came in at 3:48 a.m. Thursday morning, exactly nine hours and seventeen minutes after Blair Sandburg and Mac had arrived home from South Carolina. Blair switched on the lamp beside his bed and read the caller ID. He groaned as he picked up the phone.

"What do you want, Simon?" Blair growled, ensuring his boss, Simon Banks, at the elite Search and Rescue agency knew he wasn't happy about being awakened in the middle of the night.

"Sorry, Blair."

This didn't sound good. Simon never called him Blair.

"Four hours ago an earthquake struck in Peru," Banks explained. "Seven point two on the Richter scale."

Blair covered his eyes with his hand as he automatically--and unwillingly--envisioned the destruction. He had seen it far too often at other locations after a natural disaster of the same magnitude. "Casualties?"

"It hit a heavily populated area, but the center was on the western edge of the city," Simon replied. "They expect the casualties to be between two and three hundred."

"Damn," Blair whispered.

"It could've been a helluva lot worse."

Blair knew Simon was right, but lives had still been lost. Whether it was one or a thousand, each victim had been a living, breathing human being with hopes and dreams.

"I know you just got back last night, and you and Mac are supposed to have the week off, but we need you," Banks said.

As if Blair and Mac could ever turn away from a catastrophe. "What time and where?"

"Cascade Airport in two hours. You'll be flying out in a private business jet owned by Ellison Industries. Two other teams will meet you on site--Rafe and Megan. Joel's your team leader."

"All right." Blair had worked with all three of them before and knew together they made an unbeatable team.

"William Ellison, the CEO of Ellison industries, and his son Stephen will be flying down with you."

"Oookay." Although it was common for private companies to transport rescue teams to disaster sites--an altruistic tax write-off for the company--it wasn't common for the owners of said corporation to accompany them.

"Major James Ellison was stationed at the embassy down there. He's Ellison's oldest son," Simon answered the unspoken question. "The embassy was located in the area hardest hit by the quake."

Blair rubbed his eyes. "Shit."

"Yeah. Be careful and check in once you arrive."

"Will do, Simon. Bye."

Blair ended the call and took a precious minute to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling of his cabin. He had been looking forward to this week off--time spent in the isolated woods relaxing and meditating. God knew Mac needed the downtime, too. There had been too many dead bodies and not enough live ones found in the past six months. The toll was showing on Mac, though no one else would've noticed. But Blair knew Mac almost as well as he knew himself. They'd been inseparable for three years now.

He heaved a long sigh and rose from his warm bed. After showering, he entered the front room with its huge stone fireplace and Mac lifted his head, his gaze steady upon Blair.

"We have another job, Mac," Blair said. He squatted down beside the part German Shepherd and part wolf who lay on a cedar dog bed in front of the hearth, and scratched behind the animal's ears. "Earthquake this time."

Mac whined softly.

Find?

Blair nodded. "I truly hope so, boy."

Blair let Mac out into the dark night to take care of his business, then sorted through the backpack which held the dog's essential items. He added more food, and made certain Mac's necessities were still in the pack: his special permit for exemption of quarantine, his brightly colored cape proclaiming him a Search and Rescue K-9, the water bottles, and a canine first aid kit. Then Blair emptied the dirty clothes from his duffel bag that he had merely thrown into a corner of his bedroom when they'd arrived home. He re-filled it with clean jeans, shirts, many pairs of socks, underwear, and an extra pair of hiking boots. There would be a lot of mud from the water mains broken during the quake, as well as abundant glass from the destroyed buildings. Remembering the climate down there, he figured the rescue efforts would probably be hampered by rain, and added his slicker to the nearly full bag.

While Mac ate his high protein dog food, Blair picked at a piece of dry toast. They'd just come back from South Carolina where Mac had been unable to find any live persons after a severe hurricane hit the coast. Instead, he'd discovered five corpses, three children and two adults--a family. Blair had remained outwardly professional, but both he and Mac were depressed. There seemed to be too many tragedies with too few bright spots.

Maybe Peru would be different. Maybe he and Mac would find some survivors. Even one saved life would make the trip worthwhile for both of them.

Blair parked his SUV in the parking lot near the Cascade airport's private terminal entrance, then clipped Mac's leash to his collar, although it was only a formality. Mac was too well behaved to stray. The young man slung the backpack over a shoulder and carried the duffel in one hand as he held Mac's leash in the other. The terminal was nearly deserted at five fifteen in the morning, so it was easy to spot the Ellisons. They wore the creased trousers and sweaters which defined casual wear for the upper class. However, the troubled expressions they wore didn't fit the picture of wealth and social standing.

"Blair Sandburg?" the older of the two men asked, his lips thinned as his assessing gaze roamed over the SAR employee.

Blair nodded, not surprised to see thinly veiled disapproval in his eyes. Blair's long curly hair, faded jeans, and flannel shirts definitely didn't meet corporate standards. "That's right. You must be William Ellison."

The man spared him a brittle smile. "I am." They shook hands. "And this is my son Stephen."

Blair accepted his handshake as well, although the limp clamminess of Stephen's grasp made Blair want to wipe his palm on his jeans, but he restrained himself. He hoped William's other son had more backbone than Stephen had. Then he reminded himself he might never find out--Ellison's eldest son had more than likely perished with many others who were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"So that's your dog," William said, a wealth of questions behind his comment.

"His name is Mac," Blair said, rubbing circles behind the large dog's ears.

"Part wolf?"

"Yes, sir," Blair said automatically. The man's stiff formality was infecting him.

Stephen reached out to pet him and Mac growled a low warning.

"I thought they were supposed to be tame," the younger Ellison said irritably.

"Mac won't bite, but he doesn't like being touched by strangers."

One of the terminal attendants approached them. "Your jet is ready to go, Mr. Ellison."

William nodded curtly, then turned to Blair. "Do you have everything you and, uh, Mac need?"

"Yes."

"Let's go then."

Half an hour later, the plane leveled out at thirty thousand feet. Ellison junior and senior removed their seatbelts, but remained in their leather seats. Blair kept his seatbelt on and his gaze averted from the window beside him. Although he often flew, he was never completely comfortable doing so. He stroked Mac's head as the animal lay beside him on the floor, curled into an amazingly small bundle of fur.

"So why do you do this?" William Ellison asked casually, although his cool, shrewd eyes studied Blair.

"To help people," came Blair's immediate reply.

Stephen snorted. "C'mon, Sandburg, there's got to be more to it than that."

Blair narrowed his eyes at the man's remark. "A friend of mine was in a building when it collapsed. I watched the dogs and their handlers search for survivors." He found himself smiling bittersweetly at the memory. "They were amazing, working long hours until both they and their dogs could hardly walk straight. Even though they only found five survivors, those were five lives saved and five families reunited."

"How many bodies did they find?" William asked.

Blair's hand paused in its stroking motion as his mind traveled back to that week. "Thirty-three, including my friend. But without the dogs to find their bodies, those families wouldn't have been able find closure in the death of their loved ones."

"Did you love her?" William asked, more perceptive than Blair liked.

The younger man lifted his chin. "Him. And yes, I did."

Both William and Stephen appeared shocked by Blair's confession, but the young man merely held their startled gazes steadily. Blair didn't care what they thought. The fact was Blair had never been with a man and had denied his feelings for Tom, instead maintaining it was only friendship he felt. Tom had said he loved him, and would wait forever, if need be. However, Tom died and it was only then that Blair had realized how much the man had meant to him.

The Ellisons glanced away and Blair looked down at Mac to see him staring at him with liquid brown eyes. The dog snuffled quietly.

Sad.

Blair nodded and continued petting Mac, knowing if he relaxed, his dog would, too. After a few minutes, both he and Mac were calmer.

"What do you know about the quake?" Blair asked, breaking the silence.

"The center of it was on the western edge of the city which is less populated, but even so, the structural damage will be in the billions. The U.S. embassy is--was located in that area." William took a deep breath as a distant look crept into his eyes. "My oldest son joined the Army right out of college and I never saw him again, but I kept track of his career. When he was assigned to the embassy, I was relieved. Before that he'd been a Ranger, taking God knows what kind of chances. I figured the embassy would be safer." He shook his head and Blair could see that the older man truly cared for his son.

"Why didn't you see him? Didn't he ever come home?"

William smiled bitterly. "No. He was an angry young man when he left home. Maybe some of it was justified."

Maybe a lot of it was, Blair thought, noting Stephen's thin-lipped sneer.

"I tried contacting the embassy, but the lines are down," William continued, his voice once again cool and detached.

Blair plucked at his shirt hem. "The chances of your son being alive are small," he said quietly.

William suddenly reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet. He pulled out a square piece of paper and unfolded it, then handed it to Blair. "My son's beat the odds before. He can do it again."

Blair frowned, but glanced down at the creased cover of a magazine and looked straight into the haunted blue eyes of a broad-shouldered man staring into the camera. A piece of cloth was tied around his head and he held an automatic rifle in powerful but almost artistic hands. It was the expression on the man's face and the soul-deep weariness in his eyes which trapped Blair's own soul with warmth, compassion, tenderness and so much more, he didn't even know how to define the emotional snare. He traced Jim Ellison's strong chiseled face with his finger, imagining warm skin instead of cool paper beneath his fingertip.

Mac nudged his leg and growled softly.

Sad.

Yes, he was sad--sad he would probably never meet James Ellison.

"What happened to him?" Blair asked after he could speak again.

"He was presumed dead when his helicopter went down in a Peruvian jungle. Eighteen months later he was found and rescued," William replied.

The older man reached for the precious picture, but Blair didn't release it immediately. He wanted to stare into this man's eyes and discover his secrets, learn his favorite foods and the kinds of music he liked and his pet peeves and the reason he looked so...lost. Finally, Blair forced himself to give the picture back to Ellison.

"Does--" Blair's voice broke. "Does he have a wife or family?"

"No. Only Stephen and I."

And he never came to visit you.

"One other thing, Mr. Sandburg," William said with a husky voice, then paused to clear his throat. "Today was to be my son's last day in the military. He had resigned his commission."

With suddenly stinging eyes, Blair turned to the window to gaze out at a blurry blue sky. His job wasn't to search for a single man in the devastation, but he prayed to numerous gods that he would find this Jim Ellison safe and alive.

He sighed, knowing the futility of his prayers.

The plane landed in a nearby city sixteen hours after the quake had flattened a portion of the city. William Ellison rented a Range Rover and a native driver who spoke English, then the four men and Mac quickly loaded into the heavy vehicle, a sense of urgency growing within all of them. As Nesto drove, he described the destruction.

"It is the worst I have ever seen," Nesto said with a shudder. "It looks perhaps like a war has happened to that part of the city. Buildings not there anymore and other buildings missing one side or even two and others with all their windows gone. It is truly a terrible thing to have happened."

"Have they found many survivors?" Blair asked as he sat in the back seat with Stephen and Mac, who lay with his head resting on Blair's thigh.

"Many people are hurt, but many more are missing. Since they have started to search, less than a dozen have been found alive. Over fifty have been found dead beneath the buildings."

Blair's stomach twisted as he imagined the grim sight that would greet them. Of course, it wouldn't be just the sight. It would also be the odors from the smoldering buildings, leaking gas, human waste, spoiled foods, and other smells Blair didn't want to contemplate, including death. There would also be the sound of crying people, hysterical family members, screaming babies, and the ever-present moans of the dying within the earth, which only Blair would be able to hear. If only those voices spoke to him before passing into the next world, maybe their lives could be saved. But Blair's empathic gift had never extended to communicating telepathically with the living, except for Mac.

"Do you know anything about the United States embassy?" William Ellison asked.

Nesto shook his head. "I have not heard."

The rest of the journey was made in silence. A distant black cloud grew closer as they approached the city. A foul smell infiltrated the car, and Stephen pulled a pure white handkerchief from his pocket, placing it over his nose and making little gagging noises in the back of his throat. It wasn't long before William did the same, sans the gagging.

Although accustomed to the stench from other disaster sites, Blair had to force himself to breathe slowly and steadily. He kept his expression neutral. Mac had given up on the pretense of sleeping and sat with his nose twitching and his dark liquid eyes somber. His ears were straight up and Blair knew he was anxious to get to work, to find those who could be saved, if there were any to be found.

The part of the city they traveled through was damaged, but not badly. People roamed the streets and sidewalks with their purchases, while some shop owners were sweeping or repairing minor damage to their storefronts. In the center of the city, there was more activity. Police officers directed traffic while emergency vehicles were given priority. As they traveled westward, toward the main devastation, the aftereffects of the quake became more apparent. Not only were buildings more heavily ravaged, but there were people walking aimlessly, as if they had no place to go. A sprawling building, which was in decent condition was being used as a first aid station, as well as Red Cross relief center.

Mac butted Blair's arm with his head.

Find?

"Soon, Mac, soon," Blair said in a low voice.

So damned alone.

Startled, Blair's gaze flew to his dog. Mac had never "spoken" in more than one word sentences. And why would he say he was alone? Mac met Blair's eyes and cocked his head.

Friend.

Blair blinked. What did Mac mean by that? The rescue dog pressed closer against Blair's side and licked his cheek. Blair listened with his mind, but there was only silence.

Still bewildered, Blair tugged his cell phone out of his pocket and called his boss, who picked up on the fourth ring.

"Simon, it's Blair. We're in the city. Where's the HQ?"

Simon gave him the location and wished him luck.

"Thanks." Blair's gaze scoured the now-dismal landscape out the SUV's window. "I think we're going to need it."

Blair told Nesto where they needed to go and the young man shook his head. "I will not be allowed to drive all the way there. Those streets are open only for emergencies. I can get you to within three blocks of it, then you will have to walk."

"That's fine."

"What about us?" Stephen asked, his voice muffled by the cloth over his mouth.

"That's up to you and your father," Blair stated.

"We'll go with you," William said.

"Maybe I should find us a couple rooms and get us checked in," Stephen suggested.

Disgusted by the younger Ellison, Blair rummaged in Mac's backpack to find the dog's neon orange Search and Rescue coat. Mac remained still as Blair put it on him, but the tiny ripples in the dog's muscles told Blair how eager he was to start searching. They had both been able to catch a couple naps on the flight and were rested and anxious to begin their job.

Nesto dropped them off in front of a roadblock, which was guarded by militia. Leading Mac, Blair walked up to the guard who hefted an M-16 weapon over a shoulder. He showed the guard his identity card and their credentials. The soldier gave them a perfunctory look and motioned him around the roadblock.

"There have been two others with dogs," the guard volunteered. "I hope you will be able to find some survivors."

"We hope so, too," Blair said soberly.

The Ellisons tried to follow Blair, but the guard stopped them. "I can only allow those who are helping into this area."

"My son was at the embassy when the quake hit," William said in a voice which sounded more fitting for a board meeting.

"No one but rescue workers are allowed," the man reiterated firmly in accented English, his fingers wrapped around his rifle.

"Sandburg, tell him," Ellison demanded.

Blair shrugged. "I'm sorry, Mr. Ellison, but there's nothing I can do."

William Ellison's face flared red with anger. "Damn it, we brought you here to--"

Blair strode back to the older man, angry and disgusted that the man thought he and Mac could be bought. "You offered your jet for a humanitarian mission."

William breathed heavily, his fury almost palpable. "All right, Sandburg. We'll get a message to you about where we're staying. I expect to hear from you."

"I'm going to be very busy." Blair held the man's gaze for a long moment, then broke it himself. "Good-bye and thanks for the ride." He started walking away, but his conscience made him pause. No matter how rude or arrogant Ellison was, he was still missing a son. "I'll let you know immediately if--when Major Ellison is found," he added.

William managed a stiff nod. "Thank you."

Blair felt Mac brush his leg as they followed a main street, which was now littered with pieces of buildings and crumpled concrete.

Bad?

Blair glanced down at the dog, having to think a moment about what he meant. "No, Mr. Ellison's not bad. He's just worried about his son and used to getting his own way."

Alive.

"I hope so, Mac, I truly hope so."

Alive.

Blair smiled past his concern. "Pretty sure of that, aren't you?"

Damn it. I don't want to die. Not yet. Not this way.

Blair stumbled to a halt, his eyes wide as he searched for the man who'd spoken. Although there were rescue workers digging in the rubble around him, no one was close or even seemed to be paying attention to him.

"Who are you? Where are you?" Blair asked aloud.

Only the sounds of a dying city met his ears, a faint humming of spirits whose bodies lay buried beneath the rubble. If Blair concentrated on them, he could probably distinguish one from another, but that path held only sorrow and insanity. The dead had to continue their journey without interruption.

Please, somebody, help me.

Blair froze in both trepidation and excitement. This voice didn't belong to the dead. That, Blair knew instinctively. And if it wasn't Mac, then who? Or what?

A shiver slid down his spine, but he didn't let his fear overshadow his excitement. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, ignoring the stench and focusing on relaxing his mind and body.

Who are you?

Blair could "feel" the voice's surprise.

Who the hell are you?

In spite of the weirdness, Blair chuckled. Just his luck to get a grouchy spirit.

Blair Sandburg.

No answer.

Hey, man, you still there?

How'd you get in my head?

Grouchy and curious.

Good question. I was going to ask you the same thing. Blair shook his head in amusement. So do you have a name?

Is this some new kind of interrogation? Because if it is, all you're getting is name, rank and serial number.

Grouchy, curious, and paranoid.

Not that I know of, and I would think I would know since I'm part of this--whatever this is.

There was quiet at the other end for so long Blair figured the man had somehow turned the link off. Finally, however, he answered.

Jim Ellison.

Blair's knees gave way and he dropped to the ground amidst the ruins.

Although the hole was pitch black, Jim could easily make out the pieces of the structure, which had tumbled down in the cellar around him. In fact, he had become well-acquainted with his natural prison in the hours since he'd been trapped. After the initial quake, the aftershocks had brought more debris raining down upon him, but the tremors were becoming less intense, no more than a rolling wave through the ground beneath him.

He listened intently for any sign of life, but there was nothing but the hiss of escaping gas someplace above him. He was grateful, knowing that he would already be dead if noxious fumes had been releasing in his little cell of safety. As it was, he had no idea how much longer the oxygen would last.

Smells inundated him. The foremost being his own body and its waste. He used one corner as his latrine, but the area was so small, there was nothing to hold the odor at bay. Then there was his sweat and the blood he'd shed from a nasty gash on his brow. He'd torn a piece off his black T-shirt and wrapped it around the wound. It wasn't too deep, but like all head wounds, had bled profusely.

Other odors, like the natural gas above him and the reek of burning buildings, as well as the occasional whiff of a dead body from a nearby structure made him gag, but that reflex was decreasing. He was slowly becoming accustomed to the horrendous smells.

Jim sat on a piece of what had been the embassy roof, leaning against a wall that remained whole. The first few hours had been spent desperately searching for a way out, but there was none. He'd tried digging with his hands, but had surrendered when his palms and fingers became raw and bloody. If he was a religious man, he would've started praying, but Jim Ellison had never particularly believed in one certain doctrine. He knew there was some "one" or some "thing" out there, but doubted the god would care much about him among the billions.

So damned alone.

There was no one back in the States for him--he'd long ago left his father and brother to their cold world of acquisitions and mergers. The one woman he'd considered marrying years ago had married his best friend and he hadn't seen either one since. The military with its clear-cut rules and strict lines between right and wrong had become his family.

But when fears of insanity began to plague him, he had opted to separate from the military before losing himself completely. He was seeing, hearing, smelling, and tasting things that weren't there. And touch--the only time he could get enough was when he paid for the company of a prostitute. Even then, the longing would only be assuaged for a short time, and return with a vengeance within a day or two.

He tipped his head back and rested it against the wall behind him. The Chopec were his last resort. There was something he couldn't remember that involved them and their shaman Incacha--something important which stayed just beyond his ability to recall. But that was the only place left he had to go--the only place he might find some peace.

Closing his eyes, he was shocked to feel tears welling behind his eyelids. Jim Ellison hadn't cried when he left his father and brother and joined the Army; he hadn't cried when he'd killed his first man; he hadn't cried when he'd lost seven friends in a helicopter crash five years ago.

No, what he cried for now wasn't something which had happened; it was for all the somethings which would never happen.

Damn it. I don't want to die. Not yet. Not this way.

After thirty-eight years, he didn't want it to end like this--suffocating in a hole all alone.

Please, somebody, help me.

Who are you?

Jim jerked upright and nearly fell off his precarious perch. He searched the surrounding darkness for the owner of the voice. But he was alone. He was going crazy. Still, if he was going to die, even an imaginary voice was better than being completely alone.

Who the hell are you?

Although Jim had no clue if this voice was real or not, he couldn't deny the warmth of an amused chuckle as it caressed his thoughts.

Blair Sandburg.

Shit, his figment had a name. Where the hell had he come up with that? If he was going to make up a friend, he sure as hell wouldn't name him Blair.

Hey, man, you still there?

Shocked, Jim's heart began to race. This was no imagined person--Blair Sandburg existed. Somewhere.

How'd you get in my head?

Good question. I was going to ask you the same thing. So, do you have a name?

Okay, so they were both in the dark--Jim, both literally and figuratively. Years of covert ops kicked his cautious nature into gear.

Is this some new kind of interrogation? Because if it is, all you're getting is name, rank and serial number.

*Not that I know of, and I would think I would know since I'm part of this--whatever this is.*

He "sounded" sincere. He also "sounded" trustworthy.

Jim Ellison.

The connection was abruptly broken and a sharp pain lanced through Jim's mind as the bond snapped. He rocked back and forth, clutching his head between his hands. The pervading noxious fumes flooded through him and the hissing sound filled his mind, threatening to drive him insane. He opened his eyes and peered into the blackness, losing himself in the velvety nothingness.

Blair felt a rough tongue against his cheek and opened his eyes to find Mac licking his face. "Hey, I'm okay now."

Mac sat back on his haunches and stared at Blair, his brown eyes filled with concern.

Hurt?

Blair took stock of his condition but seemed to be intact. Then he remembered and his heart slammed against his ribs. "Oh my God. Jim Ellison. He's alive. I think."

Friend.

"What do you mean?"

Talk.

"Holy shit. Did you hear him, too?"

Mac seemed to nod.

Alive.

"Oh, wow! We need to check in and get to work." Blair picked up the backpack, duffel bag, and the end of the leash. "We don't know how long he has left."

Blair jogged easily as Mac trotted beside him. Five minutes later he spotted Joel Taggert's familiar burly form by a large tent with an orange cross and SAR in huge letters on the roof.

"Blair," Joel said, reaching out to give Blair a hug. "We were getting worried about you."

"Sorry." But Blair didn't offer an explanation. Nobody would believe him. Hell, he even had trouble believing what had just happened between himself and Ellison. "Where're Megan and Rafe?"

"They're already out. Stow your gear, then I'll show you the search grid."

Blair nodded and hustled into the tent, dropping his duffel on to a cot. As he turned to leave, a wave of vertigo washed over him. The bottom fell out of his stomach and a gaping emptiness opened within him. And for the second time in less than ten minutes, he fell to his knees.

No! Jim, where are you? Blair screamed silently, all his instincts telling him that something had happened to Ellison.

The connection between them reopened much easier, and Blair could "feel" that Jim was alive, but unconscious. No, not unconscious. Aware, but not. Frustrated, Blair probed deeper.

Jim, come on, man, you're scaring me here. Not that this thing between us isn't already a little scary, but it's nothing compared to what I'm feeling right now. I'm terrified, buddy. Come on, answer me, Jim. Check in, buddy.

On the periphery of his awareness, Blair felt Mac press against him, giving him some much-needed support.

A sense of being awakened swept through Blair and he knew Jim was rousing.

Hey, Jim, are you there? It's Blair Sandburg. Remember me?

Sandburg?

Blair sighed in relief. Damn, don't scare me like that again. What happened?

Hesitation and something like fear came through their link.

Sorry, Chief. I guess I was thinking a little too hard.

Although Blair recognized the obfuscation--hell, he was a master at it himself--he was too relieved to call the soldier on it. Look, Jim, I'm here with Search and Rescue. My job is to find survivors of the earthquake and your father told me you were at the embassy when the quake hit. I'm here to get you out.

My father?

Blair felt the other man's shock and disbelief.

Yeah, man, your dad. He and your brother Stephen brought Mac and me down here in their private jet. He's real worried about you.

If a snort could be heard through a telepathic connection, that's what Blair heard.

Worried about me disgracing the family name, more like it.

There was no doubt Jim Ellison harbored a world of hurt and bitterness toward his father.

Whatever the reason, he brought Mac and I down here, and we're going to find you.

Who's Mac? A little yip resounded within their link. What was that?

Blair chuckled. *That was Mac. He's a specially trained rescue dog. I guess he's also part of this thing between us.*

Can this "thing" get any weirder?

Don't ask, man. You may not want to know the answer. Blair paused, then pressed forward, not certain how long their link would last. Tell me where you are and what your condition is, Jim.

I'm in the basement of the U.S. Embassy. No openings that I can see. I've got a cut on my forehead and a headache from hell, but otherwise I'm okay.

Blair breathed a sigh of relief. Good. Mac and I are going to find out exactly where you are and get some rescue workers to help dig you out. Hang in there, Jim.

Uh, thanks, Blair.

Warmth spread through Blair as he pictured Jim Ellison's haunted eyes. You're welcome. I'm going to try to keep our link open, so if you need me, just holler.

Don't you mean, just "think loudly"?

Blair laughed and felt some of Jim's tension ease.

Hang in there, Jim. The cavalry is on the way.

Do you look anything like John Wayne?

More like Martin Short. Blair's smile faltered. I'll be here.

Blair drew himself out of the light trance he'd been in, being careful to hold on to the end of the link. It was a tricky maneuver, but he managed to maintain the connection while remaining totally conscious and aware.

Back?

Blair grinned at Mac. "Yeah, I'm back and ready to go. We need to find Jim."

Find.

Blair and Mac joined Joel outside the tent. "Any survivors?"

Joel smiled and nodded. "Rafe and Bit found one; Megan and Aussie two."

"Good." Blair closed his eyes in relief. Three lives spared. Hopefully more, including Jim Ellison's. "Are either of them working near the U.S. Embassy site?"

"No. It appears everyone got out of there safely."

Blair shook his head firmly. "Not everyone. Major Jim Ellison is still trapped there."

"We were told--"

"They're wrong. He's in the basement."

Joel folded his arms over his chest. "How do you know?"

Blair glanced away. As well as he got along with the Search and Rescue team members, he had never talked to them about his abilities. Hell, he wasn't even sure he believed it half the time, but Mac's presence always reminded him.

He took a deep breath and faced Joel. "Trust me on this. If we don't find him, he's going to die."

Joel's forehead furrowed. "You flew down with the Ellisons, didn't you?"

"The old man showed me a picture of his son Jim and told me about him being in the embassy when the earthquake hit," Blair admitted carefully.

"How do they--" Joel broke off and shook his head. "All right. I've trusted you before and there's no reason not to trust your instincts now. I'm going to give you that grid. It's about five blocks from here and from what I've heard, damned hard to get to. That area has the most damage and there's tons of debris between us and the embassy's location." Joel laid a large, but gentle hand on Blair's shoulder. "Be careful and remember to check in."

"I will. Are there emergency personnel working that area?"

"Not specifically the embassy because they thought everyone was out. But there are firemen, policemen, and militia both on search and clean-up duty within a block of that position."

"Mac and I'll work our way to the embassy. With any luck, we'll find some more survivors along the way, too."

Joel handed him a walkie-talkie. "Here. You know the drill. Call for help if Mac finds someone."

"I will," Blair reassured. He stopped by the supply area and added half a dozen bottles of water, energy bars, and another first aid kit--this one for humans--to Mac's backpack.

He and Mac began the treacherous hike through the rubble and mud.

Jim fought thirst as his senses crested and waned without warning. At first he thought he was hallucinating, like with Blair Sandburg. Hell, maybe he was imagining the young man's voice in his head. He had needed someone to talk to and there he was. Some people would say it was a miracle. Jim Ellison called it...well, he didn't know what to call it, but he didn't believe in miracles.

But his senses--no, those were too damned real. As were those weird blackouts he'd started experiencing. If Blair hadn't called him back from the last one, Jim had no idea if he would've survived. But, then, maybe it would have been an easier death.

No! Jim wasn't going to go meekly to his death. Besides, Blair Sandburg had given him another reason to fight. He wasn't alone anymore.

Blair, are you there?

There was a long pause and Jim fought a rising panic.

Hey, Jim. I'm heading your way, but I have to tell you, this side of the city's pretty well trashed. I'm having a hard time getting through even on foot.

How bad was the quake?

Over seven on the Richter scale. I've been to other earthquake-devastated areas and this is one of the worst.

How long have you been with Search and Rescue?

Three years. To save people.

What?

You were going to ask why, right?

No. I figured that was your reason. You sound like someone who cares.

And Jim realized that although he had never met Blair Sandburg, he might know the rescuer better than people he'd known for years.

Thanks, man. I do care. A pause. So, tell me, if you could have anything to eat that you wanted right now, what would it be?

A double Wonderburger. Jim pictured the thick burger in his mind's eye.

You're kidding, right?

Nope. Sometimes I dream about it. The grease running down my chin...

Ugh! Hey, Mac, don't you give me that look. You know how I feel about those grease bombs.

Jim chuckled, imagining the young man gazing at a dog that had its tongue lolling.

Smart dog.

Don't encourage him.

So what's your favorite food, Chief?

Thai, but Chinese will do in a pinch.

Jim's stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours.

Maybe we better change the subject. My stomach's not appreciating the discussion.

Sorry. Have you had any food or water since the quake?

No.

Lightheaded?

A little, but I'm just sitting here in the dark, conserving.

Good. Don't move around too much.

I don't plan to. My air's running out.

There was a charge of panic through their bond.

Blair, are you all right?

Uh, yeah. I didn't even think about the oxygen thing. Damn it, Jim, don't move. Don't do anything that would make your body expend more air.

Warmth spread through Jim at Blair's solicitude. Hell, no one he ever knew had been as concerned for him as this person he'd never met.

Just get your ass over here, Sandburg.

And save your ass. Right. Got it, Ellison.

The teasing in Blair's "voice" made Jim smile.

Although the two men were quiet, the bond between them remained open. Jim concentrated on the connection and began to feel things he knew weren't coming from himself--resolution and compassion, among other emotions. They weren't a facade, but real and embedded in who Blair Sandburg was.

Suddenly there was a rush of agony in their bond and Jim jerked.

Blair, are you all right?

No answer.

Damn it, Chief, answer me!

They're dead.

Jim closed his eyes in relief at Blair's "voice". Then the words sunk in. Who's dead?

Mac found two bodies. One's a little girl, about three, maybe four years old. The other is a young woman, probably her mother.

Anguish swept through Jim and he managed to tamp it down, for Blair's sake. Those are only their physical bodies, Sandburg. They're past the pain and hurting now.

I know, but I feel so damned helpless. God, Jim, I joined Search and Rescue to find the living, not the dead.

Life and death go hand in hand, Chief. Jim's thoughts were soft and sympathetic. The door between the two worlds is never locked.

Jim could feel Blair's attempted smile.

Thanks for reminding me. I'm a shaman, Jim. I know how wide open that door is.

A shaman?

I, uh, I can hear spirits as they leave their bodies and go through that door.

Jim froze. Was he like Bruce Willis in that movie, "The Sixth Sense", and didn't know he was dead? Was Blair Sandburg trying to help him move from this world to the next?

Am I dead? Jim sounded terrified to his own ears. Nothing at all like bad ass Ellison who survived the Rangers and covert ops, only to die in a fucking hole?

No! You're alive, Jim! Damn it, listen to me. You're as alive as I am.

Jim laughed bitterly. And how do I know you're alive?

Trust me, man.

You don't know what you're asking, Chief.

I'm only asking for your trust.

I stopped giving that years ago.

Then find it and believe. I'm not going to let you down.

You'd be the first.

Trust me, Jim.

Jim's gut clenched and his fingers curled into his palms. Hope. Faith. Trust. Things Jim Ellison had long ago ceased to believe. And here was this Blair Sandburg asking him to renounce his disbelief and have faith again.

I-I trust you, Chief.

Thank you.

The words felt like a benediction whispered to his weary soul.

Blair continued to pick his way slowly through the debris-strewn streets. Vehicles were buried under rubble and there were areas where the road had caved-in, like a huge sinkhole had opened beneath it. Water ran in rivulets, forming alluviums of silt and mud in flat areas of the streets. He and Mac climbed over pieces of buildings taller than himself and walked around piles of glass from shattered windows. They watched rescue personnel digging through mountains of debris, but Blair always kept in mind why they were there: to find survivors, including Jim Ellison.

Mac had found two more bodies and Blair had planted an orange marker in the ground beside them, indicating where the rescue workers should dig. He paused to regain his breath, took a drink and gave some water to Mac. The sun was over halfway to the western horizon when clouds obliterated it, lending a gray pall to the already dismal surroundings. He dug his rain poncho out of the pack and tugged it on over his head, expecting drizzle or rain soon.

Mac lifted his nose and began to prance around in a circle, smelling the air. Blair could tell he'd caught the scent of somebody--hopefully, a survivor. Blair followed Mac as he continued racing back and forth, the distance of his pacing decreasing as they moved forward. When Blair had entered the elite K-9 corps, he'd taken weeks of training courses. He'd learned that a scent could be envisioned like a cone, with the person being the smallest end of the cone and their scent widening outwardly with the dispersal of the air molecules. Mac would catch the widest end of the scent and follow it to the narrowest end.

Blair, what's going on?

Jim's "voice" surprised him.

Mac's onto a scent, but we're still too far from the embassy for it to be yours.

Is it a survivor?

God, I hope so.

Me, too, Chief.

Blair felt Jim's presence like a down comforter--warm and reassuring.

Mac was finally moving in more or less a straight line, and Blair unleashed him. The dog ran ahead, and Blair scrambled over the debris with less grace than the animal, but managed to keep him in sight. Finally, Mac stopped beside a building where only two sides remained standing and began to dig.

"Help!" came a weak cry.

"Hello!" Blair called back, kneeling beside Mac. He peered into a hole about six inches in diameter, and could barely make out a dark-haired woman leaning against one of the walls. "I'm with Search and Rescue. How badly hurt are you?"

"My leg. I think it is broken," she replied with heavily accented English.

"Hold on. We'll have you out of there in a few minutes." Blair got on his walkie-talkie as he looked around. There were no other rescue workers in sight. "Joel, we have a live one." He gave his location.

"I'll have a team there in five minutes," Joel assured. "Keep her calm."

"Will do."

What's going on? Did you find someone? Jim asked.

A woman. She's hurt, but alive.

Good.

She's trapped and I can't get to her, but I can see her.

Do you have other people coming to help get her out?

Yeah, they'll be here in a few minutes.

Shit, there's an aftershock coming through.

I don't feel any--

Trust me, Blair.

Blair didn't even question his absolute confidence in the man. Frantically, he dug away dirt and rock with his hands to expand the hole. The shock could bring the unstable structure down on top of the trapped woman. With Mac digging alongside him, Blair was able to make the hole large enough that he could wriggle through. As he did so, he kept his mind blank, focusing only on saving the woman's life.

"We have to get out of here," Blair said to her. He shifted behind her and put his arms under hers to pull her out.

She reached weakly for a water bottle lying beside her. "M-my water."

"It's empty," Blair murmured. "You can have more when we're out."

What's going on, Chief?

Blair had to ignore Jim as he began to drag the woman and she screamed in pain. He flinched, wishing he didn't have to hurt her, but it was better than the alternative. He scrambled through the hole, then leaned in and pulled the victim, who had fainted, through the opening. Just as they made it to the other side, the aftershock rocked through the city.

Talk to me, Blair!

He covered her body with his own as Mac crouched close beside them. The structure she'd been in collapsed, raining debris on Blair's back. He jerked when the larger pieces struck him and hoped neither the woman nor Mac were being hurt by the fallout. The earth finally settled down again.

Sandburg! Damn it, Blair, answer me! Are you all right?

Jim's frantic "voice" brought Blair out of his daze and he mentally surveyed his body for injuries, but didn't find anything broken, merely bruised.

I'm here, Jim. A little worse for wear, but nothing serious.

Jeezus, Sandburg, give an old man a heart attack.

Blair laughed, a release from his terror.

'Old man'? I don't think so, buddy. Not unless they build old men like gods these days.

There was startled silence at the other end of the link and Blair cursed himself for the stupid comment. He hadn't meant to think it aloud.

How--? Jim began uncertainly.

Your father carries a picture of you in his wallet--the magazine cover after you were rescued from the jungle. He showed it to me.

Long silence.

How's the woman, Chief?

His question brought Blair out of his reverie and he checked the dark--haired girl over carefully.

Cuts and bruises and a broken right leg.

She could be dehydrated, too. See if she'll drink some water.

For a moment, Blair couldn't move. Instead of being angry because Blair had been delayed getting to the embassy, Jim was concerned about the injured woman. It was astounding and totally selfless, which told Blair a hell of a lot about the man to whom he was linked.

Blair patted the woman's cheeks gently and she came out of her faint, blinking and trying to focus on him.

"Wha--"

"Shhh, drink some water." Blair placed his hand behind her head and held the bottle to her lips. He allowed her to swallow only a couple times before drawing it away. She whimpered, reaching for it. "You can have more, but you don't want to overdo it or you might get sick."

Mac's head jerked up and Blair followed his line of sight. A group of six people, with two of them carrying a stretcher, made uneven but steady progress toward them. "Over here," Blair called out and waved.

Two minutes later, he relinquished her care to the medics, and Mac and Blair continued toward the embassy with a lighter step.

She's going to be okay, Jim.

I'm glad, Chief. How about you and Mac?

We're doing fine and headed your way. How's the air?

Stale, but there's still some here.

Dread made Blair move a little faster. What if Jim died before they could reach him?

Take it easy, Sandburg. I'm not going anywhere.

*That's so not funny, Ellison.*

Sorry. My sense of humor can be pretty bad when I'm scared.

For someone like Jim Ellison to admit he was frightened, things weren't good.

I want the truth, Jim. How are you?

I'm hanging in there, Sandburg. Since you've met my family, such as they are, it's only fair that you tell me about yours.

Blair stumbled at the unexpected request and Mac glanced back at him questioningly.

"I'm all right," he reassured the dog.

Not much to tell. I was raised by my mother who never settled in one place longer than six months. She never told me who my dad was, but that never bothered me.

Liar.

Blair cringed. So Ellison wasn't easily fooled by his obfuscation. He should have known the link they shared wouldn't allow him to get away with his normal half-truths.

All right, so it bothered me some, but I tried not to let it like make me bitter or anything. Life's too short to be hauling around that kind of baggage.

I wish I'd learned that fifteen years ago. I joined the Army to get away from my father.

I kind of figured that out. What about your mother?

After a long pause, Jim answered. She left when I was nine. Never saw her again. No big deal.

Liar.

Blair felt the warmth of Jim's eyes upon him, even though he knew it was only an illusion.

I never learned to let it go. It was always eating at my gut, making me wonder if it was me. Maybe if I'd been a better kid or wasn't so different, maybe she would've stayed.

Adults leave for many reasons, Jim, and very few of them involve their children. Why do you think you were different?

Because I was. I am.

His thought was so subdued, Blair almost missed it.

Talk to me, Jim. What makes you so different?

Because I am!

The words were practically shouted through the link.

Oh, hell, I may as well tell you. We probably won't ever meet in this life anyhow.

Desperation and fear plowed through Blair. Damn it, Jim, don't say that!

Take it easy, Chief. I'm not knocking at the devil's door yet. Now, are you ready for the big confession or not?

The cynicism in the thought burned Blair, but he instinctively knew Jim needed to tell somebody.

Go ahead, buddy.

I'm going insane. Have been ever since I was a kid. It's just that I used to be able to bury it and pretend to be like everyone else, but I can't do that anymore. The past few months--

His "voice" broke off with a choked cry, which made Blair's throat tighten.

It's okay, Jim. Just take your time. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere..

Blair was aware of the workers he passed and knew he waved at them, but his attention was focused inward, on Jim Ellison.

Everything is more, you know? More sound, more smell, more sight, more taste, and--well, more touching.

Blair imagined his long slender fingers touching him and his body reacted, blazing heat to his groin. Shocked by his fiery reaction, he fought to keep the desire from his "voice".

So you're saying your senses are, like, supersensitive?

I guess so. I can hear a whisper behind a closed door, smell somebody's deodorant from twenty feet away, and see a bird's single feather when it's soaring high in the sky. That's not normal, Chief. I mean, it's crazy.

Are your senses like that all the time?

No, but it happens when I don't expect it. Last week there was a bad storm. My hearing went out of whack and when it thundered I was rolling around on the floor like I had just been shocked by an electric current. Then the headache. God, Chief, I can't even tell you how bad it was. I wanted to die.

Blair's heart leaped into his throat. Did you go see a doctor?

A cross between a laugh and a cry came through their connection.

Only about a dozen. Nobody could find anything wrong with me. A couple of them thought I should be put under psychiatric care.

How did you manage to stay in the Army this long?

It didn't get bad until a few months ago. Six weeks ago I put in my resignation.

Didn't you have to stay until your enlistment was up?

That's for sergeants and privates. Officers can resign their commission.

Blair stored that piece of information away in a corner of his brain, and as he did, something else popped out. Before I joined SAR, I was working on my doctorate in anthropology.

So you're a science nerd?

Even though Blair knew Jim meant it in a teasing manner, it still hurt. All too often, he had been labeled just that.

I wanted to find a sentinel.

A what?

A sentinel. There have been references to sentinels in a few out-of-print books, and those were mostly about tribes in South America. A sentinel is a person with all five senses enhanced. He was a valued member of the tribe who had special abilities, but there hasn't been a sentinel sighting in close to a century. Most scientists believe their genes died out since they weren't needed anymore what with modern technology and all.

Let me get this straight. You think I'm one of these sentinels? A person who has these genes, which are supposed to be extinct?

Blair shrugged, though inwardly he vibrated with excitement. You could be the real thing, Jim.

So I'm not going crazy?

Blair smiled gently. No, Jim, you're not losing it.

But, then, if they're natural, why can't I control them?

You sound like you were a sports jock in high school. Were you?

I guess. I mean, I played football and basketball. Was pretty good, too.

Blair smiled at his matter-of-fact statement. So you had a natural athletic ability, but did that mean you didn't have to practice?

Damn, you're sneaky, Darwin. I see what you mean. My senses are natural, but I still have to practice controlling them.

The dumb jock got it in one.

There was a long moment of silence, and Blair was afraid he'd hurt Jim's feelings.

Dumb jock and science nerd, huh? There was no hint of sarcasm in Jim's thoughts.

Hey, I'll have you know this science nerd plays a pretty mean game of b-ball.

When I get out of here, we'll have to play some one-on-one.

Blair's mind pictured a different kind of one-on-one, an infinitely more exciting kind. He suspected everything would be pretty damned exciting with Jim Ellison.

Tell me what you look like, Chief.

Jim sounded almost seductive. Shit, he couldn't tell Jim what he looked like--short and geeky. The kind of guy the jocks stole homework assignments from and teased mercilessly.

Tom Cruise.

Huh?

You asked me what I looked like. Tom Cruise.

Oh. For some reason I didn't picture you like that.

How did you picture me?

I don't know, but it wasn't him.

I sure hope it wasn't Nicole Kidman. I'm not blond.

Jim's laughter came through their link loud and clear. I haven't laughed like that in a long time, Chief. Thanks.

I aim to please, buddy.

A soft rhythmic sound seemed to come from within rather than from without, but as Jim listened, the intensity grew and separated from himself. He heard footsteps--more than one, but not both were human. One was a dog.

Blair! I hear you and Mac. You're right on top of me.

The rhythmic sound increased its beat and Jim finally recognized it. Blair's heartbeat.

Take it easy, Chief. Your heart's beating a mile a minute up there.

You can hear it?

Jim smiled a little smugly even though his parched lips cracked with the effort.

Yeah, and it sounds damned good!

It sounded like life and contentment and...home. Jim shook his head. The lack of oxygen must be scrambling his brain.

Mac brought us right here. He's trying to dig, but there's a helluva lot of stuff covering this hole, buddy. I'm going to call in and get help.

Although Blair tried to inject hope into his "voice," Jim sensed his dismay.

They should be here in about five minutes with machinery to move this stuff so we can get you out of there.

There's a chance they'll just bring it all down on top of me. Jim hated to voice the thought, but he suspected Blair recognized the same thing.

Shit. I know. God, Jim, I really don't want to lose you.

Jim's eyes burned. Same here, Chief.

I'm not leaving until you're out, Jim. I promise.

Jim felt the vibrations of a heavy vehicle approaching, as well as numerous footsteps. They're almost here.

I would love to test your senses, Jim, to find out how powerful they are. I read Richard Burton's--the anthropologist, not the actor's--book and he's supposedly the expert on sentinels. I've got some ideas on how you can control your senses and as soon as you're out of there, we're going to work on them. Then you're going to realize that they really are a gift, not a curse. I mean...

Slow down and take a breath, buddy.

Jim remained sitting with his eyes closed while he communicated with Blair. During their "conversation," he'd tried to form an image of the man, but there was only a fuzzy picture. Was Blair really a science nerd? Would it matter if he was? Hell, this was the first time Jim had actually gotten to know someone without making a judgment based on appearance. In a way, it was much more satisfying...and arousing.

They're here, Jim.

Yeah, I can hear them.

Could you try yelling, see if we can hear you?

I'll try.

Jim opened his mouth and hollered, only to have an almost silent croak come out. Too dry. He tried to form some saliva, but there was no moisture left even for that, and when he took a deep breath, there didn't seem to be much air filling his lungs.

Jim. Jim, can you hear me?

Yeah, I hear you. I-I couldn't yell. Thirsty. Air's growing thinner, too.

Blair's "voice" called to him after a few moments of silence. Stay with me, buddy! Come on, Jim. I want you to keep talking to me. Let me know you're still there.

Jim listened as men started shoveling and removing the debris above him by hand, while some type of crane or loader began to lift the larger pieces away, but Jim knew there was a good twenty feet of rubble separating him and them.

What do you want me to talk about, Chief?

Uh, anything. Why don't you tell me what your favorite foods are, besides Wonderburger that is.

I like Chinese and Italian. I make a mean lasagna. Gotta have you over for dinner sometime.

I'd like that, Jim.

Blair's gentle thoughts curled through him, warming the icy fear in his belly.

Some lasagna, French bread, wine and candlelight. Jim added.

Sounds like a date, buddy.

Would you mind if it was? The lack of oxygen was making Jim more daring.

No, not at all. Blair's "voice" was a silky whisper.

Tell me what you look like, Chief.

Who's your favorite singer?

Why was Blair so afraid to describe himself?

Santana, definitely.

Doesn't surprise me. Do you like to read?

Favorite pastime, other than watching the Jags on TV.

I'm a Jags fan, too. I'll make the popcorn if you bring the beer.

You're on, Chief. Jim's thoughts muddled as he grew more tired. I wanna take a nap.

Oh, no you don't, buddy. You have to stay awake. If you go to sleep you're not going to wake up again.

Sometimes that doesn't sound so bad.

You better not be saying what I think you are.

Nah, I wouldn't do anything like that. But sometimes a man's gotta know when to throw them.

Kenny Rogers. "The Gambler." Please don't tell me he's on your list of top picks.

Hey, he's not so bad. If a person could slur their thoughts, Jim figured he was definitely slurring his.

Jim, man, listen to my voice. Come on, concentrate. Stay awake here. Who's your favorite author?

Uh, let's see. Readin' Kerouac now. Tell you a secret? Liked readin' the Three Investigators when I was a kid. Surprised I didn't become a cop.

So what're your plans now that you've resigned your commission?

Gotta figure out what I wanna be when I grow up.

With your senses, you could join Search and Rescue. We could work together.

Jim opened his eyes--at least, he thought he did, but it was still pitch black. Me and you and Mac workin' together. I like that, Chief. Savin' people, 'stead of killin' them. He sensed Blair's shock. What had he said? Hated to kill, but had to. My job, y'know. That's why I came here, to the embassy. Didn't have to kill anymore.

It's all right, Jim. I can't say that I understand, but you don't strike me as a person who would enjoy taking a life.

Hated it! Wanna join Search an' Rescue. Save people.

Shhhh, relax, Jim. Don't get upset. Keep your breathing steady and even.

Jim felt lightheaded, floating above his body.

If I float high enough, I can just fly outta here.

What're you talking about?

Jim giggled. I'm not talkin'. I'm thinkin'.

That's the lack of oxygen in your blood, Jim. It's making you kind of funny, isn't it?

Nah, not funny. Stone face Ellison. Not a funny bone in his body. Funny bone, get it, Chief?

I got it, Jim. That's pretty funny, all right.

Tell me, Blair, pleeaaase.

Tell you what, Jim?

Whaddaya look like?

What do you think I look like?

Bea-yoo-ti-ful.

Blair's chuckle made Jim feel even better.

Why do you think I'm beautiful?

Don't think. Know. Your heart.

My heart?

Heart's beautiful. Nothin' else matters.

*You say that now, but when you see me.... *

Don't matter. Love you.

Jim, you're not getting enough oxygen in your body right now and you're not thinking straight. Blair's "voice" sounded sad.

Jim snorted. Don't wanna think 'straight'. Wanna think of you. Beautiful Blair.

Blair buried his face in his palms. The image of the Jim Ellison on the magazine cover filled his mind. To even think a man like him would want to hang out with a nerdy guy with a masters in anthropology...Jim was definitely oxygen deprived.

Still, the fantasy of a romantic dinner with Jim was so damn tempting. Gods, he was almost in love with the man already. It wouldn't take much to fall the rest of the way. But it wasn't going to happen. Jim could hold on to his beautiful image of Blair Sandburg, instead of being disappointed in the real thing.

All Blair wanted was for Jim to survive...to live. Blair had been given the gift to communicate with him and find him. Surely the same god who allowed that wouldn't let him die.

Quiet.

Blair brought his head up to glance at Mac, who was staring at the dent the rescue workers had made in what was left of the embassy.

Hey, Jim, it won't be long before they're through.

Frightening silence greeted him. Blair sat up straighter and concentrated harder. Damn it, Jim, answer me. Don't you dare die on me!

I'm here, Chief. He "sounded" like he was drunk.

They're almost through now. Think you can hang in there a little longer?

I'll try. For you.

Blair's heart jumped into his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut. You just stay alive, buddy, okay?

Have to. Wanna love you.

A wave of emotions crashed over Blair and brought tears to his eyes. Jim only thought he wanted to love him. Once he got a look at him he'd run so fast and far in the opposite direction Blair would never see him again. But Jim needed him now and Blair could cut his heart out easier than he could walk away from the soldier at this moment. But later, after he was rescued...

You just keep thinking about that, Jim.

Gonna dream 'bout you...

His "voice" trailed off and Blair waited...and waited.

Jim! Jim, come back to me! Damn it, Ellison, you answer me!

Silence, then nothing. The link was severed.

Blair jumped to his feet, startling Mac. "We have to hurry. He's running out of air."

Suddenly Rafe and Megan, with their dogs, appeared out of the gray drizzle.

"What's going on, Sandy?" Megan asked as she stroked Aussie, her black and tan German shepherd.

''Jim Ellison's down there, but he's unconscious. He's almost out of air."

"How do you know?" Rafe asked, his hazel eyes somber. Beside him, his golden lab Bit sat on his haunches.

"I just know. Please, Rafe, Megan, believe me. They have to hurry or Jim's going to die."

Megan took a hold of his arm. "They're working as fast as they can. Let's move out of their way and sit down. You've been working ever since you got here. Mac could probably use some food and water."

Although Blair was frantic with worry about Jim, he knew Megan was right. He dug into his backpack and came up with the portable food and water containers, then filled both of them and set them in front of Mac. Megan and Rafe did the same with Aussie and Bit, respectively.

"Sit down, Sandy," Megan suggested gently. "We could all use some food and water."

Blair allowed Rafe to tug him down on a fairly flat, somewhat dry surface. An energy bar was placed in his hand and he mechanically took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. Even though he'd been alone most of his adult life, Blair had never been lonely until now. The place Jim had inhabited within him was now a gaping wound, like a pulled tooth--a hole that throbbed and ached.

Blair stood and paced. He felt a light intimate touch in his mind--Jim. He was still alive, but barely. "Damn it, Ellison, don't you dare die!" he murmured. "Don't tell me you love me, then die...like Tom did."

And you didn't tell Jim either when he spoke the words, did you? Blair's conscience taunted him. You couldn't even tell him what you look like. Coward!

"Sandburg."

The familiar voice made Blair turn and he spotted William and Stephen Ellison struggling across the rubble to join him. Obviously, Joel had been successful contacting them after Blair had called the rescue in.

"I heard...you f-found him...and he's alive," William said in between gasping breaths.

Blair nodded. "For now. But he's running out of air. If they don't get to him soon, he's going to die."

William's face paled. "Isn't there anything more--?"

"They're doing everything they can." Blair tried to take a deep breath but couldn't get past the lump in his throat.

Suddenly Jim's featherlight touch on his mind disappeared and a more familiar, but much less welcome, sensation crept through him. A spirit leaving a body...

"Nooooooo!" Blair screamed.

"We're through," one of the workers hollered a split second later.

Blair pushed past everyone to get to the edge of the hole where Jim lay at the bottom. "He's not breathing," he shouted. Without thinking or considering the twelve-foot drop, Blair jumped.

He hit the bottom hard and rolled when his ankle twisted, but he barely noticed. He scrambled over to Jim's inert body and placed his hand behind Jim's neck and lifted, then used the heel of his other hand to press his forehead gently to open his airway as much as possible. Blair took a deep breath then covered Jim's mouth with his own and blew into it.

Breathe. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Blair watched his chest rise, drew back, listened to Jim's involuntary exhalation, then repeated.

Breathe. Two. Three. Four. Five.

He continued breathing life-giving air into Jim until someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was the Peruvian equivalent of an EMT. Dizzy, Blair shifted back while two men took his place. One put an oxygen mask over Jim's nose and mouth, while another checked his heart, and immediately started CPR.

Blair knelt on the ground, his backside resting on his heels. Moisture splashed his hand and he rubbed at his damp face.

"Damn it, Jim. This can't be happening," Blair whispered brokenly.

The EMTs stopped and looked at each other, shaking their heads.

Blair pushed between them. "No. You can't stop. He's alive. I tell you, he's alive!"

"I am sorry, seor, he is gone," one of the EMTs said quietly.

"This is not over!" Blair shouted. He shoved the men aside and placed his lips against Jim's cold ones, breathing into his mouth.

The EMTs each took hold of one of Blair's arms and tugged him away from Jim. "He is dead. There is nothing more you can do."

Fighting with everything he had, Blair tried to get back to Jim's side. Suddenly, a man dressed in the native wear of a South American tribe stood in front of him, and Blair froze as he stared. Red and black paint covered his face and bare chest, and he held a long spear in one hand

"You are a shaman. Bring back your sentinel," the man said firmly.

"I don't know how." Blair had no idea if he'd spoken aloud.

The man motioned to Jim, but there was a large black cat lying where Jim had been. The animal's side moved up and down shallowly. "Use your animal spirit."

The tribesman disappeared and Blair felt the arms holding him loosen. He quickly jerked out of their hold and went to Jim's side. He framed Jim's cold face within his hands, closed his eyes and concentrated on the black jaguar, who was running away from him. Blair ran after him and felt his body transform. He looked down to see large familiar paws--Mac's?

Jim, come back. It's not your time.

The jaguar loped to a stop and turned to gaze at Blair. Feline and canine eyes met and bound one to the other, then the black cat started running back toward Blair, who raced toward him. At the last moment, the cat and wolf jumped and met in the air, their bodies merging into one with white light exploding like a supernova.

"Madre dios, he is alive."

Blair heard the words as if from far away, and when a hand gently but firmly pushed him aside, he moved without argument. The oxygen mask was re-placed on Jim's face and this time it clouded with his breath.

Blair sat, numb, unable to grasp what had happened. He hadn't been thinking, merely reacting, and it appeared he'd done the right thing.

"Sandy! Get up here. It's Mac. He's having some sort of seizure," Megan called down frantically.

Blair struggled to his feet and searched furiously for a way out. He spotted the rope, which hung down from the top of the hole. Grabbing hold of it, he took one precious moment to look at Jim. He was breathing easy and his cheeks had regained some color, but he was still unconscious. Maybe it was better this way...

He quickly climbed up the rope and ran over to where Mac lay quietly, Rafe's hand on his side as if comforting him.

"What happened?" Blair demanded.

"One minute he was fine, the next he was lying there in convulsions," Rafe replied helplessly. "But he came out of it himself just a minute or so ago."

Blair rested his hands on Mac's heavy coat and closed his eyes, even as he opened his mind.

Save?

Yes, Mac, we saved him.

Tired.

Me, too. What do you say we head back to the tent and catch some sleep?

Mac rolled and clambered to his feet, looking only slightly the worse for wear. Blair wrapped his arms around his neck and buried his face in the heavy, soft fur. "Thank you," he whispered to the dog.

"How'd you do that?" Rafe asked as he stood. "I thought he was dying."

Blair straightened. "No. He just pushed himself a little too hard."

"He's not the only one," Megan said gently. "Rafe and I'll continue looking. You and Mac go get some rest."

Blair glanced toward the hole to see a stretcher being brought up carefully. Once it cleared the top and was settled on the ground, William and Stephen Ellison crowded around it. Jim had his family.

Blair turned back to Rafe and Megan and attempted a smile that fell flat. "That's a good idea. We'll catch you two later. Good luck."

Blair took Mac's leash in hand and led the animal away from the triumphant group. Another life saved. Another family reunited. It was why Blair and Mac did what they did.

Only this time, Blair had received so much more.

Blair gazed at the pile of books on the coffee table, then glanced at Mac who lay on his cedar bed in front of the fireplace. It had been five days since they'd returned from Peru and started their vacation, which Blair had upped from one week to two. Simon had complained, but only because it was expected, then had given him the extra time with his blessing. Blair suspected Joel, Rafe, and Megan had reported his strange behavior involving Jim Ellison.

Blair sank back into the worn, but comfortable couch. He'd spent three more days in Peru searching for survivors--he and Mac had been fortunate to find an entire room which had been buried by the quake, but hadn't caved in. Fourteen people had been saved.

Blair hadn't seen Jim again, but Taggert had told him that the entire Ellison clan had flown home the day after Jim was rescued. When it was time for Blair to fly back, he returned with the rest of the team aboard a small, official SAR jet. It had dropped Megan and Rafe off in Denver where they lived together, then had taken Blair to Cascade. Joel had flown back to Atlanta where the SAR was headquartered. For the first two days back, he and Mac spent most of their time sleeping.

The dreams had started the third night--dreams of black jaguars, wolves which looked like Mac, and a native tribesman wearing red and black paint who pointed at him accusingly, but never spoke. The next day Blair had dug out his old anthropology textbooks, along with his private collection, including Richard Burton's "The Sentinels of Paraquay." For the last few days, Blair had pored over the material and the more he learned, the more he hated himself for leaving Jim Ellison alone with his sentinel senses.

Blair had to make a decision soon. Either find Jim and see if he still wanted his help, or forget about him entirely. There was no in-between on this. If it were only the sentinel thing, Blair would go to him in a heartbeat. But there was so much more involved, things Blair wasn't even certain how to describe. Did Jim really love him as he'd proclaimed or had he only said that because he thought he was going to die?

Blair leaned over and picked up the picture sitting on top of a pile of books. He'd found the magazine cover, which William Ellison had shown him on an online archive and had printed it out. Every time he looked at it, he was struck by a mixed array of emotions: longing, sadness, joy, desire, and everything else within the spectrum.

Including love.

Blair glanced up to see Mac studying him closely, and laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. "We've never even met face to face, but I fell in love with him. Crazy, huh?"

Mac didn't have any words of wisdom for him.

Sighing, Blair picked up Burton's book and settled down to read through it again. He picked out sections which related to Jim and what he'd described. He scribbled notes and searched some more, falling back into his passion for sentinels, which had been lost over the past few years.

A knock on his door startled him, and he looked at Mac who didn't even appear surprised. Usually Mac heard a visitor long before they made it to the door and let out a bark or two to alert Blair of company. But this time, the dog hadn't. Instead, he merely trotted to the door and waited for Blair.

Pressing his glasses up on his nose, Blair padded to the door in his stocking feet and swung it open. His heart ricocheted in his chest and his mouth felt like cotton.

Jim Ellison stood hip shot in the doorway, his eyes bluer than Blair could have imagined. Faded jeans hugged his lean hips and thighs, and a white turtleneck was worn beneath a brown leather bomber jacket. The man was gorgeous...a jock.

And Blair was a science nerd wearing old baggy sweatpants and three layers of shirts, each one hanging lower than the previous one.

"Jim." Blair's voice broke like an adolescent's going through puberty.

"Hello, Blair." The timbre of his voice made Blair's knees wobble. Even Jim's voice was gorgeous, damn it! "And you must be Mac," Jim said, and hunkered down to pet the dog.

"Be care--" Blair began, but aborted his warning when Mac leaned into Jim's hand. Mac had never allowed a stranger to pet him without Blair's approval, but then, he and Jim weren't exactly strangers. The younger man cleared his throat. "How'd you find me?"

"I spoke with Joel Taggert." Jim scratched behind the dog's ears. "Thanks for finding me, Mac."

"He shouldn't have given you my address." Blair's heart threatened to gallop away.

Jim stood, rising above Blair by at least five inches. "You saved my life, more than once," he said, his voice alone making Blair's blood hot and feverish.

Blair managed to shrug nonchalantly. "It's my job."

A corner of Jim's lips quirked upward and Blair couldn't pull his mesmerized gaze from the boyish, yet sexy, smile.

"You look just like I imagined you would," Jim said tenderly.

Blair's mouth opened, but he couldn't speak.

Jim reached out and grasped a strand of Blair's curly hair, rolling it between two fingers. "God, I love your hair, Chief." Jim swallowed as if shocked that he'd spoken the words aloud, and revealed his nervousness for the first time. "Why did you run away?"

Drawing on every ounce of willpower, Blair backed away, forcing Jim to release his hair, but the older man followed him into the cabin and closed the door behind him.

Blair crossed his arms over his chest, protecting and safeguarding what lay hidden within it. "You were safe and alive. I had other victims to find."

"Bullshit." The word was spoken so softly, Blair almost missed it. Jim went on, "You thought I was lying when I said I loved you."

"You were suffering from hypoxemia. Lack of oxygen makes people say things they don't mean."

"I knew exactly what I was saying and I meant every word, Chief." The intensity behind Jim's words stole Blair's breath. "Nobody has ever understood me like you did. Nobody has ever accepted me like you did. Nobody has ever stuck with me like you did. God, Chief, do you know how much that means to me?"

Blair felt a tear roll down his cheek and he spun around, humiliated by his weakness. Strong hands on his shoulders caught him, then drew him back against a hard chest. Jim's arms came around Blair's waist and held him snugly.

"You're even more beautiful than I imagined, Blair." Jim's mouth was close to Blair's ear, his words sending puffs of warm air across his neck. "So much more that I can't keep from touching you now that I have you in my arms."

Blair was trembling now, with anxiety and apprehension, but mostly with desire. His body was flush against Jim's, and he could feel Jim's arousal pressing against his buttocks. The part of him that had never been with a man was frightened, but this was Jim, the same man whose soul he had come to know and love during those long hours while he had searched for the soldier.

"But you're a--a jock and I'm a science nerd," Blair blurted.

"No. I'm Jim and you're Blair. You're also the man I want to love and spend the rest of my life with." Jim's voice was husky with suppressed desire.

Blair shivered with want and need. "Please, Jim, don't do this to me."

"Love you?"

"I-I'm not very good at the commitment thing and--" he broke off, embarrassed. "I've only been with women."

"Do you love me?"

Blair closed his eyes, unable to process all the feelings roiling through him.

"Do you love me?" Jim repeated gently.

"I don't know if I can help you with the sentinel stuff or not," Blair babbled.

"Do you love me?" Jim asked again, and Blair could hear his smile.

The younger man sagged in Jim's arms, falling back more fully into his embrace. "Yes, I love you, damn it."

Jim slowly turned him around, then buried his fingers within the thick hair and lowered his lips to Blair's.

There was only a split second of panic before Blair opened his mouth to Jim's skillful kiss. Tongues parried and thrust, then gentled and tasted and suckled one another until the two men had to breathe or faint.

Jim drew back then rested his forehead against Blair's as they struggled to fill their lungs with oxygen.

"I remember it all, Blair," Jim whispered. "The black cat and the wolf and how they jumped into each other. They were us, weren't they?"

Blair licked his dry lips and was surprised to see Jim track the path of his tongue with eyes glowing with love and desire. "Yes. Our spirit animals. I think it relates to you being a sentinel and me being a shaman."

"I'm not sure I understand all this, Chief, but if you could explain it over dinner, I'd be very grateful," Jim said, his expression suddenly mysterious and mischievous.

"I can throw something together," Blair began.

Jim straightened and stepped back, but grasped Blair's hands in his. "It just so happens that I have a pan of lasagna, a loaf of French bread, a Caesar salad, and two bottles of wine in my truck."

Their first date. Blair's eyes filled with moisture and he smiled with all the love he possessed for this man, for this sentinel. For Jim. "Two bottles of wine, huh? Sounds like you're planning a seduction."

"Blair Sandburg already seduced me when he whispered to my heart." Jim's eyes smoldered with banked passion. "My beautiful Blair," he breathed, then leaned down and captured Blair's lips once more with a soul-searing kiss.

Mac sighed and padded off to lie in front of the fireplace with his chin pillowed on his front paws. A black jaguar walked through the closed door and ambled toward him. The two old friends nuzzled noses, then the cat curled up close to Mac and they fell asleep together, as they'd done through eternity.

Forevermore.

~finis~

End Search and Rescue by Romslinger: romslinger@yahoo.com

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