Author's webpage: http://www.squidge.org/~theforest/legion/legion.html

Author's disclaimer: The usual: not mine, no money involved, no harm intended.

Author's notes: The first parts of this story, which is actually a series of stories, were originally posted to SFX, but then TACS cheerfully claimed the rest as a wedding present and printed them in various Love & Guns. Then she gathered them together in one zine, along with two new ones, and connected together with a 'framework' story.

CONJUGATION

**Some things about humans are timeless, existing through centuries, through millennium, with so little change that the first homo erectus could recognize the behavior as easily as the last homo sapiens. Man's fascination with fire is one of those eternal traits, one that manifests itself whether it is a forest fire or a candle that is burning. If there is any doubt to that truth, light a campfire, and watch how everyone within sight of it will be drawn, almost magically, to watch the flicker of the flames, to follow with wondering eyes the trails of ash and ember as they fly upward, to share its warmth.

Almost inevitably, someone will start a story, either a tall tale meant to amuse or a nostalgic recollection of the past. And slowly but surely any child within hearing distance will find their way to an accommodating lap, or a warm side to hug into, listening to the words of their elders and sometimes begging for a favorite.

Test, all of five years old, snuggled into Sentinel's lap, and asked dreamily, partly mesmerized by the age-old call of the flame, tired from a day filled with new ideas, new people," Has it always been like this? Is it like this *ev'where*?"

The adults traded looks, but Shaman said softly, "No, child. Only the sky and our spirits are eternal and unchanging. Man has his good times, and his bad."

"You're talking about the Chaos." Test stirred himself, sitting a little straighter, curiosity burning away his sleepiness. "Was it that diff'rnt, *really?*"

"Yes, it was," Sentinel said calmly, though all present looked saddened or angry or frustrated at the memory of what had been. "Yes, it was...."**

PAST TENSE

From their eyrie overlooking the only accessible entry to their current strong hold, Shaman watched the hunters return for the day. As Sentinel had told him, they were burdened. Good, there would be meat for the fires this evening. He stood to acknowledge their approach, and let the sentries know that that the perimeter was theirs, now.

Traditionally, once the twilight came, Sentinel was free from duty until the last hours before dawn. Attacks came seldom in the waning of the day - no one wanted to be beyond the safety of fires when the night beasts came out to feed. To be truthful, it was only the beasts they watched for now. Having Sentinel and Shaman had proved over the years to be too formidable an advantage against the ravagers and rogues. Their territory was generally avoided, these days.

Shaman walked over to the pallet where Sentinel lay. They would sleep, for a time, then climb down to spend the evening by the fires. Council would be sought, and given; fighters and hunters would share exploits and information. He would give lessons to the children, spending a few precious hours trying to save some of what was being lost, almost daily.

Glancing back over his shoulder at the ruins of the city in the far distance, Shaman shuddered. So much had been lost. Survival took almost all the time they had, and even children were pressed into finding and preserving food, or learning to fight.

He gave the children what he could from the rich heritage that they would never fully claim. By the time they were parents, he had no doubt what was left of the magnificent city of his youth would be attributed to the work of malevolent gods, and treated with superstitious fear. The trend was there already, in the stories the children told each other as they worked.

Sighing, he too, laid down, fitting himself to the dear, familiar back of his Sentinel. Always, always among the children he looked for another to take this one's place. Once or twice, Sentinel, playing with a child, would look at his partner, and the knowledge would pass between them that this one could be a guide, if a sentinel would chose him/her.

But not even among his own children had they found one who seemed to possess even one of the gifts. Sighing again, Shaman rubbed his face against Sentinel's back. This one was fit, strong for his years, but he was coming all too quickly to the time when his life would be lost to age or the harshness of life in this time. Shaman had no desire to be left behind, becoming Teacher, waiting patiently, perhaps fruitlessly, for another sentinel to be born. When his Sentinel walked the spirit trail, he wanted to go with him, not stay to teach another pair the pitfalls and blessings of the Gifts.

"You're troubled." Sentinel turned and gathered Shaman to him.

"Thinking too much again."

"I know a cure for that." So saying, Sentinel captured his soft lips, kissing him gently, but thoroughly.

Gasping, Shaman pulled away. "Tara will not like it if you give me what's owed her. I don't particularly want her complaining about it to the Council, either."

"Tara's time is nearly over," Sentinel replied, brushing his lover's hair away from his forehead, and letting the strands slip like water through his fingers. "She hasn't conceived, and when she has her moon-time again, I'll return to our lodge."

"And we will have until midwinter before you must take another. No one has spoken to me, yet. Maybe a lottery this time?" Despite his attempts to remind them of their duty, Shaman was running his fingertips over Sentinel's chest, plucking at the nubs there.

"Mmm," was Sentinel's disinterested reply, and he kissed the smaller man, again. He lifted himself to cover his lover, matching groin to groin, stroking his burgeoning arousal into the welcoming heat.

Though Sentinel sometimes insisted on loving Shaman with his hands or mouth when bedding with a woman, they usually preferred to wait until the times when they could share their pleasure. It had been far too long since they had had that luxury, and the thrill of being together again was too much.

Before he could react, Sentinel began ripping clothing away, desperate for the full contact of being skin-to-skin, plundering Shaman's mouth voraciously. Eagerly, Shaman clung to him, already shaking with the intensity of sensation from the kiss, his lover's roving hands, and the demands of his own body.

"Tell me," Sentinel panted into his ear, "tell me."

"Others touch me, but only you hold me," Shaman began, somewhat breathlessly. "Others claim me, but only you possess me. For the others, I am only illusion. You alone know the substance. If I had my will, no other would ever know me like this." The litany comforted like always; aroused, like always, and he nearly shouted the last words as Sentinel entered him.

"Mine," Sentinel moaned, thrusting, "mine, mine."

Suddenly, fiercely, Shaman shoved, and rolled, sending the bigger man to his back. He drew his knees up his mate's side, and sat heavily, taking his companion's manhood completely. Biting back a yell, Sentinel bucked, but Shaman held him in place, refusing to move until his lover met his eyes.

"Tell *me,*" he demanded, tightening his inner muscles as he did, "Tell me!"

Gentleness bloomed unexpectedly in Sentinel's face, and he reached up to trace the line of his partner's jaw with a trembling finger. As Shaman began to ride, sending them into climax, he whispered brokenly, "Everything I want, everything I need is right here, right now, with you. The only good thing that's come from this disaster is that I have you. I love you, Blair Sandburg."

finis Past Tense

**"I seed the city, once, when I was 'ittle" Test said, face scrunched up as he looked at his memory, not noticing the smiles the adults hid. "People built that?"

"Yes, and it was filled with them, more than all the Tribes we know added together," Shaman answered. "And it was only one city among many, not even that big." Test eyed him skeptically, but knew better than to challenge a shaman who used that flat, knowing tone of voice. Though an adult might have seen the merriment in Shaman's expression when he went on, Test missed it. "Almost every Shelter has at least one book that has photographs of cities. You should ask to see one when your tribe reaches Shelter again."

An offer of proof, along with the very solemn people around the fire nodding their agreement, convinced Test that he wasn't being teased or fooled. "Kay, I will." He thought a minute, then asked uncertainly, "But they was people, right, like us, but staying all in one spot?"

"If you mean, did they have a head, two legs, two arms, a heart, a soul, yes, they were just people," Sentinel put in, juggling his light burden a bit to make them a both a bit more comfortable.

"But?" Test squirmed, patting the big man's face, as if to encourage him.

"But they did things very, very differently than we do. For instance," Sentinel grinned as if vastly amused, "They didn't have sentinels and guides.

That was too much for the youngster's credulity, and he looked over at Shaman, mouth in a little 'o' of surprise. Shaman nodded. "People who could have been sentinels often didn't live very long because nobody understood what was happening to them. Or they would turn inward, searching for the feel of their guide, not even knowing that was why they spirit walked."

"HUH! How'd we get one, then!" Tested turned wide, wondering eyes back to Sentinel, as if he thought the man would vanish in front of him.

"We were lucky, Test. Very, very lucky," Shaman said.**

Future Tense

One foot after the other, don't think, just one foot after the other, let moving be everything - Jimmy Ellison didn't consciously think this. Working on instinct, desperate to shut out the sounds of his parents, his father, he was trying to hide in the feel of running. Harder and harder he pushed himself, not caring where he went, only caring how fast he got there.

Soon, too soon, his young body reached its limits, and he felt the shaking begin in his legs and stomach. Stubbornly, he ran anyway, admitting defeat only when the feeling in his middle threatened to make him puke. Heedless of where he was, he threw himself onto the ground, face down, hoping the pain in his body would fill his ears.

It didn't help. No matter how far or fast he ran, how hard he pushed himself, he could still hear them, hear the vicious words, hear the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Bringing a fist to his mouth, he bit, hard, but the pain there was nothing. Rolling to his back, he looked around wildly, hoping to find something else to listen to.

The small patch of forest he had stumbled into at the edge of the neighborhood was a surprise of green, life, and naturalness, and after a moment the cool of it touched him. Quieting breath by breath, he watched the swirl of leaves and shadows and lost everything in that movement, including the hideous sounds he had ran from.

When the loss of daylight brought him back to the private spot he had stumbled into, he began to cry, hating himself as he did. Lying there like a big baby wasn't helping any body, wasn't making things better. He fisted his eyes, wanting to deny his tears, but nothing stopped the flow.

Eventually, too tired from his run and the battle with tears to do more, he curled on his side, and let himself drift, unthinking. Despair was a poison seeping through him, destroying him, and he had no strength left to fight.

A sound, a new one, slid into him. It was the oddness of it that caught at him, teasing past the edges of the hurt inside. More because it was something outside than because he cared, he focused on the new sound. A woman? Crying, but not unhappy crying, weird as that seemed, and under that, the sound of a baby. A very small baby, he thought, vague memories of Stephen at that age surfacing for comparison.

Not moving, he looked for the source of the sound, looking past the small stand of trees. Exhaustion slowed his thoughts: it didn't seem odd to him that he could see into a building past the walls. It was a hospital, he thought, and the young woman was in one of the beds, tears running down her face. Another woman, dressed in white, was handing her a small bundle. It wiggled, and Jimmy realized it was the baby he had heard earlier.

The nurse opened the blankets, and the infant inside kicked, and turned to look directly into Jimmy's eyes. Innocence, peace, and pure joy poured from that tiny person, and he gathered it into himself with greedy, clutching force. Its miniature face started to screw up to cry, and Jim released the flow with a guilty start.

Despite all he had heard from his father, taking without giving something back was wrong; he knew that. He wanted what this helpless baby had; he needed it. But he had to give something back. Sobs tightened his throat. What did he have that this perfect tiny person could use? What he saw on the mother's face told him that the baby was in good hands. It would have what it needed.

Choking, he began to turn away from the new family, but the nurse moved, and stumbled. The baby rolled, slipping from the nurse's hand. Screaming a denial, Jimmy mindlessly lurched forward, hands outstretched. The mother yanked up, and by some miracle, caught the edge of the blanket, pulling it up to cause the baby to reverse its roll, sending it back into the nurse's arms.

With a gasp, he settled back onto the soil of the forest. Somebody should have been there to help, he thought, furiously. Someone should be protecting them.

As if hearing him, the baby turned its face back toward him, and the flow began again. Yes, that was it; something a new life needed. Protection. I can't do much now, he thought, but I'll be able to someday. I'll grow, get big, learn how to fight good. Then I'll watch over you and anybody who needs me, I swear. I won't let anybody hurt you, baby. I'll be yours to my last breath, I promise.

The baby gave a sleepy yawn, and the tiny, blue-veined eyelids began to bob up and down over the blue eyes. A sweet frisson of feeling chased over Jimmy. He didn't know the name of the pleasure he felt; it didn't matter. His own eyes began to droop, and he lost his focus on the child. That was all right; he could still hear the rapid beat of its heart and the murmur of its breath. A million years from now, he'd still know that baby. He'd find him and keep his word.

He drifted into sleep, hoping he would remember this neat dream. He hadta, so he could find it again. Jimmy tucked his fist under his chin, rolled to his side, and fell deeply asleep.

Flex, straighten and extend, eyes front, never wavering, flex, straighten, toes together, buttocks tight, don't think, don't think, don't think, just flex, straighten - new Recruit James Ellison tuned out the drone from the drill sergeant, not wasting even the mental energy to cuss at the sadistic monster. Ignore the abusive words, ignore the belittling voice, ignore the pain.

The pushups went on and on, but Ellison did his best at each one, refusing to let the sergeant get him. It amused him that the man actually thought he could break him, that he could make him tougher. Ha! His old man could eat the drill for lunch.

"Something funny, here, soldier?! I don't see anything to smile about. Maybe you like eating dirt, maybe these are too sissy for a big, strong man like yourself, sonny?" The drill's impersonal tone took on a hint of real anger.

Aww, shit. How many times had he screwed himself this way - letting his face show his feelings? Too late he scrubbed away any trace of anything except neutral, I am alive, lines. He put his attention back on the feel of the pushups, but the drill, incensed by what he considered lack of respect, sat on Ellison's back. "Twenty more, now!"

Flex, extend and straighten - the muscles quivered, and rage began to nibble in the pit of his gut. Back aching, he forced out another pushup, forced down the feeling working its way up to his throat. The sergeant bounced, and Ellison almost lost his balance. Locking his elbows, he caught himself, and the non-com slapped between his shoulders. "Move!"

Abruptly the rage surged forward, and colored his vision red. Stone still, he fought it, trying to see past it, shoving it away with all his will. There was a spin of dizziness, then his sight focused again, strangely, on a playground populated with a sprinkle of children. One was familiar, in a way he couldn't understand.

It was a small boy, crowned with a riot of auburn curls, running with a bubble mix and wand in his hand. Giggles and laughter danced with the bubbles, swirling around the slight body, almost obscuring him from Jim's sight. As he watched, an older boy raced over, scattering the bubbles, deliberately knocking the bottle of liquid from the child's hand.

Jim felt the anger begin to boil again, but the boy looked up from the spill at his feet and into Jim's eyes. Expecting to see tears of hurt and frustration, Jim was astounded when the blue eyes looking into his own showed only puzzlement. //He doesn't understand,// Jim thought, //why anyone would do that. Ahh, baby, I wish you never had to learn. I wish I could shelter you from people who hurt for the fun of it.//

As if reading his mind, the child smiled, and Jim felt the smile like a touch, one he had dreamed of and forgotten. The little boy sat down next to the puddle of bubble mix, and with a curious finger stirred the mess. Within minutes he was using it as paint, creating designs in the dirt, laughing again.

Not too dense to see the point, Jim thought, //Thanks, kid. I'll pay back the favor, sometime.// Distantly, he felt blows to his back, but he continued to watch the playground until one particularly painful hit broke his balance and caused his arms to collapse. Catching the drill off guard, they both hit the dirt, but Ellison rolled, brought himself back into push up position, and waited.

In his head, he saw the laughing child one more time, then banished the image, bringing all his attention to the calisthenics. Beside him, the drill glared at his impassive face, then barked 'dismissed.' Hiding the shaking of his body, he slowly stood, determined to make the barracks before he passed out.

Keep the head down, let the shoulders slump, shuffle the feet. You're a homeless man, helpless, harmless, instant prey for the vermin who look for such. There's no wire, no backup listening in, no gun safely hidden in an ankle harness. Be empty, be nothing.

Officer James Ellison turned the corner of the building, leaning into the cold wind, weaving as if drunk. He didn't really think that the animals that had been setting winos on fire for fun would be out on a sonovabitchin night like tonight. But, since the last incident had happened practically on the front steps of the court house, it wasn't likely the captain was going to listen to *him.*

He staggered a few more steps, then managed to trip on his undone shoelaces and stumble into the glass of a storefront. Eye to eye with his own reflection, Jim hid a shudder at what he saw. Unshaven, unwashed, he looked older and tireder than Moses. He looked like he felt, and he pushed the thought away, not wanting to face the futility that had been eating him alive since what felt like forever.

Not needing to act now, he stumbled away from the too truthful mirror, falling, getting to his knees, and crawling. In the distance he heard the quick, skipping steps of people coming his way, and he huddled into a doorway, peering up the street at the oncoming group.

"Heads up," he whispered for the wire, and did a quick check to make sure the doorway was out of the way enough to tempt the perps, but not so isolated he couldn't get away if needed. Seeing that it was a group of college-aged kids, he tensed up inside, still maintaining the image of a drunk.

Curling in on himself, as if feeling the cold to the quick, he waited until the group was near then put out a hand, whining realistically. "Change, man? Spare change? A few dollars to get a cold man into a warm place? Spare change?"

The gang of kids swept past him, apparently not even hearing, except for one at the edge, straggling last. He was so bundled against the cold, Jim couldn't even give a description, except for smoky blue eyes and dark curls. From the clothes the kid was wearing, he didn't think this one would have money for himself, let alone for a wino.

Wary, letting his hand drift to his gun, Jim watched as the kid looked back at him, slowed, then stopped, staring. Not wanting to break his cover by returning that stare too boldly, Jim lowered his lashes and peered through them at his suspect. Sure enough, the young man slowly walked back, unwinding one of the scarves from his neck.

Stopping a few feet away, the youngster held out the scarf to Jim. "Sorry, man, I haven't got any cash. This is real wool, and clean. Maybe it'll help keep you warm."

Shame heated Jim. It didn't matter he'd busted a thousand creeps that looked as innocent as this person did; it didn't matter suspicion was life saving. He had assumed the worst of someone who was offering the best of being human.

"It's ok," the kid went on, "I won't hurt you." He inched closer, and Jim automatically drew away. "Shh, sh - it's all right."

"Looks like you need it wors'n me, " Jim mumbled. "Don't feel the cold much, yaknow?"

"Doesn't mean it isn't cold. I know where a shelter is, not far from here. Need help to get there?" The kid was next to him, kneeling on the doorstep.

Training warred with instincts. Getting him moving and into a dark ally could be the prelude to a making a nice toasty people fire, said the cop. But instinct insisted that this was a good person, just trying to help. Shoving his conditioning aside, Jim dropped his pose for a split second, and looked straight into the eyes of the student.

He knew this man! The life that poured from him was as familiar to him as his own, and for one shocked second, Ellison fought the desire to pull him close. As quickly as the feeling rose, it faded, leaving him confused, but certain the kid wouldn't hurt a bug.

"Hey, man." He reached out and laid a hand on Jim's arm, apparently oblivious to the charge Jim had felt, "This isn't the way it has to be. You can be some place better, and there are people who can help."

Becoming the bum again, Jim snuffled wetly into his sleeve, hiding his face from other man. "You're right," he said clearly, and that seemed to reassure his good Samaritan. The kid wound the scarf around Jim's neck, patted his arm distractedly, and stood, seeming uncertain suddenly.

From behind them a feminine voice called, "You coming or not? It's freezing out here!"

Pulled around by the voice, the young man yelled, "Coming," and by the time he turned again, Jim had melted away. From the cover of the shadows, he watched him look around, shrug, then hustle after his friends.

Pulling himself erect, he nodded to himself in decision. That new captain for Major Crimes, Banks, had asked him to think of transferring. Maybe it was time to make a change, get out of Vice; he wanted to look into a mirror and see someone other people would trust. He wanted to trust the person he saw there.

"Ellison, damn it, what are you doing? That was the best bite we've had all week!"

Distraction broken, he shrugged and grumbled into the wire, "Didn't fit the MO we have." Then he slumped back into his wino personality, and headed back out to the street. Until he transferred, there was this job to be done. Even a bum didn't deserve to burn to death.

Tired, more tired than he had ever been in his life, Detective Jim Ellison leaned against the frame of the French doors to his balcony, and deliberately opened all his senses. Not bothering to sort or categorize, he let each bit of sensory information wash past him, good as well as bad.

More than once since they had awakened, he had wondered what would happen if he quit fighting them and became part of the flood. Always before, some innate mental sentry told him the very notion was dangerous beyond all reason. Tonight the temptation to do it anyway, just this once, just to see what would happen, was very, very strong. No matter what the result was, it had to be better than dealing with the overwhelming pressure he felt inside.

Each death he was unable to prevent, each time he failed despite the arsenal of abilities he could bring to bear, the pressure increased. Unable to cry, and hardly able to talk about anything more personal than the weather, he had no way to relieve it. He was rapidly getting to the point where it had to be eased, and he feared what would happen if he didn't.

Surfing an overload had to be better than waiting to self-destruct, maybe hurting someone - a certain someone - when he did. Inhaling deeply, he stretched with his mind, poised on the edge of a decision, truly not sure which way he would fall.

In an unexpected surge, all his senses came together for a second, creating for him the reality of Blair standing on the balcony in front of him. He had a hand on Jim's shoulder, gripping him tightly, and his voice was calm and coaxing though his scent carried the stink of fear.

Meaning attached itself to the sounds Blair was making. "Listen to my voice, Jim, focus on me, let go and come back now. Listen to my voice...."

Losing the sense of the words again, he zoomed away on the incredible beauty of Blair's eyes. Like every time he had ever looked into them, he was haunted by the feeling of intimacy, of connection. He had never told Blair that sometimes, simply catching his gaze was all it took to stop a zone. This time, though, it wasn't enough.

As if realizing that, Blair stepped closer, putting his hands flat on Jim's chest and giving a small shove. Absorbing the shock easily, the sentinel lifted his own hands and buried them up to the wrists in the riot of curls framing those astounding, remarkable... .

He lost his thought, distracted by the feel of his palms resting on Blair's jaw line. Thumb tip tracing the lines of the shell of his partner's ear, he zeroed in on touch, suddenly wanting to feel everything. Gently he brought the smaller man's face towards him, lowering his head as he did. Tentatively, timidly, Blair came to rest against him, warmth encountering warmth, and he stretched on tiptoe, raising his face up to Jim's.

Jim sipped at Blair's lips, taking the tiniest measure of the best vintage known. A small, surprised "Oh!" darted past, then, from both at once, "Oh, finally!"

finis Future Tense

**"Oh, it musta hurt t'wait," Test murmured, stroking Sentinel's cheek, sympathetically. The blue eyes were looking into the past, though, and didn't register the gentle touch until Shaman leaned over and did the same to the other side. Then Sentinel focused abruptly on the smaller man, giving him a wane smile.

Seeing that, but not understanding the emotion behind it, Test asked somewhat hesitantly. "If'n 'so bad for sentinels, how's it for *guides?*"

     "Not so bad in some ways, Test," Shaman said quietly.  "Mostly we
want to help, you know, but inside, inside....."  He trailed off, taking

his turn looking at what could only be seen inside his own head.

The child waited, patiently if restlessly, then prompted, "Inside?"

"Inside we're always looking, waiting, wanting something," Shaman admitted, almost to himself. "Like the wind is in us, blowing us around."**

PRESENT TENSE

Full moon peeking through growing clouds, warm wind in January cold, blowing madly with the promise of a rare winter thunder storm - any normal person would be inside preparing for the rains. Blair Sandburg was wandering the city, pushed along by the promise of wildness in the weather.

He had always loved nights like this. Many times, starting as a child, he had walked in them, feeling, that if he went limp at just the right time, the winds would pick him up and he would fly. When he was little, he would run with the wind pushing at his back, laughing and spinning until he collapsed, too tired to move again. Then, lying on his back, he would watch the racing clouds, wanting to be up there with them.

The older he got, the more the call of the dancing wind would reach inside him, pulling at him, until one evening he followed the wind to a friend's house and took him up on the offer to hitchhike with him to the shore.

It had been the first of many times he had answered that mad urge to go when the wind summoned. Sometimes he found adventure or fun on his trip. Sometimes he found more important things. Running with the wind had led him to his first trip as an assistant in an anthropology study, giving him the first true love of his life. Later, it had sent him back to Cascade, and still later, into his sentinel research.

For over two years, he had not heard its call, and he had thought himself settled, finally. Surely even the winds rest, once in a while. But tonight, the moon and wildness and wind beckoned him, in a voice insistent and strong.

And for the first time, he resisted. Fought it. He was where he wanted to be, doing what he wanted to do. Finally, he had found something in this life he wanted to call his own, no matter how short a time he had to do so. Strange as it was to everyone who knew him, he loved his life as Jim's partner, friend and roommate. The wildness couldn't claim him, now. He wouldn't let it.

Sitting still was impossible, though, and he walked, not caring where, not thinking at all, letting the madness blow through him. A part of him realized he would walk until exhausted, then call Jim to come and get him. It would mean a looonnng lecture, but there was no way Jim could understand this itch to go, just *go.*

It came as more than a surprise to find himself walking up the street to his own home. He stopped, buffeted by the fancies of the weather, and wondered why his madness had brought him here, of all places. The peace he usually felt inside after a jaunt wasn't there; this had to be just a rest stop.

Well, he could use it. Running a hand through his hair, fruitlessly trying to tame its disarray, he went up the stairs and let himself into the loft. Absentmindedly, he put his things away properly - Jim was going to faint from shock because of it - and called out to his friend. Though the lights were on, and Blair could clearly see his roomie's keys in the basket, there was no answer.

The oddness of that penetrated Blair's self absorption, and he looked around for some other sign of his partner. Seeing the balcony doors ajar, he went to them and slipped out, and found Jim leaning back against the wall next to them.

He was totally zoned. Alarmed, Blair stepped in front of him, calling his name, reflexively dropping into the cadence and tone the sentinel had always responded to best. It didn't seem to penetrate, this time, and, more than alarmed, Blair locked a hand onto Jim's shoulder. "Listen to my voice, Jim, focus on me, let go and come back now. Listen to my voice...."

For a moment, it seemed Jim looked at him, but then he was gone again. Frightened, not sure what to do if he couldn't call Jim back, Blair stepped in close, put his hands flat on his partner's chest and shoved, shouting his name. It didn't budge him, but Jim lifted his hands and cupped Blair's face, fingers trailing into his hair.

The weather wildness surged, urging Blair forward, and he hesitantly followed its bidding. He came to rest against the solid expanse of Jim's chest, tentatively, not sure of his welcome. But Jim was lowering his head as he coaxed his guide's up, and he stretched onto tiptoe to meet him. .
Jim sipped at Blair's lips, and Blair couldn't help the tiny, "Oh!" that darted past. "Oh, finally," they both said, then Jim was surrounding him, carrying him to the floor. Trembling, Blair surrendered himself to this new madness, reveling in the fact that Jim was shaking even harder. Mouths locked, refusing to part to undress, they pushed clothes out of the way so bare skin was to bare skin.

When Jim took both erections in one great hand, and began stroking them, Blair arched his back, threw back his head, and screamed. Blinded by the intensity of the pleasure, he clawed at Jim's shoulders, trying to hold the big man closer.

Then the peak was past, and panting, he held Jim while his lover moaned his name over and over. One hand on the back of Jim's head, he hugged his lover fiercely until Jim calmed. A warm wind whipped around them, almost as if weaving them together, then was gone.

The first drops of rain hit, and, knowing the most perfect peace of his life, Blair lifted his face to it and laughed.

A Year Later

Hugging a sheet around himself, Blair went out on the balcony of the loft, drawn by the sounds of the wind scouring the city. Moonlight, warm wind, and restlessness: his old recipe for spending the night haunting the street like a ghost. Hating the lure of it, he had taken Jim upstairs and tried his level best to exhaust both of them. But he had awakened, and the tug of madness was still there.

Struggling with it, deep in his own thoughts, he didn't hear when Jim came to stand behind him. Then he was enveloped in the sturdy strength of his Sentinel, and he leaned back into it, glad for the offer.

To his surprise, Jim whispered in his ear, "Go, Chief. I feel it inside you, too, and it has always led you toward me, not away. Go."

Whirling, Blair met the understanding look of his partner, gave him a quick kiss, then ran upstairs to dress. Minutes later, standing at the door, he hesitated. He didn't know what to say to Jim, but didn't want to leave without some word of promise between them.

Jim strapped on his gun, picked up his jacket, and handed Blair his. "I didn't say alone."

finis Present Tense

**Test gave a huff of satisfaction as Shaman finished, as if he couldn't imagine couldn't imagine a sentinel or guide being any other way than together, whatever it took. Even if that meant intervention from Mother Earth, herself. As he had with Sentinel, he reached out to comfort Shaman, fingers smoothing curls away from a broad brow. "So Sentinel found Shaman as his guide, an' then t'Chaos hapn'd and t'tribes were made?"

Unselfconsciously Shaman leaned into Sentinel, almost putting his head on the shoulder Test wasn't using, to make it easier for the small boy to touch him. "Not right away," he answered. "Ever played with a string and had it snarl up on you, then the more you play with it the worse the snarl gets? The Chaos was like that: a few problems that got worse and worse, and for a while, the People of the City just tried to cope."

"It was pretty bad," Sentinel put in, "By the time Shaman decided that the best thing to do was to leave, make a whole new way of life with whoever he could persuade to go with him, people were so scared it was hard to convince them that his way might be better."

"The hardest part," Shaman interrupted, smiling widely, "Was convincing Sentinel. The People of the City were his tribe; a sentinel doesn't turn his back on them, ever."

"Only a Shaman could have done it," Sentinel agreed dryly.

"On his Shaman could have done it," the smaller man half-laughed, his voice pitched for one person's ears. "A lover has advantages a simple Guide doesn't. And look what it took even then!"**

TENSE TIMES - BEGINNINGS

"I am not going to order my men to fire on unarmed civilians!" Simon Banks roared at the mayor. "Martial law or not, that is murder!"

"Armed or not, that's the only way you are going to be able to handle a mob!" The mayor roared back. "Starving people aren't going to be controlled by a handful of men with tear gas and riot gear!"

Wincing, Jim turned down his hearing, and concentrated on vision, as a distraction. Pressing back into the corner he had chosen, he slowly surveyed the room, deciding by body language and location which men in the room were on which side of the argument. Most of the department - what was left of it - were with Simon, with very few exceptions. Making a mental note of those, he studied the mayor's bodyguard. Snorting in disdain, since armed thugs was a better description of his backers, Jim was surprised to find one or two in that bunch who obviously thought the mayor was full of it, too. He carefully made a mental note to watch them, as well.

There were more for Simon than for the mayor, enough of a majority that Jim knew Simon would be able to force a compromise, again. The mayor wasn't stupid enough to openly issue orders he knew Simon would defy, the police force along with him. How long that would hold when the inevitable clash came at the food warehouses, there was no way to guess. If a few of the officers were hurt, or the mob was able to over-run them, the next time guns wouldn't be an option.

After that, Simon's position would weaken. He probably wouldn't be able to get the support from his men that he would need to fight and win. Without Simon as an obstacle, there was nothing to keep the mayor from making what was left of Cascade his own private kingdom. Jim didn't know what he would do if - no, when - that happened. He just knew that he would not answer to the mayor under any circumstances.

From his vantage point, Jim could see the entire room, and both exits. A door opened, and he half reached for his gun on seeing the newcomer. Billings, the mayor's aide, did that to him, for no apparent reason. So far, the man had never done anything but talk, though that was bad enough. He watched as Billings also visually swept the room, probably checking the lay of the land, as well. When Billings' eyes settled, filled with contempt and loathing so intense Jim shuddered, he automatically looked to see who deserved such emotion.

Blair. Stifling a snarl, Jim made an abortive move toward his lover, intent on protection. Before he could, Taggart noticed the mayor's aide, nudged Rafe, and the two of them subtly shifted until they stood on either side of the smaller man. With a look that said plainly, 'what's your problem,' Taggart dismissed the man and turned his attention back to the ongoing argument at the front of the room.

Billings response was to spit in disgust and look for Jim. Whatever it was that the man saw in his face, it wasn't what he expected. He paled, visibly, and hurried to the mayor's side. Part of Jim wanted to keep his gaze on the creep, burn him with it like a laser. The saner part that usually spoke with Blair's voice told him that forcing the issue wouldn't come back to him. It would come back to his partner. Though the rest of the department had always been behind them, this was not the time to push their loyalty with a public confrontation.

Tuning in on Blair, to make sure he wasn't too bothered by Billings' attitude, Jim discovered his lover wasn't. He was oblivious. Not just to Billings, or to the fight up front, but to everything. Blair was staring out the window, shifting from foot to foot, restlessly. Despite his nervous movements, his heart and breathing were slow, even, steady.

In a voice only Jim would hear, Blair crooned, "The weather's changing, love. Wind's rising, being chased by warm, warm air. Can you feel it? And the moonlight's so bright and strong tonight. You could almost cup in your hands and drink it."

Turning from the window, Blair found Jim's eyes with his, the weather wildness in them deepening them to the color of the moon-filled sky. They were overflowing with feyness, and it spilled over and into Jim, making him shudder with delight and arousal. Everything around them grayed out, leaving only the energy between them and the call of the wind. They were held by it until another bellow from Banks slammed into Jim's hearing, dropping them both back into the fight.

"...am not for any reason, going to cut the supply to the Isolation Camp! The only crime of the children in there is either than their parents are dead or they're waiting to see if they're going to die too!"

"So we'll pull the kids out and find places for them with our healthy population."

"You can't do that! For starters, who's...."

Jim turned them off again, and refocused on his partner. Blair was working his way toward the door, moving so as to not attract attention. "Follow me as soon as you can, Jim," he murmured. "I'll be at the guard station."

Only waiting until he was sure that Banks had everything in hand, at least for now, Jim slipped away, too. Practically running, he made it to the outside station check point just as Blair was tossing two packs into the back of a jeep. Without a question, he jumped into the passenger seat, realizing his lover needed to do the driving. As they rolled through the last security gate, a short time later, Blair flashing something at the guard there, Jim felt the wind move into both of them.

Going utterly limp in the seat, he slid down until he could drop his head on the back of it, and sighed deeply when the last of the noise and light of Cascade was behind them. Blair shouted, a rebel yell mixed with a yodel mangling an Indian war cry. It was such an absurd noise, Jim was startled into laughing. Blair tried to look outraged, but spoiled it by chortling. The silliness took the last of the tension from both, and the guffaws died into a comfortable silence that slid along with the miles. Content to sit, hands on each other's thighs, they traveled the deserted roads for half the night.

Half dozing, Jim was literally bounced into awareness as the jeep left the road. Amazed, even with the bright moonlight, that Blair could see the track that was almost not there, he considered offering to take over the driving. A quick check on the bemused man beside him changed his mind. Not only did his lover seem to know exactly where he was going, but the look of enchantment he wore told Jim he was deep into his Blairwalk. From past experience, he knew that his companion would be mostly silent, and not really responsive to him. Not unaware; he didn't think that was possible between them. Simply...distracted until he was finally worn out enough to sleep.

In the few times it had happened since they'd been together, Jim had learned to let nature run its course. Generally, he followed his partner, watching over him and helping when he could, enjoying the adventures as much as Blair. Not that he had any intention of admitting that to his feisty lover. He wouldn't put it past Blair to act the part because he thought they were in a rut! This time, and Jim stretched hugely at the thought, this time it was a very good idea. Cascade and its problems were wearing him to the danger point.

Slowing, almost to a creep, Blair picked his way along the trail very carefully, the abruptly hit the gas and shot the jeep into what looked like impenetrable underbrush. It gave, with screeches and scrapes, and then they were hidden by it. Stretching himself, Blair got out, and went round to the back. There was barely enough room in the tiny clearing to move around the vehicle, but Jim managed to join him.

The back was filled with the kind of survival gear that a long-term expedition usually brought, but Blair only picked up a daypack and handed one to Jim. "We're supposed to be scouting for military relief vehicles coming down Rte 32," Blair said off-handedly. "Only Daryl knows where we've really gone. There's food here, too, though I'm hoping we'll be able to live off the land."

"Blair, there's enough food here for two weeks at least! You could buy half of Cascade with this. How the hell did you even get it?"

"I set this gear up before martial law was declared. Yeah, yeah, I know I could be accused of hoarding, but this is a department vehicle with department supplies. Technically, the army Meals Ready to Eat are emergency supplies."

"Eating a MRE qualifies as an emergency," Jim said dryly.

"Consider it inspiration to catch a lot of fish."

They carefully hid the traces of the passage of the jeep, back to a point where it could have gone in any direction. Leading the way, Blair continued on the trail from earlier, which rapidly became too rough for even a four-wheel drive vehicle. Regardless, Blair moved quickly along it, sure-footed and certain. Falling behind him, Jim kept the pace effortlessly and smoothly, enjoying the workout it was giving his body.

Blair kept picking it up, first trotting, then out-and-out running. Without thinking, Jim matched him, even anticipating the increases after a time. He knew this mindless running, fell into it automatically, all senses tuned to the nuances of the path and the man taking him along it. They went up into the mountains, following a promise of a path just below a ridgeline for several miles.

Jim was so caught in the zen of the climb, he missed it when Blair suddenly clambered up onto the ridge line itself, turned and tossed his day pack at his lover, shouting, "Catch!" Reflexively, Jim did without pausing and went over the crest, too. More burdened, now, and caught off guard, he fell behind a few paces, then a few more. Momentarily losing sight of his partner, he picked out the traces of Blair's passage and tried to make up the distance.

Before he could, he found Blair's jacket hanging from a branch, just beside the trail. Snatching it up, he went on and found Blair's outermost flannel shirt a short distance later. In rapid succession, he found two more layers of shirts, which left his teasing lover in his undershirt. He left all of them behind, but held on to the daypacks, and increased his speed.

With a softer warning of "Catch!" Blair's undershirt was thrown at Jim from the top of a small rock out-cropping. Jim missed it, and it landed over his head, covering his face in the hot, tasty scent of Blair. The shirt was redolent with his lover's arousal, and a faint tickling in the back of his nose that somehow communicated directly to his groin told Jim it was rich with Blair's pheromones, too. He snatched it off and started up.

Climbing the rocks was difficult, hampered by the packs and a growing erection as Jim was. It didn't stop him from making it in record time. At the top, he dropped the packs, intending to tackle his lover as soon as he saw him.

Instead, he dropped to one knee, mouth hanging open, barely able to breathe.

Outlined by the moonlight, Blair stood against the sky, naked and glowing softly. The pale shine flowed over him like water, lovingly delineating each muscle, each sweep of limb. He was graced with a halo of moonlight playing in his hair and a smile achingly provocative and alluring.

Jim had long since given this otherworldly being all that he had: heart, soul, life, future. Madly he longed to have something else, something more he could offer. Having nothing, he raised a single upturned hand, fingers curled apologetically over the empty palm.

Blair filled it with his own, coming forward a single step to do so. Bringing their linked hands up, he laid the back of Jim's hand against his cheek. Murmuring as he did, "So solid, so warm. There's the earth's own strength in you, James Ellison. I've envied that."

Standing carefully, as if afraid of frightening a wild thing, Jim brought his free hand up to float over the lighted curls of his lover, not quite touching them. "I've envied your freedom, Blair Sandburg. You're like the air itself, flowing past and through and around. Sometimes caressingly, sometimes with devastating determination."

Drifting toward his lover, Blair tentatively brushed a finger over Jim's hard-on. "Together we make fire. That's a creative force, you know, as well as a destructive one."

Surrendering to the spin of desire inside him, Jim pulled Blair into a tight embrace, deliberately grinding against the smaller man's cock. "What do we create, lover, windchild?"

"Joy." Blair answered simply. He reached on tiptoe as Jim bent, and their lips melded, becoming a furnace. Breaking the kiss painfully, Blair nuzzled into the curve of Jim's shoulder appeasingly. "Tonight, though," he started, the looked out to the horizon, becoming lost again.

After a patient minute, Jim took Blair's chin between two fingers and brought him back, repeating, "Tonight?"

Coming from a great distance, Blair went on, "Tonight something different, I think, earth spirit." He looked around, distractedly, then walked away, still holding Jim's hand. "Earth, air, fire, and...." Stooping, Blair went under the branches of a small but widespread tree, and took Jim into paradise.

"Water." A cascade of brilliance, barely ten feet high, spilled over a shelf of the mountain, dropping into a pool of welcoming ripples and dancing sparkles. Each side of the small waterfall was draped with vines, small orchid-like flowers looking incongruous this early in the year, and moss, muffling its song. Underfoot was a thick padding of moss, covering a clearing about the size of their loft. It was surrounded on all sides by either rock, or dense trees. Even from above, Jim doubted it could be seen, and he wondered vaguely how Blair had managed to find it.

While Jim took in their surroundings, his partner divested him of his clothes, with some absent-minded help from him. When he was naked, Blair moved backwards, pulling him toward the pool, licking and kissing the knuckles of the hands he held. Braced for a cold shock, Jim almost lost his balance and fell when the warm water closed over his feet.

"Hot spring, right above us, feeding the waterfall." Blair explained, mischief in his eyes, still leading them deeper into the water. "I've been all over making sure it was as secluded and safe as it looked. I've never seen any signs of anyone ever being here besides me."

With a shake of his head, Jim smiled. "And you've never come here with anyone, have you?" It wasn't really a question; he knew the answer with deep certainty in his heart.

"No, I've been saving it, though I didn't know why. Maybe because I could feel that this would be a consecrated place to me. To us, though I didn't know there would be an 'us." As he spoke, Blair maneuvered Jim through the chest high water toward the falls. He led him to where the drop of the water had carved a natural seat from the rock under the surface and pushed him into it. "Will you help me sanctify my secret glade, Jim?" He gave his answer by freeing his hands and opening his arms.

Buoyed by the water, Blair sat straddled on him, arms going around his neck to hold them together. Jim hid his face against the soft mat of hair on his lover's chest, and let his hands wander over hips and back. The falls made a natural jacuzzi, pounding and throbbing around them, first forcing their hard cocks together, then nudging them away.

While the frustrations of the recent past and knots of fatigue faded under the massage, the tantalizing, fleeting caresses created a new, aching tension deep in them. Trying to appease it, Jim began to nibble and suck on Blair's chest, drinking the water as it flowed over his lover. Finding the slightly metallic taste a compliment to Blair's own flavor, he satisfied his thirst, soaking it up first from one nipple, then the other.

Fingers scrabbling over the slicked down hair on Jim's skull, Blair tried to hold him to one spot. It was futile; Jim lifted him, working his way along the arrow of down pointing the way. The position, even with the help of the water, was too awkward, and Jim finally scooped Blair up and waded for a large, flat rock at one edge of the pool. He laid his lover on it, intending to cover him immediately, but Blair rose to his knees and coaxed Jim onto his back.

Once there, Blair planted his knees on either side of his lover's head, facing the prize he wanted, and leaned over to take Jim's cock in his mouth. Even as he thrust into that demanding mouth, Jim captured the erection bobbing over his face and drank from it as he had Blair's nipples earlier. With a clever tongue, his lover explored familiar territory, then delved beyond it to the dark recess behind soft balls.

He had to stretch to probe the hidden bud to Jim's body, taking his own need from the urgent suction to do so. Jim let it go, but only so he could duplicate his partner's caress, tucking Blair's cock between them as he plunged his tongue into the tight little hole. They matched rhythms, lips and tongues working together; hips moved back into the moist invaders, and then forward to slide cocks over slippery chests. Guttural groans of pleasure and wet sounds encouraged them both, enflamed them both, urging them to move on each other with greater and greater strength.

They had no thought beyond the sensations they were creating; needed nothing but to make it feel better for each other. Of one mind, they slid fingers into the pulsing openings, and reclaimed the taste of hugely hard shafts. Screams reverberated silently in filled throats, and reflex dealt with their seed.

Panting, Blair tenderly released the softening flesh of his lover, and collapsed onto him. Jim took his weight happily. He wouldn't have minded spending the rest of his life staring at the night sky while being a living mattress for Blair. Eventually the moon set, and the night air lost the currents of warm wind that had driven them out of the city. A shiver spread over his partner that even the balmy atmosphere by the pool couldn't prevent, and Jim reluctantly stirred, waking him.

"Come on, babe. If we're going to spend what's left of the night here, we'd better get dressed and start a fire."

"No, no fire here," Blair said groggily. "There's a better campsite close by: just give me a sec."

Carefully Jim rolled to his side, dislodging Blair, giving his flank a pat in regret as he did. It only took a moment for him to fetch the packs, and the clothes he had shed earlier. Blair's held a change of clothes, and Jim gave them to him. Looking more alert, Blair dressed, retrieving his pants and shoes from where he'd dropped them. Still attuned to each other, words not necessary, they linked hands to leave as they had entered - joined.

Dawn found them standing side-by-side, looking into the valley below the ridge as it filled with sunshine. Mist rose from the forest floor, giving the odd illusion of being the warm exhalation into the crisp air by some gigantic creature.

"Jim," Blair began thoughtfully, speaking for the first time since they had left their glade. "How many people do you think this" and he gestured widely to the lands below, "could support, without wrecking its ecology?"

There was no reply for a long, long time, then Jim said slowly, "Blair, you *can't* be considering abandoning Simon."

Turning the bigger man to be able to look into his face, Blair said softly, persuasively, "Not abandoning: creating an alternative. Not just for him, either, but for the good cop that lays aside his gun rather than fire on civilians. For the loving father thinking of murder so his children won't starve. For the women who see a future where they give their body to the strongest man. Any man who will have them, no matter how abusive, because that dubious protection is all they have.

"And for the children in the Isolation Camp who have no family left, who no one will take because they're just another mouth to feed. If they could be raised where all adults were responsible for all children, being an orphan wouldn't matter. Not to them and not to grown-ups."

"They don't know how to survive out here, Blair." Cupping the back of his lover's head in one palm, Jim reasoned carefully with him, not wanting to fight.

"We teach them, a handful at first." Blair explained earnestly. "That handful teaches others. And there are other resources we can use in the beginning. I know of an old survivalist camp, built by rich kids playing at nuclear holocaust scenarios, not far from here. It has everything needed to start a new home for us. Medicine, foods, even solar powered electric generators for god's sakes. None of the original owners were left alive by the 90's; I think Mom and I are the only ones who knows it exists."

Mulling over Blair's words, Jim told him, "I've been pushing to do some intelligence gathering. One of the last things we heard before communications shut down was that some towns had zero survival rates from SAR. There could be homes, grocery stores, restaurants we could salvage from. The mayor wouldn't even think of it, too afraid to let his 'strength' out of his sight."

"If we were careful, we could husband supplies until we were self-sufficient. If we grew too much, we could seed out, create new communities." Excitement bubbled from Blair, who clearly thought he was winning his partner over.

With a quick hug to reassure Blair, Jim stepped away and looked over the valley again, seeing it as a potential home. This time he saw the mist as smoke from fires and steam from cook pots. "Fire," he whispered, remembering the words that preceded their loving earlier. "Water, Air, Earth - all that's needed for life. That" and he lifted his chin to the future he saw out beyond them, sure that Blair saw it too, "is the creation you spoke of."

"No," Blair denied quietly. "What I saw was you becoming the Sentinel you should be. Protecting your tribe, living with your people as part of them, along side them - not hiding who and what you are to protect yourself."

Part of Jim wanted to retreat from that image, from the vulnerability in living that life. But he could not ignore the stronger feelings of relief and longing it gave him. Memories of Peru, contrasting with those of his time as sentinel in Cascade, mixed and tumbled in his mind, defying any attempt on his part to order them. Forcing himself to think of them as a different kind of sense to zone on, he grabbed the first image that he could get a grip on.

Of course, Blair. Always with him, but behind, hidden, shadowed. Depending over and over on others to give him what should be his by right: his place by Jim as Guide and Shaman. Or pushing his way there, defying others to stop him or move him. If he stood as Sentinel, then Shaman would be there as a matter of course.

Unaware that Blair had taken his mute, motionless stance as rejection, Jim swam up from his revere to find the smaller man visibly wilting. Shoulders slumping, Blair was staring at his shoes, mumbling under his breath self-inflicted put downs. "...stupid to leave the security of familiar territory. Couldn't make a bunch of refugees into a viable community, anyway."

"Chief," Jim interrupted.

"I mean how could we even begin to start customs...."

"Chief," Jim repeated patiently.

"Oh! It's ok, Jim, really, I mean, I hadn't thought it out, you know how air-headed I get when the weather is right."

With an exaggerated sigh, Jim broke in. "I have yet to see it blow you wrong, Chief."

The relief on Blair's face rivaled the newborn sunshine for luminance. "We're going to do it? We're going to build a tribe?! You're going to be my Sentinel, for real?!"

Speaking from the place where a panther was languidly grooming itself, filled with self-satisfaction, Jim answered, "No, I will be their Sentinel. As you will be their Shaman. But Jim Ellison," and he pointed a thumb hard at himself, "will belong to you. Only you, no matter what. Remember that Blair. And remember, *you,*" he jabbed the same thumb at Blair's chest, "Blair Sandburg, belong to me."

With the last echoes of wind wildness in Blair's voice, he dreamily replied, "I am yours; you are mine. The best thing that will come from our future will be that it is with each other."

Fiercely he dragged down his Jim's head to devour the mouth in a kiss intended to leave an imprint on their lips for the rest of their lives. Accepting the urgency, increasing it, Jim swept his Blair up into his arms, to carry him to their glade.

As would every Sentinel who claimed his Guide as lifemate along as the people of Freedom Range remembered their existence.

finis Tense Times

**"So Sentinel and Shaman went back to t'city and bringed people out of it and made them into t'tribe, and all t'other tribes comed from it and all t'cities got empty 'ceptn for Ravagers, an, an, an now *every body* lives in tribes." Test recited what he knew of history in one lung-sagging breath, then sucked in more air to keep going.

"Not everybody lives in tribes, Test, and it wasn't quite that easy," Sentinel interrupted gently. "Talking frightened children into leaving what little security they had, teaching them what they needed to know to survive as a tribe, how to be a tribe - not even the best shaman that ever lived could have done that by himself if things hadn't been so bad."

"Not even with t'best sentinel that ever lived helpin' 'im?" Test asked seriously, though there was a grin playing around the edge of his words.

"Not even then."

"How could they be so *stupid?" Test blurted. "Ev'body knows t'trust sentinel or shaman t'protect and take care of you." The child sounded absolutely indignant on their behalf.

"Ahh, but you forget the city people didn't know about them," Shaman pointed out gently. "Not only that, but most had never spent more than few hours at a time in a forest; some actively hated being outside at all. None of them knew how to hunt, or what nuts and plants were safe to eat, or how to stay warm when it was cold. They'd never needed to learn those things. They were more ignorant than the tiniest baby about how to live the way we do now. Can you blame them for being scared of such a huge change?"

It was obvious that the boy was struggling with the concept of not knowing how to live as he did, but after a moment he nodded his head slowly. "Onced we was moving to a Next Camp, and it rained hard, harder than I ever 'membered seeing it rain. Scared me cause'n I didn't know how t'see or t'walk in it when it was all mean like that. To them *ev'thing," and he flung out his arms to encompass their world, "was new and mean."

"Exactly," Shaman confirmed. "And they had already lost so much that it was hard for them to risk what little they had left. It was hard, so very, very hard for those first few city people who ventured out."**

CHANGING TENSES

Resolutely Jim kept his back to the balcony doors, though habit dug its claws into him repeatedly. He absolutely refused to stare into the city that he once seen as his, and somehow managed to keep his attention inside the loft, despite the fact that the view in there was almost as painful. It looked like a hurricane had hit the place.

More accurately, it looked as if someone had broken in, ransacked the rooms, then trashed the contents because they hadn't found what they were looking for. Which had been precisely what he and Blair had been aiming for when they'd begun. When they left the next morning, they would deliberately leave the door ajar so that a casual inspection would convince any potential looters that there was no reason to come inside. Only people who knew them, who had a purpose besides looking for food or random destruction would enter now, hopefully.

It was for them - for Naomi who they had lost track of even before the world had started going insane, for members of the Cascade police department who knew them personally, for friends from Rainier University - that they left clues so they could be found. Blair finished painting the last, 'I miss my mommy naomi berkstrom,' on one of the walls, and stepped back, tossing the paintbrush carelessly away when done.

"I hope she remembers that 'Berkstrom' was the name of the people who built that survivalist compound," he muttered, rubbing at the damp paint on his fingers. "Is there enough of a space between 'mommy' and 'naomi' that it's easy to think a 'Naomi Berkstrom' wrote the first part?"

"Yes, and it looks like a ten year old did it." Jim wrapped his arms around his lover and held him tightly, back to chest. "Don't worry. If she makes it this far, she won't be stopped by a little thing like us relocating. She'll know to look for more once she sees the graffiti. At the very least she'll find the week's worth of rations we left under your photo albums in your old room. That is, if she'll even go in there; all we had to do to make that room look trashed was break the door."

Blair didn't rise to Jim's attempt at humor, but he did lean back into the comfort offered, letting his head drop back onto Jim's shoulder. "I can't believe how much it bothers me to see the loft this messy," he muttered. "I thought it was going to be fun doing something I'd fantasized about for years, but I keep wanting to clean it up. You must be going nuts."

Despite it all, Jim chuckled, brushing a kiss over his partner's temple. "You never mentioned that fantasy to me. Been holding out on me, Chief?"

With an effort, Blair dug up a smile. "Yeah, well, I didn't want to use up all the best stuff right away. Wanted to save a few things for when the magic went out of the relationship, you know?"

"If you're waiting for me to get bored with you, you've got a long haul ahead," Jim said complacently.

Abruptly Blair broke, squirming around so that he could wind his arms around Jim's waist and hanging on with all he had, face pressed into the bigger man's breastbone. "Oh, God, I hope so. I hope so. It's killing me to leave the loft; I can't imagine what it would be like to lose you. You're what made this place home."

"No," Jim denied instantly, nuzzling into the top of his lover's head. "Remember what it was like when you first moved in? Cold, empty...it was just a roof over my head then. We changed it together, without ever meaning to maybe, but we did. I promise, I promise you, Blair, wherever we end up, we'll change that place into home, too." With his nose he nudged at his partner's forehead until Blair lifted his head and they could be eye to eye. "After all, we have the essential ingredient right here."

At Blair's quizzical look, he dipped down enough to steal a tiny kiss, then pulled back, relieved to see the understanding in his partner's face. Stretching up, Blair took a kiss of his own, the contact so sweet that Jim couldn't help a shiver of pleasure from it. "Definitely a long way from being bored," he muttered, and dove after his lover, claiming his mouth in a serious way.

Opening to him immediately, Blair drew his tongue into his own mouth with hungry intent, trying to burn away his sorrow in the promise of their passion. But Jim didn't want animal rutting, not this time. Some instinct told him that the farewell they both needed should be a loving one, a tribute to all the joy and laughter they had shared in this home.

So he gentled his lover with long, slow strokes of hands over back, of tongue over lips, until Blair relaxed into the deliberate rhythm Jim set, responding with drawn-out sighs of arousal. When they were undulating into each other with the same pattern, Jim broke away with a disappointed murmur to whisper, "Upstairs."

"Yes, yes." Blair pulled away, actually wincing at the loss, and took one of Jim's hands in his as he led the way to their bed. They had left that room untouched, hoping that vandals or thieves would just assume it would be as bad as the rest of the loft, and they fell thankfully onto their fresh sheets and warm quilt, savoring the simple comfort it added to their union.

They undressed each other unhurriedly, taking time to sample each bit of flesh as it was revealed, gradually building up their desire until it was the only thing that existed. Only then did Jim roll on top of his lover to cover him, aligning their erections so that silky hardness glided over silky hardness. Propping himself up on his elbows, Jim watched Blair's face, awed as always by the beauty and love there. They rocked together slowly, prolonging their loving both in anticipation of the forced abstinence tomorrow would bring, and to simply enjoy it as long as possible.

Eventually, though, Jim was overwhelmed by the multitude of sensory flashes hitting him and began thrusting powerfully. Riding the wave of hot, slick skin, musky, sexy scent, low, rumbling moans, and the answering urgency in Blair's incredible eyes, he unwillingly rushed toward his finish, trying to hold back even as he succumbed to the demands of his body. Then Blair reached up to cup the side of his face, thumb lightly tracing his lower lip, and whispered, "My Jim, always."

He shuddered, and with almost identical shouts at almost the same time, they both emptied their seed onto their bellies, clinging to each other with muscle aching intensity long after the last satisfied twitch in their bodies.

To his surprise, as good as it had been, making love with Blair didn't have its usual sleeping pill effect on Jim. Long after his lover had surrendered to the day's tension and exhaustion, he lay in their big bed, trying not to compare this silent, silent city to the noisy Cascade from not that long ago. The un-natural quiet unexpectedly got on his nerves, but not as much as the uneven, ruddy glow coming from the bedroom window and skylight. Try as he might, he couldn't hide from it, though he went so far as to put on the sleeping mask that Blair teased him endlessly about. Even through the dense fabric, the light shimmied on the lids of his eyes, refusing to be ignored.

Finally he stopped mentally running and eased from the bed, making sure Blair was well covered against the chill of the early spring night. Sweeping a curl away from the closed eyes, he pressed a kiss on the high forehead, then padded downstairs to his customary place by the balcony doors. Though he tried to brace himself for it, the sight of the changed Cascade still hit him hard, and he shuddered, sickened by the dull red smudging the horizon, the blood of a civilization in its death throes.

Most of the fires eroding the familiar skyline were accidental. People had died with ovens burning, a candle lit, or an curling iron left in the wrong place, still plugged in. With hardly any firemen left to fight them, the blazes were left unattended with the tiny hope that Cascade's practically daily rainfall would eventually be enough to put them out. Some of the fires, though, the ones where the precious few firemen worked carefully, were funeral pyres. Baleful and sullen, they stank up the air and spewed ashes everywhere, giving the smoldering bones of the city an eerie funeral shroud.

"The prophets were right," he mumbled to himself an indeterminate time later, tucking his hands into his armpits against a cold that came from within. "The world ended in fire, but we were too damned busy to notice."

"A world ended, Jim," Blair said quietly, coming up behind him. "Or more accurately, a civilization. People go on, build new lives, build new societies. They do it all the time. This," and he waved a hand at the horizon, "Is just the latest in the cycle. Birth and Death, Creation and Destruction, Alpha and Omega if you will."

"It's just so wrong, somehow," he argued without heat. "So many ways it could have happened: nuclear holocaust, major meteor strike, even aliens blowing it up to make way for an intergalactic expressway. There could have been a definite end that way, last acts of heroism or defiance that mattered to whatever survivors there was, giving them hope and making them proud of their species. This is just an ugly shambling toward an shattered future that we can't guess at."

"Every immigrant who ever came to this country," Blair disagreed, "arrived here without knowing what was ahead. They had the same things we do - hopes, dreams, ideas." Blair drew down the shades to the French doors firmly, his body language telling Jim clearly that he wouldn't listen to any objections from him. "And the ones who succeeded were the ones who accepted what they found when they got here, despite how different it was from their preconceived ideas. We can do the same."

It was Jim's turn to be offered support, and he closed his eyes in relief as his lover molded himself to his back, the wiry hairs on Blair's chest adding their own unique caress. The heat of his lover felt good; his presence felt better. He didn't offer any protest when Blair urged him back upstairs, more than willing to be distracted from his own grief with the same technique he'd used earlier.

This time when he came, emptying himself into Blair's throat even as he drank down his mate's essence, he drifted seamlessly from the reality of making love to dreams of it in a hot, vivid jungle.

Neither one of them looked back at 852 Prospect when they left the next morning. Defying Jim's common sense rule about staying in the seatbelt and on his side of the truck, Blair sat right beside him, hand on his thigh all the way to the station. He let it go without comment, driving all the way to work with his own hand similarly placed.

It was the only change they allowed themselves all day, and while Jim could sense his partner's growing nervousness as the time approached for them to make their first move, Blair never once bobbled. The closest he came was when Taggart left for his own duties, throwing a casual wave goodbye at them when he went through the door. Despite his best efforts, sapphire blue eyes followed the older officer for as far as he could see, sadness making them a darker color.

But only Jim noticed that, and when Simon told them to work escort duty a minute or two later, Blair snapped back into a facsimile of his normal self quickly, giving their friend a disgusted glare. It didn't take any acting on Jim's part for him to pinch his mouth shut in distaste at the assignment, either. He truly hated standing guard over the kids while they did the filthy work of going from house to house, apartment to apartment, bringing out any bodies they found for the disposal crews and emptying it of food. Obstensively it was to protect them from anyone who might try to take the supplies. In reality it was to keep them from eating any of it or running away.

"We've already had our tour at that this week, sir," he almost snapped. "Give it to the guys at the top of the list if whoever's scheduled for it is out sick or something."

Looking harried, worried and tired, Simon barked back, "List's been changed and you are at the top of it, *Detective.* One of the crews attacked their escorts yesterday, and the Mayor's ordered the number of armed guards doubled."

That was no news to the partners; Jim had overheard the Mayor's men report the incident, calmly saying they'd killed them all to be a lesson to future work crews. It had been both the final straw and the opportunity they'd been looking for; they'd contacted Daryl and set their plan in motion.

"Man, can you blame them?" Blair muttered, barely loud enough for Simon to hear. "They do all the work and barely get enough food to keep going, not to mention the way those thugs treat them like virtual slaves."

Bristling, Simon started to yell, then visibly took himself in hand and said flatly, "Understandable or not, if it happens again the Mayor will have an excuse to stop feeding them entirely. It's been hard enough to convince him and his people to keep supplies going to the Isolation Camp." He pinched at his nose, then said more softly, "Look, Jim, Blair, some kids got hurt yesterday. They trust the cops, but not the goons. If there are more of us than the goons, we can keep them safe and find ways to bend the rules."

It took all Jim had to keep his face in neutral when he realized that Simon's words meant he hadn't been told the truth about the attack. The lie was a dangerous sign of just how badly the captain's influence over the mayor was eroding, probably because he was beginning to see Banks as a threat to his own authority. Beside him, Blair had his best concerned look on, though from the racing of his heart, it was obvious that his partner understood the frightening implications of the deceit as well.

Woodenly Jim said, "If we're being put on guard duty for the work crews, it means the goons are the only ones at the warehouses."

"Which are locked up tight until time for distribution; the mayor and I are the only ones with the combinations. Then we'll be there in full force. The goons don't have any illusions about how nice the crowds will be if we're not" There was a trace of satisfaction in Simon's voice - satisfaction that he was entitled to.

For one heart-breaking minute his own words from last night came back to haunt Jim. Here were the heroics he'd been looking for; a good man doing the goddamn best he could to hold a dying world together. Desperately he wished he could tell Simon that, let him know the kind of respect he had for his friend and captain, but all he did was stand, head bent over his desk as if looking over a last note. "All right, all right, we're going. Just don't get on my case if I end up redecorating some thug's face for hassling the kids."

Despite his care, there must have been something in the way Jim spoke or refused to look at Simon; he could almost feel his friend's gaze burning the top of his head. But all Banks said was, "No witnesses if it happens, then. Sandburg, don't let him kill anybody."

"Does that mean I can?" Blair muttered, but he gathered up their jackets, handing one to Jim, keeping his own face carefully averted.

With a snort of disbelief, Simon waved them out of the room, mind already on his next item of business.

Taking their time, they left, the facade cracking as soon as they were in the stairwell away from prying eyes and the remaining functioning security cameras. Then Jim leaned on the nearest wall, head on his forearm, and made himself breathe slow and deep, the muscle in his jaw angrily throbbing. Blair fit himself along his side, and Jim draped his free arm over the trembling body, wishing he had more to give. He allowed the weakness for only a minute, then pulled himself together. "Is there a way we can get a message to Daryl so he can tell his dad the truth about the attack yesterday?"

Brushing at suspiciously damp eyes, Blair nodded. "He'll be at the pickup site at the Isolation Camp today. I'll find a way to have a private word with him."

Reluctantly, Jim turned to start down the steps. "Let me know if you need a distraction or something."

"Have you figured out what to do with the Mayor's men sharing duty with us?" Blair trotted alongside him, mind already racing ahead.

"Let's just say it's a good thing you didn't promise Simon to keep me from killing anyone," Jim said flatly. "I called in a favor; the ones who opened fire yesterday are going to be with us." Blair froze in place for all of heartbeat, then nodded. It was a rough justice, one they both would have to answer for in their own hearts and souls, but it was, at least, justice of a kind.

They met the other half of their team for the day in the basement, greeting Tom Baker and Serena Chang with a faked surprise at working with them. Baker was the desk sergeant for the uniforms, and had been teased for years that the one from Hill Street Blues had been based on him. Grinning, he'd always taken the fraternal abuse with a grin, and an up-thrust finger, saying he was more handsome.

He and Serena had been seeing each other for a while, ever since she had picked up a gun and asked to be assigned to the uniforms, pointing out acidly that a forensic scientist wasn't the most useful thing in the department right now. Originally he had taken her under his wing to train her in self-defense and whatever else she needed to survive on Cascade's changing streets. It hadn't taken long for their relationship to grow past that.

Like Jim and Blair, they kept it professional in public, however, and that stood them in good stead as the four of them chatted and bitched casually while they readied the big truck they would use for transport. Once out of the station, though, silence fell, and Serena crawled into Baker's lap, hiding her face in the curve of his shoulder all the way to the pick up point. Blair had used the crowded cab as an excuse to cuddle Jim, but didn't budge when that changed.

Just before they arrived, Jim whispered, "It's not too late to back out."

Baker shook his head firmly, and Serena murmured, "No, this is the right thing to do. It's just so hard, not being able to say good-bye or explain *why.* And it's going to be murder on the Captain and the others."

"The Mayor is going to go ballistic at having part of his slave labor escape," Blair told her unnecessarily, apparently hoping that going over their rationale one more time would be reassuring. "And he would love to make the Captain the target of it. Banks' best defense against accusations of a conspiracy or rebellion will be the fact that he genuinely knows nothing about what we're up to, and that he's going to be mad as hell himself. Our 'desertion' might even heal some of the breach between them, which is even worse than we thought."

Blair quickly briefed them on the lie their Captain had been told, not needing to point out how dangerous the omission was. "Whether he meant to or not," he finished, "the Mayor has set himself and his people up as the bad guys, and Banks and the Police Department up as the good guys. I don't think he understands yet that his choice of help is the big problem, but if he thinks the Captain can take over using popular support as a power base, he might do something stupid. We could be buying Banks a reprieve here."

"We could also be weakening the Captain's place in the department," Serena worried.

"No," Blair said instantly. "It'll all be on our heads for running out on him, and every one else will be that much more loyal and eager to prove it. We told enough key people what we were doing to be sure of support for Banks, or we *wouldn't* be leaving. It's risky, I admit, and I don't know if Simon will ever forgive us, but this was the only way to keep him safe and the department out of the Mayor's hands."

"If it helps any," Jim put in, "We left a letter with Daryl explaining everything, including why we didn't tell him. Simon will get it as soon as the timing's right."

Looking relieved, Baker admitted, "I'm glad. Leaving the Captain out of the loop has been bothering me, too."

"Thanks, Jim, Blair," Serena added.

Then there was no more time for conversation. The gates to the Isolation Camp were in front of them, along with three other trucks already loading their workers for the day. Though Daryl hadn't given out any names for the other teams involved in the exodus, Jim wasn't surprised to recognize all of them as friends and family of the department and Rainier, most of whom he wouldn't have minded having along on his own team. He nodded in satisfaction, but that was all. Donning a semi-belligerent attitude, he left the truck with the others, bracing himself for dealing with the goons.

Thankfully the arrogant, murderous bastards were about as observant as they were kind. They never noticed that all of the teens getting on the truck were barely holding in their excitement, or that many of them carried small packs. As the morning progressed, the mayor's men didn't catch on that the food brought down to the curb for pick up had the light, easily carried things sorted out, or that all those packages went into the truck Serena was driving, not the one they were in. Or that the kids exchanged whatever they were wearing for warmer, more durable clothing whenever they found something suitable.

When the reached the outer edge of the assigned salvage area, Jim walked up to the goons, holding up a dusty bottle of scotch. "Look what just turned up. Didn't the Mayor promise extra rations to anybody finding some of this for him?"

The taller of the two men, the one with a bad complexion and greasy hair, reached for it. "Damn straight. And don't worry; I'll be sure to let him know who gets the credit."

Yanking the scotch out of reach, Jim shook his head. "Stupid I'm not." He waited a heartbeat, then put it where it could be taken from him. "But I'm doing okay on rations right now. Maybe there's something else you could do for me."

"Yeah?"

Motioning with his head, Jim led the way to the back of the truck, where the others wouldn't see them. The goons exchanged a glance, not wanting to separate and even less willing not to have at least one of them watching out for trouble from the kids. Then the tall one followed, apparently spurred by the idea of brownie points with his boss. He came around the corner into Jim's waiting hands, and his neck was broken a split second later.

A heave put the body into the bed of the truck with the groceries, then Jim poked his head around the corner. "Hey! I think your buddy has a problem here! Did you guys eat something chancy this morning?"

That brought the other one on the run; food poisoning had been a persistent problem as desperate people started eating things with questionable expiration dates. A quick snap gave him the same death as his partner, corpse taken care of the same way.

A minute later Jim was behind the wheel, driving the goon's truck into a garage to hide it. Blair was lowering the door by the time he'd shut off the engine and gotten out, and he ducked under it with a grim nod to his partner to let him know what he'd done to the guards. The only reaction he got was a slight widening of eyes and an answering nod that still somehow conveyed sympathy.

Together they went to the back of their own truck where the teens were milling around uncertainly. Without thinking about it, Blair stood on the wide bumper step so that everyone could see him easily, Jim taking a guarding position to the right. "Okay," Blair started, loud enough to be heard by the small crowd. "You know what's going on here, even if you didn't believe it would really happen. My partner and I, along with Officers Chang and Baker, are leaving for Cascade National Wilderness Preserve, hoping to set up a new life for ourselves there. Ellison here is a survivalist expert; I'm not exactly ignorant myself.

"We're willing to take anyone with us who wants to go, and teach you what you need to make it out there. If you want to take off on your own instead, you're welcome to take as much food as you can carry and go with our best wishes. All we ask is that if the Mayor's men catch you, don't tell them who set this up. As far as they're concerned, you took advantage of a fight between Ellison and the other guards. No reason they shouldn't believe you.

"We're not the only ones leaving like this today, but we're all going in different directions, so we're not worried too much about being followed. But we're really hoping that we can bring out more people, later on, after we're established, and if you don't rat out the guy who helped you, he can give others the chance you're getting right now.

He paused a second, a hand going to his hair to push a wind blown lock away, looking for the moment as the same age as the young people he addressed. "That's why we're only taking those who've already SARa'd, who know what they're allergic to. That's why only older teens this time; you're already mostly grown and can take care of yourselves, be responsible for yourselves. What we hoping is that you'll become teachers in turn, which will let us help the younger kids escape from the city. If you don't want to do that, fine. We don't mind if you want to cut out on your own when you're able."

The small group was unnaturally quiet, not looking at Blair, or even each other, but staring at their feet or something far away. Holding down a sigh that only Jim could perceive, he waited a moment for any comments, then went on. "You're waiting for the catch, right?"

There was a nervous titter or two, but nobody denied it. "Smart people," Blair approved. "The catch is simple. You have to listen to us. Right now you're not in the mood to do that because of the way you've been treated, and I don't blame you a bit. But out there," he swung an arm out to the mountains that filled the horizon, "you can die a thousand different ways, most pretty painful, if you don't ask how high on the way up when told to jump. I could promise or swear or cross my heart and tell you that you will never be given an order without cause. Which is the truth, but you have no reason to believe me."

Taking a deep breath, he stepped down into the group. "If you can't trust us enough to listen to us, you should probably stay here where you know how things work. The chances are very good that you won't make it in the wilds, otherwise." Cautiously Blair put a hand on the nearest shoulder, waited until the young woman raised her eyes to his. "The choice is yours; I hope you'll come with us." For a few minutes he walked through them, sharing a smile here or a quick touch there, then went to the front of the truck to get in the cab.

Out of the 28 who left the Isolation camp with them, 23 climbed into the back of the truck to take their chances with Mother Nature.

Though they didn't think they would be missed for hours, they drove non-stop until nightfall, pulling over only then to gobble a few bites and answer nature's call. Conditions in the back were rough; too bouncy to really nap or rest, and too crowded with supplies to get comfortable. No one complained, though, and they good-naturedly tried to help each other as much as possible. That earned them high marks in Jim's opinion, giving him a shred of hope that taking green horns into the wild wasn't going to be a disaster.

Jim drove through the night, not bothering to use the headlights, which earned him strange looks from Serena and Baker. They didn't comment, however, and neither did he. After a lot of debate, he and Blair had decided the best way to deal with the sentinel thing was to simply let their new 'tribe' notice and deal with the questions as they arose. As a general rule, it was easier to let people convince themselves, they both believed, and would give everyone a chance to get to know Jim before they had to deal with his abilities.

After all the secrecy, it felt a little odd, Jim mused, pretending not to see Baker's third aborted attempt to say something. Blair saw, too, and muffled a snort of amusement in Jim's shirt. About the time he thought Serena and her lover would simply blurt out a question, he saw the abandoned state road worker's facility they had prepared as their jumping off point.

It took everyone a bit longer to gather their wits this stop, and it was nearly dawn by the time gear was distributed, backpacks were loaded, and everything was inspected. Jim could tell they were tired, but not yet exhausted, as he looked over straps and pack weights personally, ignoring the wary body language of most of the teens. To them, cop or not, he was another big man with a gun who was telling him what to do.

The girls were especially skittish, one in particular so nervous that he thought she might faint on him. Keeping his expression distant and his hands completely impersonal, he helped her balance her load, mentally noting to talk to Blair about her as soon as possible. A minute or two later, one of the younger boys had a similar reaction, and he kept his fury at the abuse that must have caused their reactions at bay only by promising himself that he would get the names of the people responsible.

By mid morning they were ready, and, after a fast meal of hot instant oatmeal, they started their long hike. He set a pace just short of brutal, wanting to take advantage of their comparative freshness. This time tomorrow every single one of them would feel as if they had gone twice the distance with twice the weight - while being beaten with rubber paddles. Mercifully, Baker was an experienced hiker; he ranged up and down the line with Blair as they moved, offering encouragement and advice.

That freed Jim to take point, and he double-backed frequently as well, re-checking that Blair had hidden their trail sign well enough. It meant he marched two miles for every one the rest of their troop traveled, but he was hardened to it. Each trip back he asked for a different volunteer to run point with him, taking time as they hiked ahead to explain what he was doing and why.

They didn't stop for lunch; by now the kids were used to making do with two meals a day, and no one even asked. Rest stops were short; they couldn't afford for over-worked muscles to stiffen. A half hour shy of sunset, they reached the site he and Blair had chosen for First Camp.

It was a small, relatively flat clearing just under the ridgeline that marked the beginning of what Jim thought of as their territory, and looked out over the mountains and valleys they would call their own from now on. Lush, fertile, and relatively unspoiled by man, there were enough square miles that it would take someone extremely familiar with the terrain to find them. Hopefully the land would provide them with more than refuge; with luck they would find all they needed to survive, and maybe even prosper.

The kids didn't care for the view; they didn't even notice it. Though from all appearances, all they wanted was to throw themselves on the ground and sleep, they managed to keep going until the tents were up and a fire was burning. Camp stew, hot and plentiful, revived them considerably, and the conversations that were whispered or muttered discretely held a very fragile optimism.

It wasn't until bedtime that the only sour note for the day was silently sounded, making itself known only with a few disguised grimaces and odd looks. After discussing the watch schedule with the other adults, Jim unrolled his blankets, casually working next to Blair who was doing the same. When they curled up side by side, tucked close to each other, more than one heartbeat around the fire accelerated.

Without being obvious about it, as only a sentinel could, Jim pinpointed each of them, grinning into Blair's curls when he realized excitement was the cause in a couple of cases. For the others, he noted one glare that seemed especially vicious, whispering Mark's name to his lover so that Blair was aware of the potential problem. Strangely, the one boy who had been extra afraid of Jim's nearness earlier, Evan, was smiling softly, clearly approving of what he saw. Wondering why, Jim effortlessly dropped off into sleep, trusting his internal sentry as much as Baker's ability to guard.

By prearranged agreement, he had the last watch before dawn, and he woke Blair so they would have plenty of time to prepare a good breakfast of dried fruit and oatmeal, and a special treat of hot chocolate that they had hoarded for just this occasion. Each young person was awakened with a gentle call and the offering of food, but the smell of the brew steaming at the edge of the fire was what made aching, complaining bodies move.

With careful timing, Blair served up the chocolate, complete with marshmallows, just as the sun cleared the horizon, slowly filling the valley below them with radiance. By the simple expedience of standing and staring into it himself, he soon had everyone watching the warm sunshine creep into their new range.

When it hit the main stream running through the middle, Blair said simply. "That's our tomorrow." Then he walked away, seemingly pulling everyone with him by force of will, to a small rise on the far side of the camp that allowed them to see over the ridge, and to the Cascade skyline in the distance. "That's our yesterday. If we want to, if we try hard enough, we can leave our sorrows, our losses, our grief there. You need to be thinking very, very carefully about what you do bring with you, what you want to create for yourselves in your new home."

Sipping at his hot chocolate, Blair meandered away, but didn't get more than foot or two away before a soft, girlish voice said plaintively, "I don't understand."

Sitting, Blair shrugged. "Well, for instance - dating is hard to do under the current circumstances, right? You're going to have to leave that behind I think. But that doesn't mean you're going want to give up the opposite sex. So what are you going to do instead?"

That made them murmur amongst themselves as they sat, too, absent-mindedly rubbing at sore legs. "If you're close enough to the camp to be safe, you're close enough for us to hear you, so privacy is going to be hard to come by, " Blair went on. "And sex is going to be a problem because the only sure way not to get pregnant is abstinence. Having a baby out here right now would be a disaster for both the mom and the baby. I don't think any of us would even know how to begin to deliver one."

By now the murmurs had grown into an uneasy, unhappy rumble, and Mark grumbled, swiping his black hair out of rich brown eyes, "Well, hell, we're supposed to do without?"

"I don't know," Blair said cheerfully. "That's entirely up to you to figure out. We're not your parents; we're your teachers for as long as you need us, then we're your equals if you choose to stay. I suggest you talk about it with each other until you hit on whatever you all feel comfortable with.

"For another thing, there are only 6 girls to 17 guys. Does this mean you guys pass the girls around? I don't think so!" His voice became unexpectedly hard and unforgiving. "And if you do, go back to the city, man. That kind of animal thinking is what you're trying to get away from; why bring it with you?" Relenting a little, Blair smiled ruefully. "At the very least you need to respect each other because you're going to be depending on every person in your new family for security, defense, food - everything."

At this point, Jim stood up, his height and size automatically drawing the group's attention to him. "The one thing we will insist on while you're with us is that each of you does every thing that needs to be done, at least often enough that you learn how to do it right. That means girls and guys hunt, cook, clean, tan hides, build shelters, dig latrines, track game, fight, stand guard. You've all learned the hard way what happens when only a few people have a particular skill, like how to make a medicine, and they die, leaving behind no one who can do it. When you've got the basics down pat, then you can trade around to do what suits you best. Just remember, everyone always takes their turn at the nasty stuff. There is no low man on the totem pole."

"Yeah right, like you're going to dig a latrine," Mark said derisively.

Pinning him with a look that made the young Hispanic flinch, Jim said calmly, "It's 100 feet down the trail, near a bush with leaves soft enough to use as toilet paper. First rule and most important - your latrine is always down wind and below your camp."

Mark had the grace to flush, but he didn't back down, and Jim nodded at him in mutual understanding of lines drawn. That surprised the young man enough that he had to hide his confusion in his cup, muttering to himself unhappily when he saw that it was empty.

"Why is it always below camp?"

The innocent question from an unknown source broke the tension, and Baker laughingly told everyone being flooded out of his tent in an unexpected downpour, clothing ruined by the wastes washed down with the rains. He started cleaning up as he spoke, causing the others to do the same, and by the time he had them all leaning on each other, laughing, with a description of what he looked like when he got home, the camp was packed up.

Painstakingly, Jim showed them how to cache food so animals wouldn't find it and elements wouldn't spoil it, explaining as he did that leaving most of it and the tents behind was for those who would come after, who perhaps would be much less well prepared than them. Or that it could also serve as an emergency stash, if they needed it. Blair had them study the location, pointing out to each other landmarks they could use to find their way back to it. Still talking about using landmarks for navigation, he led the way down the trail and into their territory, none of them even thinking of looking back as they did.

The early summer day was dawning with a frighteningly red sky some weeks later, as Jim looked into the current camp and the young people slowly, reluctantly moving through it. Snorting in irritation, he shifted on his perch in a tree where he'd stood his night's watch, a hundred yards or so distant. By now the kids should have breakfasted and packed, waiting only for him to show before beginning the day's trek.

With typical adolescent rebellion, they were anything but ready, and he reminded himself for the dozenth time in as many minutes that it was typical. Blair had told him repeatedly that having it rear its unruly head was a good sign; that the teens were feeling secure in their new lives, that they respected the adults working with them enough to test the limits.

Normal and healthy it might be; it was still a pain in the ass to live with.

He had no idea how much time they would have to teach this first troop before necessity would land another group of greenhorns in their midst. For the sake of everyone, the first members of their new tribe had to be able to make it with minimum supervision when newcomers arrived. At the moment, he wouldn't trust them with the care of a stuffed animal.

Below him he saw Blair move quietly through the group, smiling and giving a helping hand, both coaxing and shaming the kids into moving with something resembling efficiency. Taking that a clue to himself, mentally hearing his lover say, 'teach by example, man,' Jim climbed down from his perch and headed for the central fire for some coffee.

In a way he couldn't blame the kids. Deciding that keeping them on the move was the best way to teach them as much as possible as fast as possible, Jim had led them in a wide, jagged ellipse around that very first camp, stopping at a new site every night. It was his hope that their new tribe would be at least familiar with the terrain of their territory by the time the circle was complete. And that they would have the basic knowledge to make it if something should happen to the adults.

Good in theory, it was tiring in reality, and frustrating because of the need to hunt and gather food anew every day, only to leave any surplus behind the next morning. Even for him it was a pain, and keeping emergency caches was done at his insistence. Eyeing the threatening sky again, he hurried toward the camp, unease prickling the short hairs at the back of his neck.

As he passed Baker, who unobtrusively stood guard as he did up his own bedroll, the wind shifted, and a sniff told Jim what was nagging at him. Without breaking stride, he picked up speed, barking, "Break camp! Now!" Jim looked around, counting noses, then shouted to Blair, "We're two short."

"Latrine," Blair called back. "I'll get them!" With that he started down that path at a rough jog.

Serena set her pack by the fire, then put it out with the morning's coffee, not wincing at the loss of the irreplaceable brew. Eyes busily seeking out the source of the scent on the wind, Jim stopped to help Mark with a tangled strap, not really hearing the muttered curse from the teen. With a final tug to make sure it was sound, he loped to where he'd left his bedroll. "Move, people! Move, move!"

There were several unhappy mumbles, and one plaintive, "What's the hurry!" but the urgency of the older people was infectious. Everyone went faster, scrambling a bit as if afraid of being left behind if they weren't ready when the adults departed. They were pulling themselves together into their usual travel formation when Blair came back up the trail, leading their two strays.

Giving them a cursory glance to make sure they were cooperating with their teacher, Jim did a double take as a flash of movement behind them caught his eye. Taking out his gun, he shouted, "Down! Get Down!"

Blair, bless him, dropped immediately, but the boys looked over their shoulder to see what alarmed their guard. And panicked at the sight of the big, black bear lumbering after them leisurely. They broke into a run, coming straight up the sloping path, blocking a clear shot at the animal behind them. Sight, sound and scent narrowing down, Jim darted to one side, hoping to get a better aim on the beast. "Ian! Marcus! Hit The Dirt!"

Twisting to see from where he lay, Blair added, "Drop, drop!" When the kids simply tried to run faster, he popped up, shooting past them and yelling like a banshee. Startled, the bear hesitated at the sight of the loud apparition confronting it, dropping to its haunches and regarding Blair with something that looked very like puzzlement. It roared once, warningly, but Blair only roared back, waving his arms wildly.

With a snuffling grunt, it swung its great head from side to side, then sat all the way up to raise a paw threateningly. That put its head above the incline of the trail, giving Jim the perfect shot. A second later a bullet buried itself in one eye, and the bear toppled over, dead before the its last rumbled groan finished echoing in the preternatural quiet of the forest.

As soon as hearing told him the heart had stopped, Jim rushed toward his lover, ignoring the two frantic youngsters racing past him. Not sure if he was going to shake him or hug him, he swept Blair into his arms, not surprised to find the sturdy body quaking. Hiding his face by digging his nose into the curls so close to him, he allowed himself to shake for a minute, too.

It had all happened so quickly, most the camp had barely absorbed what the source of the danger was before it had been dealt with, and he could hear frightened exclamations and explanations bubble through the others. When a shocked silence began taking the place of the murmurs, he gave a last squeeze and let go, stepping back so that only Blair could see his eyes.

His lover nodded fractionally at the promise Jim knew was burning there, and then calmly asked loud enough for the kids to ear, "Should we worry about cubs?"

Slipping back into the role of protector, Jim shook his head and went on down the path to check out the carcass. "It's a male." Unbidden, a Chopec custom rose to the front of his mind, and without planning to, he lifted the bear's head by its snout. "Forgive me, Brother Bear. I couldn't risk you hurting my mate."

Unsheathing the hunting knife he wore strapped to his leg, he asked, "Who has butcher duty?" Silence answered him, and he looked back to the people slowly gathering and repeated conversationally, "Butcher duty?"

With a visible shudder, Serena asked, "It's edible?"

Everyone went back to normal as Blair instructed them on what they needed to know about a bear, including the many uses Native American's had for the fat. While he did, Jim struggled to break the bones of the ribs to get to the heart, pausing when Tom Baker asked, "Why did you apologize to it for killing it?"

Sensing that the others were listening as they helped cut the meat into thin strips for curing, Jim answered easily, "It was a waste. Bears are extremely unpredictable, but this one is fat and healthy. It was probably only curious about the people or maybe had learned from campers and hikers that humans meant easy food. Why should it die when all it was doing was what came naturally? It's not as if we need either the meat or the hide, and the local ecology might need a predator of this size to be healthy. We could be doing a damage to our home."

"You really believe that shit?" Mark asked insolently.

Not bothering to look at him, Jim hefted out the liver and heart, handing them to one of the other kids. "Good source of iron; Sandburg will show you how to fix it up if you don't like the taste."

Carving the tasty, tender rib meat, he added, "You're all old enough to remember what a mess the environment was in before the everything went to hell. You can still see it in places - like when we wouldn't let you drink from that polluted stream. Ecology's not belief; it's science. My respect for that, for the natural balance of nature, is based on common sense. I don't expect you to either emulate it or respect it. But if you don't, be prepared to starve when the local animal population gets hunted out."

"We could always be vegetarians," Ian said reasonably.

Too angry with him for not following orders, Jim ignored the comment, but answered indirectly. "It's all connected. You kill off the predators unnecessarily to protect yourself, and the small animals that breed quickly, like mice, have nothing to keep their numbers down. Soon you have a bumper crop of the little animals - who eat all the seeds and roots of the plants you eat. By the time they die off from starvation, having exhausted the local food supply, you're dead from starvation, too."

"Circle of life," one of the girls giggled, hands bloody from the roast she was inexpertly carving, and hummed the melody from a movie.

"We could farm," Mark suggested, his tone implying that was what they should have been doing all along.

"That's why farming and animal domestication was invented," Blair put in, grunting a bit at the effort of breaking a thighbone on the animal. "A human population out-grew the food supply when it was forced into too small a territory by enemies or whatever."

"If you want to," Jim said mildly, "be my guest. Think you'd be interested in trade occasionally? Say corn or tomatoes, which won't grow in the wild, for the occasional venison or hide maybe? Bound to be a farm community or two that made it."

Nonplused by the older man's lack of concern at his hint that he was thinking of taking off, Mark sat back on his heels and brushed a drop of water away from his nose. "Oh, hell. Here comes the daily shower," he groused, for lack of anything better to say.

"At least it won't be hard keeping the fire smoky for curing this," Blair said philosophically. "Going to take some time, though. Maybe stay here a few days?"

"Looks like bad weather's coming in," Jim agreed. "How're we fixed for supplies?"

"Pretty good," Baker said. "Set up a smoking tent here? That way anyone on their way down to the latrine can add wood to the fire. We could use the break, too."

"Need to keep an eye out for scavengers after the meat," Serena reminded them, "Though if the weather's bad enough, the blood smell won't carry too far, not to mention only a human would be dumb enough to be out in this." She uselessly wiped at her face, trying to keep the increasingly heavy rainfall out of her eyes.

That earned a few chuckles from the kids, and everyone added their voice to the discussion until it was pretty much settled they would stay until the meat was smoked. Jim earned a few curious or annoyed looks when he point-blank refused to acknowledge any comment from Ian or Marcus, but none of the other three adults called him on it. From the first they'd presented a united front to the teens, debating only among themselves, quietly, when they were in disagreement about the younger members of the tribe.

By the time a schedule had been set for watching over their bounty, and the other necessary chores had been taken of, it was midday, and he retired to his own lean-to at the edge of the camp. Tucked under a stand of pines, it was relatively dry despite the heavy downpour, and Jim snaked out of his wet jeans, socks and boots, debating drying them next to the central fire they had put under a canopy.

A look at the thick curtain of rain dissuaded him, and he curled into his blankets, already looking forward to Blair joining him for a much-needed nap. The rampant maleness poking at the fly of his boxers reminded him sleep hadn't been the only thing neglected, lately, and he suppressed a shudder at his need to at least hold his lover. Reaction from the near miss with the bear earlier kept him from dozing, and left his balls pulled up tight in frustration.

By the time Blair crept into the bedding with him, he was ready to climax from a kiss, but his partner laughingly perched over him, not allowing body contact until Jim calmed. "Tease," he murmured.

"Because I want more than a 30 second wham, bam? Then guilty as charged." Lightly kissing the end of his nose, then his forehead, Blair whispered, "And I am so hungry, Jim. It feels like it's been forever since I've had you."

Groaning, Jim wrapped both arms around his lover and hugged him tightly. "The lack of privacy is killing me, too. God, sometimes all I can think about is burying myself in that tight ass of yours."

Sighing in pleasure at their erections rubbing over each other through the fabric covering them, Blair said, "We'll take a break when we get the signal to go back to First Camp for another batch of kids. There'll be at least four more adults, and we can afford to slip away for a day or so to be alone."

"The glade?" Jim nuzzled at the cloth over Blair's chest, pulling at the buttons with his teeth.

"MMmm?" Clumsily opening his shirt, Blair cradled Jim's head in one palm, holding it to him in obvious suggestion. "Hard hike," he managed mutter, letting out a breath in a hiss when eager lips closed over the curve of his throat. "Be worth it, though."

"Yeah," Jim agreed distantly, giving the soft flesh a lick, and sliding down to a well-defined shoulder to bite.

A muffled, but distinct giggle stopped him, and he unwillingly opened his senses to their environment, reeling them in from his focus on his lover's body. Three heartbeats, about 5 yards away, hidden in a thicket of low hanging branches, sounded clearly, and a second later, scent told him it was Mark, Gina, and, surprisingly, Evan. A fast peek showed him that they were watching him and Blair make love, nudging and smothering laughter as they did.

Rolling to put his partner under him and shield him from curious eyes, Jim alerted Blair to trouble with a concealed grimace and light fingertip on his lips.

"I told you Sandburg was the girl," Mark whispered derisively.

"Naw. He started out on top," Gina argued. "The pornos always have people moving around a lot before they fuck. They're probably just, you know, working up to it."

"Since when are movies anything like what people really do?" Evan put in, softly, reasonably. "If it were, some scientist would have found the cure for the SAR virus just before everybody died from it."

Lips against Blair's ear in a parody of a lover whispering sweet nothings, Jim repeated what the youngsters were saying, not bothering to hide his aggravation. "Fuck," Blair muttered, clutching at Jim's upper arm. "I so do not want to deal with this right now."

"I still say Sandburg's the girl," Mark said sullenly, and at that, Jim had enough. He gently pulled away, drawing the gaping shirt closed over Blair's exposed flesh, and sat up.

Loudly enough for them to hear him, he called out, "What makes you think either of us is 'the girl,' Mark? And what concern of it is yours, Gina? Evan?"

The three gasped in concert, and scrambling noises told the lovers that their audience was making tracks. "Can't let this pass, Jim," Blair said tiredly, straightening his clothes. "There will never be a better time or opportunity to set them straight about sex - not just gay sex, either."

Bringing up his knees, hoping to relieve the ache in his groin a little, Jim nodded ruefully. "I know - and if we don't, next time we might be more, ah, involved when they sneak up on us. This is shaman's work, I think, Chief."

"Sure, leave the embarrassing stuff for me," Blair groused good-naturedly.

Waving at the huge hard-on peeking over the waist of his boxers, Jim said dryly, "If being interrupted hasn't made him go away, it's going to take some doing to calm down. We shouldn't wait, and I don't think they'd pay much attention to anything I'd have to say with this thing staring at them."

Laughing, Blair stood, pulling on his rain poncho. "Not to mention, I wouldn't be able to talk straight, either. Okay, okay, but you owe me for this one, oh sentinel of a new tribe."

Tossing a damp sock at his lover, Jim chuckled. "Since you're going over there anyway, oh shaman of a new tribe...." With a rude noise, Blair ducked the thrown object, then ran for the main fire, weaving around the larger puddles. "Stinky socks are above and beyond, man. Way above and beyond."

Lying down, arm over his eyes, but smiling Jim tried to concentrate on cooling his need. Instead his hearing insisted on listened to his partner quietly confront the peeping trio, and begin setting them straight about his relationship with their guardian. Blair's voice carried effortlessly, even over the drone of the wind and rain, and, before long, he had the entire troop clustered around him, asking questions.

Though he'd always considered himself sophisticated and liberal about sex, Jim found his cheeks flaming at the frank way Blair talked about it. Using both proper terms and common slang, he satisfied everyone's curiosity, and gave them the information they needed. Once or twice there was some debate - Mark didn't make any bones about thinking gays were sick and perverted - but surprisingly it was the other teens that stomped on the majority of the misconceptions and prejudices.

Body at last beginning to give into fatigue, Jim started drifting off, telling himself he *shouldn't* be surprised. If the day was filled with the nuts and bolts of survival, the evening was devoted to the kind of wide-ranging discussion maturing minds thrived on in an open atmosphere. No matter how exhausted everyone was, the circle around the fire after dinner had always been lively with talk. With Blair to unobtrusively guide and channel, the kids had covered everything from capitalism to capital punishment to religion, slowly picking their way through all of the human condition. Bit by bit, probably without ever consciously realizing it, they were hammering out a code of conduct for themselves. A pretty reasonable one, he decided sleepily, with lots of room for flexibility.

A last question from Evan, spoken with sadness and worry, caught his attention, pulling him from sleep. "Is Ellison mad at us?"

"Some," Blair admitted. "You could have just asked you know? He feels like you don't trust him to be reasonable."

"Well, he sure cut Ian and Marcus cold," Gina said practically.

"Ian and Marcus risked their lives and mine by not listening. Ellison is way past angry about that." Catching the eye of the two in question, Blair added, "If you go talk to him privately, let him know you understand how badly you messed up, it'll be okay. I promise."

Under his breath, Blair added for Jim, "I'm just grateful you didn't tear them new ones in front of everybody. Their ego would have been seriously shredded. Shunning is a much better way to let them know they screwed up."

//Not shunning them, Chief,// Jim thought, reminding himself to actually tell his lover that. //Just too damned pissed to talk to them without tearing them a new one. And you don't need to worry I'll hurt the kids like that; they've had enough grief in their lives.//

"Well, who died and left him our guardian angel, anyway?" Mark bitched.

"Your parents did," Blair said solemnly, and Jim could almost see his blue eyes fixed on the young Hispanic. "Ellison can't help it; he was born to be a sentinel or guardian. It's his thing; just like Ian picked up on tracking almost immediately, and Gina is already a crack shot with a crossbow. They were born with a genetic heritage that makes those skills easier for them than for me or Serena or anybody else. Ellison was given traits that made being first a cop, and now our sentinel, almost inevitable."

There was a rumbled of hushed conversation at those words that blended in with the rain as the kids absorbed Blair's explanation. Rather than pick out individual threads, Jim coasted through the white noise and into eventually into a deep sleep, content to leave his partner to deal with finishing the lesson on sentinels. Blair had, after all, more than earned the right.

A few hours later his eyes snapped open, his hand going for his gun, but he aborted the gesture before it was more than a jerk. "God! Blair!" he moaned. The wet heat of his lover's mouth sank completely into his consciousness as it sank over the head of his shaft, and he started to buck. A hand on his hip and the distant call of one of the girls to Serena stopped him, and he swallowed the wild cry trying to fight its way out.

Pulling back a little, Blair murmured, "Be still, lover. With you on your side like this, no one can see me, and I'm pretty sure I managed to sneak in here without being spotted. After all, I snuck up on you! As long as you don't give us away, I think I can finish what I started a while ago." He licked at the damp crown in front of him, stifling a groan.

"Unh! Wha... oh, oh, oh...so hot! Wha' 'bout you, lover?" The hand under his cheek turned into a tense fist, but that was all the betrayal he allowed his body to show.

For an answer, Blair took out his own erection, at first only squeezing the cap in time to his ravenous sucking. Soon he was working the shaft feverishly, trembling with the need to do something, anything *more.* As fantastic as his mouth was, the sight of him giving into his appetite was better, and Jim murmured, carefully pitching his voice to a level impossible to hear more than a foot away.

"Yeah, yeah...like that. Please, Blair. Just like...yes, oh, god, yes.... So beautiful doing that, so damned beautiful." A rumbling moan told Jim that his husky words were adding to his lover's excitement, and he forced himself to keep whispering. "Feels soooo good. Love doing it, too, don't you? Yeah, yeah, I can tell. Can smell your heat, feel your blood racing, heart pounding. Gonna come, aren't you? Soon, soon.... Oh, there it is, babe, there it is!"

With a tiny keening cry, Blair spilled his seed, and the scent of it unexpectedly hit Jim right in the gut. Somehow he kept his wild scream of completion inside himself, but he couldn't prevent one backbreaking lunge into the scorching mouth of his lover. The force of it turned him into stone that crumbled more with each hidden tremor of his climax. When he was done, he clumsily pulled Blair up into his arms, sparing a second to mop up the stickiness on his stomach with the damp rag his partner must have brought with him.

"God, that was worse than making out in the back seat with your date when your mom's driving," Blair mumbled sleepily.

"And not nearly as much fun as parking on Lover's lane," Jim agreed. Finger combing his lover's curls, he soothed his mate into sleep, keeping watch over him and the rest of the camp as it hunkered down to outwait the weather.

For three days the rain beat down on them, making hunting a waste of time and foraging a soggy, difficult chore. Though it gave all the teens a pointed lesson in why surplus food was carefully preserved, it also allowed young bodies to rest and heal from the hard use of the past weeks. With not much to do but sleep, chat, and take care of what small personal tasks that needed attention, Jim expected restless and bored kids, ready to fight and bitch.

What happened was something more like a slow-motion orgy, that didn't seem to have any particular beginning or end. Maybe it was because the subject had been broached, or maybe because it was the first time the teens had had abundant free time and spare energy for it, but with a casualness that Jim envied, their tribe began to learn about each other sexually.

The lack of privacy and need for sentries in even the most personal situations had already made them comfortable with each other in all states of dress. Bare skin was nothing to be commented on, and everyone was used to looking the other way when necessary. Inured by that, the young people didn't try to hide what they were doing or who they were doing it with.

Sensibly staying out of it, the adults kept their distance for the most part, ready to step in only if a 'no' wasn't respected or if jealous squabbles took place. It wasn't necessary. The teens policed themselves, used their supply of condoms religiously, accepted without derision Evan's obvious love of sex regardless with gender, and ganged up on Markwhen he tried to give Lisa a hard time about always saying no. What astounded Jim was that Serena participated, making herself available to the young men with Tom's apparent knowledge and approval. Scent gave him the suggestion that it might be because she was never fertile. A late afternoon cuddle with Blair confirmed it; she had confided in him that she had had a hysterectomy. It was his lover's belief that she was giving the young men experience that didn't have a risk of pregnancy, to teach them control. And so that none of them would feel deprived or shamed by virginity, the way boys could be sometimes.

It wasn't any of his business, but all of it made him uneasy, waking up the conservative, judgmental part of him - which sounded suspiciously like his father at his worst. Inwardly he recoiled from the nonchalant attitude of the young people about going to bed with each other. In his own defense, he argued that sex should mean something more than appeasing an appetite or passing the time. His conscience pricked at him, too, saying they were just kids, too young to be screwing around.

The rest of him said flatly, bluntly, that none of the young people with him were really kids any more. They had lost their entire family, their home, their freedom and most of their friends, but had still found the courage to come into the wilderness to try for a better life. Each one had already had a brush with death, thanks to SAR, and each one knew that they could die the next day. Or for that fact, the next hour.

It was only human to want to make those days and hours more bearable by sharing physical pleasure with people they trusted. Age had nothing to do with that.

Forcibly he kept his difficulties to himself, the habit of reticence helping him so much that only Blair suspected the turmoil caused by the tribe's choice to equate sex with eating dinner or taking a bath; something that needed doing that could be fun. Wisely his lover left him alone about it, only smiling and sharing a hug when Jim's expression became stony at what he was seeing or overhearing.

In the long run, it was the teens themselves that won him over. When they broke camp when the rain finally let up, they did so with enthusiasm, working efficiently, laughing and joking with each other. Then a few days later, he accidentally saw Evan kneeling in front of Mark, pleasuring him. The awe and dawning joy on the older youth's face struck a cord deep in the sentinel, as did Mark's tender attention toward Evan later that night.

With morale up and his ever-present thorn in the side mellowed, Jim was able to push his qualms aside and accepted the tribe as it was: healthy, happy, and growing stronger every day. By the time they reached the apex of their circuit around their territory at late summer, he had a team that he could count on and that counted on each other.

On that bright, beautiful day, Blair splashed into the middle of a stream like a five-year-old jumping in puddles, sending up sprays and brilliant drops and miniature rainbows. The water hit half a dozen people around him, who promptly did their own stomping, kicking, and splashing, getting the rest of the troop drenched as well.

"Great. Half the time we're slogging through rain and mud with wet feet, bitching about it," Jim half-laughed, half-groused. "And here he is deliberately getting soaked." Shaking his head, he found a large boulder over looking the creek and climbed to the top of it, automatically going into sentry mode. Down stream, Serena did the same, cocking her weapon to the ready, but giggling like a schoolgirl at everyone's antics.

To Jim's surprise, Mark began to range at an angle to them, walking between the sentinel and Serena to cover any blind spots they might have. Nodding his approval, Jim saw a shy duck of Mark's head in apparent pleasure, but that was all the acknowledgment they shared. After a while Evan danced away from the main group, and darted up to Mark, speaking to him earnestly for a minute. With a laugh and shove, the smaller teen sent him toward the horseplay, taking up his post in his place.

Though Mark did join them for a short while, he soon drifted over to where Jim stood watch, nonchalantly leaning on the rock underneath the sentinel. He fiddled with a leaf, tracing the veins on it with a fingertip, pretending immense concentration. Hiding his grin, Jim turned slowly in place to survey their surroundings, keeping track of Mark by hearing.

"Ellison," the young man muttered finally, "How do you know if you're a man?"

"Tough question," Jim answered. "All I can tell you age has nothing to do with it. Back in Cascade I knew guys older than me that I wouldn't call 'men.'" He spared Mark a sidelong glance. "And it has nothing to do with where you stick your dick, either."

Turning red around the edges, Mark mumbled, "Kinda figured that." Abruptly he looked up at Jim, face tight with embarrassment. "So if you don't have a good woman or a house full of babies, how do you know?"

Taking a page from Sandburg's book, Jim asked back, "Why did you post sentry without being told?"

Looking puzzled, Mark shrugged. "Needed done. That bear a while back showed you can't trust things, you gotta keep an eye out."

"So you took responsibility to protect your friends and new family. You denied yourself a chance to goof off - and I know how rarely the opportunity happens - to do what was *right.* You made a choice; a hard one, with no bitching or ego tripping." Seeing Baker come their way, wiping moisture from his balding pate but readying his weapon, Jim hopped down from the boulder. Carefully he laid a hand on Mark's shoulder. "Those are the acts of a man. A good one."

With a small pat, he left, meeting Tom half way and acknowledging the change of shift with a wave. Dodging and darting skillfully, he made it to Blair's side in time to help the gang hold his squirming, yelping partner down for a good soaking. And he felt Mark's eyes on him, smiling, ever so often.

Standing slightly ahead and to one side of the trail, Jim waited impatiently for the others while they debated endlessly - and pointlessly in his opinion - about the obstacle ahead. A plateau stretched in front of them as far as the normal eye could see, falling away to bluffs on one side, and rising crags on the other. It was a veritable sea of boulders with wild berry bushes filling in the gaps, crashing like waves with green caps around the rocks. With the late afternoon sun telling them that they were running out of time to find and set up camp for the night, the group was divided in factions that wanted to go back, go around, or go across.

Keeping out of it was difficult, but Jim had conceded privately to Blair that it was important to show the young people how vital good leadership was. And the best way to do that was by with holding it when it was safe to do so. Expression neutral, showing none of his irritation, he listened with half an ear to the others, wondering if and when they were going to ask him if he saw anything useful.

Not that he knew if they'd be sensible enough to use the advice. Though it looked as if the boulder field was only about a half mile wide, rock hopping when everyone was tired and irritable wasn't a good idea. Some one was bound to tumble, which at worse meant a nasty fall into the brambles, and at worse, broken bones. Not to mention the possibility of running into wild animals feeding on the ripened berries - or the predators lurking to feed on them. There was a path cutting down one side of the bluff, and he remembered seeing when on point that it wound in a fairly wide path along the rock face.

A horrid sound broke into his thoughts, one that he had hoped not to hear again for a long, long time: the harsh, choked breathing of a SAR attack. Piggybacking sight onto the sound, he found Evan at the back of the tribe, leaning on a tree a little way from the rest. The young man's face and arms were already splotched with bright red hives, and Jim ran for him, dropping his gear and stripping as he went.

"SAR," he shouted. "Evan." Naked by the time he reached the teen, Jim poured the contents of his canteen over himself to wash off any contaminants, then started stripping the young blond to do the same to him. As soon a Evan was bare, Jim scooped him up into his lap, letting the others finishing sluicing them down, since bare skin was the only thing that no one had ever sara'd to as far as they knew.

"Evan," Blair asked urgently, "What's your trigger? Your trigger!" He had been right on Jim's heels, and he scrabbled through his pack for the medical kit and a syringe.

"Lied," Evan whispered. "Lied...sorry....sorry."

"You don't know what you're allergic to?" Jim swabbed alcohol over a thigh muscle, then plunged the needle into the young man.

"Had to get out, had to." Evan looked over the sentinel's shoulder at the other members of his new family clustered around them and repeated almost soundlessly. "Had to."

"It's okay," Blair told him, brushing the hair away from the swelling face, and giving a louder voice to what the others were murmuring. "It's okay. We understand."

With no more air to spare for speech, Evan reached out, his fingers brushing over the out-stretched hands of the others, mouthing, "Thank you, thank you," over and over.

Hearing the heart racing, straining to satisfy the demands for the suffocating youth, Jim risked another shot, though there was little chance it would work. If it had been something Evan had touched or eaten, there would have been some relief from the first. Sharing a despairing look with Blair, Jim simply held the dying boy, rocking him gently with the many, many hands of the tribe cradling them.

When he could no longer deny the stillness in the body, Jim pressed Evan's face close to his chest, covering it with his hand in lieu of a shroud. "Those of you who feel able, stay behind with me to prepare the body," he said gently into the grief-stricken quiet. "The rest go back to that clearing we saw half a mile or so back and ready a funeral pyre."

Wincing, probably thinking of the perpetual fires in Cascade, Baker asked, "Shouldn't we bury him, instead?"

Seeing the question on every one else's face as well, Jim answered quietly, "Too rocky here, and a burial cairn would be disturbed by wild animals unless we prepared Evan's body like an animal's carcass."

Nodding their acceptance, every one drifted away to do as their sentinel had told them. Only Jim, Blair and Mark stayed behind to do what had to be done.

That evening, when the sun colored the horizon with celestial fire, Blair put a torch into Evan's pyre, the musical requiem from Rent, "A Day in the Life," playing from his laptop. For the most part, no one was crying; they had simply seen too much death in their short lives. But Blair's face was wet, and he sang along with the words, his baritone ringing clearly into the darkening sky.

When the last notes were part of the stars, he said quietly, his words carrying above the soft sounds of natural world. "We weren't fortunate enough to have a year of Evan's life, but what we had will nourish us, even as his ashes will nourish our new home. We carry part of him within us in the form of memories, and part of him physically from the very food our territory provides us. Given how generous and giving he was, that simple knowledge will light his path to the next world, clearing it of all shadows. Goodbye, Evan."

Blair turned into the arms waiting for him, and stayed in that strong circle, even as the other members of the tribe huddled together in their own circle, until all that was left was ashes. Then they gathered their things and began the day's march, moving woodenly, tiredly.

Over the next few nights, Jim heard stifled tears and grieving, but the young people dealt with their loss their own way, turning to each other as they had learned to do, as they had been taught by the adults and by circumstances. At times one or another of them would approach Blair for a hushed conversation, and once or twice to be hugged and comforted.

Seeing that once, Mark had demanded, his tone a mix of confusion and anger, "Why do you let him do that? Sooner they learn to stand on their own, the better. Crying to somebody ain't going to help."

Not even bothering to look up from the hide he had been carefully scraping in preparation for tanning, Jim had answered, "Just because we're mates doesn't mean I do his thinking for him. He does what he thinks is right, and I wouldn't have it any other way. How else could I trust him to tell me when I'm being an asshole?" Sparing a grinning glance up at the young man, Jim added, "Like I never am, right?"

Mark had blinked, then snorted in laughter. "Riiigght."

Chuckling, Jim had looked back down at the work his hands were doing. "As for letting them cry on his shoulder.... Nobody should carry their grief alone; humans aren't really meant for it. They were meant to spread their pain and sorrow around within their families, diluting it and making it bearable. Not being able to do that, not having families or friends to trust, was part of what was wrong with the old ways, why millions of dollars were spent on psychologists and psychiatrists.

Standing, rolling his shoulders and neck to get the kinks out from the tiring task, he had finished placidly. "Sandburg does it because he's a natural born shaman: the kind of person who wants to help and who has the skills and gifts to do it. Our tribe exists because he saw what needed to be done and did it, Mark. Don't ever under estimate what a Shaman can accomplish, how much he can help." Jim bent to roll the hide, and left Mark to think over his words.

It wasn't hard to see that Jim had spoken the truth. With the natural resiliency of the young, the tribe moved on emotionally, laughing and carrying on as they had before their loss. They spoke of Evan fondly, sadly, from time to time, but mostly they were caught up in the daily challenge of becoming a strong, capable unit.

They succeeded to the point that when Jim saw the smoke coming from First Camp that was the signal that more teens were on the way, he didn't hesitate to lead them straight across country, directly toward that camp, knowing they could handle the terrain. Pushing them hard, moving even at night while the moon was up and clear of clouds, they made the trip in three days, and were hardly winded by the exercise.

Jim knew who was waiting for them at First Camp well before the tribe was close enough to be spotted from there. Still, he circled the site cautiously, making sure there was no one else hiding nearby and that it wasn't a trap. The time to think about how to approach their guests was only incidental, he told himself steadfastly. It wasn't as if he was ashamed to face them or was afraid of how he would be greeted.

In the end, though, he simply led his new clan into camp, facing his former captain squarely, head up.

Simon Banks slowly rose from his seat on a rock by the campfire as everyone came up the trail, face impassive, hands loose by his sides. Daryl stood slightly behind him, letting his father take the lead, though he had a broad smile on his face. A whisper of recognition of the two men raced through the tribe, and Jim didn't have to look over his shoulder to know that there was a mixture of happiness at seeing Daryl and trepidation at seeing the captain of the police department.

But, they held back, pausing to see what their sentinel would do. With a gesture Jim told them to wait a couple yards distance and went on with only Blair at his side.

"Simon," he said by way of greeting, stopping a few feet away.

"Jim." With an obviously speculative eye, Banks looked over the young people, taking in their number, and their healthy, alert, confident air. "You did good," he said softly. "Real good." With that he held out his hand, and Jim took it, only to use it to drag Simon close enough to hug.

"Hey!" Simon scolded, a smile escaping, "None of that shit!" But he hugged back, hard, and Jim could only laugh, pounding on his friend's back.

Around them chuckles broke out, and in moments Daryl was surrounded with burbling teens, all of them trying to tell him at once every thing that had happened to them.

Without letting go of Jim, Simon grabbed Blair and pulled him close, too. "Since I'm stuck doing this," he growled. "Might as well make your day."

"More like my year, man!" Blair crowed, and there was an edge of relief and joy in his tones that precisely echoed how Jim felt.

Not wanting to, he eased off and said softly, "Simon, you look like hell." And Banks did: too thin, shoulders slumped in exhaustion, eyes filled with a shadow of agony that he was trying to hide - and failing.

"Yeah, well, been a while since my last vacation." Simon tried to brush off their concern, but if anything, being reminded made him look worse.

With a glance at the milling crowd, Jim drew Blair and their friend to the fire, unobtrusively blocking everyone's view of the older man. "What?" he asked briskly. "Is it that bad in Cascade?"

For a minute Banks looked as if he'd brush that comment away, too, but then he answered with a question. "How many more can you take, how young and how fast?"

"Whoa," Blair breathed. Shrugging out of his pack, he sat lotus on the ground beside Simon. "Maybe you'd better start at the top. Want some tea to warm you up, first?"

The glare Simon sent his way wasn't any where near the strength of those he'd given in the past, but its presence was reassuring. "What is this; some sort of calming ritual?" Simon muttered, seating himself back on his rock. "Picked up from the Whatsamatta tribe of upper Waythehellaway?"

"It's something for your hands to do," Blair shot back. "Since you don't have a cigar to torture."

Looking at Jim as if asking for commiseration as his ex-detective sat, Banks said, "I could always torture *you.*"

"Like this is something new." Dried mint leaves were added to the water steaming over the fire, and Blair drew in a deep breath. "Besides, this stuff smells great, if nothing else."

"Point, Sandburg. Here have something to add to that." From a pocket Simon pulled out a baggie filled with sugar packets. "Odd the things that turn up. Found this when I was digging out the camping equipment."

Taking it eagerly, Blair said, "I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be glad to see refined sweets, man. Can I share this?"

Looking over at the cluster on the far side of the camp that was still talking excitedly, Simon nodded. "Bet it's been a while since they've had a treat like that. Go for it."

"I'll wait 'til they've settled." Blair served up the hot brew to himself and the other men, setting aside enough for Baker and Serena, who were standing guard.

Taking an appreciative sip, Jim said into his tin cup, "Thanks. They deserve it. Been bustin' their butts out here."

"It shows," Simon agreed. He stole another look at the young people around Daryl. "Seeing your bunch makes me realize how bad things are for the orphans left in Isolation. Those kids look like wraiths, or war refugees or something. And to think, we brought them into the tents to protect them."

"Not the first time good intentions have led to disaster," Jim consoled, meaning it. "Warehousing the older teens until they SARA'd made perfect sense at the time. With the doctors and meds right there, they had the best chance of surviving their first attack."

"Then giving them the younger orphans to take care of," Blair pointed out, "Was the next logical step."

"Also made it easier for the Mayor to abuse them," Simon said, suddenly sounding exhausted, and getting to the point. "I know it's been a while since you got to be a real cop, Jim, but you have to remember Teller Markem."

Wincing, Jim nodded. "We came within a breath of indicting him on child pornography charges twice that I know of. First time the key witness, family of one of the victims, suddenly changed their tune. Then moved into a brand new upscale condo a few weeks later. Second time...." He took in a breath. "Well, all hell started breaking loose. I don't even know what happened to the file."

"Guess who His Honor decided to put in charge of the Isolation Camp - and its orphans." Simon's words dripped disgust. "Bought his way in with a huge cache of ammunition and weapons."

"Oh, God," Blair moaned. "Oh, my, God."

"There was nothing you could do?" Jim asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting to give Simon the tiny push he seemed to need to unload completely.

Putting down his cup, Simon dropped his head in his hands for a minute. When he lifted it, he looked years older. "With the old Mayor, yeah, I had some pull. Especially after you and the others made your escape." He grinned sardonically. "I played it just the way you expected me to, and His Honor practically had a stroke hiding how pleased he was at dissention within the police department.

Simon brightened a bit. "Used the sympathy to convince him I was right about locking down the population, that letting them go to scavenge on their own was no riskier than keeping constant watch within our own walls. I was right, too. Half the people left in Cascade decamped almost immediately, which took a lot pressure off at the food warehouses. And some of the thugs went too far, so the Mayor started keeping them on a tighter rein, too. For a while things got better, a lot better.

"Then?" Blair asked, leaning into Simon's space, eyes wide and calming.

"Then supposedly Wade sara'd, though I could have sworn his allergy was to bananas, which we haven't seen in forever, and he was conveniently by himself, behind locked doors." Picking up his cup and reaching for the pot of tea, Simon added thoughtfully, "Looks like someone invented a whole new way to commit murder: find out someone's allergy and make sure there's not a dose of ephenepherine close enough."

"Human ingenuity at its best," Jim said cynically. "No matter what the situation, some one will find a way to use it for criminal purposes."

Shrugging, Banks finished, "Anyway, Billings took his place as new Mayor, and before long it was all the department had to do to take care of itself. Son of a bitch had been hoarding, and has more than enough food, booze, and medicine to take care of any one who does things his way. And his way is survival of the fittest. The Isolation Camps and most of the general populace have been depending on what they could grow this summer and whatever my men could bring in from the suburbs."

He looked at Jim directly, with a trace of humor finally making him look more like his usual self. "Thanks to the names you gave me, I found out where all The Mayor's stashes are, though. A couple of them have been hollowed out from the back, so that if he just checks them, the storeroom looks full. We've got enough to make it through the winter, but we'll have to bring more people out next spring. I've sent men out looking for the other three groups. Hopefully, they've done at least as well as you have."

Yet again Simon looked over at the other part of their troop, who by this time had built a fire of their own and were in deep discussion. "Unfortunately, not all the kids coming right now have sara'd, and they're younger than these guys, too."
"We can't take them too young," Blair pointed out. "They have to be able to keep up with us while we range for food and game; we can't spare babysitters yet."

"Aren't too many little ones left, anyway." There was something so sorrowful in his tone that Jim put a hand on his friend's leg, and left it there, which seemed to help Simon force out the rest. "You already know we lost most of the orphaned babies when the milk and formula supplies ran out. Just not enough nursing mothers to feed them. If the infant couldn't eat solid food, they starved pretty quickly. Well, the toddlers, in fact most of the kids under five, were so weak from malnutrition, that most weren't able to fight off a flu-like something that swept through the Tents a month or so ago. Dan Wolf managed to get a quarantine in place in time to keep it out of the older children, but there aren't enough adults and teens to keep an eye on that age group. I get a report of an accidental death or lost child every day, and usually more than one."

"God, Simon," Blair whispered. "You can't keep carrying this load, man. Stay here with us, please."

Shaking his head slowly, Banks said, "No, not yet. In fact, we need to get going soon. I don't know how long Joel can cover for me not being available. Supposedly I sara'd, but can't find my allergen. That cover won't hold for too long, though."

"I thought you sara'd not long after I did?" Jim asked.

"Did. To eggs of all things. But only you two, Daryl and Amy know that. Keeping it to myself was unintentional, but I didn't see any reason not to use it. No one will think twice about me being in seclusion for a while because of SAR."

Blair said, barely not pleading, "We could really use your help here. Jim's being stretched thin being trail boss and point man and standing guard. If you stepped in as trail boss, the tribe would listen to you, probably gratefully. It's really just beginning to sink into their heads that democracy doesn't work when you need a decision *now.*"

"What exactly are you two teaching these kids anyway?" Simon demanded, deliberately not making any promises. "Are you starting your own hippie movement here?"

Looking stubborn, but giving in when Jim shot him a look, Blair reluctantly let their captain change the subject, giving him a thumb nail description of a typical night around the fire. In the background, Jim could hear the conversation on the other side of the camp wind down, so he was the only one who wasn't surprised when Lisa and Mark came over and lingered a respectful distance away.

A motion brought them closer, and gave the two youths Blair and Simon's attention. "Sentinel," Mark started, "Daryl said that he and the Captain need to make it back to the road before dark, and we have to talk to you before they go."

"Decision making time?" Jim asked.

"Yes, sir. Lisa here," and he nudged the young woman beside him, "Wants to go back with them. She's not happy about all the young ones being left behind."

"We can't bring them out yet, but we will," Simon told them.

"Then I'll come back with one of those groups," Lisa said, her soft voice barely carrying. "I know I'm taking some risks by going back - but if someone tries to hurt me this time, I can take care of myself."

A shared glance told Jim that Blair knew what she was talking about, but all he said was, "You haven't learned as much about self-defense as you could, and frankly, there's lots of situations where the best defense is not to get in trouble in the first place. Going back could be one of those."

She fidgeted, but said firmly. "That's true, but it doesn't feel right for me not to help, and I could be teaching other girls like myself stuff they can use to make it in the city."

"It's your choice, Lisa," Blair said. "As long as you realize the possible consequence of your actions."

She nodded, and abruptly turned to run back to the others to be absorbed into the mass with hugs and cuddling. Mark watched her go, but then turned to the adults. "I'm going, too, but not to Cascade. The thing you said about trade that time? We need to know more about who is alive and who isn't, what places have been picked over and what places still have food and medicines."

"You're going to be a scout for us?" Jim asked without a trace of skepticism and something that sounded suspiciously like pride.

"Yeah, me and Marcus both want to give it a try. Thought we'd take one of the old maps and follow the roads. Daryl told us when he's going to be here next, more or less. We could meet here, too. Let you know what we find."

"Sounds like a good plan." With a warning glare Jim kept Simon from saying anything negative and the older man looked disgruntled for a minute. "Anything they need to know about the countryside?"

That brought out Banks' command persona, and he focused on the subject. "Just that they should steer clear of actually using the roads. Lots of the people who left for the countryside travel on them, and highway men are making a come back because of it."

"Don't worry about us," Mark said calmly. "We know how to keep from being seen unless we want to be. And we can live off the land, so no need to carry anything worth stealing."

At that he left, and Simon turned to Jim. "Are they so good that you're willing to let them go off on their own like that?"

Smiling at the young people working on cooking a morning meal without so much as being told, Jim said simply, "Yes, they're that good."

He and Blair left for their glade right after breakfast, first saying goodbye to Simon, Daryl and Lisa as they headed back for civilization. Not bothering to hide the pain, they both made the farewell brief, acting as if they were sure they'd see their friends again. Telling the tribe that they would be back in time to greet the newest members of it, they set off at a fast trot, much faster than the one they would have used en-masse.

For the life of him, Jim didn't know if he could have moved at any slower speed. From the time the tribe was beyond range of his senses, all he was able to think about was what would happen once they reached the hot spring. Anticipation had him half-hard and totally aware of his lover, and he hung back to let Blair set their pace so he could admire the round, tight ass as it worked under the concealment of his pants.

Thankfully Blair was as eager. The scent of his excitement tickled at Jim's nose, and, remembering their first visit to the glade, he told himself grimly that if his lover teased him by stripping, they'd never make it to the spring. As if sensing the thought, Blair glanced over his shoulder occasionally, smiling at him winsomely, but didn't say anything. They didn't need to talk, anyway, and breath could be better used to get to their retreat as soon as possible.

Obeying some unspoken agreement, they did stop just outside, both to let Jim survey the area for safety's sake and to stop panting. Unfortunately, the pause gave them a chance to look into each other's eyes, and their lungs started working hard again, for entirely different reasons.

Not sure if he or Blair had moved first, Jim found himself with his arms full of frantically humping man, his lips in serious danger of being scorched away in a searing kiss. Which was perfectly all right with him; all he wanted anyway was to weld himself to his lover, make them one entity. On automatic pilot he navigated them through the dense, low hanging brushes until they were safely inside the glen, hidden and secure.

As soon as he felt the spongy give of the moss underfoot, Jim dropped his pack, tore off his partner's, and undid Blair's belt with sure fingers, opening the zip in record time. His fingertips brushed over the wildly throbbing erection straining at the fabric, and the beat of it traveled straight into his own hard-on, putting him on the edge of climaxing. Ripping his mouth away, he roughly turned Blair so he could pull that ripe backside into his own groin.

Weeks worth of deprivation, making do with hurried hand jobs and fleeting kisses, crashed through Jim, sweeping away everything but the imperative to possess his mate. Sinking to his knees, taking Blair with him, he freed his own need with a shaking hand, then reached around to stroke his lover.

Shouting, Blair surged into the rough tunnel Jim made for him, bucking without rhyme or reason. The fleeting contact of the firm globes of his ass against Jim's cock was inflammatory, sending spikes of lust through his gut. With a growl, he pushed gently at Blair's back, putting him on his hands and knees in front of him.

Blessedly, habit made him dig out the lube from his shirt pocket because the sight of that up-turned bottom with the promise of heaven at the core of it finished the job of reducing Jim to one huge want. Hurriedly he spread the gel over himself and into the waiting portal, then shoved all the way in with one push. Screaming Blair's name, barely hearing the answering cries of joy and ecstasy, Jim pounded into the clinging channel. Within a few strokes the undeniable burn of climax hit him, and he screamed again, trying to force himself deeper into Blair. His lover closed around him in an almost painful grip despite its softness, and Jim distantly felt hot liquid bubble over his hand.

The last spurt of his own seed weakened him completely, and, still moaning, he fell forward onto all fours himself. Covering his mate, Jim let his head hang onto Blair's shoulder from behind, struggling to get air into his overworked lungs.

"Love you, love you, love you," Blair whispered, trembling but staying up to keep Jim embedded in him. "God, Jim, I love you."

"Blair." Sighing, Jim turned his head to nibble, then lick on a perfect ear. "Blair."

"More, babe? Please? More?" Tightening his inner muscles, Blair encouraged the presence inside him to stay, and he clumsily reached back to latch onto one of Jim's thighs to hold him in place.

A ripple of interest spread through Jim, and he murmured, "Not sore?"

"No, no...just...stretched." Twisting slightly, Blair said, "Oh, I can't believe how good you feel, how much I want to keep going."

They both felt the twitch of Jim's cock at those words, making Blair flex internally again. He gave a little 'oh' of pleasure that sent a much more definite pang of desire stabbing into Jim. Withdrawing from his lover, just a little, he pressed back in, getting another delightful 'oh' from Blair. "Mmmm." He nuzzled into the sweaty nape, burrowing under the collar of the shirts Blair still wore. Lapping at the same spot, he brought up a hand to sweep over chest and stomach, balancing carefully as he did.

"Wearing too many clothes," Jim mumbled, clawing at buttons.

"Definitely."

With some awkward shifting and creative contortions, they managed to get naked, all the way down to their boots, making each other laugh - and groan - as they did. All the movement did interesting things to where their bodies were joined, and Jim was fully aroused by the time they were done. It hadn't taken Blair that long. Halfway through he surrendered himself to Jim's care so he could touch himself.

Showing his approval with nips and licks any where he could, Jim pulled Blair up so that he was kneeling and held him in place with a strong arm across the heaving chest.

"Damn!" Blair groaned. "That's.... that's....oh, oh, oh!"

"Fucking fantastic," Jim finished for him. Pinching and rolling one of the tight buds peeking out from the springy hair on Blair's chest, he lifted his mate up at the same time he sank back, then eased the sturdy body down as he thrust up. "God! Oh... oh, love you!"

"Again," Blair whimpered, "Oh, again!"

Slowly Jim raised him, feeling every millimeter of progress out of the hot passage, then slowly lowered him onto his cock. "Can't...." he mumbled, "Can't... ah.... oh, god!"

"Please!" It was a sob, and Blair pumped his own hard-on frantically. "Feel so big, so deep!"

Groaning with effort, fighting the urge to lay his mate flat and hammer at him until they both passed out, Jim did as asked. This time Blair clenched at the shaft sliding out of him, as if to hold onto it, or at least impede its retreat.

The flutter of the satin grip jerked a long, low moan out of Jim, and his thigh muscles started trembling from the strain of holding back. "Babe... have to... have to...."

His lover didn't hear him. Impaled on Jim's staff, tormenting one nipple while Jim tended to the other, Blair was lost in the ecstasy owning him. To Jim, that was better, hotter, wilder than the flesh caressing him so intimately. His lover seldom lost control, preferring usually to make sure their pleasure was mutual.

Knowing that gave Jim the will to raise and lower his mate several more times, then a subtle change in tension and breathing told him that Blair was coming, coming hard. Fastening his teeth into the vulnerable neck, Jim all but dropped his mate onto his cock, using all of his strength to jam Blair down as far as possible.

Shuddering so hard Jim shook with him, Blair silently howled and spilled his seed, clutching at the hard-on filling him with inhuman strength. Despite that, Jim held off his own finish, not giving into his body's demands until Blair began to melt in his arms.

Then he carefully, tenderly laid him on a makeshift bed of their clothing, making sure boneless limbs were comfortably arranged. Only when he was sure Blair wasn't harmed did he slam away at the pliant form, all but snarling like a beast as he did.

Fingers digging into the earth, throwing back his head until the tendons on his neck stood out, he erupted, pouring himself into his mate seed, soul, and heart. It left him gloriously empty, and he gradually sagged over Blair to fit into every line and curve. Automatically adjusting them both so the smaller man could breathe, Jim gratefully fell into the first deep sleep he had had since before leaving Cascade.

Hours later, to judge by the early evening twilight, he woke leisurely, taking time to actually enjoy the process. And there was a lot to take pleasure in. The wind was sweetly cool and feather light, colored with a dozen different fragrances that he didn't bother to identify. Its soft lullaby was barely discernable over the rollicking babble of the waterfall and stream that at the heart of their glade. Stretching hugely, he looked around their special place, savoring the way the shadows and flitting twinkles of light soothed his mind.

Of course, the most beautiful part of the scenery was the young man standing under the falls washing his hair. Though Jim loved looking at every part of Blair - from the crown of unruly locks, to the sensuous flow of line in shoulder, hip and thigh, to the unexpectedly elegant feet - what held Jim's attention this evening were the very obvious signs that his mate had been well loved.

Some were blatant, like the teeth marks on the juncture of neck and shoulder and the bruises coming up on Blair's backside. Others were subtler: utterly relaxed and loose muscles, a happy, mellow expression. Smiling in contentment, Jim watched his lover, almost laughing out loud at the blissful sigh at the hot water cleansing his hair.

Blair shifted his position to suds up again and winced, hand going reflexively toward his ass. "Ouch, ouch, ouch," he muttered, but it wasn't a complaint.

Laughing quietly, Jim decided that a long, hot soak was the second best idea of the day, and he went got up to join his lover, deliberately splashing so as not to startle him. "You should let me make sure I wasn't too rough on you," he said, half-swimming, half-wading in the small pool.

"Why? Going to kiss it and make it better?" Blair teased.

"Sounds good to me," Jim answered agreeably. Three good breaststrokes brought him to the ledge where his partner was perched. He floated there, letting the natural tumble of the water jostle and tickle him. Here the pond was at its deepest, about seven feet, and it was bath water warm.

Pulling back his hair and squeezing out excess moisture, Blair sat down on the rock, feet dangling in the pool, thighs spread invitingly. "Promises, promises," he laughed.

Taking a second to make sure that his lover truly wasn't injured, Jim focused on the center of the revealed crease, noting the swollen, abraded pucker looked tender, but not damaged. He reached for Blair, intending to both make sure of that and keep his promise, but his lover slid into the water himself.

Wrapping all four limbs around him, Blair slithered over Jim, the combination of slick water and slicker skin doing interesting things to his libido. Snagging a handhold to secure them both above the surface, he murmured his appreciation of the sensuality of Blair's impromptu water ballet.

Between trying not to drown and the lovely distraction his mate was providing, Jim wasn't able to do more than passively accept what was being done to him. As if realizing that, Blair's lips found his, tongue aggressively claiming his mouth, and Jim opened to him willingly, more than ready to submit to whatever Blair wanted. It was strange not to be able to reciprocate other than to kiss back - strange but thrilling. Soon he was breathing raggedly, his erection bobbing between them as if looking for its favorite haven.

When Blair angled his hips to accommodate that length, Jim made himself tear away from the nourishing kiss, mouthing a hungry line to his lover's ear. "Have you ever noticed," he whispered, "that in the water every body is the same height?"

"So?" Blair asked disinterestedly, latching onto Jim's neck with a sucking bite.

"S...." Jim lost his train of thought, captivated by the contrast between the cold shivers from that caress and the warm water embracing them. Then Blair made a more determined effort to take in Jim's hard-on, and he drew back. Giving a strong kick to turn them so his back was to the rock, he said, "So I can think of a good use for this sudden vertical equality."

Ignoring the puzzled look, he wiggled loose enough to be able to rotate in his lover's arms until Blair's chest was gliding wetly over the planes of his back. "So," he repeated, yet again, and rocked his hips suggestively.

"OH!" That was the only hint Blair needed, and he clung to Jim's broad shoulders, fitting his cock into the cleft of his lover's ass. "Oh, wow... this is...." Cautiously he thrust, lost his grip, and slipped, apparently taking in a mouth full of water, to judge by his sputtering. "A good way to drown," he gasped.

"Sorry, babe." Jim chuckled and started to hoist himself out, but his mate held him back.

"Hey, no way," Blair protested. "You can't make an offer like that then run off. I've been dying to climb on top of this magnificent mountain you use for a body. Hang on!"

Compromising by folding his arms over the edge of the rock, resting his chin on them, Jim waited curiously to see what his inventive lover would do. Whatever it was involved some interesting squirming on Blair's part. For a moment he would have been willing to bet that his partner had grown four more hands and at least two extra feet. It felt like he was being touched every where at once with the light, teasing contact that he loved most.

All but purring, he obeyed the nudges and tugs positioning him to Blair's satisfaction, contentedly watching through slitted eyes the darkening sky fill with stars. A tentative finger tested his center, and he opened to it eagerly, sighing in pleasure as it penetrated

"You have never," Blair said huskily, strong fingers locking onto Jim's upper arms. "Been so relaxed or ready."

"Mmmmm." Spreading his legs, able to do so wider than usual because of the support of the water, Jim hooked the toes of one foot into a crack in the rock face, anchoring them both. "Take me already."

Moaning, Blair did just that, all but flowing into Jim with a steady, smooth thrust. "Jim," he breathed.

"Good, lover. Good! Can we do this forever?"

"Wish." Blair withdrew, balancing his cock on the very rim of Jim's opening. "I can never get enough of you." Slowly he pushed back in, wringing a cry from both of them, then settled into a steady, even pumping that really did seem as if it could go on forever.

But much as they tried to hold off, not wanting release to end their physical union, nature could not be denied. Eventually Blair was plunging in and out, fast and hard, driving them both toward climax. "Hurry," he panted. "Close, too close."

"Wait!" Jim gasped desperately. "Please! Wait..."

As intense as the sensations were from the steely member using him, and as wonderful as the all-encompassing caress of the water was, it wasn't *enough.* Poised on the brink of the obliteration he craved, Jim needed something to push him over it.

"Can't.... Sor...oh, oh, oh!" Blair withdrew completely, then with both a powerful kick and strong lunge upwards, he rammed into Jim like a torpedo, his seed already bursting from him.

The impact of pleasure so close to pain that Jim was never sure which it was, was exactly what he needed. Silently, muscles locked in place, the rest of him came apart explosively, rocketing away with the splashes caused by their loving.

By and by the currents of the pool brought him back to himself, and he shivered. Blair's curls were straggling damply over his neck and shoulder, their wetness chilling in the cool evening air.

"We should move," Blair muttered.

"Should," Jim agreed lazily.

"Still have to put my journals in the cache here."

"Yep. How much more do you think you have to transcribe from your files in the laptop?" Kicking his feet idly, Jim made his lover sway and rub over him.

"MMmm? Uh, about two more, I think."

"Why didn't you just print them up and carry that here when we were planting all our stashes?" He frowned. Softened, Blair's cock slipped out of him from their mild bobbing, and his lover sighed unhappily.

"Cause what we need to leave behind for future sentinels isn't the same kind of thing I needed for the dis. And I didn't have the chance to go through it all and think about the differences." With a last lick, Blair swam away. "Does the extra weight of the hand generator bother you too much?"

"No," Jim said honestly, and sighing himself, he followed his lover. "Just wondered a couple of times and this was the first time I've thought to ask."

"Yeah, things have been a bit busy for a while. We really needed this break." Blair stretched, as if to show off how limber and relaxed he was. "How much longer before we have to take off do you think?"

Checking out the night sky and listening to some innate clock in his head, Jim answered, "Dawn's about 5 hours away."

"Time for another nice, long nap before we head for home." Blair began to dig through his pack for fresh clothes, and Jim sat beside him to do the same.

"Home?" he asked, looking up startled.

Blinking as if surprised, Blair said thoughtfully, "Yes. Home." Then he grinned widely, throwing out a hand that took in the whole countryside. "Cramped sleeping quarters, primitive kitchen facilities, but man, what a view!"

They took their time going back, partly because they were both a tad too sore to go very fast, and because Blair wanted to time their arrival right. To that end, they made camp when they didn't strictly need to, cuddling by the fire and talking about everything from whether or not they should give the tribe the guns they had stored to if basketball had a place in their new lifestyle.

When the gray of a new day was a thin line along the mountaintop, they silently climbed up the ridge to First Camp, exchanging sly grins with the sentries on duty. Without disturbing any one, they built up the fire and broke out their precious store of hot chocolate. That woke the first members of the tribe nearly instantly, with the newest not too far behind.

Retreating to his overlook, Jim relieved the sentries so they could join in this special ritual. From his perch he watched as his mate served up the sweet, hot beverage, then went to stand on the bluff overlooking their territory. Like before, Blair waited until all the others joined him, then he said clearly. "That is ..."

Staring at the motley gathering, picking out the serene beauty of his lover, guide, and Shaman, Jim said with him, "...our tomorrow."

finis Changing Tenses

**"Wow," Tested breathed, hands coming up as if to catch the edge of the story he'd just heard. " 'N they all lived happily ever after?"

"No, Test," Shaman said patiently. "They all *lived,* just like now. They were real people who did real things: hunted, fought, had babies."

"Then they did other stuff, right?" he asked excitedly. "Like fight Ravagers? Meet new tribes? Go new places?"

With a hint of concern on his face, Shaman answered honestly, "Yes, there are other stories about that time, if that's what you're asking."

"Good," Test said firmly, with great satisfaction. "Tell me more. Tell me 'bout, 'bout..." his small hands waved as he apparently tried to sort through the many possibilities in his head, "'Bout the end of t'cities, t'very, very end."

"No one who was there ever told that tale," Sentinel said. "But we can tell you what we know about it."

Twisting to look up at him with wide, eager eyes, Test said, "Would you?"

Sentinel hesitated, knowing that parts, important parts, of that history weren't suitable for so small a child. But all along they had been lightly passing over what Test was too young to understand, or phrasing things so that he got the general idea, based on what he did know about adult life. Glancing down at Shaman for guidance, he met laughing blue eyes.

"Yes, please," Shaman said mischievously. "Tell us about the last days of the city and its last mayor."

Rolling his own eyes, as if giving up on human help and seeking Divine assistance, Sentinel said dryly, "Since you asked so nicely, all right."

There were chuckles from the others around the fire, and he waited for those to die, gathering the threads of the tale with care.**

PRESENT PERFECT

"Promise me!" Blair gasped out, fighting to make the words carry authority.

Pulling the smaller man back firmly so that his broader chest was supporting his half-reclining lover, Jim shook his head. "No."

"Damn... you..." Blair wheezed, "P...promise me!"

As calmly as if they were discussing dinner, Jim repeated. "No."

Thumping on one of the powerful thighs on either side of him, Blair gave up words for the second, and simply fought to breathe. When he'd painfully dragged a few lung fulls of air in, he looked over at the other occupant of the bare hut and panted, "Simon!" managing to convey with the name his wish for the former police captain to take up his argument for him.

"Sandburg, I couldn't get the man to listen to me when I was his boss. What makes you think he'll pay the slightest bit of attention to me *now?*" Simon said irritably, crossing the dirt floor to kneel beside the partners. Wrapping several hides around one of the rare pillows of the settlement, Simon put the bundle behind Jim, carefully not touching Blair with it, to help cushion his friend from the wattle & daub wall. At Jim's nod of thanks - whether for the backrest or the verbal support - he sat cross-legged beside them and took one of Blair's hands.

"And I agree with him, Blair," he added very gently. Twitching his hand away, Blair glared at Simon, then gave his attention back to Jim.

Robbed of an ally, robbed of his voice, he twisted in Jim's arms enough to bring his best weapon to bear. Knowing how wild and wide his eyes were, how blue they would be framed by tumbled curls, he looked beseechingly up into his companion's face. "P....please!" he forced out. "Please!"

Taking a moment to tame some of the disorder in the unruly locks, Jim smiled faintly. "I've had trouble saying 'no' to you since day one, Chief," he murmured. "But this time I'm saying it and sticking to it. If you go, I'm going with you. I could lie to you and say I'll live without you, but you wouldn't buy it, anyway. You know me better than that or you wouldn't be asking for a promise. Now stop wasting your air fighting me, and fight this damn disease, okay?"

"St...stub.. born, pig..g... head...."

"I love you, too, Blair. Now, breathe for me, babe. Breathe!"

Furious, Blair did as he was told, ironically admitting to himself that the adrenaline from his anger would help him do exactly that. Far from defeated, he waited until he could sip in enough air, then played what he hoped was his trump card. "Children, *need,* Sentinel," he whispered emphatically, or as emphatically as a whisper could be, anyway.

That scored a hit on his partner, who spent almost all his free time in the nursery with the many orphans in the settlement. But he only wavered a second, then his jaw tightened in the familiar way, and Jim simply shook his head again. "Sentinel or not, I'm only one man, Chief. The older ones know all I can teach them about survival and fighting; all they need is the experience. They'll teach the younger ones. And thanks to *you,* all the adults spend time with the children, so I'll be missed, but I'm not irreplaceable.

"And before you waste precious breath, let me guess your next argument. I know my duty and I'm not going to deny that having a sentinel makes a big difference in the safety of our people." Lowering his head so that he could speak softly directly in Blair's ear, Jim went on. "Fuck my duty. Fuck the difference. I've done more than my share and I'm not going to hang around here empty and hurting with only duty to live on. Now, Give, It, Up, Sandburg!"

Wanting very badly to scream at him, but feeling like his throat was the size of a coffee stirrer, Blair had to settle for giving him the darkest look he could muster. The thought of what his death would cost their community made it a black one, indeed, and he unwillingly accepted that Jim was not going to relent. His hearing started becoming muffled, and he'd sat through enough SAR deaths to understand it meant any decisions he had left to be made, had to be made *now.*

Bumping the back of his head into Jim's chest to make sure he was listening, Blair said nearly inaudibly. "Syringe in battery case of laptop."

Startled, Jim still reacted quickly, barking the words out to Simon. Their friend darted out to retrieve the needle even as Jim was reaching for alcohol from the med kit to clean an injection site on his lover's thigh. "Damn you, damn you - saving it for me weren't you? Okay to let yourself die," Jim bitched viciously, "but not the other way around?" Simon rushed back in, and in one fast motion he took the syringe, stabbed Blair with it, and depressed the plunger to send the ephenepherine into the suffocating man.

Preoccupied with trying to slow his heaving chest down, to think about gradually inflating, then emptying, Blair hardly felt the sting. "Love you too," he mouthed at the big man, finding a promise of a smile to go with the vow.

"Leave it to you, Sandburg." Simon said grudgingly. "I don't know if I'd have the courage not to ask for a back-up if I had one available. I do not even want to know how you came by it, either. How long ago did you use your First Defense?"

With a motion of his fingers, Blair indicated 2 hrs since he had used the needle that every survivor carried with them for when - not if - they would have a Sudden Anaphylactic Reaction. The drug had become hard enough to find that the community had decided that only one shot could be allowed for first time victims. It was simply too likely that whatever he or she was reacting to was either airborne or unavoidable. Only the very lucky were allergic to something they ate, or a specific substance like pinesap, that they could avoid if they lived through their initial attack.

"Ok." Simon rubbed the scar covering the left cheek of his face. "You're alive, but still having trouble, so something common, but not impossible to stay away from."

Since the conversation was intended to keep both Jim and older man occupied, Blair went along, shrugging his response. Already he could feel the tiny bodily vibration that heralded the effectiveness of the shot, and his hearing was clearing.

Before Simon could start listing possible culprits for Blair's attack, Jim leaned to where their clothes were piled and removed his gun. "Trouble coming," he said shortly. "Better talk them into leaving us alone, Simon. I will shoot anyone who comes in here - or who tries to torch the hut."

"Come on, Jim, you can't honestly think our people would believe that mumbo jumbo about using fire to prevent the spread of SAR. Everybody knows that you have the reaction months, even years after you were exposed to the virus."

"Then why do all the older people hide in their own places when someone comes here to the safe hut?" Jim shot back flatly. "It doesn't matter what you know when you feel scared, and none of them want to be reminded of how close to death they are. Burning out the latest victim is pure superstition by now. Nothing to do with the disease and everything to do with wanting to ward off your own attack.

"One torch, Simon, I smell one torch in the light of day, and I shoot the carrier."

Frantically shaking his head no, Blair clutched at his partner's gun arm. "Lllllisten!" he hissed, putting the tones of Shaman he had learned over the years into it. "Listen!"

Grim-faced, Jim almost refused him, but the habit of obeying that particular voice was deep. Sharpening his focus, he picked out individual words, voices, and let his weapon droop. "Daryl?" he asked no one in particular.

With a look Blair sent his partner out of the hut to confront the oncoming party. Donning his customary impassive mask, Jim pulled on his pants and stepped out with Simon, the two of them blocking the entrance to the dwelling. Waiting until the both of them were distracted, Blair breathlessly hitched his way to a crack in the wall to see outside.

People filtered from the surrounding woods, moving quietly and with respect for where their steps fell - like Jim and Blair had taught most of them. The majority were the orphans, but some were the surviving members of Major Crimes or Rainier Anthropology. All had fled into the wilderness on the promise from Sentinel & Shaman they would be shown how to survive there. They coalesced in front of the hut, standing patiently until Daryl came to stand in front of Jim.

"Sentinel," he greeted with a nod of his head.

"Runner," Jim returned, following the young man's lead and adopting formal manners to show that he understood that the conversation was far from idle chatter.

"Shaman survives?"

"For now," Jim matched his bluntness, as well. A murmur of relief sang over the small gathering, but Jim tempered it with a warning. "His allergen hasn't been isolated, yet." He straightened, nonchalantly putting his hand his hip, making the gun at the small of his back easier to reach.

A fragment of a smile escaped Daryl's control. "Sentinel," he chided gently, "Many here lived in the shadow of the isolation tents in the city. We know the disease better than most; you'll find no torches among us. Nor will the elder's fear be allowed to turn to fire. We came to promise you that, and ask for a promise in return."

Tension had drained out of the two guards to the hut, but that didn't stop Jim from stating warily, "You can ask."

Again there was a suggestion of a smile from Daryl, probably at Jim's choice of words. In it Blair could see the reason so many frightened, abused orphans had run away with him to the unknown dangers of the woods. Then Daryl grew very, very serious, and he moved close to Jim, ignoring his father for the moment. "The loss of Shaman would be tremendous blow to us all. One life is not more important than another, but some are harder to replace. He has done his best to share his knowledge, but no one yet can match his skill."

In a whisper, he added, "Don't let him fight us on this, Jim? Promise?" At Jim's reluctant, hopeful nod, he held out his closed hand so that he could drop a hypodermic into Jim's. "For Shaman."

Without another word, he touched his father once on the arm and exchanged a brief smile, then strode away and one of the others came up to Jim to repeat both the word and the gesture. When the last person faded into the woods, Jim was standing there with his hands full, the muscle in his jaw working over time at keeping his face blank. Blair leaned on his forearm, swallowing hard against the threat of tears.

Stumbling, Jim came back into the hut, leaving Simon outside. "Chief," he started, then fell to his knees in front of his lover, holding out his hands.

"Oh, God," was all Blair could say before crawling onto Jim and hiding his face in his partner's chest. Reverently Jim set the syringes aside to wrap both arms around the smaller man, bending his head to lay his cheek against Blair's temple.

"Paper! I'm allergic to paper?!" Blair twisted to glare over his shoulder at the woman studying the scratches on his back.

"Probably not all paper," Amy tried to say soothingly, well aware of the consequences of the verdict she was delivering to her patient. "And it could be the chemicals used in the process, not paper itself."

Throwing his head back down onto his crossed forearms, Blair muttered angrily. "Not that it matters, since there's no way to tell which paper is which. No more books; no more writing." His head shot back up. "Damn, damn, damn, damn - no more libraries, ever. Dust would be contaminated with paper particles. Damn!"

Wisely, Amy didn't say anything else, and began to pack up her nurse's bag and the test kit. Beside him, Jim also knew better than to offer false words of comfort; he left his big hand loosely wrapped around Blair's upper arm for what little good the contact would do. Long after Amy had gone, Blair laid on his stomach, face down, struggling to process his loss, Jim patiently waiting all the while.

In the end, it was Jim who moved first, standing slowly, head going up to listen. It roused Blair from his black thoughts, and he stared up the long length of his lover, finding a reason to smile for the first time that day. As difficult as the years had been since they left Cascade, Jim reflected them hardly at all. He was as sculpted and buff as the first day they had met, though seriously lean now. For convenience he had taken to wearing his hair in a buzz cut again, which made the startling color of his eyes stand out all that much more. Oh, there were more lines around his eyes and mouth, gray in the buzz, but the very sight of him standing there naked and poised to act on whatever he was sensing, had Blair's body stirring with arousal.

The scent of that must have attracted Jim's attention - that or the mildly accelerated heartbeat. He smiled down at his lover, relief evident though his next words were teasing. "Keep that thought, Chief. One of the advanced scouts has some news, and Simon is calling all the fighters in to hear it."

Easily, Blair rolled to his side, showing off his semi-erection and the lightly haired chest and stomach Jim loved so much. "Go on, babe. I want to take these," and he gestured at the needles carefully stacked to one side, "back to their owners before they need them. Amy's already given me a replacement First Defense."

"Mmmmhmmm," Jim agreed absently, looking Blair over with predatory interest. His body had started to respond to the smaller man's provocative pose, and he casually stroked along his shaft with a single finger.

Suddenly remembering the mad loving they had shared the night Jim survived his first attack, Blair shivered and copied Jim's action. He knew first hand how terrifying it was to hold the most precious person in your world in your arms, listening to them fight to breath. In their case, Jim had been one of the first victims of the virus, and they hadn't had a clue what was happening. The Sentinel had lived only because they had been at the hospital anyway, picking up Amy for a double date with her and Simon.

It had been a near thing anyway, because they hadn't been able to diagnose the cause behind Jim's anaphylactic shock right away. The culprit - the wheat in a donut he'd scarfed down to hold him over til dinner - was discovered two days later.

Two of the longest in Blair's life because Jim kept having the attacks over and over. Just the residue of a sandwich left on a wrapping he had taken from Blair to throw away had set him off, once. When the doctors had isolated it -commenting lightly that he was part of the latest medical fad - they'd sent him home with a hypo, a list of foods typically made in part with wheat, and one very anxious lover.

They'd no sooner made it through the door to the loft than Blair had sealed himself to the big man's body, randomly ripping away clothes to get to bare skin. The next day they had both looked like walking advertisements for 'slut of the month' awards, and they had worn sloppy, silly grins most of the day.

It took no imagination on Blair's part to guess that he had worn the same ferocious look that night that Jim was wearing now. The Sentinel seemed ready to devour him, bones and all, and would no doubt make Blair scream with pleasure as he did. With animal grace Jim dropped to one knee in front of him, reaching for his lover.

Nipples tingling as if Jim were tasting them, Blair murmured, "I thought you said to hold that thought."

"Rather hold you," Jim growled, taking a handful of Blair's hair.

"Yes." Was all Blair wanted or needed to say.

Half way down for a kiss, Jim jerked back, growling again, this time in impatience. "Yes?" he shouted at the door.

"Sentinel," a young voice said timidly, "Cap'n said you need to come. Please?"

Holding Blair's eyes hotly, Jim snapped, "On my way," and even Blair could hear the little feet scurry away in relief.

"Go on," Blair told him, smiling. "Meet you at the lookout later?"

"Simon can wait."

"Simon knows exactly what he's interrupting so it must be important. Besides, I want a chance to get cleaned up. A night sleeping on a dirt floor, sweating and shaking, has left me feeling seriously filthy here."

"Look good to me." Jim touched his lips to Blair's gently, in direct contrast to the powerful grip he had on the long hair. "Taste good, too." he said, not moving his mouth away.

On impulse Blair ducked down, risking a hair pull to dab his tongue on the damp end of Jim's very ready manhood. "Oh, yeah, taste real good."

Jim's only answer was a soft moan and an involuntary lift of his hips.

Laughing softly, Blair dodged it and sat up, pulling away slowly. "Get out of here before Simon ends up hauling you off me at an inopportune time."

"Bite him," Jim grumbled, forcing himself to his feet and toward the stack of clothes. "If he messes with us."

"Uh huh, no bites for anybody but me, remember?" Blair teased, gratefully pulling on his own clothes now he knew the cloth was safe for him. Luckily the spring weather hadn't been cold; they hadn't had to worry if blankets or a fire were his triggers, though paper particles in the smoke from the other fires in the camp may have been why his First Defense hadn't been enough.

Suddenly serious and sober, Jim kissed him again. "Never anyone but you. Love you, Blair."

Unable to stop from melting against him for just a second, Blair hugged his partner with all his strength. "Love you, too, Jim."

They parted in slow motion, but eventually Jim had to stride away into the slowly darkening evening landscape. After a stop at the community baths, Blair began the first of many visits to return the syringes. At each, he thanked the donor seriously and profusely. He was more than a little in awe that so many would take such a risk for him, and it came through in his words.

But their response left him grasping, mentally, for a handhold in what was suddenly an out-of-whack world. In every case he was invited inside to share the fire, then his host, hostess or both would make a pass - at Jim, through him. Every woman offered/asked to bed the Sentinel to have a child by him. Every man offered/asked to be his bed warmer while the big man was occupied.

Depending on the inclination of the lady - and sometimes her partner - they would even bargain to bed with both of them, if it was understood Jim's seed was for the woman in question. And that was just the het couples. The single ladies and female partners were very blunt about what they wanted, and asked for it directly, apparently willing to do whatever was necessary to conceive by his lover.

By the time the last were returned, it was late in the evening, and Blair was wondering how he was going to tell Jim that their tribe had decided it was time for Sentinel to reproduce. The hard part of it was that Shaman agreed with them. Sentinel's unique abilities were too much of an asset, made too much of a difference to their people, for the traits to vanish from the gene pool. Blair just didn't know how it was possible.

There was no chance Sentinel would ever take another lover; it would be as much a betrayal to himself as his partner in his mind. Yet, if there were to be children from him, he would have to. Artificial insemination no longer worked, probably for the same reasons that made pregnancies so rare now. Because of that, a one night stand was out of the question, too. Sentinel would have to live with a woman to get her pregnant, and have sex with her frequently.

There was little chance of persuading their guardian to that, Shaman knew beyond question. Nor did Blair think he was going to be able to argue the case with Jim convincingly. The very idea of someone else touching his Jim made Blair's whole body shake with repressed jealousy and anger.

Shaman might know and understand the necessity; Blair couldn't wrap his mind around it no matter how he tried.

Climbing the embankment of the useless railroad tracks toward Sentinel's lair was a weary task, more from the burden in his mind than from his body. Blair aimed himself toward the boxcar that had been pushed off to one side that Sentinel had claimed. From its open door, he could look over the countryside and keep watch on the settlement when not on patrol. They kept a home in the camp, too, but privacy was hard to come by there, and they tended to save their lovemaking for the guard posts Sentinel chose or created each time they moved.

When he was nearly to the car, Blair saw his partner, outlined by the flickering glow of a candle, standing in the door, waiting patiently for him. The sight was enough to spur him into eagerness, and he let himself ride it away from his depression and worry. Picking up his pace deliberately, he hurried toward Jim, then threw himself up into the threshold of the train car.

Instead of landing on the splintered wood of the floor, his hands were caught mid-air, and Jim hauled him up so that they were face to face. Even before he was steady on his feet, Blair fastened his mouth onto Jim's, forcefully driving his tongue inside for a deep kiss. Jim met and matched Blair's demanding passion, and together they stumbled toward a nest of blankets and hides in one corner.

Not bothering to strip the bigger man, Blair burrowed his hand into the waistband of Jim's pants, homing in on the growing hardness there. Devouring the shout of pleasure from his lover, he covered the head in a careful palm, then squeezed and flexed gently around it. Jim tried to pull away, hands scrabbling at Blair to slow him down. Not letting him, pressing the long body into the bedding, Blair humped powerfully, moaning. Only when Jim was helplessly thrusting did Blair break their kiss.

Disregarding the throbbing heaviness at his own groin, Blair unbuttoned and unzipped, then moved his oral attentions onto Jim's chest, zeroing in on the tightened buds there. Matching his sucking and nips to the pattern of his lover's restless hips, Blair switched back and forth between the rosy nipples until he felt the penis in his hand swell the extra bit that heralded orgasm.

Lunging down the quivering body, he took Jim's hard-on to the root in one swallow. With a last back-straining shove up that he held, screaming, Jim emptied his load in hard jets that Blair consumed hungrily. Melting into their bed as his cock softened in Blair's mouth, Jim fumbled to pull the smaller man into his arms.

Resisting, Blair wiggled out of his own clothes, randomly licking and biting his lover. Once naked, he removed Jim's clothes with some half-hearted help from his mate. "Gonna eat you alive, man," he muttered, sprawling on his stomach between Jim's legs. "Gonna tongue fuck you until your ass thinks I'm permanently attached."

"Blair! Oh, God, Blair!" Jim moaned, spreading his thighs wide for him. "Do it, lick me, eat me!"

Hardly needing the encouragement, Blair dove into the shadowy valley, plunging his tongue in full length into the tight pucker at its center. Instantly lost in the dark smell and feel, he plundered the vulnerable aperture, alternating fluttering laps with driving strokes, pressing harder and harder into the little hole. Distantly he could hear Jim's wild pleas and cries, feel heavy shudders in the flesh under his hands as he held the big man steady for ravishment.

When Jim fell silent except for harsh panting, Blair tore himself away, and sat back on his heels, absently drying his face with his own shirt. On the floor beside their pallet was a pot of homemade oil, obviously put there earlier by his lover. Dipping his fingers into it, Blair hastily coated Jim's renewed erection with it, then began working on opening himself.

Before he could dip into the oil again, Jim grabbed him, ruthlessly dragging him down onto the bed, face first. Without prompting Blair lifted his backside, knees apart and bracing himself on his elbows. Half expecting the bigger man to slam in, he was caught off guard by gentle fingers testing him, making sure he was ready.

"Oh! Oh, oh," he groaned, rearing back to take them deeper, "P.. p... oh! OH!" Jim nudged the tiny gland hidden in his channel, making Blair rise up on his hands and throw back his head, instinctively rocking back again, hard.

Seemingly satisfied with his lover's readiness, Jim removed his fingers and guided himself into Blair's body, entering him in one, long even stroke. Despite how seldom they loved this way, Blair felt no pain, only a tug of unpleasant fullness and pulling, then the incredible sensation of being possessed. Every nerve in him tingled, sending the sparks straight to his dick and ass.

With a bestial grunt, Jim held Blair's hips and glided back out, head resting just inside the wide-stretched hole. "Love you, babe," he said clearly, and rammed in forcefully.

All the tingles ignited, burning their way out of Blair through his cock, spraying his seed over his chest and stomach. Shouting wildly, he pounded back, meeting each of Jim's powerful thrusts with matching strength. Staying hard even after the last of the wave shocks of ecstasy faded, he continued answering them, loving each stroke and wanting Jim never to stop.

Nor did it seem Jim was going to. With the edge of need blunted by his earlier climax, and driven by the yet another brush with mortality, his mate set a steady pace, taking his time at lifting both of them toward their goal again. It was wonderful, as always, and as always, Jim read when the quivering in Blair's muscles became tinged with fatigue. Reaching under his lover, laying along Blair's back, Jim took him in hand and began to jack in counterpoint to his increased pounding.

Dripping with sweat, engulfed in the heat from Jim, both within and without, Blair shouted his approval at the change, trying to open himself more to the rod pummeling his body. "Jim! g... please... gonna... oh, oh, oh!"

"Gonna give it to you, babe," Jim ground out, forehead resting for a second between his lover's shoulder blades. "Want to see you come. Now, now, now...."

At Jim's loving command, Blair shuddered into his finish, incoherent noises spilling with his seed. The warmth inside him exploded along with a growl from Jim's throat, and he automatically tightened internally, forcing another growl of pleasure as Jim tried futilely to get deeper into the tight channel.

He couldn't of course, much to Blair's regret, any more than Blair could stay upright on arms the consistency of Jello. With a warning murmur, he finally collapsed to his side, taking his partner with him. Jim stirred long enough only to mop up the worst of the liquid from the slender form and bedding, then dropped heavily into dreamless sleep, holding Blair tightly.

Waiting until he felt Jim's breathing even out, Blair turned in his mate's arms and began tenderly mapping each beloved feature and lean line of the resting man. As if memorizing. As if expecting never to be able to touch him again.

Taking aim carefully at the leader of the small troop, Jim followed their progress up the trail, assessing him and his group analytically. Though he didn't look to be more than 14 years old, his overly thin body was scarred and battered under the flapping rags he wore. Dark hair over equally dark eyes half-shielded a face as cynical looking as Jim felt at the moment.

Behind him were three girls, running in ages from 8-11, Jim guessed, though it was hard to tell when they all were so starved. Of them, only the dark-skinned one that carried a long knife in a sheath on her back, watching the woods warily, could be potential trouble. With a minute noise and hand gesture, he assigned Conner to watching her.

There was another boy in the group, 9 or 10, carrying a bundle in his arms and shepherding two toddlers with rag ropes and soft commands. That one he motioned for Rafe to bird-dog. If he were voluntarily parenting those kids, it was very possible he'd get violent if he thought they were in danger.

Odd mix, he thought. The leader was obviously one of the runaways in the city that lived scavenging at the edges of the remnants of humanity there. Two of the girls had the earmarks of being kept by short-eyes: blonde hair in too adult style, gaudy clothing too old for them, badly applied makeup, too much jewelry. One of them was even hobbling along on badly fitting high heels, though Jim could smell and see blood on her feet. The armed one had her head up high and proud; maybe a lucky one who had a surviving parent to protect her?

As for the boy taking care of the children - Jim kept wanting to let himself focus on the brown-haired youngster. There was something familiar about him, and at the same time he was a puzzle because he didn't fit any of the types that had been escaping from the city the past few years.

A flicker of motion at the corner of his eye yanked Jim back onto task forcefully. Blair was taking his position, perched atop a medium sized boulder, at the edge of a clearing on the trail. A few yards away Daryl lounged against a tree trunk, arms crossed to create an impression of leisurely ease. Then both froze into place, their deerskin clothing and stillness allowing them to blend into their surroundings.

Turning his hearing up, keeping a hand on Conner for grounding, Jim waited for the pair to reveal themselves to the travelers.

When they were even with the boulder, Blair said quietly, cheerfully, "Hello. Welcome to Freedom Range."

To the kids, it must have seemed as if Blair appeared out of nowhere. All of them leaped back, instinctively, looking around frantically for places to run. Only the leader and the taller, armed girl didn't yelp. To their credit, they regrouped quickly; the caregiver gathered the little ones close, standing beside the larger girl, and the leader took an aggressive step forward.

Before he could speak, Blair added, "Passing through or looking to settle?"

He made no moves at all, practically oozed relaxed calm, and was obviously unarmed. They studied him silently a second, then the older boy spoke up. "Lookin' for someone called Runner."

"Runner?" Blair questioned, with the tiniest touch of disbelief in his voice. Despite situation, Jim grinned. It was precisely the right amount to provoke the boy without angering him.

"He says," and the caregiver was pointed to with an arrogant chin, "that Runner is real and has a place that's good for kids. Don't know I believe him, but being out here is better'n windin' up in a stewpot, guess." The last was a veiled threat.

Wincing, Jim swallowed hard, and whispered the comment to the other three fighters. Tuning out the stifled gags, he concentrated on his partner for a second. Not of trace of Blair's reaction showed on his face; only Jim was in a position to see the tremor in the slight fingers.

It didn't show in his voice though, when he softly challenged the boy holding the children, "And what makes you think Runner is real?" No mockery this time; it was a sincere question.

Shifting the bundle in his arms, showing for the first time the sleeping face of a very small baby, the boy answered defiantly, "Cause Shaman told me." That startled Jim, and he lowered his gun. The kid was much to young to be one of the conductors for the pipeline of refugees Daryl, Blair and he had set up.

At his words, Daryl moved for the first time, giving them another start, uncrossing his arms and standing straight. "Must be true then," he said, giving the other half of the code phrase. "Shaman never lies to children."

The group goggled at him, too tired and frightened to believe. Expecting that, Daryl strolled forward, coming to lean on the boulder Blair sat on. "Though he has been known to tell a tall tale or two." The two of them shared a smile, but kept an eye on the children while the youngsters made up their minds.

"And we're s'pose to believe that's you, just 'cause you know what t'say," the head boy challenged.

Shrugging, Blair hopped off the rock. "Believe what you like. We know who we are." He walked away, gathering deadfall from the ground while Daryl headed for the center of the clearing and began scraping a bare spot on the dirt. Dumbfounded, the kids watched, the littlest beginning to fidget a bit. At that signal, Jim sent Megan on with a wave. Having a woman appear first would hopefully alert the children to the guards without freaking them out.

After he had a good-sized stack of wood, Blair turned back to the travelers. "Would you like to join us for dinner? Not much, just some stew, but we'd be happy to share."

Dinner was the magic word. Small tense shoulders dropped, and tight fists restlessly rubbed over legs. Like a mildly spooked herd, they drifted toward fire that was being made, whispering and muttering among themselves. The oldest girl hitched at her knife, and asked bluntly. "What kind of stew?"

At that, Blair looked at Conner as she materialized out of the forest, carrying a brace of rabbits. "Rabbit stew, it looks like," he said mildly, nodding at his friend.

A person didn't need to be a sentinel to hear the grumbling of many young stomachs, but the people occupied with the small tasks of setting up camp ignored the sound. Within minutes a fire was going, a pot had been produced, and the adults were scrounging around the edges of the clearing looking for veggies to add to it.

A nod sent Rafe off and Petey off with the supply packs, leaving Jim by himself. His gun was holstered, now, but he usually held back until last, because his size and look could be unsettling. Especially to children that had spent the last couple of years with good reason to fear anyone as big and strong as him. Sighing, double-checking the trail both ways, just in case, he kept a guardian eye on the impromptu dinner party.

While the children watched, Megan skinned and cleaned the animals, setting aside the skins and brains for tanning. Rafe melted out of the woods, handed her a supply pack and melted back again, but the youngsters hardly noticed they were so intent on the meal preparations.

Swinging a pot of water over the fire on an improvised tripod, Blair asked blandly, "Anybody have any food reactions we should know about?"

The older boy blinked, reminded of the real world, and said in a tone almost as even as Blair's, "'M the only one old enough t'worry about it, but I haven't sara'd yet. Tina," and he pointed at the kept girl wearing high heels, "s'close."

Coming up from behind them, hands filled with wild tubers, Daryl asked, "Got a stick, man?"

"Me!" the kid blurted. "Do I look stacked enough t'be able t'grab that?"

"Hey, no deal," Daryl said calmly. "Got one if you want it. Clean but no guarantees on how strong, y'know?"

"What for?"

"Nada. First one is a gimme." Daryl kept his eyes on cleaning the roots, not visibly responding to the suspicious tone in the teen-agers voice.

"Yeah, right," he snorted.

Unexpectedly, the boy holding the baby asked, "How long before the food is ready?" The question diffused growing tension, and drew everyone's attention to the whimpering noises both of the toddlers were making. They were hanging onto him, one to a leg, chewing on their fists. Jim could tell the babies understood food was coming, but were confused about the source.

"Hey, sorry." Blair dug into one of the packs and pulled out trail mix. "Little ones got teeth? This has nuts and chopped dried fruit."

With half a nervous smile, the boy took the mixture. "We'll manage."

The exchange - and a visible gift - was the icebreaker needed. Before long the children were talking normally, giving their names and some details about the trip out, often talking around mouthfuls of trail mix. The appearance of the rest of the scouting party caused protective hunching over the food, as if they were afraid it would be taken, but that vanished as the fighters merely made themselves comfortable by the fire.

Bets, the girl carrying the machete, and Pol, the boy taking care of the babies, started peppering Blair, Daryl, and anybody else who listen for two seconds about how they got the rabbits and knew which veggies to eat. Patient answers encouraged them, as well as filled in the wait for the stew.

Staying on guard until Rafe came to relieve him, Jim entered the makeshift camp, deliberately making enough noise for the children to hear him coming. They looked up, eyes going wide, as he went to the pot and took a portion for himself. Whether it was his unconscious 'alpha male' posture that Blair teased him about, or simply his size, every heart beat, even the toddler's, abruptly accelerated and a wash of fear scent overpowered the cooking and wood smoke.

Despite having had it happen every time they met a party of young refugees, it still hurt. Resigning himself to it, yet again, he crossed over to where Blair perched on a log pulled up to the fire, and sat on the ground beside him. Long ago they had learned it was reassuring, for some reason, for Sentinel's relationship to the Shaman to be made clear right away. Seeing him lean on his partner's leg while Blair trifled with his hair or pet his shoulder confused them, or caused the occasional grimace of disgust, but also let them accept him as harmless.

For once though, Jim didn't care what the others needed. All he cared about was that he was next to Blair, touching him, feeling his heat, and his lover would have no choice but to let him. Gut clenching painfully at half-anticipated rejection, he soaked up the sensation of being with Blair, hiding his need for it behind the motions of eating.

Ever since Blair had sara'd, he had been drawing further and further away from Jim, leaving the older man feeling bewildered and more than a little lost. Though they shared a home and a bed, they had not made love, or exchanged more than brief kisses and hugs in all that time. Paradoxically, Blair clung to his presence, going out of his way to accompany Jim on forays or help him with tasks. If was as if his mate couldn't bear to have him out of his sight, but couldn't bear to touch him either.

Ignoring the children studiously ignoring him, Jim ate, listening to the idle chatter and betting with himself whether Stush would get down to business first, or if Blair would. Stush would be his guess; To Jim's senses he was too anxious, too keyed up at being so close to promised safety to play it as cool as he probably thought he needed to.

Jim ducked his head lower over his dish to hide the trace of humor in his eyes when the young man set aside his bowl. With a surprising vestige of manners, Stush said, "Thank you; that was very good."

"You're welcome. Bet it's been a long time since you had fresh meat." Daryl replied.

All the adults pretended not to notice the uneasy looks on the older children's faces, but Stush determinedly set his jaw, and went on. "Ya eat like this al'time?"

Laughing softly, Blair shook his head. "This was only trail rations, guys. Most of the time we eat better; it's only in the dead of winter we have to worry about food. Sometimes then the supplies get a little low, and meals get kinda boring." His voice grew both hard and assuring. "But there never has been and never will be any meat at our fire that once talked and walked on two legs."

There was a 'yeah, right' expression on the teenager's face, but he didn't verbally challenge Blair's claims. "Whata y'have t'do t'get fed?"

"If you're a member of our tribe, you mean?" Daryl asked. He shrugged. "Same as you have to in any family: do your share of the chores, treat the other members with respect, stay out of trouble."

"Chores?" Pol put in, "Like what?"

"Everybody, and I do mean everybody, from the Cap'n down to the newest adult, takes turns working nursery, standing watch, hunting, picking food, tending fires, cooking - you name it, if it's gotta be done, we all do it once in a while so that no one has to do it all the time," Blair said firmly. "That way, if you want to spend time learning, or there's something you're good at you want to do, like making clothes, you can do it."

"Learning?" the one kept girl, Lil, who had yet to speak finally ventured.

"Just about anybody will teach you anything they know, if you want them to. None of it's required, but some of it's a good idea. Fighting, for instance, or woodcraft: how to find your way if you're lost or how to keep warm in a blizzard. We're really lucky; we have a doctor and a nurse, both of whom are willing to train anybody to be a medic," Blair explained, off-hand, but his eyes were fixed on Pol, whose face was lighting up.

Once again Jim felt the tug of familiarity, like he should know the child, and he looked up at his partner, trying to gauge if Blair felt it, too. There was an odd quirk to the other man's brow, but he kept his focus on the group as a whole. "In fact, if you want to join us, you'll be meeting both of them right away. You see, we don't have a lot of serious rules, but one of them is that nobody, nobody has sex unless Dr. Dan or Amy says it's okay first. And I'm going to tell you right now, they never okay for kids until they're old enough to sara, at least."

The looks on the youngsters varied from huge relief to astonishment, but none of the adults at the fire remarked on it. Without seeming too, Jim took careful note of each child's physical reaction, too, knowing Blair would ask, later. Jim let his own rage rise and fall again, as it had many times since he'd realized that the orphans and many of the surviving women in the city had become property to whoever could pay the Mayor. The beautiful children, like Tina, went to pedophiles right away; others had become slave labor, but that didn't make them immune from being abused at some adults' whim. Women were passed around from man to man until they outlived their attractiveness and were killed.

"What happens if you do it, anyway?" Tina demanded belligerently, not surprising any of the adults and yanking Jim's mind back to matters on hand. It had to be terrifying to her to have the only asset she'd had to deal with adults taken away from her.

For the first time, Jim spoke. "Depends. We decide as problems come up."

Beside him, hand going to the back of Jim's neck to soothe him, Blair added flatly, "Sentinel once caught a man raping a child. He beat him to death with his bare hands."

Not acknowledging the their gasps and spotting the sly, calculating look in Tina's eyes, Jim went on, as flatly. "The one time a person was falsely accused, the child was spanked in public and not allowed out of the children's compound for a entire season. And no one trusted her for much longer than that." No sounds from the kids this time, but they all traded looks.

"As if you'd know who was lying or not," Stush muttered for them all, at a level only Jim could hear.

"One of the advantages," Jim said, catching and holding the older boy's startled eyes, "of never lying to a child is that Shaman always knows when he's being lied to."

"Or at least my Sentinel does," Blair murmured strictly for his lover, love and amusement mixed in his voice. The fingers stroking and caressing him encouraged Jim, and he tilted back his head to smile up at his mate. With a languid blink, Blair grew a smile to match it, both of them lost in the shared moment.

Not knowing the image of loving security and belonging they presented gave the tired, frightened troop the last bit of encouragement they needed to trust. A little bit, anyway.

Boldly taking seconds from the pot, Pol gave the toddlers more food, and Daryl sat beside them to help supervise. Unwrapping the baby, who'd just started to fuss, Pol asked with some exasperation, "What do you do for diapers out here?" He pulled out some smelly rags to change the tiny girl.

"Same as you, but with better materials. Here, give me a second...." Blair answered, jolted out of his lover's daze and going for his pack.

As the wet cloth was taken away from infant's skin, she started whimpering in earnest, and Jim could see her bottom was raw and red. "Wait a second, Shaman. The baby's going to need meds first, see?"

"Wow, bad diaper rash, man." Blair thought a second, checking out the irritation himself. "Why not just put a pad under her for a while, let that air dry after she's cleaned," he suggested to Pol, careful not to appear to usurp the boy's role. "It'll help it heal better when you put the cream on it. You can stay close to the fire with her so she'll stay warm."

Nodding, Pol took the cloth Blair offered. "Wow! This is soft; maybe she'll won't cry so much when I change her now."

Sympathetically, Blair gave him the cream as well. "Can't hurt, that's for sure. She's a fussy baby?"

"Oh, not s'bad," Pol denied, settling the infant in his arms. "Hasn't been eating, though." He took out a baby bottle and can of formula, while Lil produced a small cook pot and reached for the hot tea water to warm the bottle when he'd finished.

He cracked open the can, and without thinking, Jim reached out and jerked it away. "That's gone bad!"

Angrily, holding the baby close, Pol tried to snatch it back. "Hey! Gimme back!"

Moderating his voice, Jim held the can away and said as quietly as he could. "We'll replace it, Pol, I promise. But the milk has gone bad; I can smell it."

"Date on t'can's good!" he insisted, but didn't try again to take it back.

"Doesn't mean it can't be bad." Jim raised his voice to be heard over the crying baby, but kept it gentle. "Shaman is already fixing something up for her."

Seeing the byplay, Blair had taken an emergency ration of corn syrup from Daryl, and was adding it to warmed water. "Not as good as milk," he warned, coming close enough to hand the bottle to Pol. "But..." He trailed off as the infant stopped crying abruptly, and began waving her miniscule fists at the oncoming bottle.

"You said she hadn't been eating," Jim asked slowly, watching her lips purse greedily around the rubber nipple. "And that she cries after you change her into those scratchy rags."

"Yeah, so?" Pol said distractedly, jiggling the baby gently.

"Mind if I hold her for a second?" At Jim's question, Pol's head shot up, and it was plain he wanted to say no. Jim waited patiently, letting the youngster make up his own mind. Taking a second to peek at Blair, standing behind him, he wasn't surprised to see his partner's 'I'm thinking very hard and fast here,' expression.

As if offering Jim a great treasure, Pol held out the baby, and Jim took her with the reverence the youngster seemed to need for reassurance. Before Jim touched her, though, he paused, feeling her tiny body's warmth on his upturned palms. As if she felt his warmth touch her, she turned her scrunched-up face toward him, eyeing him around her bottle.

At a level no one but he could hear without touching him, Jim began a rumble deep in his chest. During his visits to the tribe's nursery, he'd learned that the vibration and sound was comforting during a cuddle to children of all sizes, but especially new ones. As his hands scooped her from Pol's, she gave a contented gurgle around her bottle, and relaxed completely, blue-veined eyelids drooping over cloud-gray eyes.

Astounded, he half turned toward Blair, bringing her up to his chest. "Did you..."

"Yessss," Blair breathed. "Felt you before you touched, heard you before she was held, smelled the food coming, knew from the taste the milk was bad... And damn me if I'm wrong, but as young as I think she is, she shouldn't have been able to see you yet, Jim. I'd swear, I'd swear she was studying you before you held her."

"You don't think it's possible to tell so soon?" Daryl asked, understanding beginning to dawn as he watched Jim rock the infant.

Leaning onto Jim to look at her over his lover's shoulders, Blair said, "Well, it's not as if I had someone I could ask about him, you know? Best I ever got out of Sentinel's father was that he guessed he was 'different' right away."

Digging both hands into her wrap, Pol pulled at her just as she broke into frantic tears again. "What're..."

Automatically Jim shoved himself into the boy so that the baby was held securely between them, and her cries hushed immediately. Startled, Pol looked straight into Jim's eyes, and the big man felt/heard an echo of the same sensation he remembered from the first time he'd looked into Blair's. Before the boy could retreat, Jim cupped one of his elbows carefully. "You know she's special, don't you? Just like we do."

Pol's face crumpled unexpectedly, and Blair laid his hand on the too-thin shoulder from where he stood behind his partner. "We're not going to take her from you, Pol," he comforted. "I don't think that's possible without hurting her really bad."

Not crying, worn past tears, Pol shook his head slowly. "I don't know what t'do! I didn't know t' milk was bad, I let her bottom get a'sick, I..."

"Did you ever even hold a baby before you started taking care of her?" Jim broke in, voice firm. "Change a diaper before? Fix a bottle? Look at her, Pol."

The baby sentinel had finished its meal, and was snuggled into Pol's chest, half asleep and beating her fist erratically onto him, though Jim's arms were the ones supporting her still. Gingerly, giving the child plenty of bolt room, Jim took Pol into his lap, infant and all, rocking both. "You did the best you could when nobody asked you to. You've protected her, took care of her, held her, loved her when there was no one else to do it."

Sinking down beside his lover, Blair wrapped his arm around Jim's waist, holding the pair from the other side. "That makes you her Guide, Pol, and though you don't know what that means yet, you've been doing a great job."

"Is that like being a mom," Bets cut in tightly, holding her knife in her lap. "Or like being a Sweet Daddy?"

Looking over at her, seeing the toddlers safely ensconced in Daryl's lap, already half asleep, Blair told her firmly. "It's like nothing you've seen or heard of, Bets, cause it doesn't exist in the city, as far as I know. You'll just have to watch and decide for yourself what it is."

Filling his voice with comfort, Blair studied her, Stush, Lil and Tina in turn. "Touching doesn't have to mean sex. It can mean 'warm' or 'safe' or 'loved.' And if you don't like the way someone is touching you, kick them where it hurts and run to any body in our tribe to help you. They will, though I know you don't believe me, yet."

The mixture of skepticism and hope in them was painful to see, so Jim asked, "A scavenger, two kepts, three babies, a daughter, and I don't have a clue what Pol is - how'd you wind up traveling together, anway?" He directed it mostly toward Stush. If the teenager were settled, the others would be, too.

Shrugging Stush shot back, " S'important?"

"Naw, just curious."

Idly making marks in the dirt, Stush thought about it for a second, then volunteered, "Aren't many scavvy's left, y'know? Ravager's been huntin' us for food. Them's not caught, starved. Not much left t'find a'more; been t'way for a while." Shrugging again, staring at the ground, he went on. "Got careless; fell asleep, din't wake up fast enough, got snatched. Put me inna pen with them." He gestured to include all the children.

Bits took up the story, as he fell silent. "My dad was a hydroponics professor - you know the word? - at Rainier." Hearing Blair's heart jump, Jim gave his partner a hidden squeeze. "We've been providing food for the Mayor and his men, but a few weeks ago some of his people turned on him, and there was a big fight, and they tried to take the 'ponics, but destroyed it instead, and Dad was killed, and they took me so I could run the 'ponics, but they broke too much, and I tried to hide that, but they figured it out, and..." Suddenly she clapped her hands over her mouth, velvet black eyes wide, as if astounded by the out-pouring from her own mouth.

"And she ain't pretty 'nough for a Sweet Daddy," Tina cut in cattily, "So she wound up in t'pen."

"And you are?" Bits snorted. "Then why were you there?"

Uneasily, Tina fussed with her clothes. "Daddy got mad t'me and put me in t'scare me, 'sall. He woulda come 'n got me. He woulda."

Again Jim hid his reaction, knowing all too well the credo of a pedophile is 'after eight, too late.'

"My dad was a musician back before the crash," Pol volunteered when Tina trailed uncertainly, sounding half-sleep and sad himself. "We've been traveling around with some others, stopping at different places, seeing how many people were left and how they were doing, singing for supper and sharing what we'd seen. Like, like...." He fumbled for a word he'd probably heard his father use.

"Bards?" Blair said. "A long time ago there were men who did that so that people would know what was going on in the world. Most places, they were respected."

"Yeah, bards. And we were treated nice, mostly. But we learned to stay away from the big cities; they went too bad too fast. Guess we shoulda figured sooner or later the badness would spill out. We got caught by the Ravagers in a little place, not much more than some farms and a dozen or so people. They killed everybody old enough to sara, just for the fun of it, looked like; me and the toddlers are the only ones left. Mike's the boy and Sammy's the girl, by the way."

"And the baby?" Blair asked, only Jim hearing his eagerness.

"Haven't named her; didn't seem t'be a'point." Lil whispered, arms crossed on her knees, head resting on them. "Her mamma ran my Daddy's place, but having t'baby made her really, really sick. She never got up again after laying down t'have her, though she made milk for her for a coupla days. Daddy didn't want t'be bothered with a baby after Housekeeper died, and sent her to t'pen. I, uh, uh..."

To everyone's surprise Tina scooted over to Lil and hugged her. "She really loved Housekeeper, and was sneaking down with milk and stuff for her baby."

Stush scooted over to sit on the other side. "When Pol figgerred out how t'get us out, she helped us sneak past all t'guards."

"That was very brave of you, Lil," Daryl said. "To help like that."

The young blonde girl hid her face and hunched in on herself, only relenting in her closed off posture enough to lean into Tina a little.

Wanting to give her a chance to fade into the background the way she seemed to prefer, Jim asked the Pol, "How did you know about Runner and Shaman?"

Through a yawn, Pol mumbled, "E'body knows about Runner and Shaman. Oldster at last camp tole me t'words t'say as he was dying, and which way to go."

"It looks," Daryl teased Blair, firelight and laughter dancing in his dark eyes, "like we've become a legend, m'man."

"Great. I spend my life studying them," Blair mock groused, "only to wind up a subject in my own field."

There was a shy half smile on the corner of his mouth, though, and Jim laughed, hugging him. "How's it feel being on the other side of the text book for a change, Chief?"

Cuddling close, head practically next to Pol's on Jim's chest, Blair chuckled, "You are not going to let me live this down, are you?"

Unable to help himself, though he was usually more conservative around children, Jim dropped a kiss onto the soft cap of hair. "Best I can do is promise not to write a thesis on you."

"Ha, ha, ha." Blair tilted back his head, apparently intending to add words to his sarcastic laugh, but both speech and his good humor faded, colored over by a flush of passion and love. Mesmerized by it, Jim slowly lowered his head again, deeply inhaling the waft of fresh arousal from his mate and unintentionally licking his lips.

Moistening his own, Blair offered up his mouth in anticipation. Jim had time for one succulent taste before his lover broke away unexpectedly, withdrawing completely by standing, scrubbing his hands over his thighs abstractedly. "Sentinel, Runner, will we be spending the night here or moving on once the moon comes up?"

Reverting back to his public persona, Jim pushed away his confusion and hurt, and concentrated on the business at hand. "Tina's feet need looking at, and I think the toddlers are out for the count. Scouts didn't see any others coming up the trail. I say, stay."

With a nod, his own face a mask, Blair agreed. "We'll need more wood then, and to set watch." Pulling his own blanket from the roll, he tossed it to Jim. "Let Pol use this; I'll get spares for the others while you tend any injuries."

Jaw muscle jumping, Jim began to wrap Pol and the baby up, taking care not to wake either of them. As efficiently and gently as possible, he saw to the other children, finished his share of camp chores, and left, obstensively to take first watch, but knowing he'd not sleep at all that night unless he could turn off his frustration at Blair's behavior.

Hours later, leaning on a wide tree trunk, ears and eyes roving over the moon lit landscape, Jim adjusted his erection in his fatigues for the third time and wished he could turn off his libido, too. Every time he thought he was totally absorbed in the mindset of guarding, it would send a twinge of pure lust through him painfully. It didn't help that the light breeze would occasionally carry a suggestion of Blair's scent on it.

Not the sexual excitement from earlier; just his normal, everyday aroma, which, unfortunately, Jim had always found just as sexy. Half wishing he could work up some anger at his mate for his perplexing behavior, Jim sighed and rubbed at himself. His stupid dick was obviously not as willing as he was to let Blair take his time at working out whatever it was troubling him. Not that he was that understanding himself, but he knew better than to tackle Blair until his lover was ready.

His erection, hearing only 'Blair was ready' shot all the way up to full length again, digging painfully into the covering over it. With another sigh Jim gave in, and freed it. Just wanting to get it over with, he stroked himself briskly, seeing in his mind's eye Blair laying on his back, legs spread invitingly, doing the same.

"Ah, God, babe," he mumbled, eyelids drifting down so he could see the memory of his lover better. "Miss you, Blair, miss you so much...." He darted his tongue out to his lips, taste dialed all the way up, hoping to find a trace of Blair left there. There was just a hint, but enough for Jim to savor, pretending he'd just been kissed and was performing for Blair's pleasure. "Good, good, good," he grunted. "Jack yourself for me, come for me, come with me." Groaning, he thrust into his fist, pumping himself almost brutally.

An answering groan matched his, coming from in front of him, and his eyes flew open to see Blair standing there, mouth open and panting. Too close to climax to stop, desperately needing his mate, all Jim could do was whimper Blair's name.

With shaking hands, Blair tore open his pants, releasing himself, already high and hard, head damp with need. His musky scent swarmed out, hit Jim like a baseball bat, sending him to his knees.

"Yesssss," Blair hissed, "Suck me! Please, please, please... ahhhhhhhh... Jim!"

Eagerly covering the plum-dark crown of Blair's cock, Jim swirled his tongue over the springy flesh, sweeping up every drop of flavor to be had. Gently probing the tiny slit to capture more, he cupped Blair's backside in one large palm and coaxed his lover into using his mouth. Opening wide, he slid down the hard length, humming in satisfaction as he did.

"Ahh... love that, love *you,*" Blair murmured, rocking urgently, hands skittering everywhere over Jim's head, shoulders and back. "Love you, Jim, loveyouloveyou..." His voice rose until he was shouting the words.

Already primed by the marvelous feel of Blair in his mouth, his scent burning into his mind, Jim fell over the edge with his lover, pearly fluid gushing onto the ground as Blair's seed streamed down his throat.

Feeling Blair's knees give before he started to sag, Jim braced the smaller body on the way down, clutching it close to him. They wound up kneeling beside each other, Blair's torso draped over Jim's, head nestled into the crook of his lover's neck. Content for the moment, Jim simply held him, nuzzling at his cheek or brow once in a while.

Blair hugged him around the waist, hands digging into the fabric of Jim's shirt at the small of his back. Before long, though, the material threatened to give under the strain as Blair held on tighter and tighter, as if trying to shove himself past skin and into Jim's soul.

"I can't do this anymore," Blair whispered despairingly. "I can't do this anymore."

"Do what, Blair?" Jim whispered back, mind swirling with possibilities: go without reading, nourish and succor the hearts and souls of their tribe, live in the wilderness like a primitive?

"Be with you like this. I can't do it, I can't." But he held on even tighter, arms trembling with the force of it.

Once, a long time ago, a chopper had fallen out of the sky in a breathless, terrifying drop, and as it fell the whole world had become a soundless, colorless empty bubble that had held Jim suspended in its center. Then, like now, he knew that there was going to be unbelievable pain when the ground came up to hit him, but for a few precious seconds there had been a cushion of non-reality that let him function at superhuman speed and clarity.

He used that clarity ruthlessly, and said mildly, betrayed only by his own crushing hold on his partner, "Why?"

"Cause it's wrong. I love you so very much, but it's wrong."

"Wrong?" Not just going to hit the ground, later, he thought distantly, going to hit concrete with steel spikes imbedded. "You've always believed, *I've* always believed love *can't* be wrong."

"It's not! We're not, but we are, too, and I know that doesn't make sense, I don't make sense here, but it is, Jim, it is wrong, oh, help me, help me, I don't want it to be like this, but it is! You have to help me!"

The pleading for understanding in Blair's voice would haunt Jim for the rest of his life, but at the time, all he could think of to say was, "Do you want me to leave?"

"No, no, no, no," Blair moaned, almost in a fever delirium, grinding his face into Jim's flesh.

Swallowing hard, Jim asked tentatively, "Are you going to leave?"

At that Blair's head shot up, tear-colored eyes meeting Jim's in shock. "No! How could I? Jim, they were willing to die for me, I have to stay, you can see that, right?"

Holding back the comment that he wouldn't have let him leave the relative safety of the camp, anyway, Jim smoothed the hair away from Blair's face, trying to calm him. "No, of course you can't leave." His hand paused, and he ventured, "Will you still be my Guide?"

That brought a quiver to Blair's lips that was almost enough to prick the insulating calm surrounding Jim. "I... I ... hadn't thought.. you've not zoned in so long... so focused and in control..."

"Because you live with me, Blair. Work with me, fight with me. You haven't been more than the sound of your heartbeat away from me since we left Cascade." Jim explained patiently.

"I... I..."

Suddenly afraid that his lover was going to implode from the pressure within, Jim sent his thumb over the stuttering lips. "It's okay, it's okay," he murmured. "I'll sleep in my lookout from now on; I won't, uh..." He hesitated, wanting to promise never to touch Blair again, but couldn't bring himself to lie. "I won't," he exhaled sharply, "Make a pass or expect you to, either, all right? We've been keeping Jim and Blair so separate from Sentinel and Shaman, it won't be hard be a team like always, for the tribe. Privately... I.. I think you're going to have to keep your distance, Chief."

Looking inhumanly miserable, Blair nodded. With audible creaks and pops, he released Jim's shirt and sat back on his heels. One fist going up to his mouth, he scraped at his mouth, and began, "I'm s..."

"Shut up!" The harsh words exploded out of Jim without conscious decision. Recoiling, Blair sprang to his feet, as if expecting to need to run. Seeing that, seeing the ground loom up dangerously, Jim forced himself to say calmly, patiently. "You're doing what you have to do, Sandburg. Being sorry for it isn't the least bit of help to me, and is pretty meaningless under the circumstances. Spare me."

"Oh! Uh, I guess..." He took a single step back, visibly drawing in a breath and trying to center himself. "Even though there's nothing I can say, I keep wanting to try, anyway. And that's making it worse, isn't it?" At Jim's hard nod, he stepped back again. One more time he tried to speak, stopped himself, then turned to flee through the forest back to the camp site.

Jim didn't watch him go; couldn't watch him go. His precious time of suspension was gone. Slamming into agony face first, he had a split second to wonder if he was going to survive this crash, then he was shattered, scattered, destroyed on the unforgiving surface of black rejection.

Dawn found him crumpled loosely like discarded trash on the forest floor, barely breathing, no longer alive regardless of the functioning of his body. Down by the fires, children stirred and mumbled sleepily, the fire was built up so that it snapped and crackled warmly, breakfast was started. Adults chatted among themselves, talking about the trip ahead, packing the bedding away as they did.

The body laying so still heard/smelt/saw all that, but it was meaningless to it.

Then a baby cried, piercingly, shrilly, rising in volume in spite of all the soothing, calming, petting that was bestowed on it. Automatically, empty blue eyes tracked to the sound and locked onto the infant's, each impossibly seeing into the other. Slowly, slowly, the child howling all the time, animation returned to Sentinel's face, and he stood shakily.

Walking as if recently crippled and only beginning to heal, he moved toward the camp. "Thanks, baby, for reminding me," he mumbled. At his words, it began to wind down into hiccupping sobs, finally allowing its Guide to comfort it, with Shaman talking Pol through it patiently. Hanging his survival on the hope the infant provided, he told the distant man, "Looks like I end up living on nothing but duty, after all, Chief."

"Mags." One young treble voice suggested.

"Cara." Hard to tell at this age, but that one could have been a boy's blurted offering.

"Mischa," Lil tried timidly, but there was a hoot of disagreement from the youngsters clustered on the ground around Blair, Pol and the infant sentinel.

"Boy's name," several argued, and Lil tried to shrink into the crowd.

Patting her arm reassuringly, Pol disagreed, "Boy's name, girl's name, they're all just names, doesn't matter s'long as it fits, right?" He said it directly to Lil, surprising a tentative smile from her.

Backing him, Blair added, "You could say my given name is a girl's, but I can't imagine any other one being better for me."

That set everyone off on given and earned names in general, and Blair finished treating the infant's bottom, handing her back to Pol for diapering. Without thinking, like he always did these days, he looked for his Sentinel, easily spotting him on the other side of the nursery compound. The big man was teaching elementary fighting moves to Stush, Bets, and several other recent arrivals.

Obstensively, Tina was being taught, too, but she was really standing to one side, trying desperately hard to flirt with Jim. She was dolled up again in the tawdry things she had worn from the city, and was using any excuse to try to fondle the sentinel. Blatantly ignoring her, Jim went on with his lessons, only his frequent scans of the area to make sure other adults were present giving away his uneasiness.

Sighing, grateful beyond belief that everyone had decided that no adult should ever be alone with any of the children, Blair tried again to think of something to do to help the girl. Like most mattress backs - children passed from owner to owner, valued only for her body - she was having a terrible time adjusting to a life where sex was casual and unimportant.

She had decided Sentinel was the most powerful man in the camp, and was determined to make him her Sweet Daddy, despite being told no man of their tribe would be interested in having a kept. Needing not to believe that, she was pursuing Jim relentlessly. Already she had snuck out of the nursery once, climbing into Sentinel's bed and waiting for him there.

Blair couldn't help a huge grin. His partner had scooped her up, carried her kicking and screaming to Amy, and insisted that the nurse confirm he hadn't sexually touched the girl. That had not only protected him from any claims Tina might make, but humiliated her to the point she'd never try that again on another male.

Smile fading a bit, Blair shook his head consideringly. Maybe Tina had the right idea though. It seemed the only way any female was going to make it to Jim's bed was by simply showing up there. Since it had become clear that he and Jim were separated, the women of the tribe had tried everything else to seduce the Sentinel. Flirting, asking outright, feeding him, having their male partners approach him, everything.

Politely, firmly, Jim turned all of them down. Over and over, Blair tried to persuade himself it was because Jim was still getting over their breakup. He kept failing because Jim didn't act as if it were over between them. Nothing, nothing had changed in the way his partner treated him except that they slept alone. It was as though it had never happened at all, and Jim expected Blair to come into his arms if he reached, like always.

Face blank to hide his despair, Blair admitted that if Jim did reach, he would fall onto his lover like the starving animal he was. Much as they confused him, he ate up Jim's attentions, returning the open affection, unable to convince his heart their relationship was done.

"What do you think, Shaman?" A young voice repeated impatiently.

Forcefully Blair dragged his attention back to the ongoing discussion. "I agree with Pol," he said. "Her given name doesn't matter as long as it fits; she has an earned name waiting for her, if she chooses it."

"In fact," Jim broke in, wiping sweat from his face and throwing himself down beside Blair to rest, "Pol should name her. Unless and until she chooses otherwise, he will be her teacher. That's a lot of responsibility; he should get some privileges to go with it, don't you think?

There was a general murmur of agreement from the on-lookers, and Pol stared down into the baby in his arms, absently playing with a tiny red ringlet. "Just her teacher?" he asked sadly. "Not her guide, like Shaman is for you?"

Hurting inside for the young man who obviously already loved the young sentinel deeply, Blair opened his mouth to speak, only to have Jim beat him to it.

"I had several teachers until Shaman found me," Jim told Pol solemnly. "They were very important to me, and if things had been different, one of them might have become my Guide. But you have to give her the opportunity to live, to learn, to understand her heart."

"Different how?" Pol asked, apparently intrigued by a peek into an adult Sentinel's mind.

"I knew who my guide was from the day he was born," Jim told him, catching and holding Blair's gaze. "But even after I actually met him, it took me a few years to realize he was who I had been waiting for. I had to grow," he thumped his chest meaningfully, "in here for that to happen. Even if she grows up knowing you're her Guide, Pol, she might have to struggle with accepting that. You might have to struggle with it yourself; it's a hard, thankless, infuriating place to have in a sentinel's life."

Suddenly breathless, aching, Blair broke the hold the brilliant shimmer of love in Jim's face had on him, and re-focused on the youngster.

Humming lightly under his breath, rocking with her, Pol shook his head as if astounded anybody could question his devotion to the baby.

"What's her name?" Blair asked softly, taking advantage of his mental pre-occupation.

"Lexi," Pol answered promptly, then looked up, blinked, and laughed delightedly. "Her name is Lexi."

Jim leaned up over her, brushed a kiss over her brow, and whispered, "Hi, Lexi."

Taking his lead, Blair did the same, as did all of the children. That done, the smallest members of the tribe scattered to share the news, chattering excitedly as they did. The only exception was Tina and Bets who was determinedly trying to toss Conner on the ground with her newly learned judo hold.

Propped up on his elbows, Jim laid stretched out lazily, watching his former co-worker with a smile sketched lightly on his face. Wondering what he was finding so amusing, Blair twisted in his seat to look over the action, seeing only Megan moving Tina slowly through the same moves.

"Okay, you must be hearing something I'm not," he falsely grumped. "Give it up; what's so funny?"

Head tilting back to be able to see Blair better, Jim answered, "Conner told Tina that I liked strong, capable women, who could fight and hunt. Guess who's showing much more interest in self defense?"

With a snort of amusement, Blair paid closer attention to the woman and child, and was the first to shout his approval when Tina successfully tossed her much bigger instructor. For a second the girl stared astonished at Megan as she clambered back onto her feet, praising her lavishly. Then her face broke into a tremendous grin, and she positively bounced at Conner for another try.

"First step," Jim murmured. "Good-bye kept girl; hello young warrior. Wanna bet in a few weeks she'll have a hell of a crush on Conner?"

"She couldn't pick a better role model; or better first lover if Conner agrees."

"It's still a few years down the road before she'll be old enough to ask the Nannies for one, Chief. She'll change her mind a dozen times between now and then."

"Maybe, maybe not," Blair disagreed mildly, soaking up the easy vibs between them. "So far the kids in the compound have been asking for the people who made the biggest impression on them when they got here, instead of their peers. If Daryl took up all the offers he's gotten, he'd never get out of bed."

"I still can't believe you managed to sell your idea to the tribe that they should make public choices about that."

"What else could they do?" Blair asked reasonably. "We're seriously outnumbered here, adults to children, too many of the kids have already been sexually used and can't unlearn what they know and feel, and they're going to do it anyway. This gives us more control over who's doing what to who. Less chance of anyone getting abused again."

"Didn't argue with you then; not arguing with you now. It's working." Jim pointed out. "Mostly because of what happens if you break the rules. Privy duty and standing watch are no fun as far as kids are concerned."

"Hey, you want to act like an adult, you have to take on adult jobs. Fair's fair."

Pol stood, shifting the sleeping baby to his shoulder. "I like it. No guessing if the person you want likes you back, no worrying about making an idiot in front of them cause you can't find the words, no fighting somebody bigger'n you off... Makes the whole thing a whole lot less scary if you haven't done it at all, too. Nobody can rank on you for not being experienced.

"Gonna be hard as hell if Lexi doesn't pick me, though for her first time." Suddenly he pinned Sentinel with an intent look. "Maybe I shouldn't ask for anybody until she's ready, wait for her, like?"

Without hesitation, Jim shook his head. "It's up to you, Pol, and what feels right to you. Neither Shaman nor I waited, but we didn't grow up knowing what was possible for us, either. All I can tell you is that it didn't matter to me that Shaman had had other lovers."

"Then why don't you take others now, Sentinel? The Nannies tell me you never agree to Transitions, and I've heard the grownups grumbling that you don't share with them, either."

Out of the mouths of babes, Blair thought numbly, and waited for Jim's explosion.

All Jim did was smile blindingly at his lover and reply, "They're not Shaman. He's the only one I want; the only one I'll ever want."

Appalled, Blair drew himself up to his knees, ready to grab the other man and shake him, regardless of their audience. Before he could, Jim lost all traces of mellow leisure and bolted to his feet. "Signal fire," he muttered, "Yellow: trouble coming, two days away." Without another word he raced out of the compound toward the warning bell at the commons.

The next few hours were a haze of packing, hiding stores, and calming children for Blair. When the call came for assembly, he ushered Stush and his group, ready to lead them through their first public meeting.

Simon stood at the center of the gathered tribe, looking serious, but steady. "Ravagers." He said shortly, and waited for the alarmed rumble of the crowd to die. "It's not as if we haven't defended ourselves before, people, or as if we don't know what to do. All the elders and children will retreat back along our range, leaving lookouts. All fighters and hunters will met the Ravagers and drive them back - or kill them."

"And if they kill all of our fighters?" A terrified child cried out.

"Then you keep moving!" Simon barked sternly. "Remember, you have the advantage. You know how to take care of yourselves out here. You can hunt food, stay warm, hide. Sooner or later, the Ravagers will have to give up looking for you and the hidden food stores we have. Then you grow up, grow strong, and honor the memory of those who died by making our tribe go on!"

Making eye contact with as many as he could, projecting an image of control and confidence, Simon moderated his voice. "Now I have to do something hard. I have to ask for volunteers from the fighters to stay with the main tribe to protect and teach if the worst does happen. It's hard to turn your back on the enemy, I know, and run. But the littlest ones need you."

That caused another grumble from the crowd, and Blair had to fight to keep his face impassive. No one was going to step forward, now, and Simon would be able to pick whoever he wanted to stay behind. Being the rear-guard wouldn't seem like a shameful thing to anyone, and would, in fact, be a matter of pride. //Good precedent, Simon.// Blair chuckled inwardly. //All those political hassles you had to put up with in Major Crimes are paying off, big time.//

As if he heard the unvoiced laugh, Jim picked Blair out from where he stood behind Simon. Though no one else would have seen it, Blair caught the flash of an answering smile from his partner, no doubt guessing Blair's thoughts at the moment. Simon caught the exchange from the corner of his eye, and in the midst of picking out the rear guard paused, studying Blair thoughtfully.

//Oh, God - he's not thinking of leaving me with the kids is he?// Blair thought, panicked. //Shaman has to stay with Sentinel, even if Jim and Blair are on the outs. Come on, man, don't do this, don't do this...//

Without change in expression or comment, Simon finally went on, finishing his selections and began issuing directions. Sucking in a breath, wondering when he had started holding it, Blair mentally shook himself.

"Shaman?" Stush asked softly, shrugging a little at the grip Blair had on his shoulder. Shocked, Blair made himself unclench his hand and pat the young man apologetically.

"The Captain was one of my teachers," he whispered in explanation. "You never quite get over that 'what did I do wrong now?!' feeling you get when they look at you like that."

Stush shot him a sympathetic look, but then gave Simon a considering look. "Spec'ly from him, I bet. Think he'd have a use f'me? I'cn run fast and hide good."

"As a matter of fact," and Blair started working his way forward past people, taking Stush with him, "We'll need messengers." The tribe was dispersing to carry out orders, moving quickly, but not frantically. Once they had broken free of the mass, Blair turned to look at the three girls and Pol. "Do you have anything to say about Stush doing that? You followed him out of the city; in a way, that makes you family."

Obviously startled, the children bunched together and talked for a second. Giving them room for it, Blair checked out the compound, noticing how efficiently everything was being broken down. If the Ravagers made it this far, all they would find were abandoned huts. That thought triggered a deeper one, and he forgot everything for a moment while he tried to track it down.

"He goes," Bets said shortly. "But comes back to protect the baby sentinel if it gets bad."

Jolted out of his revere, Blair nodded. "We should talk with the Captain, then."

Hours later, moving swiftly down the barely discernable path toward Cascade, the fragment of an idea returned to Blair. Matching his partner's strides, he said thoughtfully, "Jim, the Ravagers are too close. According to the look-outs, they're already past the point we intercept refugees and start hiding the trail."

"And moving much too surely, as if they know the way to go." Jim agreed. "No advanced scouts, not following trail sign as far as we can tell, just barreling up the side of the mountain."

"Inside help," Blair said unhappily. "They've got markers or trail blazes to follow. Probably from one of the last groups we brought in."

"I've been looking for them, but no sign, so far." More land moved smoothly under their feet, growing in distance, before Jim added, "They wouldn't leave something we'd recognize or see easily."

Reflectively, Blair told him, "They're what's left of a technological society; electronics last pretty good if stored right. Homing device?"

"Not on any of the children or in the camp. Or not activated, I should say. You know I can hear the squeal of electronics; it'd stand out too much from natural sounds in the settlement, especially late at night."

"Okay. Maybe they expected everything to be taken from the kids once they got to us, or at least searched, so trail markers, but not visible ones. Think you can hear the hum if we pass one?"

"If it's not too far off the path - but it'd take too much time to stop and listen."

"Why stop?" Blair grinned as Jim grimaced, already assuming his partner wanted to try something. "You don't have to think about where to put your feet when you walk, normally. Part of you sees and feeds the info to your brain without ever connecting to your head. And we both know the same thing can happen if you're running, if you can get into the zen of it."

"Trail's too rough, Chief. And speed is important here."

"Do I really have to ask you to trust me on this?" Blair asked with some exasperation, but loving the familiarity of the debate. "You concentrate on what you hear; let your body do its thing. I run slightly ahead and that'll give you another reference point."

Jim didn't answer, but the expression on his face became abstracted, distant and Blair knew he was bringing his hearing up as much as he could stand. 15 minutes later, he came to a stop, signaling to the others in their party to do the same. At the base of a tree, pointing out the disturbed needles and soil, he uncovered a small device and showed it to everyone.

"Short range beacon. There'll be another 2 or 3 miles along the way. Who ever buried them probably didn't hide the bare spot, so look for that." He explained, turning it so it could be seen clearly. "We have to make sure we find them all, and that the rear guard knows about them." A quick point sent a runner back the way they came, and Jim hefted the beacon, thinking. "Does anybody know this area well? Well enough that we can replant this as a decoy if they get past us?"

With a mean grin, a young man stepped forward and took the beacon. "Nice cliff not too far from here, and the underbrush hides the drop off until you're right on top of it. I'll double back, too, find any others left and make sure they wind up in equally interesting places."

"But from here on down, we simply send them off on a wild goose chase. We'll pick a trail we know leads nowhere and put all the rest of the markers on it," Blair put in, and everyone acknowledged with a grunt or nod.

"This is how it's going to be," Jim told everyone. "They're going to have superior fire power, their vehicles give them the edge on speed and distance. Night scopes, laser sights, motion detectors - they have access to the debris from the entire military complex left behind when the United States crashed.

"But we've got home turf advantage, surprise, and knowledge on our side. How to get around their gadgets, how to use the environment to do part of our fighting for us, how to survive without anything more than our strength and brains. We take away their technology, we win. Be thinking about that the rest of the way."

With those words of dismissal, they scattered, running ahead silently, swiftly. Jim watched them go, then told Blair, "Stush is the only one in our party that's new, and he didn't react guiltily to the homing device at all."

"Good, so we don't have to worry about the Ravager's being warned, at least." Blair confirmed in relief.

"With some luck, we can disable or destroy their gear before they catch on they're under assault." Jim said grimly, and began running again.

Guerilla tactics succeeded from the start, when a single person got into the Ravagers camp and set off one of their own grenades in the weapons truck. Though the commander of the troop sent out his men almost immediately, there was no trace of people, and he reluctantly decided it had been an accident. For a while.

From that time on, any man who stepped away from their camp never came back again. Though the Freedom Tribe killed ruthlessly when necessary, anyone who set off back they way they had come, obviously deserting, was allowed to go. Chances were Mother Nature would take care of them, anyway.
Their leader ranted, punished, threatened - but there was no visible enemy to attack. No target to point at and destroy, though round after round was fired by his spooked men into the surrounding forest. Long after he knew they were under siege, he still lost men and supplies to the unseen predators stalking his soldiers. That he didn't turn back was a measure of the desperation of the Ravagers. He pulled his unit in tighter and tighter, not even allowing them to step aside and pee without two armed comrades. And still they died, silently, swiftly.

For nearly a week, Freedom Tribe stalked and hunted the Ravagers, until finally their Captain gathered them together to make a final decision. Blair stood beside Simon, Jim behind both of them, all of them barely hiding their fatigue and letting the others in the war party talk themselves out.

When it was obvious they were all repeating the same arguments, Simon stepped in. "It's simple, people. We're tired, making mistakes, and injuries have reduced our numbers. Yes, the Ravagers are in worse shape, but it's not going to get any better for us, either. It's time to end this, one way or the other.

"Confrontation? Fight them until they die or we do? Or abandon them to their fate in the wilderness? We've led them so far from our trail, chances are good they'll never find it."

He gave them a moment to think, and Blair looked over their people assessingly. Good. All of them were sick of the killing, long past the adrenaline rush that could make war so appealing to young men and women. No glory was going to be made of this, and with luck and careful teaching, the words war and battle would only mean necessity to the next generation. He could hope, anyway.

"Cap'n?" Stush said finally, only his clenched fists showing how hard speaking out was for him. "This is t*Mayor.* He can't afford t'back off. If he did, his own men'd bring him down."

"And he's got nothing to go back to," Daryl added. "If he can't find our food or capture us as slaves to farm or hunt, he and his men will starve. Won't be that long before he figures out his beacons are useless, and he'll turn around. They aren't completely stupid; sooner or later they might find the right trail."

"Attack them then, when we're fresh and they're worn from the search," Conner suggested. "With Sentinel to watch over us, we can do this again if we have to."

Simon shook his head slowly, "If SAR taught us anything, it's that we can't let one person, or one small group of people, do it all. If we lost Sentinel, what then? Anyone who survives long enough will learn on their own how to stalk and sneak. What if one of them got into our camp? How many children would they have to hold hostage to force the rest of us to surrender?"

"Sounds like you want to finish it, Captain," Jim observed calmly.

"Yeah, I guess I do. Time to close the chapter on Cascade completely, in my head. It's a ghost town now, owned by rats and feral dog packs."

"Not too many," Stusch muttered. "Dog's not half bad meat."

Holding in his wince -he'd eaten worse himself in the name of anthropology once upon a time, Blair nodded in agreement with Simon. "We don't need a threat hanging over our heads. We have enough problems as it is."

"If we can scatter them," Jim put in, "some will take off on their own, and the Mayor won't be able to regroup before we can take them on one on one. That way any one who fights is doing it out of choice, not because he can't break ranks with a leader he'd rather not follow. Best we can do for fair."

One by one the other members of their party agreed, and Blair suggested the perfect way to break up the clump of invaders without directly harming any of them.

The skunk Stusch dropped from the treetops into the middle of the Ravagers was the only one who escaped from the melee totally unscathed. There was a tendency among the Mayor's men to mow each other over, weapons and all, trying to get away from it.

As anticipated, many took the opportunity presented and deserted, hoping for better luck and survival elsewhere. Grimly, the Tribe waded into the ones still doggedly trying to regroup, fighting them with knives and fists rather than risk hitting each other with wild gunfire.

Within minutes only two Ravagers were fighting, one of them the Mayor. He and Jim grappled with each other, trying to find a killing blow even as Blair kicked the last one standing into Simon. Not even waiting to see the man's end, Blair whirled to help his mate, only to see Jim and the Mayor standing a few feet apart, guns drawn, pointed at each other in a Mexican standoff.

Paralyzed by the risk to Sentinel if they interfered too soon or incorrectly, the tribe stood by waiting to see what Jim would do. Blair, held by the same fear, went blank, unable to see anything but the weapon aimed at his lover.

"Ellison," Billings chuckled. "I should have guessed you're the "Shaman" behind all those rumors. You have no idea how glad I am to see you're still alive. Always knew if you ditched that pretty, bleeding heart boy toy of yours you'd make it."

Ignoring the jibe, Jim answered mildly, "I'm not Shaman; Sandburg is. I have to admit your little empire lasted longer than we expected. But then, you didn't care how many other people died as long as you didn't."

"Oh, don't be so superior." Billing retorted. "What difference does it make if they died because of me or suffocating from SAR?" He gestured expansively. "In case you hadn't noticed, Ellison, it's the end of the fucking world. We're all going to die; might as well have the best of what's left in the meantime."

"Your world is ending," Jim denied flatly, "Mine is doing fine, thank you."

"Oh, I'm sure it is simply wonderful living like a savage, scrounging for the simplest comforts and pleasures, preying on the witless escapees from my domain. You should have stayed with me, Ellison. After I got rid of that witless mayor, you could have helped me hold things together longer, lived in luxury while you could."

Head tilted to one side, Jim said in wonder, "The world really is coming to an end as far as you're concerned, isn't it? Simply because you can't imagine one without yourself as its center." He shook his head slowly. "My world will never cease, Billings, as long as the people I've helped - Sandburg and I have helped - are still alive."

Whether it was his tone or the way Jim held himself, Blair knew the stand off was over. Regardless of whether Billings had time to kill him, Jim was going to pull the trigger first to guarantee his tribe's safety from the madman's egotism.

With a wordless shout Blair charged at the two men, scooping up a rock on the way. Surprised by the abrupt noise and motion, Billings jerked, slightly. The moment he moved, Jim fired, throwing himself to one side as he did. Billing's gun discharged harmlessly into where Jim had been, and he fell, hit by rocks, arrows, knives and bullets from every person present with a clear shot.

Picking himself up, disregarding the corpse at his feet, Jim holstered his weapon. "Captain, search bodies now or send people back later?" he asked matter-of-factly. Only Blair, who had raced to his side, could feel the shaking of the large body through his own half hidden grip on Jim's arm.

Matching his tone, and setting it for the rest of the war party, Simon shook his head. "Find their needle stash but leave the rest. Their own will come back for what they can get; guess they're entitled. Me, I want a hot bath and warm bed."

With no ceremony, he turned and headed for camp, his people falling in behind. The partners brought up the rear, avoiding each other's eyes, but holding on with punishing strength.

Around him the party laughed, danced, sang and played with joyous abandon, jostling Blair gently and inviting him to join the merriment. He drifted through it, sharing a joke here or a hug there, not really connecting with any one person, or even the party itself. In part, because he was the indirect cause of it, and in part because there were other influences, more subtle ones tugging on him tonight.

Exchanging a smile with the real cause of it, he slapped Daryl a high five, congratulating him again on his new status as Captain. A week after the battle with the Ravagers, Daryl had stood before the assembled community and announced he thought they should create a second tribe. He had been studying old maps and had chosen a new range for another group, and wanted to know who would like to go with him. Most were in agreement immediately. Between the last flood of refuges and the growth of original orphans brought in, the tribe was becoming too large for their range to support comfortably.

Few decided right away; for another week it was discussed endlessly. Gradually, not without some pain, two distinct groups were formed. Some of the decisions were surprising: Conner was leaving with Daryl, along with Amy, who blushed but hugged the spirited Aussie enthusiastically when she admitted to her choice. Stush's troop decided to take Alexi and leave, as well. Since finding Lil's note sadly saying she was sorry, the Mayor had promised to let the baby live if she led him to the tribe, they had been ill at-ease in the nursery compound. Finding Lil's broken body at the base of a tall tree a few days later hadn't made their memories of Freedom Tribe any better. Thinking that keeping both sentinels in one camp wasn't wise, the Captain and Shaman didn't argue with them.

Other children were divided by serious attachments to the adults in each tribe, especially skilled people were wooed and courted, but eventually, Runner came to Shaman and asked for a ceremony to mark the birth of New Hope Tribe.

A party was seemed the best idea to everyone, and Blair coaxed - nagged - Simon, Conner, and other Elders into making short speeches and breaking out rare treats like chocolate and wine. Privately, he congratulated Daryl on coming up with a reason to celebrate without connecting it too directly to the recent battle. Simon's attitude that the whole thing was just another day in the life was the one Blair wanted in the minds of the youngsters, rather than the fighters were heroes or victors. But he had felt some catharsis was needed, and apparently so had Daryl.

A powerful one, he'd thought at the time, and discretely discussed it with Simon and Dan. With their knowledge, a special blend of herbs was added to the punch bowl, spicing it up tastily and seriously mellowing everyone who drank it. Feeling he should be the designated sober person, because it was his idea, he had abstained from either their homemade wine or the punch.

Not that he needed it; the wind was rising, wild and wicked, gusting madly, sensuously over the countryside and into Blair's mind and spirit. Terrified of its fey call for the first time in his life, Blair fought it, tried to drown it in the happy mob around him.

An impromptu band had formed, with Pol playing surprisingly well on an old Gibson guitar from common stores. The beat behind them was enthusiastic, pounding and Blair made himself join the other revelers to dance as energetically as he could. He dragged onlookers into a conga line, imitated the high jumping, hopping steps of the African Masai, and generally boogied until his feet hurt worse than his heart.

Through all of it, part of him kept looking, searching, though he knew perfectly well Jim had left the festivities early to allow as many of the patrol as possible to participate. And he was still detached, aloof from his own people, unable to shake off the summons on his soul.

When the guitar was taken up by someone who played rich, vibrant love songs, when the older children had been sent to bed, when the partiers broke into two or, occasionally, threes and began drifting to dark nooks, Blair lost his fight and went where the wind sent him.

Scudding clouds obscured, then revealed a three-quarters moon, giving the silvered light an uncertainty bordering on mystical. Trees swayed and flexed under the weight of the restless air, moving in their own dance as Blair wandered mindlessly through them. Every time he would huddle up against one of the rough trunks, trying to resist the need to move, barely perceptible fingers of air would insinuate themselves into his clothing, his hair, tugging until he gave up and walked again.

It left him alone only when he stumbled by the hut Jim had made for lookout on a minor ridge above the main camp. Swaying numbly in front of it, he wondered why he would find its dark interior inviting, and willfully staggered away. Nudged by the wind back to it, an hour or so later, he swore and forced himself leave again.

Only to be returned again.

And again.

And again.

When the darkest hours of the night were made darker by the moon slowly hiding below the horizon, he half fell onto a tree limb in front of Jim's lair, not able to stand any more.

"It has always blown you to me, Blair," Jim murmured from behind him, invisible in the shadows. "Sent you into my arms over and over. How can something so much greater than both of us be wrong? How can we be wrong if it's so elemental in both of us?" There was no anger or condemnation in Jim's words, but they blistered through all the logic and reason that had kept Blair from his mate.

With a half-breathed whimper of pain he lurched forward, a shove of wind firm in the small of his back. Then he was flying, finally, finally flying with the wind, hoisted in Jim's arms and being carried away from the encampment, away from the lingering sounds and scents of humanity. In the darkest, quietest depths of the forest, Jim laid him down in a bed of soft furs he must have brought there for his own rest.

Dazed, excited, he waited passively while Jim stripped both of them hastily. Then his lover was on top of him, unerringly taking his mouth, and Blair immersed himself in the physical presence of the demanding man. Sucking the air he needed from Jim's lungs in a toe-deep kiss, Blair spread himself over the hot body, trying to become a blair-coating of want over every inch of it.

With anxious, hungry hands he caressed sleek muscles and hard lines, pulling low moans from the man on him as he did. Filling his palms with the taut globes of Jim's ass, he delved into that tender recess with slender fingers.

Sighs filled his mouth as Jim's seed bubbled out between them, creating yet another bond sealing them together. When the last spasm rolled through him, Jim twisted them over until he was on the bottom. Bringing up his legs and clamping his knees onto Blair's sides, Jim offered himself to his lover. With a sigh of his own into their kiss, Blair sank into the vulnerable, open body, wanting this connection as much as his mate.

At first there was some resistance, but he convulsed, sending waves of liquid into tight channel, making the way easier. Neither close to satisfied yet, they rocked together liquidly, the rhythm flowing back and forth in long, slow waves. Though they wanted only the feel of making love -skin on skin, one yielding to the other in silky submission, heat molding them into one - their starved bodies could not be denied.

Far too soon for either of them lust stormed through their union, demanding more. Reluctantly, Blair tore his lips away, keening the loss as he did, and sat back on his heels, pulling Jim's hips onto his lap. Locking his legs around the smaller man's waist, Jim raised up, impaling himself deeply on the shaft waiting for him.

With a shout, Blair answered the thrust with a pounding drive of his own, holding Jim's thighs to steady him. With short, sharp, almost brutal snaps, he plunged into his lover over and over, silently screaming his pleasure.

Jim shot again, roaring in animal satisfaction as he writhed through his climax. Internal muscles milked Blair with hard clasps, tearing his finish from him relentlessly. And still he pumped as long as trembling muscles would hold him, struggling to stay within his mate as long as possible.

When he collapsed at last, uttering a tiny disappointed cry that Jim returned, the bigger man caught him awkwardly, and turned them to their sides. Exhausted, he squirmed restlessly, wanting more but unable to flog himself into it.

"I'm not going anywhere, babe, and neither are you." Jim whispered, calming his lover with kneading hands at the back of his neck. "Rest."

"You knew all along, didn't you?" Blair mumbled, letting himself go limp in the sheltering arms. "That I'd come back to you."

"I had to believe that you would," Jim admitted. Pulling back enough to see in the dim light of oncoming dawn, Blair got a glimpse of devastating desolation in his mate's eyes, and words of shame and remorse bubbled to his lips. Remembering Jim's harsh order to shut up when he tried to apologize the last time, he pinched them together instead of speaking. Holding back his pleas for forgiveness physically hurt, but he was not going to add to Jim's misery with unwanted words.

Humorouslessly Jim chuckled and gently cupped the back of Blair's head to draw it to his chest. "You're going to sprain something keeping it in like that, Chief."

"Jim..." Blair whimpered.

"Hush, hush." Jim muttered back roughly, "Just... just don't do it again, okay? I couldn't stand it if you did it again. I couldn't."

"I couldn't," Blair swore passionately. "I'm not that strong, now that I know what it's like."

"You're stronger than you think you are, Blair. Always have been." At Blair's non-committal shrug, Jim said bluntly. "You have to be, or we're going have bad times when Sentinel is making a baby with whoever Shaman picks for him."

"Shit," Blair moaned pathetically, "Who told you?"

"You can take the cop out the city...." Jim answered, feathering a kiss over Blair's ear. "Wasn't too hard to work out with every woman in the camp, including the partnered females, asking me to go to bed with them. I am not that good-looking. They either had to be head-hunting to be able to brag about replacing you, or they wanted to get pregnant. And our tribe respects you to much for the first."

"They respect you too much to force you," Blair said earnestly. "But they're right. You should have children, Jim. What Sentinel can do is too important not to try to pass it on."

"You know, for once, Shaman hasn't thought a problem all through," Jim said reflectively. "What's the ration of males to females, Blair, both tribes, counting the few born since we started here?"

After a moment's thought, Blair answered slowly, "Three to one, males to females. And we're not replacing ourselves, not at the rate SAR is taking adults. We can't afford for anybody not to reproduce, can we? Or the gene pool will be too small for healthy children in two or three generations."

"Shaman is going to have to create a custom or ritual or something that allows people in love to have sex with other partners without damaging their relationships." Jim told him.

"Not to mention what do we do if the baby is born damaged. Yes, all children are raised by all adults, but what if an infant has Down's Syndrome? Can we spare the resources to raise it? How can we not and be humane? How much say does the birth mother have? And old people? Assuming anybody gets to live that long, what're we going to do we're they're too feeble to keep up the nomadic life-style we've chosen? Or for the handicapped?" In frustration Blair beat on the bedding, burrowing his face hard into Jim's flesh. "Aaarrrgghhhhhh...."

"One problem at a time, Sandburg," Jim half-laughed, half-complained. "The babies aren't even born yet, and *you're* worried about what to do with them when they're old."

Taking a deep breath, Blair blocked his sudden anxiety, knowing it was really a mask for fear. "Okay, I'm letting this go, I'm letting this go." After another breath, he asked as conversationally as he could manage, "Who do you want to sleep with, Jim?"

"You."

"I mean...."

"I know what you mean," Jim broke in. "My answer stands. I'm human; I'm occasionally attracted to another person, but off hand, I don't think that it's wise for Sentinel to have sex with a woman he wants. It could lead to complications later. Shaman should probably choose for him."

"Sentinel, Shaman... We're being positively schizo here, Jim." Blair muttered.

"How else can we keep our individuality? Why do you think earned names are becoming so common? That wasn't planned; it's a natural way to keep the role people have to play for the community clear of who they *are.* Remember our wedding vows?"

Feeling as if he'd been hit in the head by a three-ton beam of light, Blair sprang away from Jim, mouth hanging open.

"Blair?" Jim asked worriedly, reaching for him.

"Their Sentinel, their Shaman," Blair breathed in awe. "Of course, of course! I'm an idiot!" As unexpectedly as he had left, he bounced back into Jim's arms, hands coming up to frame Jim's face lovingly. "My Jim. No matter who else touches Sentinel or uses his body, Jim Ellison belongs to me."

Understanding, a soft smile breaking out, Jim copied Blair's gesture. "My Blair. Shaman is the illusion; Blair Sandburg is the reality, and he has been mine since the day of his birth." He leaned in to claim a sweet, chaste kiss, re-affirming their bond, their love, and their life together.

finis Presnt Perfecgt

**Though Test had sat very still through the telling, at the end, he began to bounce in Sentinel's lap, chanting, "Real, not make believe, real, not make-believe, real, not make-believe." After a minute of that, totally unaware of the adults grinning at him, he whirled and said, "Nother, please, please, pretty please? Not a once upon a time, but a for-real. Please?"

"Why not make-believe?" Shaman asked curiously, that trace of concern back in his features.

"Cause dragons and fairies and things are neat, but they can't happen to me, and maybe, maybe I could find a new tribe nobody ever heard of before, or see a place no one has seen, or, or... I don't know what!" he fairly bubbled. " 'N since I don' wanna' leave Nanny, not til she's got 'nother boy to take care of her, I can hear 'bout somebody else's story."

"Adventures, Test, " Shaman corrected gently, smiling. "If it's a new thing that could happen, you'd call it an adventure. And you can have them even when you're not planning or expecting them."

"Can they happen to kids?" Test asked seriously.

Shaman grinned wider, "Oh, yes. Want to hear one about a little girl not too much older than you?"

"Yes!" he shouted, bouncing again, not seeing Sentinel's wince. "Yes, yes!"

"Well, sit quietly then, before you wear out Sentinel's lap," Shaman laughed. "And let me tell you about a little girl who chased a humming bird."**

PAST PERFECT

Mindful of the young bodies hurtling down the slope, Jim and Blair climbed the incline toward the top of the bluff, each carefully watching where they stepped. The children of Freedom Tribe had turned the dirt trail into a slippery mud track so they could slide like otters into the river below, creating huge splashes and major laughter when they landed. Their yells of encouragement and triumph followed Shaman and Sentinel up, and Jim didn't miss the slightly wistful look Blair shot the next rider that sped past them.

It was hot enough that a dip in the river sounded appealing to Jim, too, though he knew it was the merriment that Blair found attractive. Despite that, they both climbed doggedly, having business with their Captain, who was standing guard at the top. As they neared, Jim watched Blair carefully not look at the youngster positioning the bit of hide she would use to protect her own skin from the roughness of the ground, and he hid a sudden grin.

Catching the child's eye and slightly nodding at his companion, Jim waited until they were even with the girl, then snatched way the material from her willing hand. Throwing it and Blair onto the dirt at the same time, he gave just enough of a push to his mate that the smaller man began skidding back down the trail on his backside.

"Damn it, Jim," Blair howled on the way, already nearly laughing. "I'll get you for..." His words ended with a wordless yelp and enormous splash. Hesitating only long enough to be sure that Shaman came back to the surface safely, Jim took off his leather vest and offered it to the little girl in payment. She smiled happily and dropped to take her own ride.

Jim finished his climb, unabashedly eavesdropping on delight of the children at the abrupt appearance of their favorite playmate. By the time the last youngster hit the water, they were all asking Blair not to leave just yet, pretty please. Content that his lover wasn't going to be making an escape any time soon, Jim focused his full attention on Simon, stretched out a few feet away. Though his back was bare to catch a few rays, the Cap'n diligently surveyed up and down the stretch of river where his Tribe was working and playing.

Dropping onto the grass beside him, Jim did the same, quickly pinpointing the other men standing guard. Nodding in satisfaction - all were alert despite the hot, sleepy day - he sat silently beside his friend waiting to be acknowledged. From the river came happy squeals and whoops as the dunkings, splashings, and general horseplay started in earnest.

"You know," Simon said reflectively, eyes never stopping their scanning, "We grew up during the Cold War and lived with the threat of a nuclear Armageddon practically all our lives. I don't know about you, but once in a while I'd think about what I'd miss from civilization if the bomb did drop. It was a pretty long list."

Jim nodded, knowing Simon didn't need him to say anything as much as he needed to know he was being listened to.

"It never occurred to me back then that one of them would be *this.*" Simon gestured in the general direction of the river. "The sound of children playing without worry or fear."

"You sound like Sandburg," Jim said gently. "He hates the way childhood is a luxury instead of given now. Hates that learning is catch as catch can, hates that they're growing up without the opportunities to be an artist, or writer, or any of the other professions we used to take for granted."

They were both silent for a minute, staring down river where the skyline of Cascade could be seen in the distance. "What do you say to him when he goes off on it?" Simon asked finally.

"Depends." Below he saw a young boy struggle for a second in the water, and Jim went up on his knees, only to relax when an older girl scooped the child up, giggling and teasing so he'd forget his momentary panic. "Mostly I remind him it hasn't been even a full generation since the Chaos, since SAR. We're still finding our way, still learning how to live with all the changes. And some of them have been *good.* Look at the kids, Simon, really look at them."

Following his directions, the Cap'n studied the group in the water, unconsciously smiling as he did.

"Only 14 of them, I know," Jim went on softly. "Not many, maybe not enough to carry on the legacy of the 68 adults who care about and for them. But not one terrified, abused child among them. Not one unwanted or neglected or unloved or unhappy or insecure child. Not one. They're playing in water that could have killed them less than a decade ago, and breath air that doesn't stink or damage their lungs. Yes, they have dangers and fears to be protected from, but childhood has always had its hazards, and they face them with the power of the entire tribe behind them. That makes them strong.

"We've made them strong in heart, too. Prejudice is just a word to them; they've never been called nigger or queer or dummy or any other hateful, demeaning label. Never even heard some of those words. And justice, honor, respect are more than words. They see adults living those concepts, and taking care of each other, working together to make life as good as possible. And they'll become that kind of adult themselves, because they know they can.

"To be able to raise children like ours may not have been worth the fall of a world. But they are one hell of a consolation prize."

Nodding as if to himself, Simon turned to lie on his back, trusting Jim to take his watch for a few minutes. "I guess it's the urge of parents through the ages; to able to do more so the next generation has it better. Ours is going to lack so much."

Not wanting him to slip back into his melancholy, Jim said jokingly, "You've just been missing those big, fat cancer sticks of yours, again, Simon. Or is it flavored coffee?"

"Naw. Oranges. A new book by the next Ernest Hemingway wannabe. Satin comforters. Pretty girl in a short-short skirt strutting down the street cause she knows she looks sooooo fine."

"Microwave pop corn." Jim confessed wryly. "Cold beer. God, jacuzzis. Sometimes I think I'd kill to be able to sit up to my chin in hot, bubbling water for just half an hour."

"I hear you," Simon agreed and stretched stiffly. His tone and action made Jim look hard at his friend for what he realized was first time in a long, long time. Simon looked *old.* Not simply tired, or careworn, or overworked. Old. His hair, what was left of it, was nearly all gray, and deep crevasses had been etched into his face, accenting the scars on one side. Though he held himself tall and straight, it was an effort, and Jim knew it didn't take sentinel gifts for the pops and snaps of aching bones to be heard when his captain went from sitting to standing.

It was a nasty shock to Jim; Simon and he were pretty close to the same age. It was like looking into a mirror unexpectedly and seeing a truth you'd been hiding from. Ruefully he rubbed his hand over his own nearly baldhead, not caring to see how wiry and leathery his hands had become. The only mirror he'd been bothering to use was the eyes of his Blair, and in that reflection he'd always be in his thirties, at the prime of his life.

Just as he didn't consciously see the gray liberally threaded through the crown of curls his lover wore, or the myriad of tiny lines around Blair's beautiful lips and eyes. The physical changes in both of them hadn't been worth noticing. They did their jobs and lived their lives without thinking about them, even if it wasn't as easy as it had once been.

Trying to shake off his own suddenly morbid mood, Jim visually sought out his mate. He found Blair patiently teaching a small one how to swim, the water streaming around and over his sturdy form making him shine in Jim's eyes. Like he always would, Jim acknowledged, smiling softly to himself, like he always would.

A sharp, shrieking cry yanked his attention up to the sky, and he automatically piggybacked sight onto his hearing to spot a hawk triumphantly screeching to its mate. It was answered, and another bird shot past it. In the claws of the first, a large gray rat writhed out the last of its life, blood pouring freely from where the predator's claws had pierced it through.

"Shit!" He stood, giving the sharp, short whistle that called a runner.

Beside him, his Cap'n labored to his feet, waiting patiently for Sentinel to explain. With a finger, Jim pointed out the gathering of raptors in the sky to the east, near where the edge of the city was being dissolved by nature. "Gray Brother is coming," he said shortly.

Though Simon couldn't see it yet, a thin gray trickle of filth was seeping from the sewer that Cascade had become, moving steadily toward the river. The horde of rats scampered and skittered away from their home, following some obscure instinct that no biologist lived to explain. Along the edges of the mass, hunters were cautiously gathering, ready to pick out and feast on stragglers from the main body. Feral house cats, true wildcats, packs of wild dogs, even the occasional bear and oversized raccoon warily looked for their chance to snatch a meal without becoming one themselves.

For the rats were hungry, very hungry, chewing on anything in their path that might be food. While one or two were not a problem, the smell of blood from a bite could bring down the entire swarm on the hapless predator. Like the piranha Jim remembered from his travels, the rats could strip a large animal or man to bones in minutes.

When the runner darted up to them, Cap'n tersely ordered the Elders gathered and scouts to prepare for an expedition. After the young man had left, Banks commented sourly, "Maybe we shouldn't worry about it; we could just go onto the next camp. We've gotten plenty of fish already and there's nothing we need from the city we can't look for elsewhere."

By mutual consent they let the children continue to play; the trouble was far enough way and there was little enough opportunity for them to enjoy themselves. "Gray Brother isn't that much of a problem," Jim calmed him. "We keep an eye on the tide's whereabouts and stay out of the way. And we do need to go into the city to find vitamins or meds if we can, along with some luxuries, like paper."

"Yeah, you're right." Banks agreed, resigned. "Guess I just want to get away from the reminder of what I miss, that's all. You going with the scouts?"

"Sandburg and I want to find out if I can see - or smell or whatever - clues on why the rats do this instead of dying off like you'd expect. Far as we know, it's not normal behavior for them before the Chaos. Travelers have been reporting it happening in what's left of other big cities, too. He's hoping for a way to predict it, or fight it better."

"As far as we know," Simon repeated, sounding tired again. "There has got to be some way to keep knowledge from dying completely, Jim. There has got to be a way."

It was a familiar lament he'd heard too many times from too many people, and Jim didn't bother to comment. With a touch to his friend's arm he left to collect his partner, feeling too aware of his caution as he followed the path down to the water.

His hyper awareness of himself nagged at Jim for the rest of day, all during Council and preparations for their morning departure. Without consciously deciding, he kept testing his senses, trying to judge if he was seeing as well or hearing as well as he had when he had first accepted their return. But he didn't trust his memory of that time, and couldn't gauge if what he was perceiving now was as good as he thought it was.

It made him grumpy to the point his mate pushed him down onto their bedding at his lookout while he was changing and sat on him, hands on hips. "What?" Blair demanded briefly, using the shorthand speech long-time lovers develop. 'Why are you acting like such an ass and what can I do to help?' Jim mentally translated, smiling for the first time since the afternoon.

"I love you, Chief, know that?" Jim answered idly, one hand gently burrowing under the loose tunic his partner wore.

"Man, Simon gave you a bad time about us refusing to Father any more, didn't he?" Blair asked worriedly. "You should have waited til I arrived; then he would have had to fight both of us, at least."

Startled Jim realized he hadn't gotten around to speaking with Simon the topic he'd gone there up there for in the first place. "No, no that's not it," he admitted guiltily. "I didn't have a chance to bring it up. Honestly, it's not likely to be a problem, Chief. Two of the kids in the Tribe are probably yours, three, mine. That's enough, I think, for anybody, even Sentinel and Shaman."

"Don't know if the ladies would agree with you on that as far as you're concerned." Blair teased, beginning to ever-so-slightly rock on the bare groin he was straddling. "The way you treat them during sex, and especially the way you behave when one of your Mothers is expecting - let's just say I've already got two lovely women courting me like mad, and it's months before the next Choosing."

Grunting disinterestedly, Jim found a waiting nipple hiding on his lover's chest and pinched it just hard enough to pull a sigh from Blair. Despite it, his companion kept talking. "And none of the children that could be ours are old enough to sara. What if we loose them to allergies that can't be controlled?"

"Then we can talk about Fathering again," Jim muttered. "We've been through this, Blair. As far as I'm concerned, the women I'm comfortable with are getting too old for babies, and the others are too young for me. For chrissake, most of them I tended in the Nursery!" Working his other hand under the fabric covering his mate, Jim targeted the other tight bud, adding his own minor thrusts to their loving.

"Uhn!" Blair arched his back, but stubbornly kept on topic. "Most men, ahhhhh, wouldn't find -damn!- bedding a nubile young lady a chore, Jim." Hastily the smaller man skinned out of his shirt, pulling it over his head and flinging it to the floor, then squirmed out of his pants.

"Don't want them," Jim mumbled, distracted by the arousing sight of two nubs being twirled and twisted by his own fingertips, Blair's hard cock bobbing below. "Want you. Want to go to sleep in your arms, wake up there, and not have to be with someone else before or after. Want to love you when I want to love you and not when it's our turn to love."

"Amen," Blair breathed, not having enough air to be louder. "Harder, babe."

"Mmmmmmm, like this?" He leaned up, catching one nipple in his teeth, tugging carefully.

"Oh!" Blair wrapped one arm around Jim's head to hold him to his task, and used the other to brace them. "Again? Aaa!!! Yes!"

"Do you want to keep sharing, babe?" Jim asked slyly, on the way from one rosy mouthful to another. "Is that why it's still so good with us?" He bit a little harder, sucking strongly for a brief second after he did. "'Cause we can't have it any time we want? 'Cause we know we're going to have to give it up again, for a while?" He bit again, even harder, then started nursing in earnest.

"You're full of it, Jim Ellison." Blair groaned, restlessly petting the head at his tit. "It's good because you get to me like nobody ever did or could. Hell, you know I have to keep something in my mouth when I'm with a woman, so I won't scream your name. Oh, God, that's good! P.. please... more.. bites? p.. p... JIM!"

"Taste good." Jim licked at the breastbone between nipples, went to the twin of the one he'd been abusing. "Damn good. Wanna come this way?"

A wild moan was his answer, and Blair began grinding down onto him urgently. Jim felt a surge of answering need, went with it since he was in no hurry to finish. On the trail they would have no opportunity for more than snuggles and quick hand jobs, and he liked savoring his mate's pleasure. Contentedly he immersed himself in the wonderful sensory array of their lovemaking, letting his own hunger wait.

Using the tempo of Blair frantic hips, he worked first one tit, then the other with his mouth, stopping just short of breaking the skin or leaving bruises. Blair loved it, wordlessly encouraging him and making thrilling cries of want and pleasure. He felt the rush of tenseness that heralded his lover's climax, and pinched/bit hard as the first rush of semen raced up its path. "Jim,jim,jim,jim,jim," Blair chanted with each spurt, hardly able to form the word.

Jim took over the job of supporting the sagging man, lying back to cushion Blair on his own chest. Pumping onto the limp body enough to keep himself hard, he waited patiently for his lover to recover. He roused slowly, which suited Jim. Part of him didn't care if he finished at all tonight; holding Bair, knowing he could was almost as good as sex as far as he was concerned.

Of course, Blair had his own opinions about that, he realized a moment later when his mate snuck a hand down to circle the hard-on poking him. "What'll it be?" Blair murmured lovingly. "Hands? Mouth? Ass? Don't know if I can get off with you, but I'd love any of it."

"How am I supposed to make up my mind with a menu like that?" Jim rumbled.

"Eeny, meeny, minie, moe? Or maybe you wanna go for something kinky?" Blair offered, mischievously.

"Tit torture isn't?"

"Yours are too sensitive. You either have to turn it down and don't feel anything at all, or turn it up and it all hurts. I could tickle them, maybe." So saying he picked up a lock of his hair and brushed it over Jim's chest, painting a design that eventually included both nipples.

"Nice," Jim approved, "but not that nice."

"Okay, I could spank you or let you spank me."

"With or without handcuffs?" Jim asked, pretending seriousness.

"Your choice, of course. Though I have to tell you, cuffs might be a good idea if I'm the spankee since I'll be inclined to turn around and punch you in the nose for hitting me."

A laugh escaped, and Jim hugged him loosely. "My face is ugly enough without that, Chief, so we'd better skip bondage and discipline."

"Guess you'll have to make do with a good old-fashioned blow job then," Blair announced, and he unexpectedly swooped down to expertly swallow Jim to the root.

"Blair!" Helplessly Jim tangled his fingers in the curls covering his crotch, trying not to plunge too deeply into the wet heat holding him. The suction destroyed his intentions of patiently savoring of their lovemaking, exploding his excitement through him in massive sweeps of sensation. "God! Suck it, babe, ...god, god... suck it!"

A single finger wound its way between his thighs, and he wantonly spread them to give it access to his center. It slipped into him effortlessly, going for his hot spot in a single glide. "BLAIR!" he screamed, and lost any semblance to control over his movements. He rammed into his lover's mouth erratically, trusting the skill they'd honed together to protect Blair from choking.

The one digit was joined by two others in rapid succession, opening him and sending him into a frenzy of riding down onto them, then plunging up fill Blair's throat over and over. Animal grunts forced their way from his chest, building in volume and shrillness until Jim shrieked like an over-stressed engine, his come exploding out of him and into his mate. Blair drank it happily, milking out every drop and adding his own murmurs to the babble from Jim's lips.

All his strength left with his seed, and Jim melted into their bed, sucking in huge gulps of air and moaning.

With a last lick, Blair sat up, cleaning his chin with the back of his hand in a sweetly lascivious manner. "Man, I love doing that to you." He stretched out beside his partner, finding a shoulder for a pillow. "I love you. And you're right; enough is enough. I don't want to have to lay in a woman's arms longing to feel yours, ever again."

All Jim could do was chuckle weakly, and brush a kiss over the crown of Blair's head. "Sounds good to me, Chief. Now what are we going to say to the three ladies courting me for you?"

"That you've drained me dry and left me permanently limp?" Blair quipped.

"They'd hang me. Besides, they'd hear me scream the next time you took me."

"That I've developed an allergy to women?"

"Sandburg!" In spite of himself, Jim laughed. "Why don't we try the truth? We love each other too much to get it up for anybody else anymore."

Oddly, that silenced his mate, and he wound himself tighter around Jim's body. After few strange-feeling seconds, Blair asked in a small voice, "Lara told you?"

That kept Jim mute, and he sorted through the shocked words knocking around his head to find the right ones to say. "I was referring a problem *I've* been having. Until today, I was thinking it was because my bedmate wasn't you."

"Until today?"

To his surprise, Jim found himself blurting out the details of his conversation with Simon earlier, and how he'd been monitoring himself since. "Maybe my lack of interest in the ladies is because of the age thing, too. I don't know, Chief," he finished finally.

Blair listened to him patiently throughout his recital, tracing the lines of Jim's chest muscles as he did. Adjusting himself so that he could lean his head on his hand when Jim was done, Blair looked down into the bigger man's face, lightly fingering the lines Jim knew were there. "Believe or not, you two aren't the only ones I've heard mourning the passing of years, mourning what we've lost. I don't think it's the time so much as we're tired of how we're living it. Unlike the kids who've never had anything else, we know there can be more than just surviving, and we're beginning to want it. Even need it."

Nodding his agreement slowly, Jim captured the hand near his face and began to nibble on the palm. "For some of us... Blair, I think Simon has arthritis. What is going to happen to him when the pain is too much? It's not like he can retire to Arizona and sit in the sun and read."

"In some ancient tribes, old people who felt they weren't contributing anymore would go off on their own to die." Blair said worriedly. "It would be like Simon to think he needs to do that." He sat up, absently pushing his hair over his ear. "We've been extraordinarily lucky, you know. Outside of SAR, the tribe has stayed healthy and strong. What diseases we've had to deal with have been short and fightable, like pneumonia - or fast and deadly, like when we lost Tia to leukemia a few years back. Even our permanent injuries have been do-able. Brown gets around fine without his leg, much as he bitches about it. What are we going to do if someone gets Alzheimer's or has kidney failure?"

Stifling his grumble since they should finish packing for their trek anyway, Jim sat up, too, and rubbed between the smaller man's shoulder blades, trying not to notice how fragile those bones were becoming. "You've fretted about this for years; when the time comes that we have to deal with it, we will."

Irritated, Blair glared at him. "And *that's* the problem, don't you see? It's time to stop reacting and start acting, Jim."

"Like when we decided to create a tribe in the first place?"

"Exactly!" Blair climbed to his feet, and held out a hand to help Jim do the same. Dejectedly he muttered, "I just don't know what action to take. How do you start planning a future when you're barely making it through today?"

Taking his turn at being thoughtful, Jim gathered Blair into a last hug, then began to collect his clothes. "Well, I guess the thing to do is ask realistically what do you want to be doing in 5 years, or 10 or 15. Maybe if you start there, you can work backwards to find your way."

Stopping in the middle of putting on his pants, Blair stared at him blankly for a second, and Jim mentally prepared arguments to prove that his idea wasn't as stupid as it sounded. Instead of debating, though, Blair grabbed a hard kiss. "Sometimes you're absolutely brilliant, you know? Come on, we need to talk to Simon before we leave."

Feeling pleased, perplexed, and thoroughly satisfied, Jim hurriedly dressed and trailed after his partner.

Between his conversation with Simon and the subsequent one with Blair, Jim couldn't help but study the other members of the scouting party the next morning. Literally falling back on the trail to be able to do so without being caught, he watched the three men and two women as they moved silently and quickly through the forest. For the first time he realized that they were traveling much slower than they could have, obviously making allowances for his and Shaman's comfort. Nor was that the consideration he and his partner were given. Though all were more than competent to make their own decisions, they constantly deferred to Blair and he, following their suggestions without complaint.

The knowledge both irritated and pleased him. Irritated because he didn't want to hold them back in any way; pleased that the fighters would show that much respect. Both emotions made it clear what he should do.

He casually commented that he and Shaman didn't need to be with the party, as long as their location was known. A few minutes later the others parlayed among themselves briefly, then announced they would go ahead. Moving at top speed, they would map the exact size and location of Gray Brother quickly and rejoin Sentinel and Shaman with the information to discuss options. Making sure their weapons were ready, though the other animals hunting the rats habitually gave Man a wide berth, they left with no more than that and a nod of acknowledgement from Jim.

"Easier than I thought it'd be," Jim remarked to himself, taking the path at a leisurely pace.

"Making that first move to stand aside?" Blair asked gently.

"Admitting I want to stand aside." Jim confessed. He slung an arm over the smaller man's back, automatically picking out the best footing for them both as they walked. "It's selfish, I know, but it's like Fathering. Been there, done that, paid the judge off. Enough is enough."

"Good," Blair said so definitively Jim had to stop and stare at him.

"Good?"

"I shared Detective Ellison with the PD, I shared Sentinel with the tribe, I shared your body with all the ladies who wanted children. When do I get all of Jim all to myself?" The bitterness in the words was even more shocking, and Jim responded by wrapping his lover in his arms.

"You know you were always first, right Chief? Even when I had to act differently?"

Blair hugged back and nudged Jim into walking again. "Except for the wee hours of the morning when everything is depressing. Yeah."

Snorting Jim said, "That's the only good thing to be said for being exhausted. You sleep right through the worst part of the day."

"Well there are ways to get through it," Blair said consideringly, making an effort to lighten their conversation. He waited a heartbeat, then informed Jim archly, "Reciting poetry, for example."

"How do I love thee," Jim intoned solemnly, "Luxurious curls, sweet lips, lively hips..."

Honestly laughing, his mate punched at him, and they continued their journey until the scouts began trickling back to join them. By mutual consent, they pitched camp in late afternoon to compare notes over a meal.

Stush, who had rejoined Freedom Tribe the last time their trail and New Hope's had touched, gradually began to stand out in Jim's mind as the one the other scouts listened to most. The ex-scavenger from Cascade had grown into a handsome man, who bore his scars from his lost, dangerous childhood with pride. His only vanity seemed to be his dark hair, and he wore it long with several wraps decorating it, their color complimenting the brown of his eyes.

When he had quietly come to Freedom's Elders and asked to range with them, there had been some surprise from both tribes. Stush was well liked, for all his serious, retiring ways, but Blair had seen a heart-deep hurt in the young man and had unobtrusively smoothed the way for his return.

//New Hope's loss,// Jim reflected. //Maybe it's time I call Simon's attention to how well Stush thinks and listens, how much he takes on without being asked. If I suggested he needs a chance to prove himself, maybe Simon would lean on him even more; that'd take a burden off Simon, too.//

"Unless something happens to turn the rats," Stush debated formally with Matt, one of the youngest of the adults in the tribe, "I don't think we should interfere with whatever Mother Earth has in mind."

Matt blinked, his soft blue eyes showing shy confusion, but he pressed his point regardless. "They're very dangerous and cause a lot of damage in their passing. We can't stand by and do nothing." He spoke so quietly, the others had to strain close to his red head to hear, but no one complained.

"Why not?" Stush asked reasonably. "Why should we destroy, risking ourselves to do it? They're heading straight for the river; those that don't drown, will be scattered to be eaten by the birds and animals. All we need to do is keep watch and be prepared to deal with them if we have to."

Mrisa stood to restlessly pace. "How can you fight a swarm like that, anyway?" she demanded, practically stomping in her agitation. "They just flood right over everything!" They all watched her with tolerant amusement. The tall, dark-skinned woman never sat for long, and most of the tribe made private bets as to how many hours she spent running or striding.

"Not hard," Stush said lazily, slipping back into city patois. "Fire."

"Fire?"

"Fire," Laz, the other woman present stated flatly. Outstandingly ugly and very grateful for it because of her childhood in the ruins of Cascade, Laz was known for being blunt and outspoken, and she proved it now by telling Mrisa flatly, "Rats are only dangerous if you're stupid enough to get caught un-prepared. They only climb if they have to, so trees are the best place to go if you're going to run."

Glaring, Mrisa started to say something to Laz, then changed her mind and spoke to Stush instead. "What if they turn?"

"Turn 'em back."

"Back?" Trike finally spoke up. "What'd you do; built a wall?" he asked sarcastically.

"Nope. Jus' give 'em a reason t'go t'other way."

The four young people looked as if they were going to actually pounce their comrade to get him to explain more clearly. A few feet away, sitting under a tree with Blair leaning on him complacently, Jim grinned. Stush had very neatly, and without a fight or hard feelings, gotten everyone to assume they were going to leave the rats alone. //Simon definitely needs give more responsibility to that young man.//

"Point to Stush," Blair murmured only for Jim. "If he keeps this up, Matt's crush on him is going to turn into a bonfire."

"Crush? He's gay? That why he just slipped into adulthood the way he did?" Jim whispered against his partner's ear.

Blair shrugged. "I don't know if orientation had anything to do with it; the abused ones are hard to predict. Most ask for a Transition just to get it out of the way and get out of nursery. But Matt seemed more comfortable with simply asking to do adult chores and gradually moving into his own place. Officially becoming a grown up wasn't important to him, and he was taken more seriously because of stepping in without the fanfare."

"Loved the way you handled it when a couple of people tried to tease him." Jim smiled at the memory of Blair nonchalantly remarking at the community fire it was nice to see a young person so sure of his manhood. The seemingly idle observation set several smug boys who thought with their dicks on their ears.

"Your way was more eff..." Jim sat up abruptly, nearly dumping Blair to the forest floor and cutting him off mid-word.

"I hear a child screaming," Jim said distractedly, dialing up on his hearing. "Young one." Jumping to his feet, he gave the warning whistle and ran in the direction of the cries for help.

"Damn! Jim, this is the direction to Gray Brother," Blair said from the rear.

"Good reason to be screaming," Jim answered shortly.

His age forgotten, Jim raced for the child, noting the footsteps of the others falling in behind, fanned out to the sides for safety. One - Laz - had stayed behind long enough to secure the camp and fire, probably because she was the fastest runner. Between Sentinel hearing and the clear air carrying sound so far, it took them a frighteningly long time to reach the source of the increasingly panicked shrieks.

It was a young girl, about five or six years old, half way up a tall tree that stood less than a hundred feet from the main flow of Gray Brother. That close to it, the ground was alive with stragglers, all skittering and scampering through the leaves and underbrush. A few, thankfully very few, rats had followed her smell and had climbed the tree after the child, chasing her out onto the far end of a branch.

Even under her scant weight it dipped and shifted, threatening to dump her into the midst of the animals below. That, as much as the sharp teeth creeping toward her, had the girl near hysterics. Despite that, every time a rat got too close for her comfort, she boldly knocked it off with a stick she clutched in one hand.

Seeing it all as he approached, Jim scooped up the nearest rodent by the tail and smacked it into the dirt hard enough to break open its brains. He tossed the carcass hard, as far away from the little girl and his troop as possible. The blood trailed through the air as it flew, the scent of blood and few drops of it that fell causing a visible shifting of rats in that direction. Following his lead, the other fighters did the same, all moving as fast as possible to keep the animals from latching onto them.

Assuming it would take too long to talk her down, even with Blair's help, Jim continued his kills until he could climb the tree himself, hastily slapping down more vermin as he did. Working his way out on a branch under her, he simply plucked her off, letting her wrap her arms around his neck in terror.

"Up!" he shouted down to his people, preventing choking by putting a hand between his throat and her arms. He pointed toward back to the camp. "Over." At Blair's nod of understanding, he sidled back to the trunk, then climbed high enough for his weight to make the top sway. Deliberately he rocked his weight back and forth, sending the top into a pendulum motion, so that he could easily swing, burden and all, to the crown of the nearest tree, the girl squealing all the way.

Below him the fighters ran dangerously close to the swarm, firing guns and arrows into its midst. With their appetites awaken by the corpses flung earlier, the flood of scent from fresh blood and squeals of feasting made the horde turn in on itself, fighting and chewing, like sharks in a feeding frenzy. The chaos even pulled in the majority of the stragglers, and the scouting party was able to dart away, knowing their scent would get lost in the melee.

To be sure, they climbed young saplings as well, using Jim's trick to jump several yards away from where their trail ended on the ground. By the time they met back at the original camp, Jim could tell they'd escaped virtually unscathed, and that the diversion had redirected Gray Brother's path more surely toward the water.

Half deafened by the yelling in his ear, he finally sat down and gingerly unwound small arms from around his neck. "Hush, baby, hush," he cooed as comfortingly as he could. Using his old trick, he began to rumble deep in his chest, rocking as he did. Panting harshly, Blair collapsed beside him, instantly giving both his partner and the child a quick going over to assure himself they were uninjured.

Between her own fatigue and Jim's comforting, she calmed slowly, her screams dissolving into hiccupping whimpers. "Want me mommy," she demanded finally. "Want me mommy."

"Who is your mommy, baby girl?" Blair asked, gently smoothing her blonde hair away from her dirty, tear-stained face.

The question seemed to upset her all over again, and she began to fight Jim's arms. "Mommy, mommy, mommy!"

It was the only understandable word they got from her that day. She alternated between screaming, whimpering, demanding and pouting it, when she wasn't out cold from pure exhaustion. Resigned, Matt and Trike carried her back to Freedom's current camp, leaving the rest of their party to finish their original task.

Two days later, sure Gray Brother was going to harmlessly self-destruct and having learned nothing useful, Shaman and Sentinel straggled back to camp to learn Catherine (the rescued child's name) had not done much more than that since arriving. No one had gotten any practical information from her, and she was about as universally disliked as a child could be.

"Spoiled past saving," Simon grumbled, sharing a pot of soup and current news with his friends that evening in the community longhouse. "All we can be sure of is that she's not from Ravagers - too plump and well cared for that - or from Travelers. Too helpless and useless. Can't even dress herself yet!"

"Holders?" Blair questioned, sniffing at the food, then blowing on a spoonful to cool it.

"Sandburg, the Travelers say there isn't a holding for a hundred miles in any direction. A Hold is a sitting duck for the Ravagers, and you can't get and keep a large enough population right now to farm. It takes too many man-hours, especially if you have to hunt for meat and have guards too." Simon said irritably. "A kid couldn't have made it that far on her own. Besides her clothes were in pretty good shape, and she was hungry, but not starved."

"The Nannies say she's completely confused by the Nursery; I think she was the only child among a lot of adults." Blair volunteered.

"That could explain a lot," Jim agreed, scooping up his own meal. "But no help finding her family. Is she showing any signs of adapting?"

Simon shrugged. "Even Nanny Baker is getting fed up with her. Sandburg, think you can help some way or another?"

"I'll see what I can do, but I'm only a Shaman, okay? Not a kiddie shrink."

"Humph. Better than most shrinks I knew." Banks paid attention to his own dish, then abruptly put it aside. "Speaking of which, what have you been saying to Stush? He came to me a few hours ago with the most outlandish idea I've ever heard."

Hiding a grin, since both he and Blair had not only heard it, but thought it was a good one, Jim replied non-committally, "About making libraries at each of our camps? Yeah, it's pretty wild. Has some notion that since no one head can hold everything, books would be a good back up."

"What's so wild about that?" Simon demanded. "Having a medical text in case something happened to Dan or Billy is better than total ignorance. Yeah, yeah, I know they both have some basic texts they carry with them, but paper is on the fragile side.

"The only thing wrong with what Stush wants is that it's a logistical nightmare." Simon argued. "Books are heavy and it's too dangerous to go into the city just for them. We'd have to get duplicates, enough for each camp, transport them, then find ways to protect them while we're gone the two years it usually takes us to range a complete circuit.

"And who's going to keep track, be Librarian, so that if we do need something from them, we'll know where to look? Or decide what we might eventually need, for that fact? Do nomads need engineering or chemistry or metallurgy?

"On top of all that, when are the kids going to find time to learn to read? I mean, I guess it could be made a part of their daily life somehow; I know we all tell stories all the time anyway. Might as well read them stories." Exchanging hidden smirks, the partners let their friend rant and rave, slowly convincing himself that it not only could be done, but should be done.

Midway through his meal, Jim peered from under his lashes into the night outside the main door. Unseen to everyone else, Catherine hovered at the edge of it, Matt silently shadowing her without her knowledge. Jim caught his eye and nodded, taking responsibility for the child, and Matt ghosted away toward his tent. Waiting for a lull in conversation, he said quietly, head still over his bowl, "If you're hungry, Catherine, come on in. No one would ever refuse to feed you."

She gasped, shrinking back, then set her chin and stomped in like an irate princess. "Of course not, silly. Why would they?" With no more than that, she squirmed into Blair's lap and took his bowl. "Soup! Blech! No roast meat?" she complained, giving the bowl back.

"Not today," Blair said calmly, re-filling the dish and setting it aside for her, anyway. "We try not to hunt too often so we don't do too much damage to the animal population in our territory."

"I want roast!"

"Catherine," Blair warned her quietly, putting her aside and standing. "You're being unpleasant and selfish. I won't put up with that, young lady. You came here looking for me, and if you don't want me to leave and not talk to you, you had better behave."

She looked up at him mutinously, then deliberately turned over the bowl. Gathering Jim to him with a nod, they both left, hearing Simon say as they did, "You'd better go back to Nursery. I'm putting out the fire and leaving as well." The partners stopped just far enough away from the otherwise empty longhouse that they could watch over Catherine without her being aware of it if she stayed behind. Minutes later, Simon walked out of the darkened structure, waiting for a second to let his eyes adapt. "Shaman? Sentinel?" he called softly.

"Here."

Stepping carefully over the rough ground, Simon came close. "Any clues so we can get that prima donna back to her own people and out of our camp before the other children learn some bad habits?"

"River mud was splashed on her clothes," Jim told him. "And there was a smell of tar pitch in her hair - hasn't anyone been able to get her to bathe?"

"Get real. She acts like she's being murdered if you so much as suggest it." Simon reported dryly. "We've only been letting her get away with it because the Nannies don't want to add another trauma on top of being lost and nearly eaten."

"In this case," Blair put in placatingly, "it was a benefit.

"Her people must be river dwellers, nomads like us except their range is a river. Explains how they got so deep in our territory without us or the other tribes knowing. And the life style makes sense. Hell of a lot harder to attack someone out in the middle of a wide body of water, and there's lots of food growing or grazing along the banks."

"So all we have to do is work back from the last rat tide. My guess is that they're down river of where we found her, around that bend." Jim said thoughtfully. "Despite how eager as every one is to get rid of her, Cap'n, I'm going to wait until she comes to Blair again to do anything about this. She has to learn some discipline or the trip to find her family is going to be a nightmare."

Stretching stiffly, Simon agreed with a nod. "Don't know if the ignore/silence technique we use on our own will be any good with her. First case I've seen in a long time where spanking seems like the best alternative."

"She's too smart for shunning not to work, if we stick to our guns," Blair argued. "Young as she is, she knew to climb that tree and fight off the advance rats. And she came looking for us, so she has to have been paying enough attention to learn we're her best bet for getting back home."

"You may be right, Sandburg," Simon conceded. "But I'd still have to refuse the duty of spanking; I'd enjoy it too much." With a wave he headed toward his own bed. "Bet you my share of the next sweet dessert she's pigheaded enough to stay in there all night."

Head tilted to one side, Jim said thoughtfully, "Too scared. That's one little girl that's never been alone in the dark before in her life. Night, Simon. Come, on Chief." At Jim's gesture, they both showed themselves at the door to reassure Catherine, then stood with their backs to it, waiting silently for her to decide what to do.

Hearing her heartbeat drop and her mutter fussily to herself, Jim inwardly braced himself for a long night, telling Blair with a smile he didn't have to stay. His mate shrugged and leaned back against the wall, tilting his head back to study the stars.

Almost 45 minutes later Catherine finally broke, stalking out and taking Blair by the hand as if she owned him. "I want to go to bed."

"Then go." Jim told her shortly.

"Put me to bed! I wanna..."

"Catherine," Jim said warningly, cutting her off mid rant. "Shaman left once; he can still call someone else to keep you company now."

She shut up immediately, glared at him, then dropped her eyes when Jim simply stared at her steadily. "Please take me to bed?"

Her words were sullen, but Blair nodded they would do and picked her up. "Nanny's lodge with the littlest babies or the Nursery with the older children?" he asked.

"I can't sleep with you?" This time she sounded genuinely tired and confused, and she put her head down on Blair's shoulder, yawning.

"Here children sleep with children; grown-ups sleep with grown-ups, Catherine," Blair whispered, brushing her tangled hair away from her eyes, walking beside his partner as he did.

"Why?"

"Cause you wiggle too much!" Blair joked. "And adults snore too loud!"

For the first time she giggled. "It's nice having other kids around," she admitted. "Grownups always have too much to do to play or tease or watch bugs or name stars or take a swim."

"Your grownups live on boats?" Jim questioned carefully, hesitating at the gate to the nursery compound.

"Uh, huh. I like it way better than living on dirt. The boat rocks like this and like that, and it feels good when you're scared of how quiet it's gotten."

"That does sound pretty good. I'll have to try it sometime. Catherine, do you remember if you were floating down the river before you ran into the rats or if you were pushing upstream?" Jim probed cautiously, undoing the gate and acknowledging the sentry.

"Floating - Leader said we needed fool for the mergency 'gines and that a city might be a good place to find some. Heard weren't no Ravagers' round this one, and we was going there."

"How'd you get separated from them?"

Blair's question was barely a sound, and Catherine yawned again, answering automatically, "There was a pretty floaty bird and I chased it, but it went so fast, flying bzzzzzz bzzzz bzzzzz, drink a flower, dance and catch the sun, bzz bzzzzzz bzzzzzzzzzz..." Her words trailed off into a child's breathy snore, and Blair surrendered her gratefully to Nanny Baker.

"We'll be leaving with her early tomorrow," Jim told the Nanny sotto voce. "Please make sure she's had a bath!"

"Be sure you wear earplugs, Sentinel," the old man said curtly. "Screams likely to hurt my ancient ears; can't imagine yours liking it much better." For all his harsh words, he cradled the small body lovingly, draping his own shawl over her.

"Maybe just take her swimming. She likes that, I think," Blair volunteered as an after-thought, already snuggling into Jim's side.

Clucking under his breath, Baker patted Shaman's shoulder awkwardly. "Trust you to find a way to get this contrary child to talk."

"Because he's not so far removed," Jim laughed very, very softly into his lover's curls, and urged Blair toward their lookout.

In the end they used the river that she lived on to take Catherine home. Freedom tribe had hidden a few motorboats and fuel for them the first time they ventured to the river's edge as part of their range. The ships had been lovingly maintained, almost more as mementos than as potentially useful tools. The decision to use the boats had provoked a bit of an argument - which Nanny Baker inadvertently solved by giving their stray a bath in the middle of the debate.

By noon, Shaman and Sentinel found themselves seated in the bow of a small pontoon boat, holding a sulking Catherine between them. Stush steered the what was to him an unique vehicle with glowing enthusiasm, torn between listening to Cap'n's instructions and learning for himself, finding reasons not to let anyone else try their hand at it. Badgering and teasing him about it became a sport for the four fighters with them, which Stush good-naturedly fielded and tossed back.

Even Catherine started smiling after a while.

Opting to make their approach open and unarmed, trusting Sentinel to warn them, they navigated a course straight down the middle of the river until the other boats were spotted. When they were close enough that both parties could see each other clearly, Sentinel stood, balancing carefully and raising Catherine to his shoulder. Then he pointed to shore and motioned for them to follow as Stush piloted that way very, very slowly.

Relaying to his people the excited, anxious conversations held among the other tribesmen, Sentinel listened intently, one hand on Shaman's shoulder for grounding. "They're coming," he reported finally, "Worried it's a trap and wondering what we're going to want to give her back. Mom is having hysterics. I'm guessing about 75 or 80 adults, no signs of children or even younger adolescents." Sweeping both shore and water, he added, "I don't sense any one else around, though a bear's been by here recently. Watch out for him snoozing near fruit trees or bushes; this heat's hard on them."

"So, how do we handle this?" Stush asked, reversing the engines and backing the flat boat so that it bumped into the riverbank. "Put her on the end of the boat and let them come get her?"

"How about tossing her into the water and letting them dive for her?" Mrisa suggested dryly.

"Mrisa," Shaman chided gently. "She's right in front of you and your words won't correct her behavior."

"Sorry," Mrisa said, totally unrepentant.

Catherine was oblivious, rocking from side to side, watching the hesitant approach of a single boat from the flotilla anchored at the remnants of an old dock. "Mommy, mommy, mommy," she chanted under her breath.

"We let them make the first move, all the way," Cap'n ordered. "We made them come to our turf; the least we can do is let them set terms. First sign of trouble, abandon the boat and meet up at the rendezvous we set. Other than that, keep your hands where they can be seen and stay loose. We've got no reason to fight, but they don't know that yet."

There was a murmur of assent, then the skiff nudged up to the bank as well, 10 or so yards away. Before anyone could move, Catherine hurled herself at it, splashing through the shallow water at the edge of the river and screaming for her mother. A woman broke away from the party, though several men tried to hold her back, and scooped the child up.

Stopping dead, she hugged Catherine until Sentinel could swear bones were going to pop, crying hysterically. Abruptly she dropped to one knee, turned the girl over it and walloped her bottom, both shrieking wildly. Sentinel and everybody else on his boat tensed, but Cap'n held them all with a terse gesture. "Not our child, not our tribe, not our custom. And we've all been joking about the same thing ourselves," he bit out.

"Her people aren't any happier about it," Sentinel murmured. "Their Leader is trying to get her husband to intervene." Sure enough, a burly, hairy man waded out and took Catherine forcefully away from her mother, pulling the woman into his chest and holding her head there while she started crying again. His daughter he held in his other arm, jiggling her gently while she wailed into his neck.

Embarrassed and uneasy, both parties eyed each other and the family in the middle until Catherine imperiously slapped at her father's shoulder, startling him into letting her slide down to the ground. She ran over to Cap'n and Sentinel, taking their hands and towing them toward her own leader.

"Leader, Leader," she burbled, "This is Cap'n and Sentinel and that's Shaman and Matt and Mrisa and Boots and Tracker and Stush and I didn't get the other names, and they took care of me and Sentinel saved me from the rats and Shaman knows a million jokes and they have hundreds of kids and I hate their food but nobody would roast any meat for me and they took forever to bring me home, they were so stupid, and, and, and..."

"That's enough, Catherine," Leader ordered gently, putting his hand on her head almost in blessing. To the amazement of Freedom tribe, she hushed immediately, leaning on his slender leg contentedly. A man of middle height with short, curly hair that had probably been dark once, Leader offered his hand to Simon. "We lost her trail at the rat tide and thought they had taken her."

"She's a brave girl," Cap'n offered diplomatically. "My people found her in a tree using a stick to keep them at bay."

Smiling down at the child clinging to him, Leader patted her once more and sent her toward her parents. "She would have been a grave loss, Captain. Is there more we can do for you than give you our thanks?"

"I don't suppose you have any oranges?" Cap'n mumbled, causing strange looks from both sides. "Never mind," he went on more strongly. "News is good, if you have any to share. We're going into the city ourselves for salt and what not, but wouldn't mind trading for it instead if you've already run a salvage operation."

"Our excursion was curtailed as well. I don't suppose you have information concerning the rats? Their behavior is quite unique in our experience."

"We've learned a few things, and heard more from Travelers," Simon admitted. Would you like to come on board for some mint tea while we discuss it?"

Putting his hands behind him in a military manner, Leader started forward so that he and Cap'n were walking side by side through the water. "That would be very welcome. Travelers? What are they?"

By unspoken agreement both groups wound up on the wide, flat deck of the pontoon boat, mixing uneasily. There were about as many River People as tribesmen; plainly their own effort to show no bad intentions. Standing behind Simon, at the very edge of the boat, Jim watched the tentative mingling and smiles, listened to the fragments of conversation as people introduced themselves and chatted about weather. //I'd thought we'd never do the cocktail party thing again,// he mused. //One piece of civilization *I've* never missed.//

Shaman pulled out a hibachi, lit it and began boiling water for tea. Casually chattering about how different such chores must be living in their fleet, he asked if anyone had any allergies to the ingredients being used. Rebecca, Catherine's mother, found the homey task settling and helped him with it, replying to his comments almost automatically, all the while clutching her child's shirt as if afraid she would vanish again.

Bit by bit, they all relaxed, to the point that Jim agreed to the offer of a cup of tea himself to make his guarding less obvious. "Other than random attacks by what you call Ravagers, we've had very little contact with other groups since we joined forces," Leader was explaining. "There are two villages that we know of where enough people survived SAR that they've been able to maintain a reasonable existence for themselves. One even has a short wave transmitter and hand cranked generator; they've not picked up another transmission in over five years. We pull in at their docks periodically, looking for tools or medicine. You say there are several other tribes like your own in this general area?"

"New Hope and Strength are both off-shoots of Freedom." There was only a little pride in Simon's voice. "And they range on either side of us."

//Well, maybe more than a little, if you know how to read him,// Jim thought wryly, though his expression never changed.

"At the beginning of the Chaos, we gathered refugees from Cascade and the surrounding area," Simon explained, "taught them what they needed to know to survive in the wilderness. When they were ready, we negotiated territorial boundaries with them, and sent them off to do the same. There's at least three more groups out there formed from the first generation of refugees. Where our lands intersect, we meet once in a while to visit and trade, keep up with old friends. It's hard, but that way it's very unlikely all of us will be wiped out by Ravagers or disease."

"And the Travelers you mentioned?" a leggy brunette who had attached herself to Leader in a very possessive way asked.

"I guess not that long ago they were drifters or migrant workers or even gypsies. Musicians some of them," Blair explained, bringing over cups for their guests. "Can't seem to settle down in one spot, you know? Some ride horses or have wagons; others are on foot. They come into our territory, tell us what they've seen or learned from others in exchange for a meal and some supplies." He went back to pouring tea and distributing it.

"Reliable information?" she asked. "Mrs. Margaret Taylor, by the way."

"Reliable enough for us. We know about Gray Brother from them, and have learned that between SAR and Ravagers, most of the West Coast is a ghost town," Simon answered.

Looking at Catherine sadly, Leader said, "How many generations before the whole world is a ghost town? In five years we've seen perhaps as many children among all the survivors."

That startled Cap'n so badly he blurted, "So few? We have 14 and most of the other tribes are doing at least that well."

Listening intently to the exchange, Shaman gave Sentinel a cup, then wound his arm around his mate's waist. Senses up and open to monitor Leader and his people, as surprised by the revelation as the rest of his people, Sentinel absently pressed a small kiss to his lover's temple and hugged him back.

Without warning, Catherine launched herself at the couple, screaming furiously, "Whore, whore, whore!" Shaman raised an arm defensively, but her weight threw him back, spilling the scalding hot tea he held onto Sentinel's chest. Caught off guard both by her aural explosion and the burning liquid, Sentinel stumbled back a step, adding to his misery by splashing the contents of his own cup onto his leg.

The twinned agony of his skin blistering from the fluid and the head-shattering noise assaulting his ears, literally stunned Sentinel into immobility. Unable to do so much as howl in pain, he stood with eyes clenched shut and head thrown back, body frozen in a rictus of torture. He never heard Shaman's frantic cry or felt the impact that sent him into the water.

His next coherent thought, and the last he was to have for a while, was, "Thank God, that's cold." Later he would be able to vaguely remember Blair's mouth covering his, breathing into him even as they rose to the river's surface. At the time he simply trusted the man holding him, letting himself float in natural buoyancy, distantly aware of clothing being pulled off his tormented flesh. All too aware of the damage to his skin, he tried to dial down his touch and bring up another sense in distraction, as Blair had trained him.

But the hurt was too enormous, and his ears were still violently complaining as well, preventing him from focusing. Hoping to at least alleviate his aching ears, he concentrated on hearing and discovered all there was for him was a single noise, as if every possible sound had blended into one. And that one was threatening.

Forcing open his eyes, he looked for the source of danger - and saw the mouths of the River People moving in speech, too many of the faces reflecting varying degrees of disgust for what they were witnessing. Needing to warn Simon and Blair but unable to find any language skills in the morass inside his skull, he became agitated, fighting the gentle hands supporting him.

Through some miracle Blair understood that Sentinel saw trouble on their boat, and looked over the conglomeration of expressions aimed their way. His own tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, as if reacting to what he saw on Jim's bare chest, he whistled the tribe's 'caution, show no change' warning.

Freedom tribe casually divorced themselves from the crowd and into a consolidated group, as Simon snapped at Leader "Maybe you should take your people back to your own boat. We need to get my man to medical care. And for mercy's sake, hush that child UP!"

Alarm given and acted upon, Jim reluctantly surrendered to the needs of his flesh, fighting to cope with its jumbled, screaming demands. Even with Blair's hand locked around his own to anchor him, he could do little more than not whimper, and when he was lifted from the water in a blanket used as a stretcher, the blast of agony slapped him away into unconsciousness.

He skimmed in and out of it for the better part of a day, becoming only peripherally aware of reality when he did wake up. Always he looked for Blair to reassure himself that they were safe, that he didn't have to fight the pull of the drugs he knew he'd been given. And always his lover was there, smiling and encouraging him to rest, heal.

When he woke to find the smaller man sleeping beside him, he knew Dan and Blair had decided he was past the worst and hadn't given him anything more to dull the pain. Cautiously he turned the dial for touch; it was all the way down, though he didn't remember doing it. His skin felt like it had a mild sunburn before he had it close to normal, and he left the setting there so he could at least enjoy the pressure of Blair's chin resting on his shoulder. Limbs wrapped around one of Jim's arms, his mate was holding him in what was probably the only comfortable position for both of them. While he missed having Blair draped over him, at least one of his hands was very, very happy since it was tucked comfortably into his lover's groin.

Despite the condition he was in, Jim felt a tug of arousal and grinned to himself. Now why had he been worried about his virility?

Not wanting to go past acknowledging how nice the package he was cupping was, Jim ran a check over all his senses, finding they were erratic, probably a leftover from the drugs. Expecting to be in the medical tent, he was mildly surprised to find they were in their own hut in the center of camp. Around him he could hear the Tribe going through a normal day, laughing and chatting as they worked.

In no hurry to see if his dial would hold if taxed, he simply laid there, idly following the progress of an ant on the ceiling. Dimly recalling when he had been in the water and all sounds had become one sound, he deliberately *didn't* try to pinpoint or identify what he was listening to, but let it be a kind of unique white noise. Interestingly his people as a whole made a sound that was smooth and pleasant. No burrs of angry voices, no sharp points of frustrated shouts, or even dull sawing of bored words.

Wondering if he had been subconsciously using Tribal sound as a way to monitor the whole group, the same way he used Blair sound to keep track of his mate, Jim nearly drifted back off to sleep. The throb of engines on the river moving their way roused him, and, without thinking, he whistled for a runner.

One appeared almost instantly, as if she'd been waiting right outside the door. Sparing half a thought that he and Shaman were naked and uncovered, Jim nevertheless whispered sharply, "Do we have boats on the water?"

Neither Laz's vitals or expression changed at seeing them, and she matter of factly whispered back, "No. Everybody's still fussing about whether to use them to enter the city or go on foot, so they're docked and having maintenance done."

"Tell the Cap'n we might have company coming, and alert the sentries."

"Yes, Sentinel." Laz turned to leave, but she looked over her shoulder with a grin that made her homely face light up. "Good to see you two are doing better."

"Thanks," Blair mumbled, drowsily scrubbing his face on Jim's biceps. After she left, he grumbled, "I suppose you're going to have to get up and go see for yourself."

"Why?" Jim answered truthfully. "The scouts will know soon enough if it's the River People, and if they're thinking of trouble. I'll move when I'm needed."

Blair yanked his head up to stare into Jim's face. Slowly he smiled. "You mean, no fight to keep you in bed where you belong, no argument that you're not that badly hurt, you can take care of yourself, quit hovering Sandburg!"

"Well, if you insist," Jim teased.

Instantly dropping back onto Jim's shoulder, Blair said hastily, "No, that's all right, thank you." Snuggling back around the arm he'd appropriated for himself, he said suspiciously a minute later, "Does this mean the next time I'm down with something, you're going to expect me to behave?"

"You could try it," Jim said through a yawn. "It's positively decadent to lie here in the middle of the day and do nothing." Remembering the last thoughts he'd had before hearing the boats, he added, "Besides, you might discover something interesting. Just lie there for a while, babe, and *listen.* Like you're using the background noise for meditation."

"Kay." Taking Jim at his word, Blair began to breathe with slow, measured lifts of his chest, letting his already lax body mold itself to Jim's. After a bit, Jim felt the muscles on his lover's face pull; Blair was smiling broadly. "Cool," he murmured. "People music. Why isn't it distracting or annoying like in a city?"

"Why are you asking me? You're the Shaman," Jim answered with a grin.

Again he could feel Blair's response; raised eyebrows this time. "Ooookayyy," Blair drawled, "It could be like pheromones. You know how they can exert enough influence on women to get them all menstruating at the same time; there could be some physical response that causes us to harmonize. Or maybe we try to make sounds that match our neighbors when we live close together, so that we are in step with each other. Or it could be that in a city there are so many artificial noises, people music gets drowned out and all we can hear is racket. Or it could be..."

"Why did I open my mouth?" Jim asked rhetorically. "All these years, you think I'd learn, but no, I have to ask Sandburg an open ended question, knowing that the only way to shut him up..."

"Is to screw me senseless," Blair interrupted, nipping at Jim's shoulder. "Since that's out of the question, I guess you'll have to listen to me."

"I thought the idea here was to keep me in bed, not send me stomping off to join the next hunting party? Besides, who says I can't?"

"I do. You're badly blistered and we can't risk infection. Come on, Jim, making love when you can't touch is no fun." Blair argued.

"Sandburg, I am not going to..." Blair jostled him once, and Jim broke off his argument to mentally fumble with his dial. "...do anything but lie here and go back to sleep," he finished a bit hoarsely.

"Good," Blair and this time he was the one who yawned. "Cause I could use a nap."

Worried voices pulled Jim into listening, and he sighed regretfully. "I don't think you're going to get it. The River People just dropped anchor right below our camp and are slowly disembarking, carrying packages. Looks like we're going to have company. Better help me up."

"Jim," Blair began.

"Simon needs our kind of backup, partner."

"Coming."

By the time Jim had struggled to his feet, hanging onto Blair for support, swearing and panting to hold in his grunts of pain, Laz was back at the door. Nervously fidgeting as if she wanted to rush in to help but afraid of her reception, she said timidly, "Shaman, Sentinel, if you can..."

"On our way. It may take us a few," Blair told her tersely. "See if the runners or sentries can slow our guests down enough for us to get to the common house. At the very least, hold them at the main entrance until we've slipped in through the side door to our usual place."

"Done." Laz ran off, shouting for other runners as she did.

Behind her, Jim slowly released his grip on his lover and straightened, holding himself without wincing though his jaw worked double time. "I'm not going to be able to stand much in the way of clothes," he ground out.

"It's warm enough we can go for the Native American look," Blair answered him shortly, already improvising with a strip of fabric. "A loin cloth and vest won't interfere with the bandages on your chest and thigh, but cover you well enough for most cultures. And if those idiots are offended by it, then they can go jump in their own river."

In short order they were dressed and walking for the common house at a leisurely pace that allowed Jim to hide his discomfort without looking disabled. To add to that illusion, they discussed what the visitors might want, and how to handle Catherine or any comments made on the accident. Blair insisted on sticking to the discipline they used with the tribe's own children. Ignore her until she made an appropriate apology or some act of restitution; and it would have to come from Catherine, not her people. Jim was skeptical of her accepting any responsibility, especially since she now had her tribe to support her. As always, Blair was more optimistic, and they debated it until both stepped casually into their customary place behind Simon just as Leader, carrying Catherine entered. Margaret Taylor, the child's parents, and many of the others in their community filed into the lodge after him, wearing expressions of worry.

Absently noting that every woman was escorted - and that was plainly the word for it - by a man, Sentinel waited expressionlessly as Leader stopped a few away from Simon and smiled apologetically. "Our first meeting came to an unfortunate ending; we were hoping to make up for that if we could."

He put Catherine down and she strutted over to Simon and handed him a large plastic container. "It's salt," she said prettily, then hurried back to Leader.

"You mentioned you were willing to trade for it," the other leader said pleasantly, encouragingly. "Though we'd like to make of gift of it, we do have other things you might want - pepper, some other spices hard to come by now, a few medicines like cough syrup. We're looking for fruit or berries - we'll settle on a location for the plants if you don't have enough to spare. Scurvy was a problem for us last year.

"Oh, and I believe you mentioned medical care when Sentinel was hurt. Do you have a doctor?" Though his smooth, polite inflection never changed, a punch in his heartbeat and that of the others - most of which were racing, especially Catherine's parents - let Sentinel know they had hit on the crux of why the River People would take a chance on coming unarmed into camp. A hidden nudge to Shaman's hip sent his mate unobtrusively to Cap'n's side; it was a signal to pay close attention to this part of the conversation.

"You have injuries among you?" Cap'n asked politely. "Physician will be more than willing to treat anyone that's hurt."

"No, not that so much as, well..." Leader hesitated, then went on in a confiding tone. "We only have a single man who has medical training, and he was an EMT. We were hoping that he could visit extensively with your doctor while we work out trade and become better acquainted. Good as Marcus has been, he really doesn't feel competent to treat us. Keeps worrying that he's missing important diagnosis because he doesn't know what to look for."

"You're going to stay moored here then, instead of moving on?" Cap'n asked, not quite sharply.

"Well, working out what each of us wants and what the other has to offer will take time. We were also hoping to hunt; it would be easier if we had local guides. Besides, it will give Catherine a chance to play with children close to her own age. That's important for a youngster; so important, we wouldn't even insist that she come home in the evenings." Leader patted Catherine reassuringly, and she clung to him, plainly not willing but trying to be obedient. Behind them her parents controlled looks of grief and fear.

Realizing they were offering up their greatest treasure as a hostage to prove their good intentions, Cap'n noticeably mellowed. "I doubt that'll be necessary. Although I will insist that she do what the Nannies tell her while she's visiting, and never leaves either camp without holding onto the hand of an adult."

The relief in the other party was transparent, but Leader chose to act as if he had expected no other reaction. Perhaps he had, and it was the others who had trouble trusting. "A very wise precaution, considering how you met," he smiled affably.

Cap'n laughed, then scanned his tribe and asked, "Any discussion needed, people?" Ignoring the surprise at the question from the River People, he waited a heartbeat to let his own clan voice their opinions.

No one spoke and he gestured to the seats beside the cooking fire. "We've got a lot to discuss. Why don't we get comfortable? There's beans cooking if anybody is hungry and tea if you want, as well." At his words, Leader nodded to his party, and that dissolved the rigid formation of intruders versus tribe. The two groups began to blend timidly as the few who had already met acknowledged each other and began other introductions. Cap'n sat himself, drawing up a camp chair in invitation for Leader.

Smiling his acceptance, Leader started to join him, but paused by Sentinel on the way. "I'm pleased you weren't badly injured. If there is anything I can do...?"

Despite himself, Sentinel was impressed that the other man spoke to him directly on the sensitive subject. "I'm well taken care of," he said formally, cupping Shaman's elbow possessively, "but thank you for the offer."

For a second Leader stared at where they touched, his eyes filled with what could have been either longing or regret, but he hid it away nearly instantly and replied, "If you change your mind, please let me know."

"If I think of something," Sentinel half-promised, and led the other two men toward seats.

"Forget it," Shaman murmured just for his mate as they sat, "They wouldn't let you strangle her."

Sentinel covered his amusement with ease, but surprisingly Leader lit up with a beautiful smile and admitted as quietly, "He'd have to get in line, anyway. And my people have had to put up with her longer."

Only long years of practice allowed Shaman and Sentinel to hide their startled reaction to the other man's words. And, if Jim was to believe his senses, Leader had no idea that hearing their private comment was any way out of the ordinary. Hastily exchanging a look with his partner, Sentinel chose to reply in kind, though at normal speaking level. "I feel for them. Why do they put up with it?"

That visibly startled Leader, "She's not their child."

"You mean only her immediate parents are responsible for her?" Shaman blurted.

"Of course; she's their child. Who else would be?" Leader asked in bafflement.

"Well, *everyone's*," Shaman began, spreading his hands wide.

Blotting out the rest of his mate's explanation, Sentinel wondered wearily when dealing with strangers had become so politely *difficult.* Already the tribal sound that he had so recently become aware of was roughening with forced patience.

In the days that passed the edge of discontent in Freedom tribe became shrill, until, nearly two weeks later, it nearly at a breaking point. Privately Jim thought that the River People had it worse; everything about their hosts seemed to rub them the wrong way, yet they kept doggedly at trying to be friends.

Sitting in the last rays of the day's sun, pen in hand, he patiently waited to transcribe Blair's dictation into a journal, wondering for the millionth time what hidden agenda forced the River People to remain. Outside their lodge, Blair paced upwind of Jim, marshaling his thoughts, and spoke, pulling Jim away from his introspection.

Talking clearly, but only so that Jim could hear, Blair resumed where he had left off a few moments ago ".... strongly patriarchal structure, only permitting status to the female members by placing all marital choices, punishment of martial infidelity, inappropriate sexual behavior, and social class division within their domain. A woman chooses her own mate, may choose to divorce him if he is abusive or does not provide, but must have the permission of the majority of the other females to do so. These decisions may be the only ones of value a woman makes during her entire adult life.

"As limiting as the culture may be to its females from my perspective, it does provide a level of stability that otherwise would be impossible. As mentioned previously, the large barges and boats allow the River People significant material comfort and wealth, and it is the labor of childless or older women to maintain their possessions. With so few children being born, this has become the major occupation for the women, and has created in essence, a reservoir for the technology and artifacts for the civilization that existed before the collapse.

"Freedom tribe has availed itself of the River People's hospitality - and eagerness to exhibit their belongs - and spent many hours visiting the various boats to indulge in the luxury of music recorded on CD's, electric lamps and other conveniences. Simon, in particular, has become nearly obsessed with their extensive library. Its scientific displays of basic scientific principals, such as a miniature transparent model of an internal combustion engine, seem to be as appealing to him as the many books."

The flow of words stopped again, and again Jim waited. It had taken Blair many years to be this comfortable with letting Jim transcribe his thoughts onto paper for him, and had only been possible because Jim never, ever commented or reacted in any way to either the content or pace that his lover used. In fact, in the first year after Blair had sara'd to paper, he had stubbornly refused to let Jim do it at all. It wasn't until other people came to Shaman asking him about the order of events, or if a birth had been recorded, that his partner admitted he was the closest they had to a historian and had begun letting Jim write in his journals for him. At first the entries had been brief: a list of pertinent facts. But eventually Blair's natural inclination to keep a proper journal had led him to speaking without thinking.

As far as Jim was concerned, this private peek into his mate's mental processes only endeared Blair to him more, and increased his respect. It was a thought he had never shared with the smaller man, for fear it would make him self-conscious and destroy the natural way Blair dictated now.

Coming to a stand still, staring down toward the river as if he could see the people he spoke of, Blair resumed speaking. "The River People's generosity not withstanding, there is so little commonality between us that even the simplest of tasks are complicated when shared. A recent hunting trip was nearly completely unproductive because the RP males were hesitant to follow the lead of our female tracker.

"Not only is the expectation of our women to be treated as equals causing difficulties, but their steadfast refusal to be sexually available is adding to the burden of mutual co-operation as well. The moment the RP men discovered that few of our women were 'married' as they defined it, they viewed our ladies as potential spouses and began courtship overtures toward them. When our women made it clear they had no intentions of 'marrying,' the overtures became overtly sexual, despite the River People's own restrictions against pre-martial sex. I am at a loss to explain this paradox, though the life of enforced celibacy their culture expects of single males is undoubtedly the underlying culprit.

"More minorly, the RP women complain constantly about the treatment they receive from Freedom Tribe males; they expect certain courtesies and privileges which we do not customarily give anyone but expectant mothers, the elderly, or an invalid. In fact, for us, to fetch and carry for another is a courtship ritual in and of itself. Nor are our men much interested the trappings of material comfort, and pay little or no attention to the possessions that are such as source of pride for RP women.

"Even the Nannies and children are beginning to feel and reflect the ever increasing tension among the adults. Almost to the child, our young are shunning Catherine. Though it is at least partially because of her generally unpleasant behavior, I fear I may have inadvertently complicated her relationship with her peer group. I am caught in my own conundrum; she did wrong, and I cannot lie to our children when they ask why I am treating Catherine with silence. Though I have never revealed details, merely saying that she did me an injury, our offspring have taken my side and are doing what they have been taught by example: adding to the social pressure on Catherine to make restitution by ignoring her as well.

"Needless to say, Catherine tries to retaliate by behaving even worse, to the point only her own will tolerate her. And they are often 'too busy' to deal with her.

"With the social pressure accumulating and no relief valve in sight, I fear that it is only a matter of time until some critical event triggers the inevitable crisis." Blair finished his statement with a flat finality, and scraped his hands through his hair as he sat.

Taking it as a signal that his mate was done for the night, Jim closed the journal, capped the pen, and carefully stored both in a plastic bag. He went into their lodge to put it away with the others - some filled and some waiting to be filled - that he would carry until their travels brought them close enough to their special glade to be hidden with the rest. With the water he had set aside earlier, he washed to make sure there was no paper left on his hands or elsewhere, and went back out to join his mate.

Blair was thoughtfully studying the common house, as if he were the Sentinel and could hear the solution to the difficulties between the two tribes. Not bothering to hide a sigh, Jim determinedly prodded and nudged the distracted man until he was sitting behind the smaller back and could pull his lover to him.

That finally penetrated Blair's fugue, and he sat bolt upright trying to get away. "Your burns..."

"Are practically gone, and having your furry hide snuggled into them is not going to hurt. Now shut up and sit back, Sandburg." The order was issued in loving tones and backed with a tender nip to an exposed ear.

Glancing back over his shoulder to see how much of an issue Jim was going to make of it, Blair softened at the hunger Jim knew was shining out of his eyes. "Guess it's been a while, huh? Between your injuries and acting as a host, I can't even remember when we did more than sleep in the same bed." He leaned back onto the comfort offered, trying to make sure he wasn't digging or pinching freshly healed flesh.

Almost feeling the mind resting so trustingly on his shoulder spin, Jim undid the tie holding back the long curls and began to finger comb them, taking his time to painlessly work out every snarl and tangle. When they were temporarily tamed, cascading over his bare chest, he went to work on the skull housing that incredible brain, massaging lightly at the scalp, until Blair finally snorted once with humor, and relaxed.

"What's so funny?" Jim murmured.

"Just thinking about primates and grooming behavior," Blair answered lightly. "Except it's supposed to be the bigger monkey getting groomed by the littler one, not the other way around."

"That's cause the bigger monkey hasn't figured out it's better to give than to receive," Jim quipped, wondering if Blair would get the hint inside the joke.

A faint change in his scent, heartbeat, and breathing told Jim that his lover, did, indeed pick up on it, and Blair's next words confirmed it. "Is there something you'd like to give, my Jim?"

"Anything you want," Jim said simply, wrapping one arm around Blair's chest to hug him close.

"Ahhh, man." Blair melted, nuzzled into the upper arm closest to him. It was a yes, but neither were in a hurry to go inside. The night air was cooling, but not so much as to need shelter, and a soft, warm breeze was playing a game of tag with itself through and around the tents and lodges. Overhead the sky was clear, with only a few clouds and a single star softening its steely blue. Around them people were going from lodge to lodge, making up for the lack of their usual visit to the community fire by paying individual calls on each other. As Jim and Blair sat there, resting from the labors of a busy day and mellowing into a shared evening, friends stopped by for a word or two, or called out a quiet greeting as they passed.

Closing his eyes to listen to his extended family, Jim could still hear the raw edge of their banked frustrations, but it was not as bad tonight. Why he didn't know, but even as he listened, it sweetened with more laughter, teasing, and flirtation. //Must be in the air,// he mused. //Or maybe turning to the people who understand you is one good way to deal with putting up with strangers.//

At that thought he tuned into the sound he'd been deliberately ignoring; the massed voices of the strangers housing in the common lodge.

Deep, bitter frustration, fear, worry - all edged with a flavor he didn't recognize, but felt he should. Unconsciously he looked toward the dwelling, looking for a visual clue to the unknown element. All he saw was Leader in one doorway, staring at him and his lover, that strange trace of longing/pain/regret in his eyes bright in the evening light. To Jim it was as if he and the other man met eyes, though it was impossible over the distance between them. Then, with a shrug of his shoulders that was like taking on a great weight, Leader went inside.

"Jim?" Blair questioned, concern clear in his voice. "What?"

"Is Leader a Sentinel?" Jim asked bluntly. "He keeps hearing things I do, and I think he sees better than normal, too."

"I've been asking myself the same thing," Blair confessed softly. "But he doesn't feel like a one to me, if that makes sense. There's lots he has in common with you and Lexi, like a highly developed ethical sense and very anal behavior...." Blair deftly caught Jim's fingers before they could delve into his side and tickle him. Kissing the tips, he hung onto his prize but kept talking. "And he might have enhanced sight/hearing. But we've talked a lot over the past few days," His voice became weary and resigned just thinking about the tedious trade negotiations and numerous personal disputes that had come up. "And I think he's simply more aware of his senses, trained to pay attention to them and make use of what he picks up. He was a soldier and cop, like you, you know."

"Or maybe he's what happens to a sentinel who never finds a guide or teacher," Jim murmured to himself. "More, but not all."

Blair twisted to look over his shoulder, and Jim drew himself back sharply to his mate to smile down at him. "I don't want to think about Leader and his people tonight; they've been part of our every waking moment since we ran into them, and I'm tired of it. The only thing I want on your mind, my Blair, is which one of us is going to be too sore to sit tomorrow!"

"Maybe it's time to take this inside, then?" Blair suggested huskily.

Leaning down, Jim kissed his partner lightly, putting the merest suggestion of tongue into it. Inhaling deeply to remind himself of what he desired, Jim broke it before he wanted to. "Let me go clean up, okay?"

"Want some help?"

Memories of a hot showers and a hotter Blair sharing them brought Jim to complete attention, and he ground up at the supple body resting on him. "Oh, God - don't I wish," he moaned, then forced himself to urge Blair to scoot away. "But we promised Simon we wouldn't after what happened last time, and the river is too far away for comfort for Sentinel while outsiders are in the camp."

"And the last thing I want is you thinking about duty," Blair grumbled darkly. Then he grinned lewdly. "You go ahead and clean up; it'll give me a chance to get some.... things.... ready here."

"Things? Ready? Oh, God, I'm a dead man," Jim muttered, getting to his feet hurriedly.

Blair stood as well, stretching up to pin a hard kiss on Jim's eager mouth. "Just think what a happy looking corpse you're going to be," he said huskily, after breaking it.

"Oh, God!" Jim repeated, giving his lover a last squeeze, then nearly ran for the bathhouse.

After cleaning up in record time, he made a fast circuit of the sentries around the camp, making sure they were paying as much attention to the inside as to the outside again tonight. That done, he deliberately gave himself permission to go 'off duty' and released the grip he had on his desire. By the time he had returned to their hut, he was self-consciously draping his towel over his crotch, regardless of the dark night surrounding him.

He stooped to get through the doorway, and stumbled, falling to his knees just on the other side at the sight of what waited for him. Blair had decided for them who was going to be sore: he was nude, lying on his stomach on their furs, one leg drawn up enticingly. Head pillowed on his crossed arms, he smiled at Jim with drowsy, loving intent and flexed his ass cheeks.

"Hi. Took you long enough," his lover murmured.

Jim couldn't answer; instead he crawled over to their bedding, shedding clothes as he went. Burying his face on the downy skin between Blair's shoulder blades, he fit his hard-on in the crease between the muscular thighs and reached around to trap his lover's readiness between his hand and Blair's tummy.

With an appreciative moan, Blair tried to thrust, but Jim held him down with his weight. "No hurry, my Blair, no hurry. Let me taste you, use my mouth on you."

"Ahh.... Want it!" Blair groaned.

"Yeah," Jim agreed, laving the firm line of muscle along Blair's spine. "Want it, bad. But want this, too." He nibbled where he had kissed, lightly scoring the perfect skin. Massaging with his lips, tongue and teeth, he covered every inch of the smaller man's back, from the dimples of his bottom to the nape of his neck. Blair shuddered and whimpered under the caresses, fruitlessly trying to pump into the hand holding his cock captive.

Eventually he went completely limp except for that solid length, garbled words his only reaction to Jim's oral attentions. Taste finally sated, Jim laid on top of Blair, keeping his weight on one elbow, and began to torment a metal studded ear. "How do you want fucked, my Blair? Hard and fast? Sweet and slow? Should I tongue-fuck you first?"

Blair's reply was a muffled shout. Surprised, Jim peered at his face, then carefully tugged away the hand his lover had clapped over his own mouth. "No!" he ordered abruptly. "You're not going to hide our love, not even the sounds of it."

"Jim! The whole camp will hear!" Blair protested.

"Let them," Jim grumbled. "Not as if we don't hear them from time to time." Under his palm Blair's hard-on thrummed impatiently, eagerly.

"Oh... guests...?"

"Don't care. Don't *care!* Let me hear you, babe. Please?" Jim began to stroke over the opening flexing against the shaft of his cock, gliding over the pucker with promising strength.

"Unh! Jim... Do It!"

"Do what? Tell me. Tell me, my Blair."

"You... oh, oh... just want," Blair panted, "to hear ... beg..."

Jim dug his face into the soft curls tumbled at his lover's neck, but didn't let his thrusts penetrate. "Yes, yes, yes..."

"Aaaaaa... all right, all right! FUCK ME, Damnit it! FUCK ME!"

Shouting his own hunger, Jim rammed in, virtually lifting his mate from the force of it. With matching cries they began pounding fiercely at each other, Blair taking every blow from the cock inside him with powerful lunges back onto it. As good as it was, as tight and hot and sweet as it was on his needy rod, it wasn't enough and Jim hauled both of them up onto their knees. Steadying himself by holding onto Blair's hips, Jim hammered into his mate's willing body, hitting the hot spot in the clenching channel with every thrust. A wild cry broke from his lover's lips with each slam, driving Jim into moving faster and harder, voicing his own pleasure at their joining.

Soon, too soon, the burn of his climax started deep in Jim's balls, and he gasped a warning to Blair. It seemed to be what his mate had been waiting for; he braced himself on one arm and reached under to pull on his seeping cock. "JIM!" he screamed, trying desperately to open more, to take Jim deeper as he matched his jacking to the plundering of his hole.

The tunnel around him began to tremble, the beat of blood through it growing faster and hotter. It tipped the delicate balance between ready to come and having to come, NOW, and Jim roared as his finish screamed over his nerves. Even as his mind was obliterated in the rush of pure ecstasy, he felt Blair convulse under him, adding his own bellow of release to their joy.

When his mind cleared, Jim withdrew carefully, automatically checking that he hadn't hurt his mate. With a mumbled apology, he collapsed, gathering Blair to him when he did the same. "Beautiful as always, my Blair," he whispered when he caught his breath.

"Now you're all for being quiet," Blair mock groused, biting Jim's chin playfully. "After practically exposing ourselves to *everybody.* Must have pissed 'em off with that racket."

At that reminder, Jim checked the camp around him with his hearing and broke into a soft chuckle. "More like inspired them. Listen."

Even to normal ears the soft cries and rhythmic slaps of flesh could be heard from several different places in the camps. As they listened, more began, the participants apparently either freshly awakened or further inspired by the night's love fest. Laughing sleepily to himself, Blair mumbled, "In nine months time, if someone brings a baby to me to be named, I think I'm going call it Domino." With a final squirm to fit himself better into Jim's arms, he dropped into slumber.

Nearly under himself, Jim blinked himself alert, more from surprise than anything else. One of the hushed lovers in the distance was Stush, and he was patiently, lovingly coaching two people through the preparations for opening a male partner. That one of them was Matt wasn't too much of a surprise, and his cry of astonished pleasure sent a voyeur's pang through Jim. But that he didn't recognize the other woke Jim all the way up; it had to be a River man Matt was turning over for.

Without meaning to, he turned his attention to the common house. There were sounds from there as well; furtive rustlings of dry sex and passionless intercourse that lasted briefly, ending with male snores and female sighs of exasperation or frustration.

The implications from that and Matt's new lover, made Jim's night restless, though he kept his body calm so his lover could sleep. In the gray of beginning dawn, Jim shifted Blair carefully from his shoulder and covered him with a light blanket against the morning chill. Use to having him get up for early patrol, Blair didn't stir; he merely curled in on himself for warmth with an indistinct unhappy sound.

Unhappy himself at having to leave, and facing that it was getting harder and harder to do so, Jim dressed quickly and left for the camp's perimeter. All of the night watch was awake and alert, greeting him with soft bird calls as he passed each post. At the nursery compound, he found Nanny Baker walking with a toddler who was teething, patiently letting the child chew on his finger. After stopping for a second to ask if he wanted Physician, Sentinel spotted the leader of the River People sitting just outside the common house, thoughtfully studying the lightening sky.

On impulse, he motioned for the other man to join him on his rounds, waiting until Leader fell into step before trekking toward his lookout. Silently, strangely companionable, they climbed the short incline toward the small bluff that overlooked both the river and the camp.

It wasn't until Sentinel had surveyed everything for 360 degrees that Leader finally spoke. "The weather looks calm; if it holds, we'll be lifting anchor first thing tomorrow morning."

Nodding, Sentinel glanced at the smooth surface of the water and up at the clear sky, then replied. "Signs are good for it; going back up river?"

"We've been discussing becoming seagoing, maybe checking other coastal cities for survivors." Leader squatted, picked up a rock, and absently tossed it down into the water, following the ripples from the splash with his eyes.

"Think you'll come back this way eventually? We could arrange to have someone here at a specific time if you wanted," Sentinel offered hesitantly.

Abruptly standing and meeting Sentinel's eyes squarely, Leader confessed, "I really don't think that's a good idea."

"Was last night so offensive to your clan?" Jim asked bluntly.

Having it hauled out in the plain light of day made Leader uncomfortable, and a suggestion of red appeared on his cheeks and ears. Despite that, he answered as honestly as he'd been asked, "Yes, though not for the reasons that you're thinking. We're not prudes, Sentinel. Just, just..." he stopped, shrugged once helplessly, as if there were a restriction on what he wanted to say.

Keeping his face bland, Sentinel dove into the truth all the way. "We've had the feeling from the first there was something you wanted or needed from us. And I don't think you got whatever it is. It isn't deliberate on our part; we can't help if we don't know what's wrong. If you'll ask outright, I'll do what I can."

Uneasily, the other man shifted his eyes away, then dragged them back. "The concern is that if you discover our weakness, you'll exploit it."

Choosing his words carefully, Sentinel said, "I don't see how we could. Nomads have to pick and choose possessions carefully; you don't have anything we particularly *need.* And I think we are far more.... understanding... than you give us credit for."

"Personally, I'm inclined to trust you," Leader said frankly. "But the others... I don't have to tell you how bad it was for most right after the Chaos. And our community aggregated slowly, by accident, building mutual trust in small increments. If I act on my own in our behalf on this very sensitive matter, it could be seen as a betrayal."

"If what you need is so important that you endured our company this long, surely it's got to be important enough to take the risk," he argued quietly, not sure why he was pressing the issue.

That brought back the silence and in unspoken accord they began to walk the perimeter again. Though Leader was as alert as Sentinel, he was also deep in thought, and Sentinel let him be, keeping to his own duties as they hiked. When they reached the far side of the camp where all there was for centuries east was forest, Sentinel stopped again, staring in the direction of his glade wistfully.

"Tiring, sometimes, isn't it?" Leader whispered, as if to himself, "To always be on duty, always be thinking of the welfare of others, always working for the common good. Not even able to make a decision for yourself without having to consider the consequences to everyone else. It's a weight weary and endless."

The only answer Sentinel could give was a shrug of understanding.

It seemed to be the one Leader wanted; he tentatively touched Sentinel's shoulder, as if to establish a more personal contact with him. "My friends used to call me David."

Tilting his head to one side, considering, Jim replied, a partial smile coming to his lips. "Jim. Jim Ellison."

"Thank you." David fell silent again, eyes on Jim but looking deep into himself. "Jim, why does Freedom Tribe have so many children when every one, every one else we've met has hardly any?"

Blinking, Jim snapped his jaw close and stepped back a pace. "I remember - you'd just mentioned that before I was hurt. The topic got lost. You mean, you don't know?"

"You do?" David asked eagerly.

Sentinel whipped his head around, focusing his sight into the extreme distance even as the jeering catcalls that had attracted his attention repeated themselves. "Trouble," he said shortly, and started off at a trot.

Leader fell into step beside him, "What?"

"Sounds like a fight."

"Damn!" Before long Leader could hear for himself the muted sounds of a small group needing to be quiet when they wanted to be loud. Worry creased his face; he heard something that alarmed him more than Sentinel had thought was necessary. Without commenting, he picked up the pace, then came to a stealthy gliding stop at the edge of a small clearing just beyond the boundaries of the camp.

A mix of the tribe and River People were standing in a loose circle around two combatants: Mrisa and a young blond man with a stocky build whose name Sentinel didn't know.

"Jerrod," Leader supplied, extremely softly. "A trouble maker, I'm afraid."

"Got more than he can handle this time," Sentinel replied at the same level. "Been pursuing Mrisa mercilessly even though she's made it clear she won't have anything to do with him. My guess is last night inspired him to try one more time, and she told him off with some comment about not needing any one to do her hunting or fighting for her. Heard her voice that opinion more than once."

Leader shot Sentinel a comprehending look. "And she decided to prove it to him by fighting him? Is she that good?"

"If he's counting on brute strength because he's male, she'll beat the crap out of him. First thing we teach female fighters is how to handle pure power. And if it comes down to skill versus skill - she could have an edge. She's trained all her life, and knows how to handle herself. My guess is he won't be expecting that."

Worried, now, Leader leaned on a tree and drummed his fingers on it. "If she does, his pride will not let him accept it. Jerrod could become irrationally violent. Perhaps we should intervene."

"If we butt in, Mrisa will be publicly humiliated because it will look as if I think she can't take care of herself," Sentinel countered.

"Where's Shaman when you need him?" Leader mumbled, and Jim couldn't help a grunt of amusement.

"Well, since we can't let them fight, and we can't stop them - we have to take over and be in charge of it." Jim decided. "Like referees in a boxing match."

"Excellent idea. If it's made into a sporting event, good sportsmanship will give us the tool for controlling the situation regardless of the outcome." Leader gave a wide smile that Sentinel suspected was seldom seen. "Shaman would be proud of you."

Bracing himself to step in, Sentinel answered distractedly, "Some of him has to have rubbed off after all these years." From the corner of his eye he saw Leader shoot him a startled look, but he didn't take time to ask about it. Jerrod had begun to swing, and Mrisa was lightly bouncing away from him, grinning saucily.

Taking on the posture and bellow of a drill sergeant he remembered all too clearly, Jim strode into the center of the circle, keeping it from scattering with stern glares. Beside him Leader had taken on an equally uncompromising expression, and it was their united front as much as their unexpected appearance that stunned the crowd into immobility.

"You have no explanation I'm interested in hearing," Sentinel barked. "And I assume that if you're so anxious for a fight that you'll sneak off to do it, you'll only try again later. So if you're going to do this, you will do it *right!*"

"No low blows, Mrisa," Leader ordered, "No eye gouging or any other attempt at serious injury. You are both too valuable to risk in such a foolish way."

"No blows to her chest, Jerrod!" Sentinel took over. "First blood, fight is *over!* First fall all the way to the ground, fight is over. Three rounds, three minutes approximate each. If you're both standing, it's a draw and I don't want to hear another word out of anybody either on the fight or the reasons behind it. Am I understood!"

Everyone was speechless, but Leader shouted, "Am I understood!?"

A murmur of yes's flowed over the crowd, but Leader had Jerrod pinned with a steel look. "Understood," the shorter man spat finally.

"Understood." Mrisa agreed, cheerfully.

The two self-appointed referees stepped back, and then said plainly, "Now!"

Jerrod charged in, swinging wildly again, but was smart enough to soon realize that Mrisa was simply lightly dancing out of the way. Snarling, he paused, then changed tactics, taking time to aim his punches with precision. That worked better; though she blocked most, a few got through and her face quickly sported a couple of rising bruises. That, plus the fact that she hadn't taken any shots at him, made Jerrod first cocky, then careless.

He dropped his guard momentarily, and that was all the opening Mrisa needed. Her foot flew through the air as she spun to kick him in the head, the blow connecting solidly. Without so much as a grunt, Jerrod dropped, out cold before he hit the forest floor.

Sentinel and Leader let the sight of Mrisa bopping over Jerrod's prone body to sink into the spectators, then Sentinel began pointing at his people. "You, you, you - don't you have water hauling duty for the baths? If not, you do now. You and you - wood." In short order he had dispersed them to the most boring, exhausting chores he could think of, satisfied with the half-ashamed faces they wore.

Leader merely caught the gaze of each of his tribe, then said politely. "I believe you should go home. William, Henry, take Jerrod." His words hardened fractionally. "And all of you please stay home until I've spoken to you." They melted away under his uncompromising regard, looking worried and embarrassed.

Exchanging a final sympathetic glance, Leader and Sentinel parted company, each mentally preparing themselves for a long, difficult day.

Without thinking about it, Jim's first stop was by the medical tent to speak with Dan, using the baby's teething as an excuse. He hung around while the former M.E. mixed a batch of mildly numbing liquid for the child's gums, and with seemingly idle questions, asked the physician about his visits with the EMT of the River People.

"Talked a lot about local herbs, our diet, that sort of thing," Dan said absently, carefully crushing a dried green leaf. "Mostly, though, he tried to suck my brain dry on ob-gyn stuff. Did my best, but you know, monitoring pregnancies and delivering babies is one of those things that you have to learn hands-on. You can talk about a firm fundus during a contraction all you want, but if you've never felt one....anyway, gave him the same book I used back when I was paranoid as hell about losing one of our Mothers, too."

The big Native American shot him a worried glance, as if expecting Jim to object. "Remind Cap'n you need a replacement for it, next time we're on salvage," Jim said mildly. "Bet he was really interested in why the haven't been many pregnancies since the chaos, too."

That stopped Dan in his tracks. "No.." he said slowly, "Closest we came to it was talking about determining fertility. You know, ovulation and how to gauge when a woman was releasing an egg."

"Dan," Jim began, letting his friend know by the use of his given name that he was going to ask a favor. "The River People are pulling out today. If their EMT drops by for a last visit, and I'll do my best to make sure he does, I want you to give him a copy of the notes you've made over the years about the change in body chemistry in women from SAR."

Eyes widening, Dan said bluntly, "Jim, that's just my personal theory. I don't have any way to prove that women's bodies treat sperm like a potential allergen and destroy it."

"Then add this to your theory: River People are completely monogamous, don't allow extra-marital sex, and have had one child from among over 30 women for *nearly 10 years.*"

Taking the time to think about it, still mixing his brew, Dan argued, "That wouldn't be enough evidence to convict, Detective."

"Maybe not, but it would be enough for a search warrant. At least let's get them thinking. I may not care for how they live, but they deserve at least a chance to decide for themselves before they go extinct if our best guess is right or wrong."

Putting in a stopper, Dan handed Jim a bottle. "Give that to a Nanny; it should help." Reflectively he added, "Maybe Marcus has noticed something himself; they've had a lot more peaceful contact with non-tribal people than us. Why didn't I think of talking to him about this earlier?"

"Because you've been in teacher mode and because Marcus was directing you away from the topic of infertility would be my guess. They're afraid of us, Dan, and I'm not sure why or how far it goes. For that reason, I don't want you leaving the camp without an escort until they've gone; a trained physician is too valuable. I don't think Leader would condone kidnapping, but his people are so desperate - I wouldn't be surprised if some acted without his knowledge, willing to take their lumps in the end."

"Come on, Jim, you don't really think.... I mean, they're narrow minded, but they're not Ravagers."

"The Ravagers believe that there is no future. If the River People become convinced there isn't one for them because they can't have children... tell me what do you think they might or might not do?"

Leaving Physician to mull that over, Sentinel waved the medicine in thanks and left. A quick check at the sun told him the day would have begun for most of the camp. Shaman had Nursery duty today and would be helping feed the toddlers and youngsters, so it was convenient he had a reason to go there as well.

By habit Cap'n usually dropped by first thing in the morning, too. He always brushed off his presence by claiming he was getting a report from the Nannies on how the night went, but Sentinel suspected he simply enjoyed the uncomplicated, honest demands of the smallest members of his tribe.

Under the cover of visiting, Sentinel quickly filled them in on his early morning events, not sparing any of the details. After drying the last tiny bottom, Shaman hugged that baby tightly and leaned his forehead into the chest of the big man hovering so close. Simon pinched at his nose as if he still wore his glasses.

"Oh, man." Shaman thought furiously for a second, then sighed. "You're right; there's no way to know what they're going to do. Maybe the best thing for us to move on. We can honestly say the extra mouths have taxed the local ecology enough to warrant it. And we've not only replenished the stores here, but if we go on now we have plenty of time to do the same at the next site and still have some to spare for winter."

"Run, Sandburg?" Cap'n growled. "After all the patience we've shown, all we've tried to do for them, we let them run us off? Like playground kids taking their ball and going home when the school yard bully shows?"

"There's been enough death; enough battle," Shaman said simply. "What good would it do to take the risk of a fight more serious than clandestine brawl?"

"You got an opinion on this, Sentinel?" Cap'n asked wearily, already assuming no support from him.

"We've always taught it takes more courage to walk away," Sentinel pointed out. "Might be a good time to practice what we preach." With a final hug to his lover and fast kiss to the infant head nestled on Shaman's shoulder, he added, "Do you really want to start a precedent here? Show the kids that it's okay to fight over a difference in culture, a difference in beliefs?"

"Damn it, for some beliefs it is! Freedom. Justice." Simon snarled, but it was half-hearted.

"Yes, but there is more than one way to fight. Tell me Simon, can we afford to kill over anything any more?" Shaman asked, laying the baby in its crib and going to the door call a Nanny to take his place. As if he didn't expect an answer, he went on. "And we shouldn't be the only ones having this conversation. Rather than send runners for the Elders, it might be better to drop in on them ourselves. Meet back here in an hour?"

The look the Cap'n shot him was pure ire, but he muttered his agreement and stomped off. For a second Jim and Blair grinned at each other, then headed for the door, only to be stopped by Catherine shyly slipping through it, standing just inside as if she thought she might need to run.

"Shaman," she whispered so softly Jim knew his partner had to strain to hear. "I.. I know you're mad at me, and I've been feeling all icky about it, but I've been mad, too cause, cause, cause I didn't think you had any *reason,* y'know. Then I heard Mommy say thank god we're finally getting away from these savages, so I know we're leaving, and..." She stopped and took a huge gulp of air. "I'msoscaredI'malwaysgoingtofeelickyhowdoImakeitstop?"

"By understanding what you did wrong and trying to fix it as best you can." Blair squatted in front of her and brushed a tangle of hair away from her face.

"Will you tell me what it was?" she asked, her voice even tinier.

"How did Sentinel get hurt?" Blair asked instead of answering her directly.

"Uh, 'cause I bumped into him?"

"Bumped, Catherine?"

Sulkily she looked down at the ground, but Blair put a finger under her chin to coax her face up. "Bumped?" he repeated.

"Shoved," she admitted, still a little sulky.

"So, it wasn't an accident was it?" Blair asked patiently. She shook her head. "So you did it on purpose, and even if you didn't want to hurt anybody, you *did.* And you've never once said you were sorry for hurting Sentinel, or tried to tell me what bothered you so bad you had to hit us."

"I didn't mean to," Catherine wailed in the ageless defense of all children.

"But you did," Blair asserted calmly. "And did nothing about it, not even admit you did. That's why I'm angry with you. And the only way you can fix it is to make me believe it bothered you that someone was hurt because of what you did. That's called regret, Catherine. And I don't think I want to be friends with a little girl who doesn't feel regret at other people's pain."

The first tears welled up in her eyes, and she asked shakily, "You'd be my friend?"

"In a second, if you'd let me."

Sniffing, rubbing the back of her hand over her nose, she said, "That's why I was mad. At the boat, I mean. I liked you and wanted to be your friend, but you were his friend instead."

"Catherine, I can have more than one friend."

"But you're not sposed to have a man friend that you hug and kiss!" she cried, sounding a little indignant now.

"Is that why you used that awful word? Hearing that from you really hurt my feelings."

For the first time she looked ashamed, and she tried to hide her face again. Shaman didn't allow it, and she mumbled. "Mommy told me it was a really, really bad word and that it meant somebody who let people touch them when they weren't supposed to."

Grateful the child couldn't read Shaman as well as he could, Sentinel beat down a sigh, and longed to hold his increasingly upset lover. Shaman hid one, too, then asked sadly, "Can you tell me now what you did wrong?"

"I, uh," she looked up at him for encouragement, didn't find it, and sucked in a half-sobby breath. "I hit you and Sentinel. And that made him burn hisself. And I used a really bad word cause I was mad and wanted to hurt you with it."

"And what are you going to do to make it better for me?"

That stumped her, but they both waited, and she finally grinned and scrambled toward Jim, catching him totally off guard. She held up her arms to be picked up, and he automatically complied, turning down his dial at her smell. With a resounding smack, she kissed his cheek. "That's sorry for burning you." She did the same to his other cheek, giggling a bit. "And that's for saving me from the rats."

"Catherine," Jim grinned his approval. "You're very welcome. And it took a very brave little girl to face those rats, and an even braver one to face Shaman when he's mad."

"Not so brave," she scoffed. "I didn't want to get et, and all the other kids told me Shaman would make it better if I let him." With a fast hug to Jim's neck, she wiggled down and ran over to Blair. "All better now?"

Solemnly Blair inclined his head, "Much better now. Thank you. And Catherine, I think Leader will be very, very proud of you for apologizing."

"Really?" With a child's typical abrupt mood change, she smiled sunnily at him.

"Really, and you should go to him right now and tell him you did."

"Okay, then." Without warning she bent over and bussed Shaman noisily on the end of his nose. "I'm your friend, always, even if I never get to see you again. 'kay?"

Finding a smile for himself at least, Shaman agreed. "Always, even if I never see you again."

"Bye then!" She ran out, hollering for Leader as she went, and Blair slowly straightened, shaking his head in amusement.

From the cribs they both heard Nanny Baker mumbled, "Well, will wonders never cease."

Wiping a bit of spit off Blair's nose, Jim murmured, "Not when Shaman is around, anyway."

Interestingly enough, in Sentinel's opinion, the Elders hardly needed more than the suggestion, as if they, too, had had enough of the river and its inhabitants. By mid-day, the decision had been made and preparations were quietly, discretely made to break camp. By unspoken agreement, the matter wasn't openly discussed, but every person who saw the work being done gave a helping hand.

Between a normal day's duties and readying for departure, Sentinel and Shaman both spent the day trying to be in three places at once. By the end of it Sentinel was exhausted, fighting not to lose his temper, and failing to the point that he nearly refused when Stush asked to speak to him privately.

If it hadn't been for the frantic heartbeat and faint scent of fear from the normally placid young man, he would have. Reining himself in, he studied Stush objectively, noting the red-rimmed eyes and mussed hair. Seeing his pride and joy neglected like that tipped the scale for Sentinel, and he motioned curtly toward the lookout.

Unsurprisingly there were other heartbeats, Shaman's among them, already there. He found his mate inside, pacing back and forth worriedly in front of Matt and a handsome young River Man, both showing signs of tears and grief. Stifling a groan of aggravation - the last thing he wanted to be doing was playing at marriage counselor - Sentinel took his place to Shaman's left.

"Let me guess," he bit out, "You want us to sponsor your lover's adoption into the tribe."

Math shrank at the harshness in his tone, and Shaman rocked back so that his heel came down on his partner's toe. Not enough to hurt, it was a very clear, "Shut up," and Jim knew better than to mess with either Blair or Shaman when he got that pissed at him.

Before either of them could go on, however, Matt defiantly took the River Man's hand, twining their fingers together. "His name is Daniel, and yes, I'd like him to stay with us, and he wants to. But that's not why we needed to talk to you. There's something you have to know."

Daniel turned hazel eyes on Matt, eyes that shone with love and admiration. They stared at each other a second, lost in some silent message that made Sentinel feel like an intruder, and more than a little ashamed of his first outburst. When Matt tore his gaze away, Sentinel said politely. "Hello, Daniel. What can we do for you?"

"Ah, I'm not sure, that is," he stuttered, then clenching his fists at his side, Daniel started over slowly. "You have to understand, they really, really believe it's the right thing to do, and if they talk Leader into it, even the ones that doubt it will go along because, because, well, because..." He stumbled to a halt, flashed a despairing glance at his lover and unconsciously stepped close.

Wrapping a shaky arm around Daniel's slender waist, Matt leaned against the barely taller body for a second, then whispered, "Go on."

"Yes, please," Shaman encouraged, reaching out to lay a comforting hand on the frightened River man's arm. "I promise that we'll listen, not judge or blame. Okay?"

Daniel's answering smile was uncertain, but he took a deep breath and said clearly, "I've always been taught that any kind of sex except between a married man and woman was wrong, even evil. The way of the Ravager. I've despised myself for years for wanting what I'd heard about in laughing whispers from older men, and tried hard not to think about it. To be normal.

"Then I met Matt," and he blushed crimson, the heat washing unpleasantly over Sentinel's nerves even at the distance between them. "And, uh - s..saw you and uh, s..Shaman, and I had to ask myself if being normal was what I really needed. If it was really wrong."

He gulped, bracing himself and blurted, "Sentinel, Shaman, my people - no, that's not right anymore, they're the people who raised me, now." He stopped, almost gasping in pain and confusion, but collected himself. "Most of the River People think that your tribe is little better than Ravagers. They don't believe you're fit to raise children; that you're perverted, and will corrupt innocent lives. Some of them are even hinting that you have some kind of breeding program going on, so there'll always be plenty of perverts like yourselves."

Crossing his legs to collapse gracefully, Shaman groaned, hiding his face in his hands. More practical, Sentinel asked woodenly, "What are they planning on doing about it?" Both Matt and Daniel looked startled, so he added, "If they weren't making plans, you wouldn't have asked to talk to just the two of us. You would have spoken out at the community fire this evening, Matt."

Behind them, Stush spoke for the first time. "They didn't know what t'do, t'be honest. Found 'em half hysterical, plannin' on runnin' off by theirselves. Took a while t'get t'all out of em."

Acknowledging that with an inclination of his head, Sentinel prodded gently. "Do you want him to finish for you?"

"N.. no," Daniel said, sitting tiredly. Everyone else followed suit but Sentinel who leaned on the doorframe instead. "I'm not sure it's really going to happen, but people were talking about stealing your children," he confessed bluntly. "All the girls and any boy under five."

Horrified, Shaman made to leap to his feet, but a fast hand on his knee from Matt stopped him. "Let him finish. Please?"

With a wild look at his mate, Shaman let himself be persuaded, but his hands knotted into his lap. "All right."

In no better shape himself, fighting the impulse to reach for his gun and go hunting, Sentinel sharply nodded his agreement as well.

This time Daniel was the one to lean into his lover for comfort, but he continued calmly. "Mrs. Taylor agrees taking them is the right thing, and that means there's a good chance Leader will go along with her. I don't know what they do on their own boat, but in public, he never contradicts her or goes against her wishes. Mostly, if you don't think he'll do it, you ask her to get him to do it.

"Not that he's a wuss," the River Man went on hastily. "Or that she's a ball-breaker or anything. Honest. I think." He stopped short, and Sentinel got the impression it was the first time Daniel had actually considered it before. "I think he's sorry for her because she doesn't get something she needs from him. A baby, maybe." he finished thoughtfully.

//Or his heart.// Jim thought, pity coloring his memory of the times he'd caught the River Leader staring at him and Blair. Aloud, he said firmly, "I can't see him agreeing to anything as drastic as kidnapping, no matter what."

That dissolved some of the tension in the younger men, but it was short-lived relief because Sentinel had to ask, "Will his men defy him? On this?"

"I... I... I don't know," Daniel mumbled miserably.

Crossing over, Sentinel knelt in front of him, putting a hand on his shoulder and waiting until the young man felt strong enough to face him. "It doesn't matter; your warning was all we needed. All you have to worry about now is deciding if you want to stay with us, find another tribe, or try to take on your own people with Matt by your side. Whatever you choose, you can count on our support, I promise."

"I don't want anyone hurt!" Daniel nearly wailed.

"We can't promise that," Shaman murmured, then added what reassurance he could, "But we don't want anyone hurt, either. It depends mostly on them."

"What're y'plannin'?" Stush asked calmly.

Finding his mate's eyes for a confirmation, Sentinel said levelly, "Ghost Walk."

Stush nodded his satisfaction. "For t'best."

Briskly Sentinel stood, drawing Matt and Daniel with him. "Matt, explain to him on the way. He doesn't know woodcraft; you'll have to travel with the children so the hunters can hide your trail, okay?"

He tapped Daniel's arm once, to make sure of his attention. "Don't go back to the boats, Daniel. Do you hear me? Do Not Go Back for Anything! If you sincerely want to join us, the decision is now. Get to the nursery and wait there for word." With a gentle shove he sent them on their way, though he held back Stush with a gesture.

When they were out of earshot, Sentinel cocked his head and waited expectantly, letting his face ask his question for him. Stush met him head on and said frankly, "I knew Matt had feelings for me, but I can't return them the same way so I pretended not to notice.

"Then he met Daniel, and the attraction was pretty much instant and very intense. But Daniel never had, and Matt only remembered being abused and was scared of it hurting like it did when he was a little kid. Why they came to me and not Shaman to ask for help, I don't know, but they did, and I said yes because they wanted each other so much it hurt to see."

Very, very quietly, he went on, "Nobody should have to need someone that much and not be able to touch them." Stush fell silent, thinking, then lit up. "Man, it was *beautiful.* If I hadn't gotten so much as a kiss from them, I would have been grateful all my life just for being allowed to be there. But they wouldn't let me go hungry, and never made me feel like I was in the way."

"You did the right thing, Stush," Shaman interrupted gently. "And I'm glad you've healed enough from whatever is was that brought you back to us that you can share again. What we don't understand is why come to us with Daniel's warning? The order to Walk should come from the Elders, or the Cap'n at least."

For the first time Stush looked uncomfortable, and his slip back into city slang proved it. "They was scared. Thought talkin' t'ya, t' men lovers 'stead of Elders, be easier for 'em."

"And..." Sentinel prompted when the younger man trailed off uncertainly.

"And t'River People *aren't* bad, just got big troubles," Stush insisted, suddenly sure of himself. "We c'n Walk but the trouble would still be there, and t'next tribe might not get a warning like we did. 'Sides, it's not right t'walk away and not try t'do something to help. I didn't think t'Elders would listen t'me and a coupla scared kids asking f'help for 'em. I hoped ya would, especially after talking to 'em y'selves."

"Stush," Jim began solemnly, "You underestimate how much respect the Cap'n has for you. You've become his Number One, the man he can trust to be there when he can't. The Elders know that, too." He would have laughed at the younger man's dropped jaw, but he didn't want to spoil the impact he hoped his words would have on Stush. "Now, get out of here and go talk to him about starting the Walk. We'll all meet back here when the others have left."

For the second time that day Sentinel had to use a shove to get someone moving, and he did so while hiding a smile. When Stush was gone, he let his grin show, sharing it with his mate. "So what should we do to help Leader and his people?" he asked smugly, expecting to catch Blair off guard with his assumption.

"What if I don't think we should?" Blair shot back, just as smug.

Tilting his head to one side, Jim crossed his arms and did a reasonable imitation of being immovable. "Then I wait for you to give me all the arguments I know you have lined up under those curls of yours, insist on doing it anyway, we have a hell of a fight, make up, have spectacular sex, then do whatever you wanted in the first place."

"Want to skip straight to the sex?" Blair laughed, leaning in to cup Jim intimately.

Sucking in a breath, feeling himself stir, Jim snatched a fast kiss, then got out of range before he could be side-tracked completely. "Hold that thought?" he asked regretfully.

He didn't miss the flash of disappointment in his lover's eyes, but all Blair did was murmur, "Sorry; you're right, we have to get moving."

Not willing to let him think he was being second again, Jim said, "Aw, fuck 'em," and swept Blair up against his chest to kiss him deeply, plunging his tongue in and out of his lover's sweet mouth in raw imitation of what he wanted. Blair took it eagerly, pressing himself hard into the ravishment he was receiving.

Nearly whimpering the smaller man yanked his head away, shivering when Jim tackled the line of his neck as a substitute for his lips. "Jim, wait. Wait," Blair panted hoarsely.

"Why? No lube?"

Drawing back enough to peer up at Jim, Blair said, "You're serious. You're really serious."

For a response, Jim rubbed his erection over his mate's stomach, and tried to re-claim the hot cavern enticing him.

Pulling away in slow motion, letting his hands pat and soothe, Blair asked almost timidly, "Is this change permanent?"

That calmed Jim more than the love-touches, and he stepped back himself, showing his reluctance with a grimace. "Yeah, I think it is," he admitted. "Like you said, acting instead of reacting, Chief. I know what I want for my future, and I'm working on it now. And the first step is never again letting you think, feel, or be anything but first in my life."

With a trembling finger Blair reached out to tenderly trace Jim's lips. "Every time I think I couldn't possibly love you more," he whispered with a quaver in his voice, "I discover I haven't even begun to love you enough. Thank you."

"Thank you, My Blair," Jim murmured. He kissed his mate again, this time with a fervent ardor that spoke of heart's need instead of passion.

Blair only let it last for a sweet minute, then sighed and lifted his mouth away. "Much as I hate to admit it, I couldn't relax enough to enjoy making love right now, anyway, My Jim. I need to know the kids are safe first."

Letting duty reclaim him, Jim straightened, threaded the fingers of one hand through one of Blair's, and drew his mate outside to begin walking down into camp. "We're safe enough in the daylight," he decided, thinking aloud for his partner's benefit. "My guess is that it will take time to try first to convince Leader, then to act if/when he refuses. And they probably won't want to risk their own lives in a frontal attack, so they'll go for stealth, a night raid."

"Aren't they going to be surprised when they get here," Blair said dryly. Then he added thoughtfully a second later, "Or maybe we shouldn't wait to surprise them."

"Oh, no," Jim groused. "Here we go again."

Using the natural lapping of the water against the boats to hide the tiny splashes he made, Sentinel swam under cover of night to the side of the main barge of the River People, barely keeping his eyes above water to watch for sentries. Through the gurgle of water in his ears he could hear the agitated, anxious voice of Leader's clan, and under that the steady breathing and careful swimming of Stush and Shaman approaching on differing sides.

Tuning both out, he concentrated on locating guards, but couldn't find any. Either the River People were so arrogant they felt they didn't need them, or the argument at the front of the barge was so intense the sentries were foolishly left their posts to participate. Nevertheless Jim climbed the rungs up to the deck cautiously, unconsciously slinking back into a covert mind-set, despite the years since he had used it last.

Once on board he crept along the railing, staying in shadows thrown by the flickering electric lights, until he found a hiding place not far from the main congregation where he could see and hear easily. To either side of him he saw/heard/smelt his companions do the same.

Leader was standing on a small platform at the very bow of the ship, facing his entire population placidly. His was the only calm face and voice; everyone else reflected varying degrees of frustration, anger, and fear. He let the rumble of voices go on for a few more minutes, then gestured for silence. It fell almost immediately, and he spoke sternly to the crowd. "And I'm telling you we do not have the right to judge. We saw nothing in Freedom Tribe's camp to indicate the children are in any physical danger. They are neither abused nor neglected, and in fact, give every indication of being healthy, happy youngsters."

Standing a few feet in front of him, obviously speaking for the majority of the people, Margaret Taylor argued passionately, "You were an officer of the law, once. You know that appearances can be deceiving and that a danger doesn't have to be obvious. A drug user can be fully functional on the surface with the damage done by his habit revealed only when he makes that first mistake that spirals him down into disaster."

"Illegal drug usage is not the same as a life-style choice, Mrs. Taylor," Leader replied formally. "To make an ethical judgment on Freedom Tribe because we do not approve of their culture is perilously close to condemning any practice we do not have ourselves as immoral, regardless of its value to its practioneers. Are we going to remove the Fresaka's child from them because they are Islams and will insist she wear a veil when she grows up? Or refuse aid to a stranger because he is a stranger and we don't know his custom?

"We were both officers of the law, madam, and as such we exercised the will of the court through the laws established by the people and for the people. The Freedom Tribe has broken no law set forth by the common will of its people. We have no right to interfere with their lives or the lives of their children."

There were disturbed, doubtful rumblings at his speech, and for a moment Sentinel wondered if their leader's charisma would be enough by itself to carry them past this crisis. But then his wife spoke again, disdain and contempt clear in her words. "If we shared a common law, a duly appointed judge could be called on to make the decision of what is right, *RIGHT,* Sir, for those children. Not for their culture, not for their parents, for *THEM.* It is their welfare that we must keep in mind, and since we have no judge to turn to, we MUST be the judges ourselves!"

Instinct told Sentinel that Shaman would use those words for his cue, and a moment later his mate glided into the lighted circle nearest the podium and asked loudly, "And how many will die to enforce that judgment, Mrs. Taylor?"

To the entranced crowd listening closely to the debate between the Leader and his wife, Shaman's sudden bid for their attention had all the impact of a magician appearing in a puff of smoke. In the dead silence that followed, Shaman strode over to stand beside Leader, putting his back to the water. That gave Stush and Sentinel only two sides to watch, and the ex-cop visually checked for the young man to make sure he was in place, weapon ready.

Up front Shaman addressed the crowd again. "And rest assured, you will have to kill. We will die to the man if we must to protect our children."

"OUR children?" Margaret shouted scornfully.

"Our children," Shaman told her, much more quietly. Though he spoke in low tones, his words carried clearly to every ear on the barge. "It doesn't matter to us who provided the seed or whose womb carried the growing infant. Each and every child is my daughter or son, is the Captain's daughter or son, is Number One's daughter or son."

He pointed at a spectator on the rim of mass of people, "You could die tomorrow from SAR, from the bullet of a Ravager, from a mis-step on your own boat that breaks open your head. If you had a child, who would care for it? Provide for your orphan? Love him through his grief?

"Freedom Tribe never has orphans. If I die, I will be mourned and missed, but the children I help raise will never fear being alone or hungry because I am gone. And I will die knowing that each and every person in my community would die to protect my little ones.

"I repeat, are you willing to kill to try to take them from us? And how many of you are willing to die along with us? For we will not hesitate to defend ourselves and them."

"Brave words for a man standing unarmed on another man's boat!" Someone shouted.

Sentinel found him immediately, marking him in his mind as a potential shooter, and went back to scanning the rest of the near-mob.

"Brave indeed!" Leader answered loudly. As if solely to Shaman he asked, "If you knew of our plans, why not wait until we attacked and then defended? Or simply leave?"

The last made Sentinel smile, despite the dire circumstances. If any of the River People had been there as witnesses a few hours earlier, they would have seen the inhabitants of the camp pick up a child or a bundle or some food, walk toward the forest, then simply vanish. They could have gone into the huts, finding everything sitting where the owner had dropped it when he had been told "Ghost Walk." If they had trackers, they could have searched the surroundings, finding nothing to indicate the passage of the tribe, nothing to indicate any human had ever been nearby but the deserted huts and cooling fire embers.

To Freedom Tribe, possessions or dwellings or even food were things to simply be abandoned if danger were close. They could live off the bounty of the land, collecting together again as a group slowly at a spot always pre-arranged the first day in a new camp. Later, if and when it was safe, runners could be sent back for anything particularly missed.

With luck, though, the River People would never learn about that little trick in the tribe's book. With luck and the persuasive, intelligent words of the man standing in front of a pissed-off mob with a bulleye's practically drawn on his chest. Still watching the audience more than the speaker, Sentinel went back to guarding his mate, listening himself with half an ear.

In the silence that stretched out after Leader's question, Shaman tried to meet as many eyes in the crowd as possible, want them to see him not an enemy, not a stranger but a man they had seen laughing and working only the day before.

"I came here because I believe with all my heart and soul that humans can no longer afford to make war," he said earnestly. "How many of us are left? How many more die everyday from things we have no control over? If the human race is worth saving, and I need only watch our children playing in the sun to believe that it is, there can be *No More Fighting Among Us.* And if you don't believe the same, you may as well leave these boats and join the Ravagers, because there is no hope for you."

Waiting for a reaction, Shaman left the podium to stand toe-to-toe to Margaret, intentionally making her the person for the River People who would argue with him. "Freedom Tribe does not wish to be enemies with the River People," he said into the hush. "When we go our separate ways, we don't want to have to warn other tribes, other generations about you. What can be said or done to create peace between us for good?"

The mixture of shame and pride sat oddly on Margaret's face until Leader came to stand beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders for support. She stared at him for a second, then straightened until she was stiff in his embrace. "I don't know if there can be. You are so wrong to me."

"Because we love for the soul and heart of a person, not their gender?" Shaman questioned. " Because we believe that a woman is more than a vehicle for pregnancy? Because we choose to live with Mother Earth, not on her?"

"Because you're succeeding!" Meg blurted. "You do have a future; it's running alongside those children you cherish so much. We have only *her,*" She waved irritably in the general direction of Catherine who was asleep, dirty and grease-stained, in her mother's arms. "It's like saying that we're wrong, that we have been all along. That the past that we cherish and want to re-establish was worthless." Her voice rose, becoming nearly shrill. "Loyalty is worthless. Fidelity is worthless. Family is worthless. I am worthless for living a life devoted to them! I Cannot Accept That!"

With a gentleness that must have shocked Margaret to the core, Shaman reached into Leader's protective circle and took her hands in his own. "One man shows his love by writing sonnets and bringing flowers. Another shows his love by making sure you don't go out in the rain without a slicker and having hot tea for you when you do.

"My lover and I have been together since before the chaos, and he left the city to follow me into the wilderness to build a new life. Loyalty. Though we have both bedded with women to have children, we have never betrayed the oaths that bound us together as husband and spouse. Fidelity. Between us we have 5 children, none of which call us father and all of whom we trust our entire village to raise as Father and Mother. Family. And ours is one story among those adults.

"Want to hear another one about loyalty? Remember the scars our Cap'n carries on his face? He got them in the food riots in Cascade because we asked him to stay there as long as possible to help as many as possible escape. A good friend, Joel Taggert, died when he shoved the Cap'n down, taking the bullet that would have killed him because Joel didn't know the way to our hidden camp and the Cap'n did. I can go on and on and on, Margaret.

"Our definitions may look different on the surface, but that's only the surface. In the old days, when a judge made a decision to take a child from his family, he tried to take everything into consideration, and did it as objectively as he could manage. After only two weeks, after only seeing us through the assumptions you had already made, do you really know enough about us to be our judge, Margaret Taylor?"

Leader brushed his hand over her hair, but spoke to his people. "I believe with all my heart that any judge hearing this as a case would say Freedom Tribe loves their offspring and acts in the best interests for the children's safety, health and well-being. If you disagree with me, then I have failed you as leader and must step down. Indeed, as I could never willingly condone the removal of any child from his loving family by force, I could no longer remain as a member of this community. The decision is yours, of course, but please be warned that you will find yourselves facing me as well as the Freedom Tribe on the battle field."

With that, and not so much as look backwards, Leader turned on his heel and walked away, leaving a dead silence behind him. Shaman chose to use their frozen stare at his retreating back as a diversion and slipped away over the nearest railing. Mentally heaving an enormous sigh of relief, Sentinel waited to make sure Stush was on his way, then made his own departure.

Once in the water, he listened for Blair's heartbeat and breathing, then swam for him, finding his mate clinging to an anchor rope and shaking violently. As soon as Jim was close enough, Blair swarmed over him, using the buoyancy of the water to hide his face in the curve of the bigger man's shoulder. "Oh, man, oh, man," he whispered. "Was it enough, Jim? Was it enough?"

Unable to return his embrace, Jim held onto the rope for both of them to keep them afloat and let the water rock them soothingly. "I hope so, Chief. I hope so."

In the mists of early dawn, the members of Freedom Tribe that had remained behind stood on the bluff overlooking the river and watched their new acquaintances pulled up anchor. Only a single River Man had left the water that morning, coming into the deserted camp with an almost superstitious fear crowding his actions and features.

Jarrod carried a bundle of belongings for Daniel that Jim suspected David had packed for him, a slender notebook for Physician, and a personal note to Shaman. Stammering a good bye for his people, he had left, nearly running in his haste to leave the spooky dwellings behind. Cap'n hadn't been able to totally hide his guffaw, but the strangled noise had only added to the eerie atmosphere.

Giving the moving boats a sardonic waggle of his fingers good-bye, Simon didn't bother to muffle his laughter now. "Guess you must have made an impression on them last night, Sandburg, ghosting on and off the barge like that."

"God, I hope not," Blair said promptly. "The idea was to get their attention so they'd listen to me. Not start another legend about Shaman."

"Don't let him get to you, Chief," Jim said mildly, searching the figures offshore for one in particular. "You did make an impression, the one we wanted, and that's only fair, cause they certainly made one on us."

"Now that's t'truth," Stush agreed. "They mighta been strange in t'head, but they had a good idea or two."

"You just like boats," Mrisa argued.

"What's wrong with 'em?" Stush argued back.

"Well, how long do you think the gas stores are going to last, for starters?" Mrisa said triumphantly.

"More'n one way t'move a boat."

The two of them wandered off, debating just how useful boats were, bumping against one another like two adolescents vying for attention.

Shaking his head, Simon laughed again, but this time at himself. "The thing is, the kid is right; they did have a couple ideas we could make use of. Think there's some kind of wagon or something we could make so we could carry a few luxuries with us? So we wouldn't have to worry about Nanny Baker keeping up with us or someone sick having to walk?"

Not wanting to disappoint Simon too much, Jim searched for words that wouldn't be too blunt and hurtful. Before he could speak, Blair beat him to it. "Wagons take roads, and that takes manpower. If we stick to ones already made, we become targets for the Ravagers. But why does it have to be a mobile refuge, Simon?"

"Cause we don't stay in one place for some very good reason, Sandburg," Banks snapped, disappointment sharpening his words.

"Well, I've been thinking about that," Blair answered blandly. "There's no reason all of us have to travel all the time is there?"

That yanked Jim's attention away from the river, and he stared at his mate as hard as Simon did. "No," the sentinel said reflectively, "No, there's not. In fact, when we first started this, we had an emergency back up plan in case going native didn't work. We planned on trying to maintain a strong hold at a survivalist compound designed to keep 10 people alive for 20 years."

"That's right, that's why our territory's border is the way it is; we didn't want to be more than three days hard march from it," Simon confirmed. "You made me and a couple of Elders memorize the location."

"We've never needed it," Blair added, "but why does it have to be a fall back that's never visited? Why can't it be like a monastery or university where a few people live because they need to or want to stop ranging for a while? Older people, like Nanny Baker, could live there comfortably, with a small garden and regular stays by hunters to replenish the meat. They could even domesticate some small animals for milk in case we needed it for a baby with no nursing mother available."

"We could keep the books there," Simon pointed out, excitement rising. "Music. Hot water. Refrigeration. Man, I bet we could find a way to make ice cream."

"No sugar," Jim felt obligated to point out, but Simon didn't seem to hear him.

"Kids could range with the bulk of the tribe, but once in a while they could got visit and get some education. Maybe routinely rotate them to it for both that and to be strong backs for the old or infirm." Simon went on excitedly. "Or if someone needed temporary nursing..."

"Like Laz," Blair broke in. "Jim say's she smells pregnant, though it'll be a couple weeks before we'll be sure. You know she's lost two babies already; started bleeding at about 4 months both times. If she could stay in bed, only get up for necessities, Dan says she would have a better chance of carrying to term."

"Yeah, yeah!" Simon was becoming enthused. Taking Blair by the arm, he started off the direction Stush and Mrisa had taken earlier. Blair flashed a half-alarmed, half-amused look at his partner, but let himself be dragged away.

Jim watched them go, then turned for a last look at the fleet slowly tooling down stream past him. The barge brought up the rear, and at the stern he finally spotted the person he had been looking for. Leader was standing there staring up at the bluff, and again Jim could swear their eyes met even over the distance. They both smiled, and Leader mouthed the words that had been on the note for Shaman.

"Thank you."

Jim nodded his understanding that Leader was thanking them for taking the chance to help, and for something more personal, too. Maybe some day he would have a chance to ask David exactly what it was. The two of them held their gaze for a minute longer, then he heard Simon shout irritably, "Domino! What kind of name is that for a baby?*

His words and Blair dry, amused answer "And Cascade if it's a girl," pulled his attention away long enough to catch Simon's outraged expression and his lover's amused one. By the time the two of them dropped down the slope enough he could no longer see them and he looked back at the barges, Leader was already absorbed in his duties on board.

Never the less, Jim said loudly, "You're welcome," then turned to follow his tribe and his mate.

finis Past Perfect

**Sleepily, Test murmured, "Neat. C'trine had 'n 'venture 'n got her own story 'n ev'thing." He tried to perk up, widening his eyes dramatically, but then yawned a split second later. "Will I have a 'venture someday, y'think?"

"Well," Shaman said, "that's the funny thing about adventures. For the most part, you don't know you're having one until it's all said and done. It's not until other people start talking about it that you realize that it was, and when they talk about it long after you're gone, like Catherine, then it becomes History."

That roused him to the point where he sat up straight, digging at his eyes. "How cn'you have one and not *know?*"

"Why, Test," Sentinel said teasingly, "You've already had one."

"Nuh, huh," he denied, shaking his head, "Not me."

"I was there," Sentinel told him. "Shall I tell you about it?"

"A story, 'bout me?" Test asked skeptically, wonder hiding just under it.

"About you, at least, in part."**

FUTURE PERFECT

The speed with which the tribe had packed a week ago had told Sentinel that his people were eager for the upcoming Gathering. The usual bickering about what should be left behind for the next time the site was used and what should be taken had been merely token. More time and care was spent on choosing what should be brought along for trade and gifts, but even that had been done quickly. Everyone was eager to met old friends, exchange news, and negotiate new homes for the young people who had become adults since the last meeting.

All Sentinel could do was dread it, and, as they drew to the end of their journey, that feeling was nearly overwhelming. There would be too much noise, the stink of too many people, too many things to sort out of a mass of movement, color, and confusion - and not even a Teacher to help him navigate through it.

Familiar sorrow swept over him, though as usual it did not show on his face. Teacher should have remained at the tribe's Shelter the last season they had been there. Joel, and it was only in his private thoughts Sentinel dared to call his mentor by his given name, had been old and tired, ready to stay in the warmth of Shelter and study away his last days. Instead he had continued ranging, cheerfully insisting that at the next Gather they were sure to find a Guide for Sentinel, and then he would retire.

But Teacher had died of pneumonia less than halfway through their cycle, leaving Sentinel alone and at the mercy of his zones, except for Simon. Without thinking, the big man glanced ahead of the broken line of people walking briskly along the trail to pick out the Cap'n. When he had been just a boy, new to this tribe, very uncertain of his status and not feeling particularly wanted, Simon had been his first friend, welcoming him and helping him fit in as best possible. The older boy had been a godsend then, and was doing the best he could now. These days when he went Away, Simon had a chance of bringing him back quickly, but the tall black man was responsible for everyone now that he was leader, and couldn't be spared to be a makeshift Guide for a nearly useless Sentinel.

Moving among the travelers, helping an elder shift a bundle here, reassuring a youngster here, Sentinel forced his mind from its gloomy path, and tried to focus on the better aspects of the upcoming Gather. Idly, he hoped they were not the last to arrive.

The teasing that would result in being the last in would be good-natured, but would damage their chances for adopting some new Un-named adults. The competition for them was always fierce, and being late suggested that the leadership of the tribe and the ability to co-operate among its members was...lacking. It would make them less attractive to prospective additions, and as they had not had a child born in two cycles now, they sorely needed new blood.

He looked over his people, numbering about seventy in all, trying to see them for a moment as an outsider would. Frankly, he considered them a handsome lot. Their hair varied in shade from that glorious color of warmth that spoke of sunlight on grain to the dark, rich color of fertile soil, and there was not even a hint of disease or poor hygiene. All were well groomed and wore their hair long or elaborately cut, in the manner of a prosperous tribe with a well-managed territory. After all, keeping it clean, trimmed, and silky meant that there was plenty of time after hunting and harvesting to spend on appearance.

Even the eldest among them were obviously well fed, and they ranged in age from little Test the youngest present at five cycles to Old Huma, their Healer who was so many seasons old, she no longer kept track. Good nature showed on many of their faces, even after the rigor of the trip, and almost none of them had broken or missing teeth, or were scarred, so it was plain it went deeper than appearances. And that their Elders were capable, keeping the inevitable inter-personal conflicts from escalating into fights or challenges.

Keeping an eye on Test at the front, who was obviously excited by the prospect of arriving and his first look at the Gather, Sentinel reached the head of the line, still absent-mindedly assessing them as he passed.

Personally, he decided, if appearance was what new breeders judged by (and he was practical enough to know that they could be very young and very foolish in that way) the Freedom Tribe had one advantage over many otherwise equally successful communities- skin color. In many tribes, one color would dominate, be it brown or copper or whatever. In his there seemed to be at least one representative of every shade skin came in. Test had the loveliest, light cream skin that needed constant watching on sunny days, the Cap'n had a startling black, and Sentinel himself had an golden brown that made his blue eyes seem even brighter.

Those eyes focused on the valley below the ridge that marked the beginning of neutral territory and the Gather. Fighting off an incipient zone that he could feel at the edge of his mind, he sighed in relief. Not the first, but not by much and definitely not the last. Good!

Test hopped from one foot to the other, practically bouncing in an excess of anxiety and anticipation. Sentinel smiled approval at him for waiting for the others, and placed a reassuring hand on the curve of his shoulder.

"So many, so many," Test muttered. "More hands full than all of us. How can there be so many?"

Gravely Sentinel bent until his voice would carry only to the child. "Because the Earth is greater than you think, when all you've seen is your own territory. It'll be confusing, Test, and noisy, and people will behave in ways that are unfamiliar to you. But no one will hurt you, and if someone becomes upset with you, just tell them your name and tribe. Or show them your chane." He touched the polished and engraved beads strung on a thong around Test's neck. "They will bring any complaints or problems to our Elders. You should do that if you get lost, too."

At Test's scoffing look, he knelt beside the youngster to see more directly into his eyes. "Test, listen to me. You can get lost here! Landmarks will be hidden by people and tents towering over you; trail signs will not exist, because so many will step on the same soil. Noise will make it impossible to listen for voices you know. If you get lost, find an Elder and show them your chane. Promise me."

Reluctance and a little defiance lit Test eyes - he was past the age of needing a keeper! And he certainly could find his own way to his own place! Sentinel bit his tongue just a little, both in amusement and worry. To him, Test may as well have been shouting his protests; time for another tact and perhaps a smile.

He rose, and gestured to where the Cap'n stood, waiting for the rest of the tribe to congregate, so they could make the descent into the valley as a whole. "The Cap'n and Healer don't mind claiming lost ones; it gives them a chance to approach Elders in other tribes for trade and adoption negotiations. When I was your age, my Cap'n claimed that there was not a single Elder he didn't meet, thanks to me!"

Startled into a chuckle, Test looked up at him, then leaned into his leg companionably. "Scholars don't have to be introduced. That doesn't seem fair; is it because they don't stay with one tribe? Why do Scholars move from tribe to tribe, anyway? They can stay at Shelter though they're not old or Blessed or a new baby; why? Scholar says our Cap'n was born from the first Cap'n of our tribe, and that Cap'n founded our Shelter. And that all Sentinels, no matter what tribe, were taught by our first Shaman. How can she tell? Why..."

"So many questions," Sentinel laughed, leaning down to give him a quick hug. "We gave you a good name!" Absently, he looked for the young woman, thinking that in this case, it was because no one could stand this Scholar for more than the cycle it took to bring her from Gather to Gather. Fixing on the sound of her voice reluctantly, he found her standing next to the Cap'n, who had a strained look on his face, and Sentinel knew without actually listening to her words that the other man was being as peppered by quick questions as he was. As always, he tried not to really look at Scholar; he found her appearance very disconcerting.

As a youth, he'd taken a hard knock on the head during a game, and had had to view the world through blurred eyes for several days. Looking at Cassie - she claimed her birth tribe was less restrictive about sharing given names - was the same, as if she was just a little out of focus. Something about her curly, shoulder-length auburn hair or maybe her non-stop talking, or perhaps even her blue eyes: whatever it was, it was like she was almost but not quite... right. Right for what, he didn't know, but he avoided her as much as politely possible.

At an impatient sound from Test, he gave his attention back to the child to answer at least one of his questions. "After the Chaos, when the tribes were being created, it was decided that knowledge was too precious to loose or to hoard. So it was decided Scholars, Healers, Shamans and Bards could move from Shelter to Shelter, tribe to tribe, to learn and share what they know." The youngster opened his mouth to ask more, but Sentinel stopped him with, "If you come to me at the fire tonight, Test, I'll do my best to tell you anything you want to know, but right now, I think Cap'n will be looking for you. It's custom for the youngest present to be with the Elders when we enter the Commons."

Giving him the look only the young have mastered properly - I know that, silly - Test bounced away, only to bounce back again a second later. "I promise. To go to an Elder if I get lost."

With a laugh, Sentinel followed the running boy, wondering what tactic he could use to divert the overly inquisitive Scholar to free Simon for his duties. He came to stand at the Cap'n's left, and as he did, Tracker took Scholar by the elbow, grinning widely at her.

"Bet there must be a dozen differences between Greetings from tribe to tribe," Tracker said to her, bright smile flashing in his brown face.

"Oh yes. The Neskaya, for instance, don't greet at all and everyone simply goes into the camp one at a time."

"Well," Tracker agreed, mostly seriously, "that would certainly convince everyone you mean no harm, but I don't know if I'd have the nerve...."

His voice faded as he drew her to one side, mingling them with her notice into the body of the group. "Henri, I owe you," Cap'n muttered indistinctly. With a little bump to his back, Sentinel caught his friend's attention and nodded down to Test. At that, the Cap'n drew himself up to full height - several inches more than Sentinel's 6'2" - and took several slow breaths.

"Sentinel, what do you See?" He ordered briskly, donning his formal persona.

Automatically Sentinel swept assessing look over the tents and huts on the river plain below them. "Two tribes, Tangle and Hope - about 150 people. No sign of disease, peaceful looking. They're beginning to bunch together in small groups, shading their eyes to see us. Next to the stream, side nearest us, is a Greeting place, and Elders are filtering in."

Ritual complete - one designed, he reflected wearily, both to brag and warn that a sentinel was part of the oncoming Tribe - he stepped to one side and let Cap'n, Healer, Test, and the others take the lead. Keeping close enough to Simon that he could report if necessary, he let his mind drift again to watch his companions.

Though it was rude to stare directly, many of the Freedom tribe were stealing glances and peeks at tents around the encampment, looking for old acquaintances and friends from previous Gathers, trying to see which of the four tribes expected were there already.

Sentinel kept his face bland, but was inwardly pleased. Not only did he see several born to Freedom who had moved to different tribes in previous cycles, but he saw that at least two of them had small ones on the hip or by the hand. It had been since the last Gather that he had been able hold a baby. He looked forward to the sweet smell and soft sounds; there was something about them that said 'home' and 'safe' to him.

As Sentinel, and one already known to them, the new parents would be seeking him out as soon as possible, both to show the children off a little and to ask if they could be Guide or Shaman. A sidelong glance showed Cap'n had the same bland face, and the same air of satisfaction. He would undoubtedly find reasons to frequent Sentinel's tent while parents were consulting with him. It seemed even Simon was always finding different ways to use him to get introductions! The idea lightened his mood, almost against his will, and he finally shook off his brooding.

Amusement nearly showing, he ordered his thoughts and paid attention to the proceedings. They had already approached the entrance proper to the camp, and the Elders there were preparing to acknowledge them. Cap'n, still holding Test by the hand, moved to stand in front of Elders, and waited until a Leader gracefully knelt his slender form to the ground to be able to see into Test's eyes.

"Greetings small traveler. Has your journey been hard?"

Test, ignoring the question, reached a timid hand to touch the completely bare pate of the Elder. Even old Huma did not show such great age. "Yours has been harder, I think," he said seriously, and was frightened when the Leader threw back his head and bellowed a laugh.

Looking around him, Test was reassured by the slight smiles of his people, and the broad ones of the other Elders. "It has been long," the boy said, finally giving the expected response. "And I would appreciate a time of rest, and shelter for it."

"Your chane, small traveler?" The Elder held a hand out while Test removed the thong from his neck for the first time in his life.

The Elder made a show of inspecting it - the center bead was white bone, the symbol of humans themselves. On the right side of it was a small black bead with red tracing through it, made from a stone common to the territory the Freedom Tribe claimed. And on the other side was a simple blank, wooden bead that Test himself would decorate when the time was right for him.

The Elder nodded solemnly, and stood. "I see that you have family with you?"

It was Test's turn to nod solemnly, and he turned to Simon. "This is the Captain of my tribe, and we are from the Freedom Range."

With that formal introduction, the Elder stepped forward and took Simon into his arms for a strong hug. "It is so good to see you again! And so many still with you." With that cue, friends stepped forward amid greetings and laughter, and for a while all Test could do was watch wide-eyed at the crowd from the safety of Sentinel's arms, as it shifted and moved like a single living thing.

Exhausted, fighting zones almost constantly, Sentinel excused himself from a negotiation with the Elders of Tangle Tribe and practically ran for the edge of the camp. Though annoyed, Cap'n had let him go, knowing he was less than useless in his overtaxed state. He was completely unable to filter out what he needed or wanted from the maelstrom around him - even as he hurried away he overheard the leaders behind him talking privately. //Megan, losing his sentinel will put the other Cap'n off balance. Now is a good time to push him for that mineral that the Ritzn tribe wants. //

//Teach a tree to grow, Rafe, I know what to do.//

At the beginning of the Gather, Sentinel had taken one of the first patrols, both to re-familiarize himself with the area and to find a secluded spot to escape to when needed, and he headed there now.

Before he could reach it, however, a ruckus of noise, laughter and excited young voices attracted his attention, calling him to duty despite his desire to leave. Concealing his irritation behind a public face, Sentinel followed the sound to its source and found a challenge in progress.

Though not strictly forbidden, the custom was not looked upon with approval by most Elders because of the risk of stirring high emotions to the breaking point. On the other hand, young people seemed to need a way to waste excess energy, and having minor problems solved in the process was a benefit, so most Named adults simply ignored them. Curious and feeling duty bound to make sure it didn't get out of hand, Sentinel hovered at the edge of the ring of young people and more liberal Named adults to see what form the challenge had taken.

Wits, skill, strength, speed - there were contests for all those, but these competitors had wisely chosen a chaze. When two people were unevenly matched as the pair in the center of the crowd, the combination of tag, hid-n-seek, and obstacle course in a chaze would allow a fair resolution. To one side, surrounded by friends, tittering, chattering and looking too pleased with herself was the very obvious cause of the challenge. The young woman had that indefinable something that told Sentinel she hadn't been considered an adult for long, and was finding being the bone of contention between two suitors very pleasing.

Shaking his head - well, she was young - Sentinel watched the contestants, amusing himself by trying to guess which one had issued the challenge. Probably the big, hulking man who was giving a very good impression of being a frustrated bull right at the second. Generally, Bear of the Tangle tribe tended to react with hormones instead of sense when thwarted, and he had a fondness for the chaze since he was faster than his size suggested.

Long, dark hair braided back, he was dodging around the various people and things in his path, but not so adeptly as the smaller man he was chasing. So far, Bear not been able to snag a single one of the four ribbons attached to the arms and hair of his prey, while he himself had lost all but one. Since winning meant clearing the course first with at least one of them, he had no choice but to surrender any lead he might have had in order to catch the other man.

Gifts or not, Sentinel was having trouble pinpointing the whirling dervish himself, so no wonder Bear wasn't having much luck. The impression he had was of merry blue eyes, flying sable curls, strong lithe body and an absolute glee in the game that spoke more of having fun than taking the challenge seriously. That, as much as knowing Bear would take losing gracefully, put Sentinel at his ease, and he turned to leave.

A few steps away, near a large tree that had two trunks close together, he heard a delighted roar from the bunch behind him, and half turned to see what had happened. From the milling chaos and odd comment, he gathered the young man had ducked into the crowd, deliberately losing himself in it. Since leaving the chaze course wasn't against the rules, as long as it wasn't to run directly to the goal, Bear's opponent had just made the challenge much more interesting.

With a half laugh, Sentinel resumed his path, only to bump into a panting, partly dressed body. Automatically his hands shot out to catch the other person's upper arms to steady them, at the same time his own were similarly gripped.

"Whoa!" the stranger blurted.

And Sentinel looked down into blue laughter, sweet beauty, blazing intelligence, all in the face of the man he'd watched being chased moments before. Dimly recognizing the bead of a Shaman on the other's chane, Sentinel simply stared at him, instinctively pushing him back into the trunks of the trees and sheltering him from view with his own broad back. The man was older than he had thought, he decided, older than he expected to see participating in a challenge. The Shaman had a strong jaw, full lips, white even teeth peering from behind them, sweet scent from both breath and body, and beautiful, beautiful....

"Sentinel?" Even Shaman's voice was wonderful, and, for the first time in Sentinel's life, deliberately pitched to a level only he could hear clearly. "Sentinel? Are you all right?"

Letting the sound ricochet in his ears, Sentinel felt himself slipping Away, but for once could not bring himself to care about it. He was tired, and this man's voice was a lovely thing to be lost in.

Then Shaman leaned into him, pressing them together chest to chest. "Sentinel! Listen to me! This is not the time or place to zone; release what holds you. Let it go!"

With a sigh, Sentinel did as he was told, blinking. At that sound, Shaman relaxed, restoring their personal space. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "If you'll tell me where your Guide is, I'll find him or her. This," and a nod indicated the noisy people behind them, "must be difficult for you."

To his own utter surprise, Sentinel said truthfully, "No guide; that's why I'm having so much trouble." Artlessly, he slid one hand up over the smooth, soft skin of Shaman's shoulder to timidly touch a single curl.

"A teacher?" Shaman asked, swaying ever so slightly towards him.

He made himself release the lock and take a step back, dismayed at how much will it took. "No," he said shortly, but hearing his own sadness under it. "Have you been a Teacher?" he asked, knowing there were no sentinels besides himself in the camp and wondering how this man came by his guiding skill.

With a smile that nearly sent Sentinel reeling back into a zone, the other man shook his head. "No, I've never had the pleasure to work with one. I've met a few in my life, though, and always been curious about them."

Before he could reply to that, a triumphant roar sounded too close to his ears, and he twisted his head sharply toward it. Bear had spotted his lost target and was heading for them, most of the crowd following. Biting back a disgruntled sound, he made to step away from the Shaman to free him for the challenge.

"Wait," Shaman ordered softly. "I only paid attention to Tresa to get Bear to notice her; she really cares for him." Though Sentinel kept his opinion from his features, the other man obviously saw it anyway. "It's what a Shaman *does,* Sentinel," the smaller man said with some asperity. "Now stay here, please?"

'Please' in that tone of voice from that mouth was a weakness Sentinel hadn't even known he had until that second. Without waiting for his response, Shaman stepped clear of his protective stance, removing ribbons as he did. Mutely he held them out to Bear, face solemn.

Confused, Bear took strips of cloth, looking at them, the ground, the people around him, everywhere but at Shaman.

"Sentinel has recalled me to duty," the smaller man said formally. "I concede the challenge." There was a soft murmur of disappointment from the spectators, and Shaman studied them, finding Tresa to smile at her reassuringly. "If the lady has no objections, of course."

She blushed, but sidled up to Bear to tentatively take his hand. Their mutual smiles answered the question, and at that the others laughed and began to wander off, already dissecting the chaze to decide for themselves who would have won. The young couple didn't seem to notice, and Sentinel hid a smile himself.

Then the aroma of their mutual attracted wafted his way, filling his head, and he nearly choked, unable to dismiss or ignore it. Working on habit and blind need, he hurried away, hunting for solitude, too absorbed in trying to function through the overload to notice his steps were being shadowed.

Finally he made it to a large blackberry bush, near the edge of a bluff, and climbed the tree nearest it. Risky though it was with his head spinning, he crept out onto a limb that hung over the center of the bush and dropped onto the large, flat topped boulder hidden there. Crumpling up on the skin he'd left earlier, he wrapped his arms over his head and tried to shut off all his senses.

The effort seemed doomed to his mind, but one by one they all did fade to bearable levels, gently overwhelmed by his skin, which was happily humming and tingling from being softly petted. Slowly the overall sensation resolved itself into specifics; a much hairier body than his own curled around his back, strong fingers scratching his scalp through the short hair there, the rasp of beard between his shoulder blades, a rumbling vibration through his torso from words spoken against his back. Without thinking he knew this time it was real, coming from the young Shaman he'd just met, and he caught the hand massaging circles into his chest.

Belatedly he connected meaning and sound. "... then the First Sentinel picked up the body of his lover and carried it out into the blizzard, neither of them ever to be seen again."

"That's not the way it happened," he disagreed mildly, at a loss for anything better to say about finding Shaman wrapped around him, expertly coaxing him out of the worst overload he could remember having.

"That's what the legends all say." Though his words were neutral enough, to Sentinel the relief under them was apparent.

"That's not what happened."

Duty done, Shaman sat up, his shadow falling over Sentinel's face, but he didn't put any distance between them, letting his hands linger on the bigger man's arm. "Freedom Tribe has a different tale?" he asked.

"Sentinel and Shaman were out trying to find food after a series of hard snows," he told his new friend, "which had caused the tribe to use up their supplies. The snow was too deep to move to a better camp, so they took some of the best hunters and went out looking for whatever they could find. While they were out, a blizzard blew in, but Sentinel had sensed it coming, so they were nearly back to camp when it hit. Close enough, actually, that the other hunters made it back when Sentinel and Shaman were lost from the party. Probably cause they were getting really old, and wouldn't have been out at all if they hadn't needed Sentinel's gifts so badly.

"Their bodies were found after the thaw, still wrapped in a lover's embrace. Stush, the Cap'n then, cremated their remains, which is custom for us, and scattered the combined ashes over a field of flowers, which we still do for lovers so they can be together even after death."

"You tell that story as if you were there when it happened." Shaman's curiosity wasn't even barely masked. "Like you know them personally."

"I do, in a way. First Sentinel created Freedom Tribe right after the collapse, according to his Shaman's journals which start before the Chaos, so we're pretty sure ours was the first. We have them at our Shelter, though after 11 generations, I'm about the only person who can still read the originals. Copies have been printed, though, for Guide or Shaman to study, if need be." Not wanting the other man to leave yet, Sentinel answered him completely, suspecting that it would encourage him to stay. He remained motionless, enjoying Shaman's presence, mapping it by the coolness of the shadow splashing over his own body.

"You've actually seen them?" Shaman questioned eagerly.

"The Sandburg Journals? Yes. Jo... my last teacher showed them to me; even pointed out where the handwriting changed when Sentinel took over writing them for Shaman when he sara'd to paper." His matter-of-fact tone didn't quite disguise his pride at his tribe having such a valuable resource.

Squirming, but keeping his hands on Sentinel, Shaman wondered out loud, with excitement underlying his words, "Do you think your Cap'n would mind having me travel with your tribe until you reach the end of your path again? I'm young, but well trained. My mom is a Bard, and I traveled with her when I was a kid, until the Shaman from Truthot Tribe volunteered to start formally teaching me."

Mildly scandalized at the woman's behavior - denying a child a strong tribe to grow in until time to chose his own! - Sentinel finally sat up to face the Shaman, dislodging his hands. Though he was trying to maintain a public expression, he found himself saying more honestly than he should, "If you volunteer to take over as a guide of a sorts until he finds one for me, the Cap'n would jump at the chance, even if we had three shaman of our own already."

Wondering what it was about this man that made him speak without considering, Sentinel firmly closed his lips over the bitterness that welled up every time he wondered what was wrong with him that he couldn't find his Guide. The brilliant blue eyes, framed by a halo of bright sunshine and riotous curls, softened as though Shaman saw it anyway. "I'd be honored if you'd let me try." The younger man cautiously put his hand back in the center of Sentinel's chest. "If it will help you trust me, my name is Blair."

"Blair..." Sentinel said slowly, tasting the word gingerly, covering the hand on him with one of his own.

To his surprise, Shaman looked away and said a little defensively, "Not after the first Shaman. My mother's milk tribe was almost on the other side of N'Merica. It's not an unusual name there."

"I like it." Sentinel assured him sincerely, reaching out with his free hand to cup his jaw. "Blair - like brightness and air mixed; it suits you." The smile he was given for his words was almost shy, and one turned up the corners of his lips in reply. "My name is Jim."

"Jim," Blair murmured. "Jim."

Helplessly Sentinel shuddered at the sound, his heartbeat and breathing beginning to race. Of its own violation his hand drew Shaman's head closer and he leaned forward until their lips were nearly touching. Eyes wide, his companion allowed action, lifting his face in invitation, a soft 'oh' of surprise escaping just as Sentinel hesitantly tasted him.

As if startled, they both jerked a few inches apart, whispered, "Oh, finally," then claimed their places in each other's lives.

"There," Sentinel whispered, "Just like I said, a story with you in it." Not meeting the eyes of the Shaman looking at him questioningly, he added, "Maybe next time you'll be able to stay awake for it."

PAST TO FUTURE

Cuddling the sleeping boy in his arms, Sentinel rose to carry him to Nursery, effortlessly finding his way through the thick darkness. Shaman watched him go, hardly able to take his eyes off the nearly perfect male body moving with such grace. Only when the shape of it was lost to the firelight did he turn back to the fire, smiling cheekily at the knowing looks directed his way.

So far Freedom Tribe had accepted his new role with their sentinel with much less suspicion that he had expected. From all that he knew about the relationship between tribe and guardian, they tended to be very protective and nurturing of each other, but, oddly, that wasn't the case with Freedom. They seemed to take their sentinel for granted, giving him no more thought or consideration than they would any other healthy fighter.

Their Cap'n was the exception. Even now he was glaring at Shaman as if about to Challenge him, and he wondered tiredly if it was the jealousy of a lover that he would have to deal with from the man. That would certainly explain why, other than the one incredibly sweet, chaste kiss they had shared the day they met, Sentinel had never so much as smiled at him with sexual interest. Let alone touched him like a lover.

That afternoon had been one of the most remarkable in a life filled with remarkable days. Shaman had meandered from one side of N'merica to the other, and even into S'merica during his travels. Dealing with the different tribes, holders, and even the ragged remnants of Ravagers had given him a broad understanding of his fellow humans. It was why he was a Shaman at such a young age, why he had survived those many, many miles.

But for all that, he was baffled by the Sentinel he had promised to guide for a time, bemused by the tribe, and somehow unwittingly at odds with the Cap'n. Meeting the eyes of the subject of his thoughts, hearing a snort of derision, Shaman suddenly came to a decision and rose to join the tall man on the other side of the fire.

The Cap'n tensed, but hid it well, sipping at his tea with realistic nonchalance. "Coming to tell me you've changed your mind about breaking camp with us tomorrow?" he asked sarcastically.

"Why would I do that?" Shaman replied mildly. "Unless, of course, you think I've noticed that you don't want me to, and hope I'll bow out to make it easier on us both."

Gripping his cup tightly, Cap'n shot back, "Isn't that what a Shaman does? Makes things easier for the tribe, keeps it happy and working smoothly?"

Surprised at the contempt in the other man's voice, Shaman studied him, then deliberately shrugged, as if not caring about the Cap'n's opinion of him or shaman in general. "That's part of it," he admitted easily. "But we are also Healers, Scholars, Historians, Storytellers, Teachers - whatever the tribe needs of us."

"Well this tribe doesn't need a Shaman; we haven't had one for several generations and it hasn't done us any harm at all," the Cap'n said firmly, as if expecting an argument. "Just like Jim doesn't need another *teacher.*" He told more than he probably intended with the use of Sentinel's given name, and it took most of Blair's training to keep his expression neutral at the revelation. "He needs a Guide, a real one who can do the job properly."

There was so much whirling through his head, it was hard to know which trail to take next, so Shaman carefully chose to touch on the one word that had been emphasized. "Another? How many teachers has Sentinel had?"

That pulled the Cap'n up short, and he sat up straighter, eyeing Shaman speculatively. "He doesn't like to talk about his background," the older man admitted grudgingly.

"I'd noticed," Shaman agreed dryly.

That earned him a snort of amusement, then the Cap'n surprisingly volunteered, "Simon, Jim's friend doesn't want to talk about him without his knowledge. But the Cap'n...." Trailing off, he looked into the darkness the way the Sentinel had gone, as if he could see the subject of their discussion. "The Cap'n knows you need to know as much as possible if you're going to be any help at all."

"It's...unusual," Blair encouraged as diplomatically as possible, "For a sentinel to be as old as Freedom's and not have a guide. They usually die young without one. Or go insane and have to be granted Mercy. Whoever his teachers were, they must have been extraordinary for him to survive."

Surprisingly the Cap'n shook his head. "No, Sentinel is the extraordinary one. He wasn't even born to a Tribe and still managed to make it somehow until he was brought to us."

"Not Tribe?" Shaman blurted. "Bard?" The last was a wild guess; usually even bards left their children with the tribe they lived with at the time of birth. Nomi, Blair's mother, had been a rare exception, and the agonized expression in her eyes the very few times he had asked why she'd kept him with her was the only straight answer he'd ever gotten from her.

"No, son of a Holder, if you can believe it," Cap'n said, unintentionally derailing Shaman's wool-gathering. He looked around furtively as if to see if anyone was listening, but the late hour had made the central fire deserted, and he settled himself comfortably, unconsciously taking on the air of a storyteller.

"When I was a boy, not even out of Nursery yet," he began a little awkwardly, "Our Range had a hard, hard year. From one winter to the next it stayed cold, so cold and stormy that there was no growing season at all. Food was hard to come by, and Freedom had to change camps constantly to keep from using up our resources.

"Joel, our Cap'n then, decided to approach the Elson Hold, which is a few days march from the southern-most part of our Range. That area hasn't been kind to Tribes - no one claims it right now - but the Elson Clan has been doing well there for some generations. We had some excess wool from the wild sheep grazing in upper pastures and thought we could trade the warm stuff for any excess food the Hold might have. They depend more on hydro and hot houses than field growing, and usually have extra for trading.

"Cap'n came back with the food - and a young boy in tow.

"None of the people traveling with them knew how the Cap'n came to have a boy with him. Not even Jim knew why his father ordered him to leave with the Tribe. The only explanation any of us ever had were the bruises and whip marks Jim carried. The Cap'n refused to say anything at all."

"Oh, my," Blair breathed, not bothering to hide his shock. Only Ravagers beat their children, and even they wouldn't put up with an adult who was too severe. Bad enough for a child to adjust to a new Tribe when they Transitioned and were ready to find a new family. But to go to strangers who didn't even have the same customs, already irrevocably different - his heart ached for the child Sentinel had been.

They watched the fire at its eternal dance for a few moments, then Shaman asked, "Who was his first Teacher in the tribe, then?"

"In the beginning," the Cap'n said sorrowfully, "No one. We didn't know he was a sentinel."

"What!"

"You heard me."

"That's not...I mean...I never..." Shaman sputtered to a stop, not wanting to sound any more foolish than he already did.

"Joel may have suspected it," the Cap'n went on unperturbedly, undoubtedly expecting the reaction he'd gotten. "He pulled me aside Jim's very first day with us and asked me to take him under my wing. Keep the other kids from making things too hard on him, hold the teasing down to a minimum. You know the sort of thing I'm talking about."

Indeed, Shaman knew all too well the sorts of pranks and petty aggravations that the young of any tribe would treat newcomers to. Too many nights of his youth had been spent anticipating and deflecting just that sort of treatment. But all he said was, "Children act like children precisely because they are too young to understand how they should behave." The Cap'n's exasperated grunt in response made him smile inwardly; that had often been his own reaction to that statement.

"Yeah, half the work of parenting is really just civilizing savages," the big man rumbled. "At the time I thought the Cap'n was being kind to someone who had enough abuse, but later I wondered if he wasn't trying to spare someone who's senses couldn't handle too much without causing serious pain. Back then, though, I did it because the Cap'n asked, and because I had my own opinions about how to treat newcomers."

Leaning forward to stir the embers of the fire, Freedom's current captain murmured, "Earned me a life-long friend." To Shaman he said, "It wasn't until we reached shelter and Joel had Jim tested that anyone knew he was a sentinel. He was that good at hiding his true self, and still is for that matter.

"Well, like I said, we didn't have anyone who could train a sentinel. Best that could be done was to give him the Sandburg Journals to read and keep an eye on him for zone outs."

//That's what you think,// Blair reflected privately. //A Cap'n who saw a hidden sentinel, who became a Teacher when another was old enough to take his place? Like I said, a Shaman is what whatever the Tribe needs him to be. Apparently even a Cap'n.//

Aloud he asked, "If I'm not breaking too many taboos here, could I know who Sentinel Transitioned with? Sometimes the instinct to find a Guide will show in the choice of lovers. Perhaps whoever that person was unintentionally helped; I'll need to talk to him or her to see how deep the connection goes."

Just like that the Cap'n shut down completely, and Shaman knew without rhyme or reason, that a friend was all that Sentinel had been willing to be for the other man, and he had learned to call that his choice as well. His hunch was partly confirmed when Cap'n said flatly, "He chose not to Transition; or is that a variation on custom you haven't heard of?"

Standing and emptying his cup into the fire, positive nothing else useful would be forthcoming tonight, Shaman answered mildly, "It's not common, but of course there are always young people who prefer to slip into adult hood quietly, with no ritual. Doesn't surprise me at all that Jim was the same way." His use of birth name was deliberate. Friends or not, he couldn't be in constant opposition with the person who had the most influence with Jim if he was going to be of any use to Sentinel at all during their time together. A subtle reminder that he had a place, a necessary place, was needed for the Cap'n, whether he liked it or not.

The sour look shot his way told him that it wasn't liked, but the Cap'n said nothing, his silence a mute acceptance of Shaman's role. For now.

With a brief wave goodnight, he made his way to his own tent, curling into the bedding gratefully. Tomorrow the Gathering would be done, with everyone breaking camp to begin their cycle through their territory anew. If Freedom was typical, it would take nearly a year to reach the opposite side from where they were currently, then about a month to trek inward toward their shelter for their annual visit.

For Blair it was as exciting a prospect as it had been the first time he'd been allowed in a Shelter, and despite the time it would take to actually arrive, he was already eagerly anticipating it. Though he didn't lightly dismiss the difficulties involved in trying to fulfill his promise to Jim, he was willing to put up with a great deal more than a silent, reclusive Sentinel and an antagonistic Cap'n for a chance to read the Sandburg Journals.

As both Shaman and Guide, the man was legendary, almost a myth, and Blair couldn't help but wonder if the journals really were the private musings the First among Shaman, or if they were some kind of fake. If it was the latter, it could perhaps explain the odd attitude the other members of the Tribe directed toward Sentinel. They would have no idea of what one really was or what he could do if the journals were false. Then Blair would be faced with the difficult decision of whether or not to prove they were forgeries, and try to undo the damage they'd caused.

A lot would depend on how well they accepted him over the next year or so, and if they always treated their sentinel with the kind of casual disregard he'd seen so far. Perhaps once they were back on the move and needed his services, Freedom would revert to a more normal respect. Perhaps Jim was more restrained and controlled when surrounded by the chaos of a Gather, especially with no Guide to help him stay focused. //Perhaps,// he thought sleepily, //I'll wake with blue skin and auburn eyes. Far more likely than the mystery of these people solving itself so readily. Nothing to do but wait for tomorrow and see.//

The next morning he sat in the crook of an old grandfather of a tree, not too far from the Gather, and watched it slowly dissolve into a track of flattened grasses and dusty bare spots. In a month's time, even this much evidence of the presence of so many people would be gone, and Shaman nodded to himself in satisfaction. That was how it should be.

//Pity the young people have to decide before Breaking Camp who to make their new tribe,// he mused. //You can tell a lot about a people by how they prepare to travel. Are they bickering, moving slowly? Are they cooperative? Efficient? Too efficient?// His own small preparations were long finished; he'd awakened with the first light and had been too filled with the restless expectations of a new journey to be able to sleep any longer. Most of the others had been in the same boat, and he's spent a good part of the morning calming and soothing small ones, keeping them occupied while other adults with more demanding duties bustled about. Eventually the last child had been claimed, though, and he had retreated up here with his breakfast of dried fruit to idly observe and speculate until the good-byes were done.

A few feet above him, on a makeshift platform constructed for just that purpose, Sentinel stood guard, though it was nearly only a formality. Shaman suspected it was really to spare the man the unavoidable chaos of so many people milling about frantically. Whatever reason, it served Shaman's own, and he glanced upward at his charge, wondering how to broach the topic they needed to discuss before it was too late for either of them to change their minds.

Sentinel seemed oblivious to him, and that was what they had to work out before Shaman committed himself to ranging with Freedom Tribe. Though he didn't understand why the bigger man had chosen to retreat from a physical relationship with him, Shaman couldn't and wouldn't make an issue of it. That startling hum of recognition Blair had felt when Jim's lips touched his so gently could have just been a residue from talking the man down from the worst overload he could have ever imagined. And Jim had been so exhausted from it that he had curled up against Blair and fallen asleep almost instantly. Surely if there had been...more... between them, Jim would have wanted to at least kiss again in affirmation and promise. But Sentinel had awakened from that nap briskly grateful for Shaman's assistance, and had so little conversation or contact with him since they might have been a rock and a reed sharing a small space on a river: forever connected by the rushing water and eternally separated by what they were.

The self-pity and loneliness in that thought was both detestable and startling, and Shaman pushed it away, suddenly determined to confront Sentinel. They had to spend time together, live side by side as intimately as Mates, if he was going to guide. If they weren't at least friends, it was a waste of effort for both of them. He opened his mouth to speak, only to have the other man beat him to it.

"Trouble," he grunted, climbing down.

Automatically following, Shaman asked, "What kind?"

Head cocked for listening, Sentinel answered hesitantly, "Lost child?" He headed for the temporary Shelter in the center of the clearing at a fast trot. "Kylie of Tangle," he added more assertively. "Hair the color of a raven's wing? About 4 or so, constantly dragging a hide around, and as curious as a crow?"

Remembering amber eyes laughing up at him as he showed him how to play cat's cradle, Shaman nodded. "The hide is his blankie - Kylie strays all the time, attracted by one thing or another. His Nannies have been ready to just about tear their hair out trying to keep track of him."

"They'll be bald over this, then," Sentinel said grimly. With the camp nearly gone, there's no place for him to be hiding, and they still can't find him. Means he has to have gone into the woods; the Leaders are organizing searching parties."

"How long has he been missing?" Shaman asked thoughtfully. "Small as he is, he won't have been able to get too far without getting tired. We should be able to find him in no time."

"Provided one of the big cats or wild dog packs we've been guarding against doesn't get him first," Sentinel snapped. "Dammit, I should have seen him wandering off!"

That pulled Shaman up short in his musings, and he snapped back, "You're not an infallible spirit of some sort! No one is to blame. It's literally impossible to watch children every single second, and they have a built-in instinct to tell them when adults are distracted!"

Not answering, Sentinel stopped at edge of the crowd gathered around the Leaders, catching his Cap'n's eye over everyone's head. The head of Freedom made a patting motion, stay there, then went back to setting out a search pattern that would cover the most ground as fast as possible. Not particularly surprised that he commanded the other Leaders, Shaman nodded to himself at the precision in which they worked and waited to be told which party he was in.

It took most of his self-control not to shout in protest when the Cap'n finished, "Sentinel, we still need a sentry for the campsite. You go back to your post and take that Shaman with you; he can come back here to give the signal if you See anything the searchers can use."

"Yes, sir." Without another word, Sentinel trotted off to do as he was told, with only the straight lines of his back and shoulders to tell how hurt he was at the implied failure at his duties.

Seething, telling himself that no wonder the man had blamed himself, he'd only been anticipating his leader's reaction, Shaman did the same. His obedience only lasted until they were back at their tree; then he skidded to a halt in front of Sentinel, putting out a hand to halt him. "Wait. I want you to try something first, okay?"

Obviously annoyed, Sentinel stopped, jaw muscle jumping frenetically. "What?"

Not daunted by the hostile tone, Shaman said earnestly, "Look, you know Kylie well, right? Not just how he looks, but the sound of him, his scent, everything. And don't tell me that you don't; putting all the sense pieces together to make up the sensory signature of someone is second nature to all humans. You have to have a deeper impression than anyone else simply because of who you are."

"I wasn't going to deny it."

Hoping that he wasn't imagining the trace of curiosity under the tone, Shaman said urgently. "So use that. Call it up in your mind, especially scent and sound. More than likely Kylie isn't in sight; even your vision doesn't go through trees!. But scent can carry a long, long way."

"There are far too many odors and too many trifling breezes for me to be able to scent him. Why else do you think the Cap'n didn't try that already? Useless effort and risk of a zone when I could be used here."

Not sure who he wanted to smack more - the Cap'n for disregarding Sentinel's abilities or the sentinel for putting up with it - Shaman said stubbornly, "You're not just using scent; you're using sound too, mixing them together to give you more than one reference point. Finding a flat rock in a stream bed is hard, or a black rock in the same place, but a flat, black one will practically jump out at you."

Not looking convinced, Sentinel took in a slow, deliberate breath, then closed his eyes to sort through what Smell was telling him, comparing it with Hearing. His features very quickly showed the abstraction of deep concentration, and Shaman brought up his hands to clasp the other man's upper arms. "Think about Kylie," he coaxed softly. "Think about his clean, little boy smell, think about giggles and chuckles and happy noises while he's looking at flower or chasing a lizard."

"No," Sentinel said slowly. "Not happy. I can smell fear, little boy fear, little boy tears." Suddenly his eyes shot open, and he began running at top speed toward the roughest, thickest part of the local forest. "And I smell rabies!"

Digging into his will, Shaman kept up with the longer legs of his companion, though he was gasping by the time they reached a dark, uninviting dip between two hillocks. In the center of it a raccoon chittered angrily and clawed at the outside of a rotting stump, occasionally scurrying to a different side, snarling angrily. Over that Shaman could barely hear a child crying, sobbing quietly for Nana. For a moment he was mystified as to how Kylie could be inside the stump, then he saw a patch of leather jammed in a crack in the wood with dirt trapped around it. Blankie had accidentally kept the boy from being followed into the stump by the raccoon.

Eyeing the animal's odd behavior, Shaman panted softly, "Sure... rabid?"

"Give me another reason a raccoon would be out and around this time of day, let alone standing its ground when two adult humans come running at it," he whispered. Cautiously, taking out his blow dart gun, Sentinel crept to one side of the beast to be able to get a clear shot. Distracted by its wrath at Kylie for whatever reason its tiny mind had created, the raccoon never even noticed the danger until the sting of the dart made it shriek in rage. It turned to charge, abruptly aware of another predator too close, but they were both ready for that and sprang in opposite directions.

Giving chase, it darted after Shaman, but turning its back on Sentinel was a mistake. The moment it did the big man clubbed it with a handy dead branch, shattering the rotting wood with the force of his blow. With a murmured apology to it for its death, Sentinel pushed the corpse to one side so that the child couldn't see it, and knelt in front of the gap in the stump.

"Kylie, Nanny is looking for you," he called quietly. "I think you'd better hurry; there was some honey comb left over from breakfast and she's trying to save you a piece."

The sobbing continued for several more minutes while they both calmly coaxed, but it slowed, then Shaman heard, "Nnama? 'ony comb?"

"That's right," Sentinel promised. "Honey comb." Sure now that the boy would know it was him and not the raccoon, he pushed away the hide and reached out to scoop Kylie up as he crawled out of his refuge. "Bad 'coon, senman," he said indignantly. "Bad." Trouble already forgotten he beamed at Shaman. "Hi Shaman. Got 'ony comb?"

"No, Nanny does," Shaman said, wiping away tear streaks from the child's face and noisily kissing the end of his nose. "Guess we'd better find her, huh?"

"Finder, finder," Kylie giggled, and Shaman kept him distracted and laughing while Jim pulled out the rocket flare to tell the others the child had been found. Despite that, the 'boom' made Kylie jump, and he gave Sentinel an offended pout until he was tickled back into merriment.

They carried the laughing youngster back into the Gather camp, attracting a largish crowd as everyone came in from their own search to see for themselves Kylie was safe. The boy loved it, crowing and chortling at all the attention, but Shaman saw his partner growing paler and paler, jaw tight with unspoken tension. A clap of congratulation from Tangle's Leader sent a tremor through the taut frame, known only to Shaman because he stood so close. Squirming around until he was facing their Cap'n, he stretched up, depending on habit to cause the taller man to lower his head toward him.

"I think this is too much for Sentinel," he muttered confidingly. "He had his senses wide open to search for Kylie, and hasn't really had a chance to get back to normal. I'm going to take him aside; if you have to, start the day's march without us. We can catch up."

Not looking very happy, but not willing to make an issue of it in front of outsiders, the Cap'n nodded shortly. A minute later he eased Kylie out of Sentinel's arms. "I think this young man has had quiet enough excitement," he announced clearly.

"Ony comb?" Kylie asked excitedly. "Ony comb?"

Everyone laughed, and Shaman took advantage of their momentary distraction to steer Sentinel away. The big man was barely keeping himself upright, and he stared into the distance blankly, not noticing where he was being led. In short order they were back at the tree they had started the morning at, but this time on the other side where the branches swung low, heavy with concealing leaves.

Releasing his grip, Shaman turned to study his charge, not sure how to help. Sentinel stood rigidly, eyes closed now, but his trembling had increased, and worried that he might collapse, Shaman put his hands flat on the broad shoulders and pressed down. "Sit!" he ordered gently. "Sit, before you fall."

Thankfully Sentinel folded, going to his knees and sitting on his heels, fists digging into his upper thighs. Kneeling between his legs, Shaman leaned in close, fingers petting the smooth skin under them, and murmured in what he hoped was a soothing voice, "It's okay, it's okay. Too many noises, too much movement, over-powering stink - treat it like the wind, Jim. Let it flow by, be touched by it, but then it's gone. Let it go, Jim, let it go."

There was a tiny grimace of pain, and Jim lifted up his hands as if to reach for something or catch it, but stopped before they were more than halfway.

Impulsively Blair fitted himself into the gap, letting his torso fill it. Fingers closed over his sides in a petal soft hold, and Jim dropped his head to Blair's shoulder, sighing gratefully. Most of the tension flowed away from him, and he mumbled an indistinct apology.

"Hush, hush," Blair crooned, daringly petting the short hair. "You've done nothing to be sorry for."

"I lost control." The words were a bare whisper of air, barely carrying to the other man's ear.

"Of course you did," Blair draped an arm across Jim's back, hugging him closer despite the awkward position. "First your senses were flung wide open, then you were plunged into a crowd - of course you had an overload. Sentinels aren't designed to take that kind of abuse; why do you think they have guides?"

Jim's answer was to drift his touch down to Blair's hips and back up again, barely making contact on the way. Not understanding the 'why' behind the tentative question in it, Blair nuzzled at the ear closest. "It's okay to want to touch me, too. If I'm going to guide you, you need to know my sensory signature, too; make it a part of you."

The shudder that rocked Jim frightened Blair, and he crooned wordless encouragement and approval until his companion turned his head to meet Blair's lips. There was no passion in the kiss; just a hesitant exploration made all the sweeter for its innocence. Blair opened to Jim, savoring his taste, relishing the slow sweep of sensation over his body. It robbed him of his bones, leaving him upright only through Jim's will. Chest, shoulders, hips, thighs, bottom, back - even calves were given tender homage. All Blair could think of was how grateful he was that the day had been warm and, like Jim, all he wore was vest, breechcloth, and knife belt.

Amazingly, his manhood remained quiescent, as if that little head understood that there was no place for it in this chaste familiarity. This was only for connecting, for learning about each other, for being together in the most basic of all human interaction.

Blair would have given his soul for it to go on forever.

Eventually, though, Jim pulled away, looked every bit as dazed as Blair felt. "We should catch up with the others before they get too far ahead," he said absently.

"Yeah, we should." Blair made no effort to move and neither did Jim.

Instead he cautiously burrowed his long fingers into the hair at the nape of Blair's neck, massaging at the firm muscles there. The rapt pleasure on his face caused the first frisson of desire to tumble through Blair's middle, and he offered his mouth, this time wanting to taste the same on Jim's lips.

But he drew them both to their feet, hands leaving with a last, lingering brush over Blair's throat. "We need to leave, " he said, and the regret in his tone was the only reason Blair nodded in agreement.

Without a word they went to gather their things and follow the Freedom Tribe's trail, traveling in silence most of the way. But it was a good silence that wove in and around them, strengthening the fragile thing growing between them. Blair was actually disappointed to see the trailing edge of the line, and he wound an arm around Jim's waist for a last squeeze before they were spotted.

"Sentinel! Sentinel!" a small girl laughed, and she hopped down from the shoulders she was riding to stumble toward them.

Putting on a burst of speed, Sentinel raced to get to her, snatching her up and giving her a twirl in the air before cuddling her in his arms. "Tarey, Tarey... miss me?" he chuckled.

She slapped at the top of his head gently, fondly, and answered very seriously. "I was worried about you!" She peered over at Shaman as he drew even with them. "Did you take good care of him?" she demanded imperiously.

"As best he would let me," Blair said solemnly, hiding his amusement deeply from perceptive green eyes.

Tarey tilted her head sideways, considering if she was being teased, then said with a tiny smile ducking around the corners of her mouth, "Stubborn isn't he?"

"Never met anybody more so. But that's a good thing in a sentinel."

"Only if his guide is more stubborn," Tarey retorted seriously.

So seriously Shaman looked at her more closely, realizing that she was older than her slight form indicated. Her straight, brown hair was thin and lank, framing a face that was pinched with tiredness and pain. For all that, there was lively intelligence and good humor there too, and she grinned at him cheekily as she nestled into Sentinel's arms.

"I'll have to practice, then, I think," Blair grinned back.

"Not too much," Sentinel put in, fingers spreading over the frail chest, resting there lightly. "Word has it this shaman out-stubborned a Cap'n, once." He picked up a finger to bite at the tip of it playfully. "Of course, you could always give him pointers."

Tarey laughed, as did Shaman, and the three of them traded ideas on how to prove who was the most stubborn until she dreamily giggled herself to sleep.

"When he was sure she was out, Shaman asked, "Shouldn't a child this ill be in Shelter?"

Shrugging with his lips, Jim told him, "Tarey's older than she looks, Blair. But she won't get much older. One of her heart valves is faulty and will probably fail if she grows much more.

"She wanted to do a Gather, and Range with us like any other older child, and the Elders decided she was mature enough to make her own decisions.

"Nobody minds carrying her, she's such a joy to be around. And when the weather gets colder, a couple of us will take her to Shelter for the bad season. The memories she's making now will help all of us when her heart does fail."

Nodding his understanding, Blair tucked his hand in the crook of Jim's arm. "So you were listening to and feeling her heart beat when you first picked her up. That kiss to her fingertip was to see how warm and pink it was, to check her circulation. Between you and Huma, Freedom almost has a full-blown Physician."

"Better than being totally useless," Sentinel muttered, but he shook his head at himself in self-castigation. "I can't give her a new heart, though. Oh, the knowledge still exists in the books, and Surgeons do live in other tribes, but the feasibility of getting a viable heart from a donor and to Tarey is just beyond doing."

Their conversation wandered from there to all the other possibilities for Tarey, and Shaman let the moment of self-revelation from his new partner slide. It was the most personal comment Jim had made to him willingly, and he knew better than to push or nag, especially during the march. But it strengthened his resolve to not let Jim keep him at arms' length; the man was going to have to give, at least some.

What they had been able to accomplish today proved that he was right to do it that way. As for what happened after, under the tree - he longed for the simplicity of that moment and doubted he would ever know it again.

True to his resolution, when Sentinel stood to leave the common fire that night, Shaman followed him as if he'd always had the right to do so and everyone knew it. That bit of bravado only lasted until the evening's gloom surrounded him, and he hurried after his companion, picking his way cautiously in the faint light.

Fortunately Shaman knew approximately where Sentinel was planning on sleeping - otherwise he might have gotten lost in the unfamiliar terrain. As it was, he all but fell over the big man, tangling himself in the blankets being unrolled and forcing Sentinel to jump up to steady him.

"Shaman, what's wrong - the camp... ?" Sentinel demanded, hands gentle for all the urgency in his question.

"Nothing's wrong. Except that I'm clumsy," Blair chuckled. "Sorry I startled you." He shrugged off the hold on him and knelt to undo his own sleeping roll. "Would you be more comfortable if I were on the left or right side of you?"

"Left or..." Sentinel mumbled, gawking at him. Then he collected his wits and said sharply, "What happened under the tree today wasn't an invitation to my bed, Shaman. Or are you just assuming that because you're a shaman you're welcome in anyone's?"

"Well, I usually am," Shaman said cheerfully, not bothered in the least by Sentinel's opening salvo. "Main reason I've never been forced to bully my way into one before. On the other hand, I've never quite met anyone as obsessed with privacy as you, either. Been trying to decide for days if it's part of being a sentinel or if you're just a pervert of some kind."

He stretched out on his blankets, glad the night air was cool enough to warrant a light covering. For all his apparent composure, he wouldn't be surprised if Sentinel bodily picked him up and tossed him out into the forest. The bedding, at least, gave his hands something to do to hide his nerves. Making a show of arranging himself, he fussed as if to find all the small pebbles likely to dig into him, ignoring the sputtering and fuming from a few feet away.

"I am not a pervert!" Sentinel snapped finally.

"Neither am I," Shaman answered calmly. "I'm a shaman trying to do what's best for his student. You need to learn me, Jim, bone and brain, like I told you earlier. My presence has to be such a normal part of your surroundings that the lack of it wakens your guardian instincts. That means keeping me close, not as far away from me as you can politely get."

Pacing a few steps back and forth, not looking at him, Jim demanded, "Why?"

Sighing, hoping that the half-truths he was about to tell would prove more honest than he thought, Blair said, "So I can become a constant for you. Look, if you had imprinted me on your senses before today, when you started to overload, you could have focused on me, used my scent, sound, whatever to hold away the rest of it. Listening to a song being sung at the fire instead of the storm crashing outside, understand?"

Reluctantly Jim came to stand in front of him. "Is that how you kept me from getting lost while I was looking for Kylie? Your touch, your voice - you were giving me a reference point so I wouldn't get disoriented by my senses?"

Blinking, not sure he understood the implications of what Jim was telling him, Blair said slowly, "Yes, something like that." Because he had to know, because it explained so much, he asked hesitantly, "How much control do you have?

With an air of self-disgust, Jim threw himself onto his bedding, putting a hand over his eyes, jaw muscle twitching. "Almost none," he admitted gruffly. "I've read the Sandburg Journals cover to cover twice, know all about the dials and the breathing, and the best, the best I'm able to do is to pick up on what's literally almost screaming at me."

The depth of failure under the words was heartbreaking to Blair, and he chose his next words very, very carefully. "So you have to take what comes at you, you can't say, decide to just See and only what you're looking for?"

"For the most part," Jim answered shortly. "The Journals don't say how First Sentinel held the dials in place while he calibrated one. That or I'm not understanding it when I read it."

Understanding finally why the Tribe didn't trust Sentinel's gifts, why they treated him with benign neglect, made Blair speak more bluntly than he meant. "The journals were written by the guide, not then sentinel, Jim. He may have never had reason to mention the whys of that to his shaman, so it would have never been recorded." An idea occurred to him, and he added, "Legend says that First Sentinel buried his gifts deep, living as a normal adult man, until just before he met his guide."

Jim nodded that was true, peeking out from under his forearm questioningly. "Well," Blair went on thoughtfully, "It could be that First Sentinel learned to do hold the dials in place on his own, way, way before First Shaman found him. I don't know how else he could have denied such an important part of himself for so long otherwise."

There was a long silence from his companion, and Blair wondered if he would speak again, when Jim finally murmured, "That makes sense." Then he rolled to his side, yanking his own blanket into place. "If you snore, I'll dump you in the stream."

Turning so that they were back to back, Blair grinned, but carefully kept his voice bland. "Never had any complaints." Inside he was already planning his next step toward healing the damaged, precious man.

With that end in mind, the next morning as the travel line was forming up, Shaman cheerfully inserted his own agenda into the Cap'n's daily instructions. He received an irate glare from the tall black man, and a tense, white-lipped one from his partner, but he and Sentinel took point that day.

It set the pattern of the rest of the hike to the next campsite within Freedom Range; inside of a few days everyone assumed that Sentinel would be scouting the Tribe's path. During that time of relative distance and quiet from the others, Shaman led him through exercises to teach him control, privately marveling at just how much Sentinel was capable of accomplishing. Though he'd never actually worked with a guardian before, he had thought he had a clear notion of how extensive their senses were.

Either he had underestimated them, or his was far, far more gifted than any other sentinel Shaman had encountered.

Half giddy on the marvels the man was accomplishing, content that they were making progress, not just with the training but with establishing the proper respect, Shaman glowed his way energetically through the two weeks march to Freedom's next camp. This part of the Freedom Range was rough, mountainous, but with a wide variety of herbs and plants he hadn't seen before, and the hunting was good, so the eating at the evening fire was tasty and interesting.

The company during the day was tense, argumentative, challenging, contrary, punctuated with a sly sense of humor that would sneak out unexpectedly, and occasional light brushes and taps. Shaman found himself looking forward to those rare quips and puns from Sentinel, cherishing the sight of the half-smile that came with it, waiting for the shy contact. It made the miles melt away and eased the frequent frustration that came from the arduous training.

And once the day's hike was done, if Sentinel made himself scarce - usually running an extra perimeter patrol - well, there was plenty of other company to be had. Pleasant, willing companionship came from the other members of the tribe, once it became clear that Shaman's relationship with Sentinel wasn't exclusive. Regardless of how enjoyable it was, when the fires were banked for the night, Blair always roused himself from his current lover and made his way to Sentinel's refuge. Often shivering from a quick wash to spare hyper senses, he would tuck himself into his blankets, murmur a 'good night' to the back turned stubbornly to him, and quickly drop off.

He never bothered to ask himself why he was so eager to go to sleep, to start the next day.

As good as it was, though, he, like the members of the tribe, looked forward to settling down into the season's camp for long stay. It would be very busy as they worked to build stores and repair lodges after the long absence, but there were a great many things that it would be easier to teach Sentinel if they weren't on the move. The heavy rain they were hammered with the last two days of their journey added to the enthusiasm for a good shelter and rest from the trail.

Because of that, he looked at where Sentinel was pointing out an alternate route, mid-day before they were supposed to arrive, and argued, "We're wet enough without risking a stream crossing. It's bound to be fast running from all the rain, and there's a chance of flash flood as well. That path," and he pointed to a broader track that was on the same side of the stream as themselves, "Is high enough to be above raising waters, and has fewer rocks. It won't be as slippery, either."

Shaking his head vehemently, Sentinel pointed to two good-sized trees at the edge of the place where he wanted to cross. "Several hunters can come ahead of the main body, chop those down and create a bridge. It'll be faster, and I'm sure I'd be able to hear a flash flood before it became a danger." He looked at the higher trail, scrubbing at the nape of his neck. "I don't like that way. There's something about it that's bothering me."

Almost, *almost,* Shaman dismissed those last muttered words as his partner being determined to get his way. But there was an underlying pain in them, an unspoken fear that made him ask gingerly, "Can you describe for me what you're feeling? Are you perceiving something that's different or unusual?"

"Not everything is about my damned senses, Shaman," the other man snapped. "Sometimes its just a life-time of experience with the same paths."

"With your senses always adding to it," Shaman retorted with bare patience. "Talk to me!"

With an abrupt movement Sentinel moved away from him, almost as if he were getting out of striking distance, and he knotted his hands into the straps of his pack. "There's a...a...weight at the back of my head, here." Long fingers cupped the offending area tenderly, as if it hurt. "And the hairs on my arms are standing straight up, like during a thunderstorm when the lightening strikes are close."

Eyeing the trail, not seeing anything ominous about it, Shaman thought about how casually others ignored Sentinel's gifts, and how, of all people, a guide should *listen.* Nodding, he shrugged off his pack and rain poncho, stooping to dig into a side pocket. "Have you ever used a flexible saw before?"

Something brightened in Sentinel's eyes, making Shaman's heart squeeze painfully, but all the taller man said was, "It would save a lot of time and trouble if the bridge was already in place, wouldn't it?"

By the time the front of the line had caught up with them, one tree was already down, having fallen almost exactly where it needed to be, and the other was creaking ominously. Looking absolutely furious, the Cap'n halted the tribe and stomped over to where Sentinel and Shaman were steadily, methodically working the wire saw through the trunk.

"What the hell do you two think you're doing?" he gritted out, keeping his voice low so that no one else would hear."

"High trail...not...safe," Sentinel grunted, ignoring the rain streaming into his eyes. "Thought...get crossing ready...scout while Tribe went over."

"Not safe? How? What if this path is blocked further on? We'll waste daylight while you try to find another way."

Jaw tightening at the censure in his commander's tone, Sentinel answered blandly, "Can See all the way to next camp. Trail clear if rough."

"Almost done," Shaman added, panting. "No hold up worth talking about. Be crossed before through arguing about it."

Looking at the wide, clear trail arching gradually up the side of the hill, the Cap'n snapped, "Crossings are always risky, and I don't see anything wrong with the usual track."

A series of snaps and pops from the wood they were sawing told Shaman it was time to nudge the tree i