Author's notes in part one.

Coming Home -- Part Two

It's cold and dark when I come to. I'm back in the small dark space that I assume is a hold. My nose and cheekbone hurt where Jason hit me and I'm glad, because it masks the pain of my lip. I shudder when I think of her doing...that. Better to be here, in the dark, away from her than submit to her, her...or him, Jason would sometimes...no, NO! I slam that thought out and wonder how Jim is.

"Jim? You okay? I'm okay. I'm in---." I stop talking, I can't think of anything to say that I wouldn't mind Jason hearing as well.

He must have heard me, because not two minutes later the door opens and Jason is silhouetted in the door.

"Up from your nap, Junior?"

He's almost jovial and I know from past experience that it's going to get ugly. He unlocks the handcuffs, pulls me to my feet and drags me out of the hold. When we reach the galley, he pushes me down onto a chair.

"Sit. Stay. Good boy." He laughs at his joke; it's an old one between us.A glass of water is handed to me.

"Here, you're going to need this." The words express some concern but I no longer ever believe that tone.

I'm surprised he's offering me anything and I drink it fast, wishing for another one. Jason moves to the stove and I hear the hiss of a burner being turned on. He takes off the necklace he's always worn. It's a Hawk, the emblem of The Tessuad Nation made out of silver. He looks through some drawers and pulls out tongs. Cranking the fire up, he places the emblem in it, held by the tongs.

He looks up from his work. "You mark my woman and I mark you, it's as simple as that. In fact, I should have done this right away, so you and Ellison know just whom you belong to. I'm about to rectify my mistake."

I jump off the chair and head for the door, realizing there is no out, but knowing there's no way I'm just going to sit there and let him do this. Jason seems unconcerned by my flight and I realize why when I run straight into Mike at the door.

"Mike!"

I want to ask him to let me go, to babble on about our friendship, to tell him Jason is a psychopath, but the hold he has me in and the look on his face tells me I'm not dealing with my best friend Mike.

"Shut up." Mike's voice doesn't sound the same.

He increases the tension on my arm behind my back and I groan.

"God, Eric, you were always trouble. I never understood why they picked you to be Jason's guide. Any one of us would've been better. And now look at you. Jason is about to do you the honor of showing the world you're his and you're acting like a baby."

He keeps hold of my wrist and turns me so I'm facing him. Mike pulls at my shirt, popping the buttons as he yanks it off. He yanks my T-shirt off next, and I shiver, though it's not cold in here.

Mike grabs both my wrists and says, "I'd hold very still if I were you. This is going to hurt no matter what, but it'll hurt a lot more if you move and Jason has to do it over and over again."

He swings me to face the counter and holds me there.

Feeling the heat, I try slowing my breathing and hold steady. Mike's watching all this avidly; this is not my best buddy Mike from The Center, but someone else entirely. Jason sidles up behind me, his breath hot on my back. He takes hold of my neck and puts his knee between my legs, shoving them apart. There's a searing pain in my shoulder as Jason presses the hot metal against it. A stench of burning, and pain, oh God, it doesn't stop. Time fragments and telescopes as I try to ride it out. I can't...I can't... hold still, I pant, trying to--I have to get away from it, I start to twitch and will myself to stillness, but I can't ...anymore...I can't...

The disk is removed. Jason keeps a grip on my neck, holding me up, studying what he's done.

His hand leaves my neck. My knees buckle and I fall backward. Mike catches me. After so much pain, I feel nothing, but my body seems to think something happened because it's like I've entered a time warp or something. Everything's slowed down and gotten distorted at the edges. My vision grays and then brightens and then grays again. I hear them talking ("Get his shirt back on. Don't let him fall, you moron.") and I know I'm moving but it's all vague and dream-like as I shuffle along the narrow companionways. Mike opens a door and shoves me inside. I trip on the threshold, falling into the room. Opening my eyes just before the door closes, I see Jim.

"Blair!" I've never been so happy to hear that name. I begin to crawl over to where Jim is shackled.

"What'd he do? What's wrong?" Jim's voice wraps around me, tugging me towards me.

Shame makes me want to say 'nothing', but it's not likely I'll be able to hide this from Jim. "Jason bran-branded me."

"What! Jesus Christ."

I'm getting slivers in my hands as I sweep the floor, trying to connect to Jim. I know the hold is small, but right now, it seems vast.

"I'm to your right, Chief. Where?"

I crawl towards his voice, so full of outrage, so much my homing beacon.

"On my shoulder."

Finally I bump into Jim's chest with my head and sigh. I start to pull away and sit up but Jim says, "No, no, stay here, you can't lean against your back."

So instead I lean on Jim's chest and my arms go around him, savoring the warmth and the strength that emanate from him.

"You okay?" I ask and I feel Jim's head rubbing against my head as he nods yes.

I hear his voice but it sounds remote as I let the gentle thump of Jim's heart calm me and take me away.

Blair's fallen asleep on me and I wish my hands were free. There are so many things I'd like to do with them, but primarily I'd like to see just what the hell Rarick did to Blair. Branded? He branded Blair? Just one more reason in an ever-growing list of why that man must die. I smell the burnt flesh but his shirt covers his back and prevents me from seeing just how bad it is.

I adjust my legs so they cradle Blair. His extra weight is added tension to my arms and wrists and I dial the pain down. The pain is nothing compared to the relief of having Blair back. That gnaws at me, the fear that one of these times Blair will be taken away and he won't be coming back. For now he's here with me; his weight, solid and real on top of me, his heart; steady and strong in my ears.

Lulled by the steady whoosh of Blair's heart next to mine, I fall asleep and wake when I'm slammed against the hull of the boat. My arms are yanked taut by the violent tossing and my wrists feel close to breaking. Blair's been sent crashing to the floor and I hear him groan.

"Blair!"

There must be a storm. I see Blair trying to stand but unable to get his balance. I'm sure he can't see anything at all; the darkness in this hold almost complete.

"Jim?"

He can't tell where I am and I reach out and touch him with my foot.

"Right here, Chief." He stays down and crawls back to me.

Sitting down next to me, he says, "God, just what we need, a storm."

I expect a gasp of pain from Blair, but there's no indication of discomfort. "Doesn't it hurt when you lean on your back?"

Blair shakes his head and then says, "Doesn't hurt much, it's not too bad."

I decide not to tell him that's not a good sign in a burn. The hatch opens and weak light filters in. Joyce stands there, looking windblown and frightened.

"You gotta get on deck. Jason needs you." She gestures at Blair to come with her.

"No. I'm not going without Jim." Blair holds fast to my shirt, as if that will keep us together. " If something happens, he'll drown down here."

"Listen you little prick, you'll do as I say or Jason will make you very sorry you didn't." She doesn't move into the room.

"I'm not going without Jim."

Blair's voice is clear and strong and Joyce must know he means it because she throws him the key and says, "Fine, whatever. Just get your butt up there and do your job." Blair fumbles around on the floor, trying to find the key.

"They're right by my left leg, Chief."

He finds them and releases me. My arms flop down on my lap; they're totally without feeling. Blair can see the problem and helps me stand up. He rubs my arms, trying to hasten the blood flow. I can't feel anything and curse the dysfunction of my hands right now. I might as well still be cuffed for all the mobility I have in my arms.

Stumbling, we make for open air, up through the passageway. The boat lurches, making us careen into the walls and each other. There's no time to care about adding to our bruised state. We're both well aware of the danger of being below deck should the boat capsize.

The ladder proves difficult for me; I'm unable to grasp the rungs. Blair stands behind and acts as my stanchion. Coming to the top, I flop onto the deck like a beached dolphin. Blair awkwardly crawls over me and helps me get my footing. The feeling in my arms is starting to come back and it hurts like hell but I'm delighted.

Rarick yells, "Kendall, get over here, now!"

He's at the wheel, trying to hold a steady course. The wind is whipping the ocean up and it washes over the deck periodically, making it slippery. Blair scrambles over to him, more than once he going down when the boat tilts. He manages to get to the wheel on his hands and knees. Rarick reaches down, pulls him up by his hair, screams "Anchor me!" Blair looks over to me, conflict etched in his face. Rarick sees Blair looking at me and says, "Anchor me, or so help me God, I'll kill him right now."

I watch as Blair spreads his legs for stability and puts his hand on Rarick's back. Jason must be trying to extend his vision and find a safe harbor in the unrelenting storm. I extend my own vision and far to the left, I make out a flash of light.

I call to Rarick, "Look to the left!"

Rarick looks that way and studies the area for a good minute. "There's nothing there!" He screams to me, battling the noise of the wind, forgetting that I could hear him whisper.

He can't see it. So much for being a Sixteen. Even with Blair right beside him, he's unable to utilize his sight to my maximum and I tell myself to remember to gloat later. The wind is a brutal force threatening to sweep us all out into the inky dark maelstrom of the Pacific. There are loud creaks and the sharp crack of wood strained to its limit. I've begun to feel my hands. It's excruciating, but the return of their function makes that a fair price. Joyce has stayed at the foot of the stairs, ready to bolt if she feels the boat start to go but safely out of the fury. I start to struggle across the deck. If this boat is going down, I want to be near Blair.

Rarick catches sight of me and yells, "Stay put. Don't come any closer."

"There's light to the left." I know he won't make a decision based on my judgment.

"The hell there is. You're trying to fuck with me Ellison and I'm gonna make sure Eric pays for that when we get out of this."

Blair looks at me, his face dead white, the effort of standing in the wind after all he's been through too much. He leans into Rarick's back and murmurs, "Steady there, you can do this. See the glint on the railing to our right? Track that and then push outward. See the glint? The way it shines?"

Blair's deliberately putting Rarick into a zone. I watch Jason, keeping my eyes away from the railing, knowing that I'm just as susceptible to zoning out on Blair's voice and that sliver of light as Jason is.

Soon, I see a vacancy come into his eyes and it's eerie, knowing that's what a zone looks like to an observer. I push him aside and take the wheel, piloting us to the left and the light. The winds are with us on this tack and the light grows stronger. Soon I make out the faint outline of the coast. The storm is starting to die down, although the rain still pelts us. Blair has one hand on my back, the other on my shoulder.

"I knew you could do it; knew you could bring us to safety." Blair puts his head on my back and I swear I can feel his exhaustion permeate me. I feel my own and know I'll have to fight dirty if I'm going to truly guide us to a safe harbor.

Looking over at Rarick I'm relieved he's still zoned. I don't have the strength in my arms to deliver a knockout blow. Before I can figure out an alternative, I hear a gun cock. I turn and see it's the guy who'd taken me below deck.

He's pointing the gun at Blair and he's saying, "Bring him out of it, right now." "You're a guide, Mike, you do it." These are not the words Mike's expecting. "No, Kendall, you're Jason's guide, you're the hotshot, you do it."

Blair stubbornly shakes his head and Mike changes the direction of his gun and pulls the trigger. I feel the white-hot impact of the bullet entering my thigh and go down.

Blair screams "No!"

"Get Jason out of the zone or I'll put the next one in his brain."

I lie there and work at containing the pain and the tendency to focus on the sound of blood pumping out of me. Blair's murmurs to Rarick, his voice low and commanding. Rarick shakes himself out of his fugue and immediately smacks Blair, sending him sprawling onto the deck next to me. I feel Blair's hands on me; hear his gasp as he sees the blood. I reach out and give his hand a quick squeeze to let him know I'm playing possum.

Jason's yelling at the kid who shot me, "What the hell happened?"

Mike tells him he zoned and that I took the wheel and brought us here. I wish I could see Rarick's face. There's no doubt that he would hate hearing that, even if I did save our lives. Blair moves to cover me as I hear Rarick coming our way.

"Get away from him." Rarick's voice is cold, strung tight with control.

"Move, now, before I put a bullet through the both of you."

"Do it then, because I'm not moving."

I hear Rarick taking deliberate breaths. His attempt at calm seems to work because he says, "Mike, take them below while I decide what I want to do with them."

Blair gets his arm around me and I stagger to my feet. I lean heavily on Blair and manage to get down to the foot of the ladder. Joyce stands there. Something about the storm or Jason's ineffectual leadership at the helm has deeply disturbed her. There's a vacant look in her eyes and they fail to focus as we pass her.

Once again I'm amazed by my lack of perception. For months, Joyce was my lover. I felt affection for her and basked in her attention. Before the letter tainted with her scent came, I never tumbled to the darkness that bubbled in her, or the twisted agenda that dictated her every move. Now the she-devil vibrates with fear. My only regret is that I'm not the cause of her distress. I hope to rectify that at some point.

For now, I simply welcome the dark and quiet of the hold. I can tell the bullet's still in there but it was a .38 and I'd know if it had done major damage. Maybe it's blood loss that's making me dizzy, but I suspect it's also the storm, the vastness of the open water, and Blair acting as Rarick's guide that's making me feel lightheaded.

If I didn't have a bullet in my leg, I would be kicking something, someone...a series of violent images flash through my brain, so quick I can't sort them. I'm panting in the aftermath and Blair is looking at me with concern, thinking it's pain. It's pain all right but not mine. I've been angry before, but never have I felt this kind of pressure. The kind of pressure that can only be released with destruction. Closing my eyes, I push it away. I want it far away from me, from us. Because God, help me, some of those images were of Blair.

Looking at Blair, I can see he's oblivious to the danger of his dual loyalties.He's tearing his shirt in order to make a bandage for me, his face a study of concentration and worry. I can't believe I feel this kind of anger towards him. Genetics brought him to me and genetics threatens him. If I'm feeling this way toward my dearest friend, what's Rarick feeling?

"Jim?" Blair is in front of me.

I lift my head. I hadn't realized I was so out of it. "Yeah?"

"Let me get this bandage on, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, go ahead." My voice sounds slurred. Get it together, a bullet through the thigh just isn't that big a deal. Blair wraps my leg tightly and I stifle a groan. Even so, Blair seems to tune into it.

"Take a big breath and hold, now slowly let it out. Again, yeah, that's good. Now work with the pain dial, turning it down, down, yes, that's it. Two is good."

Blair sits down next to me and pulls me toward him, fitting me under his arm and resting my head on his chest. His heart beats under my ear, accessible to me without effort and I take comfort in it as I slip into sleep.

I watch over Jim as he sleeps. I've never seen Jim hurt. He's hurt because of me; Jason might kill him because of me. I'm unworthy of the devotion Jim's shown me. He never should have come after me, doesn't he know by now that I'm not what he wants and needs? He's so damn stubborn and so damn sure that I'm going to magically turn into his Blair. I feel a rush of anger at him. I can't be what I'm not. His pursuit of Blair is quixotic and dangerous. My anger flares and then burns out. I have too many other feelings for Jim and they crowd out the anger.

I touch his cheek, rough with a day's growth of beard. I've wanted to do this for a while. I haven't actually touched many people in my life and very few have touched me.

At The Center, the longing to touch and be touched haunted me at first, until I understood my touch was unwelcome and how others used touch to convey disappointment in me. Jim's different. He touches me with no sign of disgust. I'm not sure he would accept my touch, even as generous as he is with his. I know I'm being a coward, touching him now when he can't object. I tell myself that touch is known to be healing and that I'm doing something good.

As I stroke my thumb over Jim's cheek, he stirs. I stop. He rubs against my hand as if he wants me to continue and I tentatively start again. He sighs, and I take that as permission. I hold him tighter to me.

There's a thump at the hatch. Not yet. We're not ready to face Jason yet. I must've squeezed Jim too hard because he groans and lifts his head. "Wha-?"

"Shh. S'kay. Go back to sleep."

The door opens and Mike stands there, framed in the light from the hallway. He kicks the door all the way open and approaches us, setting down a canvas bag.

Shoving it towards me with his foot, he says, "Here, Jason says, 'Bon Appetit'."

He turns to leave. This was one person I called friend for all the life I remember before Jim. I have to know how deep the deception went.

"Mike, wait." He slowly turns back to me. "Were you really studying to be a guide?"

"Yes." The look on his face, the raw hatred, almost makes me shut up. But information would be good.

"Will you be Jason's guide?"

"If he'll have me."

I debate telling Mike what Jason does but the hardness in Mike's face makes me think that maybe he already knows. How can he know and still want this? He doesn't know, he can't.

"Jason kills people, Mike."

"No. He doesn't. He simply renders them helpless and the Council's team moves in and kills them."

"That's just semantics. Jason's responsible for their deaths."

"They deserve to die. They're our enemies and enemies of the Good. It is a righteous act." "It's murder."

Mike comes over to me and squats down. "Is it murder when a soldier kills? Is it murder when a jury sentences someone to death?" He pokes me in the chest for emphasis. "Societies have always found a way to protect themselves from those that would harm it. We do what needs to be done."

I shake my head. I want to say more, but I know Mike is way beyond listening. Mike stands up and as he walks away he tosses back, "I'll do whatever needs to be done, Kendall."

After he leaves I pull the bag towards me. I'm grateful to find four liters of water and the pile of sandwiches in the bag. There are also two dry shirts. More evidence that Jason has plans for us and wants us alive. Jim had roused himself when Mike first came in, but now lists to one side, unconscious.

"Jim?" I give him a little shake and he mutters.

Moving him so he's cradled in my arm, I pour a little water in his mouth; just enough to wet what I know must be a painfully dry mouth. Jim takes it in and I add a little more, pleased when I see him swallow. It's a slow process and I feel a bit like a daddy Robin, but eventually the water he takes in seems to restore something in him, because I feel him tense. His eyes open, uncharacteristically confused, and dulled by pain. His control must've eroded as he slept.

He looks up at me and I realize he might find being in my arms rather odd. Perhaps even abhorrent. I hastily guide him to a sitting position.

"Water?"

"Yeah, Jason must've decided he didn't want two dead bodies on his hands." I hand Jim the bottle.

"Yet." Jim adds and I know he's right. It really isn't a matter of if, only of when. Jim drinks and hands the bottle to me and I just about finish it. Had no idea I was so thirsty. Opening another one, I hand it to Jim. I scoot closer so I can take a look at Jim's thigh. Not being able to see, I gingerly touch it. No stickiness. Wonder if I should take the bandage off and clean it now that we have some water. I decide against it. It's only water, not soap, and removing the bandage might make the bleeding begin again.

"Let me see your shoulder, Chief."

"My shoulder?" I didn't get shot.

"I want to see what Jason did." Oh yeah, the brand. How odd that something that hurt so much as it was happening, hasn't hurt much since. Even without pain, I feel sick as I think about having The Nation's sign burned into my back.

My tee shirt is stuck to the burn. Jim pours water on my back and I can feel him gently trying to lift the material away from the brand. It still doesn't hurt. I suppose it helps that I'm in a haze of fatigue. I hear Jim's quick intake of breath.

"What? Jim, is your leg all right? Did the bleeding start again?" I try and twist around so I can see what caused him pain.

"It's not me, Chief. It's you. This is really bad." He pours more water on it.

"Don't use too much water, Jim. We don't know if we'll get any more." It seems pointless to use any water on it at all. Without soap, there's no disinfecting it anyway.

"It needs to be irrigated, Sandburg. There're fibers embedded in here and other crap." Jim sounds irritated. As well he should. He's in pain, Jason has the upper hand, and he has to be starving, I know I am. I grab the sandwiches.

"Quit squirming around."

"I'm not squirming, I'm foraging. Here, have something to eat."

He ignores my offering and continues to gently dab and poke at my back. With Jim's vision, there's no doubt he'll be able to detect every last foreign particle. I feel the boat tilt and I smack my forehead on the floor as I lose my balance.

"Blair!" Jim's hands are on me, pulling me off the floor.

"Whoa, man, is the storm re-gathering?"

"I think you fainted. How're you feeling?" Jim sits in back of me, his arm now anchoring me to his chest.

"I feel all right. Hungry. C'mon Jim, we gotta eat while we have the chance." Jim shifts me, until I'm leaning up against him on my good shoulder.

"C'mon, let's get this shirt on you." He peels away the rest of the damp cloth and goosebumps attack. They hurt. Whoever heard of goosebumps hurting? I start to shiver until I think I might break apart. The whole time Jim is trying to get my arms into the shirtsleeves and button me up.

"Y-y-y-you t-t-too." I manage to get out.

Jim takes his soaked shirt off and gets the new one on. As soon as he does, he pulls me to him and starts to rub my arms, hoping I suppose, that the friction will create some heat. Between the friction and the warm expanse of Jim's chest, the shivering abates. Jim hands me a sandwich. As hungry as I am, I've only finished half when I feel sleep stealing over me. Jim catches my sandwich before it falls to the floor and settles my head on his chest.

Bloody hell. Blair's shoulder is a mess, the skin blackened where Jason branded him. There's no telling how deep the damage goes, but the absence of pain indicates it's at least a third degree burn. It's gonna hurt like hell when it starts to heal and in the meantime, an infection is almost a certainty.

I look at the brand and feel sick. Rarick has inflicted a circle of pain on Blair. A circle that radiates the Tessuad's disease. I can already see the beginnings of an infection, although the skin is so black I can't make out the symbol that now illustrates Blair's back. I'm not much into the mysteries of life. I've never been superstitious; wouldn't recognize an omen if it crawled into my lap. The parts of life I've been able to get my hands around cause me enough trouble. Still, since Peru, I've had to acknowledge a world that operates in mysterious ways. Forces that protect; awareness that transcends; moments that have occurred but have no reality.

And now a symbol of immoral power has been burned into Blair and I shiver. It's fear, not cold.

I brush my lips against Blair's forehead, telling myself it's to check for fever, knowing it's a small gesture to ward off the evil that's invaded our lives.

We sleep. I have no way of knowing how long. I wake thirsty, hungry, sore and really needing to take a leak. Blair is still sleeping and warm. I narrow my attention-- yeah, fever, expected that.

"Hey, Chief...wake up." I murmur in his ear, hoping to make the transition to consciousness as gentle as possible. While we slept, he managed to rearrange himself so that his face is on my chest. I can feel the wet spot from his drooling, so he's been in this position awhile. I'm glad that he didn't end up lying on his back. The lack of sensation around the brand isn't going to last, but up until now it's been a godsend. I squeeze Blair's arm.

"Blair?"

He rubs his face against my chest and I feel his voice vibrate in my chest, as well as hear him say, "What?"

"I gotta take a leak."

He lifts his head off my chest and says, "'kay. I'll get offa you, hold on." Blair slowly untangles himself, the sluggish way he's moving indicating he's still half-asleep. "There, you're free." He sits down, his eyes blinking as if he expects things to come into focus in the dark.

I reach down and take his hand. "C'mon Sandburg, join me."

Pulling him up, I bite back a groan. Pain flashes through my leg and I have to consciously turn away from the sickening awareness of flattened metal pressing against my femur. I guide him to the farthest corner and there is a simultaneous sigh as we relieve ourselves. We make our way back to the corner and sit. Blair still seems to be in a daze.

"Shoulder hurting?"

"Yeah, I hurt all over." His voice is flat and I wonder just what happened beyond Rarick playing cowboy. Blair's lip is torn. Aside from that and the bruises that were there before and have now blossomed into Technicolor, I can't see any other damage.

I take another bottle of water out and offer it to Blair. There are two and a half sandwiches left. Blair drinks but barely touches his food. He sits hunched over, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest.

"C'mere, Chief. Get comfortable." Blair follows the sound of my voice and I feel him settle against me once again.

Tiny shivers begin, and I try to enfold him into my body warmth. He's asleep almost immediately.

I wonder why I don't mind Sandburg being in my space? That's been a surprise from the first, the easy way my body seems to accept his presence. I've always tensed up and shut down when people got too close. It wasn't a conscious decision. I suppose even before my senses kicked back in, I had an awareness of the pain and disorientation that could come with loud voices, sudden touches, odd smells.

With Carolyn, I had the inducement of sex to open the doors and even so, it took awhile before my body let down its guard around her. Sandburg just kind of breezed in past all the usual defense mechanisms. Was it that my body recognized him? Maybe he was simply short enough to get in under my radar.

Heat is building in Blair; his body's fighting the infection. Enough heat that I'm starting to get damp with his sweat. He's stopped shivering and I'm glad the fever is providing the comfort of being warm instead of cold. The infection worries me. I'd be worried if we were in a nice antiseptic hospital, but here, stuck in this dank hole with God only knows what germs and microbes, I'm terrified.

Blair's strong, he'll be able to fight this until we get some help. I repeat that a few times but it doesn't seem to want to take; I'm still afraid.

Fat lot of good my fear is doing Blair. I close my eyes and listen. Trying to hear on a boat is a challenge and if --no, when-- we get out of here, I'm going to give Blair a thrill and insist we do tests until I can do this better. The ocean does a bang up job of masking and distorting sounds. After a few false starts and a zone that I only come out of when Blair moves restlessly in my arms, I hear one of the crew.

"....she didn't?"

"Oh, yeah, she did."

"Jason doesn't know, does he?"

"I wouldn't be standing here if he did."

"Shh, can't he hear you?"

"Well, theoretically he can, but aside from testing and in the field, I've never known him to use his senses."

"Man, if I had them, I'd be using 'em 24/7. Think of the stuff you could know."

"There's a cost there, you know, as well as the risk of a zone. Jason really hates going into a zone and needing a geek like Kendall to get him out. He doesn't risk that unless he has to."

"Hey, I'd pay that price. Have you brought him out of a zone yet?"

"No. We've tried working together but I don't think I can begin to take Kendall's place until he's dead."

"How soon will that be?"

"You think Jason shares with me? He tells me what I need to know, when I need to know it. Here, take it down to them."

"Why me?"

"I took it last time."

I hear them moving but they're quiet now, no more information coming from the galley. Scanning the rest of the boat, I try to pick up Rarick. I don't hear anything and relax back against the wall. Blair's held fast by a sleep that serves as battleground. His Body vs. The Infection. All indications are it's going to be a fierce contest. Blair's temp is up and every once in awhile he moans, the pain penetrating his sleep.

I hear the second crewmember coming towards our hatch. He opens it and I squint against the flashlight he uses to check on us. He tosses the bag in and says, "Aren't you two a cute couple."

I skip the niceties.

"Blair's sick and needs antibiotics. Tell Jason that. If he doesn't want Blair dead, he needs to do something."

"Blair? Who the hell is Blair?"

"Eric." I spit the name out.

My eyes have adjusted and I can tell this new guy isn't much more of a threat than Mike was. They're both young and cocooned in The Nation's ideology. Their only strength is the completeness of their belief in The Tessuad Nation. Having given themselves to it, body, mind and soul, they glow with the potency of their allegiance to the doctrine. It won't sustain them against me. I've had a lifetime of having my ideals assaulted and reshaped; of learning to actively create the doctrine I live by. Yeah, right, that and what gun's going to provide the magic I need to get us out of here?

The kid shines the flashlight on Blair. I turn Blair sideways so he can get a good look. The beam picks up the sheen of sweat on Blair's white face. There's tension in his face, marking the pain that haunts him even in his sleep.

"Tell Jason the fucking brand is infected. I need to clean and bandage it. And some aspirin to bring his fever down."

"Yeah, I'll tell him." He laughs, it's unpleasant. "I'm sure he'll be right down with a first-aid kit and to kiss Eric's boo-boo."

I want to smack the smirk off his face and if I get a chance, I'll do more than that.

"What's your name?" Maybe Blair knows this one too.

He looks puzzled. I doubt he's been asked that question much. "Truesdale." What the hell kind of name is that for a religious terrorist?

"Give Jason my message, will you, True? And thanks for the provisions."

He looks at us, and the contempt that's been on his face this whole time has been replaced with a look of puzzlement. It's hopeless to believe that confusion will last any longer than it takes for him to reach fresh air.

I pull the bag over to me. Another four liters of water and sandwiches.

"Blair? C'mon, buddy, time to drink some water." I feel Blair's eyelashes fluttering against my chest as he comes awake. He grabs hold of my shirt and starts to pull himself up.

"Just stay put, the water will come to you." I support Blair with my arm and hand him the uncapped bottle. His eyes aren't really open and his hand shakes as he brings the water to his lips. He drinks for a long time.

"You hungry?"

Blair gives a small shake of his head and leans back, his exhaustion apparent. "It's really starting to hurt, isn't it?"

Blair nods his head in assent. "Yeah, like a son of a bitch." Blair's voice is tight. He needs something for the pain and there's nothing to give him.

"Okay, try this. Picture a set of dials. One is marked pain. It's at ten, move it to zero, Chief. "

"Easy for you to say, Jim." I'm gratified to hear the little laugh that follows.

"C'mon on now, work with me, take a deep breath." I'm surprised when Blair does.

"That's it. Let it out slowly. Now another. Now tackle that dial."

I hear Blair breathe in and out, in and out and then a sigh. Looking down I see the pain's eased up.

"It worked! Hey, look at me, I'm a Guide."

"Knew you had it in you." Blair smiles at me, leans his head back and closes his eyes. This guiding business is interesting. It floats somewhere between issuing orders and cajoling. When Sandburg does it to me I only hear the sweet, compelling, suggestiveness of it. Never really tuned into the steel behind the words. Does he guide or command me? Does Blair even know? It's amazing it's taken me this long to tune into the subtleties of the Guide/Sentinel transaction. What else have I missed? I think back to giving and receiving orders and realize that between my upbringing and the military, I've experienced far more commands to obey than Blair ever has.

That's the ironic part. The Tessuad Nation took Blair and thought to use him through submission. But the weird truth is, if a Sentinel is ever to function as he's meant to, it's he who must submit. To the guide's voice and instruction, to the tribe's needs, to the challenges of his senses.

I remember the first time I saw Blair at Rainier. As soon as I entered the closet he calls an office, I realized he'd pulled a fast one at the hospital. He'd manipulated me into coming to him. I'd gone there with the last of my hope that this Sandburg guy would hold the key to understanding what the hell was wrong with me. And there was Dr. McCay, bouncing on his chair, oblivious to the gravity of my situation.

To him, I was a dream come true, a gift. To me, he was a nightmare. A kid who talked fast and cut corners, who wore garish clothes and had no sense of order. And this was my last fucking hope. My gut had twisted at that knowledge, and my body reacted, throwing him up against the wall. My last protest at the sick joke the universe seemed determined to play on me.

When I came out of the zone with Sandburg on top of me and a truck driver yelling, I realized I'd underestimated the kid. He might lack order and look like a hippie, but he had the heart of a soldier and I could work with that.

Whatever Rarick is, whatever genetic gifts he's been given, he'll never be a Sentinel. He lacks the capacity to obey. His arrogance will never allow that there's any value in submission. To him that's what women, children and guides do.

Thank God my time in the military had shown me the importance of command, both giving it and receiving it.

The hatch swings open and Truesdale is back.

"I brought some stuff to disinfect Eric's shoulder." Truesdale comes closer and hands me the box.

"Thanks. Tell Jason thanks, too, will you?"

"Um, yeah, sure." He nods his head and hastily leaves.

My spirits soar. The kid brought this stuff on his own. Jason doesn't know about it. I unpack the box, and when my hand closes on the small bottles I say a little prayer.

"Blair, wake up, I want to get some aspirin into you."

I give Blair a little shake; wherever he is, it's a long trek back.

His eyes open, shut, open again and with some effort they stay open. I put the aspirin in his mouth and hand him the water bottle. He swallows them and starts to give me the bottle back, but I urge him to drink more. When he's done, he seems to go back to sleep. I know he goes back to battle.

Given no cooperation from Blair, it takes me a long time to maneuver him onto my lap without hurting my leg. The shirt's stuck again, which I knew would happen. Burns leak and I'm grateful the burn is as small as it is or Blair would have gone into shock by now. I soak the shoulder of his shirt and gingerly lift it off the burn. It's as ugly as I remember it and oozing.

I pour on the hydrogen peroxide and almost zone as I watch the bubbles go to work. When I dab on the Bacitracin, Blair moans and stirs. I finish getting the gauze tapped on and roll him over and back into my arms. His eyes are open.

"Hey." It's nice to have some company.

Blair's hand reaches up and he strokes my cheek. I'm a little surprised, Blair has been decidedly undemonstrative since becoming Eric. His eyes have a look of wonder as if he's surprised to see me and I wonder if he's delirious.

"Jim?" His hand stays on my cheek.

"Yeah, it's me."

"I'm not in my room?"

"No, boat." I add, "Jason."

"Oh." There's a world of pain in that oh.

"You put something on my back." He squirms in my arms, rubbing his shoulder against me, like a cat with an itch.

"Yeah, a guy named Truesdale brought us some supplies."

"Truesdale?" His voice trembles, alerting me that Blair knows this guy.

"You know him."

Sandburg falls silent and I wonder if he's drifted back to sleep.

Blair surprises me by sitting up. "Your turn." He blindly gropes around until his hands come across the box.

Nurse Blair lays out the supplies.

"What's this?" He can't see the labels.

"Hydrogen Peroxide."

Blair's hands unwrap the shirt he used to bind my thigh. He can't see. His fingers search for the bullet hole in the fabric. He pours the peroxide on, and waits. He blots it dry, his touch tentative as he tries not to hurt me. I could do this easily, the dark's no barrier to my sight. But I don't. Blair applies the Bacitracin and puts the gauze square on. The whole time he's been working, he's been softly humming a tune, I can't place. He finishes by wrapping the ace bandage around my leg.

"Eventually Rarick's going to have to hit land. When he does, we're going to have to move fast."

I'd been looking around the space for something we could use against Jason. The hold's stripped bare. I flex my leg. It hurts but I have some strength and mobility. As I ponder different strategies, I hear Jason yelling.

"What the fuck do you mean they're in the same room? Who did that?"

I hear Truesdale's voice low and shaky. "I did. You never said to separate them."

I hear a slap. It's not good policy to point out the obvious to Rarick.

"Get them on deck, now. Here's the key."

"Rarick wants us on deck." I warn Blair.

"Just follow my lead." I quickly grab aspirin, and Bacitracin and shove them in Blair's pockets.

Blair looks dazed and scared and I wish I could tell him everything was going to be fine.

Truesdale and Mike enter a few moments later. Truesdale makes a point of avoiding my eyes, Mike has his gun aimed at Blair. Truesdale rattles the handcuffs, the ones Rarick assumed I was wearing all this time.

"Put your hands out."

I hesitate, calculating my options, but the look in Mike's eyes convince me he'd love an excuse to kill Blair and take over as guide, so I cooperate.

They escort us back on deck. I make a show of moving slowly and awkwardly. Mike keeps his gun on us, tense; Rarick waits, pacing back and forth. We seem to have stopped moving. There's a fog and I can see land a few miles away.

Rarick comes up to me and says, "We're going to play a little game." He's looking a tad worn out, and I can just imagine what's been distracting him from us.

Joyce is on deck, too. Rather than worn out, she's looking languid and sated. It would seem I have reason to be grateful to Joyce. She moves toward Blair, who seems to surface from the daze he's been in and backpedals closer to me. She laughs, her throaty, past-midnight laugh.

"You can't hide behind Ellison for long, my pet. I've just begun to see your appeal and I plan to explore all aspects of it."

Putting her hand underneath his shirt, she rakes her fingernails over his chest and growls. Blair yelps and tries to pull his shirt back down. She takes one of his wrists in her hand and starts to pull his shirt off his shoulder.

"Let me see Jason's handiwork."

Blair's trying to back away from her as Rarick comes from behind and seizes his neck.

"Yes, let us see your new beauty mark."

Rarick pulls Blair's shirt up and looks, seeing the bandage. His face congests with rage.

"Who did this? Who gave you this?" Rarick rips the patch away.

Blair gasps from the pain. The brand is a blackened circle, the tissue around it red, pulsing with infection. Rarick glares at Mike and Truesdale and then turns his attention back to Blair.

"Who gave you first aid?"

He's squeezing Blair's neck and forcing him to his knees. I lunge at Rarick and hear the crack of the pistol.

Blair screams, "NO!"

I pull up, unhurt, torn between wanting to smash Rarick's face to a bloody pulp and not wanting to leave Blair alone by getting shot.

"Who?" Rarick asks again, wanting it to come from Blair, knowing I'm sure, it's Truesdale. There's no blocking the rapidity of his heartbeat.

"I don't know." Blair mumbles, his head still forced down by Rarick. Jason curls his fingers in Blair's hair and pulls, bringing Blair's head up. There are tears of pain but no sound and Rarick's face twists with frustration.

Rarick hauls Blair back to his feet. He turns on Truesdale, finally tuning into his racing heartbeat.

"You!"

Truesdale has his hands out in supplication.

"Please let me explain, Jason. He was bad, real bad and I wanted to come and tell you but the door was closed and you said never to disturb you when the door is closed, so I couldn't and I didn't think you wanted him to die. Not yet anyway. So I just...I mean, I guess I shouldn't have...I'm sorry..." Truesdale is reduced to babbling.

Rarick shoves Blair to the side. He drives a fist into Truesdale stomach, and as Truesdale doubles over, Rarick hits him with an upper cut. Truesdale staggers to the railing. This seems to satisfy Rarick. He doesn't follow up with more blows as I would have expected but returns his attention to me.

His face has taken on an eerie approximation of joviality. "Where was I? Oh yes, games, all sorts. The first one is called, 'See the Sentinel Sink or Swim'."

Rarick moves towards me. "Keep the gun on Kendall." He tells Mike, who obligingly switches targets.

I know just what's coming, but have no way to fight it; Mike's way too ready to deep six his competition and I don't want to give him an excuse. Rarick eliminates the space between us in three long strides and then just keeps coming, his momentum propelling me over the railing and into the water.

I'm standing on the deck, the bobbing of the boat challenging me to stay on my feet. Mike's swung the gun in my direction and Jason's closing in on Jim. The lethargy I've been feeling seems to be affecting my brain because I can't think. I can't think what to do. I'm standing, stupid and docile, as Jason knocks Jim into the sea.

"JIM!" There's a laugh. It's Joyce responding to the sound of my scream.

My feet finally come unglued and I move. I make it to the railing where Jim went over. Truesdale's there, panting, but makes no move to stop me as I dive in after Jim. The cold of the water slaps the last of the lethargy away and I focus everything I have into sensing where Jim is. I have to find Jim fast; he's still handcuffed. Blocking the sounds of fighting coming from the boat, I continue to dive and surface. Going under again, I search frantically for Jim. There. A splash of color not three feet ahead of me. I snag it and pull. It's Jim's shirt and it's Jim. I haul him to me, giddy with relief, knowing if we're going to die, at least we'll die together.

We break the surface, Jim sputtering and hauling in great draughts of air. He's thrashing around, which isn't at all helpful, and it takes me a minute to assume a lifeguard's position.

I float on my back, arranging Jim in front of me, and begin swimming away from the boat. My legs hold Jim close to me while I do a backstroke. Hearing commotion behind me, I keep swimming, betting that whatever is going on will give us a chance to put some distance between us and Jason. There really isn't any hope, even with the fog, of getting away; not with Jason's eyesight.

Despair almost stills my swimming but then the solid, secure weight of Jim Ellison registers and I push that aside. As long as we're alive and together I won't let myself stop. Sounds from the boat are getting fainter.

I'm surprised Jason is letting the game go on this long. He loves his games; has a fertile mind for creating them. All of them ended the same way, me losing, me in pain. This one couldn't end that way because Jim's on my side this time. My side can't be the losing side, there's just too much at stake.

"Blair."

"Yeah?" It takes a lot to get the 'yeah' out. My lungs just aren't up to this kind of exertion.

"Stop."

"Can't."

"Shh, stop. Jason's freaking out, he can't get a bead on us and we need to be quiet."

"Oh."

I stop our forward movement and tread water, keeping Jim's head above it. I try to quiet my breathing but I'm huffing like the little engine that could. Jim's listening and I want to ask what's going on but I wait, knowing he'll tell me when he can.

"Okay, let's start swimming but angle a little to the left."

I do as Jim says, hoping this doesn't take us too much farther from the shore. The boat's moving and in a few minutes, I see it slide through the fog not thirty yards from us. Jason at the helm, Mike serving as guide behind him. Evidently not too successfully, as he never turns our way.

The fog is so dense, I can't make out which way is land, but Jim steers me. We've worked out a system in which I keep our heads afloat and he provides the momentum by doing the kicking. It would work better if we weren't each handicapped in exactly the wrong area. The cold is deep and penetrating. I work at shutting the pain out, closing down the part of my mind that pays attention to that sort of thing. Jim's murmuring something and I wish I had the ability to turn up the volume. He seems to realize I haven't heard because he repeats himself, louder. "Almost there. We can do it."

I can't answer, I have nothing left to answer with. Fear has woven a trance around me and keeps me going.

Can't stop, can't let Jim sink to the dark bottom alone, without air or friend. Can't let Jason claim victory again because this time Jim will be the spoils. Can't stop, can't think, can't feel. Can't give up....

I'm methodically plodding ahead when I'm stopped and I sink under the water. Immediately Jim's hands pull me up and set me on my feet. We've reached land. We clamber up to the beach. Once we're out of the pull of the ocean, all I want to do is lie down but Jim keeps a firm hold on my belt and keeps us moving.

"He's scanning the whole area, I can hear Mike trying to help him pinpoint us. We gotta keep moving, Blair, can you do that?"

"Yeah." I manage to gasp out. "Yeah, keep going, let's get out of here."

I say it and the next thing I know I've got sand in my mouth. Jim's pulling me up, dragging me awkwardly; desperation evident in every nuance of his body. I push off, finding it hard to get any traction in the sand. It's like those nightmares where you're trying to run as fast as you can but can't get anywhere. With much effort, we make it to some rocks lining the shore and get behind them. The boulders give us some respite from the wind for the time being.

Jim's hands are still cuffed and I look around for the kind of rock Jim used to get me free the last time. I sift through the sand, looking...digging, gotta find something...There's nothing here to use...there has to be, how can there not be rocks?

"Blair...Blair, calm down, shhh, come here."

Jim is lying on his side, his head at an odd angle in the sand. Stopping my search, I hurry over to him and kneel down. He's in pain, his eyes shut tight, the effort to get us both to safety too much for his damaged leg. Pulling his head onto my lap, I brush the sand off his forehead.

Jim tries to bat my hand away. "Blair, I'm fine. Lie down next to me and be quiet." He sounds impatient and I scoot over and stretch out in front of him.

"Turn around so you're facing me." Jim's voice is a whisper in my ear and I do as he says.

The day is mild but the water soaking us brings a chill wind. I take Jim's hands in mine and pull them to my chest. I gasp, it's like embracing ice cubes but it doesn't take long for skin to skin warming to begin. Pressing in closer, I curve my body into Jim's meager heat. His chin is resting on my head. Although I hear nothing, the tension in Jim's body tells me that he's listening. There's nothing I can do and I find myself relaxing into the small cave Jim's body creates. I lose track of time, perhaps I lose track of consciousness; the next thing I know, Jim is talking to me.

He's so quiet, the only indication he's talking is the puffs of air between us and the vibrations of his chest. Jason must be near. Soon my pedestrian ears pick out the sounds of people on the beach. Jason's swearing. Mike is muttering implorations to Jason.

"Filter the waves out, just hunt for the sound of breathing." Jason responds with more swearing.

Jason had created a hierarchy of his senses. Sight stood alone as having infinite value, the rest were reduced to nuisances when they spiked. He never liked to work them, and once out of The Center, refused to let me test or train him.

Jason's swearing goes up a notch. Frustration is eroding what little control he's managed to corral. There's a grunt of pain, "Jason, please! No-" and Mike's voice is cut off. The sounds that come next are ones I know too well. Mike's screaming in pain.

I'm sure if I looked, I'd see Mike on the ground, one arm twisted behind him, Jason's foot on his back as he systematically dislocates Mike's arm. There's another scream, two men panting; one in pain, one in relief. I feel an echo of pain in my shoulder.

Jason must have been hell on small things when he was young. I imagine there must be a mound of flies with wings plucked off and old cats missing tails, back at his old homestead. Jason watches as Mike flops around in agony. How long will depend on how high his frustration level has gotten.

I take a peek. Jason is facing away from us, fifty yards away. We need to move now. Jason will be letting his senses center on Mike for the next few minutes. It's a curious way to get grounded, but it seems to work for Jason. Tugging at Jim's sleeve, I motion to the scrub and beyond that, the woods.

"Go." I mouth to him.

He's staring at Jason, his face frozen in shock. I give him a little shove and he slowly turns his head away and looks at me. I can't read his face. I gesture to the woods and he nods. We stay low and literally throw ourselves into the scraggly forest.

"What the fuck was that?" Jim whispers.

"One of Jason's ways of regaining control."

"Jesus, Blair, did he do that to you?"

"Shhh, there's no telling how long he'll take to center. We need to get going."

We move deeper into the woods, the vegetation getting denser the further in we go. We walk steadily for a while. Hard to say how much time has passed. A lot. The day is warm. It's a blessing that's hard to hold onto in the midst of a host of other miseries. Jim puts his hand out to halt my progress.

"Whoa, break time."

This may be a mistake. My feet stop and then take root, my exhaustion cementing me to the ground. Standing there, I try to wipe the sweat out of my eyes and gather a thought in.

"Water?" That's a thought.

"Yeah, water would be good."

"Can you smell any?"

Jim obliges me by sniffing the air all around in a circle.

"Hmm, not sure, but I think there may be some this way." Jim points to our right.

"Great." I mean to move forward but my body, in protest to everything it's been through, has ceased to accept commands from my brain. I wish my brain would stop processing the agony and discomfort as well as the commands. I'm hot, and the brand is ablaze with pain from my salt encrusted shirt rubbing against it.

I look over to Jim and he's in much the same state. He stands favoring his right leg, his arm around his stomach, and I know the sea salt has reawakened his pain.

"Let's go. We can rest after we get to the water."

I like the sound of that. With Jim's words as encouragement, my feet move forward. Jim's nose is better than a dousing stick and we find water about a half a mile away. It's a nice-sized little stream and we drink upstream and rinse ourselves and our clothes out downstream.

"Get the aspirin out and take some, Blair."

"Hmmm." I'd been staring off into space, wet shirt in my lap, all energy gone.

I dig around in my pocket. The bottle stayed capped and the pills dry. I shake out four and hand two to Jim. He takes the pills and then comes up behind me.

"I think the swim might have done the infection some good." Jim comments. "Did the Bacitracin make it?"

I pull the tube out and Jim takes it, smearing a generous amount on my shoulder. "Keep your shirt off for awhile, it'll help the healing."

I take a closer look at Jim. His face is tight with tension; pain or worry? Both, probably.

"Let me look at your leg, Jim."

"It's fine, we have to keep moving." The clipped answers and orders are continuing and I'm starting to worry on a whole other level.

I want to ask, "What's wrong?" Besides everything, I mean.

Even when everything was wrong before, things were still right between us. Now I'm not so sure. Getting up, I almost take a last minute dip in the stream. Whoa, stood up a little too fast, but there's no time to take it easy. Jim is intent, scanning back the way we came as he heads out. I follow, determined not to slow him down.

I wish we had a clue as to where we were. There's no way to tell if a town is just ahead or miles away. Jim's limp is getting more and more pronounced. Sometimes the sweat in my eyes blurs my vision so bad, I just follow him by listening. Once I smack right into a tree that had moved. I swear it did. Night begins to fall and I wonder if that's good or bad. I'm not sure if Jason's still in pursuit, Jim is always just enough ahead of me to make it hard to ask questions. Duh, stupid, the answer is obvious in Jim's determined stride, and the brutal pace he's setting.

The sun has dried our clothes and I'm glad when I can put my shirt back on. Maybe the air is good for it but having my shirt off and the brand revealed makes me feel more naked than when I was in the tank.

I don't know what Jim's reaction to it will be when we're out of this danger. It won't be good. Jason has marked me as his and the primitive hard wiring of Jim's brain will find that infuriating. He'll see it as an abomination. He'll see me as an abomination, marked as Jason's chattel. Jason will see it as further evidence of his claim on me and he'll do anything to have dominion over me once again.

In his quest to re-acquire me, I'm afraid he'll do anything. There's no way I'm letting Jason hurt Jim again.

My mind is a whirl of plans and ideas; thought of, considered, rejected.

I mentally list his advantages; there has to be a way to even out the playing field. Jason's healthy. He's armed. He didn't start out with a deficit in the food, water and sleep department but by now, all those things must be having some impact on both Jason and Mike. Mike's in pain that I know. Stupid of Jason to handicap his team that way. He knows where we anchored. That doesn't mean he knows where he is right now, however.

So he's as lost as we are. He's hungry and thirsty and tired. His eyesight is excellent, his other senses badly trained. He has a guide who's in pain, probably slowing him down. He's used to hotels, big beds, hot baths and room service. Being out here at night is going to really piss him off. When he's angry he has less control. His senses will be hair trigger, the discipline necessary to reign in his impulses: nil. A plan starts to come together. Not a very complete plan, but still, an idea that might tip the advantage back to the Home team.

As the dark deepens, Jim falls back so I can more easily keep him in sight. That works for a little while and then the dark completes its landing. I'm tracking on Jim by sound, with an occasional flash of white, and then the next thing I know, I'm alone. Can't hear him, can't see him.

"Jim?" I force myself to contain his name to a whisper even though a scream really wants to make a break for it.

"Jim?" A little louder. I edge forward. I've only gone about twenty feet when my toe nudges something soft.

"Jim!" I kneel down and run my hands over him. That tells me nothing. I pull on Jim until I have him between my knees, his head on my chest.

"Jim?" I whisper in his ear. It can't be a zone, he wouldn't have been lying on the floor of the forest if it were a zone. Still, I want to go into guide mode and beg him to come back to me. Unconsciousness isn't as easily breached, but I try anyway.

"Jim? Come on man, wake up. Please wake up."

His body feels chilled. I rub my hands up and down his arms, hoping I'm generating some heat for him. Jim remains unresponsive. I tamp down my panic.

I get systematic in my search for what brought Jim down. On his stomach, I find a hard lump, warm to my touch. Could that cause Jim to lose consciousness? Jim is stirring and he moans. I clamp my hand over his mouth. I have no idea if Jason is near or far. Jim struggles weakly against me.

"Shh. Shh. Please be quiet, please, please." I barely whisper but it doesn't seem to register with Jim, because I feel his moans against my hands. He's trying to push me away and I hold him tightly to me.

"Jim, Jim." My mouth is right next to his ear as I try to get him to hear me.

He arches back and his head smacks my face. Little bursts of light dance around in my head. I let go and Jim scrambles away from me.

I can't pass out, something's wrong with Jim and I hold on to that as I push the gray away.

"Blair?" His voice booms out in panic.

"Jim, shh, I don't know if Jason is close."

"Close?" Jim looks confused but lowers his voice.

"Can you hear him? Are they nearby?"

Jim tilts his head, studying the audio information coming his way.

"No." His hands clutch his stomach and he jerks forward, caught by a spasm.

"Jim!" Freed from the worry that Jason might hear us and come out of the bushes, I allow myself to yell his name. Jim's locked into a fetal position. What the hell happened? Was Jim kicked and bleeding internally?

"Jim, you have to tell me what's wrong. What can I do?"

The only response is a grunt.

"Jim?" I can't tell if I have his attention but I continue anyway. "Dial the pain back. Deep breath. Slowly release it. Another."

I rub Jim's back hoping my touch can help him to regain his control. After many long moments I feel a shudder go through his body. He unfurls and I help him to lie on his back.

"Stung. In the water." His voice is weak and he plucks at his shirt, trying to lift it. I ease it up but in the dark, I can't see anything. Jim can and I hear him hiss in pain and say, "There. It's out."

"What, what's out?"

"Some kind of stinger or quill." He's gasping. Even with pain dials set low, the pain must be bad.

"Heat's the only thing that helps. And time. I'll be all right in a little while."

Maneuvering Jim so his head is on my lap, I try and make Jim comfortable. His hand is on his stomach and I lay mine over his, hoping that the meager heat that generates will help. I do a lot of murmuring about breathing and dials in the next hour and eventually Jim's breathing evens out and I realize he's fallen asleep.

Setting him down on the ground, I start to dig a shallow trench. The ground is loamy and soft and it doesn't take too long. As soon as it's big enough for both of us, I drag Jim over and place him in it, covering him with leaves. This will both keep him somewhat insulated and hidden. If Jason's hearing is online, it won't do us any good at all, of course. I don't think Jason has the Sentinel equivalent of the fine motor skills to tune into a heartbeat. Breathing, yes, movement of any kind, yes, but not something as intuitive as a heartbeat.

I listen. I may not have acute hearing but if Mike and Jason were close, I'm sure I could tell. There are no sounds, except the ones nature makes. I crawl in next to Jim and rearrange the leaves over both of us. I hitch myself as close as I can to Jim and get my arm under his head. I think maybe I still have a fever. As soon as we come together, our body heat, trapped by the earth and the leaves, begins to build. I feel Jim's muscles relaxing, the tension easing. We are in our own world here, surrounded by moist darkness and the smell of earth and decaying leaves. Staying awake is important and I do; and then I don't.

Oh, God, I've been buried alive.

Wait.

By someone incredibly incompetent. I have no trouble digging myself out from the leaves and loose dirt that covers me. All the while I'm freeing myself, I search for signs of Sandburg. There are none. Dread holds me in place, as I turn in a slow circle, listening.

The last thing I remember was the pain in my gut getting worse, getting so bad it felt like a rat was trying to gnaw it's way out. My stomach is tender and sore but the fierce pain has eased. Rarick must've come. He has Blair. I temper my panic by reminding myself that Rarick needs Blair and won't kill him. Not yet. Hurt him, but not kill. I have time to get him back-unless they've already made their way back to the boat. That thought galvanizes me and I lurch to my feet. I dial back the collection of pain messages all fighting to be heard.

Moving out, I set a pounding pace back to the shore. I haven't been running for long when I hear the first gunshot. It's followed in rapid succession by three more. At least a mile away, maybe more. Switching direction, I follow the sounds, trying not to zone on the echo.

It's awkward running with my hands still cuffed. My leg hurts and I feel blood starting to seep through the bandage. I've never been more grateful for the things Blair has taught me than I am right now. I dial the pain to zero and lengthen my stride. More shots. No groans, no screams. Faint sounds of movement, and harsh breathing; finally Rarick's voice, high with frustration.

"Get over here, Kendall and quit screwing around, or the deal is off."

Deal? I'm going to kill Sandburg.

Sounds of thrashing through underbrush and then, "Mike, cut him off that way."

Sounds of a thud, a yell; Rarick's, another shot fired. I try and center in on Blair, track his breathing, his heartbeat, anything; but I can't get a bead on him.

Moving toward the commotion, I'm stopped dead in my tracks when I hear another shot, this time followed by a scream; Blair. I make myself move in the direction of Blair's voice. As I get closer, I smell blood and hear labored breathing. Although I'm still too far away to be of help, I zero my sight in on the sound.

Blair's on the ground, his shirt open, lying deathly still. Rarick comes into view, gun in hand, panting. He kneels down beside Blair. I start to move again but something stops me. Transfixed, I watch as Blair's arm comes up in a blur of motion and whacks Rarick on the side of the head with a rock. Rarick falls over on top of Blair, who shoves him off and hits him in the head again. He looks down at Rarick and I see fear and determination in his face. He looks at the bloody rock he's holding and drops it.

I want to yell, tell him he did good, tell him to get the hell away from there, but the distance is too far for my voice to travel so I start off again, carefully keeping a bead on his breathing. He moves away from Rarick and I can tell he's headed back to where I woke up, which means we'll meet up shortly.

I adjust my trajectory to intersect with Sandburg, who doesn't disappoint but comes barreling along and runs right into me. He immediately begins flailing at me, his fist connecting a few times before my yelling, "Sandburg, Sandburg, it's me," finally penetrates.

"Jim!" He looks up at me and then surprises me by throwing his arms around me.

"What the hell happened. Sandburg?" I'm not forgetting Rarick's talk about their deal.

Blair looks up at me, his face reflecting a little shame, fear, and surprisingly, triumph.

"I got to thinking about Jason and I thought that if I could get him mad enough, he'd waste his bullets on me and that would even the odds between you and him considerably, so-" Blair's words are cut off by my shaking him. I'm gonna kill him.

"You deliberately inflamed Jason so he'd shoot at you? Are you nuts? The guy's a sniper, Sandburg, a sniper with Sentinel vision." I walk away from Blair, I'm so angry at his stupidity that I can't look at him.

"No, Jim. It's okay!" Blair's hands are on my back, patting me with some misbegotten idea of trying to soothe me.

I turn on him. He backs away, the rage I'm feeling at his actions clear on my face.

"When he gets frustrated, his senses go haywire. He's a terrible shot then. I thought this through, Jim, really." Blair's pleading with me to understand his logic and I can't.

He has new bruises on his face, his shirt is in torn. His lip is bleeding again. We don't have time for this. Any advantage Blair bought us is being squandered. I shove my feelings aside. I'll deal with this later.

"We have to get moving before Rarick comes to." I hardly recognize my voice, the effort to suppress my reaction to Blair's actions, making it sound flat and mechanical.

"How did you know...? You saw?"

I nod.

Concentrating my hearing, I search for Mike. He's talking to Rarick and for a moment I fear there's no time left at all. Then I realize Mike is talking to Rarick in a guide tone, attempting to coax Rarick out of his unconscious state. That ought to keep him busy.

"Come on, we have to move."

"Wait, I got the keys." Blair digs out the key and approaches me warily, probably afraid I'll bite.

I hold out my hands and Blair frees me. I shake them out and enjoy having them liberated. Now to put them around Rarick's neck.

Moving back towards the beach, we remain silent. Every step sends a message of pain up my leg, but I push that information away. I'm in the grip of opposing forces. Blair made a plan, put it in motion, pulled it off. I should be happy. Proud even; hell, delighted. All of it points to Blair emerging. Emerging whole, capable, and inventive. I should, but all that's crowded out by overwhelming fear. What the hell was Sandburg thinking?

I want Blair safe. I need Blair safe.

So safe that I would see him leashed to me? Is that what I want? A child? A pet? Someone I control? Someone with whom I have the final say as to whether a risk is worth taking, an action sensible?

Yes, dammit.

Okay, not the child or the pet thing no, but me getting to assess the risks part, damn straight. I think about that. There isn't any risk I'd ever want him to take, there's the rub.

All right, he can cross the street outside of the crosswalk.

It isn't seeing Blair cowering in a corner, his hands over his ears that did this. Seeing Blair battered and broken by The Nation factors into it, sure. But I think I lost my stomach for risk and Sandburg when I realized he hadn't left me; he'd been taken from me.

He had gone to Florida and there had been that pain. He had left when we were out of sync.

He was lost to me, alone, and he never knew what he meant to me. That regret was the greatest pain. Because Blair deserved to know how much he mattered to me, how much I loved him.

Except I didn't want to tell him. Didn't want to give him that kind of power. And if I told him and he still left? Didn't want to have that happen. Better he should go not knowing.

Or so I thought, until he was taken; not knowing. Now all bets were off. I'd paid too high a price for my cowardice.

Still, instead of saying, "Blair, I love you." I plot ways to keep him safe and contained so I don't have to face the pain of Blair gone, everything still left unsaid.

Stupid plan. As if anyone has the power to contain Blair.

That's another story.

The main thing here is, does anyone have the power to keep him safe?

Well not if he's going to go off and make deals with the fucking devil, they don't.

I shudder when I remember the sound of the bullet and Blair's scream. His fake scream.

Clever plan really, and it worked.

We're in this mess because I failed to have the foresight to put Blair in a safe house.

Containment.

Would Blair be more or less Blair if I'd done that? This last month has gone a long way to breaking through the wall The Nation built around Blair's mind. I don't know what shape his mind would be in, but his body wouldn't be branded and he wouldn't be trudging through a forest, half-naked, hungry and thirsty.

And miserable, as I give him the silent treatment. I stop and wait for Blair to catch up. He's walking with his shoulders hunched over, his focus on the ground in front of him.

"Chief." He looks up, alarmed, not expecting me to talk to him. His eyes dart around, trying to spot the reason I've broken my silence.

I broke the silence; now to mend it. "I was wrong to get angry. I still think it was a damn fool plan, but you pulled it off. It's just that when I thought you had been hit...I...-- you don't know what that felt like and I, -- um..."

"Got mad."

"Yeah."

"It's okay. I understand. I shouldn't have done that."

"No. Yes, you're right about that. You shouldn't have done that. Promise me you won't risk your life again."

Blair hesitates. He ducks his head. "I-I can't prom--" Blair looks up at me, sees something, because he changes the course of his sentence. "I promise." He swallows hard.

I should ask him what he saw, what made him change his mind, but I'm too relieved to have his promise. I hold it to me, tight.

I hear something and concentrate. Rarick and Mike are on the move. Swearing and stumbling but moving.

"C'mon, Jason's conscious and I want to make the beach." Blair nods and follows as I hone in on the sound of waves breaking.

By the time we reach the beach, we're both panting. The boat's still anchored off shore and the dinghy Rarick used to come after us is high on the beach. We get it into the water and push off. We're about a 100 yards from land when Rarick and Mike burst out of the woods. Rarick is waving his gun around, but thanks to Sandburg, he's out of ammunition.

I take inventory of them. Rarick's head is bleeding freely and I see a bit of scalp has been torn. Score one for Blair. Mike's holding his arm to his chest and looks miserable. Rarick's screaming and although I'd be able to make out his words if I tried, I don't. I just enjoy the vision of Rarick's face; red with rage and blood and impotence.

I look ahead to the boat. No sign of life aboard but if I know Joyce, she and Truesdale are probably banging away in Rarick's big bed. Good. Be occupied, be very, very occupied.

I stop rowing and we drift up to the side. Getting up and over is challenging between my leg and Blair's shoulder, but we manage to gain the deck with only a small double thump. Pausing, I listen for a reaction. It takes me a moment to filter out the sounds of the ocean. Ah, there. Joyce, breathing heavy with small gasps, Truesdale huffing right along.

Blair and I move as one down the gangway. It doesn't take much to overpower Truesdale and secure Joyce. When a man's naked, his ability to defend himself diminishes considerably.

The Rangers had us spend a week naked. It had been an interesting experience-all the everyday tasks had seemed ludicrous at first and the drills were moments of high hilarity. It was during the training exercises that I came to face many of my own hang-ups, as well the mythic qualities of defense we give to clothing. By the end of that week I swear I could've walked down Madison Avenue stark naked and not batted an eye. Now watching Truesdale hunched over, frozen with embarrassment, I'm grateful once again to the all the things the military took away from me.

Joyce is spitting mad, her nakedness in no way impairing her ability to strike out. Blair is showing an odd unwillingness to deal with her. She manages to land a blow to his jaw that sends him to the floor. I deck her, relishing the sound of my fist connecting with bone. She goes down and I just barely resist the urge to kick her for good measure.

Blair gets to his feet, rubbing his jaw, eyeing her like she's a snake that might strike at any moment. He edges away from her. As he finds himself face to face with Truesdale, he backs away, a flash of fear crossing his face and I'm left to wonder-again-about what they did to Blair.

I finish tying Truesdale's hands and push him back onto the bed. I secure his ankles and hands to the bed frame and then, because he helped us out, I cover him with the sheet. Joyce is still conked out and I unceremoniously pick her up and toss her on the bed.

"Find me something else to tie her with, will you Chief?" Blair rummages around in the drawers and comes up with a couple of pair of pantyhose. I lash her down, making sure the knots are good and tight. Truesdale hasn't said a word since his first, "What the fuck--" as we entered the stateroom. He glares at me and then switches his attention to Blair.

"Look, Kendall, I'm sorry about...well, I mean...I just...I never would've...that whole rape thing was a set-up. God, I'd never...they set it up so Jason could come in and play the hero. Just so you know that I..." His voice trails off.

Rape thing? Rape thing?! I'm surprised by the look on Blair's face. It's one of rapid processing as he takes in Truesdale's confession.

"What else?" Blair asks.

"What else? Everything else. Well, we did study to be guides, some of us. But the only Sentinel is Jason, so when you came along we all got bumped down. Nobody was happy about that or the charade they made us put on for your benefit, but ............was adamant that it was all for The Good. Said that you were a heathen, unclean and wily in your allegiance to The Dark and this was the only way to lead you to The Good. And The Good needed you, Jason needed you. I can't tell you how much that pissed us off."

"I can imagine." Blair says this dryly, like it's not all about him. "You were glad to see me hurt."

"Well, maybe not so much glad to see you hurt as glad to see you fail and be put in your place. We'd all had our moments with Mr. Smith. Not as many as you, of course. After what he'd done to us it was a relief to be on the other side, rooting for that old buzzard to break you."

Blair shudders and I close the gap between us. Blair's whole body is locked up, his hands in fists. I put my arm around him to pull him out the door, but he shrugs it off and faces Truesdale again.

"Why would you want to be Jason's guide? Do you have any-no, of course you don't. He kills people."

Truesdale rolls his eyes. "Well, duh. That's a given. He's a Sentinel. He serves The Good."

"No, no, no! Sentinels don't, by some genetic imperative, kill. They protect. Their enhanced senses are all about detection, not destruction. Jason kills because it gives him pleasure to hurt and obliterate. He'd kill if he wasn't a member of The Tessuad Nation. Hell, he'd kill if he wasn't a Sentinel."

Blair's speech has no power to penetrate the Tessuad shell Truesdale has protected himself with.

He sneers at Blair and says, "Oh, bravo. You're giving a nice performance for your new, domesticated Sentinel, I see. It doesn't wash with me. I've seen the vids, I've seen you guide Jason through a kill. You are what he is and you should be damn proud of it."

The color drains from Blair's face.

"Don't listen to him, Blair. The bracelet--" I don't get the sentence out before Sandburg pushes me aside and bolts from the room.

I'm slow going after him, my leg reacting to the tussle with Truesdale. I find Blair at the railing, his body convulsing with dry heaves. As I lay my hand on his back, I wait for the worst to pass. Slowly straightening, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He refuses to look at me.

"Blair, come on. Remember the bracelet? The one that infected your arm? It short-circuited your brain. You weren't in control there. Hell, I don't think you were even conscious in the normal sense of the word."

"What are we gonna do, Jim? What are we gonna do?" The repetition of the question is delivered in an anguished voice as Blair stares unseeingly at the horizon.

Taking Blair's shoulders gently in my hands, I turn him to face me. "We're going to get out of here, we're going to go home. That's what we're going to do."

"What about Jason and Mike?"

"What about 'em?" In the light of day, without the fog, it's clear the bit of land we were on is an island.

"They can twiddle their thumbs until we get the Feds to pick them up."

"No." My amazement at Blair's negative response must've alarmed Blair, because he flinches.

"No?' I'm sincerely curious here.

Blair takes a step back. "N-No. They could get off, they could get help and then they'd be out there, waiting to take us and-no. I can't...please, we have to make sure." Blair says it in a rush, his body tense as if he expects me to pop him one.

I'm caught once again between pride and dismay. He's right, of course. And Blair's readiness to face Rarick again, in the face of all he's gone through, astounds me. Frightens me, annoys me, humbles me. Because right now I just want to opt for Blair's immediate safety. He looks beaten and sick; the bruises on his face extenuating his pallor. He sways as he stands there, defying me, and it's not the boat's movement causing it. And yet Blair just said no to me.

No.

I know it took courage for him to stare down the conditioning that makes saying 'no' to a Sentinel a crime against God. I have to honor that, affirm the rightness of that, and acknowledge that Blair has a point here. Better to take Rarick down for good than to wait for him to come at us again.

"Okay." Blair's face lights up, surprise evident in the widening of his eyes.

"You agree with me?"

"When you're right, you're right. I'll go back for them."

"We'll go back for them." His chin juts out in a stubborn tilt I hadn't seen in a very long time.

"You gave me your word."

"What?"

"You said you wouldn't risk your life again."

"Oh, man, you can't hold me to that in this case. No way I'm letting you go back alone."

"You're not letting me. I'm telling you. I'm holding you to it in this case and every case. YOU are NOT going with me."

I turn the patented Ellison glare on, full strength, and am satisfied when Blair blanches and his shoulders slump. My satisfaction turns sour when he staggers back, his arm half raised in defense.

"Blair--"

"No, no, I understand. I'll stay here." Blair keeps backing up until he hits the steps that go down. He skirts around them. "I'll-I'll just stay here. He sits down on the other side of the steps.

I'm a little alarmed at his reaction. The Glare has always served me well, but up til now, Blair's been relatively immune to it. Never thought he'd succumb to it, not like this. Must be the exhaustion and fever.

"Let's get you downstairs. There's an empty berth you can rest in." I hold out my hand but Blair just shakes his head.

"No, I'm fine right here. I'll wait for you here. Take a gun, take ammunition."

"Blair, I know how to approach dangerous people." My exasperation seems to deflate his anxiety because he nods and puts his head down on his knees.

Finding dark clothing as the sun gets low in the sky, I dress and blacken my face. In the galley I find fruit, bread and cheese. I'm starving and I wolf it down as I walk back to Blair with his share. I locate a jacket and get it on Blair. Kneeling there, I try to reassure Blair that all will be well.

"See? Gun, ammo, knife, cuffs. I'm well equipped for this."

"I know. I didn't mean to doubt you."

"Eat, Blair. Rest. I'll be back before you know it."

I give his arm a squeeze and swing over the boat, lowering myself into the dinghy.

Jim's been gone an hour and I've stayed put. Joyce has been screaming to be released for most of that time and my head aches from the sound of her voice. I wish Jim had thought to gag her. She wants to use the bathroom. It would be the humane thing to do, to go down and let her use the toilet but I can't quite find the humanity in me to do it.

There hasn't been a peep from Truesdale. He saw me help Jason kill. It's real, it's a real thing what I did. Because of me, people are dead. Jim doesn't seem to think I'm responsible and oh, I hope that's true. But I know it's my very being that channeled Jason's abilities to his dark purpose. I can't really blame Jim for not wanting me with him as he goes back for Jason. I'm not his friend, I'm a perversion of his friend. One who wears the mark of the hawk and who's done the bidding of The Nation.

I understand about not risking my life. I understand it's not mine to risk. It's Jim's to decide how to use, when to use, when to risk. He's the Sentinel. I'm the guide. And beyond that, he still has hopes that his true companion will surface in me.

I sit, contained. I wait. I push back the anger I feel at being left behind and the fear that gnaws at me. He should have taken me. I know Jason. I could predict him. I could've been of use. Bitterness at not being able to make that call bubbles up.

This is no good. Mentally I gather all these errant emotions and push them down. It's hard and feeling tears, I push harder. This is no time to fall apart. I need to be strong. I need to be what Jim needs me to be.

Joyce is yelling, yelling, her voice eating away at my containment. I try to blot the sound out with my hands, but it penetrates. Her voice is in my head. "Have you ever kissed Ellison like this? He kisses like this." How does he kiss? Like this. He kisses like this. I feel my lip, it's sore. Kisses, like this. Would he ever? Ever want to? Kiss me? You're a troll, a goddamned ugly troll. You are good for one thing and you're barely good at that. One thing. One thing....

You are the Lord.
It exists when you say it exists.
I worship it when you create it.
You are the Sky
You are the Land.
You are my Lord, I am not myself.
Everything dies without your rule.

There, better. You can do this, be this. Shhh, shhh.

Use us in service, oh Lord.
We give you all that we are.
We are nothing except to your purpose.
Accept us and make us worthy, oh Lord.
The path to your dominion is long, make us strong.
The path to your dominion is dark, give us your eyes.
With your ears, we hear all we need to listen to.

Provide us with the means to penetrate the dark evil...

I beach the dinghy three-quarters of the way around the island. Moving across inland, I take them by surprise as they huddle around a pathetic fire on the beach. Waiting no doubt for Joyce and Truesdale to show up and rescue them. It might have gone worse if Mike hadn't been in such rough shape. As it was, it was just one on one. I'll admit, Rarick surprised me. After our last few encounters, I'd come to think he wasn't much in the hand to hand department. He's well built, muscled and surprisingly graceful on the sand. He landed some solid punches in places that were already sore. The weakness in my leg made me less stable.

Twice I went down, the second time barely missing a kick to the head, taking it on the shoulder instead. He followed up with a body slam worthy of The Hulk. Air fled my body and I felt a moment's panic when I couldn't seem to get oxygen to come my way. About the time I knew I couldn't hold out any longer without taking in air, I managed to roll Rarick off of me and brought my knee to his groin, shoving him away. He recovered a lot quicker than I did. I watched as his boot came towards my head again. Maybe bringing Sandburg along wouldn't have been such a bad idea. The thought of Blair galvanized me and I moved with a speed I should not have been able to achieve. No way could I fail and leave Blair alone with this guy again.

Rolling up and away in one motion, I saw that Rarick was wide open. My guess is people rarely get up after an encounter with him, so he wasn't prepared for round two.

I pivoted and put all my rage into a sidekick. It connected with a satisfying reverberation through my body. Which was some compensation as it just about did Rarick's work for him. Pain radiated from my leg to the rest of my body, and I fought to keep the little bit of food I had in my stomach.

Rarick dropped, lights out. I checked to see if Mike was going to put up any kind of fight. He just sat there, looking oddly pleased, cradling his arm, his face a mass of cuts and bruises. I secured them to a tree, making Rarick as uncomfortable as possible.

It took me longer than I would have liked to make my way back to the boat. Hiking on the uneven ground made my leg ache with a new fierceness. Adrenaline had kept my exhaustion at bay, but now I felt it in every pore of my body. It was a monumental task to keep my pupils dilated enough to allow myself to see where I was going in the dark. By the time I returned to the tree where I'd left Rarick and Mike, I was ready to simply lie down and wait until morning. Couldn't. I knew Blair would be waiting and worried.

Now as we close in on the Ketch, I decide to do this the easy way. I've never hit a defenseless man with such satisfaction before. Getting him on deck is tricky because of the need to favor my leg but I enjoy the thud of his body hitting the deck.

Keeping my eye on Mike as he struggles one handed up the ladder, I scan for Blair, hoping to hear his breathing in a sleep pattern. Instead I hear him mumbling and I focus in.

Oh God, he's reciting The Doctrine. Turning to the sound, I see Blair on his knees, head down, hands clasped fervently in front of him. The words all run together in his haste to get them out and he's oblivious to our arrival.

"Blair!" Rushing to his side, I grab his shoulders. Eyes fly open, blue and dazed.

"What happened? Why...?" I touch his cheek, running my thumb over the beard that's begun. He looks at me, but there's a vacancy in his eyes.

"Come on, Chief, let's get you up."

I pull Blair to his feet. His knees buckle and I get an arm around him.

"Deliver me to your service..." He stops reciting and looks at me, smiling, just before he collapses completely in my arms. His unexpected weight and my weak leg almost topple us to the deck but I manage to shift and regain my balance. I gently lower him to the deck. His fever's up but not too alarming. Lifting each eyelid, I'm reassured by their reaction to the light and the familiar shade of blue.

What made him go into Ericmode? He didn't just flash to Eric, my God, he was down on his knees reciting the fucking Doctrine.

I set to work, securing Rarick and Mike to the rail. Rarick is still out and Mike does no more than mew when I shift him and attach his good hand to the boat.

Kneeling down next to Blair, I'm at a loss and suddenly it's too much. I just want to lie down, gather him close to me and sleep for a week. Sighing, I pick him up and stand. Staggering a little, I shuffle to the stairs and edge my way down. Blair doesn't stir as I carry him past the stateroom, where Joyce makes catcalls and Truesdale watches silently. I kick the hatch to the V-berth open and bundle Blair inside.

The room is minute but it feels like a haven to have a bed under Blair and four walls containing him. I pull back the covers and lay him down, removing his shoes and socks. He sprawls there, looking oddly fragile for such a sturdy man. His face is shadowed with myriad layers of darkness. Bruising, beard and a hollowed cast around his eyes from fever and fatigue. I smooth his hair off his face and run my hand through the damp curls.

Exhaustion alone could account for this state, as well as the infection. Just how long had he been kneeling there, reciting The Doctrine?

What set him off? Never knew how his mind worked when he was wholly Blair, sure don't understand it now, as it flickers like a half dead neon light, alternating between Eric and Blair.

The last thing Truesdale had said to Blair was about watching the vids of Blair guiding Rarick. Could that have done it? Yeah, maybe. It made him heave, I suppose it could make him...nah, I don't see Sandburg going back there. Back to being Eric in the grip of The Nation's fanaticism. He would have fought to keep his distance. Hell, even though he had nothing in his stomach, he still needed to purge himself after being reminded about Rarick and what happened.

I put my hand on his forehead, though I've no trouble gauging his temp just standing here. I hope it comforts him, I know it comforts me. I unbutton his shirt and pull Blair up. Slipping his shirt off, I lean him against me as I try to do the same with his T-shirt. It sticks to the brand.

Rolling Blair onto his stomach I see the brand has oozed out around the bandage and I'm going to need to soak his shirt off. Locating that first aid box Truesdale had gifted us with earlier is the first order of business. I pull the covers over Blair and tuck his arm in close to his side. I'm curiously reluctant to leave him alone for the time it will take me to go back to the hold we were in and retrieve the box. Before I go, I wet a washcloth and lay it on the wound.

By the time I get back, the water has done the job and I'm able to get the T-shirt off without too much damage to the ravaged area. The ointment and bandage are next and then I roll Blair onto his side. I need to see his face. He seems to be merely asleep and I wonder if I shook him would he awaken? I hesitate. I fear he won't. I sit down on the bed and watch the steady rise and fall of his chest. Realizing I'm courting a zone, I yank my attention away and apply myself to thinking through what else I can do. When I was in the hold, I snagged some water. Putting my arm under his head, I lift him up.

"Blair?" I give him a gentle shake.

"Blair, come on buddy, time to rise and shine." Blair turns his head into my chest, burrowing, reluctant to come awake.

Taking his chin in my hand, I tilt his head back and press the bottle to his lips. He swallows and seems to come to, a bit. There's eye movement behind his lids. His hand comes up and clutches at my shirt.

"Jim?" His eyes stay closed.

"Yeah, buddy. Right here."

"You were right, then."

"Right?"

"Right to not want to take me."

I don't like the way that sounds but I was right, so it's hard to argue.

"Yeah, well, all's well that ends well."

Blair sighs at that.

"Mind telling me what you were doing when I came back on board?"

"Doing?"

"Yeah, you were kneeling and reciting The Doctrine. Mind telling me what that was about?"

"Oh." Blair lets go of my shirt and starts to sit up. I help him get vertical.

"So?"

"Yeah, well, I don't know exactly. Joyce was screaming and I think maybe I just...I dunno, I just..."

"Reverted."

"No, not exactly. I'd have to be more Blair to justify the verb revert."

As soon as he says that, Blair gasps and claps his hand over his mouth. It's almost comic, but the look in Sandburg's eyes tells me he is truly dismayed that he's let on how much he still thinks he's not Blair.

"I told you; Eric or Blair, or even Bette Midler, we're friends."

Blair looks unconvinced. He looks unconvinced, tired and sick.

"Come on, drink up and then let's get some sleep. We'll pilot the boat home tomorrow."

Blair accepts the agenda with a nod of his head and drinks the rest of the water. I lie him back on the bed and make sure he's warm.

"Just give a yell, you know, if you need anything."

Another nod, eyes close, breathing even. I shut off the light and go back on deck. I hear that Rarick's regained consciousness. He's exhorting Mike to untie him, his voice choking on his rage. When I reach topside, I see that Mike hasn't made a move toward Rarick, but sits watching him squirm around.

"Come here, Mike."

Mike looks up at me. There's little of the arrogance left that he wore before. Instead it's easy to see that he didn't leave puberty all that long ago. Mike stands up, carefully skirting Rarick, never looking at him. The Stateroom bed is big enough for three. I settle my charges in for the night, threatening Joyce with a gag if she doesn't shut up.

I have other plans for Rarick. He's stopped yelling, no doubt shocked at his inability to get his will carried out.

He begins speaking, sounding for all the world as if he were having a conversation in a drawing room, instead of cuffed to a boat.

"You know there's no way for you to hide him that I won't be able to circumvent. He's mine. He was given to me by Divine Right and I will use him until he is of no more use." Rarick says this lucidly

I can tell he believes this. He believes this about Blair. All through Blair's disappearance and return I've experienced a multitude of emotions. Fear, anger, frustration, rage. Rarick's calm words fill me with horror. It's as if there is a new level to my abilities and I can see-- I can-- I can actually see-- his greedy sucking soul. Reaching out to trap Blair, to use and then discard him.

Mike didn't last long. The look in his eyes had telegraphed that he was all used up. And in such a short time. Blair had lasted months with this monster and the monster wasn't done yet.

I consider doing to Rarick what he had done to me, toss him overboard, cuffs and all. I don't think anyone can convey in words the feeling of hitting deep water with their hands bound. The fear is primal, and there is nothing but a wail of despair in your mind as you sink toward your death, away from light, air and human contact. It felt like hours as I kicked my legs and struggled to keep myself from the terrifying darkness that awaited me.

In reality, it was only a minute, maybe two, before Blair's blessed hands connected and led me back to the surface. But they were minutes that would forever haunt me, a reminder of my dependence on oxygen, my need for light, and how fragile the link to living and breathing could be.

Tempting as the idea of Rarick coming face to face with his fragility was, I reject it. I'm not prepared to become the cold-blooded killer Rarick is. That means leaving Rarick to the system. Knowing it the way I do leaves me with little reassurance, but what choice do I have?

I'm not worried about prison. Hell, I'd do life; I'd go to the chair, if it meant Blair would be forever safe. But killing Rarick in cold blood would make me his doppelganger. And Blair would know, he'd see that I'd become what he loathes and fears. I couldn't bear to see that look of recognition in his eyes. So it's an imperfect system and me doing everything I can to gather the evidence needed to put Rarick away. I'll take Blair to Peru if I have to. He can study the Chopac for a couple of years. Whatever it takes.

Whatever it takes.

Rarick continues his rant. "You think your puny restraints can stop the Good's messenger from his appointed destiny? "

I think he's actually foaming a little at the mouth and his eyes are glittering with a fervor I never gave him credit for.

"Blair Sandburg was taken, reshaped and rebirthed. He is now Eric Kendall and Eric Kendall he will remain. Blair Sandburg was nothing. Nothing! And then he made himself even less than nothing when he denounced his life's work. That was God, God giving him to us. Giving him to me." Rarick smiles. "And no mortal man will be able to take him from me, for God has shown I hold favor in his eyes."

It's pointless to argue with a madman, so I ask, "If he's such a gift, why do you hurt him?"

"Hurt him?" He actually sounds outraged at the idea. "I'd never hurt Eric."

He's sincere and now I'm really getting the heebie jeebies.

"I know what you've done to him, I've seen the scars, heard his nightmares."

Rarick shakes his head at the question. "Certainly you've noticed how willful Eric is? How he overflows with desire and energy? This must be corrected. God made guides so they could act as conduits for our gifts. He made them lacking in insight, intelligence and discipline. They aren't like you and I, God's treasures. They lack our sensitivities and highly attuned metabolisms. They are thick skinned and stubborn. I found Eric's resistance to my leadership quite a challenge." He smiles like a proud father.

"But he was learning. And he will learn again." Rarick's eyes get a faraway look in them and I shudder as I realize he's relishing how he will discipline Blair again. Over my dead body.

I say it out loud. "Over my dead body."

"I'm sure God will make the arrangements." Rarick's smug and convinced of his righteousness.

I move toward him, wanting to kick, to break his legs, his ribs, smash his teeth; wanting to dull the rage I feel with the sounds of blood vessels rupturing, bones snapping. Hear his screams begging me to stop, praying to his brutal God for mercy, the kind of mercy he never gave Blair. I flash to Mike, face contorted with agony, as Rarick dislocated his shoulder. Did it not to discipline but to dull his frustration, his rage.

I don't know if it's the realization that I am way too close to being like Rarick or if the toxin from the quill is working it's way out of my system, but nausea overwhelms me. I heave and spew Rarick with the contents of my stomach.

Ah, now these are sounds to soothe a man's soul. I listen to Rarick howling as I go below deck. He doesn't seem to have any control over the dial for smell or touch. He's in for a long night. The three on the bed are quiet and I reaffirm their state of unconsciousness with a quick scan of their vitals.

Moving along, I go to the tiny cabin where I left Blair. He sleeps, curled tight, hand fisted under his head. Tugging the covers up higher, I let his even breathing fill my head.

I remember the way Blair sounded as he asked on deck, "What are we going to do? What are we going to do?" his voice filled with defeat. Fuck, Blair, I don't know. The choices all suck.

I sink to the floor, the power to remain upright, gone. I settle down on the hard floor. Resisting the urge to catalog all the ways I ache, I shut down.

"JIM? JIM?" I wake to Blair patting my face, his anxious eyes studying me. I must look bad because even though I've opened my eyes, Blair continues to pat my face gently and look worried.

"I'm fine." It comes out kind of slurred and when I start to sit up, the cabin tilts.

"I don't think so, man. Come on, let me get you up on the bunk." Blair puts his hands under my arms and gets me upright. I lay down in the residual warmth left by his body and try to get my head together. I'm having trouble getting my eyes to open. I drift. The next thing I know, Blair's urging me to drink the water he's brought. I drink but he seems determined to pour the entire bottle down my throat; I bat his hand away.

"Enough, thank you, but that's enough." I need to get up, find a map, pilot this boat back to Cascade. I lie there, lethargy weighing me down.

"How do you feel? What can I do?"

All my senses seem to be oddly exaggerated. Not spiking exactly but delivering information to me in a more complex way than usual. I feel the heated knot in my stomach where the quill pierced me, its poison trapped under my skin. I touch it. There's a hissing sound and I wonder if I'm hallucinating. I look at Blair. I see him through the kind of haze one sees roiling off hot pavement in the middle of summer. He looks watery and I feel a jolt of fear that he's a mirage. Lurching off the bed, I collide with his solidly real form, sending us both to the floor.

"Jim? What is it?" Blair's anxious hands are once again doing an inventory and when his hands get to my stomach, I can't stop the groan that escapes me. Blair immediately lifts up my shirt and investigates.

"Oh man, this is so not good. Jim, the quill, the thing that stung you, what'd'ya think it was?"

"Some sort of sea urchin, probably. Not much to be done about it. Maybe some heat would help." I'm appalled at the sound of my voice. It sounds wobbly and for a moment I suspect my hearing until I realize Blair's voice was just fine.

"Jim, come on, man, let's get you back into bed." With Blair's help, I manage to get back into the berth.

"Hold on, I'll be right back." Blair strokes my arm and leaves. Without him in it, the cabin, which had seemed snug and safe, takes on claustrophobic dimensions. He's gone a long time and I swear the walls inch closer. I hear Joyce.

"Hey Eric, bring those hot lips over here and give me a kiss. C'mon now, come and let me loose so I can show you what you've been missing."

I cringe, her voice scrapes over my over sensitized ears. I hear the raw need, as well as the malicious taunting. I visualize how I left her and breathe a sigh of relief. She's secured in such a way that she can't get loose or violate any one. I hear Blair hesitate outside the door to the stateroom. He can't be thinking of going in there. Sure, Mike's groaning and Truesdale's begging to be allowed to use the head but Sandburg wouldn't...oh fuck, he is.

Getting off the bunk, barely managing to stay upright, I stumble to the door. I hear Blair bringing Mike some water, his yelp and Joyce's near insane shout of, "Gotcha." Blair yells and I hear the sound of fists connecting. I pinball down the gangway, grateful for the narrowness of the passageway, which keeps me upright.

I stagger into the room and see that Joyce has freed her hands, which are now buried in Blair's hair. She's kissing him. Blair's flailing about, his fists sometimes finding a target but unable to do any real damage from the position he's in. I hear his wild heartbeat, smell the fear and panic as she crushes her mouth to his.

Grabbing her wrists, I apply the kind of pressure one uses on psychos. I can't tell if her scream is one of pain or frustration at being forced to let go of her prize. As he's released, Blair stumbles back until he hits the wall. There's blood on his mouth and I'm not sure whose it is.

"Let me go, Ellison! Afraid of a little competition? Come on, he was just getting into it."

Blair staggers out of the room. Before I follow him, I retie Joyce. There's been no sound at all from the Mike and Truesdale. They each wear the same look of repulsion and I think what a fine and fitting punishment it is, to be trapped in bed with Joyce.

Blair is in the gangway as I come out, which is a good thing. I don't have a lot of energy left to make the trip back to the room. Hell, I don't have the energy left to take another step and more or less collapse into Sandburg's arms. He grunts as he takes my unexpected weight and maneuvers himself under me. We make chaotic headway back to the V-berth.

Blair keeps his head ducked as he helps me back into bed. I reach over and tilt his head up. He lets me and I see his lip is torn again and that it's his blood. He doesn't touch it or try to wipe the blood away. His eyes show his shame and I don't understand it.

"That bitch. Don't ever go near her again, Sandburg, I mean it."

He waits until I drop my hand before he ducks his head again and goes back to fussing with me.

"I brought hot water." It's close to a whisper. I suppose he realizes what a dumb move it was to go in there. Good. He needs to know that, he needs to think more about his safety.

He has a backpack slung over his shoulder and he swings it forward. Opening it, he pulls out a thermos and a washcloth. He wets the flannel down. I see steam; he must've boiled water in the galley. He waits a minute for it to cool down and then lifts my shirt and gently applies it to the lump. I feel the heat sinking in, dissolving the poison. Blair takes the cloth off and pours more hot water on it, tossing it from hand to hand. He puts it back on.

After awhile, Blair peeks beneath it. "It's working, I think. The swelling has gone down and it seems less hard."

"Yeah, Chief, it feels much better." He smiles a little at my reassurance. I hand him the washcloth.

"You should clean that cut, Blair." He takes the cloth and turns away. When he faces me again, the blood is gone and I see just how savagely Joyce bit him.

Diving back into the backpack he pulls out a bottle of water and hands it to me. Aspirin follows that. He nods approvingly as I wash them down. Last to be placed in my hands is a sandwich.

"Where's your sandwich?"

"I'm not really hungry."

I break my sandwich in half and hand it to him.

"Eat. Gotta give your body something to work with as it fights the infection."

He reluctantly bites into it but finishes it in record time.

The pain has subsided and I'm feeling ready to get on with the tasks at hand. I'd like to put Blair back into bed and let him sleep but I don't think I have what it takes to deal with the unholy four and set sail for home by myself.

"Think you can find the maps?"

"Yeah, I'll get right on it."

"I'll meet you on deck. I'll just make our guests a little more comfortable."

"NO! I mean--" Blair stops himself. He's blushing.

"What? What is it?"

"You can't do it by yourself. I can help."

"Chief, I don't want you anywhere near any of them. I can take care of them. Now go and find those maps."

Blair leaves the cabin reluctantly but without protest. I add that to my long list of worries and get going. The sooner we're back in Cascade, the happier I'll be.

Getting the three in the stateroom untied, watered, fed and retied takes way too much time. Joyce started in right away and I tell her to put a sock in it or I will. When she doesn't, I do, and am glad to have the excuse.

I share some of our aspirin with Mike and make sure he is secure but tied more comfortably. Truesdale continues his silence and I have no way of knowing what to make of that. I figured as long as I keep the upper hand, it won't matter what he's thinking.

As I make my way topside, I hear Rarick talking to himself. Focusing, I realize it's Blair he's talking to. Shit. Why didn't I consider that possibility? Coming on deck I'm confronted with Blair, his back pressed against the bulwark and Rarick saying, "You are a guide whore, guiding whoever catches your fancy. Ellison will see what you are soon, and want nothing to do with you. You are less than nothing without me. We were good together. You were meant to be my--"

His little speech is stopped short by my fist impacting with his mouth, effectively shutting it. Blair's trembling, his eyes wide. There's no telling how long he's been filling Blair's head with his skewed take on reality and the purpose of Blair's existence. I have to pry Blair away from the wall. He's staring at Rarick, fixated on him and the rage in me that's been simmering all this time sears through me.

"Come on, Sandburg. Did you find the navigational charts?" My voice is harsher than I mean it to be and when Blair doesn't answer, I shake him a little. His head snaps up and he looks around wildly.

"I meant to. It's just that Jason-I came up and Jason-- I know they're here someplace. Wait."

He falls to his knees and opens the cabinet underneath the wheel, hauling out papers. Pawing through them he finds the map and hands it to me. He's peering around the wheel and I see he's trying to check on Rarick. Probably worried about the fat lip I gave his precious Sentinel. Probably the whole reason he wanted to go back to the island was to make sure Rarick was safe and sound.

"Worried about him?" Sandburg misses the sarcasm because he answers truthfully.

"Yeah..." His voice trails off.

"He'll be all right, a little less beautiful, maybe, but fine."

Blair looks at me in disbelief. "I don't want him to be fine." He backs away from me and then stops.

I mentally smack myself in the head. Why is it so easy for me to slip into thinking that Sandburg wants Rarick as his Sentinel? By now it's clear that Blair's terrified of the guy and yet it takes next to nothing for me to believe that he's bonded to Rarick.

Still.

Yet.

Did they do something to my brain when I was in the compound? Because generally I'm not this stupid. Maybe they did, because I'll repeat myself, I'm not stupid. I've sure being acting like I am. If they could fuck up Blair's brain, why not mine? I don't mean anything as drastic as surgery but surgery's not all they did to Blair. I wonder if a big piece of the puzzle just fell into my lap or if I'm grabbing at straws, trying to make excuses for myself.

I reach out to Blair and he freezes. He waits for my next move, waits for me to hurt him, I see that in his eyes. But he doesn't try to get away, he doesn't try to defend himself. I stopped myself from killing Rarick outright because I didn't want to see this very look in Blair's eyes. The look that tells me how very much I'm like Rarick.

"I'm sorry. Sorry I snapped at you, sorry I said those things. I didn't mean it." I realize the apology is a little weak. I'm not prepared to say what I was thinking or explain that that's why I acted and sounded the way I did. Blair will understand. When we're back home I'll explain and ask him if he thinks The Nation might have done some subliminal brainwashing. When we're home and warm and we don't hurt. That's when we'll figure this out.

"I'd never hurt you, Chief, you know that don't you?"

He nods his head and turns away and I hear him muttering to himself. "A Sentinel never hurts a guide. He shows leadership, teaches discipline, corrects..."

Fuck. Damn, stubborn...how can he think that I would hurt him? Is he misreading me on purpose? I catch hold of my thinking, knowing I'm moving back into a rage just as I'm trying to reassure Blair that I would never hurt him. How sick is that?

I bite the anger back and reach out to Sandburg. "NO! No, no... I mean it. I would never hurt you."

There's no recognition in his eyes that he accepts the truth of my words. Oh God, he thinks that I think like Rarick. Rarick who believes he has never hurt Blair but has simply disciplined him, taught him.

This is Eric, this is what Eric believes and again the rage shimmers. Blair would know I would never hurt him. He'd understand my apology. Eric doesn't and I feel my hand curling into a fist.

A FIST! I twist away and hold my hand to my chest, protecting Blair from this blind fury. Oh fuck, they did-- they did do something to me when I was there. Just now I wanted to hit Blair or was it Eric? Which one was I about to smack?

Which one?!

There is only one.

I see that Blair-Eric-fuck, HE-- believes it; it confirms everything he's been told about Sentinels.

I told Blair I accepted him no matter what, what a laugh.

I laugh. It sounds hysterical even to my ears and Blair looks doubly frightened. I'm scaring the kid, I have to pull it together. How can I explain, how can I make him understand?

"Blair, uh...I think maybe, I don't know but maybe, when I was at the compound, they did something to me. Something to my mind to make me think that you want to be Rarick's Guide-- and when I think that, I feel...I feel this rage--" I stop my garbled speech, sure that I've just convinced Blair of my untrustworthiness.

He says nothing, and I rush to continue, "I feel this anger but I would never hurt you."

"It's all right. I know you'd never hurt me."

Blair comes to where I'm standing and runs his hand up and down my arm. "It's all right." He speaks in guide tones and is trying to calm me down.

This is fucking unbearable. We've been reduced to a function, his Guide to my Sentinel. All he heard in that speech was that his Sentinel is upset and needs to be dealt with; soothed. My friend Blair is absent in this exchange, buried in all the garbage they dumped in his mind.

Back home, Blair was starting to exist again. We need to get back home. We'll deal with all this there and find our way back to understanding one another. I look at the map that Blair thrusts into my hands and study it. I really don't know where we are.

"Chief, come with me. We need to ask Truesdale if he knows where we are and then we need to set a course for home."

Blair follows me obediently. Truesdale proves to be quite the map-reader and pinpoints our location with little trouble. Blair stays in the gangway, well clear of Joyce. We head back on deck, ignoring Jason, who now seems to have gone to speaking only Russian for some reason. It suits him and I'm just glad he's rendered himself unintelligible for awhile.

The trip home will take some time and I find a deck chair for Blair. I do most of the steering, with Blair dozing off and on. Toward evening, I check on our guests. Rarick looks a little unhinged and I realize it's time to get him taken care of.

Handing the wheel over to Blair, I escort Rarick to the head. Having everyone centrally located seems like a good idea but I'm afraid that the demoralized band of three will be revitalized by Rarick's presence.

I shove him in the dark hole he had us in, along with some bread and water. That sounds punitive but it's really a simple reflection of the dire straits we're in. There's almost no food left on board and the water's getting low as well. I hope I can stay on my feet long enough to find a port to harbor in. According to the map we should see land soon. Blair is sprawled on the chair, looking the worse for wear. I kneel down and brush the hair out of his eyes, checking his temp. He stirs under my hand and sighs.

The rage is gone for now but I know the cage door could pop open at any moment. I can guess some of the triggers they planted. I can't guess them all as I realize this rage has snuck up on me over and over again. I feel an anger about that and this anger feels different.

Okay, I'm not given to analyzing my feelings. I don't turn them over and over and try to pinpoint their origins in my childhood. But I recognize that this anger, the anger I feel at not being in control of my reactions to Blair, is-clean. This gives me hope that I may be able to tell when what I'm feeling is a by-product of The Tessuad. I hate feeling like a puppet. I'm going to find the damn strings and rip them out.

Plain text link to part three: http://www.squidge.org/archive/cgi-bin/convert.cgi?filename=1_2000_drama/cominghome2_b.html