Author's webpage: http://www.squidge.org/~lianne

Author's disclaimer: Not mine, damnit

Author's notes: This takes place before Warriors. Other than that, who knows.

Going Down
by Lianne Burwell
2000

Blair Sandburg was completely focused on his partner. Completely and totally focused. It was the only thing that kept him from noticing his surroundings. He hated heights, and he really hated helicopters, but seemed like every time he turned around, he found himself in a flying death trap, high above the ground, doing maneuvers that threatened to leave the contents of his stomach strewn across the landscape below. Unfortunately, there was usually a damn good reason for being in one. This time is was a fugitive hunt.

Leroy Krandall was a convict, responsible for a string of robberies in which four innocent bystanders and one cop had lost their lives. He'd been convicted in large part due to the testimony of the cop who'd arrested him, Detective Jim Ellison. But while being transported to a high-security prison up north the bus had lost its brakes on the wet roads and crashed. The prisoners had scattered into the woods, but they had all been recaptured quickly. All, that is, except Leroy Krandall. Two days later, Krandall was still on the loose, despite a massive search, so Jim and Blair were flying over the area in a helicopter while dog teams scoured the wooded land below.

Blair turned off his headset before turning to Jim. Jim wouldn't need it to hear him, and it was better that the pilot didn't. "Okay. He's wearing orange prison coveralls, unless he's managed to find replacement clothing, and there isn't much for him to find down there." He glanced at the "down there" for a moment and shuddered before turning back to his partner. "I want you to scan the greenery. Don't try to focus on anything specific. Just look for the flash of color that doesn't belong." Jim nodded, but didn't answer.

Blair watched Jim carefully. With Jim concentrating on his eyesight, scanning the landscape below, there was a high risk of a zone-out. To try to prevent that from happening, he kept up a running commentary, pitching his voice in the low, soothing tones that Jim referred to as his "Guide Voice". The trick to preventing a zone-out in a sentinel -- or at least this sentinel -- was to give him something else to split his focus. In this case, it was a familiar voice to counter the visual input. If he were scanning for auditory anomalies, Blair would use touch, keeping a hand on Jim's shoulder.

After a couple of hours flying the search grid, Blair was going hoarse. A lot of people would say that it was impossible for the grad student to talk himself out, but they were wrong.

The pilot had signaled that they were getting low on fuel and would have to turn back soon when Jim stiffened.

"What is it?" Blair said, heights completely forgotten. "Did you see something?"

"No..." Jim went quiet, his head tilted to the side in a pose that told Blair that he was listening to something. Then his eyes widened. He leaned forward and grabbed the pilot's shoulder. "Get us down! There's a problem with the engine!"

Blair fumbled with the headset controls, trying to get it turned back on.

"... can't do that. We won't have enough fuel to take off again."

Jim shook his head. "We have to put down now."

"I don't hear anything. I'm turning back. We'll set down at the airfield, and not before."

The helicopter swung in a wide arc, and Blair reached out to grab Jim's arm. His harness wouldn't let him fall out of the helicopter, but he preferred to trust in Jim.

Then he heard something. Barely noticeable.

He froze.

He heard it again. It was like a cough in the engine.

Suddenly, the helicopter jerked to the side. Blair could hear the pilot cursing, but couldn't understand what he was saying. He was paralyzed with fear. He'd faced a lot of things during his time with the Cascade police department - - serial killers, rogue federal agents, plummeting elevators and bombs -- but this was worse, somehow.

Perhaps it was because he could see how high they were.

And how fast they were going down.

And they were going down. The pilot was fighting with the controls, but it wasn't doing any good. Blair could see a sea of evergreen coming towards them and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Blair wasn't exactly actively religious, but this was one of those times where that didn't matter. "Shema Yisroel..." he started to whisper to himself.

Then he slammed forward into his harness as they hit something, and everything went black.

Waking was slow and painful -- a gradual climb up out of the darkness.

Blair groaned, and opened his eyes. Light hit like shrapnel, and he immediately shut them again. A few minutes later, he cracked them open, experimentally. Finding it not quite as bad, he opened them the rest of the way.

The helicopter was still upright, if tilted forward at a noticeable angle. His harness had held, and when he moved his limbs, it didn't seem like he'd broken anything. His neck hurt like hell, though. Probably whiplash from the impact.

He turned his head gingerly to check on his partner. Jim had been leaning forward when they'd gone down, and he'd managed to hit his head on something. There was a bruise quickly turning purple on his forehead. However, he was breathing, and nothing seemed to be bending where it shouldn't.

Hissing under his breath as he moved sore limbs, Blair undid his harness. As it let go, he slid forward, and he reached out to brace himself against the back of the front passenger seat.

Once he was sure that he wasn't going to slip or anything, he leaned forward to check on the pilot. It didn't take a medical degree to tell that the man was dead. His neck was bent at an angle impossible to make with an intact spine, and his eyes were open and staring, already starting to film over as the eyeball's protective fluid dried.

Blair pushed back, resisting the urge to gag. 'This isn't your first body,' he told himself, but it wasn't much of a comfort. He didn't even know the man's name. He wanted to say a prayer to say for the man's soul, but his mind was a blank.

A groan brought him back to the here and now, and he turned his attention to his partner again. "Jim? Jim! C'mon, Ellison, this isn't exactly something I can deal with." Since there wasn't even static coming from the headsets, he assumed that the radio was out, and even if it weren't, he didn't have a clue which frequency to use.

Jim groaned again, then mumbled something. Blair leaned in close, but whatever the big guy was saying, it wasn't in English. He was starting to get worried.

Then Jim's head raised, and he looked around with a dazed expression. Blair heaved a sigh of relief.

"Jim...," he said, brushing his fingers across the man's forehead. Jim's head whipped around, then he relaxed. Again he spoke, and again it wasn't in English. In fact, it sounded a lot like Quecha, a language spoken by several South American Indian tribes. Blair shook his head. This was not good. He knew a few words of the language, but not enough to carry a conversation. Besides, none of the words that Jim was using tweaked his memory, which wasn't surprising considering how many dialects of the language there were.

"Jim, you're kinda scaring me here," he said. Jim's eyes didn't seem to hold any recognition, and the fact that he wasn't reverting to English was worrying.

Jim started fumbling with the straps of his harness. Blair quickly got the point, and moved to help him. When it was undone, Jim slipped out the side of the helicopter and held out his hand, saying something that sounded like an order. Blair shrugged, wincing at the movement, and moved towards the doorway.

As he slipped out of the helicopter, Jim was there to catch him. It was a good thing too, since Blair's legs didn't seem inclined to support his weight. He hung onto his partner for a few minutes, waiting for them to firm up to the point where they weren't going to buckle beneath him.

He was quite happy to stay were he was, but as soon as he was half-way to steady on his feet, Jim was heading for the woods, dragging him behind.

"Jim," Blair called out, stumbling a little as he was pulled along. "Shouldn't we stay with the helicopter? Rescue's going to be coming any minute, and we don't want to be too far away."

No answer. Quickly, he realized that he wasn't going to be able to both talk and watch where his feet were going, considering the pace that his friend was setting, so Blair shut up and concentrated on not tripping over his own feet.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before Jim finally came to a stop, but Blair was exhausted. They were still in the woods, and had come on a small stream. Blair sank to his knees gratefully, and used his cupped hands to get a drink of water.

Once he'd drunk his fill, he sat back on his heels and looked up at Jim. The man was standing next to him, eyes fixed on the surrounding greenery. Blair suddenly flashed back to their recent trip to Peru to rescue Simon and Daryl, and in his mind, Jim was wearing camo gear and paint and holding a crossbow. He had the same watchful quality that he'd had right before the attack on the drugprocessing camp.

"What the hell is going on with you?" he demanded, more than a little upset. Jim didn't answer. His body was strung as tight as a guitar string. "Jim?"

Jim raised a finger to his lips, and Blair hushed. He wasn't sure what was going through Jim's obviously scrambled brain, but he wasn't going to take chances. If Jim said "be quiet", he would be quiet.

A minute later he finally heard what Jim heard. A helicopter.

"Great," he said, bouncing to his feet. "That must be res..."

All of a sudden, he was under a tree, Jim's arms wrapped tightly around him and a hand over his mouth. He struggled for a moment, then gave up. He was no slouch in terms of physical development, but he didn't have a hope against the buffed up detective.

Overhead, the sound of the helicopter got louder. In the back of Blair's mind a voice was screaming at him to get out there, attract the rescue helicopter's attention somehow. Unfortunately, Jim wasn't cooperating. Then the sounds faded, and Jim finally let go.

Blair jerked back, angrily. "What the hell is your problem, man? Are you planning on hiking out of here?"

Jim stared back at him, a puzzled expression on his face. He raised a hand towards Blair, then stopped. "Incacha?" he asked in a confused tone. It was a word he'd used before, but this time it definitely sounded like a name.

Finally the pieces clicked. Blair kicked himself. Maybe it was the crash that had slowed his brain down.

Jim was back in Peru. Or at least his mind was. That was why he was speaking in an Indian dialect. That was why he wanted to get away from the helicopter and seemed intent on avoiding rescue.

It must have been the crash. The blow to his head, combined with the crash and the pilot being killed, had given Jim amnesia. He thought he was back in Peru, and that Blair was someone named "Incacha." Or maybe it was just a word? Blair searched his limited store of Quecha, and couldn't come up with a match. Fine. He'd assume it was a name.

Jim was obviously also upset. He had a lost look on his face that nearly broke Blair's heart. It wasn't fair that someone so big and macho looking could also produce a hurtpuppy expression that would tug at the heart strings of even the nastiest of bastards.

Blair stepped towards him, making soothing sounds. "It's all right, Jim. I'm not upset. A little confused, but not upset."

As soon as he was close enough to reach, Jim grabbed him and pulled him into his arms. Blair sighed, and relaxed into him.

It was kinda nice, in fact. He'd never been hugged like he was an over-sized teddy bear before. Of course, if he were a teddy bear, he'd be about to pop his seams.

Finally, Jim's arms loosened, and Blair was able to reacquaint himself with the concept of breathing. But not for long. Before he knew it, Jim was headed off into the woods, and all he could do was follow along and hope that he could keep up with the big guy.

The things he put up with in the name of friendship.

By the time Jim called for another stop, Blair was reeling. He might be in good shape compared to most of the academics at the university, but he was about to faint from exhaustion.

The light was starting to dim, but Jim wasn't having any trouble. Not surprising. At least he could turn up his light sensitivity, practically letting him see in the dark like a cat.

Blair took a look around. They'd pretty much paralleled the stream; he could still hear the sound of running water not too far away. Other than that, there wasn't much to see. It was typical Washington woodlands. Jim tugged at his wrist, and led him through the trees until he could see that they were right next to a small rock-face.

It wasn't very high. Ten feet, twenty max. But at the base was an inky spot that when they got closer turned out to be a cave. Not very deep; it only went back six or seven feet and wasn't tall enough to stand up in. But it was shelter, and since there'd been predictions of rain, shelter was a good thing.

Blair sat down, not very gracefully. Actually -- if he were being honest -- he collapsed into an untidy heap. He didn't much care. He was down and he was going to stay that way, damnit. Jim just babbled off something incomprehensible, then disappeared.

Actually, it wasn't completely incomprehensible. Blair had recognized one word in the speech: Fire.

That was explained a few minutes later when he reappeared carrying an armful of mostly-dry wood. With quick, efficient motions, he cleared an area, piled the wood in a tidy pyramid and pulled a stone from his pocket. Then he turned and asked Blair a question.

"Ooookay, what would you be looking for," Blair muttered to himself. "Matches? Nah." He eyed the stone in Jim's hand and resisted the urge to smack himself. "Of course. That would be flint, which means steel to create sparks."

Blair dug around in his pockets, looking for something to use. He grinned when he found his ever-present Swiss Army Knife. It had everything, including the previously unused flint and steel option. He flicked it open and handed it to Jim, and was rewarded with a bright smile that made him almost squirm. Even after nearly a year working with the man, any praise felt good.

It only took Jim a couple of tries to get a spark to light the tinder. Blair watched as the man coaxed up a good flame with gentle breaths, then started feeding first twigs, then small branches to it, the pieces of wood getting progressively larger. In very little time, Jim had a goodsized campfire going, for which Blair was very grateful. It was getting very cold, very fast.

Unfortunately, while they now had a fire going, they didn't have anything to cook over it. The best Blair could come up with was a couple of chocolate bars he had stashed in his coat pocket, and he promptly handed one over to Jim.

Chewing on his own candy bar, he watched Jim. "What is going on in that mind of yours?" he asked, not expecting a reply and not surprised when he didn't get one. "I mean, you obviously think you're in Peru and I'm some native you knew there, but you have no problem accepting Swiss Army Knives and chocolate bars. What does it take to knock you back in the here and now?' He thought about it for a moment. "If this were fiction it would be easy. Just pick up a rock or something and bash you over the head with it. But this isn't fiction, and who knows what result that would have."

Jim just grinned at him, and said something incomprehensible. Blair shook his head. "Fine. I'm exhausted. I'm going to see if its possible to fall asleep under these conditions. Who knows. Maybe when we wake up you'll be back to normal." And if he believed it hard enough, maybe it would be true.

The rocky ground was as uncomfortable as it looked, and despite the fire, it was getting cold. Blair closed his eyes and tried to find a position that he could fall asleep in.

He was just starting to drift off finally when he felt something brush against him.

"Wha...?"

A familiar voice answered with unfamiliar words, and he relaxed. While Jim spooning up behind him wasn't exactly something he'd expected it was far from unwelcome. With the fire dying down, it was getting damned cold. Shared body heat was definitely the way to go.

And Jim definitely made a great space heater. The man gave off heat like a furnace. Blair gave a little wiggle, trying to get closer to his very warm and very comfortable partner, and sighed in contentment. Jim's arms came around him, holding him tight, and he started feeling truly safe for the first time since he'd realized that the chopper was going down.

Blair closed his eyes, and started to drift to sleep again.

The helicopter was going down. Below, he could see the jagged rocks, with the broken carcasses of other aircraft that had crashed before. His only hope was to get free and jump. He had a parachute. It would set him down gently.

But his harness wouldn't let go. It wrapped around him, holding him tight. He struggled with the buckles, but they were welded shut.

He thrashed around, trying to get free. The ground was getting closer, and he sobbed in terror...

And then he woke.

Blair gasped, staring into the dark. It wasn't a harness holding him, it was Jim. He relaxed, only slightly ashamed of having fallen apart like that. As Spock would have said: the cause was sufficient.

Now the arms around him loosened. One hand started running up and down his arm in a soothing gesture, while no doubt comforting words were murmured in his ear. Blair took a deep breath and relaxed further, pressing against the solid bulk of the other man.

Then stiffened.

Jim had buried his face in the curls at the back of Blair's neck and was nuzzling at the skin there. Blair gasped as the other man nipped at the sensitive skin.

"Jim?"

"Incacha," the man purred in his ear. The stroking was changing from being comforting to being something else.

In fact, it was starting to feel downright sexual!

Blair twisted in Jim's arms so that they were face to face. Unfortunately it was so dark that he couldn't see the other man's expression. Lack of light didn't seem to be a problem with Jim, though. His mouth came down unerringly onto Blair's, and all Blair could do was hang on for the ride.

Damn, the man could kiss. He didn't think that there was any spot in his mouth that Jim didn't examine. Blair couldn't understand why Jim never seemed to get second dates. If he had a date who could kiss like this, he'd be on her doorstep every night.

And Jim's hands weren't idle during this either. They were running all over Blair's body, tugging at his buttons and fly, slipping under his shirt to stroke Blair's chest, tweak his nipples. One pinch that bordered onto pain made Blair's entire body spasm in reaction, and he latched onto Jim, trying to give as good as he got.

In the back of his mind, his conscience was screaming at him. He was taking advantage of his roommate here. His straight roommate.

Then a hand slipped inside his pants and started to stroke his cock with practiced competence and the little voice had to backpedal. No way was Jim this good at handling someone else without previous experience.

"Incacha..." the man moaned against Blair's neck. The vibration was incredible.

So, modify to the image. Incacha was a native he knew in Peru. Incacha was male. Incacha and Jim were lovers. Jim thought he was Incacha, which meant that he wanted to...

Blair's brain shut down at that point. Suddenly every wetdream he'd ever had of his partner was running through his mind at full speed, and his body was enthusiastically endorsing the notion of letting Jim make a few of them come true. The one little voice was still pointing out that it would be dishonest to do this when Jim wasn't in his right mind, but it was rapidly being drowned out by all the other voices.

Besides, while he doubted that Jim would rape him, the other man was certainly big enough that if he got carried away there would be little Blair could do to stop him.

Then a particularly inventive tickle to his balls brought him screaming back to reality. Literally.

Blair lay there panting, trying very hard not to come on the spot. His hand shot down and grabbed Jim's wrist, holding that maddening hand still for a moment. A rich chuckle filled the darkness, telling him that Jim wasn't taking offense or feeling rejected.

Once his breathing was back under control, Blair loosened his grip, but didn't let go completely. "All right, Jim of the Jungle," he muttered under his breath. "If we're going to do this, then we're going to do it right."

He reached down between them and started tugging at the button-fly on Jim's jeans. "Damnit, why couldn't you be wearing a normal zipper fly," he muttered, learning once again that button flies were damn difficult to open when you weren't the one wearing them. "Then again," he said as one slip of the hand gave him a very good idea of Jim's size and arousal, "maybe zippers wouldn't be such a good an idea in your case."

But finally grit and determination won out, and Jim's jeans were pushed down over his hips and his briefs soon followed. Other than that, Blair didn't remove much. Jim might be a great space-heater, but it was too damn cold to get completely naked.

Pity.

Latching onto Jim's mouth again, Blair started to stroke the other man's cock. It was one hell of a handful, and finally he had to resort to using both hands. Jim was moaning and writhing against him in a way that was almost enough to make him blow his own load right then and there. Blair grinned, and picked up the pace.

Suddenly, two hands fastened around his wrists, hard a steel, and his hands were dragged away from their task, and Blair had to restrain himself from whining at having his new toy taken away.

Jim said something in a playful tone, and pressed Blair's hands into the ground, out to either side, then let go. When Blair moved, he grabbed the wrists again, and pressed them down.

"Ooookay," Blair said. "I get the idea." He moved again, but this time it was just to spread his arms out to the side a little further, and to spread his legs a little, offering himself up to his partner. In his mind he could see the grin on the other man's face, even though the darkness meant he couldn't confirm it. Didn't matter. Just the mental image was enough to make his cock spring a little more to attention. Jim's grin was something he loved. It turned an often grim man into a playful little boy.

Again he heard that wonderful, rich chuckle. It was a sound he'd never heard from the man before, and to which he was quickly becoming addicted.

Holding still, Blair waited to see what Jim would do next. He didn't have to wait very long. Blair groaned as a warm hand once again wrapped itself around his dick. The feeling sent a jolt up his spine were it clashed with the jolt coming down that resulted from the lick, nip and suck at the tender flesh right below his Adam's apple. The two sensations met and merged somewhere in his chest, and he suddenly found it very difficult to breathe inside the confines of the tiny cave.

Then Jim was slowly pushing his undershirt up and out of the way. His already hard nipples hardened further as the cold night air hit them, but they didn't stay cold for long. One was engulfed in a moist, hot mouth, and the other was covered with the palm of Jim's free hand. The hand just rubbed lightly in circles, rolling the little nub of flesh in ways that quickly had Blair moaning. Then Jim rolled over on top of him and switched nipples. Now the other was being suckled in a slow soothing way while the other was given the palm treatment, the feel of cooling saliva sending shivers down his back.

As Jim's lips moved further south, he rolled back Blair's shirt bit by bit. He caught his chest hairs with his teeth and tugged. He tongued his navel and twisted its ring. Jim had joked once about Blair having a nipple ring, and Blair had played along with the joke. Fact was, he had no interest in nipple rings. Navel rings, though, he found a turn-on, and he'd gotten one for himself as a present for his twentieth birthday. It had been that or a tattoo, but he wasn't sure that he really wanted something on his body that he couldn't take off, despite the jokes.

But he still hadn't gotten to the spot where Blair wanted him the most. His cock was standing at attention, pre-cum dribbling down the sides, and he needed relief! He needed...

Oh, yeah! That was what he needed. Jim's mouth wrapped around Mr. Happy. His tongue was doing things that were verging on obscene. His hands were doing things to Blair's testicles that were verging on heavenly. All in all, Mr. Happy was very happy.

And then Mr. Happy was very limp too, along with the body that Mr. Happy was attached to. Blair stared up into the blackness, panting slightly and thanking every god and goddess of the erotic that he could think of, and with his studies he could think of a lot...

Finally it occurred to him that while he and Mr. Happy had been made very happy, Jim hadn't gotten a hell of a lot in return.

"Jim?" he said, reaching over to where he could feel heat radiating.

Again that warm chuckle surrounded him, making him feel warm and protected. He reached for the source, but again was stopped.

This time Jim rolled him over onto his side, facing away from his roommate -- cave mate? -- and spooned up behind him. For a moment Blair panicked, wondering if Jim was going to try fucking him. Not that he had any real objections to the idea, mind you, but they didn't have the necessaries, and from the feel of the chunk of flesh pressing against his buttock, spit wasn't going to cover things. Pun intended.

He needn't have worried, though. Even suffering from amnesia, his Blessed Protector would never hurt him. Jim squeezed a little closer, and his rather sizeable erection slipped between Blair's thighs as if that was where it had always been meant to be. Blair grinned, remembering past experiences of being on the other side of this maneuver, and squeezed his thighs together a little tighter.

The response was what had to be the sexiest growl he had ever heard in his life. Jim's arms tightened around him, and his cock started see-sawing between his legs, nudging Blair's balls with every thrust. Small aftershocks were going through Blair's body, but he was in no condition to get hard again. He'd blown his wad, and that was it for the night.

Finally, Jim froze and his cock throbbed, unloading all over Blair's thighs and genitals.

They lay there for a moment, both breathing hard. Then Blair shifted, and grimaced. How the hell was he going to be able to get back to sleep when he was wet and sticky?

Jim obviously had an answer for that. He pulled away, and rolled Blair onto his back. Then he proceeded to clean up every drop on Blair's skin, leaving behind only a slight layer of saliva. Once he was sure that Blair was completely clean (and wondering if maybe he was going to get it up twice that night) he considerately tucked Blair back into his briefs and jeans and did him up.

Blair wanted to return the favor, but everything that had happened during the day caught up with him suddenly, leaving him limp and barely awake. Dimly he was aware of Jim cleaning himself and doing up his own clothing. Then Jim was spooned up behind him again, once more providing heater service.

"Thanks," Blair murmured, almost asleep. Jim said something in reply, but it didn't register. He was asleep.

This time, there were no dreams

Blair woke the next morning; stiff, sore and disoriented but feeling strangely better than he could remember feeling in a long time.

He was also alone.

He stretched, and bit back a groan as muscles made stiff by a night spent sleeping on the cold, hard ground protested. Moving carefully, he left the cave.

Outside, he found Jim carefully scanning the surrounding woods. He turned as Blair came towards him, and smiled.

"Morning, Jim," Blair said. More than anything, he wanted a hot shower, breakfast, a toothbrush and for Jim to say "Morning, Chief" back, and not necessarily in that order.

Unfortunately, there was no running hot water in the middle of the woods, nor was there even a Denny's. He'd foolishly left his toothbrush at home (something he wouldn't do again) and Jim answered him still speaking Quecha.

Blair heaved a sigh. "So what's on the agenda for today?" he asked, wondering why he bothered. "Hiking back to civilization, I can only hope? Or running around playing Lord of the Flies?"

Jim turned and headed for the cover of the woods, calling out to Blair as he went. Blair sighed again, and followed a bit slower than he would normally. For a moment he considered rebelling; just sitting down and refusing to move. He was stiff and sore and he wanted to go home. Then common sense reasserted itself, and he headed after his Sentinel. Jim was unarmed -- as usual, since he'd always seemed to manage to lose his gun somehow -- and knowing the man, he'd probably run into some woman with lust in her heart and larceny on her mind -- something that happened to Jim about as often as losing his gun. And while Blair was protective of Jim under usual circumstances, after the night before he was feeling bloody possessive too.

Jim was his, damnit, and by God he was going to keep him.

Jim's voice called out from up ahead, and while Blair might not understand the words, he could hear the "hurry up, would you" in the tone.

If they got out of this in one piece and Jim back to his senses, he was going to get Jim to teach him Quecha. After all, Jim got whacked on the head almost as often as he lost his gun and ran into the wrong sort of woman, so who knew if this might happen again.

Of course, before he did that he was going to kill the man from putting him through this. Then he was going to fuck the man through his mattress. Then they could discuss language lessons.

Assuming that Jim wanted him, he suddenly realized, a shiver of dread going through him. After all, Jim hadn't made love to Blair Sandburg last night, he'd made love to Incacha. That didn't necessarily mean that he would want Blair after he came back to his senses (and he would, Blair told himself sternly).

A third and even more impatient call from Jim jolted him out of his incipient depression. "I'm coming," he called back, picking up the pace. One thing at a time, he reminded himself. And the first thing was to get Jim back to his normal, anal-retentive, rule-making, "Sandburg" growling, gruff, loveable self.

And into a hot shower with lots of suds and hopefully a bit of wild sex too.

The image buoyed his spirits, and he grinned at the waiting Jim, who rewarded him with another of those little boy grins. It was going to be a great day.

A few hours later, Blair had changed his mind. It was a sucky day. In fact, it was an unbelievably sucky day. While the sun had been shining when they'd left their makeshift camp, it had quickly disappeared. Instead, it had gotten colder and the normal weather patterns for this part of Washington State had reasserted themselves.

Translation: It was pissing down rain.

Blair pushed the sodden mess that had been his hair out of his face and suppressed a shiver as yet another rivulet of cold rain-water sneaked past his collar and down his spine. He was wet and miserable and hungry, but Jim was still going strong.

They'd also been going up for the last half-hour. He was beginning to feel like they were trying to climb Mt. Everest and he was exhausted.

Finally, they broke through the trees, and Blair had to gasp. He hadn't realized how high they'd gotten. They were standing on the edge of a cliff, and the valley they'd crashed in spread out below them, a sea of green that shimmered in a stray bit of sunshine that had somehow managed to poke through the clouds. Eyes glued on the sight, Blair sat down on a convenient rock and just looked. He really didn't like heights, but this wasn't the same. Looking out over the valley was fine. He just wasn't going to get close enough to the edge to look down.

"Incacha?"

Jim had finally noticed that he'd stopped, and was looking worried. Blair waved to him.

"Just admiring the view, Jim. And trying to catch my breath," Blair added under that breath.

Jim seemed to get the idea, and sat down next to Blair. After fighting with his admittedly weak conscience for a moment, Blair edged closer to Jim and gave a sigh of contentment when an arm came around his shoulders. Partly it was the companionship, but mostly it was because he damned cold and as he'd found out the night before, Jim was a great heat source.

Blair was relaxed, his eyes starting to drift shut, when Jim suddenly pulled away. Brought to full waking by the unexpected move, Blair glanced around in confusion.

"What is..." he started to say, but Jim waved him silent.

"Well, isn't this cute."

Blair hissed at the sarcastic tone. Looking to the right, he was depressingly unsurprised when Leroy Krandall stepped into view. It figured that with Jim not in his right mind it would be the criminal they were hunting who found them, not rescue.

Krandall didn't look too good, though. He was covered in bruises, no doubt from the bus wreck, and his prison coveralls were torn and mud-stained. His blond hair hung lankly around his face, and the handsome features that had put him on the front page of the paper so often were twisted into an unattractive sneer. He also seemed to be favoring his left side a little. However, he did have the drop on them, and in his right hand he had one of the guns that the prison transport guards had been carrying. There'd been two on the bus, and only one had been recovered. It figured that Krandall would have the other. Jim's gun was somewhere down below, lost in the crash.

That all added up to a nasty grin on the killer's face. "Somebody must like me," he said in a gloating voice as Jim and Blair slowly stood up. "r the person I really wanted to see. You and me, we've got a score to settle, Detective Ellison."

Jim made a low sound in the back of his throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl. Without warning, he shoved Blair to the side. Blair made an unimpressive squawk as he hit the ground and his foot twisted unpleasantly beneath him. He hissed under his breath as he rolled to the side and decided that his ankle was just twisted, not broken. No thanks to mister throw-back of course. Yet another reason to kill him before fucking him.

The sound of a shot distracted him from the pain his foot, though. Twisting his head, he saw Jim knock the gun out of Krandall's hands, despite the fact that he was bleeding. It was a little hard for Blair to tell, considering how fast Jim was moving, but it looked like the bullet had gone through his bicep. Blair had to bite his tongue to keep from making a sarcastic comment about ducking; he didn't want to distract his partner. Jim losing this fight would be a bad thing. For both of them.

It was like a force of nature. Like watching an irresistible force hitting an immovable object. It was like watching two mountain rams butting heads for no other reason than to impress the ladies. Blair groaned and watched the two men duking it out. At least he was spared the macho posturing that usually went along with these sorts of fights; Jim didn't remember English and Krandall was just barely holding his own.

Unfortunately, he was holding his own while also trying to reach the gun again. Blair glanced around, looking for some way to make sure that Krandall didn't reach it. Luckily, the gun was right near the edge of the cliff. Blair found a good sized rock and tossed it up and down experimentally, Blair took aim, waited for his chance, and pitched.

Yes! He hadn't been best Little League pitcher as a kid for nothing. The rock hit the gun at just the right angle, giving it the nudge it needed to go skittering off the edge, just as Krandall dived for it.

The gun disappeared from sight, and Krandall roared in anger. Immediately he turned towards Blair, ignoring Jim. "I'm going to kill you, you little fucker," he snarled as he advanced.

Blair quickly backed away, crab-walking in a way that had his ankle screaming obscenities at him. Luckily, while Krandall may have forgotten Jim, Jim hadn't forgotten him.

Jim threw himself at Krandall, knocking him to the ground. They both picked themselves up, and the fight was back on. This time, though, Krandall wasn't splitting his attention between Jim and the gun; all his attention was on Jim.

Blair winced as a blow to the side of Jim's head sent the man reeling, quickly followed by a second blow. A third blow sent Jim falling backwards, falling towards the cliff. For a moment, everything slowed down until it seemed like Blair was watching it in slow motion. A shout caught in his throat, threatening to strangle him, as he watch Jim fall towards the edge of the cliff.

Jim hit the ground, his head hanging over the edge, dangerously close to falling over. That was when Blair finally noticed that Jim had grabbed onto Krandall's coveralls as he had gone down, pulling Krandall after him. A raised foot caught Krandall in the stomach, and the leg attached to the foot straightened, sending Krandall sailing up... up...

And over the edge of the cliff.

Blair closed his eyes, but he couldn't block the sound of Krandall's screams as he fell. Blair's whole body shuddered as he heard the dull thud that ended the scream. And even then, he waited a full minute before opening his eyes again.

He and Jim were alone with the beautiful view again. Blair shifted, and groaned. Then he noticed that Jim wasn't moving.

"Jim!" He ignored the shooting pains from his ankle and crawled over to where his partner lay on the ground. A quick check showed that the man was breathing, but there were new bruises already forming on his face and forehead.

"Stupid, idiot Sentinel," Blair muttered to himself while making sure that Jim was in no danger of rolling off the edge of the cliff and joining Krandall down below. He was very carefully not looking down. He really didn't like heights. Especially heights with a body at the bottom. "Jumping onto helicopters and horses and trains, fighting on the edge of cliffs. You are not Superman, you know."

A low groan answered him. "Not so loud, Chief," Jim whispered back.

Blair froze for a moment. "Jim?" he asked, certain that he'd misheard.

Jim rolled over on his side, groaning. "Oh, my aching head," he mumbled.

Blair felt a wave of relief run through him, followed by a wave of dread. He had his Jim back, but what did the man remember? Did he remember making love the night before? Would he think that Blair took advantage of him? Would he regret it? Would he even be interested in Blair as Blair, not as a substitute Incacha?

"Maybe I should have wacked you over the head with a rock," Blair said, covering up his anxieties with a lighthearted joke. "It seems to have done the trick."

Jim's eyes opened, and he was relieved to note that the pupils were the same size. "Trick?" Jim asked suspiciously.

Blair went blank for a moment, wondering what he should tell Jim. "Well," he finally settled on. "You dragged me all over the woods playing Jim of the Peruvian Jungle since the crash yesterday afternoon."

"Peruvian jungle?" Jim asked plaintively.

"Yep," Blair said, starting to grin at the other man's discomfort. "Hiding from search parties, talking only in some dialect of Quecha, calling me Incacha. Who's Incacha?" he asked, giving in to his curiosity.

Jim sat up carefully, and they moved away from the edge. "Incacha was shaman to the Chopec; the tribe I lived with in Peru. He was a... friend."

A friend, huh, Blair thought to himself. Maybe more than a friend? "Well, I hurt, I'm hungry and we're half-way up a mountain-side," he told his partner. "Any ideas how we get out of here?"

Jim looked like he was thinking about it for a moment. "We could always take another helicopter ride," he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

Blair snorted. "What helicopter?" he asked.

Jim grinned. "The one coming into view right... now."

As he said the last word, Blair heard the distinctive 'thwup-thwup' of a helicopter rotor. Looking out over the valley, he saw a glint of metal moving, and after a minute was able to make out a helicopter flying towards them.

"Jim?" he almost moaned.

"Yeah, Chief?"

"Are you sure we can't just walk?"

Blair breathed a huge sigh of relief as he walked through the door to the loft. For a moment he considered dropping to his knees and kissing the floor, but decided that getting back to his feet and finding his cane again would be more trouble than the gesture was worth.

Instead he settled for flopping down on one of the couches and sighing again, this time in pleasure. He'd had a hot shower at the ranger station, and a trip to the hospital had determined that his foot wasn't broken; he just needed a tensor bandage and cane to help his walking for a few days. Now what he wanted was a large meal to supplement the sandwich he'd had earlier and a good night's sleep on a good mattress.

Oh yeah, and he wanted to nail his Sentinel to that mattress first. However, Jim didn't seem to remember a thing between the helicopter going down and getting wacked on the head by Krandall, including having hot sex with his Guide in a cave. Blair had wanted to bring up the subject, but they hadn't had a moment alone together since Simon had shown up with rescue.

But now they were alone. Just the two of them, along with a huge bag of takeout that they'd picked up on the way home from the hospital. As Jim unpacked the takeout Indian food, Blair decided that conversation could wait. He wanted food.

Blair started to climb to his feet again, but Jim waved him to stay seated. He put the food on a tray, along with utensils, and carried it out to the living room, placing it on the coffee table in front of Blair, no doubt in open defiance of at least three house rules. He placed a pillow next to the tray, and indicated for Blair to rest his injured foot on it.

"Thanks," Blair said, grabbing for a container of vegetable biryani and a fork. He stuffed a forkful of the savory mixture into his mouth, then reached for the chicken curry. "Pass the nan, would ya Jim?" he mumbled around the mouthful.

Looking slightly bemused, Jim handed over one of the flat breads. Blair nodded his thanks, then settled down for some serious eating. It had been a long thirty-six hours and he was hungry.

When he finally came up for air his stomach was happy and there was nothing edible left. Feeling a little guilty, he checked to make sure that yes, Jim had gotten more than a few crumbs to feed his own sizeable appetite.

Then he noticed the frown on Jim's face. "Jim?"

Jim shook his head, obviously dragging himself back to the present. "Chief--" he said, then stopped.

"Yeah?" Blair said, getting worried himself.

"There's something you should probably know about Incacha... and me," Jim said, then stopped again.

"You mean that the two of you were lovers?" Blair said, deciding to take pity on the poor guy. "I kinda figured that one out."

Jim turned red. "I keep getting flashes of a cave. Did I... do something I shouldn't have last night?"

Blair sighed. He'd sort of hoped they wouldn't have to have this conversation, but in a way he was relieved. "You mean besides giving me the best blow-job I've had in my life?" he said, trying to keep things light.

It didn't work. Jim's face crumpled. "Chief, I'm sorry. If you want to file charges, I won't argue."

Blair's jaw dropped. How could Jim think he'd want to... "Of course I'm not going to press charges! Why would I do that?"

"I raped you."

Blair snorted at the flat statement. "Like they say, you can't rape the willing. I wasn't exactly an unwilling participant in the whole thing."

That got Jim's attention. "You weren't?"

Blair shook his head. "Nope. One hundred percent, enthusiastically involved. If anyone took advantage, it was me. After all, you weren't exactly in your right mind." He held out his wrists. "So, do you want to press?"

Jim looked horrified. "Of course not!"

"Well then, there's no problem. Just one question."

"Yes?" Jim sounded a little suspicious.

"Do we forget about it?" Blair let his voice trail off suggestively.

"Or?"

"Or do we go to bed?"

Jim blinked. He looked confused in an almost endearing way. "Bed?"

Blair rolled to the side and up onto his knees facing Jim. "Bed," he said in best seductive purr. "So I can return the favor."

Jim's face went blank. "You don't owe me anything, Blair," he said, the use of Blair's proper name showing how serious he was.

Blair sat back with a sigh. "I wouldn't be repaying a debt or anything," he replied. "I know I'm not Incacha, but I do care. A lot. Sometimes I think maybe too much. Listen, forget I said anything. I'll see you in the morning."

He climbed to his feet and reached for his cane, but a hand grabbed his wrist first. "Chief, this isn't something you have to do."

Blair rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I don't do pity fucks, Jim. If you want me, I'm yours. If you don't, then this conversation never happened. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Night, Jim."

Blair tried to take a step forward, then realized that Jim hadn't let go of his wrist. Instead, Jim was pulling him back down onto the couch. "Jim?"

"I want you."

The little voices were jumping for joy at those three words, but Blair played it safe. "You sure about that, Jim?" he asked seriously. "Like I said, I don't do pity fucks and despite my reputation, I don't do one night stands. Especially not with a friend."

Jim slowly pulled him closer and closer. Once he was close enough to suit the man, Jim reached up and cupped Blair face, drawing him for a deep kiss.

When they separated, they were both breathing heavily. Jim ran his hand over Blair's cheek, the rasp of Blair's stubble loud in the sudden silence. Blair held still and waited.

"I know my track-record is shakier than yours," Jim finally said. "But I want you, and not just for one night. So unless you don't want me, how 'bout we go to bed?"

Blair couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face, and he saw a matching grin bloom on Jim's face. "Sounds good to me," he said, then pulled away and headed for the stairs as fast as he could on his injured foot.

He had just made it to the bottom of the steps when a laughing Jim Ellison caught up with him. Suddenly he found himself face down over the other man's shoulder, looking straight at his world-class ass flexing as he climbed the stairs.

"Wait a second," he said through his own laughs. "I am not a sack of potatoes."

"Yeah, but if I wait for you to get up the stairs on your own I'll be an old man."

Blair wriggled a little as a warm hand cupped one of his ass-cheeks and started rubbing in small circles. "So instead you're going to throw out your back, and I'll be an old man before you can actually do anything."

In answer to that, Blair found himself airborne. He landed on the king-sized bed with a bounce that left him breathless. Looking up, he found Jim grinning at him while rubbing at his back.

"Told ya so," Blair said with a smirk.

Jim started stripping quickly, clothes being tossed everywhere in a most un-Jim-like way. "Don't think it's going to slow me down, Chief," he warned as he got naked.

Blair snickered, then started to pull at his own clothing. A low growl stopped him. He looked at Jim and raised one eyebrow.

Jim pouted a little. "I wanna do that," he said in a mockwhine.

"Well then, hurry up," Blair told him, settling back against the pillows.

Hurry up he did. As soon as Jim was completely naked, he was all over Blair. Blair grinned as his clothes were stripped away, quickly and efficiently. The only thing that slowed Jim down was making sure he didn't jar Blair's foot as he stripped off pants and underwear.

Then he fell on Blair like a starving man on a fine steak. The man was incredibly oral in his attentions. Every bit of flesh was licked, nibbled, sucked and tasted, until Blair was almost a quivering wreck.

Jim's reaction to finding the navel ring was interesting, though. Blair laughed as the man stared in shock, then nearly drooled. "No nipple ring," Blair said. "Hope this is an adequate substitute."

Jim didn't reply. He just dipped his head and started tonguing the small metal loop and the hollow it was attached to. Blair squirmed and gasped as the almost electric shocks ran straight to his groin, reminding him once again of his intentions. He grabbed onto Jim's ears and forced him away from his new toy.

Jim looked disappointed, but Blair pulled him up for a kiss that made him smile again.

"So, Mr. Always Prepared," Blair said. "Got condoms and lube?"

"Depends on what for," Jim said in a tone that could only be described as coy.

Blair blinked a little in surprise. "Because unless you say no, I'm going to fuck you through the mattress, and maybe even into the bedroom below," he replied.

If Jim's grin had been any brighter, Blair would have needed sunglasses. Jim rolled over and started rummaging through the bedside table's drawer.

In short order he'd produced three different types of condom and two types of lube. Considering them carefully, Blair took a basic smooth condom (he did not want to know what his dick would look like in the nub-covered one) and the unscented lube (fewer chemicals to irritate his Sentinel's sensitive skin).

Blair rolled on the condom carefully, trying not to overstimulate his already over-stimulated cock. "Roll over, hands and knees," he ordered, warming some of the lube in his palm.

Jim rolled over so fast that he almost rolled right off the bed. He dropped his head and raised his ass, giving it a little wiggle as he did so. Blair grinned at the sight and wondered how he'd ever managed to convince himself that his roommate was straight.

Jim might not be fully straight, but it had been a while for him, Blair discovered as he inserted the first finger. The muscles clamped down so hard that he winced. He'd eat his laptop if Jim had done this since returning from Peru.

But with a little coaxing, the sphincter muscles loosened until Jim was taking two then three fingers, rocking back against them and making little sounds in his throat that had Blair almost ready to explode. Finally, he arranged himself so that his ankle wasn't strained, then entered Jim with one long, steady push.

They both shouted as Blair's pelvis slapped against the upturned ass. They paused for a few deep breaths, then Jim shifted in a way that drove all thoughts from Blair's head. His hips started thrusting, hard and fast, and if he'd been able to think he would have realized he was going to leave bruises on Jim's shoulders, he was gripping so hard.

Not that that seemed to bother the man. Jim was thrusting back just as hard, clamping down to milk Blair's cock every time it withdrew. In very little time -- or an eternity later -- Blair shouted as he came, then collapsed across Jim's back, pressing him down into the mattress.

After a few moments, Jim shifted a little and Blair realized that once again, Jim had been left behind.

He shifted his grip to Jim's hips and started making tiny thrusts with his now-softening dick, humping Jim in a way that was making Jim hump the bedspread. After a moment, Jim was moving with him and they were working to increase the friction. Finally Jim groaned, then relaxed into the mattress, Blair spread out on top of him and still buried in his ass.

Blair rubbed his cheek against Jim's back, already relaxing towards sleep. Okay, the air was a little chilly, but his Jim-mattress was warming his front quite nicely.

"Blair?"

Blair grumbled in displeasure as his mattress shifted beneath him.

"Chief? Please? I'm in the wet spot. If we get under the covers, I won't be."

Blair sighed, then pulled away. Jim removed the used condom from his cock and discarded it. He lay there limp as Jim maneuvered him under the covers and curled around him. Blair nipped at the closer pec, the soothed the red spot with a lick.

Jim's arms tightened around him and the man made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a purr. "Beautiful, Chief. Just beautiful."

"Fine," Blair mumbled back. "You can return the favor sometime. But Jim?"

"Yes?"

"Tomorrow you start teaching me Quecha. Just in case you get whacked on the head again."

"Whatever you say, Chief. Whatever you say."

THE END