Summer makes me sappy; you have been warned. Since this is the first time I've tried to get inside Blair's head, I'd appreciate advice on how to improve.

The berries nestled in the brambles on the south side of the path looked like little stoplights, glowing golden red in the sun. Jim must have seen them first, but Blair got first dibs, surging forward with delight.

"Oh man, wineberries! I didn't know they even grew here! Come on, we're not in a big hurry, right?"

Blair could see that Jim was torn; they had come out for an early hike, and if they got back to the motel early, they'd have time to relax before lunch. It had been a hard week, and that combined with Jim's injury made Blair's usually indefatigable partner lazy. But Blair also knew that Jim was very bad at saying no to him.

"Come on, man, it'll be good. In fact, you sit down over there on that log, right in the shade, and relax while I pick some berries for an afternoon snack."

"They're probably poisonous." Jim sounded crotchety, a sure sign that his wrist was hurting.

"No they aren't. They're great; I've picked them before. Now sit." The words were accompanied by some fussing, as Blair maneuvered Jim onto the log, balling up the flannel shirt from his waist to act as a pillow for Jim's back. Behind the complaints and protests Blair could see Jim's exhaustion, and it made him very tender, pushing him back gently as he resisted the comforting treatment. "Come on, man, just sit back. You shouldn't be picking berries anyway; you're supposed to rest your wrist."

"I think the doctor had shooting more in mind, Chief." But he was sitting back now, and Blair watched in satisfaction as the lines of discomfort around his eyes faded slightly, falling back into the softly-tanned skin. He leaned forward and licked them, trailing tiny kisses beside and under each eye, and Jim hmphed, pushing him away, but gently. Blair smiled at him.

"Yeah, well she didn't know you might be faced with the travails of berrying. Besides, who knows what you could be allergic to here."

Jim almost sat up at that, scowling slightly. "Sandburg, how the hell do you think sentinels survived if they were allergic to every damn thing in the forest?" He shifted slightly, swatting at Blair's hand when he tried to adjust the shirt behind him.

Blair persisted, and he could tell when he had the problem fixed. He might not be a sentinel, but he had superior senses when it came to Jim, and he sighed in satisfaction himself at the renewed sleepiness on Jim's face.

"Look, every forest is different, man. How do you know that you're not okay in Peru but at risk here from, I don't know, poison-ivy in the air or something?" He knew it was a bad argument as soon as he mentioned it, since air was not specifically restricted to the berries' vicinity.

Jim snorted softly. "Yeah, with my coloring it's a pretty good assumption that my ancestors were native to Peru."

"Well they didn't get to Europe from North America either, Ellison, so just lie back." Blair kept his hand on Jim's chest as if to hold him down, and slowly Jim raised his hand to cover it. Sleepy blue eyes smiled at Blair, and he could feel the steady thump of Jim's heart. Sometimes he was so sensitive to Jim it hurt. "Just rest, okay man? You gave me a scare going down those stairs like that."

"Gave the doctor a laugh."

True, but probably not what Jim needed to hear right now. "Well, she just didn't know what a hero you were."

Jim tilted his head quizzically. "Hero?"

"Yeah, man." Blair grinned back. "If you hadn't tripped on that loose stair, I probably would have. You threw yourself down those stairs to save me, Jim." He almost got it out with a straight face, dancing back to avoid Jim's mocking swing. "No, don't get up, man. Come on. Let me pick you some berries. Next you're going to refuse to let me peel your grapes, too."

"Never. You are my one and only grape-peeler." Jim mumbled slightly, scooting farther down so that he could recline against the tree.

Buoyant with laughter and love and summer, Blair whispered, "Better be," as he moved to the first bramble.

"I used to go berrying with Naomi a lot, you know?" he said over his shoulder. Jim grunted slightly. Ooh, that was a nice bunch. Three berries glowing claret-red in the sun, and two more still with the golden translucence of not-quite-ripeness.

"And?" Jim sounded half asleep but interested. And that was sweet, that Jim wanted to hear his nattering when he was clearly so tired. Blair smiled to himself, picking all five of the berries. "Chief, two of those weren't ripe."

Oh-ho, not quite asleep there, sentinel-spy. Blair grinned. "I like them that way. When they're perfectly ripe they're almost too sweet. I like them tart, okay?" Jim didn't respond, and Blair looked back to make sure he hadn't fallen asleep. Two blue eyes pinned him, and he grinned. "Look, you can pick out the ripe ones when we eat them, okay?"

In fact... Blair took the three berries out of the bag that had held their breakfast and grabbed his water bottle. Rinsing them carefully--because, Peru or not, the last thing they needed was some attack out here--he perched himself on the log. Jim eyed him warily, but opened his mouth when bid.

Popping the first berry into Jim's mouth, Blair contrived to linger on Jim's lips, then trailed his wet fingers along the soft inner surface of Jim's palate. His fingers received a parting kiss, and Jim smiled up at him, the slightly crooked grin that meant, 'you're crazy, Sandburg, but I love you anyway.' It was sweeter than the ripest berry, a fact that Blair proved to himself by taking the next one between his lips and conveying it to Jim. He chased the soft little cap around the roof of Jim's mouth, tonguing it until it burst into syrup against Jim's teeth.

He spent a few more minutes carefully assuring that no seeds would irritate his sentinel's gums, and then Blair stood up.

"Hey, there's another berry there." Jim sounded much more awake now, but Blair just laughed.

"Yeah, well someone's doing all the work around here!" He tossed the third berry up, catching it in his mouth and then waving it, balanced on his tongue, at Jim. A low laugh was the only response, and Blair had to force himself to ignore the light in Jim's eyes and...well, other things...in order to get back to the brambles.

Throw me in that briarpatch, man. But Jim should rest. He looks tired. Blair returned to work, gleaning rubies in clusters along the thorny branches.

"You were saying you used to do this?" Jim's voice sounded almost plaintive, and Blair hurried to make amends, hoping he could turn the tale into a bedtime story.

"Yeah, all the time. Mom could just about drag me away from the books if she had something tasty for a bribe." So much for Natureboy--Naomi had always faced a struggle, luring him from the far truer reality of the printed world.

Nice big bunch, there under the leaves. "Actually, the first time I remember doing this--god I must have been less about four-we were berrying in a park. I was little, so I concentrated on one patch of berries. I'd get every one that was ripe enough, peering under the leaves--which was easy when I was little."

"Was?" The question was sleepily fond, and Blair just laughed.

"Funny, big man. No, but Mom's and my styles clashed, because she used more of the 'browse for the best' method, while I completely picked out one area."

"Watch that spider there, Chief." Jim sounded more than half asleep now, and Blair chuckled silently to himself at the sight of the glazing, heavy-lidded eyes. Even drowsy, the sentinel was protecting his arachnid tribe.

"Thanks Jim. Don't want to mess up all of Charlotte's work, huh?" He maneuvered around the web. "Looks almost like a cd, this shiny rainbow-circle in the center." Jim didn't answer, just nodded slightly.

Smiling tenderly, Blair continued. "So Mom covered a lot of ground, but...you know, as a kid, you don't cover as much ground anyway, so I learned to make the most of where I was. I remember Mom saying, 'you get more if you move, baby,' but I did pretty well staying in one place."

Whoa, symbolism there. Blair looked over his shoulder, checking that Jim was safely out of the sun and indulging himself with a long look at the muscular body. Dragging his admiring gaze upwards finally, he met a slightly sardonic grin. "Sorry man. Just enjoying the view, you know?" Jim blushed slightly. Still stuck on the symbolism, Blair continued, "Actually, I think Mom was wrong. I think I did better staying in once place."

"You're an overripe mushball, Chief."

Blair laughed, warmed to the heart. "All the sweeter for it, right?"

He didn't wait for an answer, just turned back to the brambles. The berries glowed at him, teasing, but he stood for a moment lost in metaphor and memory.

"What else?"

Jim must really want that bedtime story. If Blair's heart got much warmer, his cockles would scorch. The thought had him grinning blindly at the berries, which winked back slyly. "Well, don't get any ideas here, man, because she's my mom, but I remember she was so pretty. I wasn't up to her waist yet, and I remember holding on to her skirt, it was all these beautiful colors, patchwork, and I thought she was prettier than any of the flowers or trees or birds. She used to sing to me, so that when she had moved up the trail and I was, you know, intently deberrying my little patch, I could still hear her and wouldn't be scared. She had a really pretty voice. I remember she'd sing folk songs. 'Are you going to Scarborough Fair?'" Blair sang under his breath. "You remember that one, Jim?"

Turning to receive an answer, Blair instead saw Jim slumbering in his patch of shade, his head fallen slightly to the side and resting on Blair's flannel. Oops. Time to shut up. So he turned back again to the briars, lifting one prickly arm to tickle free a bright red berry.

A noise from behind him made him look back. Jim was moving fractionally, his eyelashes fluttering as if to open. "Hey, man, it's all good. Just sleep, okay?" At the sound of his voice, Jim quieted again, vulnerable as a baby against his impromptu pillow.

Something tightened in Blair's throat at that blatant sign of trust. It must be a sign of need, too, since once again Jim was stirring in the silence. "Shh, Jim, hush. It's okay. I can talk all day if it keeps you comfortable." And again the man calmed, resting easy to the sound of Blair's voice.

So he was Jim's own personal white-noise generator today. Kind of flattering, he guessed. If you looked at it the right way. On this beautiful summer day, with his love asleep under his protection, Blair was definitely inclined to look at it the right way. So...what to say...

"You know, you always say I can talk felons into submission, but it's not easy to just string out a stream of consciousness." He thought briefly of his old lectures, but discarded the concept quickly. They weren't quite past that yet, and he didn't want to fill Jim's slumber with bad memories.

"I can tell you more about berrying, though." He focused on keeping his voice low and soothing. "These berries, the kind that are hollow inside when you pick them," he illustrated his statement by plucking two berries, leaving their bright orange cones on the bush as markers to their passing. "Mom used to say they were fairy hats. She'd put them on her finger-tips, one little red hat on every finger, and let me eat them off. And then she'd wave her fingers around and make this high little voice, 'oh no, where are our hats?' like the fairies."

The berries were slightly tacky to the touch, sticky with juice and dew. He shook them off his fingers into the bag, where they clung to the plastic and refused to roll to the bottom. "I remember...that first time I remember berrying with Mom. What was I, three? Four? I don't know, but it's a really early memory. One of my earliest. We were in the 'deep, dark woods', and Mom would tell me stories. Like that the fairies, once I stole their hats, danced with lights, the lights we saw rising up from the grass in the meadow."

Blair caught his arm on a briar and took second to release himself before continuing. "I remember trying to be such a good boy, so she wouldn't mind being in the woods. I liked it, but I knew she didn't. I don't think it was even my fault we got kicked out, but I was just at the right age for guilt. I think I was--I mean, maybe I was precociously guilty or something. I used to apologize for rain. And I was scared that I'd done something to make Mamma look so tense and terrified."

He carefully avoided another spider web, leaving three berries rather than destroy the creature's delicate creation. Concentrating on the next garnet-bright cluster, he had to remind himself to keep talking. Too bad for any birds that might sing a good lullaby; his sentinel had particular tastes. "When you're a kid and your whole word is wrapped up in someone--and mine sure was, Naomi was my everything--it's like the world is coming to an end, you know? And I could handle it when she cried, because then I'd crawl into her lap and eventually she'd laugh. But I remember being just...stricken...by how scared and silent she was."

He reached for another berry, brushing away a long-legged crawling insect, forcing a quiet murmur to fulfill his role as white-noise source extraordinaire.

"And I was cool with the adventure part and sleeping out of doors watching the fireflies. But I wasn't so sure why we had to be hungry, and Mom was in no real shape to explain it." He hated to think how he must have whined. "She'd carry me over to the brambles and say, 'be good, baby' and then she'd be filling up her skirt with berries, moving ahead of me to pick as many as she could."

Shoving one berry, overripe to the point of disintegration, into his mouth, Blair laughed quietly. "Now, it should come as no surprise to you that, even as age three or four, I was kind of a numbskull. Naomi had told me not to put any of the little round berries in my cup. And I know she would have explained it in more detail--cause she knew how I was--but she was so frantic. So--and here's evidence for you that, whereas I was close to the front of the line when they handed out brains, I forgot to get in the commonsense queue--I'm figuring, in my little three-or-four-year-old brain that as long as I didn't put any of the round berries in my cup, everything was okay. And I was really hungry, but I wanted to show Mama how well I could fill up my cup, so of course I ate the berries that weren't supposed to go in the cup."

He grimaced, wryly annoyed by his own infant stupidity. "I don't remember that night." Naomi had told him about it once, when he was fourteen and she was stoned. Her devastated, tear-clogged whisper droned on and on, refusing his teenaged efforts to calm her. "I guess she figured out around midnight that something was wrong. She ran into town, this sleepy little backwater West Virginia town, searching for help. And you know, I'm stunned anyone answered. Here's this crazy homeless hippy girl, screaming like a banshee and holding her convulsing, puke-covered kid."

He picked the next berry almost angrily, remembering the ruin of Naomi's pretty skirt, the mess he'd made of it. To say nothing of the mess he'd made of her life. "But it was a nice little town, good people. Somebody got her to the local clinic, found the doctor--I don't remember any of that, obviously. But I woke up the next morning, and I remember thinking that she must be dying. Mom was sitting there, white to the lips, holding on to my arm like any second they were going to drag her away. And little champion of guilt that I was, I apologized immediately. 'Sorry, mama. I'm sorry.'" He mocked himself, raising his voice only slightly in imitation so as not to waken Jim.

Yuck, bug. He shook it off his fingers, wincing as the delicate wings stuck and then tore. "Sorry," he muttered again, under his breath. "So later I heard the whole story--much later, of course--and it turns out, that night when they were treating me, poking and prodding, trying to wake me up--I wasn't quite awake, but I kept begging Mom, telling her I was sorry, sorry. Like it was punishment, and if I was just sorry enough, Mama would stop them. They had to give her a tranquilizer." He felt it again, the gut-crawling guilt for having hurt her like that, when she was most fragile.

"So of course the last thing she needed was to hear 'sorry' again. She pulled me over to the side of the bed and covered my mouth." He could remember that she smelled bad but she felt good, cool fingers against his lips and nose. He couldn't breathe, but he knew that game, that was the hiding-game, so he quieted and leaned into her, wondering if the man had found them. "I think she was close to breaking." Her trembling fingers splayed across his face. "But then the nurse came in and took charge and let her stay with me all through the next day and night, when they wanted to keep an eye on me."

Oh man, what a gorgeous--he leaned in, balancing precariously on one foot to snag the perfect, transparent-scarlet berry that was ineffectually hiding under a prickly leaf. "And then we went to stay with the doctor. I don't even think Mom had an affair with him." Which was odd, looking back now. "And you know how self-centered kids are, how the world revolves around them--I remember it being just the best time ever then, because Mom would put me to bed at night in the Doctor's son's old room, it had model planes hanging from the ceiling, and she would just hold me 'til I fell asleep and then until I woke up. I'd come awake in the middle of the night and she'd be all wrapped around me, like she was hiding me, and I remember thinking that this was perfect. I was right at the age when you're most jealous of your mom, and here I was getting all of her attention." He shook his head ruefully. "Totally clueless. I thought it was because we were staying with the Doctor, who was too old to be Mama's friend. I remember he smelled like vanilla pipe-smoke and talked about his wife, who had died. He would rock me in his big chair. I remember thinking that if we could just stay there..."

Oops, caught that spider web. Sorry, ma'am. "Of course, after a few weeks we left. Naomi promised to keep in touch, let him know we were okay, but I don't think she did. I know she took his advice and didn't let me go berrying for a while. I regretted tha--"

A branch snapped beside him, and he reached for his gun before remembering that they didn't have them, shit, who--and then Jim's hands were clutching his arms, bruising him, and he was pulled into Jim's chest.

"Wha--?" Jim was kissing him, hard, moving from his mouth down to his throat and all the while pulling him in almost painfully. Bad dream? Flashback? What the--oh. Blair felt the hard urgency at his hip matching the desperation in Jim's grip. One of those dreams.

"Public, man...in public..."

Jim growled into his mouth, "No one for miles," and who would know better than Jim? Matching Jim kiss for kiss, Blair gave in to the scrabbling hands, shrugging out of his t-shirt and helping with his shorts. He recognized this passion, and he looked around desperately for someplace soft--or at least flat--because Jim couldn't wait, and Blair was never one to slow things down. Besides, the last time he would want to wait was when Jim couldn't.

Before he could find a suitably soft bed--where were moss-carpeted rocks when you needed them?--Jim had pushed him up against a tree. He groaned softly, thrusting against Jim's thigh as Jim held him there, pinned for devouring. "Careful...Jim..." and the pressure eased abruptly, long enough for him to gasp breathlessly, "...your wrist." The feral rutting paused; Jim rested his head against Blair's chest for a moment, and his laugh sounded like a sob. Then Jim brought both hands up to cup Blair's face and held him in position as he licked and nibbled at his lips. Guess the wrist wasn't a problem.

Blair's hair caught on the tree bark when he leaned his head back under the frantic onslaught. He stared up into the leaves above them, watching the green and gold filigree dance in the breeze as Jim lapped down his torso. When Jim's mouth and hands joined in tormenting him, he could only stroke Jim's temples, gasping in time. And then the heat at his groin, the sun on his face, the warm wind trailing hair across his eyes and mouth all joined in a storm of sensation, and he cried out to the forest as he came.

Pushing himself against the tree to remain standing, Blair idly catalogued the rough bark, the trickle of sweat running between his shoulder blades, the sinking lassitude in his bones. He reached down, tugging at Jim by any handhold available, succeeding when he managed to grab Jim's ears. He could taste himself in Jim's mouth, Blair and berries, and it tore open a hole in his heart where the sun struck deep, the taste of Jim and himself and summer sweeter than wine.

And then Jim turned him to face the tree, holding him firmly as his gun. The frenzy seemed to have spent itself, and he felt Jim's hands warm and strong against his back, his belly, carding through the hair on his chest to find and pinch his nipples. He thrust back involuntarily, and he could feel Jim's matching gasp, the hunger building again. Jim reached away--right hand again, man, watch your wrist--and then the smell of grass and berries and sweat was incongruously joined by coconuts. Sunscreen. Good thought.

And Jim's hands were slow and sure on him, reaching in towards his heart, opening Blair to the sun and the wind and the day...and Jim.

Blair groaned happily as Jim entered, like coming home for both of them, and he felt as if a shaft of sunlight had hit his heart, warming him in pulsing thrusts of gold. He thought idly of chlorophyll, of light, of the endless miracle that turned summer's glory into sugar...and then he couldn't think at all, the rapid piercing pleasure his only focus. Bracing himself against the tree, he fell away from the world until the universe was only them, only this...

"Oh my god." Jim nuzzled his neck, biting softly. "My god, Jim..."

"I said you didn't have to call me that." The answer was light, but Jim's arms were holding him firmly, pulling Blair up to him and away from the tree. Blair had grown quite fond of that tree, but he wouldn't complain. Jim's wood was way better. He snickered.

"What, Sandburg?" Jim's voice almost managed to sound exasperated, but his hands belied the tone, roaming over Blair's chest and throat as if tracing the veins of a leaf.

"Nothing Jim. Just...what was that for?"

And now Jim was turning him, holding him away, looking at him like he was an unusual scientific specimen. "What was...Chief, you really are clueless."

Well, yeah. Past proven. But what...oh...

"Those berries I gave you...were they fermented or something? I mean, they were pretty ripe."

Then Jim was laughing, and Blair smiled back, not getting the joke but certainly enjoying the sight of a happy, sated Jim. "What, man?"

Handing Blair his shirt, Jim bent down to help him pull his shorts back up. Blair laughed. "Damn, Jim, you're still completely dressed!" And then Jim pulled him back into an embrace, and Blair was uneasily aware of an added brightness in those beautiful blue eyes. "What, Jim? What's wrong?"

Pulling his hand from where it had idly been tracing a long briar-scratch on Blair's arm, Jim picked a berry from the bag and rested it on Blair's lower lip. "Jim?" And Blair had a mouthful of berry and Jim's tongue, and that was answer enough for now. Jim pulled back when Blair was still searching out sweetness. Brushing the wetness from Jim's lashes, Blair was conscious of that familiar, formless guilt welling in him. "I don't understand, Jim."

Jim shook his head, berry-stained lips rising to a smile. "No, I guess you don't, Chief. But I love you anyway."

Again that shaft of sunlight to Blair's heart. As he pulled Jim in, Blair could feel the magic of the day forever linking the taste of berries and Jim in his memory.

End Berrying the Past by Hellesgift: Hellesgift@aol.com

Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: The Sentinel is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.