Not mine; well duh. No harm, no foul.

A long, silly, fluffy piece to make up for the last story I wrote. Tremendous thank yous go to the wonderful ladies at SenBetas, without which this prolly wouldn't have happened. Fox, Christi and Nicole helped too, Fox most notably in filling in the blanks on defending a dissertation and the (much improved) title.

Step right up, ladles and germs, we got yer fluff right here -- extra large, jumbo, economy, Costco sized fluff with not a warning in sight except for those of you who need insulin. Please check yer incredulity at the door, and we thank you for yer support!

North by Northeast
by MrsHamill

Part One: Three Days of the Panther

"Oooh... Blair... you're so good..." the girl moaned, running her fingernails through Blair's chest hair sensuously. She had long hair and as it brushed against him, it made him shiver. Long, silky black hair.

No... Wait... It was red. No... It was a honey blonde... oh, yeah. And she looked like Michelle Pfeiffer.

Whatever.

"Hold me, Blair," she murmured, kissing his neck.

"Mmm, yeah," Blair agreed enthusiastically. He wrapped his arms around her warm, pliant form and pulled her down onto his chest, caressing her smooth, muscled back and feeling his powerful shoulders...

"Come on, Chief," Jim said, and Blair blinked.

"Jim...?" What the hell was Jim doing in his dream?

"Trying to get you to answer your phone, loverboy," Jim growled, burying his face in Blair's neck and kissing him.

Wait... Jim was kissing him? "What the...?"

"Chief, c'mon. Answer the damn phone," Jim said against the skin of his neck. The last syllable drew out and out... until it became the muffled ring of his cell phone.

"Urg," Blair said articulately, trying to drag himself out of sleep sufficiently to become coherent. In only another couple of rings, the phone would roll over to voice mail but where was the damned thing? Oh. It was in his backpack. Which was...

Which was clear across the room. Blair stumbled to his knees trying to get to it, but the ringing stopped before he could reach it. He sagged, tiredly. Couldn't have been that important, then. And if it was, they would call again...

The phone started ringing again. Frowning, but becoming more aware of his surroundings, Blair managed to grab the pack and fish out the phone before the fourth ring. "Yeah...? Wha...? Hello?"

"Blair? Thank God! Listen very carefully, Blair. This is serious. Deadly serious. Get your partner and get out. Now! He rolled over, Blair. He told them something and now he's back in their good graces. I don't know what it was and I don't care. But you've got to go. Now!"

Blair shook his head rapidly. "Huh? Jack?"

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. "Blair, listen to me. Wake up and get your partner and get out now! And don't call anyone on your cell phone!"

Blair squinted at the lit numbers on his clock -- whoa! Four-fifteen in the a.m.? "Jack, what the hell...?"

Nothing. The phone was dead, the call ended. Blair blinked at the phone in his hands and slid back to sit on his butt. What the fuck was all that about? Jack Kelso calling at this hour of the night -- all right, morning -- for what? <Get your partner and get out.> What the hell...?

<He rolled over.> Who was 'he'? Blair banged his head with the heel of one hand, trying to get his brain jump-started. It was just too damn early in the morning for this stuff. Especially after the last few days they'd had -- the nightmarish almost-catastrophe of the Ebola virus loose in Cascade with that rogue CIA...

Holy shit. Holy freaking shit!

Oh FUCK.

Brackett. Brackett rolled over. He told 'them' something... He told them about...

"JIM!"

Blair was on his feet, through the curtain that was his door and running up the loft steps before he could think, his heart hammering faster than his feet moved. "Jim! Wake up! C'mon man, we've got to go!"

Jim was sitting up in bed as Blair reached the shadowed landing, pushing his sleep mask up on his forehead. His face was scrunched up and his eyes were only half-open. "Sandburg, what the fuck are you--"

"Jack!" Blair nearly yelled, interrupting him. "Jack called -- he said we have to go now! Brackett spilled the beans, Jim. He told them about you and they're going to be coming for you -- for us! We've got to move!"

"Wait!" Jim practically shouted to get through Blair's frantic voice. He reached out and snagged Blair by his t-shirt and yanked him down to the bed. "What did you say? Repeat it -- slowly, okay?"

Blair tried to take a big, deep breath to calm down, but couldn't. "Jack... Jack Kelso. He called. On my cell phone," Blair said, waving said instrument as he desperately tried to keep the panic at bay. "Just now. Four o'clock. Said he rolled over, and I should get my partner and run... run now. It's Brackett, Jim. Jack said he's back in their good graces. We've got to move, Jim!"

Jim snatched off the sleep mask and rubbed his head. His hair -- what there was of it -- was standing up in little clumps and he looked absolutely adorable, not that Blair noticed. Well, not really. "Kelso called. Just now."

"Yeah," Blair said, breathless. Jim's hand was warm on his upper arm, holding him in place.

"Tell me what he said, Chief... exactly." Damn. How could Jim be so awake and coherent?

Blair rolled his eyes in panic, but tried to comply. "He said... okay, he said, 'Blair, this is important, it's life or death. Get your partner and get out of there.' Run, he said. Then he said something about, he rolled over, he told them something and now he's back in their good graces." Blair wracked his brains, trying to dredge up Jack's exact words. "Um... he said something about he didn't know what it was, and didn't want to know."

"We'd better call him," Jim said, reaching for his own cell phone, which was on the bedside table.

"No!" Blair grabbed his arm. "He said don't call him on my cell phone. Or yours, either. Jim, we've got to get the hell out of here!"

"Calm down, Sandburg!" Jim said sharply, giving him a little shake. "Stop panicking and start using that super brain of yours. You think Kelso meant Brackett. Right?"

"Who else, Jim?" Blair said, angry at Jim's obtuseness. "I mean, the Feds came and got him just yesterday out of lockup, and you know Simon said it was the spooks -- that's why he had to give the bastard up. If Brackett told them about you..."

"The boys from Langley would be on their way," Jim finished for him, glancing at his clock. "Four-twenty. That's... what? Seven-twenty on the east coast?"

Blair inhaled sharply and his eyes got big. "That's how Jack found out," he whispered. "They're just waking up over there."

Jim swallowed and shoved the covers off himself. "Okay, okay. Think. Not yet eight o'clock E.S.T.... we might have a bit of time. Did you turn on a light?"

"No," Blair said, watching appreciatively as Jim slid out of the other side of the bed and began rummaging on his shelves for some clothes.

"Good. Don't. Go get dressed and pack... a duffle or something else light. Pack warm -- it's still pretty cold out."

"We going north?" Blair asked, running down the stairs.

"I don't know," Jim replied. His voice was muffled.

Blair dashed back into his little cubbyhole and immediately had to stop himself from turning on a light. Damn, but it was dark in there. He fumbled around a bit, managed to get dressed in a few layers and shove some clothing in a dufflebag, very, very glad he had done laundry a few days before.

He picked up his backpack, then stood in thought. They would need things, some of which he couldn't provide. But what he could, he would, he thought, emptying the pack on his bed. He sorted through the things by feel and by guess, shoving his laptop back in it and his most-recent journal. He grabbed his other journals -- and anything else that contained his Sentinel research -- from his desk and shoved them in too, along with a box of breakfast bars. Then he went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator to get some water.

"Close that door!" Jim hissed from above, and Blair slammed the fridge quickly, killing the light.

"Sorry, sorry! Didn't think," he said. Instead of getting cold water, he grabbed a six-pack of bottled water from the cabinet and shoved it into his rapidly-filling backpack. One last trip into his room to get his wallet and watch, and he was set. Then he realized he'd need his shaving kit, and dashed into the bathroom.

"Hurry up, Sandburg," Jim said from the hallway, dumping his own dufflebag next to Blair's.

"I'm getting your kit, too," Blair replied, shoving things into a small travel bag.

"Yeah. Thanks," Jim said from the kitchen.

In another few moments, they were ready and went to the front door. Blair stopped Jim from opening it with his hand on Jim's chest. "Wait, wait," he murmured, calmer now that the initial panic had faded. "We're not thinking. Extend your hearing. Listen for anyone around."

Jim gave him a surprised look. "Yeah. Yeah. That's a good idea." He closed his eyes and concentrated, while Blair kept one hand on his arm to ground him.

"Filter out the neighbors -- you should know them by now," Blair whispered. "Concentrate on anything new, anything that doesn't fit."

It only took a second for Jim to stiffen under Blair's hand. "Two guys out front. Smoking. I can smell the smoke, so they must be near the door. They're not moving, just standing."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Let's try the back way, through your room."

They grabbed their bags and hustled through the loft to Blair's room and, once again, Jim listened. After a few minutes, he shook his head. "Nothing, I think. I don't hear anything, anyway. Let's go. Be quiet!"

"Trust me, man," Blair breathed as Jim opened the door, "you'd hear a mouse farting before you'd hear me."

"Nice image there, Chief," Jim snorted, moving to the fire escape on cat feet.

They made it to the pavement in the alley without incident, gathered their things and moved silently to the corner, where Jim peered around. "Where are you parked?" Jim whispered in Blair's ear.

"Right out front," Blair replied nearly inaudibly, knowing Jim would hear him.

"Shit. Me, too. Those two guys are leaning up against the Corvair... Now what?"

They pulled back into the alley and Blair bit his lip, thinking. "Got it. Come on," he whispered, leading Jim down to the other end of the alley. "The cross-town bus. It runs all night. We can pick it up on Grant and Prospect."

"When, Darwin?" Jim demanded, slinging his duffle over his shoulder. "When does it come by?"

"Every half hour, I think," Blair replied. "I hope."

They dashed across Grant Avenue, which was deserted at that time of night, and hovered in the shadows behind the bus shelter. "There's a payphone," Jim said, dropping his duffle at Blair's feet. "I'm going to call Simon at home."

"Be careful, man," Blair said quietly. "We don't know who they'll tap and who they won't."

"This'll give us a good indication," Jim said grimly.

Blair walked to the curb and looked down the road, hoping for the bus, while Jim made his call. It was so quiet Blair could hear much of the hushed conversation. It didn't sound like Simon was very happy.

After the brief call, Jim joined him and re-shouldered his duffle. "Simon's on the alert," he told Blair. "He's not too happy about it, though. He thinks it's a false alarm."

Turning to stare at his companion, Blair said, "Do you? Think it's a false alarm, I mean."

Jim looked down the deserted road and grimaced. "I'm standing here with you in the middle of the night, aren't I?"

Blair sighed. "Man, I hope this is a false alarm," he muttered.

"The bus is coming," Jim told him.

Blair pulled the bus money out of the overstuffed change purse he kept in his backpack for emergencies and paid for both of them. They took seats in the back, on the right side of the nearly empty bus, after Blair murmured that it would turn left on Prospect and cross right in front of the loft. Jim pulled a Jags cap out of his jacket pocket and shoved it on his head, then ducked down in his seat. The bus turned, then lumbered its way up Prospect, giving them a good view of the two guys standing in front of Colette's.

"You think Simon's phone was tapped?" Blair asked Jim as they passed, but Jim held his hand up, frowning in concentration. "What?"

A few moments after the bus left the area, Jim turned to look at Blair, who was seated behind him. "They checked in just after we passed," he murmured. "Gave the all's well. So, no, I don't think Simon's phone was tapped. And they don't know we're gone, either."

Blair sighed and sagged back against his seat. "All right."

"Not all right," Jim disagreed. "We're on a bus, possibly being pursued -- we have no food, no transportation, no way of getting out of town. And we can't call for help." He gave Blair a wry look. "Under certain conditions, I'd call that one hell of a fuck-up, Chief."

"Hey, we're alive, we're free, we can think," Blair objected, still quietly. "We'll think of something."

"Well, wheels first, Einstein," Jim said. "Turn your mighty brain to that."

"Okay, okay," Blair said, resting his chin on the back of Jim's seat. "We can still call people... We called Simon. Could he get us wheels?"

"No. That won't work," Jim said tiredly. "We can't use a vehicle registered to anyone we know. That'll be the first thing they'd suspect, and the first APB."

"Then we buy some. Get some cash... Wait. Do we have cash? We can't go to a bank machine, can we?"

"I've... uh, I've got cash, Chief," Jim said, ducking his head. "As for getting more..." He pulled a sour face. "I suppose we can go to a cash machine or two and make withdrawals -- as long as it's before the banks open. They can trace the transactions any time, but it'll be harder before nine. And hopefully they won't be looking for us yet."

"I get you," Blair said, nodding. "Make some withdrawals, then get the hell out of the vicinity."

"Yeah. But even with the three grand I have on me..."

"You've got--"

"Sandburg!" Jim slapped his hand over Blair's mouth. "Yeah, I've got three grand on me. Okay? It was in my safe. I... uh... I try to keep a cushion for emergencies. Okay?"

"Damn, Ellison, and I thought you weren't paranoid!" Blair laughed softly at Jim's glare. "But that's not enough to buy a car, is it? Not and pay cash and have some left over."

"Well... maybe. But we need wheels -- good wheels -- not something that'll break down two miles out of town. That's probably going to cost us all our cash -- because, whatever we get, it can't be in our names -- and we can't afford it, Chief."

They looked at each other, and the gravity of the situation suddenly hit home again to Blair. "Right," he said, wracking his brains, trying to think of a way out of the predicament. "Isn't there someone you could call? Family? Carolyn, or your parents?"

"No, I won't get Caro involved, Chief," Jim said decisively. "It's too dangerous. And we don't need... I mean, my father wouldn't be of any help. Not going to go there, Chief."

Blair desperately wanted to get more information on the harsh tone Jim used when he said 'father,' but the situation just wasn't ideal. A billboard for the racetrack passed by and the light came on. "Got it!" he said. Jim looked at him hopefully, and Blair realized that Jim really was counting on him to get them out of this mess -- which made him feel about ten feet tall. "I need to go see Robert. He can get us wheels, and maybe some cash, too."

"Who's Robert?"

"My cousin."

"No way, Chief," Jim objected. "All our relatives will be watched -- you can count on it. If you actually go see him, you'll be leaving both yourself and him open--"

"No, no -- wait, you don't understand," Blair interrupted him. "Robert's a bookie. Right now, I know where he'll be and, trust me, there won't be any official presence there. There can't be. So I go see him, have him get us some wheels, and meet you somewhere."

"I don't like it," Jim said, shaking his head.

"I know, Jim, but you'll just have to trust me. It's our best bet." Blair reached over and squeezed Jim's shoulder. "You know that twenty-four hour diner across from the precinct?" Reluctantly, Jim nodded. "Good. The bus will drop you off two blocks from there. Take my stuff and yours, but not my backpack, and go there. Get a booth somewhere -- make sure you can see outside. I'll meet you in two hours."

"And if you don't show up?" Jim was really worried, Blair thought, and it warmed him inside.

"I'll be there. But if I don't... then you have to get out of town, Jim, and just leave me. You have to go. You hear me?" Blair swallowed. "I hate this. I can't believe this is happening... and I wish I'd never gotten you into this mess. I'm so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault, Sandburg," Jim said firmly. "Brackett debriefed the team that found me in Peru -- and I was already acting weird because of the senses. And... well..." he ducked his head again and his ears turned pink. "I wouldn't have traded all the help you've given me for anything. You... you gave me my sanity back, Chief."

Sure that his smile was blinding -- and telling -- Blair had to look away. "Thanks, Jim," he murmured. "I'll get us wheels. Don't worry."

"You'd better, and you'd better show up in two hours, Sandburg. I'll hit a couple of ATMs on the way to the diner. We'll be safe until around nine, I think."

Jim had never felt so helpless in his life. He had no car. He was unable to use any communication device except for pay phones, and even that was iffy. He had no car. He had his passport and over $3500 in cash (after hitting the ATMs), neither of which did him any good. And, worst of all, he had no car.

His life, at the moment, sucked like a Hoover.

He had reached the diner by quarter after five, and counted on Sandburg being there by seven. Assuming this cousin of Blair's (a bookie?!) would come through for them, of course... And if he didn't, then Jim would go after Blair. One way or the other. Which was something he hadn't told Blair, but that didn't matter.

Throwing the duffels into one side of the booth, Jim slid into the other and hid behind the paper he'd bought. He could see a corner of the precinct -- and the street, as well -- fairly clearly, especially if he extended his sight. The waitress came by and he ordered coffee, and a big breakfast after a moment's thought. No sense in arousing suspicions.

The day brightened slowly and traffic out front increased. The minutes inched by, giving him plenty of time to make up nightmare scenarios about Blair, himself, the CIA, the NSA and other, more shadowy agencies. Slowly, slowly, the clock reached seven. Jim had the waitress deliver a hot breakfast packed up to go, telling himself that Sandburg would be starving by the time he arrived. He wasn't allowing himself to think about the chance that Blair might not show.

At five minutes past seven, just as Jim was starting to panic, an incredibly old and beat-up Ford F-150 pulled up outside the diner -- driven by a familiar, curly-haired figure. Jim grinned hugely, grabbed the duffels and the breakfast and raced through the front door. He threw the bags -- except for breakfast -- in the flatbed and slid onto the front seat. "Get going, Junior," he said, slamming his door.

"You got it, man," Blair said, pulling out into traffic. "Sorry I'm late. But I told you Robert would come through."

"Yeah, but I'm not sure I want to know how," Jim replied, pulling the brim of his hat low over his face. "Head for the interstate and go north."

"Aye aye, sir," Blair replied, making a quick turn. "We've got half a tank of gas, but I don't want to stop until we're out of town. You agree?"

"Absolutely," Jim said. "There's a truck stop on I-5, about a mile out of town. We can stop there, and I can call Simon at work and see what's what."

"And if this is all a false alarm," Blair said tightly, "we'll all have a good laugh and go to work as if nothing happened. Right?"

Jim gave him a peculiar look. "Well, yeah, if it's a false alarm," he said. "What's wrong?"

Blair shook his head. "I don't know... Nothing. I mean... I don't... Damn. This whole thing just seems so surreal all of a sudden," he said with a sigh. "Robert... he kept laughing, telling me I was being paranoid. I mean, I couldn't tell him why I needed a car -- one not in my name or his -- just that I needed it, you know? And he thought it was all a game or something."

Frowning, Jim gave Blair the once-over with his senses -- his heart rate was off the chart and his temperature was up. Blair was scared, shit scared, and Jim really couldn't blame him. "It's gonna be okay, Chief," he said softly. "We'll be okay."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Blair replied shakily. "I think I know, anyway."

"I had a lot of time to think while I was waiting for you at the diner," Jim said slowly. "About what to do, I mean. We've got passports... You've got yours, right?" Blair nodded. "But they don't do us any good. We can't fly anywhere under our own names. And it's hard to get false papers -- good ones take time and money. We've got a bit of one, but not a lot of the other."

"Canada?" Blair suggested, merging onto the interstate.

"My first thought, too," Jim agreed. "But the Canadian government is just too fucking close to ours, and we couldn't trust the Mounties not to turn us over. Especially if they had some cockamamie story about us being dangerous fugitives."

"Yeah."

"So, what happened with your cousin? You sure he won't be picked up or anything?"

"Well, reasonably sure," Blair said. "No one will be able to find Naomi easily. Hell, I can't even find her when I need her..."

"Who's Naomi?" Jim interrupted curiously. He could tell that talking was calming Blair down, and intended to keep him at it.

"My mom," Blair explained. "She's all over the place. I think the last address or phone number I had for her was somewhere in India. And this time of year, she generally makes a pilgrimage way up north for the vernal equinox, and it's always in a different place."

Jim snorted in amusement. "She sounds like a character."

"Oh, she is," Blair said, calming even more as he skillfully negotiated the morning traffic on I-5. "I wish you could meet her. Of course, she'd hate you -- she has a thing about authority figures. Long story. Anyway, while Uncle Ralph and Aunt Sophie are listed as contacts at Rainier -- they're Robert's parents --" he explained, glancing at Jim, who nodded-- "they're now in an assisted living facility in Snohomish. They haven't spoken with Robert in eons. I think we're in the clear... at least, for a good while."

"And we can always ditch this truck or trade it in for another, if we need to," Jim agreed. "Good thinking, Chief."

Blair grinned brilliantly in pleasure at the compliment, and Jim mentally shook his head. Yeah, the kid had it bad. But what was it -- hero worship or something more? Jim had only recently decided he wanted it to be something more... much more... but now was not the time for that. "Was Robert able to give you anything else?"

"No," Blair said, frowning. "I tried, but he was treating the whole thing like a massive joke, so I gave up. I thought maybe he could get us false papers, but it just wasn't worth looking into."

"It's all right, Chief. You did good with this truck -- real good. What is it? A '68?"

"I don't know," Blair replied. "But it's at least as old as I am. Is that the exit you were referring to?"

"Yeah. We can fill it up and you can eat your breakfast." Jim hefted the bag he had put on the floor between his legs.

"Oh man, you bought me breakfast! I love you!" Both of them laughed, and it broke some of the tension that had been dogging them.

Jim gave the truckstop a careful sweep with his senses before letting Blair pull up to the pumps, but could detect nothing amiss. They both hopped out, and Blair began filling up the tank. "Here," Jim said, handing him a couple of twenties.

"No -- it's okay. I've got it," Blair protested, but Jim insisted.

"Look, Sandburg," he said quietly, still sweeping the area with his eyes, "if we're on the run, we've gotta combine our resources. You take this, keep the change. I'm going to go call Simon."

"Okay, okay. Fine," Blair agreed reluctantly. He pocketed the bills. "Be careful."

"My middle name, Sandburg," Jim growled softly, and Blair grinned.

The payphone was outside, which suited Jim down to the ground -- fewer people to overhear. He checked his watch and discovered it was still well before eight, which was when Rhonda generally came in. So, if he dialed Simon's personal line, Simon would answer it himself...

Assuming he was there. Assuming he could.

It was picked up after three rings, and Jim heard the familiar deep voice. "Banks."

"Hey, Simon? It's--"

"Who? Who are you calling?" Jim inhaled sharply. Through the phone line, he could hear Simon's heart hammering like a metronome on crack. "Look, you got the wrong department. Simons is in Burglary. Call him there." And, with that, Simon slammed the phone down.

Holy mother of God. It wasn't a false alarm.

Ruthlessly suppressing the urge to sprint back to the truck and Blair, Jim forced himself to walk across the open expanse of tarmac to the fuel pumps. Blair was just finishing up, getting ready to go pay at the booth. "Gimme the keys," Jim said quietly, licking lips suddenly gone dry.

"Huh?" Blair did a double take at his face, and then, without further questions, handed Jim the keys.

"Hurry up and pay, Chief," Jim muttered, climbing into the cab and starting the engine. Blair was back around and climbing in next to him faster than he could have thought possible and Jim took off, having a tough time keeping his speed to a normal level. He desperately wanted to peel out of there and head any which way -- north, south, east -- as long as it was away from Cascade. In short order, they were back on the interstate and heading north, Jim mentally plotting their course.

"Jim?" Blair had opened the food bag and was in the process of sorting through the offerings. "What happened?"

"They got to Simon." Jim knew his voice was harsh, but he couldn't help it.

Blair froze. "Christ. How...? What...?"

"He hung up on me," Jim said shortly. "Said I had the wrong number, to call Simons in Burglary. There is no Simons in burglary, Chief. I could hear his heart hammering through the phone. I think they know we slipped the net."

Blair swallowed hard and closed the bag up again. "Suddenly, I'm not very hungry."

Being on the run was one of the scariest times of Blair's life. He could only remember one or two other times as frightening -- and, actually, those had to do with Jim, as well. He had really let himself in for it by becoming Jim's... what? His guide? That's what Brackett had called him... Fine, then. He was Jim's guide. And by God, he would go where the sentinel went. Even if it meant...

Blair's groan made Jim look sharply at him. "What is it, Chief?"

"I had a ten o'clock class this morning," Blair said, his shoulders slumping. "And I can't even call anyone to take over. Goddamn it, those fucking assholes have a lot to answer for."

Jim sighed. "Yeah, the boys in the cheap black suits don't really care who they inconvenience. I'm sorry, Chief."

"What are you sorry for?" Blair asked, frowning. "I'm the one who got you into this."

"Hardly," Jim replied, swallowing. "You wouldn't be here if it weren't for me. You'd be happily teaching a class and ogling pretty coeds."

"Hey, I do not ogle coeds," Blair protested, trying to lighten the mood for both of them and failing. "Besides, I chose to be here, Jim. I... uh... I want to be here. With you, I mean. Watching your back. Helping you."

Jim looked so touched, so vulnerable as Blair said that, it took Blair's breath away. "Thanks, Chief," he said softly.

After a few minutes of silence, Blair again reached for the bag of food. His stomach apparently didn't care that they were on the lam and was begging for sustenance. "So, where are we going?" he asked, putting some scrambled egg and ham on a bagel.

"Clayton Falls," Jim replied. "It's way up... near the border, but not over it. What I was thinking was we need a place to hole up, spend some time figuring out what the hell we're going to do. I'd originally thought Canada... but I'm a little leery of crossing any borders right now, even unregulated ones."

"Yeah, I hear that," Blair said. "You been there before?"

"Used to go up fairly regularly. It's a little place with a sawmill and fishing cabins out in the back-end of nowhere. Private, you see? And there's fishing and hunting for food."

Blair nodded. "Yeah. Okay. Good plan. Hmm..." He frowned, thinking about privacy.

"What?"

"Jim, we need to change our appearance. We can't depend on no one knowing where we were headed." He took a big bite from his impromptu sandwich and heard Jim snort.

"Don't go overboard, James Bond," Jim said. "If they don't know where we're headed--"

"And if there's an APB out for two men answering our descriptions and we pass a State Trooper blind..." Blair argued with his mouth full.

"All right, all right. Point taken. Quit spewing food all over," Jim replied, grimacing. "I just don't see how we can do that convincingly in a day, is all."

Blair looked at Jim speculatively. "I wonder what you'd look like with a mustache?"

"Ridiculous," Jim replied promptly. "I had one back in my vice days. It was hard to take care of, and I looked like a refugee from the Village People."

The image that conjured up made Blair laugh hysterically, and even put a smile on Jim's face. "Oh man," Blair finally gasped, calming. "I think I needed that. Okay, then. Maybe not a mustache -- although, facial hair couldn't hurt, and you need to grow your hair out some. I haven't shaved since yesterday, and if I don't until tomorrow, I'll have the beginnings of a full beard." He fingered his hair absently. "And this has got to go, I think. It's too identifiable. And anyway, it's becoming a pain to take care of."

Jim gave him a quick, inquisitive glance. "It hasn't always been long like that?"

"No," Blair replied. "In fact, the last time I saw Naomi, it was just growing out from a buzz cut. When you're out in the field in a rainforest, the last thing you need is long hair."

"Yeah, I can relate to that," Jim nodded, his face twisting up. "But we can't go to a barber, Chief."

"Yeah, I know," Blair sighed. "I guess I'll have to take a knife to it. Won't be very even, but the curls will help." He fingered his chin. "Maybe a goatee."

"We'll be in Greenville -- taking the back roads like we're going to do -- by three. As I recall," Jim said, frowning in thought, "there are a couple of cheesy little hotels on the outskirts. That would be a good place to stop for the night, consolidate our holdings, and get into Clayton Falls in the morning. If we're careful, and don't let anyone see you clearly, maybe you could pass for a woman?"

"You mean, check into one of those hotels as... what? A guy and his date?" Blair looked incredulously at Jim. "They'd better not see the stubble then!"

"I know, I know," Jim replied. "But that would be less incriminating than the two of us staying in one room. And I'd rather not split up, Chief."

Blair sighed. "Yeah. Okay. And you can help me with the haircut."

Jim grunted in reply and took the next exit off of I-5.

"Do you think we could chance a stop at Wal-Mart?" Blair mused, looking at the huge parking lot from their vantage, stopped at a light in Greenville. It had been a long and tension-filled trip, looking over their shoulders all the way. Blair had tried to nap, but hadn't seemed able to.

Jim grimaced. "We need stuff, that's for sure... but damn, Chief. I don't know." He suddenly pounded the wheel in frustration. "I wish to hell I knew what our pursuit was like," he muttered savagely.

They had driven most of the day, and Jim had stuck to five miles an hour over the speed limit, if that. He also tried to stay 'within the pack' of vehicles whenever possible, instead of breaking free as he preferred to do. There had been no overt sign of pursuit, no calls on either cell phone, and nothing on the radio. While, on the one hand, it had been a relief, on the other, both men were about ready to chew the upholstery in frustration.

"Maybe we should get a police scanner," Blair said quietly. "I think they've got those at Wal-Mart. Jim, man, I think we should risk it."

Jim tried to approach it logically, tried to weigh the pros and cons, but found emotion blocking him at every turn. There were things they needed, things that would help them in the long run. But to risk discovery by going into someplace as prosaic as Wal-Mart, for God's sake...

"Listen," Blair was saying. The light turned and Jim started up slowly. "Let me go in with a list of things. I can tear through there as quickly as possible, while you wait outside and listen for trouble. If anything happens... uh... I know -- you can call my cell phone. I'll see your number in the display and just get the hell out of there. Okay?"

Against his better judgment, Jim found himself turning into the parking lot of the gigantic store. "I don't like it, Chief. But we do need stuff..."

"Yeah, I know. I don't like it either," Blair said, his knee jiggling nervously. "But let me tell you, I'm an old hand at these kinds of stores. In and out -- record time. I promise."

"Okay, okay, Sandburg. I believe you," Jim said. He pulled his Jag's cap off his head and handed it to Blair. "Tuck your hair up under the cap and pull up the collar of your jacket. I'm going to drop you off right in front and hang around up this way while I listen for you -- and for trouble."

Suddenly fierce, Blair grabbed the sleeve of Jim's jacket. "Don't zone!" he said harshly. "That's the last thing we need."

"I won't zone, Sandburg," Jim said, irritated.

"Well, just don't. Okay? You scared the shit out of me when you did it the other day on that damned bridge." He took a deep breath and let it out, shaky. Then he gathered his messy hair and twisted it up under the cap, pulling the brim way down over his face. "Okay, there. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that's okay," Jim said, nodding. "And I won't zone. I promise."

Blair tried to smile at him. At least Jim thought it was an attempt to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. "Right. A scanner, a couple of sleeping bags -- like the two we left at the loft, dammit -- some non-perishable food... You've got your weapon, right?"

"Yeah, both of 'em," Jim confirmed. "But don't worry about bullets or anything. It'd take too long to explain anyway." He pulled up in front of the entrance and stopped. "Get a couple of rods and reels, and maybe a tackle box. It'll look like we're going camping."

"Gotcha." With a deep breath, Blair opened the door, only to be stopped by Jim again.

"Wait -- you forgot something, Professor." He held out his wallet. "There's close to a grand in here. Use what you need."

Blair met his eyes for a moment, swallowed hard, and took the wallet. He slammed the door and disappeared into the crowd of people entering the store, and Jim slowly pulled away from the entrance. He found a place to park, not too far away, and began his vigil.

The kid was right about one thing, Jim thought, listening to him move through the store, he certainly knew how to navigate Wal-Marts. Jim alternated listening to Blair shopping with skimming the crowd's murmur, wondering if he'd hear anything bad with sufficient notice to get them both out of there. A state trooper's car pulling into the parking lot and cruising the aisles gave him a mild heart attack, but listening in on their conversation convinced him they were on routine patrol. Jim leaned back in his seat and feigned dozing, and the car breezed past him without comment.

Within half an hour, Blair was at the checkout counter, and Jim started the truck to meet him at the front. There was still no comment about them that he could hear, and he began to breathe a little easier. Blair wheeled an extremely over-filled cart out the door and began tossing packages into the flatbed. "You need help?" Jim asked him through the window, but Blair shook his head. Some of the smaller packages went into the cab with Jim, then Blair was done.

Blair pushed the cart out of the way, jumped into the truck, and slammed his door. "Take off," he muttered harshly, sinking down in his seat. Jim gave him a curious glance, but quickly complied. They managed to get out to the main road -- headed back to the interstate -- before Blair spoke again. "All the TVs were on," he said, yanking the cap off his head and shaking his hair out, "and covering a special news bulletin from Cascade about the kidnapping of a police detective by his apparently dangerously psychotic roommate. Thank you for making me put my hair up."

"Jesus." The WonderBurger Jim had eaten in the truck for lunch began to argue with him. "How'd I miss hearing that?"

"They were muted, thank you God," Blair replied wearily. "I read the closed-captioning."

Jim bit his lip. "Okay, to hell with this. I don't even want to go to a motel at this point. We need to go to ground now and get off the road."

"Yeah," Blair muttered, closing his eyes. "And Wal-Mart didn't have police scanners, either. But I did buy an atlas and a detailed map of Washington State. Find a quiet spot to pull over and let's go over it."

"Right." They were nearly out of Greenville proper and the road was narrowing from four lanes to two. "There's a little strip center up ahead. I'll pull off there."

It was a little shopping center, with a 7-11 and a Dunkin' Donuts, and it was nearly deserted in the mid-afternoon. Jim pulled the truck around to the side, away from the other cars, and parked in the shade of a tree. Blair had the map out and was unfolding it. "Okay, we're here. We do not want to go back there," he said, pointing to Cascade. "And I think we should stay off the interstates."

"Right. No border crossing, either. They'll be watched." Jim leaned over and Blair passed the map so they could both see. "How about we go inland?"

"Up into the mountains?" Blair used his finger to trace the routes. "We could backtrack a bit, head for Rockport on Route 20."

"Too much of a main road, Chief," Jim murmured. "What we need is something like what we're already on -- a small road, something that takes us up into the mountains. Maybe head down to Chelan?"

"Too crowded," Blair disagreed. "North is better -- protected Federal land. There are forests up there that are thick."

"Hmm. Yeah." They stared at the map for a bit longer in the afternoon light.

"This doesn't make any sense," Jim said, abruptly angry. The urge to hit something was strong but he managed to suppress it. "Why would they put out an APB on us? They don't want the local cops picking us up. What are they doing, goddammit?" He leaned forward and rested his forehead on the steering wheel.

"I think we ought to stick with your original plan," Blair said suddenly. "Clayton Falls is up near the North Cascades Park, and that's so far out of the way, it might as well be the moon." He looked up at Jim seriously. "And we could hike into Canada, if necessary, too."

Jim frowned. It made sense, but... "With this damn APB..."

"I bought scissors at Wal-Mart," Blair said with a sigh. "We can find a secluded turn-off and you can help me cut this mop off, and we can both shave and look a bit more presentable -- but different. That way, we can pull into town by dinner time -- which makes us look like just ordinary vacationers."

Although Jim tried to find a flaw in that plan, their situation was so nebulous, he could see nothing wrong with it. "Okay." Starting up the truck, he got back onto the highway. "Map says there's a little state park just down the road a bit. I'm sure it'll be empty this time of day."

The 'park' was little more than a parking lot, a primitive toilet setup, and a sign with hiking trails, but it was ideal for their purposes. Among the purchases Blair had made at the Wal-Mart was a small pot for boiling water, which could be plugged into the truck's lighter. They filled it up with some of their bottled water, heated it and both of them shaved -- Blair not as completely as Jim. Then Jim took scissors in hand and, with great trepidation, helped Blair cut his hair. He had to admit, by the time he was done, that Blair looked completely different. His beard was heavy enough that the nascent goatee looked like more than a day's growth and, with his hair short, Blair looked at least ten years older.

"It's a shame about the hair," Jim said, fingering the curly locks regretfully.

"Eh, it's hair. It'll grow back," Blair said, running his hands over his newly-shorn head. "It looks almost decent, too. Thanks, Jim."

"You're welcome," Jim replied, grinning at his partner in the grimy mirror over the tiny sink. The bathroom was little more than an outhouse, but it served their purpose. "What'll we do with all this stuff?" Jim asked, picking up a big handful of hair.

"Toss it out into the woods. An animal can use it to line a nest," Blair said, gathering up their supplies. "You need to do anything else before we hit the road again?"

"Nah." It was a shame about the hair, even though Jim knew Blair was right. The shame part was that he had to cut it at all, that they were on the run and had no place to turn. Something had to be decided -- and soon.

They pulled into Clayton Falls by dusk. Jim looked around in surprise -- the town seemed much less busy than it had the last time he had been there. They stopped in front of the small motel and Blair hopped out. "You stay here," he said quietly. "Listen for my cues, okay?"

Jim nodded tightly and stayed put, ready to leap out and help, should the situation call for it. He listened carefully as Blair walked into the office of the hotel and rang a bell.

"Hey. Can I help you?" Must be the manager.

"Yeah. Well, I hope so," Blair said. "How you doing? I'm Billy Sellman. Me and my cousin are looking for a cabin out in the woods, and we heard that there may be some people around here that are looking to rent?"

"Uh, yeah," the man said. "There's a lot of cabins going begging now that the mill closed."

"The mill closed?" Jim grinned slightly at Blair's incredulous tone. "What happened?"

"Some yahoo declared the woods a protected reserve," the man said, disgust in his tone. "Basically threw a lot of people out on the street, if you ask me. Town's been going downhill anyway, but there's no reason at all for a lot of people to stay anymore. I'm even thinking about selling out."

"Oh man. That sucks," Blair said sympathetically.

"Yeah, it does," the man replied. "What kind of a cabin were you two looking for?"

"Something remote, the farther out, the better," Blair said firmly. Then he lowered his voice and Jim could almost see him leaning forward. "JJ -- my cousin -- he's just getting over a nasty divorce. We drove out from Spokane, headed towards Cascade -- he's got a new job out that way. And that crazy bitch he was married to sent private investigators out after him!"

"Really? No kidding." The man's voice had exactly the right mixture of interest and disinterest.

"Yeah. I told the guy not to marry her. Women. Anyway, we've got a couple of weeks before he's got to report to his new job, and I'm a trucker, so I set my own hours pretty much. So, I figure I'm gonna treat him to a nice cabin way out in the woods, some fishing. You know... clear out the cobwebs."

Jim had to fight to keep from laughing at the way the lies slipped from Blair's tongue. "Good for you," the manager said. "Lots of good fishing up here. See that? I caught that myself four years ago."

"Niiiice," Blair said, drawing the word out appreciatively. Jim figured they were talking about a mounted fish. "I could go for a couple of those, myself."

"Yeah, they're real sweet up here. Listen, you want remote, you go talk to Earl Flouter over at the Shell station. He's got a couple of cabins out in the back of beyond, and he keeps 'em in pretty fair shape. They'd be primitive," the man warned.

Blair chuckled. "Hey, when you're escaping the bitch from hell, there's nothing that's too primitive," he laughed and the man laughed along with him. "And listen, if any obvious city types show up looking for the Sellman cousins, you haven't seen us. Okay?"

"Mum's the word," the guy said jovially, and Blair made his escape.

"Billy Sellman?" Jim asked him quietly as Blair climbed back into the truck.

"Spur of the moment, 'JJ'," he replied, grinning. "Let's find good ol' Earl and get us a cabin."

Part Two: A River Has Nothing to Do With It

The cabins were certainly remote. Earl was happy to rent them one half-way up Mt. Baker (at least that's how it seemed), and was equally happy to have them pay cash. They stopped for some carry-out at the diner, and Blair navigated Jim out into the forest via the hand-drawn map their landlord provided.

Robert's truck barely protested as they picked their way carefully through the forest. It was fully dark by the time they arrived, and the tiny cabin was not much more than a deeper darkness against the trees, as far as Blair was concerned. Jim apparently had no problem, though, and walked right in. Blair pulled out one of his new flashlights, snapped it on, and followed.

"Primitive is right, Chief," Jim said as he looked around the place. It was one large room. Most of one wall was a fireplace, and there was a rough-hewn table, chairs and two cots. But it was clean, there was firewood laid in, a pump in the kitchen nook would supply fresh water while the gas stove could be used to cook and roast. Earl had sold them some propane for the stove and some oil for the lamps around the room.

Jim immediately went to the fireplace and started a fire burning -- after carefully inspecting the chimney. Blair started bringing in their supplies, beginning with the propane and oil, then Jim filled the lamps and lit them. Soon, the cabin was warm and cozy and the two of them were sitting down to their late dinners, still warm from the diner.

Pushing away from the table finally, Jim looked around the room, then smiled at Blair. "Well, it's hardly the Ritz, but it'll do, I think."

Blair half-smiled back at him. "It's remote and there aren't any guys in black suits, so I'm happy." He leaned his elbows on their rough table and looked at Jim. "I picked up a little bit of food at Wal-Mart, but we're going to need more," he said seriously. "I think we should run into town tomorrow and stock up. That'll give us a chance to check on any pursuit, too."

Jim stretched and yawned while Blair watched appreciatively. "Yeah. Even though I don't like exposing us, I think you're right. And," he added thoughtfully, "I'd like to call Simon. From a payphone. To his cell."

"Yeah. How long does it take to trace a call made to a cell?" Blair asked curiously.

"Longer than it does from a landline to a landline," Jim replied. "I'm gonna hold our conversations down to about two minutes. That should be safe."

"Hard to get anything said in two minutes," Blair said doubtfully.

"Better than having the boys in black suits find us," Jim argued mildly. "Okay, Chief... it's been a long fucking day. I vote for lights out and sleep. We're not gonna get anything decided before tomorrow, anyway."

Blair grimaced. "Well, I'm going to have to use the outhouse beforehand, unfortunately. And I don't suppose there's going to be a hot shower anywhere out here for us, either."

"Not likely -- no," Jim laughed. "And be careful, the outhouse is pretty ripe."

"Jim, it's an outhouse," Blair said, rolling his eyes in disgust. "At least it's downhill and downwind."

Blair found that, despite their situation, he slept like a rock. Not even the fairly frequent nightmares of Lash he'd been having woke him before the sun peeked through the window above his cot. It took him a few minutes of sleepy content to remember where he was and why. Even then, the new sleeping bag was comfortable enough and the cabin warm enough from the fire Jim must have built up that he found it hard to become nervous.

He was on the run, hunted, and in danger, but he was with the one man who could make him feel safe -- and loved, Blair thought to himself, smiling sleepily. Between the two of them, they'd figure out what to do. There was no situation so bad that the crackerjack team of Ellison and Sandburg couldn't figure a way out of it.

Sandburg and Ellison. Ellison-Sandburg... Okay, he was definitely getting silly.

The sound of cheerful -- if slightly off-key -- whistling from outside the cabin made his eyes pop open. Nope, Jim was not in the room. He must have gotten up at the crack of dawn for something and built up the fire for Blair's comfort. What a nice guy...

A nice guy who, at that moment, barged into the room carrying three -- count 'em -- three brown trout on a line. "Up and at 'em, Chief!" he said as if he didn't already know that Blair was already awake. "No coffee, sorry to say, but I've got three nice big ones here for us to snack on for breakfast."

Coffee...

"Wait, I got coffee yesterday," Blair mumbled. "It's instant, and there's no sugar or milk, but there is coffee."

Jim was in the process of cleaning the fish in the big sink. He paused at Blair's words and raised an eyebrow. "I can deal with no sugar or milk, Chief. You are a prince among men for that purchase."

"Just got the essentials of life -- soap, toilet paper and coffee. Although, personally, I don't think you need any caffeine," Blair muttered. Lord save him from morning Sentinels. "You are far too awake for my state of mind."

Jim laughed. "That's what happens when you fish in a freezing stream for an hour, Sandburg. You put water on that stove, and I'll clean these beauties while you get dressed."

"Are there any pots and pans?" Blair asked, stretching.

"Yup. All the comforts of home," Jim replied far too cheerfully.

"Except hot water," Blair said sourly. He ignored Jim's chuckle while he slid his shoes on, filled a small pot with water from the hand pump, and turned on the propane stove to heat it. A hurried trip to the outhouse -- damn, but it was cold! -- had him back before the water boiled. Jim had finished cleaning the trout and had found a large iron skillet to cook the fillets in. The sizzle and aroma was mouthwatering, and Blair found he couldn't wait.

Along with the essentials in cooking utensils, the cabin sported ancient, chipped stoneware plates and coffee mugs, and they didn't look too bad after a rinse with cold well water. He found the instant coffee and made them each a cup as Jim seared the thin fillets and slapped them onto plates.

Blair sighed. "No lemon, no herbs -- remind me to pick up cornmeal in town, would you? -- no sugar or milk for the coffee..."

"Add it to the list, Julia Child," Jim said placidly, putting the plates on the table. "Speaking of which... We'd better make some lists, don't you think?"

Blair's mouth was full of fresh trout, so he didn't answer, aside from a vigorous nod. He stood, retrieved his backpack and pulled a legal pad and pen from it.

"That's my professor," Jim said approvingly. "Always prepared. Were you a boy scout, Chief?" He laughed when Blair flipped him off.

Jim had woken with the sun that morning, feeling unaccountably relaxed and comfortable. There wasn't a sound for miles, other than that of nature, and his senses approved heartily. The fire had died down during the night and the room was frigid, but his sleeping bag was thermal insulated and cozy. He lay still for a while, just reveling in the peace. It had been an awfully long time since he'd had a vacation -- not that this was one, of course...

From across the room, he could hear Blair's breathing and heartbeat, steady and sure in sleep. The guy had shown -- again -- his resilience in the face of emergency by doing so well the day before. Sandburg was full of surprises. Someone else might have gone 'round the bend, but not him. Instead, he'd treated the whole thing almost like an adventure.

Glad he'd left his clothing on the night before, Jim unzipped his bag and swung his legs down, sliding his feet back into his boots before they could touch the floor. He quietly put more logs in the fireplace and added some kindling, and soon the fire was burning briskly and the cabin was warming up. He sat back down on his sleeping bag and looked fondly at Blair -- or rather, looked fondly at the few brown curls that were showing over the top of the other sleeping bag. Then he rose, pulled on his coat, and went out.

Blair hadn't brought in the rods and reels the night before, and Jim checked them out. They were decent -- not top of the line, but not bad either. The small tackle box that came along with them had a few good lures, and Jim decided to walk down to the river he could hear at the bottom of the small hill the cabin sat on, to see what he could catch for breakfast. A quick stop at the outhouse, and he was on his way.

The sun was still a bright glow behind the mountain as Jim landed his first trout. They were hungry and almost attacked the lures, making his job easy. The river wasn't wide at that point -- only about ten feet -- but it was deep and fast, and the trout were flashes of brown among the weeds. Within half an hour, he had five large brown trout laid out on the grass next to him, and he was beginning to string them together to get them back to the house. A noise on the other side of the stream made him freeze in the act of turning to go back up to the cabin -- it was a medium-sized brown bear, a mama with two beautiful cubs at her side. She was thin and must have gotten out of the den not that long before. Jim was downwind of her and she hadn't noticed him, thank God.

Moving slowly and carefully, Jim pulled two of the trout off his line and threw them hard, so that they went over the stream to land a bit behind and to the bear's right, downstream of the cabin. At the sound, she turned immediately, growling deep in her throat, but when she saw the fish, she jumped on them. Jim waited, frozen in place, hoping the wind wouldn't turn and he wouldn't be noticed. She didn't notice him as she hungrily devoured the fish and, once done, she moved off away, downstream. Jim sighed in relief, then chuckled to himself as he watched the cubs run after their mom. He and Blair were going to have to be careful.

But the day was too beautiful for him to feel nervous for long. Without even thinking about it, he began to whistle as he walked back to the cabin.

Eating breakfast took no time at all, and clean-up was even easier, since they just rinsed their dishes in the ice cold well water and left them to dry. Another cup of coffee each and they were tossing ideas back and forth for what they needed in town. Blair had a long list of foodstuffs and other items, and Jim couldn't argue about it, since they wanted to stay out of town as much as possible. The fewer people that saw them, the less likely they were to be identified.

"How long do you think we'll need to hang out up here, anyway?" Blair asked as he jotted down more essentials. "I'm gonna miss taking a hot shower. I can guarantee it."

Jim grinned at Blair over his coffee cup. "You already are, Junior," he said, then grinned wider when Blair glared at him. "We stay until we figure out what to do," Jim finally said. "And right now, I haven't got a clue. Do you?"

Blair shook his head, grimacing. "Nope. Dammit."

"We'll think of something. There's not a lot to do out here but think," Jim added. "And after we talk to Simon today, it'll be clearer."

"I hope so." Blair looked down at the long list of items and sighed. "I think that's it. I hope that's it."

"Yeah." Jim finished his coffee, grimacing at the bitter flavor of the instant. "Listen. I saw a big metal tub hanging off a hook outside. Maybe we can rig up either a bath or a shower for us."

"Well, that'd help," Blair said dubiously. "And my hair being short will help, too. It's easier to care for. Okay. Are we ready?"

"Yeah. Let's hit it." Jim banked up the fire, then followed Blair outside, securing the door carefully. "By the way," he said as he climbed behind the wheel of the truck, "we're going to have to be careful with trash and food. I saw a mama bear with cubs across the river this morning."

"Really?" Blair said, turning wide eyes to Jim. "And I'll bet there are coons and possums and rabbits and..."

"Yeah. I saw what looked like a rabbit warren down the hill a bit last night," Jim confirmed. "You got a recipe for rabbit stew, Chief? Only meat that will keep will be stuff we kill up here."

"I have a wonderful recipe for rabbit, Jim," Blair said, bouncing in his seat. "Several of 'em, in fact. You kill 'em, I'll clean 'em and cook 'em. I wonder what vegetables we can keep fresh?"

They talked about fish and game cooking all the way back into town, a careful trip of about thirty minutes. Jim paused before they actually hit Clayton Falls, listening intently. He was aware of Blair's hand on his arm, grounding him. "I don't hear anything out of the ordinary, Chief," he said finally. The thought of being around people was getting him nervous again. "Let's go on in."

They stuck to the back of the town, staying down and unobtrusive. There was a medium-sized grocery store -- with a large "going out of business" banner in the window -- next to Earl Flouter's Shell station, and that provided them with ninety percent of their supply list. The rest they purchased at the general store next to the diner. Earl's station was equipped with a pay phone that was off the road and out of sight behind his garage, and Jim parked the truck in front of it to further mask them. Blair had restocked his change purse and, after they made their purchases, they pulled the truck next to the phone and started their calls.

"Where should I call? His cell?" Blair asked Jim.

"Wait... No," Jim said, looking at his watch. "Let's call Rhonda and leave him a message to step out for a while. Just in case there's anybody nosing around the bullpen. Then we'll call his cell in fifteen."

"Okay," Blair agreed. "I'd like to call Robert too. I know his cell phone number."

"Right. Start with Rhonda."

Blair fed coins into the pay phone and dialed Cascade directly. After feeding even more coins for the long distance call, he was finally able to ring Rhonda's desk. She answered with a brisk, "Major Crime. Rhonda speaking."

"Rhonda? Don't say anything, but it's Blair. I've got Jim with me. Can you give Simon a message for us?"

There was dead silence for a moment and Jim, who was pressed up against Blair and listening, could hear her inhale. "I'm sorry. Si-- Captain Banks is not available. Can I take a message?"

"Good! I knew we could count on you. Tell him to take a break in fifteen and bring his cell. Got it?" Blair grinned at Jim, who gave him a thumbs up.

"I'll be sure to pass the message on, ma'am," Rhonda said, and Jim grinned.

"I'm going to bring you flowers and chocolate when we get back," Blair said, and Jim could hear her heart beating steadily, and could almost see the smile in her voice.

"I'm certain that'll be fine, ma'am," Rhonda said, and Blair hung up.

"One down, two to go," Blair muttered, picking up the phone and feeding coins. "Have a listen around for anyone paying attention to us, okay?" he asked, beginning to dial.

"Right. Give me a nudge when you want me to start timing," Jim muttered. He scanned the immediate area, but no one was around. There was a guy trying to pick up what sounded like a fellow cashier on break behind the supermarket. Earl Flouter was humming tunelessly to himself as he worked on a car in his shop. The waitress at the diner was having a strange argument with the short-order cook. A baby was being fussy somewhere, but Jim could hear its mother crooning to it. Then Blair nudged him, and he glanced at his watch, noting the time.

"Robert? Blair." Jim kept scanning and paid cursory attention to the conversation. "I told you, you jerk! No one has contacted you, have they?" A TV was on in the motel, playing a soap opera. "No, it's running fine. Yes, we're both okay, but we're laying low." The manager at the market had caught the two cashiers and was yelling at them. "No I'm not gonna tell you where we are!" Out on the interstate, far away, he could hear trucks downshifting. "If we do, I'll call you. Look, I've got to go, just in case. Just don't say anything to anybody. Okay...? Right... Uh-huh... Okay. Thanks, man. Yeah. I will. Bye."

Blair was well within their two minute window, so Jim hadn't even had to warn him. "Everything okay, Chief?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah. Robert can be such a schmuck. He did offer to help us get papers if we need 'em, though. I think he feels guilty about not believing me earlier." Blair grinned up at Jim, but Jim could see the strain around his mouth and eyes. "How long before we should call Simon?"

"Give it another ten, at least," Jim replied, looking at his watch. "I'll go get us a soda."

"Good."

Time seemed to crawl, but finally their time was up and Blair began feeding money into the phone again. "I feel like I'm playing a slot machine," he muttered.

Jim pressed up against Blair again as the call went through. It barely rang once before Simon answered with an explosive, "Banks!"

"Simon?" Blair gave Jim a funny look.

Simon was the only person Jim knew who could shout in a whisper. "Sandburg, do you have any idea what a damned fool thing you're doing?"

"Simon, we're both here and Jim's timing us. We just need to know you're okay," Blair said rapidly, soothingly.

Jim heard the heavy sigh on the other end of the phone. "I'm fine, Sandburg. We're all fine, aside from chewing our nails down to the quick. Are you two okay?"

"We're fine, sir," Jim said loud enough to be picked up.

"I take it you heard that," Blair said dryly. "We're all right. A little nervous, but all right."

"You have every right to be nervous," Simon said, his voice serious. "Wherever you are, stay there. I have no idea if I'm being watched, but I bet I am. The spooks showed up in my office even before my first cup of coffee this morning, and they were furious you'd slipped their net. Not, of course, that they said so -- in so many words."

Blair and Jim exchanged looks, and Blair inhaled sharply. "Okay," Blair acknowledged, his voice sounding odd.

"I tried to get them to admit what they wanted with you, but they kept claiming 'need to know' and 'state secrets,'" Simon continued. He sounded weary, as well as angry, and Jim felt a burst of sympathy for his friend and Captain. "They wanted me to confirm your military record, Jim. There wasn't much I could do about that. I think they're going to try and blackmail you into working for them."

Over my dead and decaying body, Jim thought savagely. Aloud, he asked, "Who put out the APB?" Casually, Jim draped his arm around Blair's shoulders, hoping to ease his friend's tension.

"That was me," Simon replied, sounding very smug. "They had it revoked within twelve hours, but I figured it might have helped, while you were on the run, to be picked up by State Troopers rather than some X-Files refugees," he continued. "If you were going to be picked up, that is. I was hoping not."

"Thanks, Simon," Jim said, smiling. "It was a good idea, though it scared the crap out of us for a bit. And thanks for trying to cover for us. Just don't do anything that'll get you in any deeper with those assholes, okay?" He glanced at his watch. "It's getting on to two minutes."

"Right." Jim heard Simon swallow. "Be careful, you two. And this was a good idea, but don't get used to it. Jim, you're officially on leave. Sandburg, I called the campus for you and covered for you as best I could."

"Thanks, Simon," Blair said, biting his lip. "We've gotta go."

"Good luck," Simon said softly and, before they could hang up, he cut the connection.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of domesticity. Blair worked on making sure their food wouldn't be ruined by bugs or animals, and discovered a shallow -- a very shallow -- root cellar that made storing the newly-vegetables much easier. The only items they'd bought that had to be kept cold were two dozen eggs and a pound of butter. Those they kept in the small cooler, along with a bag of ice, that Blair had purchased at the Wal-Mart. Then, the whole thing was put into the root cellar. Later, when the eggs and butter were gone, they'd reassess their stock of food.

Jim found a huge stack of uncut wood on the side of the cabin opposite the outhouse, and spent a good portion of the day chopping it up into usable pieces. There was also a mound of compost behind the outhouse, which, he discovered, was actually built over a small granite fault in the hill. Very deep, very clean and, apparently, far enough from the well. He reported that the water from the pump had a slight taste of mineral to him -- mostly silicon and iron -- but it was pure and exceedingly cold.

Jim also dragged the large metal tub into the cabin, and they spent some time heating water for bathing, taking turns. Blair couldn't understand why he felt so self-conscious being naked in front of Jim -- it was hardly the first time he'd been undressed before other people. There was even that time in Sumatra where he had to wear what the natives wore, which wasn't much more than a large penis-sheath. He told himself it was because it was Jim -- and found that didn't help matters much.

By late afternoon, they had run out of chores and couldn't avoid the larger issue anymore. Forcing himself to turn his brain back to the emergency at hand, Blair put a pad of paper and a couple of pens on the table, then opened two beers. When Jim came in from re-hanging the tub outside, he stopped dead, looking at the table. "I... Uh, I guess this means we need to talk," he said slowly, rubbing his shoulder and grimacing.

Blair sat nervously at the table, playing with one of the pens. "Well, yeah. We're pretty much done until dinner, and we can't go on avoiding it, you know."

"Yeah." Jim pulled out the chair opposite Blair and sat, still rubbing his shoulder. "What's for dinner, anyway?"

"We've got that ham," Blair replied, frowning at Jim. "I was going to cut us a couple of ham steaks and serve them with some vegetables... You all right?"

Jim gave him a quick smile. "Yeah. My shoulder's not used to chopping that much wood. Forgot how hard it was. The beer will help. Thanks. Let's hit it."

Blair took a deep breath. "Right. Let's start with what we know, okay?"

"Well, that's damned little, Chief," Jim replied. "We know Brackett worked for the CIA, but he wasn't working for them when we met him."

"Right, right. And, according to Jack, he'd been working for himself for, like, close to ten years." Blair scribbled that down on his pad and turned sober eyes to Jim. "We know what kind of business now, too... don't we?"

"Free lance," Jim said, his voice grim. "I remember Kelso said he was amoral... Well, I think he proved that the other day. It doesn't surprise me that they'd welcome him back."

"But he killed an agent, Jim," Blair protested, leaning back. "Doesn't that mean anything to them? Anything at all?"

Jim was shaking his head. "Apparently not," he said. "Apparently, I'm worth more than an agent's life." He sounded thoroughly disgusted. "And that's what really worries me about this, Chief. If the guys in black are after me because of what Brackett told them, then they've got the full scoop -- everything Brackett had on me," Jim looked sadly at Blair, and continued, "and everything you've published about Sentinels."

"Shit." Blair tossed his pen down. "I knew there was a reason why I was avoiding this conversation." He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses for a moment, breathing deeply to calm down. When he refocused on Jim, he saw Jim staring at him, an enigmatic expression on his face.

"I'm sorry, Blair," Jim said softly.

"Oh quit saying that," Blair replied testily. "It's not your fault. And besides, we're supposed to be brainstorming a way out of this, not assigning blame. Right?"

Jim sighed and looked away. "Yeah. A way out."

"Right. I mean, we're safe here, for now. But we can't stay here indefinitely. I like camping as much as the next guy, you know, but it gets pretty fucking cold up here in the winter." Blair tried to imbue his voice with humor, but could tell it was falling flat. "And I don't think we want to stay in the U.S., either. Right?"

Shaking his head, but not meeting Blair's eyes, Jim said, "No, it's probably not a good idea. But Canada is out, too."

"Too cold anyway," Blair muttered, relieved to hear Jim's amused snort. "Hey, how about South America? Peru? You lived there for eighteen months, man. And that jungle is intense."

Jim made a face as he thought about it. "Yeah. If we could get there, we could probably disappear -- with the Chopec at least. I could, anyway. You know, Chief, there's no reason why you have to go with me wherever I go."

Blair smacked his hand on the table, hard, and made Jim jump. "Goddammit, Ellison, I'm getting tired of saying this, so you'd better listen this time." He ducked his head until he could meet Jim's eyes, then held onto them with his own angry glare. "We are in this together. Together. You and me. Brackett didn't want just you, he wanted you and me. They're not going to want just you, Jim! They're going to want both of us. Both. Of. Us. Capische?"

Jim swallowed and his face melted into a sweet, somewhat wry smile. "You're a pushy bastard, aren't you, Sandburg?" he asked softly.

"You better believe it, man," Blair replied, grinning. "Two heads are better than one, here, Jim. So, let's get cracking. You think we could make it to Peru?"

They argued the possibilities of leaving the country and the various scenarios for doing so, as well as hiding in some large city in the U.S. As dusk fell, they lit the lanterns and Blair sliced off two large chunks of the smoked ham hanging from the rafters to begin cooking dinner, but they never stopped talking, never stopped bringing up and discarding ideas.

After Blair proposed a particularly grandiose plan involving crates with false bottoms, cargo planes, decoys, infra-red detectors, smoke bombs and breathing apparatus, Jim called a timeout. "You've watched far too many James Bond movies, Double-Oh Seven," he said, laughing as he set the table for their dinner. "And anyway, I'm not all that certain that leaving the country is actually the way to go, here. It just means we'll be forever on the run."

Blair glared at him over his shoulder. The ham was sizzling in the iron skillet and the fresh vegetables were blanching. "Hey, do I look like David Janssen to you?" he asked. "I don't like it, either, but what other options do we have?" He grabbed the skillet roughly to move it off the heat, and part of his hand missed the rag he had wrapped around the handle, touching the hot metal. He yelped and let go.

Immediately Jim was there, grabbing his hand and shoving it into the cool water in the sink. "Shit, Chief! Are you okay?" he asked, examining the hand intently.

"Yeah, I'm okay... I don't think it's badly burned," Blair replied, wincing. The area was red, but didn't look like it would blister. "Stupid. I should know better."

"It's not stupid. It's just a little clumsy," Jim said, reaching around Blair and turning the fire off on the stove. It left him with one arm holding Blair's hand and the other wrapped around Blair's waist.

Blair froze, hardly daring to breathe as he realized how close they were pressed, how tightly Jim was holding him. And, he suddenly realized, Jim was holding him. It wasn't just the way they were standing... Because Jim's other hand was now curling around his hip and gently nudging Blair into Jim's chest.

"Is this all right, Chief?" Jim asked, his voice tentative and husky, and Blair knew he wasn't referring to the burn. Not that burn, anyway.

Blair closed his eyes as he felt Jim's mouth on his ear, delicately tracing the outline of it with his lips and tongue. Blindly, he turned in Jim's arms and tipped his head up, feeling those soft lips move across his face and finally -- finally -- latch onto his mouth. Drowning in the incredible sweetness, Blair let himself go, to just react, just feel. His injured hand came out of the water and wrapped around Jim's shoulder, while the other hand grabbed a fistful of Jim's shirt and tugged them even closer to each other. He felt one of Jim's hands on his head, tipping it to a better angle and tangling in short curls while Jim deepened the kiss and Blair felt as though he were dying of the pleasure he found in Jim's warm, wonderful, silky mouth...

They slowly broke apart, gasping, and Blair opened his eyes to see Jim looking down at him, need and desire etched in every line of his face. "Oh God," Blair breathed, dropping his forehead to Jim's shoulder. "This is such a bad idea," he moaned, still clutching at Jim.

"We've been heading this way for a while, Chief," Jim muttered roughly, running one hand through Blair's hair while the other stroked down his back.

"I know, I know," Blair replied, leaning into the caresses. "And I want it. Oh, God... How I want it..."

He heard Jim swallow hard. "But it's not a good time now, is it?" he asked. "Not here. Not on the run like this."

"No," Blair reluctantly agreed. "I want nothing more than to throw you down and fuck you senseless, Ellison," he said, his voice suddenly harsh in his desire. He couldn't pull back to look at Jim -- he knew he'd lose it if he did. "I have since I first laid eyes on you."

"Same here, Chief. Same here," Jim replied, nearly crushing Blair to him in a viselike hold.

"Fucking black suits... Fucking Brackett... Fucking..." Jim tipped Blair's head back and kissed him silent, swallowed his muttered words and his anger until nothing was left but white-hot wanting.

This time, when they pulled away, Blair forced himself to put a little distance between the two of them. He could feel Jim fighting for the same restraint, and abruptly turned away, put his back to Jim so he couldn't see the searing heat in those intense blue eyes again. After a few minutes, he got himself enough under control to speak. "There's always something, isn't there? This crisis, working with you at the PD, the dissertation..." he trailed off, a sudden thought coming to him.

"Right now, we've got to concentrate on getting out of this -- this trap," Jim finished for him. Blair was gratified to hear the tremor in his voice, since it matched his own. "But as soon as we do, Sandburg..."

"Count on it, man," Blair whispered. "Count on it."

Jim almost didn't want to eat, didn't want to erase the taste of Blair from his mouth. But the ham steaks smelled mouthwateringly good, and the vegetables were just tender-crisp perfection. And the promise in Blair's smoky blues was enough to rekindle the sense-memory of their passion any time he cared to glance into them. Which was often. No one ever said that Ellison wasn't a masochist.

But now, there was something else in those eyes besides want. Jim could tell that Blair was twisting a puzzle in his mind -- working something out even as he shoveled ham and vegetables into his mouth. If there was anyone who could get them out of the trap they found themselves in, it was Sandburg, Jim knew. He just had to wait for the brainiac to come up with something. Something other than the rube goldberg ideas he'd had before dinner.

Blair looked up again and met Jim's eyes.

Okay, so Jim hadn't taken his eyes off of the guy, except to figure out where to cut his ham. They smiled at each other, and Jim said, "I know that look, Sandburg. You're thinking. Better come clean."

Smile turning wry, Blair swallowed his mouthful of food and washed it down with a swig of water. "I was just trying to figure out our options," he said slowly. He leaned back in his chair and toyed with his vegetables. "What you said earlier... That if we went to Peru we'd just be on the run for the rest of our lives, basically. Right?"

"Yeah," Jim replied, cautiously.

"Then... what if we don't run?"

Jim shook his head and frowned. "Chief, you don't want to go to work for these clowns. I mean, I know the spy gig looks glamorous, but trust me, it isn't. I had enough of that shit in covert ops."

"You were in covert ops?" Blair asked, blinking. "When?"

"If I told you that, I'd have to kill you," Jim replied, grinning. "Why do you think a CIA spook debriefed the team that pulled me out of Peru? No, we don't want to go that route," Jim shook his head decisively. "Why do you think I'm running from them? They'd get their hooks in us and that'd be the end."

"Actually, that's not exactly what I was thinking of," Blair said, ducking his head and scooping another bite of food into his mouth.

Jim looked at him askance. "Then, what?"

Blair deliberately put his fork on his plate and took a deep breath. "Okay. What about -- we come clean. You come out as a Sentinel, work at the PD as a Sentinel, and then--"

Abruptly suffused with terror and anger, Jim started shaking his head 'no' before Blair had even finished, pushing himself away from the table and Blair angrily.

"Jim, wait," Blair pleaded. "It's a good idea! They can't touch you if everyone knows about you!"

"No, no, no!" Jim stood and began collecting their dinnerware, still shaking his head, almost yelling in denial. "I don't want that, Sandburg. I am not a freak, not some kind of a trained seal to be put on parade for everyone to gawk at!"

"It wouldn't be like that, Jim," Blair said earnestly, trying to ignore Jim's negative body language. "Think about it. You've almost come out, like, five times in the past month or two. Sonia spent our whole date yesterday asking me how you could have possibly known that those people at the opera house weren't dead but just asleep." Jim turned around and walked away, ignoring Blair's impassioned speech, carrying his plate to the sink. "And Beverly Sanchez has to know something's up, just from the Juno case!" Blair continued, his voice rising as Jim moved away from him. "Jim!"

Jim knew he was shutting down, but he couldn't help it. The idea of the whole world knowing about his freakish abilities just turned his stomach. Way back in the recesses of his mind, he could still hear his father yelling at him -- calling him a freak, telling him to hide, not to be seen, not to show the world what he could do. "Forget it," he growled, pumping more water into the sink.

His shoulder twinged and Jim winced, rolling it. "I said forget it!" he said, loudly over Blair's next attempt to talk. "It's not going to happen, it's not an option, Sandburg."

To Jim's surprise, Blair didn't argue further, just joined him at the sink with his own cleaned plate. Silently, together, they cleaned up the detritus of dinner-making and wrapped the few bits of garbage in one of the heavy-duty plastic garbage bags purchased earlier in the day.

As they finished up, Blair turned to him and quietly said, "Your shoulder is really bothering you, isn't it? Go lie down -- let me rub it out."

"It's all right," Jim said tonelessly, deliberately avoiding Blair's eyes.

"Don't be a martyr, Jim," Blair said sharply. "If it hurts, I can help. Let me help you."

Jim clenched his jaw and ground his back teeth, but a touch on his arm derailed his forced attempt at anger. He turned and, once he saw the same beautiful blue eyes that had been looking at him with such passion earlier, he couldn't help but relent. "All right," he said grudgingly. He went back to the table and sat on his chair -- he didn't know what would happen if he dared to lie down on the cot.

Blair built up the fire, adding to the warmth of the room, then stepped behind Jim and felt his shoulder carefully. "Yeah, you've got a fine knot there. I can fix this. But it would be easier if you took off your shirt, you know."

Wordlessly, Jim peeled the flannel shirt off his shoulders, then pulled the Henley he wore under it off, as well. The room was warm enough that he didn't feel in the least bit chilled, though he knew the cold night was descending outside. Blair's large, square hands felt wonderful on his skin, and it was all he could do to hold in a moan as those hands found the ache and began beating it out of him. Within a few minutes, he was leaning on the table, his head on his crossed arms, and Blair was massaging him into so much wacky dough.

"Your abilities don't make you a freak, you know," Blair said softly. Though Jim tried to tense up, he was so relaxed, he simply couldn't. "Who made you think so?" Blair asked in that same caring, soft voice. "Who called you a freak, Jim?"

Jim swallowed back a lump and tried to force words out. Finally, he whispered harshly, "My dad." Blair's hands paused briefly, then continued their ministrations. "I heard stuff -- you know? And saw it, too. All kinds of stuff, about neighbors, and... and other things. And when I tried to tell him, he -- he told me to forget it. That people would think I was a freak. That it was all nonsense, and I was just -- just pretending." As he finished -- in a whisper -- Jim could hear Blair's heartbeat speed up and his breathing stutter.

But Blair's voice was still the same, still calm and soothing. "Then you've had your abilities since you were a child?"

"Yeah," Jim replied, blinking as he thought about it. "I -- I didn't really remember, I guess. I didn't have all that great of a family life, Chief. My dad... my dad raised me and my brother, Stevie. Mom was gone -- she took off when I was little." Jim sighed. "I guess I repressed it. Wasn't all that much to remember, anyway."

"And your dad called you a freak." Blair sounded furious, and Jim wondered. "You are not a freak, Jim. You are about as far from it as you can get. You are a decent, kind, good-hearted person who has a gift -- a great gift -- and if your son-of-a-bitch father couldn't understand that, well... that's his loss." Jim kept his head down as he listened to Blair's sotto voce rant continue. "Goddamn it. There ought to be a law in this country that no one can raise a child without a license. It's criminal what some idiots get away with. Son of a..."

Slowly, Jim raised his head and turned to look at Blair. To his surprise, Blair's eyes were glittering with unshed tears and his face was red with rage. Jim just stared, until Blair leaned down, grabbed his face in both hands and pressed a hard, hungry kiss to his lips. Then he broke away and pressed his forehead against Jim's. "You are not a freak," he rasped. "And I'll keep telling you that until the end of time, if you want."

Something brittle and cold broke open inside of Jim at Blair's words, and he smiled helplessly. "It sounds good to me," he said hoarsely.

"Count on it, man, count on it," Blair said, then pulled Jim's head onto his stomach and just held him tightly.

Jim buried his nose in Blair's shirt and breathed deeply, imprinting Blair's scent into his memory. "Thanks, Chief," he murmured, and Blair patted his back reassuringly. After a few minutes, he reluctantly pulled away and smiled up at Blair again. "We oughta hit the hay, Sandburg. Those trout get hungry at dawn, and I'd like some of that batter-fried stuff you were talking about this morning."

"It's a deal, man," Blair said, grinning. "But you'll have to teach me how to cast. I've never been fly-fishing."

"You haven't?" Jim asked incredulously, as he stood and rotated his shoulder. The pain was completely gone. "It's not like it's even sporting out there, those fish are so hungry. But if you want it, my little guppy, I'll be glad to give you your first fly-fishing lesson."

Blair laughed. "You are so weird!" he said, heading for the door to the outside.

Blair didn't think he'd sleep well following Jim's awful admission. However, the darkness and quiet were so complete that staying awake was impossible. Just as he closed his eyes, it seemed, he opened them to dim sunlight. The fire in the fireplace was just catching, and Jim was nowhere in sight, which meant he was probably visiting the outhouse. Blair closed his eyes and let his mind wander back to their incredible kiss of the evening before... and then he remembered Jim's revelation. He had a brother, too -- could his brother also carry the Sentinel gifts? And what an evil, vicious thing his father had done, to tell an impressionable young boy that he was a freak.

Blair felt the same choking rage from the night before rise again, and he struggled to shove it back down. Naomi would tell him to let it go, it was in the past, it was over... detach with love and move on. Well, that was pretty fucking hard to do when the person who had been hurt was the one person he loved more than...

Whoa. Love?

That thought brought Blair up short. Yeah, he wanted Jim and, apparently, Jim wanted him -- which was pretty fucking cool. But love? Did he really love the big lug? That anal-retentive, follicle-challenged, quick-tempered, smart-mouthed jerk?

Just then, the front door popped open and the object of his thoughts burst into the room, rubbing his hands briskly. He was wearing the same wrinkled clothes from the night before, his face was red from the cold, and what little hair he had was standing straight up in little clumps. "Rise and shine, Chief," he said cheerfully. "It's going to be a great day."

Yeah. It was love. Goddamn it.

Blair yanked his sleeping bag over his head. "Okay, okay," he moaned from the depths. "In a little bit. When it's warmer."

"Fish aren't gonna wait for you, sleepy-head," Jim said, turning the stove on. Within a few minutes, the smell of fresh coffee filled the cabin and persuaded Blair to emerge from his cocoon like some mutant, hairy butterfly. "It'll be ready by the time you've visited the outhouse, Chief," Jim chuckled as Blair blinked owlishly at him and fumbled for his glasses.

"Oh, all right," Blair sighed, reluctantly starting his day.

One cup of coffee later, they were walking down to the river with rods and reels in hand. Jim was impressed by Blair's native casting technique and, shortly, they had landed a pair of trout each. Once again, the fish seemed ravenous, snapping at the lures almost viciously. There was no hint of the mama bear this morning, though Jim pointed out bear sign on the opposite side of the stream to Blair, and also showed him where a rabbit warren ended.

Blair was enthusiastic about rabbit and, all the way back to the cabin with their catch, he described a succulent dish of stewed rabbit with vegetables and herbs. "You shoot me two good-sized ones early today," he said to Jim as they began cleaning the fish, "and we'll eat like kings tonight."

"Snare, Chief," Jim disagreed. "I don't want to call attention to us by using my gun. It'll have to be a snare." He looked thoughtfully out the window over the sink. "Too bad I don't have a bow. That'd be even better."

"Couldn't you make one?" Blair asked curiously.

"Nah. Wrong kind of wood," Jim explained tersely.

While Jim cleaned the fish, Blair mixed up the cornmeal and egg batter, then dipped and fried the thin fillets Jim gave him. Within a few minutes, they were sitting down to breakfast, gorging on fresh trout. "'S good, Chief," Jim mumbled, with his mouth full. Blair beamed at him.

After getting up to pour himself another cup of coffee, Jim sat back at the table and turned his attention back to his fish. "Um, Sandburg..." he said, and Blair looked up. Jim kept his eyes on his plate. "About what you were saying last night..."

"Yeah?" Blair frowned. He'd said a lot last night. Which one was Jim -- in his usual, round-about fashion -- talking about?

"What did you have in mind, exactly? About coming out, with the Sentinel stuff, I mean."

Ah. Tread carefully here, Blair, he thought. "Well, basically, my thought was that if everyone knew what you could do, what you were, the black suits couldn't really touch you." Jim frowned, and Blair continued, his voice taking on a teaching cadence. "It would make you visible. The whole problem here is that no one -- well, they think no one -- knows about you, or would even believe what you can do. Therefore you're their perfect weapon -- their perfect stealth weapon. They can grab you and study you and force you to work for them... and there's not much you can do about it except refuse. And if you did, God knows what they'd do to coerce you then.

"But if everyone knows about you, if your abilities are known and measured, they'd have no real hold over you," Blair said, still explaining, still selling his idea to Jim, who was sitting like a rock across the table from him. "You'd still be a cop, but you'd be a Sentinel cop. No one in their right mind would try to grab you under the table. The outcry would just be too much. You see? You'd be far too visible."

"Known and measured, huh?" Jim repeated thoughtfully, gazing into his cup. "That would imply..."

"Yeah," Blair said with a sigh. "It'd mean that I'd have to finish my dissertation. Get my Ph.D. so that I could demonstrate to anyone who wanted to know -- I suppose that mostly means the people in the courtroom -- what you can and can't do, what you're capable of." He gave Jim a lopsided grin. "I'd have to be the acknowledged expert on Jim, I guess. And on any other Sentinel that popped up... if only to protect them from the black suits."

"You would still have to be my partner," Jim said slowly. "You'd still have to be out there with me. Right?"

Blair swallowed. "Well, yeah. But I wouldn't have to be with you all the time if you didn't want me--"

"I want, Chief," Jim interrupted him softly, still staring into his cup as if the answer to all their problems lay there. "You've already proven yourself in the field. Hell, you reacted better in this situation than most seasoned cops would."

Indescribably pleased, Blair grinned. "Thanks, Jim."

"Don't let it go to your head, Junior," Jim said with a lopsided smile. "But... you think this would work? How long of a process are we talking about, here?"

"I -- I don't know," Blair said, thinking hard. "I think -- I'm pretty sure -- I have enough data on your senses to write the dissertation. Here's the thing," he added, standing and beginning to pace. "Before I met you, I'd kind of given up on ever finding a real Sentinel. So I had written parts of the paper based on those people that have one, two or three senses enhanced... Partial Sentinels, sort of. I've probably got -- oh, I don't know, four chapters written? And they're good, almost good enough to publish." Blair sat back down and studied the ceiling. Though he was still talking, it was mostly to himself. "I could rewrite those, using the data I have for you. Or... better yet, compare it to the data I have for you. Yeah, that could work."

Refocusing on Jim, Blair continued. "I'd have to talk to Eli -- Eli Stoddard is my mentor at Rainier and he's on my committee -- and Sidney. Sidney's my advisor. But I'd rather deal with Eli, and anyway, Eli has seen everything I've written, and Sidney hasn't. I mean, he's seen a lot of it, but he hasn't seen it all."

"You sure you can trust this Stoddard person?" Jim asked, his face skeptical.

"Yeah," Blair said firmly. Then he frowned in thought for a minute, before adding, "Maybe we should give him a call. He'd be able to help us."

"Not today, Chief," Jim said, shaking his head warningly.

"No, not today," Blair agreed. "Let me go over my notes and see what I have... I'm pretty sure I brought it all with me. And my laptop's battery should work for another couple of hours. I'll know better where I stand later today."

"Okay." Jim put his cup down on the table and gave Blair a half-grin. "Let's... try that, then. Maybe that's the best plan."

"Yeah," Blair agreed, smiling.

Jim stayed out of Blair's way for most of that day, for which Blair was grateful. He dragged out all his notebooks and began the Herculean task of outlining -- in pen -- his dissertation. It had been simply too early for him to consider anything like this before, but now he needed to know what he had, and whether it would be sufficient.

Just around noon, Jim walked into the cabin bearing two fat, bloody carcasses. "Dinner, Chief," he said, tossing the partially cleaned rabbits into the sink and pumping water on them.

Blair shook his head hard to clear it and stretched, then stood and walked over to the sink. "Oh cool! Those are perfect. I'll take over from here -- you wash up." He poured salt in the water covering the rabbits. "What'd you do with the heads and innards? I don't want scavengers nosing about tonight."

"Don't worry. I cleaned them down by the river and fed the carp. Wanted to get them to you early enough for your stew tonight." He watched as Blair finished cleaning the rabbits and began cutting them up into chunks.

"No sweat. I'll get this started and let it cook all day while I go over my notes." The stew recipe called for a long cooking time, which suited Blair -- he could fill the cabin with fragrant and appetizing smells while he concentrated on writing. Working quickly and diligently, he noticed Jim standing by the sink, his arms crossed over his chest, watching. "What?" he asked, looking up with a puzzled grin.

"Nothing," Jim said with a shrug. "It's just that you handle those like a pro. A lot of people would be grossed out by it. You must have had lots of practice."

"Been on lots of expeditions -- 'cause it sure wasn't something Naomi taught me," Blair muttered, quickly and carefully deboning one rabbit. "She's a militant vegan. But she'll still cook my favorite meat dish for me when I ask -- tongue. I love that stuff."

"Eww..." Jim said, making a face and turning away. "Excuse me while I go clean the outhouse to rid my palate of that image." Blair laughed as Jim left the cabin.

The stew bubbled and cooked all afternoon while Blair sat at the table and wrestled with his dissertation. Every now and then, he could hear Jim puttering outside the cabin -- chopping wood, doing something with the truck, or making other odd noises. It made for a pleasant background.

Almost before Blair knew it, it was getting dark, and Jim was dragging the tub into the cabin and lighting the oil lamps. "I really need a bath today, Chief," he said, putting the tub before the fireplace. "So, I call first dibs."

"Go for it, man," Blair replied tiredly. "I didn't work up much of a sweat -- I'll settle for a wash up when you're done." He stretched his arms out above his head in a spine-cracker, and winced when he actually heard the pops. "I've been sitting here too long."

"Yep," Jim agreed, putting a cauldron of water over the fire and another pot on the stove to heat.

It took the better part of an hour to heat enough water to make taking a bath something other than an arctic expedition, and after Blair tested the stew, he decided that about the time Jim would be done, the stew would be, as well. He went out to visit the outhouse before it became completely dark and was pleased -- but not altogether surprised -- to find his partner had cleaned the tiny room until it was virtually immaculate, as well as having backfilled the hole with some of the mulch. The wolf spiders that had haunted the outhouse must be trembling in fear, he thought.

The evening sky was a gorgeous red and purple, and Blair stood just outside the light of the cabin, enjoying it and breathing deeply of the lovely, clear mountain air. Spending the day hunched over books and notes gave him a better appreciation of nature and made him realize that, even though they were on the run, there were still beautiful things to experience, things that no one could ever take away from him.

One of which was stripped to his boxers and filling the metal tub with hot water as Blair opened the door to the cabin. Blair stood just inside the cabin, frozen in place as he watched the rippling muscles of Jim's back. Jim must have heard him come in for, as he finished dumping the last of the boiling water into the tub, he asked, without turning, "You want me to fill the pot back up for you, Chief?"

When Blair didn't answer immediately, Jim turned and gave him a puzzled look, then blinked and swallowed. He put the big cauldron down slowly, never breaking eye contact with Blair, and took a step towards him. "Sandburg?"

Blair's mouth was dry and his heart hammered. This was so not a good idea. Jim was his research subject. They were on the run, pursued, and didn't have time for any of this stuff. He opened his mouth to say so, but all that came out was, "God."

"No... Jim," Jim said, his voice wry, but his eyes intense.

"Wise ass," Blair murmured as Jim took another step towards him. The gliding way that Jim was moving and the smoky intensity of his eyes reminded Blair of a big stalking cat, but no cat ever had muscles that gleamed golden in the light of fire and oil lamps.

"Your wise ass," Jim said softly. He took another step. "I -- I think I want this, now, Chief," he said hoarsely. He stretched out one hand to touch Blair's cheek.

"I do, too, Jim," Blair replied, leaning into the caress. "But the black suits... the diss..."

"I've never told you how much I hate that dissertation, have I?" Jim said conversationally.

Blair blinked. "Oh, my God," he said. Sudden clarity made him realize exactly why Jim fought his tests, why he made Blair coerce him or guilt him into taking them. "It threatens you, doesn't it? You've put it between us -- what you wanted to have. Us. It threatens and frightens you, doesn't it?"

"No!" Jim said instantly, then immediately backpedaled. "I... I don't know. But it does, though, doesn't it? It stands between us," Jim asked softly, taking another step and standing just inside Blair's personal space. "You... you have to be the professor, the researcher, and I... I'm..." he swallowed before continuing. "I'm your lab rat." He looked down, and Blair felt a white-hot stab of sympathy.

"No, Jim. No," he said softly, pressing Jim's hand to his cheek. "For now, yes, I have to be careful -- do you have any idea how much I'd like to go native and chuck it all? Oh, hell, I already am. I crossed the line when I started to help you with the Switchman case. But this would be -- doing this, it would be the last straw, don't you see? I can't -- I can't allow myself to do that. We can't. Not now. Especially not yet. But... when it's over..."

"When you're Doctor Sandburg?" Jim asked, forcing a smile on his face that didn't quite make it to his eyes.

"Dr. Sandburg is going to lock himself in a room with his research subject and not come out for a week," Blair said hoarsely. "At least."

Jim leaned in slowly and took a delicate, gentle kiss from Blair, who had to fight to keep from responding with all the pent-up passion he felt for this strong, vulnerable, gifted man. "I'm holding you to that, Teach," Jim said, leaning his forehead against Blair's. That, and their hands, was the only place their bodies touched.

It was one of the hardest things Jim had ever done -- managing to keep from jumping Blair Sandburg, bearing him to the floor of the cabin and loving him senseless. When he'd turned around from his bath and saw Blair standing there, staring at him with such naked yearning on his face, he had nearly come in his shorts. He'd certainly popped a boner with gratifying speed for such an old fart.

Blair Sandburg seemed to have that affect on him.

Instead, he'd managed to simply kiss the man and make a promise that, when they got out of this predicament, they'd fulfill every wish. And Jim had a lot of wishes. The primary one being the one he'd never voice, now -- the request to give up the dissertation.

They didn't speak again until after dinner. Jim had his bath -- taken quickly and efficiently in deference to their situation -- and Blair had washed up and changed clothes after him. Then Blair ladled out the stew and cut them both chunks of the thick, homemade brown bread the general store sold, and they sat to eat.

The stew was at least as delicious as it smelled, and it didn't last long. Between the two of them, there were no leftovers, and when Jim finally pushed away from the table, he patted his stomach appreciatively. "Spectacular, Chief," he said, smiling at Blair.

Blair grinned and colored in pleasure, and Jim felt another thrum of something go through him. Damn. He wanted to put that look on Blair's face all the time. He wanted to see what those eyes looked like lost in pleasure. He wanted to see what those sinful lips looked like locked around his dick. And he wanted it for a good, long time... maybe forever.

Damn again. He had it bad.

Clearing his suddenly tight throat, Jim said, "So, what's the verdict, Professor? Do you have enough to write this paper?"

Blair leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, shoving his plate out of the way. "Yeah," he said, slowly. "Yeah, I think so. It'll be a bit thin and, of course, I only have one subject. But I think I can fill it in with information about the police society and how a Sentinel functions within it."

"You don't mean actually doing the thin blue line crap, do you, Chief?" Jim asked, incredulous. "Come on."

"No, really," Blair said, grinning ear-to-ear. "The police force is your tribe, as much as Cascade is, Jim. Maybe more so. You have to function within the paradigms set up as much by outsiders as insiders -- as much by the voting public, who you protect, as your brothers in blue, who rely on you to do your job. In that respect, it's virtually the same as a primitive tribe." He fixed Jim with his intent gaze. "You spent time with the Chopec, and you've told me about some of it. Compare your tenure as an officer and a Sentinel with your tenure as a Sentinel to the Chopec -- you protected the entire tribe, but your day-to-day functioning was within the sphere of the warriors. Right?"

Jim blinked several times and his jaw dropped. "Well... huh." He considered it from that perspective, turning the idea around in his mind. While he mulled it over, Blair stood and collected their plates, moving them to the sink and pumping water into it. "Yeah. I guess I can see that," he finally said, standing and joining Blair.

"If I'd had several Sentinels to study, to compare, I could have written a dissertation that focused solely on their abilities, drawing and contrasting between them and their chosen professions. I could have used Burton as a springboard to prove or disprove his allegations that Sentinels are genetically designed to both serve and protect the tribe, whatever that tribe may be. Hell, I could have written reams on territoriality alone -- why a modern Sentinel doesn't want a roommate." He shot a wicked grin at Jim, who rolled his eyes. "But I don't have another Sentinel. Instead, I have you." Blair gave him a sweet smile that Jim found himself returning.

"But you can still do it, using that other stuff about the force, then," Jim said after a moment.

"Yeah, I think so, and I think it's viable." Blair stacked the rinsed dishes to air-dry. "I'll have to talk to Eli, though -- both as my mentor and as part of my committee. And it's not a brief process, getting a Ph.D. Even if I can hurry it along under the idea that it's an emergency, I have to write the thing, I have to submit it for approval, I have to defend it, I have to..."

"Okay. I get it," Jim said, nodding. "And while all this is going on, you have to be out there. Visible. Where the black suits can get to you."

"And you," Blair said seriously. "And I won't do anything to put you in danger, Jim. Anything."

"My protector," Jim said, tapping Blair's jaw with his fist.

"You'd better believe it," Blair replied, smiling smugly.

One thing was clear -- a long conversation with Eli Stoddard was called for, and they spent the rest of the evening and most of the next morning arguing about it. Jim rose before Blair, as usual, and this time used some of their eggs to make much-stuffed omelets. There was no cheese, but plenty of ham and vegetables, and they were both glad of a break from fish.

Blair started up the argument again as soon as he returned from the outhouse. "Jim, there's no two ways about it. I've got to talk to Eli at length. I don't know how else to do this."

Jim poured them both coffee and sat at the table. "Sandburg! You said this guy's your mentor. Don't you think the black suits know that and have taken it into account?"

"We're gonna have to chance it," Blair said. "I can't do this without Eli. Hell, I can't do any of it until I talk to him. I don't have a choice."

"And we don't have a choice! They trace the call, and that's all she wrote. Come on, Chief. Use your brain." Jim sipped his coffee and waited. He knew that Blair would figure something out sooner or later and, sure enough, by the time breakfast was over, Blair had an idea.

"Okay... how about this, then." Blair began pacing as he talked and his hands were flying wildly. "I call Eli at a time when I'll know he'll be there." Blair paused for a moment, frowning, then added, "What's today?"

"Monday," Jim replied.

"Okay, good. That's good. He's got office hours from one until four, and he wouldn't skip that. I call him at one-thirty, talk as fast as I can, and tell him to go see Jack." Blair looked hopefully at Jim, who nodded thoughtfully. "Jack can fill him in on what's happened. And Jack has a cell phone, so I can call Jack and tell him to talk to Eli, then set up a time when I can call back and talk to both of them. Jesus." Blair shook his head. "This whole thing is so Machiavellian."

"To get past these guys, you gotta think like them, Chief," Jim said.

"Well, do you think that'll do it?"

Jim thought hard for a few minutes while he finished rinsing out the coffee pot. "Reverse the order," he finally said, "and call Kelso, first, then call Stoddard. I think that'll do it."

"You know... I'm going to have to tell Eli about you." Blair looked troubled and his voice was tentative.

Jim looked at him in surprise. "I knew that, Chief," he said. "I kinda figured that out from the first. But you say we can trust this Stoddard, so... well, I'm willing to take the chance."

"Thanks, man," Blair said, smiling, and Jim reflected he'd do a lot to keep that smile there... even risk capture by the boys in black suits. Not that he really thought there was much chance of it... but you could never tell.

Clayton Falls was the same sleepy place it had been the last time they visited. This time, they didn't even stop at Earl's Shell station, but, instead, drove a few miles past the town to a truck stop just before the entrance to the interstate. Jim figured that the more pay phones they called from, the safer they'd be, but he still felt exposed.

The pay phone actually had a booth -- a dying breed. Jim parked the truck in front of the booth again, shielding them from view, and Blair jumped out and took the seat in the booth. He kept the door open, and Jim hung just inside, listening and timing.

"You ready?" Blair asked, and Jim nodded, checking his watch. More coins were fed and, shortly, Blair had an answer. "Jack?"

Jim split his attention between the call and sweeping the area for anything unusual or suspicious. He was so jumpy, he didn't feel worried at all that he would zone, but stayed within touching distance of Blair anyway.

"Christ, Blair, you're taking a chance!" he heard Kelso say on the other end.

"Jim's timing me -- we're going to keep to under two minutes. Listen, we've thought of a possible way out of this whole mess... and it's going to depend on you and Eli Stoddard. You know him, don't you?"

"Yeah, sure. He's in your department... anthro," Jack said. "I know him to see him, but I don't know him well. What are you thinking?"

"Well, I'm going to call him right after this call and ask him to contact you. I need you to tell him everything that happened. Okay? And I mean everything. He's going to have more information for you, too -- you know, the stuff you said you didn't want to know about?"

Jim heard Kelso sigh. "God. I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" he said, but Jim could hear the humor under the resignation.

Blair chuckled. "Not as much as Eli will, trust me," he replied. "And I need to set up a time when I can contact you -- and him -- again. Is this line the best?"

"No, actually. Let me give you another number. But, Blair, you know how dangerous this is."

Kelso rattled off a number, which Blair jotted down quickly. "Yeah, I know, but we haven't got a choice. You have no idea how much we appreciate you helping us, Jack. You'll find out why after you talk to Eli. I'll call you again at four o'clock and, hopefully, you'll be together." Jim nudged him, pointing to his watch. "Okay. Close to two minutes. Gotta go. This tape will self-destruct and all that. Look for Eli, okay?"

"Good luck, Blair."

Blair broke the connection and took a deep breath. "Okay -- one down, one to go. Should I wait a bit?"

"No, go ahead," Jim said. "In for a penny, in for a pound."

"Right." Blair picked up the handset and dialed after feeding more coins in. The voice that answered on the other end was deep and rich. "Hello?"

"Eli? It's me, Blair Sandburg."

"Blair?! Good heavens, son, where are you? We've been worried sick about you!" Stoddard sounded genuinely concerned, and Jim relaxed fractionally.

"I don't have a lot of time, here, Eli, I have to talk quickly and I really, really need your help. You know the topic of my dissertation -- Sentinels? Well, I found one. He's Jim Ellison, the cop I've been hanging around these past few months."

There was a pause, and Jim heard Stoddard gasp. "I knew it. My God."

"Are you alone?" Blair shot Jim a look, but Jim couldn't decipher it.

"Yes, yes -- I'm alone. A living Sentinel?"

"Yeah. That's why I'm calling. You need to call and talk to Jack Kelso. You can get his number from the faculty directory."

"Yes, I know who Kelso is. Why do I--"

"The thing is, Eli," Blair interrupted him gently, "that I've been helping Jim with his senses -- God knows, he needed it -- as well as studying them. And I've been helping him on cases -- his police cases. One of them blew up the other day, and now... well, we're being chased. Jack can explain. The upshot is, I need to submit my dissertation, like, yesterday in order to protect both of us, and I can't come in to do it."

Jim held up one finger, and Blair nodded, speaking faster. "I think you'll understand once you talk to Jack. I'm going to be calling him at four. You need to be with him. Can you do that? I know I'm asking a lot--"

"Blair, my lad, I don't understand this, but it sounds like you're in significant trouble. I'm sure this is related to why some very nasty men from the government have been hanging around, asking questions about you. I'll call Kelso immediately, and I'll be available to you at four."

Blair almost looked as if he were going to cry. Jim nudged him regretfully, and Blair pulled himself together. "Thank you, Eli. This means more to me than I can say. I have to go -- my time is up. Four o'clock." Before Stoddard could speak anymore, Blair killed the connection.

Jim put one hand on Blair's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Good work, Chief," he said softly.

"Goddamn it," Blair said, burying his face in his hands. "I hate having to get Eli involved in this."

"It sounds like he really cares for you, Sandburg," Jim said, urging Blair to stand and move to the truck. "And when you care for someone, you help. He'll be okay -- hell, Kelso hasn't been picked up, and he's put himself farther on the line for us than Stoddard has or will."

"So far," Blair said darkly, but he looked a bit better for thinking that.

Rather than return to the cabin, they killed three hours driving around and exploring the Clayton Falls area. There wasn't very much there, actually -- the town was isolated and, since the mill closed, the residents had been migrating away in droves. Every other house had a 'For Sale' sign on it. Jim thought it was sad, but Blair argued that it was for the best, since reforestation could only help the area in the long run.

They argued about it in a half-hearted way until four approached, then headed back to Earl's Shell, a place that was almost becoming like home. Since Blair had spun the same wild and woolly tale of bitter divorce to Earl, he apparently felt they were checking up on 'JJ Sellman's' ex-wife when they used the pay phone. Jim filled up the tank of the truck before they went to use the phone, and found himself having to agree with Earl that women could be mighty vindictive, to be sure. Blair had a hard time keeping from laughing, especially when Jim shot him daggers over the truck's bed.

Earl went into his station, finally, and the two of them went back to the payphone. "Hey, 'JJ,' don't sweat it," Blair was laughing as he pulled out his depleted change purse. "At least he bought it."

"You lie like a rug, Sandburg," Jim growled, but he couldn't help grinning. Blair simply smiled back, unrepentant, and began placing the call.

Kelso answered the phone by saying, "I hope you're calling from a payphone."

"I am," Blair chuckled. "How long do I have to talk?"

"This cell is as secure as I can make it," Kelso replied. "I've got it on rotating frequencies and the number is a clone. Tell Jim I understand that's highly illegal, but given the circumstances..." Jim was chuckling as he listened, and Blair relayed that information. "Well, I'm glad I won't have to worry about him arresting me," Kelso said, his voice dry. "We're outside on the quad, too, which I hope will cut down any possibility of remote listeners. Hang on."

"Blair?" It was Eli.

"Eli, I can't tell you how much this means to me," Blair said, but his mentor cut him off.

"Piffle. Your Mr. Kelso has filled me in on what's been happening and I must say, I'm very worried about you. Is everything all right? You are safe?"

"As safe as we can be," Blair said with a sigh. "Jim's fairly paranoid -- ow! Not to mention abusive," Blair laughed and glared at Jim as he rubbed his shoulder. "He's had covert ops training in the Army, too -- and anyway, he could hear the bad guys coming from miles away up here -- so I think we're all right for now. But that will change if I need to come in to do the dissertation."

"Yes... your reason for calling in the first place. Tell me what you're thinking, son."

Rapidly, Blair explained his idea to Stoddard. He described some of the tests he had conducted on Jim's senses and then read him the outline he had designed. "You've been seeing the test chapters I've written on those people with only one or two heightened senses," he said. "That was all I had before I got to Jim. Those chapters are thorough -- even if my subjects weren't quite on the same league as Jim -- and you've told me they'd work. So basically, I've got four chapters that can be re-written to support a true Sentinel, and five notebooks worth of journals on the testing I've done so far -- and that's enough to write at least six more chapters. And then there's the stuff I've been doing on the P.D., which could add to it. I realize it's a bit thin, Eli, but..."

"No, no -- I think it'll work, Blair," Stoddard said thoughtfully. "I've taken some notes as you were talking, and I'm going to have to talk to the rest of your committee -- and Sidney too -- to see what I can work out. I still have copies of all the chapters you've written. What should I tell anyone that asks? I'm going to have to explain this to the committee, you know."

Blair sighed and scratched his chin under his beard. "I know, I know. I wish I could give you a better idea of who to trust and what to say."

Jim could tell the phone on the other end shifted hands, and wasn't surprised when he heard Kelso's voice again. "Blair? It's Jack again. Listen, I think I have a few ideas on this end. But first -- are you certain this is the right way to go? After talking with Eli, I guessed that you're going to go public with -- ah -- that thing I don't want to know about."

Jim and Blair grinned at each other. Jack was already on first name basis with Eli, and had already figured out their plan. They had the right man on their side. "It's the only thing we could think of, Jack," Blair said truthfully. "We don't really want to be on the run for the rest of our lives. And this way, Jim's out in the open. Well, I will be, too. It wasn't just Jim that jackass wanted for his caper."

"So Captain Banks told me," Jack said. "I spoke with him -- in person, in private -- after you two disappeared. From what he said, he knows about Jim, too. Right?"

"Yeah," Blair confirmed. "We're going to call him right after we're done here."

"Good," Jack said. "Tell him to expect me to get in touch with him again, soon. Oh... here's Eli again."

"Blair, I've been doing some thinking," Eli said. "You've finished all the prerequisites -- you have nothing else but the paper to turn in. I think I can get the rest of the committee to buy into a fast-track defense, here. I'm going make some phone calls tonight, and I'm going to talk to Sidney and the dean tomorrow. If you can give me two days, I might have a good bit of it done. That, of course, will also give Jack a chance to figure out how to hide you." Eli chuckled. "I quite feel like James Bond, Blair. Jack came to my office bearing a complicated device which he claimed could detect bugs. It was thrilling."

Jim could hear Kelso laugh in the background, and the phone changed hands again. "In case you're wondering," Jack said, "Eli's office was clean. I'm fairly certain we're all being watched still, but it's passive. They've undoubtedly figured you've gone to ground somewhere and will be watching the ports in case you try to get out of the U.S."

"That's pretty much SOP," Jim murmured to Blair, who nodded.

"That helps us, Blair. They won't be expecting you to come back to Cascade. As Eli said, give us a couple of days. Call back Wednesday, at the same time, and we should have good news for you."

Blair and Jim exchanged glances and high-fived each other. "That's great, Jack. I can't tell you how glad I am that you're on our side."

"Well, you two are going to owe me big-time for this," Jack laughed. "Next time I want to do some snooping, tell Jim I just might call him."

Jim tipped the phone so he could speak into it. "Jack, you've got a deal. Name the time and the place, and I'll even hide the bodies."

Blair heard Jack chuckling. "I'm going to have to get used to the idea that he can hear me all the time, aren't I? You two are lucky guys, you know. Eli showed me the Burton book -- this whole thing is fascinating. Not that I condone it, but I certainly can understand their interest in the two of you." His voice moved away from the phone for a moment, then came back. "Call us at the same time Wednesday, Blair, Jim. We'll do our best for you."

The connection was broken just as the mechanical operator's voice came on, demanding more coins. Blair hung up the phone and looked at Jim -- his face was a study. "This just might actually work," he said. "Do you think?"

"Have a little faith in yourself, Professor," Jim said, rubbing Blair's curly hair. "And in Kelso. Talk about Machiavellian!"

"Yeah," Blair agreed, feeding more coins into the phone, "I wouldn't want to live in his brain. I doubt the right lobe knows what the left is doing."

The phone began ringing on the other end. "Major Crime. Rhonda speaking."

"Rhonda! It's your favorite fugitive calling your boss again," Blair said cheerfully, but Jim could detect the strain underlying his voice. "Is he there? Can we get him in ten?"

"Yes, and yes." She added, sotto voce, "I'm so glad you called -- we've all been so worried. Are you two all right?"

"We're fine -- we're both fine," Blair assured her. "I think Jim misses the buttermilk donuts from the cart, though."

"Tell him I'll save him a dozen. Come home soon, okay? I'll take the message straight in." Without another word, she cut the connection, and Blair put the handset down thoughtfully.

Jim wound one arm around Blair and pulled him back up against his broad chest. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah." Blair shook his head slightly, but didn't move to break the hold. "It's only been a few days... but our whole lives have changed, haven't they?"

Jim squeezed Blair gently. He sent out his hearing, but found no one in the area -- certainly no one paying any attention to them. "We've got the best team in the universe on our side, Chief," he murmured into Blair's ear, then kissed it gently, just to feel Blair shudder. "And we've got you. We'll be all right."

"Thank you, man," Blair whispered.

They stood together for a while, until Jim, glancing at his watch, said, "Ten minutes, Chief. Why don't you let me call this time?"

"Gladly," Blair replied with a sigh, "as long as you think it's safe."

"Should be," Jim replied, feeding coins in the slot. "No one's around at all except old Earl, and he's buried in that Chevy pickup in his garage. He's talking to it, too."

Blair snorted in amusement as Jim dialed. "Banks!"

"Hey, Simon, how's it hanging?" Jim asked in the most blase voice he could manage, winking at Blair.

"Ellison, I'm going to see to it you do nothing but paperwork for the next ten years after this stunt," Simon said, but his heart wasn't in the teasing. Jim could hear the weariness in his voice.

"Is everything okay, Simon?" Jim asked, frowning.

"No, it's not," Simon said. "I'm missing my best team, the Feds are putting pressure on me, and I think I'm getting an ulcer. Tell me you've got good news."

"Well, yeah... sorta," Jim hedged. "Sandburg and I have decided... well, we've decided to come clean. Do you think you could stand having a real Sentinel cop and one hairy Ph.D. in your unit?"

Dead silence. Jim could almost hear Simon's heart stutter. "Are -- are you nuts?"

"Maybe," Jim conceded. "But, right now, it looks like the best way to go. Listen, Jack Kelso is going to contact you again, soon. He'll explain it some more -- okay?"

"Jim! Seriously, tell me -- are you sure of this idea? Was it the kid's?"

"Well, yeah... it was partially Blair's idea. But, Simon, it makes sense." Jim sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Either we do this, or we're on the run for the rest of our lives, looking over our shoulders and never talking to our friends or family again. Which would you do?"

"God." Jim could hear Simon puff frantically on his cigar. He must be up on the roof again, then. "All right. I'll wait for Kelso to contact me. Anything you want me to do in the meantime?"

"I don't think so," Jim said. "We've got to go now. I'll call you again in a few days -- all right?"

"Fine, fine. That'll give me time to wrap my brain around this idea."

"Bye, Simon," Jim said, cutting the connection. Blair was giving him a funny look. What?"

"I take it he didn't like the idea," Blair said.

"I think that's a good way of putting it," Jim confirmed, shaking his head.

The next two days were both hard and easy on them. They lived on tenterhooks the first evening, fearing that their lengthy phone calls had been traced. By dawn, however, Jim still sensed nothing but nature around them. Blair spent four or five hours on Tuesday, and a few hours on Wednesday, working on his dissertation, grumbling because there wasn't any way to recharge his laptop's batteries and how was he supposed to compose using such primitive methods?

On Tuesday, Jim, ignoring Blair's complaints, snared two more fat rabbits and Blair roasted them. He seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of recipes for rabbit -- all of them good, and none of them requiring a laptop. They had taken their garbage into town and discarded it on Monday. But Tuesday, Jim surprised a couple of big raccoons nosing around the cabin, obviously looking for handouts. When he told Blair, Blair spent a good half hour explaining the social skills and native intelligence of raccoons, until Jim threatened to tape one of Blair's lectures and set it running outside to scare away every creature within a five mile radius.

At four on Wednesday afternoon, they were parked at a lonely 7-11 on the other side of the interstate from Clayton Falls, in the hopes that yet another pay phone would help throw roadblocks on their trail. Before calling, Blair went into the store to buy them drinks and to replenish his change -- he had a feeling that this call would be lengthy. The pay phones for the store were around the side and in the open, but, except for the two lone clerks inside the store, there was no one around for miles.

This time, Jack answered the phone by saying, "I hope you have a lot of change, because we're going to keep you talking."

"Just filled it up, man," Blair said, grinning lopsidedly at Jim. "What's up?"

"Lots. I'm going to let you talk to Eli, first, then I'll tell you my news. Oh... I'm expecting Captain Banks to drop by, too. He said he'd try to make it."

Blair and Jim stared at each other in surprise.

"Blair my boy?"

"Eli... Hi. What's going on?" Blair's voice was tight and nervous.

"Well, I hope you've been busy wherever you are and have been writing, because you're going to be defending your dissertation in three weeks."

"WHAT?" Jim reeled back and shook his head at the blast of sound from Blair. Blair was so completely freaked out, he didn't even notice. "That's not possible! Eli, are you joking?!"

"No, I'm not," Stoddard said, chuckling. "I took the issue to the rest of your committee, and we've all agreed. And if you think any of us are going to let you off easy, you're sadly mistaken. Sidney was quite happy about scheduling the defense, I think he thought you might have been headed for the boneyard."

"Eli... I..." Blair was completely at a loss, and Jim moved in closer to support him.

"Blair, the outline you read me last week is perfectly viable -- all the committee members agree," Eli said. "Oh, there are some disputed points, but I'm sure we can hammer those out fairly easily. The chapters you've submitted to me in draft form -- before you met Jim -- can be easily rewritten or added to for comparison purposes. The end of the term is in two weeks. Connie leaves on sabbatical two weeks after that, I've got to get busy on my Borneo trip and Wallace will be teaching at NYU in the summer. Everyone will be available to listen and pass judgment on you in three weeks -- but not after. It worked out very well, Blair." He chuckled. "We've got a little conspiracy going, and you know how anthropologists are when it comes to keeping secrets."

"They -- they all know?" Blair asked faintly.

"They only know what they need to know, but they understand the urgency of the situation." Eli sounded positively smug. "Your dissertation outline crosses disciplinary boundaries, son, so if you want to add someone from sociology or psychology, you can. However, I'd advise against it since we don't know if we can fit anyone else's schedule in our tight timeframe. You've got some forms to sign -- I'll fill out what I can but the dean won't officially approve anything until your signature is on file." He chuckled. "We've got a short list of people who 'need to know'... your committee, Sidney, and the department secretary. And you know Lois -- she won't talk to anyone without a release done in triplicate."

Blair's mouth was gaping, his lips were moving, but no sound was coming out. After a moment of this, Jim lifted the handset from Blair's numb fingers and said, "I think you've succeeded in making him speechless, Dr. Stoddard."

"Ah. A first. I shall have to mark it on my calendar." Jim had to laugh at Stoddard's dry wit. "I take it this is Detective Ellison?"

"Yes, and it's 'Jim,' sir. He's been working on the dissertation for the last few days straight, and I know Sandburg. He'll have it done -- if there's any way to do it."

Blair snatched the phone away from Jim. "How?! Eli, there's not even any electricity where we're staying! I can't send you drafts... I -- I can't even type into my laptop!"

"Blair, calm down! You'll do fine -- you've been ready for this for years, now. And as for how, well, that's Jack's part of our little surprise for you. I'll hand you over to him."

Over Blair's panicked muttering, Jim could hear the phone passed over, and heard Stoddard tell Jack about Blair's speechlessness. When Jack came on, he was chuckling. "I'd give a pretty penny to see Blair Sandburg speechless," he said.

"Oh, bite me," Blair said, clearly still rattled, but rallying.

Jack just laughed. "Have you got a pen and paper? I'm going to need to give you an address. Although... are you two familiar with the Wilkenson Towers? One's an office building, and the other is a condo and shopping plaza."

"Yeah," Blair said, glancing at Jim who nodded.

"Good! Okay, then, you two need to show up no earlier than three p.m. tomorrow at the condo. Park in the garage and take the elevator to the seventeenth floor, apartment 1746. There will be a young lady named Rebecca waiting for you to let you in and give you keys and other pertinent information. Then, gentlemen, all you have to do is concentrate on Blair's dissertation." If Eli had sounded smug before, Jack sounded absolutely cocky.

Blair and Jim exchanged puzzled glances. "Wait a minute, Jack. Are you saying we can live there?" Blair asked.

"Yep," Jack replied. "Oh -- here comes Captain Banks. Anyway, you can live in that apartment for at least a month or more, if you need it -- although hopefully you won't. I wish I could get more of your things from your apartment, Jim, but that's one place I'm certain is being watched closely, so we don't dare. You'll have to make do or buy new. But the place is furnished -- only one bedroom, but I'm assured there's plenty of room for two."

It was Jim's turn for utter shock, as he turned the phone towards his mouth. "Jack, this is... We can't possibly..."

"You can and you will," Jack said firmly. "I'm not being altruistic, here, guys. I know where a whole hell of a lot of bodies are buried, and I'm not above trying to get a little of my own back from those vultures. The fact that it comes with helping a couple of my friends is just icing on the cake."

"But... but..." Jim looked helplessly at Blair, who gave him a wide-eyed stare back.

"Let me hand you over to Captain Banks," Jack said, clearly enjoying their discomfiture, "because, actually, a lot of this came from him."

The phone was passed to Simon, who growled, "Ellison, Sandburg, it's time you two came in from the cold."

"Simon... this whole thing..." Blair stammered, giving Jim an incredulous look, which Jim returned.

"No, Sandburg, you just hush up for once and listen. The PD owns this place. It belonged to a -- well, let's just say it belonged to somebody who shouldn't have been able to afford it, but did -- on the city's dime." In the background, both Jim and Blair could hear Jack and Eli laughing. "The PD -- well, the city, actually -- owns it now, and will own it until the lease runs out, which won't be for another four months. There's been talk about making it into a safe house or a place for visiting bigwigs to stay, but the wrangling has been furious. While it's in dispute, I talked to the Commissioner and got his permission to use it for you two -- unofficially, and on the Q.T."

Simon cleared his throat. "Uh, Jim... on Jack's advice, I met with the Commissioner and the Chief of Police yesterday in person -- not in either person's office -- and told them what was happening. I didn't tell them all of it yet -- I wanted to clear that with you -- but they're more in the know. They would have had to know eventually, anyway."

Blair squeezed Jim's hand and gave him a concerned look. Jim felt utterly flummoxed even though, intellectually, he knew this was coming. "Wh--what did they say?"

"Commissioner Ramsey's extremely curious," Simon said frankly. "He likes you -- God knows why -- and, from the little I told him, he's already making plans on 'utilizing you to the best of your abilities -- whatever those may be.' His words, not mine." Simon snorted. "The Chief said he trusts me to make the right decision, which is nice of him, for once."

"Oh God," Jim moaned, hiding his face with his hands.

"It'll be okay," Blair whispered. "Did you tell them that I come with the deal, too, Simon?" he said into the phone. "I mean, can you say 'paycheck'?"

"Yeah, Sandburg, I told them," Simon replied. "The Chief's very happy with it. Seems that he put two and two together and figured out that the increase in closure and conviction rate since you came on board is probably due to you coming on board." Simon sounded grumpy, but both Jim and Blair could hear the undertones of pride in his voice. "And I told him that if he even thinks about transferring either of you, he'd have a full-scale mutiny on his hands. I don't think he will." More seriously, he added, "I also told them both to play their cards close to their vests. I trust those two -- well, the Chief more than the Commissioner, Ramsey can be a real S.O.B. at times -- and I don't think they'll let anything spill. Now, the mayor... him I won't even go near."

Blair and Jim looked at each other, shell-shocked, and tried to figure out what to say. Events were galloping faster than they could absorb, faster than they could comfortably adjust to, and they simply had nothing to say. "I..." Blair started, then looked helplessly at Jim, who shrugged, wide-eyed.

"Well, this is promising. Sandburg without something to say." In the background, Jim heard Stoddard and Kelso breaking up again. "You just show up tomorrow afternoon, gentlemen. Oh... and, Jim, I'm going to have a one-on-one meeting with everybody in the bullpen over the next few days, so don't be surprised if some of them show up on food runs or something."

The phone was passed over to Eli, who was still chuckling. Before he could speak, the mechanical voice of the operator spoke, demanding more coins. Feeding the machine gave Blair a chance to at least try and absorb all the news, and he felt marginally calmer by the time Eli spoke.

"Blair, I want you to know," Stoddard said, his voice serious, "that while I think you're ready for this and can do it handily, I'll not be easy on you. This is a shot-gun Ph.D., I realize, and I do think you can do it, but I'm going to demand the very best from you. You and your partner, there, deserve it. So, we need you back here tomorrow and working. Rebecca will have a sheaf of paperwork for you to sign when you get there."

"Yes, sir," Blair replied, his heart hammering. "I won't let you down."

"I never thought you would," Eli said confidently. He asked the other two men with him if there was anything else they wanted to say, then returned to the phone. "I think that's all, son. Good luck. I'll try to stop by and see you, but Jack has been very good about scaring us into being as paranoid as he is. But I know I'll be talking to you over email. Good-bye, Blair, Jim." The connection was broken.

Jim and Blair just looked at each other until Blair finally put the handset back. "This is unbelievable," Jim muttered.

"I guess it is," Blair said, sounding as numb as Jim. "It's one thing to know you have friends... it's another to find out how much they care."

They got in the truck and returned to the cabin -- which, by that time, felt pretty much like home. "We're going to have to pack tonight and figure out what we need to do for tomorrow," Jim said, allowing the comfort of organization take over his brain. "I can do a lot of it, if you want to get dinner going."

"Sure, I guess," Blair said. "We can use up the last of that ham, and those eggs too, but we can save some for breakfast, maybe..." He subsided to muttering as he dug through the root cellar to see what was still edible.

The rest of the evening passed in a daze. Both men were busy trying to absorb what had just happened, and neither felt up to talking. At dawn, they rose, ate, cleaned the cabin one last time, and loaded the truck. When Jim made one last check for anything forgotten, he found Blair standing in the middle of the room looking around wistfully.

"You know," he said softly, "except for the fact that we had bad guys chasing us, this was a really good vacation."

Jim tentatively wrapped his arms around Blair from behind and was gratified when Blair leaned back into him. "Yeah," he said. "You think old Earl would want to sell this place?"

Blair looked up at him, pleased surprise on his face. "You'd want to buy it?" he asked.

"Yeah," Jim replied, hugging Blair tightly. "There's a lot of good memories here, Chief." He kissed the end of Blair's nose and Blair laughed. "But we'll have time for that. Later. Let's hit the road."

"Yeah." They turned, arms around each other, and left the cabin for the truck and Cascade.

Part Three: My Life as a Lab Rat

The worst thing, Jim reflected, was the boredom.

The condo was nice enough -- one bedroom, but it was huge and had a king-sized bed -- kitchen, formal dining room, living room, and even a washer and dryer. But, aside from the TV, there wasn't much to do. Blair barricaded himself in the dining room shortly after Rebecca -- who turned out to be the wife of Jack's nephew -- let them in, turning the huge dining table into something resembling a war zone and appropriating the phone line for his modem. Rebecca had given them an ISP number and got Blair to sign something like a hundred forms, along with showing them where food was and giving them keys to the various amenities available in the tower -- one of which was the exercise room.

Jim hadn't been brave enough to try it, yet. He was just about ready to risk it, though, because there was precious little else to do.

Just about everyone from the PD had stopped by, very briefly and one at a time, to talk to Jim (Blair always said hello then returned immediately to his paper) and give them something -- books, food, clothing. Rebecca came by once a day for the first few days and carried a shopping list away with her, along with money from Jim. They lacked for nothing... except for something to do.

Well, Blair had plenty to do, actually. At all hours of the day and night, Jim heard him muttering and swearing at the laptop and the emails he received almost hourly. Sandburg on an intellectual high was a frightening thing to behold -- he seemed to be completely without the need for sleep, food, or even bathroom breaks. Jim took over the cooking and tried to tempt Blair with various dishes he knew were Blair's favorites. Blair would eat a bit, then smile at him and go back to muttering and typing.

Occasionally, Jim would wake in the middle of the night and feel a warm body lying next to him. He treasured those times when Blair basically passed out because he could pretend they were lovers and cuddle up to the warm, hairy body. But Blair was always gone when he woke in the morning, and would be back in the dining room, typing and muttering, muttering and typing...

Nearly a week into their enforced 'house arrest,' Joel stopped by, carrying a shopping bag. Jim let him in and surprised him by giving him a hug. "Damn, Taggart, you have no idea how good it is to see you."

Joel grinned at him. "Man, it's good to see you, too, Jim! You look good for someone who's hiding out."

"Well, good for now -- but if I don't get to do something soon, I'm going to go stir crazy," Jim replied, leading Joel into the living room. "You want something to drink?"

"Nah... that's okay. I can't stay very long anyway," Joel said, sitting on the sofa. "Simon's told us to only stop by when it would look normal -- or on our own time. We're being damned careful, let me tell you. And I've got to get back to the office." He handed Jim the shopping bag. "Here's some things to do for you, man. Some of your case files which have been reassigned -- Simon wants you to go over them for notes -- and I've got the latest Tom Clancy novel -- thought you might want to read it."

"Yeah! Thanks, Joel," Jim said, rummaging through the bag.

"Where's Blair?"

Jim looked up and grimaced. "In the dining room, driving me crazy. He's got less than three weeks to finish that damned dissertation and apparently, he's decided to do it without food, sleep or anything else. I tell you, it's frightening, Joel."

"Wow," Joel said, glancing at the double doors that lead into the dining room. "How far along is he?"

"I have no idea," Jim replied, sighing. "He'll suddenly appear and demand I do some test or other, or want me to explain some esoteric point of police procedure, then, just as suddenly, disappear back into that room. I'm pretty sure he uses the bathroom because I haven't smelled anything nasty in there... yet."

Joel laughed. "It must be pretty hard to be a lab rat, huh?" he asked, his voice sympathetic.

"It's not fun," Jim agreed. "Sometimes I think I should have pitched him out with the monkey."

"Barbary ape, man," Blair's voice floated from the dining room, and Joel started chuckling.

"Now he's the Sentinel," Jim said sourly.

Joel cocked his head and looked intently at Jim. "That's what Simon called you, a Sentinel. What does that mean, anyway?"

"Oh God, Joel," Jim sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. "It's something I was hoping the little professor in there could cure me of, actually -- at least, that's what I hoped when I first went to him. I've got these weird senses. I can see things, hear and smell things, a whole hell of a lot better than other people."

Joel frowned. "Well, that doesn't sound very special, actually. Just more acute?"

"Well, no," Jim said slowly. "It's not 'just' anything. For example, I can tell what you had for breakfast this morning because I can smell it on your breath. I can hear how your heart beats faster when you're trying to defuse a bomb. Stuff like that."

"You are kidding me, man," Joel said, his eyes wide. "That's... Jim, that's incredible! That's truly something awesome!"

Jim looked down, a little embarrassed at how effusive Joel was being. The trouble was, he could tell it was an honest reaction -- Joel was truly pleased for him. "It's not all roses, Taggart," Jim said, frustrated and shaking his head. "You ought to see what makeup looks like up close after a woman's been wearing it all day. And loud, unexpected noises... Sandburg calls it overload. And then there's zone-outs... God."

"What's a zone-out?" Joel asked.

"It's when I concentrate too hard on one particular sense, like listening too hard for something. I sort of lose it, and space out. It almost killed me a couple of times." Jim shook his head. "Actually, there are a lot of times that I'd give just about anything to get rid of these damned senses."

"But, Jim," Joel leaned forward earnestly, "you've been given a gift, an incredible gift... A God-given gift, man. I mean, you were a hell of a cop before -- this is new, right? Simon said it was just after the Switchman case?"

"Well, yeah," Jim confirmed, not wanting to go into the childhood thing. He and Sandburg had spent enough time lately over that little remembrance.

"Right. But now, well, now you'll be an even better cop. God doesn't give these kinds of gifts to just anybody, Jim. He gives them to people He knows can handle them, people He knows will use them for good. I can't think of anyone better suited to this gift, Jim." Joel's voice was grave and sincere, and Jim remembered how religious the big man was. Not that you had much choice when you defused bombs for a living, but still.

Jim was not particularly religious. His childhood with a father who believe that winning wasn't everything, it was the only thing, saw to that. "I don't know, Joel. Sometimes, it feels more like a punishment."

A sweet smile on his face, Joel stood. "Oh, I don't think so, Jim. After all, you got Blair out of the deal, didn't you?" Jim stood too, frowning in puzzlement. Surely Joel couldn't mean... "I've got to get back to the P.D. Anything you need one of us to drop off?"

"No, we're okay," Jim replied, still discomfited by Joel's words.

"All right then. Oh, a word of warning... Carolyn might stop by." Joel made a face. "She didn't take the explanation too well, Simon told me. Not sure why..."

Pulling a sour face, Jim said, "Oh, I can guess. Why didn't I tell her sooner, yadda yadda. There's a reason we divorced, Joel."

Joel laughed, clapped Jim on the back and took his leave, calling out a good-bye to Blair as he did so. Jim closed and locked the door behind him, still very thoughtful.

The days passed -- quickly for Blair, but too slowly for Jim. Jack and Simon kept Jim up-to-date on the manhunt for them -- or rather, the lack of manhunt. Things were very quiet, which made Jack nervous. But then, Jack was always nervous.

Jim finally got up the nerve to use the key to the exercise room in the lower level of the condo. No one was there at all and, from the sign-up sheet (he used 'JJ Sellman,' but didn't tell Blair he'd done so), he noted that mid-afternoon was the best time to use it alone. He soon became a regular and felt better that he was at least exercising.

But he was still bored.

He received more sporadic visits from various members of Major Crime. Rhonda brought him a whole box of donuts -- he spent several hours in the gym burning those off -- and despite his own words of warning, Simon came for longer and longer visits, going over various cases. Once, the Commissioner stopped by with Simon and was effusive in his greeting to both Jim and Blair. Simon apologized for that visit later on.

Then there was Carolyn's visit...

Blair had been swearing particularly virulently that day. Apparently, something someone on his committee told him had pissed him off royally. Jim was almost tiptoeing around the apartment, trying to stay out of his way. The guy could get almost violent when he was thwarted, and Jim wondered how he'd managed to live with Blair as long as he had without noticing that temper. In the middle of that, before Jim had a chance to go down to work out, Carolyn appeared. Jim had a bad feeling about it, but invited her into the apartment as graciously as he could, and got her a glass of ice water.

They talked about work and other inconsequentials for a while, Carolyn sitting on the sofa as frostily as her glass of water. After a while, she allowed silence to fall between them, then came out with what had obviously been bothering her all along. "You could have told me about this -- this -- thing, Jimmy," she said neutrally. She didn't meet his eyes. "I would have tried to help."

Jim scrubbed his face with his hands. "Caro, I tried to tell you. Hell, I tried to tell you and Simon. Neither of you believed me, neither of you thought anything was wrong, other than stress. Remember our dinner? During the Switchman case?"

She finally met his eyes, frowning. "When you thought you'd been poisoned."

"Yeah." He stood and restlessly moved between the window and the chair. "It was just the senses. The spices... they tasted awful. Light was too bright, smells were too intense, noises were too loud... nothing was right. I thought... I thought I was going crazy."

Carolyn looked down and swallowed. Jim could smell her sorrow, and her anger, too, though she was doing a good job of repressing the latter. "I'm sorry, Jimmy. You're right -- we both thought it was stress, and hell, it made sense, don't you think? You were under enormous pressure to solve that case."

"Yeah, I know." Jim's restless pacing ended next to the window and he sightlessly gazed through it. "It was actually a relief to put a name to what was wrong with me. Even if it meant I was stuck with it."

"There's truly no way to get rid of all this -- this condition or whatever it is?" Carolyn asked sharply. "It came on so suddenly..."

"Actually, it didn't," Jim said gently, turning back to her. "I've... Well, it turns out that I had the senses even when I was a kid. I just didn't remember. And when I was in Peru, they came back, too, but I managed to suppress them when I got back to the States." He grimaced. "It was probably worse that I did so... or so Sandburg says. And he should know, I guess."

She glanced at the closed doors to the dining room. The frantic typing and muttered curses were obvious, and her face became set. "And Sandburg is now making his fame and fortune off of you," she said, her voice one level away from snide. "I'm surprised you're putting up with this, Jimmy."

Jim shook his head. "I'm not. Trust me on that," he said, his voice low. "It's a whole lot more than just 'putting up with,' Caro. Sandburg has done more to help me than anyone else. He's given me back my sanity. He's taught me how to use these damned senses and given me control. Any credit he can take from that, I'll gladly give him. Do you remember when he was taken by Lash? I asked you to pop the seal on that water -- the water from whatshername's stomach?"

Carolyn's face was a study as the penny dropped. "Oh my God. You could smell... You smelled duck waste. I thought you were nuts."

He smiled without mirth. "I could tell. But why I insisted... I had to save him. He was my savior -- I owed it to him if nothing else." After a few moments, when she didn't say anything, he added, "He calls me a walking forensics lab, Caro. And, well... there are times when I think he may be right. The guy's just amazing. And he's helped me more than I could ever repay."

She was back to not looking at him, and her mouth was a straight, tight line. "You're in love with him." It wasn't a question, but Jim treated it as such.

"Caro--"

"No. Don't say it. I know -- you were open and up front with me about your sexuality issues from the beginning." Her voice was neutral, but Jim heard it shake slightly. "I've been trying to convince myself for months that those issues weren't the reason why we split. Maybe I shouldn't have tried."

Jim came back and took a seat across from her, but carefully didn't touch her. "Carolyn, what do you want me to say?" When she didn't answer, he said, "Maybe you were right back then. Maybe we weren't meant for each other in the first place. But, I'd still like us to be friends. You know I still care for you."

"Do I?" She finally met his eyes and he was dismayed to see tears there. "If you had cared for me, we might still be married. If you had cared for me, you would have told me what was going on. Me... your -- your ex-wife, rather than your boss and some crazy, long-haired guru type..." He tried to take her hands, but she stood and pulled away from him. "Never mind. I've got to get back to the office." She put her water glass down carefully on an end table, then walked briskly to the front door. "Take care of yourself, Jimmy," she said softly as she left the apartment, never looking back.

"Well, fuck," Jim muttered as the door snicked closed.

It was the last week of their imposed exile and Blair had been getting increasingly manic as the days passed. Jim found himself spending more and more time in the gym trying to keep out of the way and keep from being seen, since, every time Blair saw him, he demanded information, or tests, or some other damned thing until Jim was ready to scream. He had a pretty good idea how much this meant to Blair and wanted it to be perfect, as well. It was, after all, his stay-out-of-jail-free card and, without it, Blair could not be the acknowledged expert on Sentinels. But it was driving him out of his mind.

So, early one afternoon, he had grabbed his gym bag and was trying to sneak out of the apartment for the exercise room when the doors to the dining room suddenly creaked open... and there Blair stood.

He was definitely thinner and looked, in fact, almost gaunt. His eyes were ringed with dark circles. His hair was wild, going every-which-way -- which was partially because it desperately needed to be trimmed and partially because he hadn't washed it in a while. He looked at Jim through tired, haunted eyes and said, "It's finished."

Jim froze. "It is?" Somehow, he never thought he'd see this day. "You're sure?"

"Yeah," Blair rasped. He leaned up against the wall as if it were the only thing holding him up and his words slurred together as he spoke. "It's gotta be approved, of course, and then I gotta defend it. But they've been approving the chapters all along, so I don't think there's anything that's going to stand in the way."

They stood and stared at each other in silence. Jim didn't really know what to say, except how glad he was that it was almost over. He opened his mouth, and what came out was, "Can I read it?"

Blair blinked and frowned. "I -- I guess so," he said slowly, as if thinking hurt. "It's not like it's going to invalidate anything now." He smiled shyly at Jim, obviously pleased. "Are you sure you want to? I mean, I know how much I've put you through -- especially the last couple of weeks -- and how much you hate that thing..."

Jim crossed the space separating them, tossing his unneeded gym bag on the sofa as he passed by. He ended up standing directly in front of Blair and tentatively reached out to frame Blair's face with his hands. "I want to read it," he said seriously. Gently, he leaned down and lightly touched his lips to Blair's, more a question than a caress, and was gratified to feel Blair return it.

"Okay," Blair murmured. "You'll have to read it on the screen, though. I don't have a printer. Eli's printing it out for me at Rainier."

"I can do that," Jim replied. He followed Blair into the messy dining room -- sheesh, it looked like a bomb had exploded in there -- and sat where Blair had been sitting for pretty much three weeks, solid. Blair called up the file and entered the password, and the screen filled with words, beginning with, "The Sentinel, by Blair Sandburg." It was really, really real. Wow.

"Uh, I'm going to go eat something," Blair said as Jim sat and stared at the computer. "Let me know if you need anything. Don't get out of the file. It's password protected."

Jim knew Blair was hovering out of nerves, but, since he was pretty nervous himself, he found it hard to reassure Blair. "I'll be okay, Sandburg," he muttered, scrolling down and beginning to read.

The apartment slowly grew dark around him and, as Jim continued to read, he automatically compensated for the lack of light, not wanting to get up to turn on the overhead light. At first, he felt something akin to awe, then a touch of anger as he realized Blair had talked not only to all his co-workers, but to Carolyn, as well, as he'd studied Jim. Some of the material here was almost... too intimate, too revealing, and part of Jim felt almost betrayed. But he kept reading, absorbed, now, beyond his ability to stop.

Finally, he drew to the end and had to read the last paragraph three times before it really sank in.

Humanity has long dug into its past in the hope that it will shed light on its future. Perhaps what this reveals is that it is the best of ourselves that will survive and lead us through the next millennium. Watching our every step will be our tribal protectors -- the sentinels -- and their insight will further illuminate the spiritual connection of all things.

The End.

Whoa.

Slowly, Jim looked up from the laptop, finally aware of a low-level pain in his neck and upper back from his stooped position, and a headache from eyestrain. The apartment was dark, save for a dim light coming from the bedroom. He stood and, in a daze, followed the light and the sound of a heartbeat into the other room where he found Blair flopped crosswise on the bed, asleep. He was still dressed, right down to his shoes, and couldn't have been comfortable from the way he was lying.

Jim stared at him for a long time, digesting the information he'd read. Blair almost made him feel like... like some kind of superhero... like Batman, guarding his city. But he wasn't really anything special, just a cop. A cop with some hyperactive senses, but, still, just a cop. Or so he'd thought.

Apparently, in Blair's worldview, he was more... so much more. He felt a suspicious stinging behind his eyes -- must be eyestrain -- as he looked down at the messy, beautiful man currently drooling and snoring lightly on the bed. He should have trusted Blair, should have realized that he wouldn't hurt Jim, couldn't hurt Jim. How could he repay Blair for the gift he'd been given?

Well, he could start by making him more comfortable. He gently pulled off Blair's ratty sneakers and put them down by the side of the bed, then did the best he could to straighten his limbs into a more normal posture. He managed to get the first, flannel layer off, and was working on the mostly shredded jeans when Blair snurfled himself awake.

"Mmm... you gonna take the rest off, too, man?" Blair slurred, smiling sleepily.

"Only if you want me to," Jim replied in a whisper, also smiling.

"I want, man. I want," Blair said, lifting his arms. "But only if you take yours off, too."

"I can do that," Jim replied, pulling his own t-shirt over his head and shucking out of his jeans. He lowered himself to lie next to Blair and wrapped his arms around Blair tightly, nestling that curly-haired head under his jaw. Blair was still partially dressed, and Jim still had his boxers on, but it felt so good, so very intimate...

He rocked Blair in his arms for a moment, hugging tightly, until Blair gently pushed him away. "Uh, Jim?" Jim gently stroked Blair's shaggy hair away from his forehead, but found he could not meet his eyes. "You, um... you finished it?"

"Yeah, I did," Jim replied quietly.

Jim heard Blair's heart stutter. "Wh--what did you think?"

"I think... I think..." Jim swallowed and tucked Blair's head back under his chin, "I think that I don't deserve you," he said hoarsely. Blair wound his arms around Jim's torso and squeezed. "I think that you're the smartest man I've ever met. I think that you're the best partner I could ever have. I think... I think..." Unbidden, Carolyn's words of the week before ran through his mind, and his mouth slipped its leash. "I think I love you," he blurted, and winced.

Slowly, Blair pushed himself away again to look up into Jim's face. He breathed in hard and his eyes were wide and enigmatic. "No fair," he whispered. "I don't allow bad bubble-gum music to be quoted in bed."

"Ever?" Jim asked, grateful that Blair was willing to overlook what might have stopped them before they ever started. Or maybe Blair felt the same way... something that Jim wasn't quite ready to deal with anyway.

"Nope. Not ever," Blair said, lifting his face to Jim's. He had cultivated the goatee he'd started when they were on the run, and now it was a soft, luxurious pelt that felt both odd and good against Jim's face as he kissed Blair. Blair's lips were very soft and the aroma of desire that grew between them made Jim dizzy.

He rolled to his back, taking Blair with him, and they lost themselves in a sensuous haze of pleasurable give-and-take, trading ownership of the kiss and allowing themselves to become slowly, increasingly aroused. Jim felt the hard brand of Blair's erection against his abdomen and knew his own was drilling a hole in Blair's hip. But kissing -- the moist press of lips and tongue -- felt so damn good, so incredible, that he never wanted to stop.

Blair sucked on Jim's tongue and Jim moaned -- a shocking sound to him but one that seemed to come from his toes, a sound that couldn't have been stopped even had he known he was going to make it. Slowly, gradually, Blair released his mouth and slid his knees to either side of Jim's body. Propping his hands on Jim's shoulders, he lifted himself up to look down at Jim, and Jim's breath caught in his throat at the mixture of naked need, want, and desire revealed in Blair's mobile face.

Lifting one trembling hand to touch Blair's face took nearly every ounce of strength Jim had, but it was worth it. Worth it to see Blair's eyes sag shut and his head lean into the caress and see him nearly purr with the sweetness of it. Jim ran his thumb over those sinful lips, red and swollen from their kissing, and Blair caught it, gently sucking it into his mouth. Suddenly, Jim was totally blown away by the powerful jolt of lust that simple act gave him.

When he opened eyes he hadn't realized he had shut, Jim saw Blair looking at him, his expression still suffused with wanting, but now there was a bit of sweet humor in there, too. "You haven't done this since you came on-line, have you?" he said softly.

"No," Jim confirmed, then cleared his throat. "Beverly and I came... close. But..."

"I know," Blair said, soothing the pain of memory. He ran his hands down Jim's chest, stroking firmly and sensuously.

"You said... before..." Jim swallowed and looked at Blair, aware his heart was in his eyes. "Before, you said we couldn't... you couldn't. Can we? Can we now?"

Blair closed his eyes and swallowed heavily. "I think I've crossed that line and then some, Jim," he replied in a harsh whisper. "What do you want?"

Jim knew what he wanted. He wanted something that had been nagging at him, pulling at him for months. "Please..." he pleaded softly, trying to get the words out and failing. "Please..." He let his legs fall apart and looked up at Blair, swallowing hard.

"God... Yes..." Blair said, leaning back and ripping his t-shirt off, tossing it behind him like a flag flying free of the pole. "Tell me this is what you want, Jim, because once I start..."

"I'm sure," Jim said, pulling Blair down for another one of those maddening, delicious kisses. Turning Blair's head gently, Jim kissed his way to Blair's ear, whispering, "Fuck me, Blair, please."

Blair fell on him then, hungrily kissing, licking, and nipping every bit of flesh he came into contact with, continuously whispering nasty endearments and desperate invocations to various gods and goddesses, anointing Jim's skin with his lips. Jim happily endured the intense assault, letting his eyes close again in order to more deeply appreciate the feel of Blair's mouth on him. Then, somehow, his boxers were gone, and Blair was swallowing him, and Jim had to open his eyes again, had to see what that mouth looked like wrapped around his cock, even as he groaned and began melting into the rumpled bedspread.

Blair had big hands, workman's hands, for all they were only callused with pencil and pen use. He put those hands to good use, ran them down Jim's sides and stroked the insides of his thighs and caressed his balls, pressing on Jim's perineum until Jim thought he might die of the pleasure of it. "Wait," he gasped as Blair's lips sucked him in deeply. "Wait..."

"You taste so good," Blair whispered, releasing his dick but continuing to stroke and pet restlessly. "Let me, Jim... Let me," he moaned, running his tongue up the underside of Jim's penis like it was a lollypop.

"No... wait," Jim managed to get out, fighting for control. "Want to come... want to with you inside, please," he said, but his words eroded into a moan as Blair sucked him down one more time.

"Do we have...? Is there...?" Blair asked, looking up. One hand was still playing with Jim's balls as though they were a new toy.

"Look... in that drawer..." Jim said, turning his head fractionally. Blair stretched out his arm and pulled the nightstand drawer open, chuckling when he found a box of condoms and a tube of Wet. "I think... we know what this place... was for..." Jim said, panting like a long-distance runner, trying hard to hold himself back.

"Well, I didn't put those there," Blair said, pulling one of the foil circles out.

Jim watched greedily as Blair smoothed the condom on himself. Blair was flushed, messy, beautiful, and Jim couldn't believe how lucky he was, how much he wanted this. Then one of Blair's large, workmanlike fingers was slick and pressing at his entrance, and Jim sighed, forcing his muscles to loosen up and accept the warm, welcome invaders.

And it felt so good like this. His senses made everything stronger, made everything more real and, because he was being used by the one person he knew he could trust, the one person who knew more about him than even he did, he could relax and experience it. It was so much better than the last time... so much better than any other time before.

With a deep, heartfelt groan, Blair lifted Jim's legs, lined himself up and began easing into Jim's body with a killing tenderness, a gentleness that was simply astonishing. Jim gasped and he arched, and Blair continued to slide into him, filling his body the way he had filled his mind and his heart over the last several months, the way he would continue to do so for the next several years, and those after that, and those after that...

Blair was thrusting, his heart hammering in his chest, in triple time with his strokes. He moaned Jim's name with every thrust in and gasped it with every ecstatic, slow withdrawal -- and Jim echoed him with his name, panting Blair, Blair, until he shattered, coming in long, strong spurts and taking Blair along with him.

When Blair could see again, he realized he was lying face-down on Jim's strong, broad chest. Not that it wasn't a wonderful place to be, but his nose told him that they were not only stuck together, but they stank and, to a Sentinel, the reek had to be pretty bad. Some time during his little gray-out period, his penis had slipped from Jim's body and, now, the used condom clung to it precariously. Not wanting to shift, but aware that they needed to sleep on the bed that evening, Blair managed to get his hand down low enough to rescue the squishy thing before it spilled.

Beginning the long, painful process of separating from Jim, Blair looked up and was caught by a steel-blue gaze. He'd never seen that expression on Jim's face, that look of sweet love and devotion, and he swallowed against the butterflies it gave him in his stomach. "Jim?"

"You were right," Jim said, apropos of nothing, and Blair blinked at him. "You were right, and I was scared. I thought... I was worried that if we... if we did this, if I let you into this last place, that it would... I don't know. It would mean you knew everything. That I couldn't have any thing or any place that was just mine. That wasn't both mine and yours." His voice was rough, as if he'd been yelling, and his face was bright red with embarrassment, but he met Blair's gaze firmly and bravely.

"Never." Blair winced as he lost some chest hair to the glue holding them together, then pushed himself off Jim, flopping gracelessly to one side. "I'd never do that. I know -- I know better than anyone -- your privacy needs. I know why."

"I know that now," Jim said softly. "It was stupid. I let the dissertation prevent me from wanting this, from taking this. I don't know what I would have done if it had gone on a lot longer." Jim traced a line from Blair's eyebrow to his chin. "So, in a way, we have a lot to thank the boys in the black suits for."

"I won't do that," Blair protested with a lopsided grin. "I won't thank them for anything. Not even this. Because this was us, not them."

Jim shoved curls off of Blair's forehead again and smiled. "You need a haircut, Dr. Sandburg."

"Hey, at least I have hair to cut, man," Blair hooted softly.

"Low blow, Chief," Jim grinned. Their stomachs growled and they both chuckled. "Pizza?" Jim asked.

Blair nodded. "Pizza and beer after the shower."

"Deal."

Pizza and beer (after the shower) was eaten together for the first time in three weeks, after Blair had checked his email and gotten confirmation from Stoddard that the dissertation was received and was being reviewed. The defense was in two days and, regretfully, Blair had to tell Jim that he couldn't attend. "It's not even because you're the subject, man," he told Jim. "Not even Naomi could attend. That is, assuming I could find her." She hadn't answered any of his emails, which told Blair she was still off on some spiritual journey.

"That's okay, Chief," Jim said, snagging the last of the pizza. "I'll stay here. Joel can pick me up and bring me down to campus in time for the party."

Blair did a double take. "What party?" he demanded.

Jim hid his smirk. "Oops. Did I say party? I didn't mean that. Must have been a slip of the tongue."

"Okay, Ellison, spill it. Is Eli planning something? Come on, come on... give it up..."

Jim ducked twitchy, tickling fingers and ran into the bedroom, Blair in hot pursuit.

They spent the next day peacefully, split between bed and chores. Blair made some last minute alterations to the dissertation and Jim did laundry, then they both snuck downstairs to the shops for a haircut at the local Haircuttery. That night they spent making love, and any nervous jitters Blair might have experienced died in Jim's loving arms.

The next day -- "D Day" as Jim called it -- dawned clear and warm. Blair dressed in a suit purchased for him by intermediaries. Eli was due to pick him up momentarily, and he kept nervously checking between his notes and his laptop. Jim finally caught him up and kissed him stupid, relieving some of his tension.

"You'll be just fine, Chief," Jim murmured into his hair, just as Eli knocked on the door.

Stoddard hadn't yet seen them in person, and expressed approval over Blair's new facial hair and suit. He shook Jim's hand heartily, delighted to finally meet him. He also laughed over Blair's blatant case of nerves. "You'll be all right, son," he said reassuringly. To Jim, he added, "I've waited for this moment for years, Jim. Blair has always been something of a wunderkind at Rainier. I knew he'd go far."

"I know it, too," Jim replied, giving Blair a smile that bid fair to melt his knees.

"Do you need a ride to campus this afternoon?" Eli asked, shepherding Blair to the door.

"No, thanks. Joel and Simon are coming by to pick me up for lunch," Jim replied. "I'll be okay, and I'll see you in a few hours."

Blair took a deep breath, squeezed Jim's hand once, and allowed himself to be pushed out the door. This was it -- no more playing around.

D-Day.

Eli filled in Blair's unusual silence on the way to Rainier with chatter about his upcoming expedition to Borneo. "It's about three or four months away, I figure, once I get the funding," he said. Then he glanced at Blair. "You know, normally, I'd be bothering you to come along with me."

"What?" Blair blinked. "Me? Borneo?"

"Yes, Blair. You. Borneo." Eli chuckled. "Now, though, I doubt you'd be able to come. Even if you weren't working for the Police Department -- and I'm sure that's a certainty at this point -- you won't want to leave Detective Ellison." Eli looked thoughtful. "Although, I wouldn't say no to having both of you with me on an expedition."

The conversation was becoming surreal, Blair thought. "Both of us?" And, he needed to stop repeating everything Eli said.

"Of course," Eli said. "Imagine what a resource your Jim would be on an expedition. He'd be able to find things that no one else could. Why, we wouldn't even need to contact the natives directly -- he could hear them miles away!"

Wow. "Wow," Blair said stupidly. "You know," he added after a few moments thought, "Jim spent eighteen months in Peru with the Chopec. He speaks fluent Quechua."

"Really?" Eli's eyes widened, and Blair could almost see the wheels turning. "South America... How extraordinary." After a few moments, when Eli turned into the faculty parking lot at the University, he added, "You know, your Captain Banks owes me a few favors. I wonder how he would feel about letting the two of you off for about... oh... say six months in a couple of years..."

Blair laughed and felt enormously better. That was, probably, Eli's intention all along.

The defense was long and grueling, but, Blair had to admit, fair. His committee had made him jump through hoops of fire over the last three weeks, but he knew that it made for a better paper, so he couldn't really find it in his heart to hate them. Their questions after his presentation were nothing short of evil, but were nothing that he couldn't answer, either. And, if he did say so himself, he did brilliantly.

He kept telling himself that afterwards, while he paced in Eli's office waiting for the committee to call him back in. Jack was with him, watching him with amused eyes, but remained gratifyingly silent. And, to Blair's surprise, when Eli came to fetch him, Jack went with Blair into the room and took up a station just inside the door.

Eli sat at the big conference table as Blair stood at the other end, restlessly gathering his notes. "Congratulations, Dr. Sandburg," he finally said, breaking into a wide grin. "This committee has decided to pass you with distinction. Well done, son."

The other committee members beamed and applauded politely, while Blair had a mild heart attack. Jack wheeled himself over to Blair and put his hand on Blair's arm. "You okay, Blair?" he asked. "Or should I say, 'Dr. Sandburg'?"

Blair couldn't even think of a snappy comeback to that, he was in such shock. The committee and his advisor stood and moved to congratulate him, telling him how much he deserved the accolades after all his hard work. All three had questions about his research subject, the 'unnamed' police detective, and Eli spoke up before Blair could, quieting their questions. "I have a small announcement for all of you -- including you, Blair -- on Blair's subject," he said. "Mr. Kelso and I have arranged for a press conference in a bit over an hour --" Eli glanced at his watch -- "to announce Blair's new academic standing and to discuss the fascinating case of one police detective, James Ellison, Blair's subject. You see, gentlemen -- and lady -- what happened to cause this sudden defense of his paper was an unfortunate set of circumstances that--"

The door burst open and everyone jumped. Simon and Joel stood there, out of breath. "Jim's missing," Simon growled.

What Blair remembered best about the next few moments was his sense of utter panic. Jack and Eli immediately burst out with questions, and the noise was such that Blair felt an absurd spike of relief that Jim wasn't there to zone on the cacophony.

It was Jack Kelso, oddly enough, who took control with a loud, piercing whistle. "If everyone could just be quiet for a few minutes," he said, once he had their attention. "Simon, what happened?"

"We went to the apartment to pick up Jim and he wasn't there," Simon explained. "There was no note and no sign of forced entry. Joel mentioned that Jim often went downstairs to the building's exercise room to work out. It took us a few minutes to find it, but when we did, it was empty, too. The log book showed a 'JJ Sellman' signing in about an hour before, but no one else since very early that morning."

"That was Jim," Blair choked out, his eyes going wide. "That was the alias I used for him when we were in Clayton Falls. Oh my God."

Jack grabbed his arm. "Blair, calm down. We can beat this." To the room at large, he said, "Eli was about to tell you what happened -- well, allow me to now explain. Detective Ellison's abilities were discovered by an unscrupulous former agent of the CIA about two months ago. This person wanted to use Jim and Blair to steal a top-secret weapon, and almost succeeded, except for Blair and Jim's valor in holding him off until the authorities could arrive. Unfortunately..." Jack winced and rubbed his eyes, then sighed before continuing, "unfortunately, the man then fell into the hands of his former agency and decided to try to get back in good with them by telling them about Detective Ellison."

The committee members gasped and all of them looked shocked and furious.

Kelso continued, "I was able to find out about it in time to warn them and they went under, escaping very well. This whole rushed dissertation was Blair's idea to get Jim to safety, since he thought that if everyone knew about Jim, he'd be safer." Jack looked at Blair and his eyes were sad. "I recently discovered that it wasn't the CIA who got Brackett. It was another agency, one that not even I know much about. And, apparently, they found where you two were staying and managed to get Jim. I'm sorry, Blair. I should have insisted that the two of you come here together."

"It's not your fault, Jack," Blair murmured, sinking into a chair. "What am I going to do? They're going to want me, too... they won't want just Jim."

"We carry on with the plan," Eli said suddenly, coming to stand behind Blair. He placed his hands on Blair's shoulders, comforting him. "We hold the press conference, and we tell the press exactly what's happened. All of it." He looked at Blair, then at Simon and Jack, who nodded soberly.

"I think I'll make a call to the Commissioner, as well," Simon said, pulling out his cell phone. "When is this party set for, Eli?"

Eli glanced at his watch. "A bit less than an hour, here on campus, in the Chancellor's office. Can he make it?"

"I think he will," Simon said, stepping aside and dialing.

"Wait, wait," Blair said, holding confusion and panic at bay only by an act of will. "I -- I don't know -- you think this will work? Jack, what agency is this? What if they... what if they just take off with Jim...? I mean..."

"Blair." Jack's voice was firm, and Eli's hand on his shoulder was squeezing in reassurance. "I thought it was the NSA, maybe -- but now I'm not even sure of that. Rest assured, Blair, they will want you too. What did Brackett call you? You told me yourself that Jim functions better with you near him."

"A guide," Blair said softly. "I'm his guide. That's what Brackett called me. You're sure?"

"As sure as I can be of anything," Jack said, nodding.

Simon came back to the group, putting his cell phone away. "He'll be here. I've also called up some reinforcements, just to be on the safe side. Jack, your contact at the FBI was everything you said he'd be and had no problem helping out."

"Good," Jack said, and Blair's gaze just bounced between them as he grew ever more confused and desperate. Where was Jim? "Blair. Deep breaths. You just defended your dissertation. A press conference is a piece of cake. Right?" Jack's eyes were concerned, for all his voice tried to be light.

Blair swallowed. "If you say so," he whispered.

They waited in the conference room until Simon received a call and told them it was safe to leave. Then, en masse, they moved across the campus to the Administrative Building, where they waited in the Chancellor's office while the adjacent conference room -- currently acting as a briefing room -- filled with media reps. Commissioner Ramsey showed up five minutes before the appointed time and shook Blair's hand warmly. Blair must have said something to him -- he remembered his mouth moving -- but whatever it was, he couldn't remember it. He was too shocked, too overwhelmed by events.

Eli started the press conference rolling. "Thank you all for coming," he said, stepping up to the lectern. "In this age of cynicism and doubt, it comes as an incredible gift to find something genuinely new, genuinely different -- a discovery of such proportions that it could touch everyone on a campus... in a city... in a country... in our world. My new colleague, Dr. Blair Sandburg, has made such a discovery and, today, he was granted his Ph.D. on the basis of it. He has, my friends, identified and proven the existence of a true sentinel; a guardian such as was believed to exist only in our history. Sir Richard Burton, the 19th century anthropologist and explorer, documented sentinels in one of his monographs. They were thought extinct until today. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce Dr. Blair Sandburg, B.A., M.A., Ph.D., to explain what this means to those of us who live in Cascade."

Blair took a deep breath and stepped up to the lectern, then looked out at the two dozen men and women in the room, who looked back at him with expectation and interest. "Several months ago," he began, his voice shaky, but firming, "I received a call from a friend who worked at Cascade General Hospital. A police detective, James Ellison, had come into the hospital for tests, complaining of sensory spikes."

Blair talked and talked and then talked some more. The press corps, initially only mildly interested, became increasingly excited as he described Jim's abilities, the things they had been able to accomplish and the cases they had been able to solve. When he explained how Jim found the Switchman by smelling a particular, custom-made shampoo on a scrap of thread from a hat, a murmur started. When he talked about the Juno case, apologizing because they hadn't been able to explain exactly how Jim had been able to see Tommy Juno's twin in a dark building on a dark night more than a football field away, the murmur grew into a babble. Two people stood and ran from the room, pulling cell phones from pockets as they moved. Hands shot into the air and, as Blair wrapped it up, he nodded to a woman in front.

"Dr. Sandburg," she said, and Blair took a deep, shaky breath. "Are you telling us that Detective Ellison is Cascade's version of Superman? A superhero?"

"Not at all," Blair said firmly. "Jim Ellison is a man with a gift. His senses -- all of them -- are heightened to a degree far beyond what is generally considered 'normal.' As I said earlier, I have thoroughly tested and documented what Detective Ellison is capable of -- and what he isn't. He can't see through walls." There was a ripple of laughter, and Blair grinned. "He can't leap tall buildings at a single bound or stop bullets with his chest. What he can do, however, is see things that a normal person would miss -- if he's looking. He can find tiny pieces of grass, dirt or wood embedded deeply in a floor and far beyond what a forensics team might pickup. He can hear things that ordinarily would be missed -- a heartbeat in a burning building, for example -- if he has reason to pay attention. Or, he can smell the smoke from that fire before the fire becomes a killer." Heads were nodding, but his audience looked no less excited. "He is a Sentinel. A tribal watchman, a guardian, who happens to be a cop. Detective James Ellison is Cascade's Sentinel."

Commissioner Ramsey suddenly appeared next to Blair at the lectern. Flashbulbs went off. "Dr. Sandburg neglected to say one thing," he said, a plastic smile on his face as he looked at the crowd. "In the little more than six months that he's worked with and helped Detective Ellison, the arrest and conviction rate for the Major Crime division of the Police Department has skyrocketed. I am fully aware that this is not just due to Detective Ellison's senses, and I intend to make sure that Dr. Sandburg has a permanent place -- as Detective Ellison's partner -- in Cascade's Police Department." He shook Blair's rather numb hand as more flashes went off and the babble soared to a roar.

"Commissioner Ramsey, Commissioner Ramsey!" several of the reporters were calling his name, and he acknowledged one with a nod. "Commissioner Ramsey, were you aware of the fact that Detective Ellison was a Sentinel before today?"

"No, I did not know," Commissioner Ramsey said firmly. "They -- rather wisely, as it turned out -- kept that a secret from all of us until some rather dreadful circumstances forced their hand, and forced Dr. Sandburg to finish his dissertation and defend it." Voices yelled out questions, demanding to know the circumstances, so the Commissioner continued. "You all may remember about a month ago, there was a scare at the Opera House -- everyone in it passing out at once." Heads nodded and more flashes went off. "What you didn't know then was that a rogue ex-CIA agent, named Lee Brackett, was behind the attack. He used it to blackmail Detective Ellison and Dr. Sandburg into helping him try to steal some kind of top secret government plane."

Blair gaped at Ramsey. He didn't even know how the Commissioner knew all that, much less what his plan was in telling the world.

"Brackett apparently used his knowledge of Detective Ellison's abilities to get himself back in the good graces of some shadowy government agency, who -- just a few, short weeks ago -- moved against both Detective Ellison and Dr. Sandburg, forcing them to flee Cascade. The aim of this press conference is to thwart their interest because -- and here I cannot be too adamant in my stand -- Detective Ellison and Dr. Sandburg belong to Cascade. Detective Ellison is Cascade's Sentinel, and though we will share in times of need, we will not abide his forcible removal from our fair city!"

Blair had to force himself to keep his mouth closed and his eyes in their sockets. What a blowhard -- what a sound bite! It was apparently true, then, that Ramsey had designs on the mayor's position. If so, then, he had probably just cemented it for himself. The reporters were going berserk, flashes were going off and blinding Blair. Ramsey turned to him again and shook his hand, but Blair had the feeling that it was all for show.

He needed Jim here, he needed everything to go back to normal. He wanted more than anything else for them to go back to the loft, to the peace and quiet of their everyday, ordinary lives, and forget about Brackett and Ramsey and sound bites and guys in black suits...

Eli was at his arm, tugging him away from the lectern and Ramsey, who was once again taking questions. "Blair, your cell phone was just ringing in your backpack," Eli murmured in his ear. "You've got a message, and I think perhaps you should find out what it was."

They left Ramsey to the reporters while they adjourned to the anteroom, and Blair retrieved his cell from his backpack. With Simon, Joel, Eli and Jack around, he called his voicemail and heard the message, a flat male voice speaking the words he had dreaded. Blair swallowed and looked up at his friends. "North Beach Park at four-thirty. I'm to come alone."

Simon nodded slowly and his eyes glittered.

It had been a beautiful, early summer day, and North Beach Park was crowded with bikers, skaters and walkers. Blair drove the truck that had taken him -- and Jim -- to Clayton Falls and back, and pulled into a parking slot near where he had been directed to go. He took a deep breath before climbing down from the cab and walking along the sidewalk that bordered the street.

Near a hot dog stand, a sandy-haired man in a dark suit, wearing sunglasses against the brilliant afternoon sunshine, approached him. "Well, well. Dr. Sandburg, I presume?"

"Brackett," Blair replied, his voice icy. "Where's Jim?"

"That would be telling," Brackett said, and his voice still carried that mocking, derogatory tone that had so set Blair's teeth on edge before.

"Then you'd better start telling," Blair demanded. Black fury rose in him, and his hands closed into fists. "Before I start taking you apart piece by piece."

"Dr. Sandburg! I'm appalled at you," Brackett said, grinning sardonically. "For a man of letters, an academic, isn't that a particularly violent thing to say?"

"You haven't seen violent yet, Brackett," Blair gritted out. "I want Jim. Now."

"We heard your little press conference," Brackett said, ignoring Blair's demand. "Quite a stunt. I don't know what you hoped to accomplish, though."

Blair counted to ten, slowly. It would serve no purpose to kill Brackett... yet. He was making himself no promises for later, though. "What it accomplished, you moron, was to get you and your stupid suits off our backs. You can't touch us now. Not without a public outcry so huge it'd make Watergate look like a kiddie pool and blow the lid off your pathetic little James Bond wannabe agency. You have lost, man. Give it up."

For a moment, just a brief moment, Blair saw utter, frustrated fury on Brackett's face, and he internally exulted. Then Brackett slapped the mask back on and sighed. "We haven't lost anything, Doc," he said. "We've just experienced a minor setback. And if we wanted you, there's nothing on Earth that would prevent us from taking you. Like right now." A long, black car with tinted windows pulled into the parking lot and began moving slowly towards them, as Brackett's hand drifted towards his jacket.

"Oh, you think so?" Blair asked, smiling nastily. "Look around, Brackett. Look carefully." Blair swung his arm out and indicated in a broad circle. "I count no fewer than twenty-five undercover policemen. That hot dog vender...? Bomb squad Captain Joel Taggart. I wouldn't get too close to him, actually, since he feels he owes you one."

Brackett looked over at Taggart and his eyes narrowed.

"Look up on the top of the parking garage, man," Blair continued. "Five sharpshooters -- armed with armor piercing bullets. And I rather doubt they're aiming to kill, personally -- you know how SWAT guys get when one of their own is threatened. Oh, and in case you were wondering, there's a good selection of FBI agents out here, too... It seems they don't think too much of your agency -- whatever the hell it is -- for horning in on domestic surveillance. I think that couple on the bench over there are and, if I'm not mistaken, that Cascade PG&E truck is full of them."

Whirling, Brackett looked quickly from person to person. Nearly everyone he looked at stopped what they were doing and stared back, and nearly every one of them had a suspicious bulge near at hand. He slowly turned back to Blair, and Blair crossed his arms over his chest. "You. Have. Lost," he snarled. "Now, hand Jim over before I turn them loose. And believe me, Brackett, you don't want me to turn them loose."

Brackett looked down. After a moment, Blair realized he was shaking with laughter. "Okay, Doc -- I admit it. I'm impressed." He glanced up at Blair and his eyes over the top of the sunglasses were flat and cold, for all he was still grinning. "What I ought to do now is kill Ellison, you know, because, if we can't have him, no one should." Blair's shoulders tightened and his heart nearly exploded at Brackett's words, but he kept himself impassive -- with great effort. "But you know what? Where's the fun in that?"

The dark car had come to a stop at the curb and Brackett walked over to open the passenger door. Inside, to Blair's tremendous relief, was Jim. Sotto voce, Blair said, "Come on, man, out quick." Jim nodded fractionally, sliding out of the car as rapidly as he could. The moment he was clear of the vehicle, five unmarked police cars and a reinforced PG&E truck screamed into place around it, effectively blocking it in.

Jim stood next to Blair, watching the operation. He had immediately tried to put Blair behind him, but that hadn't worked since Blair was simultaneously trying the same move with him. Instead, they grinned briefly at each other and stood side-by-side, observing as the cops and FBI agents converged on the vehicle and Brackett, who stood at the open door, his hands clearly visible. He obviously had no death wish.

The other two men with Brackett were disarmed and the FBI agents began to lead them away. Blair called out, "Hey, wait up," to the men leading Brackett. He walked quickly over to them, saying, "There's something I owe you, Brackett... for this and for the last time. Jim paid before -- I figure now, it's my turn." By then, he was within reaching distance, so he swung out with his fist and caught Brackett's chin with a smashing uppercut, hard enough to flatten the guy. The cops and the agents froze, grins of stunned surprise on their faces. The agent leading Brackett pulled him to his feet, muttering something about not tripping again, and hauled him off.

"That's some right hook ya got there, Chief," Jim drawled.

Blair looked up at him, shaking his hand from the pain -- it felt like he might have cracked a knuckle, but he just didn't care. He couldn't erase the grin from his face at the sight of his partner, who was still in shorts and a muscle t-shirt, obviously having been snatched from his workout. "You know, he'll probably go free, too," Blair said, acknowledging Simon's approach. "We're going to have to keep an eye out for that bozo."

"Not our problem anymore, Sandburg," Jim said. "You hear that popping sound?"

Blair grimaced -- not again. "No, Jim... What popping sound?" he asked with weary patience.

"It's the sound of a paradigm shifting without a clutch." Blair shot Jim an incredulous look and began snickering. Jim draped one arm around Blair's shoulders and squeezed. "I saw the press conference," he murmured. "Or rather, I heard it. Congratulations. You should have heard Brackett. He's screwed, Chief."

"Sandburg!" Simon yelled as he came close to them. "I saw that stunt! You pull that on a legitimate perp and I'll have your hide!"

"Yes-sir-Captain-sir!" Blair replied rapidly, smiling ear to ear.

"You're damn right -- and don't you forget it! I'm your official boss, now, Doctor Sandburg," Simon said, chewing on his cigar. "You're going to have to listen to what I say, instead of just letting it go in one ear and out the other."

"Hey!" Blair blinked in outrage. "I always listen to you, Simon! You can't say I don't!" He looked from Simon's grinning face to Jim's and realized his chain was being yanked. "Oh man..."

Jim squeezed his shoulders again and they both followed Simon to his car. "Can we go home now?" Blair asked plaintively as they climbed in.

"Yep," Simon replied, getting behind the wheel. "Rafe and Brown picked up your stuff from the apartment, and I gave them my key to the loft. They were going to open it up and air it out for you."

"Thanks, Simon," Jim said, smiling in surprised pleasure.

"And you're both officially on leave another two weeks," Simon added. At their startled exclamations, he waved his hand. "Not my doing, gentlemen. Commissioner Ramsey's. He figures that'll give it time for the hoo-rah to calm down -- and for Sandburg to jump through a few more hoops. And you thought you were done..."

"Hoops?! What hoops?" Blair demanded.

Simon merely gave Blair an evil smile in the mirror. Then, he glanced at Jim, who was riding shotgun, as usual. "And I'd appreciate it if you could work from home, as it were, Jim. We've got a lot of outstanding cases that could use you."

"Sure, Simon," Jim replied, still confused. "I don't get it though. Why can't we come back to work, and what hoops?"

Simon turned and gave them both a long, evil look. "You'll find out," was all he said before starting the car and turning it towards the loft.

Blair didn't like the way he was thinking. If Simon -- or even the Commissioner for that matter -- thought they were going to mold Dr. Sandburg into a cop... they were going to be sadly mistaken. In an attempt to sidetrack his thoughts, he grabbed Jim's shoulder over the seatback. "Jim, how did they get you? What happened?"

Jim turned and grimaced. "Air horn, Chief," he said. "You know... one of those little things that spectators use at football games? You wouldn't believe how it sounds in an enclosed space. Knocked me right on my butt -- my ears are still ringing. And the asshole kept it in his hand the whole time I was in the car -- I was petrified he was going to use it again."

Shaking his head in sympathy, Blair winced. "Ow... That's bad. We're going to have to work on that, see if there's some way we can't get your senses to -- I don't know, turn up and down, maybe? Mute sounds and lights when you need to?"

Simon snorted in amusement, but Jim gave Blair an incredulous look. "Sandburg! I am not a TV set or a stereo! What is going on in that frightening brain of yours?"

That was it! "Stereo!" Blair repeated, excited. "Yeah, yeah! Like... like... the dials on a stereo system. You know, one for hearing, one for smell..." He ignored the look that passed between Simon and Jim. "We need to get you going on some guided meditation, Jim. Get you to the point that you can turn them up and down..."

Loud voices and laughter followed the car down the Cascade streets to Prospect Avenue and home.

end

End North by Northeast by MrsHamill: thamill@cox.net

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