Author's disclaimer: This story does not infringe on any rights held by UPN, Paramount or any character belonging to them. This story is for enjoyment of TS fans only.

Author's notes: My thanks to EagleEye for betaing this on short notice. This story takes place after TSbyBS and Blair has completed his training and is a detective. But he is still a Shaman, and Jim is still a Sentinel. A 'crying mask' is a true artifact of the Alaska natives. I just expanded on the legend a little.

Crying Mask

"Delivery for Blair Sandburg." The skinny pimplefaced blonde in an UPS uniform looked around the Major Crime bullpen. He balanced a clipboard on a small wooden box.

Jim Ellison looked up from the spread of photos on his desk and nudged his partner at the computer screen.

"Uh?" Sandburg looked up, pushed his glasses up on his nose.

"You expecting something?" Jim scanned the box with his senses. All he smelled was dust and straw. He sneezed.

Blair shook his head, got up and signed the board. The courier quickly sped away. He looked at the small box on the desk. He looked up at his partner. "Hear anything?"

Jim shook his head. "I'm sure they scanned it downstairs before it was allowed in the building."

Sandburg dug out his pocketknife, carefully pried open the corner of the lid and worked each staple free. He lifted the lid and grabbed a handful of straw, dropping it in the trashcan.

A newspaper wrapped object rested in the center of more straw, a folded note stuck out from underneath. Blair pulled the note free and opened it.

The rest of the detectives from Major Crime gathered around their youngest member, peering over his shoulder at the note, each asking what and who and why.

//"Dr. Sandburg. Read an article by you a few months ago discussing Pacific Northwest tribal mythology and how it parallels ancient Greek and Roman myths. My dig in Canada uncovered several small masks and I thought of you when I was cleaning this one. Culturally it has little significance but I thought you would find it interesting. Thank you for putting my feet on the right path. May your footsteps lead you to your destiny". The note was signed: 'A grateful student.'//

Blair handed Jim the note, eyes wide. "No name." Jim looked at it, turned it over, and studied the card and ink. "Probably didn't want to get in trouble for removing an artifact from a dig without permission."

Blair lifted the object from its straw bed and carefully started unwrapping it. When he was done, he was holding a carved mask that was slightly larger than his hand. The mask was two different colors of clay, one dark red, the other lighter. The colors divided the mask down the middle. The features were flat, barely defined at all.

One eye was open, one closed, the mouth was open. The remains of white paint dotted under the closed eye, a couple more splashes on the forehead. Blair looked at it, eyes wide, mouth ajar. One finger traced the features, touched the faded paint.

"What is it?" Brown asked first.

"It's a crying mask." Sandburg whispered.

"A what?" Rafe took the note out of Ellison's hand and skimmed over it.

Blair cleared his throat, looked at his partner and the group gathered around him. "A crying mask." He waved his right hand over the carving cradled in his left. "It represents emotions that cripple the soul."

"Why would someone send you that?" Megan reached through the men, one manicured fingernail touching the clay mask. "How old is it?"

"I have no idea how old it might be. But a shaman might use a crying mask to help someone deal with an emotion to strong to be expressed. A shaman would direct someone to make a crying mask out of clay or wood and while they were making it, project whatever emotion they were trying to deal with, into the mask. Anger, fear, grief, rage, always the negative emotions. A mask could be very simple or very intricate depending on the skill of the maker and how long it would take to work through the emotion."

"What happened after the crying mask was finished?" Jim took the carving.

"Depends on the person. Sometimes they were buried, to show that the emotions were done with. 'Dead and buried' as they say. Other times they were burned with honor, like a warrior. Occasionally they would be hidden away, maybe in a shrine, as a reminder of the emotions and the memory of them."

Jim stroked the mask, fingertips feeling every rough and uneven mark on the stone. "This one is very powerful. The emotions it contains are old fears, repressed sorrow, deep regrets." The sentinel whispered into the silence around him, stunning the group.

Each detective looked at the other one, puzzled and worried. En masse they looked at Sandburg. The teacher held up his hand for silence.

"What do you feel, Jim?" The Guide whispered to his Sentinel.

"Old sorrows, secrets. Pain for a lost one. Regrets for actions never taken. Fear of being different, being discovered." Jim's voice stumbled silent, his eyes closed, face slack.

Blair took the mask from his hand, placed it carefully on the desk. He gripped the detective's wrist.

"Come back, Jim. You're in the office. Come back to me."

Jim started, his eyes blinking open. "What happened?" He looked anxiously around at his friends.

Blair's hand tightened on Ellison's wrist. "You just went on a little trip when you touched the mask. Kinda like what happened with Molly."

Jim flushed, embarrassed. "Sorry." He turned away from everyone, twisting his arm from Blair's grip.

"Jim, don't be upset." Joel stopped him. "We all know you have several gifts we don't understand. You won't admit to them but we've seen you use it. Don't run away from us now. Talk to us. Tell us what you can do, how you do it."

Jim remained stubbornly silent, eyes downcast. He hadn't admitted to any special talents, not after Blair's death, then sudden resurrection; even after the press conference where Blair had thrown away his academic life to protect Jim's secret. The secret had been conveniently forgotten in the fury of Zeller's attack on the station and subsequent death.

"Hell, Jim, you solved a 50 year old murder case because you saw a ghost. You brought Blair back from the dead with a touch. Don't you think it's time to let the rest of us in on your secret?"

Jim felt Taggart's concern, the others' emotions beating on him. He looked up, into his Guide's concerned eyes, then at each one of his friends, seeing nothing but concern and worry. There was no fear of him in this room, no contempt, no shame or hatred, for what he was.

"Guys." Jim stopped, looked at Blair who nodded encouragement. He took a long breath, held it as he looked at his partner, then let it out. "Blair didn't lie at the press conference. He was protecting me." The detective looked at the faces surrounding him and his partner. "It's a long story and it's difficult to explain. The things you see me do, the hunches you've seen me follow, all come from a couple of talents most people don't have. And if they did have them, who wouldn't believe it anyway."

Rafe slapped Brown on the arm. "See, told you he was psychic."

Blair spoke up. "Not exactly. Though we're beginning to see an enhanced sixth sense., I wouldn't have him sign up for the Psychic hotline just yet. Jim is a Sentinel, a genetic anomaly with enhanced senses."

Taggart held up his hand. "Whoa, Blair. Time out. A what?"

Blair looked at the group and pulled off his glasses. "Look, why don't we take this some place a little more private, like Simon's office. Then I can tell you the whole story."

There were nods and voices of agreement all the way around. Simon was in a budget meeting, and had dragged Rhonda and stacks of files with him.

All of the staff crowded around the table and desk, slouching in chairs and perching on corners, their eyes on Sandburg, who was whispering something to Jim, his large hand wrapped around Ellison's wrist.

Jim shook his head, listened again and frowned. Blair shook the wrist he held, emphasizing a point until the detective nodded.

"Come on, Jim, time to come clean. Are you Spiderman or Green Lantern?" Henri slapped Rafe on the shoulder. "At least you're not Peter Pan, hey, partner?"

Rafe shot his partner a glance and groaned. Ellison had tagged him with 'Peter Pan' months ago. Henri had darted out and returned with dark green tights and a cap. The well-dressed detective had yet to live it down, especially with H bringing it up at every opportunity.

Jim looked at the group crowded around him. He shot his partner a glance before holding up his hands in submission. "Okay, okay. I'll come clean. But you'll have to let Sandburg fill in the mystical mumbo jumbo. I'm just the 'throw back to prehistoric man' he works with."

"Jim, that's not nice. You're so much more than that." Blair was grinning, eyes dancing around the room. "That's what I called him the day we met."

Jim cuffed his partner on the back of the head, gently. "Smartass." Then Ellison settled down on Simon's desk and told them about Sentinels and Shamans. He had a spellbound audience and when Blair took over the story, someone could hear a pin drop. It wasn't long before Sandburg had slipped back into teaching mode, walking and talking, hands flying, eyes sparkling.

Jim watched his junior partner, face held carefully neutral as he saw Blair doing what he loved to do. The teacher had given up his chosen profession to protect his Sentinel. He had walked away from a life that had defined him for half his lifetime just to be sure Jim would be safe. Ellison's heart ached over the loss, and yet he was so proud of the man spinning the tale in front of their coworkers, it was hard to contain some times.

Sandburg had accepted another challenge and became a cop, but not just a street cop: a detective. Jim's partner. The grad student had walked into the academy, eyes wide open, determined to be the best. He'd passed the schoolwork, the physical work and the arms training with flying colors, graduating at the top of the class. Then he'd passed the first level of testing for detective a month after graduating from the academy, becoming Jim's full time partner in every definition of the word in the police universe.

Jim was having a hard time dealing with the changes in his world and with Sandburg's makeover. Instead of a hyperactive grad student, burning the candles at both ends, Blair was quiet most of the time, introspective. His hair, cut short for the academy, had stayed that way. The earrings were gone, so were the backpack and layered flannel shirts. Instead there were neat sweaters or button down shirts with subdued vests, topping off dark jeans or cords. Jim hated the new look. It wasn't 'Chief'. 'Chief' danced to tribal drums and made herbal cures for colds. 'Chief' talked a mile a minute and was curious about everything. 'Chief' flinched at gunfire and refused to touch one. 'Chief' told tall tales and laughed a lot.

As Jim watched his partner talk, he saw 'Chief' again for the first time since the press conference. And suddenly all the pain and anguish Sandburg had suffered for his partner was in front of Ellison, in the alter ego of the gun carrying, neatly dressed, junior detective. His heart hurt from the pain, and Jim unconsciously pressed his fist against his breastbone, trying to hold the pain tightly inside. His stomach rumbled, and he fumbled for the door behind him, yanking it open with a muttered 'be right back.'

Simon barely got out of the way as Jim barreled out of the bullpen. "What the hell -?" He handed Rhonda his briefcase and a stack of files, then followed his detective as Jim staggered into the men's room.

Simon pushed open the door, listening for a moment before going any further. The sound of retching echoed through the tile room, and Simon closed the door behind him, then blocked it with a convenient chair. He waited until he heard the toilet flush and the sound of running water before he came around the corner stall. Jim was leaning against a mirror, hands in the running water.

"You all right, Jim?" The large man pulled some paper towels out of the dispenser and handed them to Ellison.

Jim nodded, accepted the towels and wiped his face, dried his hands. He looked at the reflection of his captain in the mirror. Then he looked at himself, seeing the ashen face, sky blue eyes laced with fine red lines.

"Want to tell me what's wrong? I don't think I've ever seen you lose it like this before."

Jim straightened up and turned around, leaned against the sink. "Simon, have you ever had an epiphany? A moment in your life when you realize that you have made such a mistake, that it will follow you for the rest of your days?" His eyes were haunted as he looked at his commanding officer and friend.

Simon shook his head. "I don't follow. What are you talking about?"

"I killed a man, Simon. About four months ago. I killed him as surely as surely as if I'd pulled a trigger. I was so caught up in me, my problems, my fears; that I didn't even notice when he died."

Simon studied Jim closely. The detective looked older, worn, exhausted. When had the line between the eyebrows gotten that deep? When had the thin hair on top gotten thinner? "Jim, I still don't know what you're talking about. Who did you kill?"

Jim dropped his head to his chest, took several deep breaths, before meeting the dark brown eyes again. "I killed 'Chief', Simon. I killed the part of Blair Sandburg I loved the most. I killed his joy of life, his thirst for knowledge, his need to teach what he knows."

Simon shook his head, reached for Jim's arm. "I think you need to sit down and tell me what is going on with you. Sandburg is fine."

Jim nodded again, squeezed his eyes shut, nose flaring as he inhaled. "You're right, sir. Sandburg is fine. Detective Blair Sandburg is alive and well. But the part of him that is 'Chief' is gone. I didn't know that until just a few minutes ago."

"What happened a few minutes ago?" Simon leaned against the wall, dropping his words softly at his detective. He could see Jim shaking, and he wanted to call for Sandburg, get the younger partner in there to handle whatever was tearing Ellison apart. But he waited.

"He was talking to the rest of the staff, telling them about Sentinels and tribal guardians. He was so... alive, Simon. Eyes sparkling, hands dancing, laughing. He was teaching, Simon. And lost in the act of teaching. I saw 'Chief' for the first time since Sandburg entered the Academy." Jim met Simon's eyes, his expression etched with sorrow. "Do you know what we've done, Simon? We've taken someone who was so much more than all of us, and pared him down, stuffed him into a mold and forced him into something he would have never voluntarily done. We played God and made Blair into our image. A cop."

"Whoa, cowboy. That's a pretty heavy statement to be throwing around. Nobody forced Sandburg to join the police force. Nobody held a gun to his head while he signed the papers."

"Didn't we? We toss him a badge in front of everyone, like it's a done deal. We start teasing him about his hair and what we're going to do with it when he cuts it. You tell him he has to go to the Academy and firearms training. We didn't hold a gun to his head, but we might as well have. How could he decline in front of everyone? He'd just had his university life ripped from him, courtesy of Naomi, stood in front of a press conference and declared himself a fraud to protect me. What else was he going to do? Hand the badge back and walk away?"

"He could have." Simon was shaking his head at Ellison. "He's an adult, capable of making his own decisions."

"That's right. And every decision he has made over the last three years have started with 'Jim is a Sentinel and must be protected.' He destroyed himself rather then harm me. He gave up everything he loved, to be at my side. My partner, my guide, my shaman. And what did I give him? Nothing."

"That's not true, Jim, and you know it."

"I gave him a room to live in. Big deal. I've had closets bigger than that room. I've ridiculed him, threatened him, threw him out so Alex could kill him. What kind of partner does that make me?" Jim's voice had risen until he was shouting. He stomped around Simon and slapped his hands on the wall, almost beating his head against the ceramic. "I tell you what it makes me, it makes me the biggest asshole in the universe. I don't deserve him. I don't deserve his loyalty, his belief in who and what I am."

"You brought him back when he drowned." Simon whispered. "Who else could have done that?"

Jim nodded. "Then left him to chase after his murderer, only to fall in her arms because of some primitive need to," he stumbled over the words, "join with a female Sentinel. She got my gun, Simon. Pointed it at him. I was barely able to move my arm enough to disarm her. Another second or two and he'd have been dead for real, with a bullet from my gun." Jim bounced his forehead lightly against the wall. "He would have been better off to run and keep right on running when we got back home. Instead, we move all his stuff back into the loft and it's never mentioned again. I never told him how scared I was. How terrified I was when I couldn't hear his heartbeat. I never told him how much I love him." The last statement was whispered into the wall, Jim's head turned away from his captain.

"Don't you think it's time you fix that, Jim? Lord knows he loves you."

Jim turned to look at his captain, eyes wide at the smile on Simon's face. "He does, doesn't he? Why else would he put up with all my shit?" Jim whispered in wonder.

Simon nodded. "So what are you going to do about it?"

Jim wiped his face, closed his eyes and took a breath to steady his nerves. "Fix the problem." Jim pulled the chair away from the blocked door and opened it. "And, sir, we'll need some time off, a couple of weeks at least." He strode away, leaving Simon smiling.

The detectives were gathered around Blair's desk when Jim entered. Sandburg looked up and climbed out of his chair. "Jim, what happened? Are you all right?" He glanced at Simon as the police captain entered the bullpen, eyes full of questions.

"I'm fine, Chief. Or at least I will be." Jim elbowed his way between Brown and Taggart, until he was standing toe to toe with Sandburg. "I just realized I've made a huge mistake and I'm going to fix it right now."

Blair's eyes grew round as he studied the intent look on Ellison's face. "What mistake, Jim?"

Jim reached for the short curls at the edge of Blair's neck. He ran his fingers through the strands, ruffling the short locks to float around his partner's face. Then he sank both hands into the heavy silk and leaned over Blair. "This mistake, Blair." He touched his lips to Blair's open mouth, liked the sensation he found there, and settled down to devour his partner's heavy lips. After a moment, Blair answered the kiss and sank into the embrace, arms going around the hard body leaning over him.

The sound of clapping hands, whistles and catcalls finally penetrated Jim's ears, and he pulled back from the mouth he'd been crushing.

Puzzled, worried blue eyes looked up at him. Jim touched their foreheads together. "Love you, Blair. Loved you forever. Sorry it took me so long to figure it out." Jim whispered.

"Jim." The name was a sigh. "I was prepared to wait forever. Love you, too." Blair's hands found Jim's and their fingers interlaced. "Sure picked a hell of time and place, man."

"Okay people, let's break it up. Crime doesn't stop because Ellison and Sandburg finally caught the clue bus." Simon tried to sound annoyed but the smile on his face wouldn't let him. He walked into his office and slammed the door for effect. The bullpen erupted in laughter.

Henri high-fived Rafe. "I won the pot, man." He laughed and punched Ellison in the arm. "Sure took you long enough. I was beginning to think you'd never figure it out and that pot would just sit there for another month."

Blair pulled away from the arm wrapped around his waist and slipped free of Jim's hands. "You had money riding on us?" He looked from face to face, seeing laughing eyes and nods. "How long?"

"More importantly, how much?" Jim spoke up. "Seems to me we're entitled to a piece of the take."

"Oh no, Jimbo. That's a secret." Megan chirped up. "I will say it was one of the first things I got clued in to when I arrived."

Jim and Blair exchanged glances. "Shows how observant we are, doesn't it, partner? You're the observer, how come you didn't catch on?"

"You're the Sentinel, how come you didn't see or hear something?" Blair met the bright blue eyes then turned to the group around them. "How long has he been a Detective?"

Everyone laughed. Simon stuck his head out of his door and glared at his crew, then slammed it again, rattling the shades. The hint was finally taken, and everyone started drifting back to their desks, patting Jim or Blair on the shoulder or arm as they wandered away.

When they were alone again, Jim launched himself from the corner of the desk and grabbed their coats off the rack, tossing one to Blair. "Come on, Chief, Simon wants us out of here for awhile." He reached for the clay mask on Blair's desk and carefully wrapped it back in the newspaper it had come in. Jim placed it back into the box and closed the lid before tucking it under his arm.

Sandburg shut down his computer and shrugged into his leather jacket. "Where are we going?" He followed Jim out of the double doors.

Jim pushed the button for the elevator. "Want to go camping for a few days? Or rent a cabin somewhere near the beach?"

The two men stepped into the elevator as soon as it emptied out. The doors slid closed behind them and Blair turned and stared at his partner. "Jim, we've got cases. You are supposed to give a deposition tomorrow and testify in court the day after. We can't just up and leave."

Jim was pushing his partner into the corner of the car, carding his fingers through the short curls. "Do you know how long I wanted to touch your hair?"

Blair caught the inquisitive hand. "Jim, you're not listening to me."

"Yes, I am. We have responsibilities here, to Simon." The larger detective sighed and stepped away from his partner. He looked down into the earnest face. "Okay, but we're leaving this weekend and we're not coming back here for at least a week. So, pick our destination."

Before Blair could answer, Jim was kissing him again, stealing his words and breath. Blair sagged into the kiss, arms around Jim's waist and neck. They didn't come up for air until the elevator car settled and the doors started to slide open.

In the truck, heading for the loft, Blair took the small box on the seat between them and opened it again. He peeled the paper away and looked at the two-tone rock mask. "This started it, didn't it?" He glanced up at Jim and saw the knuckles on the steering wheel turn white under pressure.

"Started what?" Jim's voice was quiet.

"Started whatever made you charge out of Simon's office. You saw something when you held this mask, or felt something." Blair's fingers stroked the stone, following the faded lines of white paint. "You saw something, or heard something while I was explaining to the rest of the guys about Sentinels." He turned sideways in the seat, holding the box on his lap. "What was it?" He watched Jim's face, trying to judge how upset his friend was by the way that his jaw was jumping. "You're going to break a tooth if you keep that up."

Jim shot a glance at Sandburg. "Can it wait until we get home?" he growled out.

Blair nodded. "Only if you'll talk to me." He glanced out the window at the streetlights going by. "I mean one minute you're running away, the next you're kissing me in front of everybody, in the bullpen, in broad daylight. What am I supposed to think? Aliens abducted you and I didn't see the spaceship? Do I call Mulder and Scully?"

The last comment evoked a slight smile, and the hands eased their grip on the steering wheel. "No, you don't have to call the X-Files. I promise, I'll explain the whole thing when we get home."

"I'm going to hold you to that, James." Blair's voice dropped on the last word and Jim's head whipped around to stare at him for a moment.

"James?"

Blair nodded. "James. I like 'James', always have. I think, from now on, when it's just me and you, it'll be James."

Jim smiled, then grinned, his whole face lighting up. "Nobody ever called me 'James'. Dad calls me Jimmy, still does, so do Steven and Sally. Even Carolyn called me Jimmy."

"And you hate it." Blair nodded, knowingly.

Jim slowly nodded. "I hate it," he whispered. Jim reached one hand for his partner's and squeezed it, lacing their fingers together. "Thank you for never calling me Jimmy." They held hands the rest of the way to the apartment. Jim reluctantly pulled his fingers free so he could shift into park.

Jim held the door opened for his partner, then locked it behind them as they pulled off their coats. As soon as the box containing the artifact was on the table, Jim pulled Blair into his arms and kissed him hard, then soft, then hard again. He lifted his head long enough to make sure that Sandburg was still breathing, then sealed his mouth over the plush lips again.

Jim's lips eased down over Blair's chin, licked at the soft flesh there, then nipped the Adam's apple as it moved. "You feel so good. You taste so good. I could eat you alive."

Blair's hands were on Jim's shoulders and his head was raked back, letting Jim bite and suck on his long neck as much as he wanted. Blair's breath panted into the air and he moaned a little as he felt teeth on his Adam's apple, followed by a tongue, licking the bite. "Jim, you..were..going.. to tell...oh, god...that's good....what started this. Why ...now?"

"Don't you want me?" Jim whispered into an ear, before he filled it with his tongue.

"More than you could possibly know. But why -"

Jim cut off the questions with his mouth, sliding his tongue deep into Blair's throat, doing his best to touch the back of his new lover's throat. He had both hands wrapped in the short curls, fingers rubbing the heavy silk between his fingers.

Blair finally pushed Jim away, panting for breath, eyes wide at Jim's hungry look. The sentinel's eyes were fully dilated and his nostrils flared with every breath. His lips were swollen and shiny, wet from kisses. Blair ran his hand down the planed face, whispered love words to his partner.

"You were going to tell me what started this." Blair whispered. "I need to know why you decided that you love me now, not last week, or last month, but now."

Jim froze. He looked at the man staring at him. He touched the wet lips with a finger, slid it along the length of the velvet skin, actually feeling a pulse in the thin skin. "I need to tell you, I want to tell you, but I don't know if I have the courage, or the words." His eyes darted away from the smoky blue orbs staring at him. Jim felt his jaw clench, and it took all his control not to let the muscles in his arm tightened, his hand crush the one laced in his. He started to pull away, suddenly exhausted as the rush of arousal fled in front of a flood of fear.

Blair's fingers clamped down on the hand wrapped around his and he pulled Jim back to him. "No! You're not turning away; you're not running from me. Not this time! You've run all your life, James Ellison. It's time you stop." Blair's tone contained all the command he could put into it, all the power being a shaman had shown him. "Talk to me. If you can't talk to me as your partner and lover, then talk to me as Shaman to your Sentinel."

Jim stood, head bowed, hand still in Blair's, eyes tightly closed. He heard his partner's frantic heartbeat. He could smell the faint tang of his partner's arousal, now mostly covered with the sourness of fear. He turned to Blair, head up and pulled his hand free from the tight grip. Then he offered both hands like he had to Alex, palms facing outward, fingers spread. Alex had taken his hands, and he'd been lost in a swirl of lust and pain that had almost consumed him. He'd offered Molly the same gesture. Molly had matched his hand, palm to palm in the mirror and she'd been set free of an empty room. Both events had changed him. Would Sandburg understand what he offered? Would his shaman take his palms, knowing he'd only offered them to women in his past? He didn't know when the gesture had become symbolic, but it had.

Blair looked at the hands, back at Jim. Silence shrouded the apartment, even the street noise falling away. The dark eyes of the shaman locked onto the lighter eyes of the sentinel. Holding his breath, the shaman matched his hands to the sentinel's, then closed his eyes. He stood absolutely still, waiting.

Jim blinked. His loft disappeared into jungle foliage. He looked around at the blue-green landscape. The Sentinel knew this place. He'd followed a panther here; he'd wounded a wolf here. Jim ran his hand over his face and his fingertips came back black with greasepaint. He felt the bandanna on his head, the crossbow and quiver on his back. Jim took a step forward, anticipating the surroundings would shift and he would be shown why he was in the jungle again.

A rustling in the underbrush caused him to spin around, crossbow immediately in his hands, bolt nocked and drawn back. A black shape erupted from the grass, followed closely by a gray one. They paused and stared at the man, then loped away, shoulder to shoulder. The command was unmistakable.

Jim trotted after the panther and wolf, not surprised when the temple came into view. Both animals trotted up the stairs and turned to face him. The panther sat on its haunches and slowly morphed into the Jim Ellison left behind in Peru.

Jim stopped at the stairs, staring up into the mirror image. The wolf lay at the Sentinel's feet, tongue lolling, tail thumping the rock.

"What do you fear?" The Sentinel asked the detective.

Ellison shook his head. He hated that question. "I fear..." Jim hesitated, looking at the wolf. "I fear what my partner has chosen to do with his life in order to protect me."

The wolf sat up and morphed into Sandburg. But this Sandburg was dressed in a Chopec's light kilt; a loose faded over shirt and a painted bird on his throat, a red painted mask over his eyes and forehead. The Shaman looked at Ellison silently.

"What do you fear?" The Sentinel asked again.

Ellison looked at Sandburg standing serenely next to the Sentinel. He looked so at ease in the Chopec Shaman regalia, his hair loose on his neck, earrings in one ear, a feather braided into a lock of hair, draped over his shoulder.

"I fear his choices were forced on him. I fear losing the part of Sandburg I think of as the Shaman. I fear the darkness of my life with destroy the light of his."

The Sentinel nodded wisely. "Then you must show him he has lost nothing in the path he has chosen. You must show him he can remain true to his inner spirit, even when the tribe does not agree."

"How?" Ellison was staring at the Shaman who seemed to be looking right through him.

The Sentinel was silent, then morphed back into the panther, joined quickly by the wolf. They brushed by Ellison and disappeared into the jungle.

Sandburg blinked then looked around in surprise. The jungle. He looked down at himself, seeing worn blue jeans and flannel shirt underneath a brightly colored vest. He touched his hair and discovered it was long on his shoulders, the earrings in his ear. He looked around himself again, noting the blue-green coloring of his surroundings. The undergrowth rustled near him, and a panther and wolf loped by him, the wolf looking over his shoulder for a second. Sandburg followed the invitation.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the stone temple. He recognized where he was, saw the carved eye in the stone. The animals were at the top of the stairs and the wolf was looking at him, tongue draped to one side of its mouth. The panther was watching the wolf, then glanced at Blair before sitting down.

The wolf touched noses with the panther, and then flopped down on its haunches, before slowly morphing into a Chopec Shaman who wore Sandburg's face.

"Why am I here?" Sandburg called to his double. "I've never been here before."

The Shaman looked at the bewildered human. "Why do you follow the Sentinel?" The panther changed into Ellison in jungle garb, and Sandburg stared at him before looking back at the Shaman.

"To protect him, to guide him." Sandburg's answer was confident.

The Shaman wearing Blair's face shook his head. "You cannot guide the sentinel if you do not remain true to yourself. You cannot walk in the Sentinel's footsteps. A Shaman is a teacher and a healer."

Sandburg thought about it for a second. "You mean I can't be a cop."

The Shaman shook his head again. "Even a shaman will fight and protect. A shaman must choose his path with care because the path will have many hills. But a shaman will always be a shaman."

"Just as a Sentinel will always be a Sentinel if he chooses to be."

The face changed into Inchaca's. The Chopec smiled a toothy grin as he looked at the silent man beside him. "Your sentinel called to me during his greatest trial. I showed him his light. He will turn to you now during his greatest battles. You must be who you are inside, regardless of the disguise you wear."

Blair made a step up the stairs, his eyes on the image of his Sentinel. But Ellison changed into the panther, followed by the wolf, and they rushed down the broken stones and into the jungle.

Both men jerked and stumbled, only their joined hands keeping them from falling. They straightened, staring at each other, then at their interlaced fingers.

"Jim --"

"Blair--"

They stopped, mouths open, then pulled apart. Jim took a step back.

"You were a shaman." Jim's fingers fluttered at his throat and face.

"And you were a sentinel." Blair made painting motions, matching the greasepaint he'd seen on Ellison in the vision.

"What does it mean?" Jim whispered, face pale, eyes wide.

Sandburg stepped around his partner, and paced for a moment, then forced himself to stillness. He glanced down at himself, seeing the dark slacks and sweater, touched the holes in his ear. "Did your spirit guide speak to you?"

Jim nodded. "But your's didn't say anything."

"Same here. What did your's say?"

"He wanted to know what I feared. Which is what he asks me every time."

"And you said?" Blair stepped closer, entering Jim's personal space until he was looking up at the sentinel.

Jim's gaze met his partner's clear eyes and he took a deep breath. "I told him that I was afraid I'd lost the part of you I treasure most. That by you becoming a cop, I had helped destroy the inner spirit that is the shaman."

Blair ducked his head, heart pounding. He turned away, forcing himself to breathe.

Jim stopped him with a hand on his arm. "What did your spirit guide say?"

"That I must remain true to myself, no matter what path I walked. I was your Shaman above all things."

"Today, when you were explaining to the bullpen about Sentinels, I saw a part of you I haven't seen since you left the University. Suddenly it was terribly clear what you'd given up for me. What I'd forced you into. Blair Sandburg the cop is just a pale copy of Blair Sandburg the teacher. The teacher is alive and bouncing, anxious to pass on the knowledge he has. The cop backs me up and makes arrests and helps people. But he carries a gun and sees violence every day. He never gets to heal or teach or be enthusiastic about what he does. There is no joy in your eyes anymore, Chief."

Blair met his partner's eyes, acknowledging the truth in that statement. "I know, Jim." Jim's hand slid down Sandburg's arm and wrapped around his wrist, nodding encouragement. "I miss teaching, more than I thought I would. Sharing information, watching someone's eyes widen as they finally 'get' the point you were trying to make, that's what I miss. I don't miss the politics, the bureaucracy, and power plays. Being your partner full time, backing you up without having to explain who and what I am is great. But- -"

"But it's not who you are. A cop is who I am, just like being a sentinel is who I am. You're a teacher, a healer. When I look at you now, the teacher is nowhere to be seen, hidden under the cop."

"That's what my spirit guide said. Then he turned into Inchaca." The enthusiastic teacher was back for a second as he remembered seeing Jim's Chopec Shaman. "I saw him, Jim. He said I was disguising who I was." Blair looked into the clear blue eyes and smiled gently. "He also said I was your light to lead you out of darkness. That's a pretty big responsibility."

Jim nodded. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. " Blair whispered. He slipped his arm free from his partner's grasp and went to the balcony doors.

Jim watched his partner go, seeing the reflection approach the glass until it joined with the sturdy figure that leaned onto the slick surface.

"What do you want me to do, Jim?" Blair's whispered, knowing he would be heard.

Jim answered the question easily. "I don't want you to lose yourself, Chief. I never wanted you to become an extension of me, where my needs and wants were your first concern."

"But it's always been that way, Jim. From the moment I found you, you were always first."

"That's not fair to you, Chief. Your life is equally important." Jim went to the refrigerator and came back with two beers. "You've given up too much for me all ready."

"Is this why you're suddenly declaring that you love me? You see yourself as a consolation prize for me giving up my degree?" Blair's eyes sparkled with anger.

Jim groaned at the sudden anger. He should have predicted that reaction. "No, Chief," he whispered hoarsely. "I think I always loved you. I just couldn't admit it to you or to myself. When I almost lost you at the fountain, I panicked. I promised myself and anyone who was listening, that I'd tell you how much I love you, how much I need you, if you came back to me."

"You didn't say a word, man. I came back when you called, but you didn't say anything afterwards." Blair turned from Jim's reflection and accepted the beer. His eyes were agonized as he met the iceberg blue of his partner's.

"Why didn't you tell me? I kept waiting, and hoping, like I have for years. Then you took off after Alex and I gave up any hope." He looked at the beer bottle, ran a finger along the edge of the neck, face hidden in a shadow. "I was ready to leave then. I figured it was either leave and make a quick break, or die a slow and lonely death." He drained half the bitter liquid in one gulp, before pausing for air. "But I couldn't walk away. There were so many times I stared at my backpack, trying to tell myself, 'pick it up, walk away, he won't even notice.' But I couldn't do it. I thought there must be a reason why you called me back from the other side. There must be a reason you wanted me in your life. So I waited some more." Blair's hands twisted on the bottle, fingers nervously pulling at the paper label.

Jim took the brown bottle from his hands and placed it on the floor next to his. Then he wrapped his arms around Blair, pulling the younger man back against him. "I'm glad you waited, Chief. If you'd left, I'd gone after you. I wouldn't let you leave me at the fountain, I wouldn't have let you leave because I'm an insensitive jerk."

"Why did you wait so long to tell me?" Blair whispered. "Have things been so difficult between us over the last year that you couldn't tell me how you feel?"

"Yeah, I think so. I wish I had a better excuse then fear, but I don't. Fear of being ridiculed, fear of being rejected, fear of losing your friendship." Jim's arms tightened a little more. "I didn't know what you'd think if I just blurted it out. But the longer I kept quiet, the harder it was to say something, the easier it was to just let things be."

"Until I lost everything with the university. You accused me of deliberately letting out the diss to the media. That hurt so badly, Jim. Mom thinks she's helping, and you think all I'm in for is the money."

"I know, babe. I'm sorry. If I could take back everything I said, I would."

Blair leaned against the solid chest. "I don't like being a cop, Jim. I know I'm good at it and all. But the only thing I like about it is being with you."

"So what are we going to do about it?"

Blair shrugged, but remained silent. His hands wrapped around Jim's and the two men looked out of the windows into the dark night. "Everyone in Major Crimes knows now. They'll be watching us, expecting great things. The pressure is going to be greater."

Jim nodded. "I'm not surprised there. Our conviction rate is the best it's ever been, we're on top of our current cases. I know Simon is talking about 'Cop of the Year' nominations again, but I told him no thanks. We don't need the press."

"So what are we going to do? You love being a cop. As long as you're a cop, then I want to be your partner. I guess I'll just have to live with it."

"You shouldn't have to live with doing something you aren't comfortable with. There should be some sort of compromise. Something we can do together."

Blair turned inside of Jim's arms. "Why did this come to a head today? I've been through the academy. I've been riding with you as a detective for a couple of months now."

"Because today was the first time it really hit me what you'd done for me. I owe you so much, Chief. I want to fix it somehow." Jim leaned into his partner, kissed the frown on the high forehead. "Just don't give up being yourself, okay, Chief? This quietness that's settled around you lately is so unnerving. I keep thinking I should ask you if you're sick or something." Jim tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "Let me try to think of something that will work for both of us, okay?"

"Lots of people in this world hold down jobs they don't want or like, Jim."

"I know that, Chief. Ever heard of going postal? There's a reason why people go off the deep end and take it out on their co-workers. I couldn't handle it if you snapped one day because you're doing something you don't like."

"I don't hate it. I just --"

"Aren't comfortable? Aren't satisfied? Forced into a mold that doesn't fit you? All those things can lead to hate."

"And you're afraid I'll blame you. Grow to hate you if I hate being a cop? I gave up something I love to be with you and you're afraid I'll regret it eventually?"

Jim nodded at his partner's words. "That minor in psych does come out sometimes, Sandburg."

"Give me awhile to adjust to this, Jim. How about six months? If in six months I'm not comfortable with being a cop, then we'll take a hard look at other options."

Jim nodded again. "Only if you promise to be more yourself, Blair. Wear the earrings; let your hair grow again, if you want. Let me see the other side of you that you're hiding. Let me know that 'Chief' isn't dead."

"That's easy. But I've grown older, Jim. I'm not the 26-year-old kid you met four years ago. There's bound to be a few changes inside. Not everyone dies and gets a second chance."

"I know. I blame myself for that too. If it hadn't been for me going crazy, Alex would have never gotten her hands on you."

Blair pushed himself away from Jim's encircling arms. "We've had this conversation. Water under the bridge, man. Let it go."

"I'm trying," Jim sighed softly. "How many times do I get to screw up our friendship before you walk out?"

"Don't know. Who's counting?" Sandburg ran his hands through his hair. "Why don't we start over, right now? Day one of the rest of our lives, clean slate and all that."

Blair picked up their beer bottles, gave Jim his, then clinked them together. "Deal?"

Jim nodded. "Deal." They drank their beers and sealed the pact. Beer bottles emptied, Jim took Blair's and placed them back on the floor. Then he gathered the younger man into his arms. He smiled and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, then grinned his sexiest grin.

"Hi, my name is James Ellison and I've fallen in love with you. Would you like to make love with me for the rest of your life?" Jim wagged his eyebrows and smirked, eyes twinkling.

Blair swallowed hard, and tried to find his voice. "Hi, my name is Blair Sandburg and I'd love to love you for the rest of my life."

"Good. Now that that's settled." Jim latched onto Blair's mouth and kissed him with every bit of passion he had. Once he was sure Sandburg was completely focused on their lip-lock, he added his tongue to the mix, demanding Blair respond in kind. They finally separated, panting for air. Blair's eyes were fully dilated and his lips were swollen.

"You're beautiful, love." Jim whispered to the dazed man, then bent over and grabbed Blair around the legs and hoisted him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. He headed for the stairs, with Blair laughing from his upside down position.

"When did you get heavy?" Jim panted as he topped the last stair and unceremoniously dropped his new lover on the bed.

"When you started me on the weight lifting regime at the Academy gym. Muscle is heavier than fat, you know." Blair giggled as his partner rubbed his back.

"Remind me not to carry you up the stairs again." Jim laughed with Blair, then tossed himself on the bed. Blair bounced and laughed harder. They turned on their sides and faced each other; mirroring poses with heads braced on a bent arm.

"Love you, Chief. I'm sorry it took me so long to see it. Sorry for all the past mistakes."

"Shhh. Water under the bridge, remember. We're starting over." Blair drifted one hand over Ellison's face. "I love you, James." They leaned in and kissed each other.

When Jim pulled back, Blair followed and ended up on Jim's chest. Jim reached for the tan sweater Blair was wearing, pulling it up and over Blair's head, then tossing it over the rail.

"Stay with me tonight. Even if all we do is sleep." Jim whispered, hands already pulling at the tee shirt. "You

think we're going to get any sleep?" Blair was tackling Jim's shirt, unbuttoning it and stroking the firm flesh he was uncovering.

"It's a thought. We've had a long couple of weeks, plus tonight." The tee shirt went flying and Jim's fingers ruffled through the dark chest hair on Blair's torso.

"You must be an old man if you think I could crawl into your bed and just sleep." Jim's shirt was all the way open and Blair was licking the smooth flesh, hands stroking and pinching the dark nipples.

Jim groaned at the sensations flowing down his body, arching into the delicate touch. "It was just a suggestion, Chief." He moaned as Blair bit a nipple. "Wouldn't want you to feel obligated or anything." His voice was a rough whisper.

Blair crawled up Jim's chest, tongue leaving a wet path as he went, finally settling on an earlobe. He rimmed the ear, bit and sucked the earlobe for a second before settling down on Jim's lips for a long kiss. Jim's arms came around the sturdy body and held on tight as they kissed.

The two men rolled around on the big bed, hands finding zippers and buttons, tugging and working off the rest of their clothes and trying to keep the kiss going. Jim finally pulled away, his hands inside of Blair's tight jeans. He growled at his new lover who was now underneath him.

"How in the hell am I supposed to get these off when they are glued on?"

Blair blinked at Jim, his mind jarred out of its passion induced haze for a moment. Then he bowed his back and relaxed as Jim tugged at the waist, pulling the pants inside out; change, notes, knife and other assorted pocket stuff going everywhere as the jeans flew over the railing.

"My turn." Blair reached for Jim's jeans, already unzipped and sagging over the narrow hips. A moment later the sentinel was naked, stripped of jeans and shorts in one swift movement. Blair stared at the sculptured body in front of him as Jim got back on his knees kneeling, beside the younger partner. Blair's eyes flashed to Jim's, then he deliberately licked his lips.

"How come I didn't notice this when we were on the rig and you handed me your towel?" Sandburg slid one hand down the outside of Jim's thigh, drifted it across the knee and started up the inside, dusting over the fine hair, raising goosebumps on Ellison's flesh. His didn't take his eyes off of Jim's rapidly hardening cock as it lengthened.

"Probably because I was too busy trying to not get killed and had a gun pointing at me, to be able to get up for anything, even my beautiful rescuer."

Blair's fingers slid up the inside of Jim's leg until they touched the hanging balls and then stroked the underside of the thick cock which was pointed at him. "You're beautiful, man. So perfect. How come we waited so long?"

"Fear? Women? Timing?" Jim leaned into Blair's careful touch as he whispered. "Alignment of the planets? Harmonic convergence?" Jim's eyes closed as Blair's hand firmed around him and gently stroked. "Chief," he whispered. "Feels good."

Blair grinned, watching Jim's head fall back as he leaned into the stroking fingers. He firmed his touch, climbing and balancing on his knees. With his free hand he stroked Jim's balls, fingernails raking over the furred ovals.

"Like that?" Blair watched Jim's face as the larger man swallowed hard, and a sheen of moisture broke out over his neck and chest. Sandburg grinned at his lover, then knee-walked to Jim until their bodies almost touched. He glanced down at his body, his own erection jutting from his groin. He swayed his hips until his cock brushed Jim's.

Jim growled, his voice rough, almost purring. "Blair, do something."

"I am doing something." Blair's voice was silk. "What do you want?" He leaned closer, angling his hips until his cock stroked the underside of Jim's, while he rubbed the top side with one finger.

"Anything." Jim whispered. "More." He raised his head, his dilated eyes meeting Blair's. "Love you, Chief. Please. Need you."

Blair's fingers stroked up from Jim's groin, over the ridged stomach muscles, tweaked a nipple, then wrapped his hand around Jim's neck, drawing his partner down for a kiss, his tongue merging with its willing mate. They dueled until Blair sucked Jim's tongue into his mouth and bit gently, holding it in place while he nibbled and sucked, tormenting it until Jim whimpered.

Jim broke the kiss, panting, his hands on Blair's shoulders. He dropped his head until their foreheads touched. "Blair."

"Yes, James." He held still under Jim's touch, one hand still around Jim's neck, the other still holding the other man's cock, feeling the pulse within.

"Can I touch you?" The sentinel's voice was hesitant, unsure.

Blair's head came up and he brushed his lips over Jim's nose and forehead. "Of course you can. Why are you so afraid?"

Jim's head remained down as he shook it silently.

Blair sighed, shook his head at his lover. "What am I going to do with you?" he whispered.

"Teach me how to love you, Chief. I need to please you so badly, to make up for the all the bad things that have happened between us." The voice was barely audible.

Blair sighed to himself. How had they gone from teasing and joking, to hesitant and unsure in just a few minutes? "Jim, making love isn't going to solve all our problems, or be an atonement for the past. You can't use sex as a reward, or a punishment."

Jim remained silent.

"Have you ever been with a man?" Blair wrapped his arms around Jim, pulling them tightly together, feeling the arousal fade from both their bodies.

Jim returned the embrace. "No," he whispered into the dark curls.

"Are you afraid of this?" Blair licked along Jim's neck.

Jim nodded into the dark hair, inhaling Blair's scent.

"You don't have to be, you know. I'll take care of you." Blair stroked the short hair, down the corded neck.

"You've always taken care of me, Chief. Even if I didn't know it." Jim nuzzled the curls, mouthed the strands, pushing them aside until he found the top of a rounded ear and nibbled it. "Even when I didn't want you to and fought you every step of the way."

Blair pushed Jim down onto the mattress and stretched out on top of him. His lips latched onto Jim's and his tongue teased Jim's mouth until it opened under his. Blair slipped his tongue into the warm wetness and tangled with its mate. He kept one hand in Jim's hair, stroking and kneading, fingers sliding over an ear, caressing the lobe, pulling on it gently. His other hand slid between their bodies and settled their cocks against each other, pulling and squeezing until the erections returned and demanded completion. Jim groaned under Blair's onslaught.

The larger man's hands found Blair's ass and squeezed, fingers leaving marks as he held on to the body tormenting him. His hips started lifting and bucking as Blair's hand held them together. The moisture between their bodies eased the way as they rocked.

Blair was whispering into Jim's neck as he rocked. "Good, so good. Jim, so good. Just let it happen, baby. Don't fight it." He bit down on Jim's shoulder, then sucked on the bite. Jim arched under him with a howl. Blair sped up the pace, his hand holding both erections firmly against Jim's slippery stomach.

Jim wrapped one hand in Blair's hair and forced their mouths together, taking Blair's breath each time he inhaled, giving Blair's his each time he exhaled. As their breathing became synchronized, their movements slowed and became smooth and easy. The frantic rocking eased.

Blair opened his eyes and found bright blue eyes staring at him. The kiss broke and the motions stopped. Blair lifted his head and looked at Jim's expression. The other man seemed dazed.

"James? Lover?" Blair swallowed. "Jim, don't zone on me, please." He stroked the planed face until Jim blinked his eyes and focused on him.

"Blair." Jim whispered. The hand buried in Blair's hair moved to Blair's face and he stroked it. "I want this to last. Please make this last." Sweat beaded over Jim's face and slid down the flushed skin. "I want you so badly. I want this so badly."

Blair nodded. "Relax, love. Let me show you how good this can be." He kissed Jim again, licking the firm lips, nibbling and sucking. He slid down Jim's body, his tongue following the collarbone, then further down, across the hard muscles to the pebbled nipples. He bit, nibbled and sucked the hard brown flesh. He tasted the sweat that was pooling on Jim's breast bone. Jim's hands were in his hair again, holding on as Blair left a love bite on a rib.

Blair licked over a stomach that was rock hard with tension, while his hands stroked down Jim's flanks and over his groin, teasing the erection they brushed against. A palm circled the silk head, spreading the moisture pearling there, then encircled it with thumb and finger, stroking down the length of the rigid member. The other hand cradled the heavy balls, rolling them gently.

Jim growled, arching into the firm grip, his fingers spasming into the dark curls. His hearing spiraled out, hearing Blair's rapid breathing and heartbeat. Every pore felt the air as it moved across his skin. He could feel the blood rush through his veins with every heartbeat. All of the sensory overload was beginning to focus on one point in his body as his orgasm was rushing toward finale. His toes curled, his breath caught in his throat as his balls pulled tightly against his body.

"Bl-- Ohhhh. Gonna --" His back arched as he drove himself into the pumping hand and exploded. His pleasure filled cry echoed around the ceiling.

Blair split his attention between Jim's face, frozen in passion's release, and the hand which was pumping Jim's pulsing cock, its life fluid spilling out over his hand and down Jim's body.

Jim collapsed in a boneless heap, breathing hard and shaking. After a long time a hand unlocked from Blair's hair and he wiped his face. He blinked a few times, eyes finally focusing on his lover.

"God, Chief. I haven't felt anything like that in .... ages."

Blair crawled up Jim's long body and draped himself over it. He kissed Jim gently, then fiercely. He fitted his neglected erection against Jim's white splattered stomach and rocked, groaning into Jim's mouth.

Jim slid a hand between their bodies and stroked the hard cock as it rubbed against him. He broke the kiss for a second, pulling his face from Blair's so he could watch the expressions fly across his lover's face. Blair's eyes were almost closed, hair in sweaty ringlets on his forehead and plastered to his cheeks. Every breath carried a whimper or a moan. He pushed up, hands on either side of Jim's body, forcing his lower body tighter against Jim's.

Jim's hands slid down and caressed the firm ass cheeks, marveling at how firm and yet soft they were. His fingers felt every silky hair as he squeezed and rubbed, finally daring to slide a finger down the sweat covered crack between the rounded cheeks.

The instant Jim touched the rose pucker at Blair's center, the younger man howled, then shuddered through his release. His arms shook and he dropped across Jim's chest, panting.

Jim's arms encircled his exhausted new lover and cuddled him close. The silky chest hair was wet against his flesh and Jim smiled at the new sensation. Blair's panting breaths cooled the sweat on his neck, soon raising goose bumps on the rapidly cooling skin.

"Blair? Love? Chief?" Each name got a little louder, and the hands circling on the firm back kept moving higher until they were in the dark curls and kneading the wet scalp.

"Uhh." Blair groaned against Jim's neck and stirred. "Jim?" He lifted his head and blinked his eyes, trying to focus. He looked around them; the devastated bed, their exhausted and sated bodies, clothes scattered about. He focused on the light blue eyes in the relaxed face under him.

"Did we do this?" One hand motioned weakly at the room.

Jim nodded.

"This isn't a dream?"

"If it is, let's not wake up?"

"Okay." Blair kissed Jim gently, then placed his head on the pillow next to Jim's and closed his eyes.

Jim held the warm body against his as he wiggled around and freed the comforter from under them. He draped the yellow down-filled quilt over their sated bodies.

"Don't let me sleep long, baby." Blair mumbled into Jim's neck. "We need to get cleaned up before we stick together."

"Love ya, Chief." Jim settled himself under the warm body. "You're already stuck with me."

The too-near drumbeat woke Jim from his exhausted sleep and it took a second for him to focus on the sound next to him. Blair was curled on his side, facing away from Jim. The heart beat seemed to echo through the upper floor of the loft, and Jim adjusted his hearing to soften it. Only after he'd done so did he realize that during his sleep his hearing had automatically adjusted until it found Sandburg's heartbeat. Now that the pulse was beside him, it was no longer necessary to send his hearing down the stairs to the room under his.

Jim curled on his side, spooning Blair against him. He buried his nose into the dark curls and settled down to sleep again when the body in his arms moved.

"Jim, love, you awake?"

Jim grunted into the dark hair.

"Man, I'm a mess. Let me up. How can you sleep like this?" The voice was sleepy, but beginning to awaken as the compact body started pushing away confining covers and encircling arms.

"Like what?" Jim hadn't opened his eyes.

"I'm all sticky and gluey." Blair sat all the way up and glared half threatening at his partner. "Some of us have body hair," he grumbled.

"And some of us don't." Jim cracked open an eye and watched as Sandburg fumbled for his glasses on the floor next to the bed, then staggered toward the stairs.

"You need a light, Chief?"

"Nah." The naked body stumbled down the stairs, holding onto the brick-wall. "Want some water?" he called back. "Or anything else while I'm down here?"

Jim finally felt his own sweaty and sticky body and decided a wash would be a good thing. He kicked his way clear of the covers and found his robe, then followed his partner's steps down the stairs. Jim heard the water running in the bathroom and detoured toward the kitchen, putting on the tea-kettle and pulling two mugs off the mug tree.

Blair came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips while one edge of it was drying his chest. He looked up when he heard Jim in the kitchen and smiled. "Tea sounds good, doesn't it? Something warm to go back to sleep with."

"I know what I'm taking back to bed with me to keep me warm." Jim leered at his new lover, then brushed a kiss against a damp cheek as he went by on the way to the bathroom. "And it would be really nice if he would take our drinks upstairs and have the bed warm when I get there."

Blair froze, then turned and watched his partner's retreat. He shook his head and started for the kitchen. "I don't know you, Jim Ellison. Where's the pod?" The tea kettle started to whistle and he turned everything off. By the time he pulled two tea bags from a tin and poured water, Jim had joined him, leaning against the support post as he watched Blair.

"What pod?" Jim took the mug and stared at the teabag. Raspberry and cinnamon wafted up into his nose and he inhaled the spicy scent.

"You know, the pod-people. The ones that took the Jim Ellison I know away and left you in his place." Blair's eyes were twinkling but Jim looked confused.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Chief." Jim grabbed a paper towel and started toward the stairs with his mug, then turned around and took Blair's hand, dragging Blair with him as he climbed. He carefully placed the folded paper towel on the night-table and placed his mug on it. He took Blair's cup and set it down as well. Then he pulled Blair down on the mattress and tumbled down after him. Blair made a token show of resistance but was laughing too hard to struggle.

Jim fluffed the comforter over the two of them, then handed Blair his mug and took his own. Blair looked at his tea, the two of them sitting in bed with the comforter across their laps.

"We need a headboard to lean against if we're gonna do this every now and then," Blair commented, trying to place pillows so he could lean against the railing.

"Maybe we ought to rearrange the bedroom, put the bed against the wall." Jim mumbled absently.

"You would really rearrange because of this?" Blair patted the pillows against the railings.

Jim sipped the lukewarm drink. "If it would make a difference to you, why not?"

Blair looked at his partner with narrowed eyes. "Jim, this is happening to fast. You just don't change your whole life orientation in one night. You've never been with a man before, right? You were married once. You can't tell me that you won't have some serious second thoughts."

"Probably the first time somebody calls me a 'fag', Chief." Jim looked at his drink, then set it aside. "It wouldn't be the first time," he whispered.

Blair grabbed the muscular arm. "First time, Jim? You've been accused of being gay before?" Blair's eyes got wide. "Who? When?"

Jim sighed and wiggled down into the covers. "It doesn't matter, Blair." He put an arm around Blair's waist and stroked a rib. "Just drop it."

Blair put his mug down and snuggled into the warm bedclothes, facing Jim. "No, I'm not dropping it. Jim, have you been in the closet all this time?"

Jim sighed, then rolled over on his back. "I don't know. Maybe. I wasn't comfortable with Carolyn when we were married. I've never been comfortable with women since then. It always felt 'dishonest' or something. I never tried to find out if it was me... or them. Then you came along. And after awhile I realized I was more comfortable with you then anyone. I wanted to ask you, tell you, but you never gave me a clue, until the press conference. I realized then, if that wasn't a statement of love, I didn't know what one was. How was I supposed to pour out my heart to you after that one? You're a hard act to follow, Chief."

Blair nestled a little closer and put both arms around his Sentinel's neck. "This seems like a pretty good way to me." He kissed the soft mouth until Jim was panting. "The next time you decide to pour your heart out to me, all you have to do is whisper. I promise I'll listen."

"Your angel at the station said that I wasn't hearing the whispers of my own heart. He was right."

"Angel?" Blair looked at Jim, a question all over his face, visible only to Jim's heightened sight.

"Yeah. Gabe. He said for a man that could hear like I could, I wasn't listening to my heart. He was right, you know. If I'd listened, you wouldn't have ended up in the fountain, Veronica might not be dead. Or Alan." The names of old friends slipped through his lips with a painful sigh. "I should have listened to my heart years ago."

"You're listening to your heart now, man. We have all the time in the world. It's not to late for us." Blair kissed his partner again, lovingly, softly. Then he turned his head and yawned. "But if it's alright with you, I'd really like to go back to sleep. We still have the rest of the week in front of us and dawn is only a few hours away."

Jim cuddled Blair against him and pulled the comforter around his lover's shoulders. He kissed the high forehead. "Night, Chief. Love you."

"Love you, James." Blair settled his head on Jim's shoulder and slipped into sleep.

The jungle surrounded him. Jim looked around, not recognizing the location. It wasn't the tropical jungle he associated with visions of the panther or the Sentinel temple. This jungle was full of tall evergreens and thick moss. The air was damp, chill. There wasn't a clear path in front of him and he hesitated on a direction.

A rough voice spoke behind him. He turned, confronting a Native American in rough furs and skins, a tattered black blanket wrapped around him. The blanket contained a faded red and brown image, and Jim finally placed it as the same design that was on the door to Blair's office at the university; a Haida wolf. The man staring at him was stoop shouldered, his hair heavily streaked with gray and past his shoulders. The expressions in his eyes were haunted and pain filled as they stared at the Sentinel. The man's lips were moving and Jim shook his head because he didn't recognize the language. The dark eyes closed and then the voice started again.

"You are a Guardian, from a time that no longer knows what a Guardian is."

Jim nodded, not understanding how he was understanding the words, but accepting the knowledge.

"You have been blessed to find a Shaman to bond with you while he is young enough to share his life with you."

Again Jim nodded. "Who are you?" Jim whispered.

The aged Indian looked around himself. "I was once a Guardian, long ago, before the white man ever found these forests. My Shaman came to me in a dream, showing me where he was, how to find him. But I rejected the dream. I did not want a Shaman who was a man, like me. I wanted a beautiful priestess who would give me many strong sons and carry on my gifts for the Tribe for many seasons after I was gone. Over the years, my Shaman came to me in my dreams, many times, telling me he was there, only waiting for me to find him. I did not search for him. I married a young woman, but we had only daughters who died at birth. As an old man, I was walking a trap line in winter. I came across a sod mound, dug deep into the side of a hill. I smelled death there and entered to find a young man, almost dead from a bear wound. It was my Shaman. I knew it the instant I saw him. He was younger then me, some would say young enough to be my son. He opened his eyes and saw me and smiled. He said that since I would not come to him, he had tried to come to me, that the Great Spirits had led him over a mountain and a lake to find the stubborn Guardian who needed help. As soon as I saw him, my gifts blossomed like a flower at spring. I suddenly understood why I needed a true Shaman, not just a priestess to bare my children. I begged his forgiveness, and tried to help him heal, but it was too late. As he lay dying, he told me to make the crying mask you now have, and to be sure to tell my story to the mask, so the Guardian that would possess it long after we were both dead, would know our story. Then he died, and my heart died too. I went back to my tribe and turned over the guardian's duty to a younger guardian, one who had accepted the gifts from a Shaman without a fight. I told my wife to help me find the red and brown clay to make the mask. When the mask was finished, I sang my song to it, and buried it next to the body of the man who would have been my Shaman. I took my sleeping furs and lay down on the ground next to his grave under the tiny sod mound and asked the Great Spirit for forgiveness. The Great Spirit took pity on my soul and allowed me to join with my Shaman when I died."

Jim felt his eyes tear up, his heart pounding in his chest. "Your family? Your wife?"

The Indian shook his head. "It did not matter. I had failed as a Guardian. I was too ashamed to admit who I was inside. My wife's family saw that she was wed to someone who could honor her and take care of her." The old man looked at Jim, his eyes gleaming. "My name died with me. I had no sons to honor my life with song. If I had accepted my Shaman, we would have lived and served the tribe for many years. Our story would have been told around the campfires to our sons and their sons. But our story is lost, except for the mask."

Jim swallowed hard. "What should I do? I have accepted Blair as my Shaman. I hope to spend the rest of my life with him."

"You must let him be a shaman. You must stand behind him when he teaches and heals others. You must let his wisdom guide you when the tribe is threatened. You must not let others come between you. A Guardian can be very powerful. A Guardian, trained and supported by a wise Shaman is stronger then any evil alive. The Great Spirit will watch over you. It has sent two strong animal spirits to protect and serve you."

Jim nodded. "My teacher, Inchaca, said that Blair was my light to brighten the darkness."

"Your teacher was wise. Few shaman have the light that yours has. Do not cast a shadow over his light. Let it guide you. His light will show you the way out of the darkness of your self-doubt."

Jim looked around the evergreen forest again. "Will I see you again?"

The Indian did not look quite so sad, so tortured. "Perhaps. Perhaps you will honor my memory and sing my story to your shaman. Perhaps you will meet my shaman one day on a spirit walk, or your shaman will." The old man smiled a crooked grin, revealing broken and rotten teeth in the deeply creased face. "My shaman, I think he would have been like yours if I'd had found him when we were young enough to have a life together. Cherish him, Guardian, and do not put him aside for another, no matter how beautiful a priestess she is."

Jim jerked awake, jostling Blair who was wrapped around him, arm and leg thrown across his body. The early morning sun was starting to clear the tall buildings across the street from his loft and he took a moment to rub his eyes and try to blink away the dream. The rough voice was still echoing in his ears, the smell of the forest still in his nose. He looked down at his sleeping companion and stroked across one shoulder, feeling each hair over the velvet skin. Then he carefully freed himself from the human blanket and slid out of bed.

Donning his robe he walked down the stairs, his gaze already on the wooden crate on the counter where they'd left the day before. He opened it, and took the newspaper wrapped mask from the straw and carried it to the balcony window. The newspaper unfolded and he took the stone carving and held it in his hands, staring at the faded paint. The closed eye reminded him of the dream Guardian, of the pain he'd seen reflected in the heavily lidded eyes. The open eye reminded him of the sparkle he'd seen when the vision had spoken of finding the young shaman.

He stroked the rock, feeling each rough edge, the slight depression where the two colors of clay had been joined together hundreds of years ago. He held it up to the early light.

"I will remember, Guardian, and I will sing your song. And I will sing our song as well. The legend of the tribal guardians will not die. Tell your Great Spirit of my promise."

End