Between the Lines

by Grace


Category: H/C, Angst
Rating: R for language
Summary: Blair and Jim struggle to survive after a plot to capture them goes awry.
Notes: Biggest thanks to Ryp - without her patient beta reading and fabulous suggestions, this wouldn't be half the story it is. Thanks to Kath, Kaye and Laura for the nagging--er, encouragement to finish. Thanks, as always, to the folks at the Tavern for their support, friendship and generosity with the ale.






Detective Jim Ellison knew pain. Ex-Ranger Captain Jim Ellison understood pain. How to inflict it, how to make it work for you and how to control it. He knew he knew all this, but he just couldn't get a grasp on those elusive thoughts because he hurt too damn much.

Slumped in the driver's seat of the smashed up Toyota 4-Runner, Jim stopped fighting against the inevitable and released the tenuous grasp he had managed to achieve on consciousness. As his mind spiraled into the comforting arms of darkness, an urgent thought rose to the surface. Blair. It was like pouring ice water down the back of his neck. Jim was instantly alert, turning his head to check the passenger seat of the vehicle, which, of course, was a huge mistake. The sensation in his head erupted from a sharp stabbing mass of pain, to a white-hot vortex of blinding agony. Clinging tenaciously to awareness, he waited for the black spots in his vision to dissipate and the whirling of the universe to stop. When he could see again, he studied the interior of the car and groaned. Blair Sandburg was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So, where are we headed?" Blair asked, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible. It was a trick he employed whenever he tried to strike up conversations with Human Resources Personnel, frightened children and insane kidnappers. The sad part, he mused, was that he got a lot more practice with the latter. Of course, true to script, the only response he got from the hulking behemoth behind the wheel was a noncommittal grunt.

"Ooo-kay," Blair whispered, mostly to himself. "Do you think you could loosen these cuffs, man? My arms are getting pretty tired, here." This time, his words earned him a menacing glare, but still no verbal response. Wonderful. His greatest weapon was words and he was stuck here with Captain Caveman.

Biting his lip in concentration, Blair tried to figure out where they were headed and to what end. He was relatively certain that he had never seen this guy before, but that wouldn't necessarily rule out an ex-con bent on revenge against Jim. Oh God. Jim. Inadvertently biting his lip even harder, the young anthropologist tried to force down the rising panic that surfaced at the thought of his partner.

'Warning: Panic Attack in Ten Seconds.' Blair choked back a slightly hysterical laugh and ordered his brain to take a Valium. He wasn't going to do Jim or himself any good by losing it here. He just needed to stay calm and try to think things through. Deep breaths, Sandburg, deep breaths.

Opening his eyes after a moment, Blair shifted in his seat, trying to ease the pain in his arms, particularly his left one. His wrists were handcuffed to the roll bar of the Jeep, and he was certain that all this bouncing around on these mountain roads was going to leave him with two broken wrists soon. His squirming earned him a glare from the driver but no comment.

Sighing softly in frustration, Blair steeled himself and thought back to the events of the past hour. He and Jim- Oh God, okay, get a grip Blair, you can do this. Okay. He and Jim were on their way to a cabin on the far side of the mountains, near Lake Wahnoneema. It had been a rough couple of months for the detective and the observer and they both needed a little down time. Things were going pretty well: Jim was relaxing as he drove, even though Snoqualmie Pass was still a little icy for late May. Then Jim had suddenly tensed and Blair had followed his gaze to a copse of trees ahead on the left side of the road. There had been a brief glint of sunshine on metal, a sharp *crack*, then the world spun out of control.

A flash of memory surfaced in Blair's mind. He heard Mr. Edwards, his high school Driver's Ed teacher saying, "Buckle up kids, the passenger side is the bleeding side." Well, no shit, Sherlock. If you're driving and a car pulls out in front of you, self-preservation makes you steer the car so you are as far away from impact as possible. Perfectly natural and so ingrained that it's almost an autonomic response. So, when the tire got shot out and Jim lost the battle to keep the 4-Runner on the road, Blair fully expected very bad things. This was in the corner of his mind where he could still manage coherent thought; the rest of his mind was busy screaming, 'fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!' Which was why he was so incredibly amazed when the sliding vehicle came to a jarring halt with the driver's side door wrapped firmly around a massive tree. And he was pretty sure it had been no accident; Jim had steered his side of the car into the trunk of a giant fir tree in order to protect Blair.

Blinking, he had realized that their wild ride was over and that he was still alive. And that his left arm hurt like hell. The next thing he had noticed was that his partner was draped across the steering wheel, with a copious amount of blood streaming from his head.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

Blair shuddered as he remembered that one horrifying moment when he was certain that his best friend was dead. Reaching out a shaking hand, he had touched Jim's blood-slicked throat and whimpered in relief when he found a slow but present throb. His next action had been to reach for his cell phone to call for help but, to his dismay, Blair found nothing but a pocketful of mangled plastic.

When he heard the footsteps coming down the embankment and the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being actioned, Blair made a snap decision. Laying a hand briefly on Jim's bloodied head, as if in a strange benediction, he murmured a soft apology and crawled out of the vehicle.

It wasn't hard to work up the tears; they came fast enough when he thought of the body of his best friend lying bleeding and unconscious. So it wasn't too surprising that Blair Sandburg, fast talker, had managed to convince the shooter that Jim was dead. With a cursory glance at the body through the shattered windshield, the man had dragged Blair to the Jeep and driven away.

And that, thought Blair, brings me back to square one with no idea of what to do about it. Every passing moment could be bringing Jim closer to death. That idea spurred Blair to action. Although he had no plan, he figured he'd just start talking and see where it led him. As he drew in a deep breath, his imminent tirade was interrupted by the walkie-talkie crackling to life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Base to recon. Come in recon."

Blair's captor grabbed the walkie-talkie off his belt and thumbed the button. "Recon here."

"Is the objective complete?"

"The important part of the package was secured," he answered, casting a bored glance at Blair.

"And the other part of the package?"

For the first time, the man looked slightly unsure. "It was irreparably damaged - it was left behind."

The voice on the other end was thick with impatience and anger. "Dammit recon the deal was for everything. Go back and retrieve the rest of the package. It still has value, the remains can be studied."

For a moment, Blair thought the driver was going to argue, but after several seconds he swung the jeep around and thumbed the walkie-talkie once more. "Acknowledged base. Recon out."

In the passenger seat, Blair frantically tried to process what he had just heard. It sounded like they wanted *him* for some reason, and now they seemed to want Jim even though he was dead as far as they knew.

Blair clung to the small reassurance that Jim was indeed alive. Well, he was alive when I left him, God only knows what kind of injuries he had, he might very well be dead by now. Get a grip, Blair, head wounds bleed a lot, that's no indication of anything. Jim could be okay. Jim will be okay.

Mentally replaying the conversation he had just heard, Blair hunched forward against the sudden sick feeling roiling in his stomach. If Jim's dead, they want to cut him open and study him. Oh fuck, what am I saying, it sounds like that even if he is alive, they want to cut him open and study him. In a monotone, the litany that was quickly becoming the mantra of this trip invaded his head.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pushing off from the remains of the Toyota, Jim staggered, nearly falling before managing to wrap one arm around the nearest tree. He leaned against it, the sound of his own harsh panting echoing in his head, threatening to overwhelm his senses. Grimacing, he imagined Blair's soothing voice telling him to relax and turn down the dials. It wasn't as good as the real thing, but it was better than nothing and soon the pain receded enough for him to think coherently again.

Blair was gone. Jim tried to concentrate, searching his memory for a clue as to what exactly had happened here. They were on their way to the cabin and Sandburg was babbling on about something called One Tree Hill in New Zealand. Then, he was waking up in the wreckage of the rental car and his partner was gone. From a lecture on the indigenous Maori to a crisis of unknown proportions in a matter of minutes. Jim sighed. It looked like it was shaping up to be a typical Ellison/Sandburg day.

Jim squinted at his watch, then frowned as the numbers stubbornly refused to move. Resisting the urge to sigh again, he judged the amount of light filtering through the trees and decided that he had been out for not more than an hour or so. How in Christ's name was he going to be able to reconstruct the events of the past hour when he couldn't even remember how he ended up here in the first place? Jim let his eyes close in frustration.

A smug little voice prompted, *Start with what you know.*

Jim opened his eyes and searched for the source of the voice. Finding no one, he tried to make sense of it but gave up moments later - that kind of thinking was making him nauseous. When the voice whispered *start with what you know* again, a little more impatiently than the first time, he did the only thing he could do. He obeyed.

He could remember leaving the loft and driving towards the mountains. He and Blair were in the rented car headed for the cabin on the lake. Obviously they had some sort of accident. Maybe Blair had gone for help. Jim considered this for a few seconds before dismissing the idea. First of all, Blair wouldn't leave sight of the truck, not without at least leaving a sign or a note or possibly a small dissertation on the pros and cons of his actions. Secondly, Blair was his partner and there was absolutely no way that he would have left him while he was injured - not of his own free will. Jim felt the nausea returning as he contemplated his latest revelation and swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue with his train of thought.

Blair would never leave Jim injured and alone, ergo, Blair was taken against his will by person or persons unknown, at an unknown point in time, for reasons unknown and leaving Jim behind for... reasons unknown. If his head hadn't hurt so badly, he might have considered banging it against a tree in his frustration. As no other ideas came directly to mind on what to do about this predicament, he was beginning to think the head vs. tree idea had merit, especially since he was positive that his head couldn't actually hurt any more than it already did.

Taking a controlled breath, he attempted to calm himself. Hysteria was so unbecoming of a police officer. And braining himself on a tree, while tempting at the moment, wouldn't do a thing to help his partner. Now, he just needed to concentrate on figuring out where Sandburg had been taken. He stood, leaning against the tree for several minutes, until a voice broke through his muddied thinking. *Well, Detective, why don't you start with the basics, like checking for evidence maybe?*

Jim blinked. He didn't know what was worse, getting orders from a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Sandburg or taking said orders. Stumbling back to the wrecked vehicle, he scanned the interior for clues as to what had transpired while he was unconscious. He cursed as his eyesight faded in and out, making concentrating on anything all but impossible. Bringing a hand to his head, he swiped at his eyes, wincing as his fingers brushed over a gash on his forehead.

Jesus. No wonder his head was killing him. Jim stared at the copious amount of blood covering the driver's side of the Toyota. Sandburg must have been scared shitless by the sight of all that blood, in fact, to be honest, Jim felt a little disturbed by the mostly congealed blood. He sternly ordered himself to get over it, reminding himself that head wounds bled a lot. Studiously ignoring the fact that it looked like someone had butchered a hog in the front seat, he continued searching for some kind of clue.

There wasn't much evidence to be found on the car itself, other than the tire which had been shredded. Examining the damage, Jim guessed that the cause had been a bullet, probably from a high powered rifle. Not much to go on there, however; there were footprints leading away from the passenger's side of their car and joining up with another set of prints about ten feet in front of the car. Wiping the blood from his eyes, Jim carefully followed the tracks.

Five minutes later, he was standing, winded, at the side of an old logging road. He could barely make out two sets of footprints leading to fresh tire tracks in the muddy earth. After catching his breath, he took two steps along the road before the voice piped up. *Aren't you forgetting something?*

Jim paused for a moment before turning and heading carefully back down the embankment. At the back door of the car, he pulled everything out of his pockets and took inventory. One cell phone with no service. Figures. His wallet, shield and a roll of tropical Lifesavers. Scanning the back seat, he spied a dark colored knit cap, it was one of Sandburg's, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He pulled the hat on cautiously over his forehead, the woolen fibers seeming to cut like razors on the tender pieces of exposed flesh. At least now he might not scare Sandburg to death when he did find him, and it was already making him warmer. Next, Jim grabbed his heavy pea coat and shrugged into it, wincing as other injuries made themselves known. Dismissing them all as non-life-threatening, he continued his search of the car.

Two minutes later, he had yet to find his gun but the pockets of his jacket were laden with bottled water, granola bars, first aid kit, extra socks and thermals, a map and one slightly banged up cell phone with no service. He was still searching for his gun when he heard the sound of a vehicle approaching on the logging road. Grabbing the nearest weapon, which turned out to be a tire iron, Jim concealed himself behind a tree and waited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Jeep jerked to a halt, skidding slightly in the mud and startling Blair from his morbid thoughts. When the driver killed the engine, the resulting silence was overwhelming. Blair found himself cringing from it, the stillness creeping into his bones and arresting his movements. His blood thumped slowly, deafeningly loud in his own ears.

As his captor strode down the embankment, Blair stared hard at the wrecked vehicle looking for any signs of life. Unfortunately, he wasn't gifted with Sentinel sight and all he could see was twisted metal and glass that glimmered with a myriad of spider web cracks.

As the man bent to peer through the cracked passenger's window, time seemed to stop for Blair. He was so completely focused on gauging the man's reaction, he never saw the shadow detach itself from the tree and step up alongside the car. It was sudden movement that caught his eye, as the figure swung his arm in a clumsy motion, striking Blair's captor across the back of the head.

The shadowed figure stared down at the fallen man for a moment before turning to the Jeep. His face moved from shadow into the weak, gray light of the afternoon, and Blair took in a lungful of air. Funny, he hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath.

Abruptly, time resumed its normal speed. His heart hammered in his chest and his arm sent stabbing pain from his wrist to his shoulder. He was cold, he was damp, he was handcuffed, and absolutely none of that mattered. Jim was alive. Alive and climbing the steep slope up to the Jeep and in moments he would be close enough to touch. Once he had that physical reassurance, Blair could chase away the last remaining bit of doubt that this was a dream. Blair closed his eyes, hard, and when he opened them again, Jim was right next to him, placing one hand on his thigh and the other on the door.

Crap. Jim looked like hell. There was dried blood caked on his face around numerous bruises and his eyes appeared a little glazed. "Jim, are you okay?"

"Are you?" Jim surveyed his partner, drinking in the sight of him, alive... found. Though far from safe, he felt now that they were reunited, they would manage to find their way out of this predicament. The flat afternoon light was reflecting off the metal and chrome of the Jeep and aggravating his pounding head. If he could just rest his eyes for a second, he was certain that he could get the dials under control.

Blair's elation at seeing Jim quickly turned to concern as Jim's eyes slipped closed and he began to list to the right. "Jim!" Blair cried. Forgetting his arms were cuffed he shot forward to help his friend and was brought up short with a yelp when the handcuffs caused the pain in his shoulder to go off the scale. He managed to keep his eyes on Jim, though, and was grateful to see Jim manage to catch himself and straighten back to an upright position.

"Sorry."

"It's okay, man. It's just that I'm not exactly in the best position to catch you if you decide to do a swan dive in the road." Blair watched as Jim's eyes took in the state of his arms locked above his head and as Jim reached out, Blair forged ahead. "I don't suppose you frisked our friend for the keys?" At Jim's frown, Blair nodded. "I didn't think so."

Patting Blair's leg, Jim turned and headed back down the embankment. "I'll be right back."

"No rush. I'm not going anywhere." Blair hated to send Jim back down the hill in the shape he was in, but they needed those keys. And Blair needed a few minutes to get the pain in his arm under control before Jim touched him. From the looks of things, Jim was nursing a pretty good head injury. Which meant that there was no way that Blair was going to let him drive them out of here. They'd probably end up taking a shortcut down the side of another mountain. Watching Jim, Blair took deep, controlled breaths and tried to get ready for what was to come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Chief."

Blair's eyes flew open and focused on the shiny handcuff key that was being dangled inches in front of his nose. Forcing a smile, he looked up and met Jim's eyes. "What are we waiting for? Let's do it and get out of here."

Nodding, Jim moved forward, his face drawn and still as he lightly grasped Blair's wrist.

As Jim worked at the cuffs, Blair found his nose practically in Jim's armpit. He let his head drop forward a little more, smelling Jim's sweat which, pathetically enough, was comforting in its familiarity. That singular odor, mixed with the other smells that lingered on his clothes and skin, held a connotation of security that was calming. Clenching his jaw against a groan of pain, Blair shuddered as Jim gently lowered his arms. Attempting to distract himself from the sharp, hot pain in his shoulder, he clenched his jaw harder and tried to breathe steadily through his nose.

With his eyes squeezed shut, he tried to catalogue the scents that were 'Jim'. He'd walked Jim through this little experiment enough times that he ought to be able to do it in his sleep. The only difference was, he'd never been on this end of the test. Inhaling, he concentrated - leather was the first smell, easily recognizable and pungent. Jim's soap was the next smell, and the next was the Ivory Snow that was used to launder Jim's shirt. Obviously, there was the salty smell of Jim's sweat and the coppery smell of blood, but underneath that was something else. Something he couldn't identify. Blair frowned slightly as he concentrated harder, whatever the thing was, it smelled like bananas. Bananas and gasoline. Deliberately, he inhaled one more time, slowly, focusing on that one smell and, after a moment, he smiled in triumph. Gun oil.

Feeling calmer, he shifted to pull back and as he did, the soft, warm cotton of Jim's shirt slid across his cheek. He could hear Jim's heartbeat thumping under his ear and the soft sounds of Jim breathing in the suddenly quiet forest. Letting the comfort of the familiar soothe his pain, he wondered, not for the first time, if this was what his presence did for Jim. He suspected that Jim used him as a sort of touchstone to center himself when the stimuli got to be too much, but now he began to wonder if it was a conscious or unconscious action. Making a mental note to broach the subject sometime when they weren't in immediate danger, Blair pulled his head back and attempted a smile.

"Thanks, man, that really sucked."

"You okay?"

"I've been worse. I think my left shoulder might be dislocated, though. Care to show off that Ranger medic training and fix it up for me?"

Blair watched Jim's face as he studied Blair's shoulder, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he ran the fingers of one hand lightly over the injured area.

Frowning, Jim shook his head. "No can do, Chief. It's too swollen, but I can bind it up for you."

Blair's frown mirrored Jim's. He hadn't liked the way Jim had looked away from him when he answered the question. It was obvious that there was something that Jim wasn't telling him but, before he could question him, Jim was shrugging out of his coat and removing his sweater and thermal shirt. Carefully, Jim pulled his sweater back on and then began ripping the thermal shirt into long strips. When he was done, he used the strips of cloth to carefully immobilize Blair's arm against his side.

"You ready to get out of here?" Jim picked up his jacket and helped Blair put an arm through it, draping the other side gently over his injured shoulder.

"What about you?" Blair asked, gesturing at Jim's lack of outerwear.

"The cold doesn't bother me, and besides, you're freezing. You've been riding around in this jeep for a while and I've been nice and protected in the car. Anyway, once we get moving I'll have us at a gas station in a half hour." Jim made as if to walk around to the front of the Jeep towards the driver's seat, stumbling on his first step.

"Oh, like hell, Ellison." Blair grabbed Jim's arm. "You can't even walk without falling down. There's no way I'm letting you behind the wheel of a car."

"Sandburg, you look like an escapee from "The Fugitive", you can't drive a manual transmission like that."

"At least I'll be able to keep us on the road. Tell me Jim," Blair said, holding up three fingers, "how many fingers do you see?"

Jim squinted and blinked, his brow wrinkled in concentration. After several long moments, he grunted in concession and gestured for Blair to get out of the seat.

Carefully, Blair eased himself to the ground, walking around to the other side of the Jeep. Settling into the driver's seat, he took the keys from Jim with a smug grin. Starting the engine, he cautiously let out the clutch, his shifting jerky as he attempted to steer and change gears with one hand.

The Jeep made its way slowly up the logging road in search of an accessible route back to the main highway. At the bottom of the embankment, next to the body of the unconscious kidnapper, the walkie-talkie crackled. "Base to recon, come in recon. Recon, you missed your check in. Respond, over."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You're headed in the wrong direction."

"Thank you, Mr. Eagle Scout, but this is the direction the road is headed in. I know that you prefer to drive straight down the side of the mountain, but frankly, I've had enough of that kind of excitement for one day. Besides, we're running out of cars."

Jim glared at his partner and was formulating an appropriately witty response when the sound of approaching engines caught his attention. "Chief, we're about to have some company."

"I don't suppose it's the good kind of company, say, like the forest rangers who are here with an ambulance and a hot pastrami on rye?" Blair looked at Jim's stoic expression and sighed. "I didn't think so." Eyeing the rough terrain to either side of the logging road, Blair grimaced. This was not going to be easy. "Hang on, Jim."

Rounding a bend in the road, Blair cursed - there was another Jeep coming straight at them. Blair pulled the wheel as hard as he dared, whipping their Jeep around in a 180-degree turn. Quickly, he shifted and gunned the engine, causing the Jeep's tires to spin in the muddy ruts of the road. Blair heard the sharp report of a rifle just as the Jeep found traction and lurched forward. Both men flinched as the bullet struck the windshield, shattering the glass.

Blair drove like a madman, attempting to somehow escape their pursuers. As they bounced over the rough road, he couldn't help but duck every time he heard a gunshot even though he knew that the odds of the bullet finding its mark were infinitesimal. Of course with Jim, Blair thought, the improbable happened on a regular basis. Maybe ducking wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"Shit." Jim's eyes locked with his, his nostrils flaring.

"What now?" Blair asked, trying to watch Jim and the narrowing road at the same time.

"Gas."

"I'm driving as fast as I can, man." Blair gritted his teeth as they hit a particularly deep rut that sent the Jeep bouncing precariously close to the edge of the road.

Jim's eyes narrowed. "No, I smell gas." Jim tried to lean over and see the dials on the console the bouncing of the vehicle and his blurry vision made that task all but impossible. "What's the gas tank read, Chief?"

Blair gave a hurried glance to the display in front of him, too nervous to take his eyes off of the road for more than a second. "Uh, looks like a half a tank." He swung the wheel of the Jeep around to make a nasty hairpin turn. Once the road straightened back out, he risked another look at the dials. "Make that closer to a quarter of a tank."

Jim acknowledged the impending panic in Blair's voice with a friendly pat to his partner's leg. Desperately, he tried to think of something they could use to their advantage - something that would mean they had a chance to make it out of this alive. Instead, all he could think of was the fact that he was dragging Blair down with him. He didn't know who was after him, but he regretted the fact that they were both going to be captured or killed out here and for an academic like Blair, that shouldn't be a concern.

With these thoughts on Jim's mind, the Jeep finally lost traction in one of the muddier tracks and slid towards the edge of the road. Blair fought with the wheel, but he could do nothing to halt their progress as the Jeep plunged off the side of the old logging road, flipping end over end, ripping though undergrowth and toppling saplings.

The Jeep that had been following them slid to a halt and two men in fatigues jumped out. Rushing to the edge of the road they looked over the side, seeing the Jeep lying upside down one hundred yards down the mountainside.

Sighing heavily, the shorter man took off his cap and scratched his balding head. The Jeep he had been chasing was a barely recognizable chunk of metal lying tangled amongst the trees. Judging the steep incline of the slope and the wreckage some distance below, he toyed with his cap for a moment before seeming to come to a decision. Putting the cap back on, he took the rifle from the man next to him. "Get me a flare."

"Right away, General Lowe."

Lowe pursed his lips in annoyance as the man walked away. "And how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me General? I don't work for the government anymore and neither do you. Better get used to it," he said.

A minute later, the man returned and traded Lowe the flare for the rifle. Keeping his silence, he eyed the flare nervously, apprehension evident in his face and posture.

"Something bothering you?" Lowe asked.

"Sir, we were hired to bring the subjects back dead or alive, weren't we?"

"We were, Jenkins, but we were also hired to make delivery 15 minutes ago and the buyer wasn't going to deal if we were late with the delivery. Sure, we could recover the bodies and try to find out why someone wants them so bad, maybe sell them to someone else. But to me, it ain't worth the risk." He paused, looking at the rain clouds gathering on the horizon before pulling out a match and lighting the flare. "Remember, these guys saw Reppas and maybe us, too. I don't plan to leave anyone behind who can put me away. I'm just taking care of business."

Jenkins looked away as Lowe drew back his arm and pitched the burning flare towards the wrecked vehicle. The flare fell a little short, but rolled down the incline and eventually came to rest against the back of the Jeep's rollbar. The two men didn't have to wait long before the gasoline fumes were ignited by the flare and the Jeep exploded in a fireball.

Without pleasure or regret evident on his face, Lowe gestured toward their vehicle with a sharp jerk of his head. "Come on, let's go see if there is anything left of Reppas and get out of this place."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blair returned to consciousness quickly, the sound of the explosion catapulting him to awareness. Rolling onto his side, he was horrified to see their Jeep engulfed in flames, the heat making him shield his eyes and scoot backwards on the semi-frozen ground. He stared at the fire, mouth agape, not wanting to believe that Jim could be trapped in that burning hell, but knowing that it was unlikely that they had both been thrown clear.

Grabbing a nearby tree for support, he struggled to a standing position and, averting his eyes from the fire, methodically began his search for Jim.

After some time had passed, Blair noticed that the light was failing. Looking up, he saw the storm clouds rolling toward his position. Although he had followed a standard spiral search pattern for Jim and found nothing, he didn't want to give up on his friend. Not yet. Not ever. As desperately as he wanted to keep looking for Jim, a more rational part of him realized that the action would mean certain death for him in this weather.

Too filled with despair to cry, Blair Sandburg slowly turned and began to climb, the treacherous journey taking far longer than he had anticipated. A half hour later, standing at the edge of the road, he stared at the smoldering remains of the Jeep which more than likely held the charred remains of his best friend. Taking a deep breath, he tilted his face to the heavens and tried one last, futile time, his voice filled with sorrow. "Jim!"

He got no answer, not even an answering rumble of thunder from the sky. Truthfully, he had expected nothing. The hours he had spent searching were in vain and now, if he was going to make it off this mountain, he needed to find shelter.

Searching back through his memories of the day, he vaguely recalled seeing some sort of building off of the logging road when he was being driven around in the jeep by his captor. Looking at the rapidly darkening sky, he sighed. It was a long shot, but he was pretty much out of options at this point. Sticking to the edge of the forest in case he ran into any more nutjobs who wanted to kidnap him, Blair began walking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buried under leaves and dirt, lying in a natural depression, Jim Ellison gradually regained consciousness. He moved his arms weakly, trying to brush the detritus from his aching body. Looking around, he noted the surreal quality of his surroundings. The sky was a sickly yellow color and there seemed to be a smoking fiery pit far below him. He couldn't remember how he got there, and he wasn't sure where 'there' was, but he was determined to find out. First things first, though - he had to find Blair.

Sitting up, he saw a rutted dirt road a short distance away on his left and a fresh swath of destruction about fifty yards in front of him leading from the road to the smoldering wreck far below him. After a moment of quiet contemplation, Jim gave up trying to logically determine in which direction to begin searching for Blair. Choosing the most dangerous of the two options was usually a good bet with Sandburg, so Jim was steeling himself to make the climb down the mountainside when a flash of white near the road caught his eye. Hoping that it was the clue he was searching for, Jim forced himself to climb the slope, doggedly putting one foot in front of the other, ignoring his pain and concentrating on finding his partner.

When Jim finally staggered onto the logging road, panting and exhausted. He cringed slightly as thunder boomed ominously above his head but he was somewhat relieved after finding the material that had caught his eye. Upon examination, the flash of white had turned out to be a bit of fabric from his thermal underwear that Blair was currently using as a sling. Of course, it had also helped that there was a bit of Blair's hair wrapped around the tree branch. Frankly, he didn't think that he could identify his own underwear from Madonna's right now. His senses were spiking out of control and his head felt like someone was crushing it in a vice. It was getting harder and harder to keep his thoughts coherent and to stay focused on the job at hand.

Breathing heavily, Jim pressed his hands to his head in a futile attempt to stop the excruciating pain. When his vision cleared slightly, he noticed a single set of tracks leading off into the edge of the woods. The tracks bore the distinctive tread of Sandburg's Timberland hiking boots; the ones with the patched right heel. A man with a renewed purpose now, Jim slowly limped off into the brush.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the first drops of rain fell from the sky, Blair caught sight of the building he had seen from the road. Working his way through the undergrowth, he pushed against the door and stood for a moment, amazed, as it swung open easily. A crack of thunder startled him from his reverie and he entered the one-room building just as the rain started to come down in earnest.

Searching the ceiling first, Blair was pleased to notice that the roof of the cabin seemed to be in good condition and there were no leaks or obvious weaknesses. On his second look around, he noticed three wooden bins set against the walls and secured with rusted padlocks. Grabbing a soot-covered rock from the cold fireplace, Blair set about hammering at the closest lock.

After a few minutes of strategic pounding, the locks from the first two bins were lying on the ground. With sweat dripping from his forehead, he raised his right arm to begin on the third lock when he noticed it was actually hanging open. Sighing with relief, he swung open the third bin and blew out a grateful breath - this was exactly was he had been looking for. The bin was filled with dry firewood, a few wax and lint fire starters and a box of matches. Quickly, he laid a fire and, with the help of the starter, he had a decent blaze going in no time.

As the cabin began to warm up, he emptied the other bins and took stock. The total of his efforts had yielded two wool blankets, a case of MREs, a small hatchet and an ancient lantern that sounded about half full of fuel. He studied the small pile, dismayed. Although he hadn't exactly been holding out hope for an emergency radio, it would have been a nice surprise. The sooner he could contact civilization, the sooner he could get search and rescue out here to look for Jim, just in case he had survived.

On the walk to the cabin Blair had run through all the possible scenarios in his head. Possibility number one - Jim had survived and had wandered away from the crash site, confused by his injuries. Possibility number two - Jim had survived and had been taken from the crash site by whomever it was that was after them. Possibility number three - Jim had been flung so violently from the rolling vehicle that he had rolled further down the mountain and off the sheer cliff below the crash site. And then there was possibility number four. Blair wasn't fond of possibility number four, but it wouldn't stop coming to the forefront of his mind. Possibility number four was the more likely scenario where Jim had died trapped in the jeep, either from injuries sustained in the crash or from the subsequent fire.

All at once, the events of the day caught up with Blair and he allowed his head to drop to his chest, letting himself feel the compelling misery of losing Jim. Abandoning the burden of hope for a long, silent moment, he embraced the pain of loss, tentatively testing the power of its thrall and finding it as alluring as he had feared. It would be so easy to stop fighting, to give in to the complete catharsis of this emotion. All he had to do was give up the sharpest and most painful of all emotions - hope.

Blair felt the threat of hysteria curling in his belly as he tried to arbitrate between his heart and his head. He swallowed hard and pressed his palms to his eyes for a moment, concentrating on controlling his breathing and his thoughts. After several deep breaths he found control and, picking his head back up, he shoved the powerful emotions aside, ruthlessly locking them away. There would be time to deal with them later - there was plenty of time left for him.

Moving closer to the fire, he warmed himself. The comforting heat stopped his shivering, but could do nothing for the cold vacuum of emptiness he felt in his soul. After a minute, he absently shrugged out of Jim's pea coat and, folding it gently on the floor, he lay down, using it as a makeshift pillow. Unfortunately, something was shifting around in the pocket right under his head. Groaning, he sat up and began to empty the pockets, his eyes going wide with wonder at the contents.

"Son of a bitch," he exclaimed softly as he ran his fingers lovingly over the cell phone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*You're not thinking of sitting down, are you?*

Jim groaned, a noise born of pain, despair and more than a little irritation. "Yes, I was thinking of sitting down. I'm tired and my head hurts."

*Oh that's a great idea, Jim. Yeah, go ahead and sit down, man. That's just great. You never listened to me before, I don't know why I expected you to start now.*

Jim sighed as Sandburg wavered and vanished before his eyes. Rainwater mixed with blood and ran in rivulets down his haggard face. "You know, it's not my fault we're dead. Do you hear me, Sandburg?"

Getting no answer, the sentinel closed one eye (the double vision was making tracking difficult) and kept following the rapidly vanishing depressions in front of him. Right now they were wolf tracks but sometimes they were Blair's footprints, just like sometimes it was the wolf who was leading him through the forest and sometimes it was Blair. It didn't matter much one way or the other, Jim thought, philosophically. He was feeling pretty darn philosophical now that he was dead and living in this version of hell that he had created for himself.

Never a follower of organized religion, the notion of one god who condemned people to heaven and hell was foreign to him, Jim Ellison had always believed in a more personal form of divine retribution. He believed that your deeds in life would haunt you in death - reap what you sow and all that. And he was reaping all right. He was on a torturous journey through a hellish jungle strewn with reminders of his past mistakes. Although he couldn't figure out why the jungle was so cold, but maybe that, too, was a penance of some kind. He was aware that there were things that didn't make sense about the conclusions he had drawn but once he had locked in on the idea, it had seemed to grow with a life of its own. He certainly couldn't come up with any better explanations for the current nightmare that he was experiencing and with the ever increasing pain in his head, he doubted he ever would. Besides, the Incredible Vanishing Blair wasn't contradicting him, so that had to be the right answer, because if there was one thing Jim was certain of, it was the fact that Blair always let Jim know when he was wrong.

Suddenly nauseous, Jim stumbled to a halt and bent over, retching weakly. It had become kind of a ritual he supposed, walk fifty paces, get dizzy, throw up. Do not pass go, do not collect tribal masks, do not go gentle into that good night. Jim wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and squinted as he caught a glimpse of the wolf up ahead. *You can't quit now, Ellison. It's your fault this happened to me.* Jim hardly blinked as the wolf figure metamorphosed into Blair again. *If you don't free me from this bond then I'll be doomed to follow you in death as I did in life.* He turned to face Jim, his eyes cold with fury. *I already died twice because of you, I'll be damned if I rot in hell because you need a baby-sitter.*

Nodding resignedly, Jim forged ahead, the words from the spirit Blair hurting him more than his injuries ever could. Thunder boomed overhead as he followed the tracks in the muddy earth, hoping he would find Blair soon in order that he might release them both from this torment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Standing in front of the cabin door, Blair was gripped with indecision. He had a cell phone but it wasn't getting a signal here in the cabin. It could be that the storm was the cause or it could be that they were out of cellular range. With Jim's life possibly on the line, he should have been out of here minutes ago looking for higher ground, trying to get a phone call through to someone, storm be damned. But, instead, he was standing in front of the door warring with himself.

Every time he got ready to step out the door, a little voice inside his head piped up with a valid point. First, it was, "If it's the storm that's causing the phone not to have a signal, it won't matter if you go out there, the phone won't work anyway." Then, "You have a lousy sense of direction - if you leave here you'll never find your way back." The argument that currently had him waffling was a compelling one, "No one would expect you to do this. You've been in two car wrecks today, you've been kidnapped, handcuffed, and your shoulder feels like it's going to fall off. Give yourself a break."

Blair stood, pondering the argument, exhausted beyond words, and was about to give in and wait out the storm before venturing out to find help. Then he thought about the time that Simon and Daryl had been stranded in Peru. Jim had been told by the helicopter pilot that there was no point in his going after them, that they were probably already dead. Jim's response had been, "Then I'll bring back their bodies." Jim had earned the same kind of devotion from Blair, he deserved no less than everything Blair could muster. He had to at least try, even if he failed.

Bracing himself for the onslaught of cold rain, Blair pulled open the door and froze as he found himself face to face with Jim.

The two blinked at each other for a moment before Blair reached out and grabbed Jim's arm, pulling him into the cabin and slamming the door shut. Stunned by Jim's sudden appearance, Blair found himself speechless, staring at the other man as he stood in a rapidly growing puddle of water. Giving himself a mental shake, Blair took a step forward and put his hand on Jim's arm, "Oh, my God. Jim, I didn't think... I mean, I hoped you were, but I didn't know..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "Man, I'm just glad you're here."

Jim looked down at Blair's hand on his arm and nodded slowly. "I know. I got here as quick as I could."

Blair nodded back, confused. "Well, that's great, Jim." He moved over to one of the bins and began rummaging for a blanket. "You know, I was just about to go looking for you again, but now that you're here, we can wait out the storm together."

"Not this time."

Blair's head jerked up. "What?"

Jim looked at him, his expression solemn. "I release you."

"You release me."

"That's right," Jim answered, his voice devoid of emotion as he turned, opened the door and headed back out into the storm.

Blair caught up with him five feet away from the cabin, grabbing the older man once again and towing him back to the shelter of the cabin. Shutting the door behind him, Blair started to walk across the floor to get the blankets when he thought better of it and, instead, leaned against the door. "Look, man, I don't know what's going on with you, but we are not going to do this."

"Why are you still here?" Jim asked, irritation evident in his voice. Turning slightly, he angled his body away from Blair, refusing to look at him.

"I'm still here because it's pouring down rain outside and I haven't noticed any better options. It's not like there's gonna be a search and rescue squad out there looking for us considering we've only been missing for about six hours and no one even knows we're missing yet." Blair paused for breath and ran his hand through his hair, wincing as he hit a lump. "Ow," he mumbled, rubbing the sore spot absently as he eyed his partner.

"I did everything you asked me to, Chief. I released you. Why won't you go away?" Jim still refused to look directly at Blair, instead, he stared out the small window of the cabin, his jaw twitching spasmodically. "You're free, okay? Or do I have to do some big ceremony with incense and crystals and body painting?" He finally turned to face Blair, his eyes empty and at odds with the quiet anger behind his words.

"Jim... man, what are you talking about? I haven't asked you to do anything and I have absolutely no idea where this crap about ceremonies is coming from. Look, I'm tired and you're tired and we're both hurt. Let's just sit down on the blankets in front of the fire and warm up a little, okay?" Blair edged towards the blankets and was gratified to see that Jim came limping after him.

Grabbing the two blankets and the first aid kit, he urged Jim to sit in front of the fire and awkwardly draped one blanket over his shoulders and the other on his lap. Dropping the first aid kit, he moved to the fire and added more wood before kneeling in front of a strangely silent Jim.

"Okay, partner, I think you've got yourself one hell of a concussion and that's got you a little confused, doesn't it?" Jim didn't respond, so Blair kept talking, trying to keep him alert as he rummaged through the first aid kit. "Well, I'm gonna have to take a look at that hard head of yours and see what's going on, so I'm gonna need you to take that hat off for me. Can you do that, Jim? Can you take your hat off?"

Jim sighed and removed his hat, wincing as the material pulled at the half-formed scabs sending rivulets of fresh blood down his face. "Jesus, Sandburg, I'm not a child, I'm just dead."

Blair froze for a second, his expression almost comically surprised. Recovering, he pressed a gauze pad to the gash in Jim's head, trying to stop the flow of blood and wincing when Jim grunted in pain. "You're dead? Then perhaps you could explain why you're bleeding. And why this," he pressed harder against the cut on Jim's head, "hurts so damn much."

"It's my hell Sandburg, it's what I deserve. Your hell would probably be Wonderburger and no Discovery channel." He said it like the whole situation was humorous, not just his little jibe, but when Blair looked at Jim's face he saw that there was no mirth there, only a deep weariness.

"Jim, listen to me here, okay? You're not dead and this isn't hell - although I have to admit the past few hours have been a pretty close approximation."

"How would you know? You're dead, too," Jim retorted, sounding annoyed. Frankly, Blair didn't give a flying fuck if Jim was annoyed, anything was better than that flat, defeated monotone that Jim had been speaking in since he had showed up at the cabin.

Checking under the gauze he was holding to Jim's head, Blair was slightly gratified to see that the bleeding was almost stopped. He also noticed that Jim was beginning to shiver slightly and he gave himself a mental kick. Of course the man was shivering, he'd been out wandering around in the rain in forty-degree temperatures wearing nothing but a flannel shirt. Hell, Jim had probably been borderline hypothermic when he arrived. Blair sent out a mental "thank you" to the god of blind luck for their fire, without which he'd more than likely be trying to get his uncooperative partner skinned down to his skivvies and snuggling up with him in a cocoon of blankets. And while he'd do anything it took to ensure Jim's survival, he was thankful that they wouldn't have to work through the awkward silences and resulting therapy *that* scenario was sure to bring on.

Discarding the blood-soaked gauze, Blair wiped his hand on his jeans and reached behind him, snagging the thermal underwear he'd found in Jim's coat. Placing them in Jim's hands, he said, "Here, you'd better get out of those damp clothes or you're going to spend your time in hell combating pneumonia along with that giant chip on your shoulder." Reaching back a second time, Blair snagged the balled-up pair of socks and began prying Jim's shoes off.

"Sandburg," Jim began with a note of warning in his voice, "I said I'm--"

"Yes, yes," Blair interrupted, "not a child, I know. You're a big, mean cop. A Sentinel. You're strong like bull. I've got it, man, now why don't you just shut up and work on your shirt."

Jim stared blankly for a moment and then started struggling out of his soggy sweater, pulling on the dry thermal shirt in its place. His movements as he performed the task were slow and uncoordinated, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Blair.

Blair finally managed to pry off Jim's wet shoes and socks, which was quite an accomplishment considering that he was doing it one-handed. Picking up the dripping footgear, he motioned to the thermal bottoms, "Get out of those wet jeans and put those on. Leave the socks, though, I want to bandage that ankle first." Blair turned around, not giving Jim the chance to argue, and busied himself near the pile of provisions until he heard the struggling and muttering behind him stop. Picking up the items he had selected, Blair made his way back to Jim's side and sat down. "Here," Blair said, placing a few Advil in one of Jim's hands and a bottle of water in the other.

Looking at them with confusion, Jim frowned. "Is this another test?" When his question met stunned silence, Jim continued, an annoyed tone creeping back into his voice. "You know, Sandburg, I really had my fill of those tests when I was alive." He grimaced as Blair grabbed his ankle and plopped it, none too gently, in his own lap. "Ow!"

Blair kept him from pulling back by wrapping his hand around Jim's swollen ankle and squeezing lightly. This elicited a soft oath from Jim, but he stopped squirming. "Hurts, doesn't it?" Blair nodded, mirroring Jim's action. "Yeah, you know why?" Jim shook his head hesitantly. "No?" Blair asked, rhetorically. "Well, Jim, it hurts because YOU AREN'T DEAD!" Taking a deep breath and exhaling noisily, the younger man tried to calm his emotions. "Look, man, I'm not dead, you're not dead, and just because you insist that it's true doesn't make it so. All the evidence is on my side, okay?"

Jim looked at him, his brow creased in concentration. "Evidence?"

"Yes, Jim, evidence. Physical evidence."

"You mean this?" Jim held out his palm with the Advil sitting on it.

"No, Jim. That's just Advil. You put it in your mouth and swallow it. It will make your ankle feel better." Blair took another deep breath and released it slowly as Jim managed to take the pills without further assistance or explanations. "Good. Now, you're going to have to bandage your own ankle. Think you can manage?"

Blinking, Jim frowned then glared as he processed his partner's words. "I think I can manage," he replied, his voice heavily sarcastic. "I do hold a current certificate in Emergency First Aid."

Blair snorted derisively as he gently set Jim's injured foot on the blanket. "I guess they don't cover the benefits of Advil in that course, huh?"

"What?" Jim asked, not looking up from his inspection of the bandaging materials in the first aid kit.

"Never mind." Blair watched as Jim began to wrap his ankle, wincing in sympathy every time Jim winced. "Hey, that ankle isn't broken, is it? I mean, you can tell, right?"

"I don't think so, Chief. It seems to have decent range of motion and weight bearing capacity."

"Can't you use your senses to tell? Like you did with my shoulder."

"The senses have been going in and out ever since we were killed." Jim paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. "No, that's not right, more like ever since your spirit guide led me here to release you." He nodded, although whether it was because he'd finished with his bandage or because he'd gotten the timing right, Blair wasn't sure.

"Your senses are giving you trouble? Are they spiking?" Blair scooted forward, bringing the granola bars with him, and ripping one package open with his teeth.

"No spikes, they not... they nnn..." Jim trailed off, his mouth working soundlessly for a moment. "They haven't been good. Sometimes I can't hear or feel things, then it comes."

Swallowing a bite of granola bar, Blair asked, "Back? Then it comes back?"

"That's what I said, Darwin. And you all accuse me of not listening. You told I never listened to you and didn't 'spect me to start now." Jim blinked slowly, the confusion on his face showing that he knew what he had said was somehow wrong.

Blair dropped his granola bar and moved closer to Jim, rubbing his hand lightly on Jim's forearm. "Hey, man. Take it easy, okay?"

They sat in silence for several minutes and when Blair noticed Jim's eyelids drooping, he was going to give the detective a little tap, to remind him to stay awake. Blair didn't know a as much as Jim about first aid, but he knew that sleeping when you had a head injury was bad news. Before he could do anything though, Jim's eyes focused on Blair's face and he gave a half smile. "Doomed."

Blair wasn't sure he'd heard Jim right. "Doomed?"

Jim nodded slightly, his face tight with pain. "Your spirit guide, the guide, the guide said I had to come and I fall, I foll... I came here because you said to. He said to." Jim paused and closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in his frustration. "Wolf boy said that you were doomed to, to g- go with me to hell, the hell of the thing is, the... hell, unless I let you, let you go. To release you. My fault lies... the lie..." Jim's voice trailed off again, his expression shuttered.

Blair waited, but Jim was silent, his eyes open but devoid of emotion, his weight shifting slowly sideways. Worried by Jim's loss of cognition and his difficulty in speaking, Blair guided Jim's progress, gently easing him down until he was lying on the floor, his head pillowed by a damp blanket. The other blanket, Blair spread over Jim's body, knowing that with any severe injury comes the possibility of shock. Frankly, that was a complication that Blair didn't feel prepared to deal with just now.

The thunder had waned off about ten minutes ago and it sounded like the storm was passing. Grabbing the map from the meager pile of supplies, Blair checked his pocket to make sure the cell phone was still there. Levering himself wearily to his feet, he stepped over and knelt at Jim's side. "Jim, I'll only be gone for a minute. You need to stay awake for me, okay?"

Jim nodded but didn't speak, his eyes clouded with pain and confusion. Blair wasn't sure if Jim actually understood him or not but he couldn't put this off any longer; Jim was getting worse by the minute. Giving his partner a squeeze on the shoulder, Blair rose to his feet and left the cabin, not letting himself look back.

As he struggled through the mud back to a clearing near the junction of two logging roads, Blair tried to shut out the worry and panic, concentrating on the job at hand. He pushed himself to his limits, attempting to block out all his persistent negative thoughts with the anesthetizing balm of strenuous physical activity. The amount of time it took to get to the clearing seemed both negligible and interminable, if such a thing was possible. On one hand, he had been so focused on getting there it seemed like he had just left the cabin, although he knew he had been gone at least fifteen minutes. On the other hand, it seemed as if he had been gone from Jim's side for hours. The burden of not knowing how Jim was faring caused him to agonize over every moment he was away, unsure if he was doing the right thing by making this journey.

As he entered the clearing, Blair tripped on a rock, nearly losing the cell phone into a large puddle. "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Keep it together, Blair." Talking out loud to himself, a habit that drove Jim nuts, helped calm his nerves and his hands grew steadier as he opened the phone and turned it on. Unconsciously, he held his breath as the phone display indicated it was searching for service.

Moments later a hawk took to flight, startled by a loud whoop of joy that echoed throughout the otherwise silent forest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Right there." The head of the Olympia Search and Rescue team pointed at the junction of two logging roads, illuminated by the helicopter's strong searchlight, and motioned for the pilot to land. He patted the man on the shoulder as he tossed his headgear down onto the seat and opened the door, accepting the collapsible stretcher from the third member of the team, as he grabbed their gear from the back of the helicopter.

Carrying their supplies, the two men hurried toward the small tree at the edge of the upper logging road. Waving from one of lowest branches of the tree was a white sock, marking the trail for them to follow. Turning in the direction that the man had described to them on the phone, the two OSR members headed up the smaller road. As they moved farther down the unused logging road the trees closed in overhead, the canopy of leaves blocking out the pale light from the crescent moon and making them slow their pace in order to keep from missing the next marker. After several minutes, their flashlights picked out the other white sock that was hanging limply from a branch at the edge of the road. Even with that clue, the two were barely able to make out the weathered cabin that sat back some twenty yards in the forest. Picking their way carefully but quickly through the undergrowth, they made their way to the victims, like always, not quite sure what they would find.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blair sat next to Jim, his good hand resting lightly on Jim's shoulder as he monitored his friend's breathing. Since he had managed to get through to 911 on Jim's cell phone, he hadn't left the little cabin once. He had placed the sock markers for OSR on his way back from the clearing. Adding a few blisters to his feet because he was going sockless seemed a small price to pay for rescue. When he had returned from his excursion, Jim had been awake but unaware, muttering under his breath in a halting stream of incoherent words. Occasionally, he would shout angrily and his hands would swat at Blair but the blows were weak and easily deflected.

This cycle was still going on and Blair had just about lost his patience when suddenly Jim's demeanor made a 180-degree turn in the blink of an eye. The hand which had been slapping and clawing at Blair's knee instead grabbed for his hand, cradling it in a gentle grip. Tears welled in Jim's eyes and he shook his head back and forth as if trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain.

Blair relaxed slightly at seeing recognition in Jim's blue eyes, squeezing his hand gently and saying, "It's okay, man. Take it easy. The cavalry will be here any minute and then we'll be at the hospital in no time." He tried to smile reassuringly, but knew it came out as more of a grimace. The injury to his shoulder had become a constant agony and the day's events were really taking their toll. His own pain faded once again to the back of his awareness as Jim opened his mouth, struggling to speak.

"Allichu," Jim whispered. He frowned and opened his mouth again, obviously aware that something wasn't right. "Yuyarina... alalai...," he had finished, gripping Blair's hand a little harder for a moment before repeating the last word as his eyes slipped closed and his hand went lax.

Blair shuddered; Jim was going to slip away.

But in the minutes that followed, Jim continued to breathe and Blair continued to wait. Every hitch in Jim's breathing caused Blair to hold his breath. Every moment that Jim continued to hang on to life was a moment that Blair held dear.

Exhausted as he was, Blair didn't realize the helicopter was near until he heard the men coming through the woods. Smiling, he looked down at Jim, "Hey, buddy, do y'hear that? It's the cavalry I promised you." Jim's eyelids twitched in response and Blair whispered his name, hoping he was waking up.

Blair's hope died abruptly as the twitching spread and became full blown convulsions. Trying to make sure Jim's thrashing didn't cause his head to roll off the makeshift pillow, Blair couldn't stifle a cry of relief when the two OSR members came through the door. As they took over, competently administering drugs and checking Jim's injuries, Blair finally let go of the control he had placed on his emotions and once again allowed himself the luxury of hope.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of footsteps echoing in the deserted hospital corridor caused Blair's head to jerk up from where it had been resting on his forearm. He sat with his knees drawn up and his back against the wall, waiting outside of Jim's new room. The nurses had chased him out while they got Jim settled into his bed and hooked up to all the monitors. Letting his head drop back against the wall, Blair rubbed his eyes tiredly.

The past thirty-six hours had been a blur. First, there had been the nightmare ride to the hospital on the OSR helicopter. Once they had arrived at the hospital he and Jim had been separated - those hours away from Jim had been the worst. Although the doctors and nurses were kind enough to keep him informed on Jim's progress, he had still felt bereft at the loss of control. Upon examination, Blair's doctor had found what Jim must have suspected; Blair's shoulder had been separated from the scapula. The doctor had called it a grade three separation and had insisted on a simple surgical procedure to secure the joint back to the scapula using a thin loop of wire. Blair secretly suspected that they had just wanted to put him under for a few hours to get him to shut up.

When he had finally made it out of recovery some six hours later, Jim had been in ICU. The doctors had performed a craniotomy, relieving the pressure in Jim's head by removing the blood that had clotted between his skull and brain. After several long and futile arguments with the staff, they had agreed to let Blair stay with Jim around the clock as long as he took his shoulder medication like a good little patient.

Glancing at the clock, Blair grimaced; it was time to take his pills again. Standing up, he dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out two bottles, prying the lids off with his teeth. As he was shaking the pills into his hand, the door to Jim's room opened and the orderly and nurse came out. The nurse gestured towards the room with her hand as she walked towards the nurse's station, "You can go in now. Just press the call button if you need anything."

Blair walked into the dim room, poured himself a glass of water from the sink and took his pills. He cringed as one got stuck halfway down, but another sip of water sent it on its merry way. Setting the cup down, he went to the recliner and carefully pulled it as close to the bed as he could. Avoiding looking at Jim, he snagged an extra pillow and blanket from the cabinet and sat down, making himself as comfortable as possible. Finally, when the pillow and blanket were adjusted and the recliner was reclined, there was nothing left to fuss over and Blair had to look at Jim.

He'd seen Jim a several times briefly in ICU but he'd been half groggy from his own surgery and just thankful that Jim was hanging on. Now, with Jim in a normal room, devoid of the bustling urgency of the ICU, his injuries seemed more real somehow. Now the voices came out of hiding and asked the difficult questions. What do I do if Jim's got brain damage? What if Jim never fully recovers and can't be a cop? What if he never wakes up?

Reaching out, Blair touched Jim's cheek softly with the back of his fingers. There was a few days growth of stubble there and Blair chuckled a little. Jim always said that he stayed clean shaven because the hairs tickled when they were even a fraction of an inch long. It drove his heightened senses nuts. Blair wondered if it was going to drive him nuts when the hair on his head started growing out. Hopefully they'd get a chance to find out.

Pulling his hand back, Blair adjusted the blanket a little higher on his own shoulders and then did the same for Jim before taking Jim's hand in his. Letting his thoughts roam, he watched his partner breathe and absently stroked the back of Jim's hand with his thumb. "Okay, Jim, we've come this far, so don't back out on me now. I'm not ready to give up on you yet. You didn't give up on me, not even when I was dead. You came after me and brought me back. I'll do the same thing for you if I have to."

Blair was silent for a moment, staring at their joined hands. "Did you ever wonder what would have happened if it hadn't worked? I mean, what if I hadn't come back with you, or what if I'd gone too far? Would you have died, too? Would your soul have been lost and your body lived on in some catatonic state?" Blair frowned and nibbled on his lower lip for a moment, deep in thought. "I don't know. I don't ever want to know, you know? I'm just glad you brought me back. Now it's your turn to come back... and hurry it up will ya? My butt is already getting numb from this damn chair." Giving Jim's hand a squeeze, Blair closed his eyes and let the rhythmic beeps from the heart monitor guide him into a dreamless sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"How's Jim doing today?" the petite nurse asked Blair as she walked into Jim's room.

Blair looked up from his book and shifted in the recliner, smiling tiredly. "He seems to be doing better, resting more comfortably than he was last night. I just wish he'd wake up."

"I know you do, Blair, but Jim had a craniotomy forty-eight hours ago. Let's cut him a little slack, shall we?" The Asian nurse smiled encouragingly. "Dr. Gang said that the intercranial hemorrhage was fairly isolated. There's a good chance that Jim will be fine when he wakes up."

Blair looked away, fixing his gaze on Jim's bandaged head. "And there's a chance he could have brain damage, permanent motor or cognitive impairment, or he could get an infection or have a stroke--"

"Hey, hey," she interrupted gently. "Let's not go borrowing trouble, okay? It looks like you two find enough of it on your own." The nurse checked Jim's chart and gave her patient a quick exam. "I'll be back again this afternoon. You can hit the call button if you need anything, okay?"

Nodding, Blair turned his attention back to Jim and was startled when he heard the nurse's voice behind him. "And Blair? Take care of yourself, too. That shoulder surgery was minor, but it's not any less important for you to take it easy in order to recover fully." Flashing a quick smile, the busy nurse ducked out the door and vanished down the hall.

Sighing, Blair dug around in his pocket and pulled out his medication. Struggling for a moment, he finally managed to get the lids off and popped two pills into his mouth. Washing them down with tepid water from the pitcher at Jim's bedside, he grimaced. He hated horse pills.

Involuntarily, he looked from Jim to the clock noting, not for the first time, how the passage of time inside the hospital seemed disconnected from the outside world. Outside these walls, people were leading lives: working, joking, laughing, fighting. But inside, people were just struggling to live. It didn't so much put things in perspective as it put things out of perspective. Skewing the norm until it was but a passing shadow of reality.

Blair shook his head. Boy, the painkillers sure made him morose. Reaching for the remote, he turned on the tv, muting the volume so the closed captioning would come on. Searching through the channels, he finally settled on one, his lips curving into a small grin.

Lowering the bed rail, he scooted his recliner as close to the bed as possible. Blair rested his arm on top of Jim's and, absently tracing small patterns on the cool flesh, he began talking to his partner. Speaking in low undertones, he slowly brought Jim up to speed on the latest goings on in Port Charles, Pine Valley, and Llanview.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You're the most unreasonable person I have ever met." Blair stated flatly as he stared at his partner. The partner who was sitting in the kitchen, caught red-handed at the computer. "You just got out of the hospital six DAYS ago. The doctor said you couldn't go back to work for six WEEKS. Weeks, Jim."

"I can't just lie on the couch all day, Sandburg. It's driving me crazy." Jim met his partner's eyes defiantly but the tough as nails image he was striving to project was seriously hampered by the bandages around his head and the unusual pallor of his skin.

"How long have you been using the computer?" Blair asked, his arms folded across his chest.

"A little while. Not long." Jim said, his gaze dropping from Blair's face to the floor.

"Uh huh. Right." Blair turned around and began to violently shove groceries into the refrigerator. "So, were you paying attention at all when the doctor told you what you weren't allowed to do for the next few weeks?" Blair didn't pause to wait for Jim's answer, he was too angry. "No, of course you weren't. I mean, what do you care if you give yourself a seizure or a stroke. Jesus, Jim, what in the hell were you thinking? I mean, what could be so fucking important that it couldn't wait a few weeks?" Blair finally turned around, his face red, his lips pressed into a tight line.

"I want to know who did this to us. I want to know why." Jim scratched the back of his neck absently and looked at Blair. "I'm tired of people with a ven-, a ven..." Jim's voice trailed off as he searched for the words to continue. He still spoke slowly, sometimes having difficulty in finding the words he wanted to say. Blair wanted to jump in and finish his words for him but that seemed to frustrate Jim more, so he waited.

Jim shook his head a little. "Revenge. People keep coming out of my past and while they're trying to get to me, you end up getting mixed up in it. I want to know who did this, Chief. There's so many questions we don't have answers for."

"Jim, first of all, the guys at the station are putting in every spare minute they have on this. Secondly, not everything is about you." Blair smiled wryly at Jim's surprised expression. "I overheard some conversations while I was in the Jeep with the guy that you clobbered. From what they said, it was ME they wanted. You were secondary, like icing on the cake, so to speak."

With an evil glint in his eye, Blair stepped forward and put his face even with Jim's, their noses inches apart. "So, does that make it my fault that you got hurt? Should I feel guilty?"

"Hell, no, Chief." Jim pushed his chair back and stood, gripping the back of the chair like a lifeline. "If it wasn't for you, I'd be dead ten times over, or in an institution. I'm just going stir crazy here and I can't seem to stop thinking about it. It would help if I could remember more of what happened."

"Jim, the doctor said that with severe brain trauma the possibility of recovering short term memory is extremely unlikely. You're lucky to be alive and believe me, you're not really missing anything by not having those memories."

"I still wish I could remember."

"No, you don't. You're not hearing me here, man. It wasn't pretty." Blair turned away from Jim and began pacing in front of the refrigerator. "You know, I used to think that I was a pretty good guy. A guy people could count on in a crisis. Then this happens and I realize that I'm not the guy I thought I was and maybe I never have been."

"Sandburg, what are you talking about?"

Blair sighed. "Look man, forget it." Blair waved his arm dismissively and turned, heading into the living room.

"No."

Blair blinked and stopped walking. "No?" This was new - since when did Jim, the biggest advocate of the 'don't ask don't tell policy', want to talk?

The word was repeated quietly but firmly. "No."

"I don't think it's a good idea, Jim. Maybe some other time, when you're feeling better."

"Allichu?" he said softly, turning towards the living room and meeting Blair's eyes.

Blair stared at him for a moment, stunned. "You remember?"

Jim shook his head. "You had it written down along with a couple of other words in Quechua. I was looking for a notebook to write in the other day and I grabbed yours by mistake and found them. Why did you have them written down? Where did you learn them?"

"From you." At Jim's questioning look, he continued, "Long story, man, let's sit down for this one." Detouring back to the kitchen, he grabbed two bottles of root beer and shooed Jim out to the couch, following carefully behind in case his help was needed. They settled comfortably into the cushions, Blair fussing for a moment, forcing Jim to prop his still painful ankle on the coffee table.

"Well?" Jim finally asked after they had both had a chance to open their drinks and sip. "When did you learn Quechua from me?"

"When we were in the cabin. I know you don't remember much of anything from after the second crash, but when you stumbled into the cabin you were in pretty bad shape, man. You kept trying to release me from your debt or something. You had this idea that we were both dead and that you were in hell. You said my spirit guide led you to me and told you to release me so I didn't have to follow you in death as I followed you in life." Blair paused and took a drink. "When you think about it, it isn't so different from the death rituals that a Native American shaman will prepare before he passes on. Did you know that they traditionally chose the time and place of their death?"

Jim rolled his eyes and swallowed the root beer in his mouth. "Point, Sandburg, the point?"

"Yeah, right. Anyway you were pretty much out of it, and when we were waiting for the helicopter you were having trouble talking. You could hardly string two words together, man, I gotta tell you, it was pretty scary." Blair ran his hand through his hair and laughed a little nervously. "I kept telling you to hang on, but I didn't think you were gonna do it. So you were unconscious for a while but right before the OSR guys got there you woke up for a minute and you spoke to me in Quechua."

"I did?" Jim looked at Blair dubiously. "What did I say?"

"You said 'allichu' first," Blair cocked his head to the side, "and you looked kinda ticked off. It's like you knew that wasn't what you wanted to say or how you wanted to say it, but that's all that would come out."

"It means please."

"I know. I looked them all up while you were in the hospital. The next word you said was 'yuyarina', which, as far as I could tell, means to remember or know of." Jim made a sound as if to interrupt but Blair forged ahead, cutting off anything he might have said. "And then you squeezed my hand and you said, 'alalai'."

"Sorrow." Jim nodded and took a drink, relishing the flavor after so long in the hospital. "I wish I remembered what the hell I was trying to say."

"That's okay, I think I know."

Jim turned to Blair, "I am sorry, Chief, for so many things - things I wish I could go back and do over. I hope you know that, too."

"I know, man. Me, too, for a lot of things." Blair took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I left you out there. You could have died." Blair chuckled; it was a brittle, self-mocking sound. "There I was, safe and snug in the cabin with my fire and meanwhile, you were out wandering around in the rain with a massive head injury looking for me." Blair shook his head in disbelief. "And you found me, too. You never gave up, but I gave up on you. How can I ever forgive myself for that?"

"It's a hard thing, isn't it?" Jim studied Blair's face, noting the anger and frustration in every line. "It's a tough burden to bear, feeling responsible for another person's life. Some days I think about my men that I lost in Peru and I feel so damn worthless. I- you didn't do anything wrong; you tried to protect me, you searched for me, you didn't give up."

Blair snorted. "Yeah, but I didn't exactly go through hell and high water, did I?"

"I'd say the whole thing was pretty hellish. The only reason I took the high water was because of the head injury. If I'd been thinking straight, I'd have headed for the highway, flagged down the first car and made for the nearest motel."

"After picking up your partner, right?" Blair smiled a little as Jim pursed his lips as if in deep thought.

Turning his head, Jim looked Blair directly in the eyes. "Wouldn't go anywhere without you, Chief," he said, making the words seem like a solemn vow. They stayed that way for several long seconds, eyes locked, before a car alarm went off startling them both into looking away.

Blair bounced a fist lightly on Jim's thigh, "Okay, so we're good, right?"

"We're good." Jim laid his hand over Blair's fist for a moment, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

They sat side by side in companionable silence for a while, finishing their drinks as the last rays of sun drained from the spring sky. Blair took Jim's empty bottle and his own and placed them on the end table. Reaching for the remote control, he found his hand blocked by a larger one.

"I don't think so, Darwin." Jim said, affectionately, transferring the remote to his left hand and holding it well out of Blair's reach. "I was stuck in that damn hospital for twelve days and you're going to pay for your choice in tv programming."

"Jim, man, what are you talking about? You had total control over the remote in your room. I didn't even complain when you made me watch 'Diagnosis Murder' that night when Tim Conway and Harvey Korman guest starred."

"Yeah, yeah. I had total control when I was awake, but what about all those afternoons you spent watching your afternoon soaps?" Jim leered at Blair. "What about Lucy's scandal at the Nurses' Ball?"

"Oh, come on, Jim, that's not fair, man, you were under sedation. You were supposed to be asleep."

"Bad television has a way of insinuating itself into the brain. And now," Jim grinned gleefully, "it's payback time."

Jim pressed the button and the television sprang to life, the logo in the corner identifying the station as PAX. Jim began humming theme music under his breath as the first episode of the "Bonanza" marathon came on the screen. As Blair began protesting, Jim cheerfully blocked out his voice by turning the volume up to ear shattering levels. Finally, Blair resigned himself to his fate and sank back into the sofa in defeat.

"So this is like a four episode marathon, right Jim? Right?"

Jim just chuckled evilly as the announcer came on before the commercial break. "We'll be right back," the tinny voice chirped, "Stay tuned for the weekend-long "Bonanza" marathon. Don't touch that dial!"

"Aw, Jim. That's harsh, man. That's harsh."


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