Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to Pet Fly UPN and Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended and no money has changed hands.

Special Thanks: Thank you to two wonderful betas -- StarWatcher - who always makes me try that little bit harder. You are a great teacher. And Bobbie - who probably pulls out her hair when she sees my first draft. Your effort truly is appreciated. Even though we have never met and probably never will, you both are still willing to give up your time to try and make me a better writer -- Thank you. .

Thanks to Arianna for your words of motivation and again to StarWatcher for your images of the desert, which got inspired to start this story.

Posted on SA as dues

Rated: PG for violence and some bad language

Feedback: Yes please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. jessriley80@hotmail.com

THE GAME

Jess Riley

Warren Marsh slammed his fist down on the table as he read the morning paper, the vibration causing his coffee to spill over the newsprint on the third page. It snaked its way down the article about a spate of arson attacks on local businesses and pooled its brown stain on the feature below. As the liquid tainted the black and white photo, he wiped it roughly with his hand, smearing the caption below. 'Cop of the Year comes to Las Vegas.' The next line carried all the information that the former Lieutenant needed to know. 'Detective James Ellison of the Cascade PD, along with several other interstate and overseas police officers, has been invited to be a guest speaker at the International Law Enforcement conference on July 23rd.'

"Well, well, Captain Ellison," he whispered, his fingers digging into the newsprint, tearing the soggy paper. The kitchen chair toppled over with a resounding thud as he sprang to his feet. Reaching for the phone, he angrily stabbed at the buttons. "Tracks, you seen this morning's paper?" he demanded as soon as the line connected. A feral grin spread across his face. "What do you think the good Captain would say to a visit from a few of his men? You ring Wylie, I'll make the arrangements."

Simon wiped the perspiration from the back of his neck. Folding his handkerchief neatly, he put it back in his pocket. Summer had hit with a vengeance this year and the city nestled in the desert was sweltering. Tired and somewhat irritable from the flight and the stifling heat, he barked at the young man who approached the car. "Sandburg, you are unbelievable. I swear to god that you must be a walking hormone. Can't you keep your mind out of your pants for more than ten minutes?"

Jim shrugged at his partner, who was staring at him with that 'what did I do now?' look. Picking up the last of the luggage, he handed it to the concierge. "So Romeo, what did she say?" he asked his partner, trying to lighten the mood.

"What did you expect her to say?" replied Blair, smiling broadly. "I mean this is me you're talking about. What woman could possibly resist my charming manners, boyish smile and incredible good looks? Not to mention the hair, man. Did I ever tell you how much the chicks dig my hair? Let's face it buddy, in this universe, I'm basically a babe magnet." Blair flashed Jim another one of his brilliant smiles before slapping the larger man on the shoulder. "I'm gonna go and check out the tourist stand while you guys check in. I wonder what type of cuisine she likes?" he muttered to himself.

Jim grabbed the errant anthropologist by the back of his shirt to halt his progress. "Hold up a minute, stud muffin. We're here to work, remember?"

"Jim, the conference doesn't start until tomorrow afternoon and you're not speaking until the day after that, so the way I see it, there's plenty of time for a bit of relaxation and to partake of life's little pleasures -- so to speak." Blair pulled his shirt from the detective's grip. "See you inside, Big Guy." Jim watched his partner disappear through the front door before turning his attention to his Captain.

"Hear that?" sighed Simon, a sense of relief present in his voice.

"Hear what? I don't hear anything."

"Exactly... not a theory, not a conjecture, not a hypothesis... not one single, long winded explanation. How do you keep your sanity Jim? Doesn't he drive you nuts?"

"Oh come on Simon, he's not that bad... a little noisy, granted."

"Jim, he hasn't shut up since we boarded the plane this morning."

A sly smile spread across Jim's face as he looked at his Captain.

A look of realization appeared on Simon's face. "You weren't listening to him, were you? You did whatever you do with your senses and you shut off your hearing."

Jim laughed and headed to the lobby door. "You wanted to know how I kept my sanity; well, now you do."

Simon hurried to catch up with the detective. "Hey, you think you could teach me how to do it... I mean, it can't be that hard!"

Jim's attention was drawn away from the conversation and toward the entrance door on the other side of the bar. While Sandburg had been off wining and dining his latest lady-friend, he and Simon had used the evening to catch up with a couple of buddies from the New York PD who were also in town for the conference. Although slightly intoxicated, he still could focus quite clearly on the familiar heartbeat. The sentinel had noticed on several previous occasions that his senses became dulled with the consumption of alcohol. Simply put, the more he drank, the more his senses toned down to a normal level. For some reason though, he could always manage to sense his guide. "Hey, Chief, over here," he said, sliding over so Blair could take a seat in the booth. "You're back early. Don't tell me the great babe magnet struck out?"

"Jim man, get real... I don't strike out. Katherine has a flight in a few hours, so I thought I'd do the gentlemanly thing and let her get some rest. Beside, I wouldn't really call two AM early." Blair looked at the empty beer bottles on the table. "So what have you two been up to, and how much have you had to drink?" he asked, taking a seat in the booth next to Jim.

"Nothing much, just catching up with a couple of old friends. You just missed them, actually."

"Jim, you want one for the road?" asked Simon, getting to his feet. "Sandburg you want a beer?"

"Yeah, thanks Simon," replied both men in unison

Waiting until Simon was out of earshot, Blair asked, "Jim, how much exactly have you had to drink?"

"Enough to get pleasantly drunk. Is there a problem with that, Chief?"

"No man, no problem. I was just wondering if you're okay. You know, if you're having any problems with your senses or anything?"

"Well, my little guardian angel, you can stop your worrying. I'm fine. Actually, my senses feel a little dull, and to be honest, I'm quite enjoying the break."

Blair's guide instincts immediately kicked in. "Dull! How would you describe dull?"

"Chief," said Jim, turning a little so he faced the young man. "Look, I've had a great night, caught up with some old friends, had a good meal, and indulged in a little alcohol. Don't spoil it... okay?"

Blair picked up one of the empty bottles and started to pick at the label. "You're right, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be an overbearing nag."

Jim looked at his slightly despondent friend and slapped him on the shoulder. "So, Romeo, how'd you do? Get laid tonight?"

Blair looked over at Jim in surprise as Simon placed the beers on the table. Looking at the mischievous twinkle in the sentinel's eyes, he simply said, "Twice actually."

Marsh had been watching the camaraderie between Jim and Simon and, more recently, Blair. He turned to his two companions "Seems like the good Captain has got himself a couple of friends."

"Hey, I wonder what he's doing hanging around with the hippie?' asked Tracks.

"Maybe he's doin' the kid," snickered Wylie. "Funny, never figured Ellison for a pillow-biter."

The men laughed at Wylie's comment. "Come on gentlemen," said Marsh, draining the last of his beer. "It's time to get this operation underway. Everyone know what they're supposed to do?"

"Yes sir," they replied.

"Good, let's move out."

The simplistic plan was an overwhelming success and was carried out with military precision. As Jim, Blair and Simon entered the suite they were sharing, they were 'encouraged', with the aide of guns placed in the small of their backs, to move quietly and quickly back out into the corridor and down the fire stairs. Reaching the alleyway, drugs were administered and the three were loaded into a van. As the van sped off, Warren Marsh smiled. "Let the games begin."

"Jim, come on, man, come on back," cajoled Blair, gently nudging the sentinel with his knee. He struggled once again with the bindings that immobilized his hands behind his back, but to no avail. They were simply too tight. He could already feel the burning of raw skin where the rope dug into his flesh. Barely able to make out Simon's face in the van's bleak interior, he whispered, "Simon, I'm really worried. He should have woken up hours ago."

"Blair, he'll be fine, it's just taking him a bit longer to shake off the effects of the drug. You know Jim; he's tough as nails. He'll be fine kid, I promise."

Blair winced. His head hitting the side of the van as it came to a sudden stop. Doors were flung open and orders were given. "Get out," was the only thing said. The guns thrust in their faces left no room for argument.

As soon as Simon's feet hit the ground, he scanned his surroundings. Dawn was breaking over the desert landscape, giving it an eerie feel. Shades of mauve and pink danced in the sky as the morning warmth chased away the few remaining clouds. Even though the sun had just risen, Simon could already feel the heat bouncing off the parched, arid ground. A fat horny toad lizard ducked out from under a small, stubby plant and intently studied the scene.

Rough hands grabbed Simon's wrists and he felt the cold metal blade of a hunting knife sever his restraints. "Get him out," ordered Marsh, indicating the back of the van. "And don't try anything stupid." Simon was all too aware of the dangerous situation they were in, and he knew now was not the right time to try anything -- Blair was down on his knees with the barrel of a gun resting in the middle of his forehead.

Simon walked to the back of the van and dragged Jim's legs towards the edge of the doorway. Taking hold of the unconscious man's arms, he pulled Jim into a sitting position. "Now would be a really good time to wake up, Jim," he muttered, as he pulled the detective up and positioned him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

"Dump him there," said Marsh harshly. Simon lowered Jim as carefully as he could, supporting his head as the limp body hit the ground.

"Oh, ain't that sweet," chuckled Tracks, whose gun still rested point blank on Blair's forehead.

"Over there, by baby boy," snarled Marsh. "Move," he shouted at Simon's hesitation.

Marsh's large form cast a shadow on Jim's body. Towering over the unconscious man, he toed Jim's side with his boot and hissed. "God damn it Ellison, you're spoiling all my fun. I didn't drag your sorry carcass all the way out here for you to sleep through the whole adventure. It's your moment to shine, Captain. Now wake up, you asshole!" A swift kick was directed at Jim's unprotected stomach.

"Hey, leave him alone you bastard!" shouted Simon, who was first to get to his feet. Without a second thought, the gun was moved from Blair's forehead and connected with the back of Simon's skull. The police Captain sunk bonelessly to the ground.

Blair's reaction was just as immediate, once the threat of the gun had been removed. "What the fuck do you want from us!" he yelled, surging to his feet.

"Watch him," Marsh barked at Wylie, leaving the smaller, wiry man to guard Ellison's body. In one quick movement, Marsh grabbed Blair by his hair and thrust his face directly into the young man's personal space. "Don't try and play the hero, baby boy," he said menacingly. "You see, most heroes end up dead. Now you don't want that, do you? I'm sure sugar daddy Ellison would be very upset if something happened to his fine piece of ass."

"What do you want?" repeated Blair through gritted teeth.

Marsh roughly squeezed the back of Blair's neck. "I just want to play a little game, baby boy. You know, see if the legendary Captain Ellison still has his fine soldiering skills. I mean, now that he seems to be settled down with such a sweet little thing, I'd hate to see him become soft and let all those skills go to waste. Perhaps a quick makeup course is what the good Captain needs. You see, your sugar daddy was once a fine officer, baby boy. The perfect role model. I'd even go so far as to say one of the most honourable men around. It's a pity he couldn't bring himself to look the other way once in a while."

The grad student didn't react to Marsh's derogatory comments. He knew full well that anything he said would only provoke the man further. His only concern at this stage was the safety of Jim and Simon. Marsh let go of Blair's hair and draped an arm over his shoulder, pulling the young man close to his body. "You want to play a game, baby boy? I had been planning to play this game with Captain Ellison, but since he's being a spoilsport, I guess it's up to you."

"What kind of game?" asked Blair cautiously.

Marsh pushed Blair back down onto the ground and walked over to the van. He pulled a knapsack from the front and tipped its contents onto the ground. A sinister smile spread over his sun-hardened face. "The rules of this game are simple, baby boy. You see, I'm a sporting man, and as such, I believe in odds. Now the odds would be pretty bad if I left you fellas all alone in the desert heat without any provisions. Having no supplies at all would drastically reduce the odds of you getting outta here alive. But if I was gracious enough to let you have the contents of this knapsack, well, that, combined with our Captain Ellison's exceptional survival skills, would raise the odds quite considerably. But you see, baby boy, therein lies my predicament. I'm going from very low odds to very high odds. I'm thinkin' that we need a handicap to even the odds. Make this little competition a bit more interesting. Wouldn't you agree?"

"So what do you have in mind?" asked Blair, his eyes drifting toward the two prone figures in the dirt.

Marsh grabbed Blair by his collar and dragged him to his feet. He brought the young man up to his level. His hot breath blew in Blair's ear as he whispered. "I'm figurin' to make you the handicap, baby boy. I reckon the good Captain would find it harder going if he had your pretty little ass to worry about."

"What if you're wrong?" replied Blair, hoping to stall Marsh. "What if Jim and Simon left me here and went to get help? You said it yourself, Jim's an expert on survival and he would also have to weigh his odds. If I'm hurt, the chances are I wouldn't make it anyway. So surely Jim's first priority would be getting him and Simon out of here alive and coming after you. They're both cops you know, and the job comes first."

"Oh, you're a smart one, baby boy, but unfortunately for you, I know the Captain just a little too well. As I said before, Captain Ellison is one of the most honourable men I know. There is no way he would leave his baby boy to fend for himself."

Blair didn't even see the first punch coming. It connected heavily with his midriff, leaving him doubled over and gasping for air. The second punch was just as swift and just as powerful as it landed on his jaw, sending him sprawling back into the coarse, red dirt. With pain still searing through his belly and his vision unfocused, he tried awkwardly to get to his knees. A fist found its mark on the small of his back, and he collapsed back down onto the ground in agonizing pain. Hands were replaced with boots as four well-aimed, vicious kicks found their mark on his unprotected body. The last kick, directed to the side of his head, rendered him unconscious.

Marsh bent down and brushed Blair's hair off his face. "Now, now, baby boy. That wasn't so bad, was it? Your Captain Ellison would be real proud of his little piece. Took it like a real man."

Marsh's companions looked at the solidly-built man. "What if the hippie's right?" asked Tracks.

Wylie shifted nervously from foot to foot. "Yeah, what if Ellison does leave him here and go for help? It's not impossible for him and that other prick to walk out of here. Especially with the supplies we've left."

"Boys, boys, boys, how quickly we forget. Surely you remember what kind of man Ellison is. There is no way he would leave his friends to save his own butt. With the kid slowing him down, it's a good two days' walk to any kind of civilization. Besides, after we've indulged in a little entertainment and had a good night's rest, I intend to come back out here and do a little huntin'. Shouldn't be too hard to pick up their trail, should it Tracks?"

"A piece of cake, Lieutenant, a piece of cake!"

Blair released a groan as consciousness hit him full force. "Hey, hey, take it easy kid." Simon laid a hand on Blair to halt his movement.

"...Jim?"

"He's still out of it, Blair. I think he may have zoned."

As Simon's words penetrated his pain-filled brain, he tried to get to his feet. A searing cramp ripped through his stomach, forcing him back down to the ground.

"God damn it, Blair, would you be still! You're pretty banged up."

"I'm fine, Simon... Jim... he's been out for too long."

"Blair please, let me check you over," insisted Simon as he eased the young man into a sitting position.

"Simon, there's no time. I have to bring Jim back. He's never been out of it this long. Help me up, please!"

"Okay, okay, but just take it slow. I think you might have a couple of busted ribs." Simon helped Blair gingerly to his feet.

"Whoa, head spin," he whispered, swaying unsteadily.

"Just take it nice and slow," encouraged Simon, tightening his grip on the observer.

As Blair reached Jim's side, Simon helped lower him to his knees. "Jim, can you hear me?" Placing a hand on Jim's forehead, he stated. "Simon, he's too hot. Grab me the canteen, will you? It's over there in the knapsack."

Simon retrieved the knapsack and withdrew the canteen. "You sure this is safe?"

"Yeah, pretty sure. I don't think poisoning the water is part of their game plan."

"What game plan?"

"I'll explain later. Can you lift up his head?"

Simon supported Jim's neck as Blair slowly tipped the tepid water into the sentinel's mouth.

"Come on big guy, nice and easy," he encouraged. It took close to twenty minutes of soft murmuring and gentle massage before Jim's eyelids fluttered open. "Welcome back, Jim," smiled Blair in relief. "You had me worried."

Jim lay on the ground, trying to focus on his guide's face. "Chief?"

"Yeah Big Guy, it's me. Think you can sit up?"

Simon positioned himself behind the solid man and supported his back. Blair lifted the canteen to Jim's lips and murmured. "Just a little, not too much."

"Whoa, that was some trip," said Jim rubbing the back of his neck. "You guys alright?"

"We're fine," replied Blair before Simon had a chance to answer. "Well, as fine as we can be, considering we're stuck out here in the middle of the desert with only one canteen of water and a couple of measly health bars."

Simon looked directly into Blair pleading eyes. He would let the kid get away with it, for now, but as soon as Jim was stronger he would fill the detective in on the injuries he suspected the grad student carried. "Any idea who those guys were?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, I know exactly who they were. They were part of a unit I once commanded."

"So, why the grudge? What happened?"

"What happed was that I had their asses court-martialled and thrown in the stockade.

"What did they do?"

Jim hoisted himself off the ground with Simon's help and surveyed the surrounding area. "We were sent on a recon mission on a remote island of Indonesia. We needed to rely heavily on information from the local villages, and a part of our mission plan was to get to 'know the locals'. Unfortunately, those three took our orders a little too literally and became a bit too friendly." Simon looked at Jim, and raised an eyebrow, requesting him to explain further. "They raped the chief's daughter. She was only fourteen."

"Oh man!" exclaimed Blair, his complexion paling visibly.

"'Oh man' is right, Chief," replied Jim, now taking a closer look as his guide.

"If I had had any sense, I would have left them there and let the Chief deal with them. But they were my men, my responsibility. So when I got their backsides stateside, I put them on report. They ended up spending the next seven years in a military prison."

Jim reached out and gently touched the bruise that was forming on Blair's temple. "What happened?"

"Nothing, Jim," replied Blair, pulling his head away from the older man's touch. "I'm fine. They just got a little enthusiastic... that's all."

"A little enthusiastic," chided Simon. "You call busted ribs and a concussion a little enthusiastic? You were unconscious, Sandburg!"

"I don't have a concussion and my ribs are just bruised, not broken."

Jim grabbed the bottom of Blair's shirt in order to examine the young man's torso. "Let me see."

Blair smacked Jim's hands away roughly. "Jim, just leave it, will you? Simon's hurt, too. I don't see you trying to check him over. I'm fine. Besides there's nothing you can do out here," he stated, taking a step away from the sentinel.

"Whoa! Hold up a minute, Chief, where did that come from?" Concerned by his partner's attitude, he asked, "Did Marsh do something to you that you're not telling me?"

"NO Jim, as I said before, I'M FINE. I just wish you'd stop treating me like a baby."

Jim looked past Blair's shoulder and over at Simon, who was placing the canteen into the knapsack. "Hey Simon," he said loudly. "You okay? Want me to check you over?"

"No thanks, Jim. I think I'm okay. But thank you for asking."

"No problem, after all, it is what one friend would do for another... I mean if that friend thought that the other friend was hurt."

"I agree totally, Jim. And I appreciate your concern."

Blair glared at the two men. "If you two are quite finished, don't you think we oughtta concentrate our efforts on getting out of here? Shouldn't we be trying to find a road or something?"

"Which direction?" asked Simon as he shouldered the knapsack. Jim quickly scanned the horizon before coming to a decision. "This way," he said.

"Jim," piped up Blair. "Don't you think we should follow the tyre tracks? I mean, they've gotta lead to a road eventually."

"Trust me Chief, we want to put as much distance as we can between us and the van."

"We do?"

"We do," confirmed Jim, gently pushing his guide to indicate the direction they were heading.

"Not the last we'll be seeing of our friends, I gather?" asked Simon, who was now walking beside Jim.

"Not by a long shot."

Simon slowed his steps, giving Blair a chance to get a little further in front. "So Jim, what was that all about?"

"I'm not sure, but I intend to find out. Did you get a chance to take a look at him before he regained consciousness?"

"Not much, he came to not long after me. I'm sure he's got a couple of busted ribs, though."

"Well, I guess he's right about one thing. There's not much we can do about it out here. I think our best bet is to let the subject drop for the time being. He doesn't seem too bad off at the moment, and his sheer stubbornness should keep him going for a while. Jim pointed to a small blot on the landscape in the distance. "We need to get to that outcrop of rocks as soon as possible, and the longer he can keep going, the better."

Blair stopped for a moment, giving the two men a chance to catch up. "So Jim, just how good are these guys?"

"Good enough to be Rangers, Chief." Noticing his guide's worried expression, he added. "But don't worry Sandburg, I was better."

"I really hope that was better means that you're still better," muttered Blair, as he fell into step beside the two men.

Simon raised his eyebrows and asked, "Jim?"

The look on his Captain's face immediately told him what the older man wanted to know. If they were going to survive, they needed to know their enemy. "I'll fill you in later," he said quietly. "Right now, we need to reach that outcrop before nightfall. It's not much, but at least it will give us some shelter and a strategic advantage."

The midday temperature now soared at an almost unbearable 109 degrees. Their progress had slowed considerably, as Blair's energy steadily dissipated. Jim managed to salvage some more liquid from the varieties of barrel cactus and prickly pear that scattered the desert landscape. Unfortunately, Marsh and his cohorts had 'confiscated' every possible tool -- even Blair's beloved Swiss Army knife. Jim protected his hands from the sharp spines by using his belt buckle and the sharp edge of a broken piece of shale. Their need was desperate; in order for them to survive the searing midday heat they needed to stop, rest and drink at least every hour. The moisture he was able to extract from the plants was a lifesaving supplement to their diminishing water supply. Jim's resolve slowly crumbled as he listened to Blair's heavy breathing. Over the past hour, Blair's condition had steadily become worse. His breathing was laboured, and Jim knew that the young man was suffering from severe abdominal pain. "Hey guys, why don't we break for ten?" he suggested spotting a large mesquite bush they could shelter beneath. He estimated that the rock formation they were heading for was at least another hour's walk away. If Blair was going to make it that far, he needed some time to recuperate.

Simon dropped the knapsack and followed it down to the ground. "Amen to that... here," he said, passing the canteen to Jim.

Jim immediately passed the canteen to his guide. "Here you go, Chief."

Blair held up his hand in refusal. He knew that taking a drink would be a total waste of the precious liquid. With the nausea he was feeling barely under control, anything he swallowed would no doubt make an immediate reappearance.

"Chief," said Jim gently, "don't you think it's time you let me have a look?"

"Jim, there's nothing you can do," he replied, willing the older man to understand.

Jim handed the canteen back to Simon and approached the young man. Taking Blair by the shoulders, his eyes pleaded with his guide. "Blair... please," he whispered.

The grad student nodded slightly as he let the larger man lower him to the ground.

Jim lifted up his guide's shirttails and bit his lip at what he saw. Blair's torso was literally a mass of bruises. He didn't need to touch the young man's stomach to tell that it was distended.

"Jim, like I said, there is nothing you can do out here. Let's just get as far as we can while I can still move... okay Big Guy?"

Jim cupped his friend's cheek. "How much pain?"

"A bit, but I'll live. You know me, I always bounce back." Blair smiled warmly at Jim's concern.

"You better believe that, kid," whispered the sentinel, smoothing Blair's hair, his hand lingering for a moment in the auburn curls. "Come on," he said, helping Blair to stand. "Let's get moving."

Jim stayed close by his guide's side as the young man stumbled through the desert. Half a mile from their destination, Blair's knees simply gave out and he sank to the ground. Clutching his stomach, he doubled over in pain and violently vomited. He had reached the end of the line... he could go no further. "...mmm sorry, Jim," he cried. Tears streamed down his face, smearing their way through the dust and the sweat. "I tried Big Guy... I really did."

Jim gently grabbed Blair and moved him away from the mess. Noticing the brown-coloured stain in the bile that covered the ground, he wrapped his arms around his friend and drew him close. "Hey, don't worry about it, Chief. We're nearly there. You did good buddy, you did real good." Jim looked up at the worried face of his Captain as he stood towering over them. "Simon, he can't go on anymore. Are you up to helping me carry him?"

"You don't even have to ask that question," stated Simon firmly. "How do you want to do this?"

"If we can get him up and lift his legs, between the two of us we should be able to manage. Just be careful not to place too much pressure on his ribs. You were right, he's got a couple of busted ones." Jim and Simon placed Blair's arms around their shoulders and carefully stood. Blair bit his lip to try and stifle a cry of pain. "I'm sorry, Chief... I'm so sorry." As gently as they could, the two men lifted Blair's legs and set off through the scorching heat.

The rocky outcrop they had been heading for was not much, but at least it offered a modicum of shade. Taller than it was wide, it sat awkwardly in the desert like a blemish on the landscape. Breathing harshly and sweating profusely, Jim and Simon carried the semi-conscious man under the shallow overhang and gently laid him on the ground. Taking a minute to catch his breath, Simon watched as Jim sprang to immediate action. He roughly undid Blair's shirt and laid a hand on the swollen belly. Blair let out a small groan as the slight pressure from the sentinel's hand sent a surge of pain through his abdomen. "I'm sorry, buddy," apologized Jim, removing his hand. "Blair, I need to check your ribs. I know it's gonna hurt, but I need to find out what's going on. I'll try and be as gentle as I can." Jim probed Blair's ribcage as carefully as he could. As far as he could tell, three ribs on Blair's right side were broken. The swelling on the young man's chest indicated that at least another four on the left side were badly bruised. Dialing up his sense of touch and hearing, his discovery filled him with fear. Not only was Blair bleeding into his stomach, but by the sound that was emanating from his chest cavity, he was certain that the young man also had a small hole in his lung.

"Jim?" wheezed Blair, as Jim redid his buttons.

"It's okay Chief, everything's going to be just fine." Brushing his hand across the injured man's forehead, he said softly. "I'm gonna just go a take a look around. Think you'll be okay for a few minutes?"

Blair licked his swollen lips and answered weakly, "I'll be okay. Not planning on moving for a while."

"Here, take a drink," ordered Simon. "It's half empty, but after that little trek, you need to replenish some of your liquids. No arguments, Detective." Jim took the offered canteen and swallowed a mouthful. Recapping the canteen, he wiped his brow with his sleeve. Simon looked over at Blair, who now lay deathly still. "How's he doin'?"

"Not so good. We've gotta get him to a hospital." Jim walked back out into the desert heat and surveyed the large formation. "I'm going to try and find a way up and see if I can get any indication of where we are." Looking towards his stricken partner, he said, "Keep an eye on him. Shout if you need me... I'll hear you."

"Be careful," said Simon, squeezing the sentinel on the shoulder.

Simon watched Jim's ascent up the rock wall, losing sight of the detective when his climb took him around the other side. He walked back under the shady overhang and sat down next to the anthologist. Blair's eyes were still closed and his skin now had a ghostly sheen. "Hang in there kid," he whispered, squeezing the clammy hand.

Simon paced back and forth in frustration. Jim had been gone close to an hour and, despite his pleas for him to return, Jim had given no indication that he had heard them. A small groan brought his attention instantly back to the reason he had not yet gone after his detective. "Blair, don't move. Just lie still, kid," said Simon, immediately coming to his side.

"...Simon... where's Jim?"

"He's gone to take a look around. He should be back any minute."

"How long... been gone?" struggled Blair.

"It's been almost an hour, kid." The worry was evident on his face.

"... he... might have zoned. Please... go find him."

"I promised Jim that I'd keep an eye on you. Someone needs to keep you out of trouble."

"Too hot Simon... if he's zoned... the heat will kill him. Please go find him."

Simon was torn. On one hand, he was desperately worried about the detective, but on the other hand he had promised Jim he would watch the kid. The formation was tall, but Jim should have returned by now. If the kid was right and Jim had zoned, he wouldn't last long in this heat. The reality of the situation was that if Blair's condition did worsen, then Blair's best hope, even if only for emotional comfort, was to have Jim by his side.

"Please," wheezed Blair.

Simon reluctantly agreed with the observer's request. "Okay, but don't you move. You stay put, you hear?"

"Not going anywhere," replied Blair, finding it once again hard to keep his eyes open.

It took Simon fifteen minutes to reach the top of the rock formation. The climb in itself wasn't terribly difficult, but the heat that bounced without mercy off the rock wall made the climb an exhausting effort. Panting as he pulled himself over the last boulder, he spotted Jim's form. There was no doubt about it; the sentinel had zoned.

Simon rushed over to the unmoving man and knelt down beside him. Jim's eyes were open and focused intently on the barren desert over to the west. "Jim," Simon said gently, trying to imitate the method that he'd seen Sandburg use on more than one occasion. "Jim," he said again, this time taking hold of the unresponsive man's shoulders. "Come on Jim, time to come back," he cajoled. "You need to get in out of this heat buddy. Remember what they say -- mad dogs and Englishmen. Well, you're neither of those, so it's time to get into the shade." Not getting any indication that Jim was hearing him, Simon shook Jim's shoulders forcefully. "Jim can you hear me?" he asked a little more vehemently. As the Sentinel remained locked in the zone, Simon's frustration grew. "God damn it, detective!" he barked. "I order you to pull yourself together. Sandburg doesn't have time for this." When Jim still remained expressionless, Simon's frustration reached the boiling point. Acting purely on instinct, he did the only thing left he could think of -- he directed a punch straight at the detective's jaw.

Jim toppled back into the dirt. His return to the world was swift and painful. Squinting as he looked up at Simon, he gingerly rubbed his jaw.

"About time, Ellison. What did you find out?" asked Simon, extending his hand to help Jim up. Accepting the hand and the canteen, Jim swallowed a small amount of water. "How's Blair?" he asked urgently.

"No worse. He was sleeping when I left him. Did you see anything?"

"I think so. Over there... to the west. I can just make out some buildings or structures of some kind. I can also hear what seems to be the hum of a generator. There's a smell; I think it's a campfire."

"How far away?"

"I'm not sure. Two hours' walk, three maybe. I can't be certain."

"Well it's a start," replied Simon, retrieving the canteen and recapping it. "Come on, let's get back down to the kid. Then I'll get moving."

"Simon, it's not a walk in the park," said Jim grabbing the older man by the arm. "It'll be rough going."

"Jim, you and I both know that Sandburg will be lucky to make it through the night if someone doesn't go for help."

"Then I'll go."

"That's not an option, Jim. He needs you... you know that. Come on, let's get out of this heat."

Blair hadn't stirred since the two men had returned. His breathing sounded a little harsher, and Jim adjusted his body to try and take as much pressure off the injured lung as possible. With only one canteen between them, it was decided that Simon was the one who would need it most. Although it was nearing evening, the temperature remained high and would stay that way until several hours after dark. Jim gave the police captain a quick course in desert survival, showing him how to extract moisture from the cactus plants that scattered the desert landscape. With the full moon now shining brightly, Jim plotted Simon's course with the aid of the night sky. "Just remember to keep that constellation to your right," he said. "And Simon, be careful."

"My middle name, Jim. You just make sure you take care of our boy. I'll be back with help as soon as I can." Jim watched Simon's figure disappear into the night before returning to sit with Blair.

Using his belt buckle again to split one of the cactus leaves in half, Jim rubbed Blair's dry and bleeding lips. He was wary of giving his guide too much liquid from the plant. Anything in Blair's stomach could be dangerous, but on the other hand, dehydration was also a real concern. When Blair's skin didn't rebound back when he pinched it, his decision was made.

Blair's eyelids fluttered open as the liquid dribbled into his mouth.

"...Jim?"

"Yeah Chief, I'm here. How you feelin'?"

"Hurts... hard to breathe like this."

"How 'bout we try and sit you up for a bit? Think you can manage that?"

Blair nodded his head and Jim slowly lifted the young man's upper body. Moving in behind his guide, Jim leaned against the rock wall. Shuffling Blair carefully, he managed to arrange Blair on his lap. His strong arm supported Blair's torso in a semi-upright position. "Better?" he asked.

Blair didn't answer the sentinel. His eyes were clenched shut and his hand was fisted in Jim's shirt. "It's okay buddy, just try and breathe through it. Not too deep, just nice and gentle."

When Blair finally got the pain to a manageable level, he asked weakly, "Where's Simon?"

"He's gone to get help. I think I saw a village or camp over to the west. He's trying to reach it."

"Native Americans," Blair wheezed

"What?"

"Indian settlement, Jim. I saw a book in the information stand. There's a settlement on the outskirts of the desert... Moapa Indian Reservation."

Jim's spirits lifted. If Blair was right, then their chances of getting out of this alive had just increased.

"Lift legs," panted Blair. "Stomach hurts."

Placing a careful hand on Blair's stomach, Jim could feel the muscle spasms as they twitched beneath his sensitive touch. Blair's skin was now cold and clammy and his midsection was more ridged and distended. "Okay, buddy, I'm going to move you a bit. I'm going to lower your butt to the ground and move your legs. You ready?"

"Ready... hurry, hurts bad."

Jim opened his legs and lowered Blair off his lap. With the young man's legs now draped over his, he slowly raised his knee. The action alleviated some of the pressure on Blair's injured abdominal muscles. With Blair now more or less cradled between his legs Jim pulled his guide closer to his chest. "That better?" he whispered into the sweaty curls.

A murmur, which sounded very much like a chuckle, escaped from Blair's lips. A little surprised, Jim lifted his head. "What's so funny?"

"Just thinking," answered the young man.

"About what?"

"About what Marsh would say if he saw us like this." Taking time to catch his breath, he continued. "He thinks that you're my sugar daddy. Said I was your little piece of ass."

Jim chuckled at Blair's comment. "Well, you do have a cute butt kid, but somehow I don't think I'm cut out to be your sugar daddy. Firstly, I'm afraid I don't have the finances to keep you in the style I'm sure you'd expect, and secondly... I don't mean to be rude, Chief... but there is no way in hell that I'd be brave enough to go anywhere near that rear end of yours. I only have one word for you buddy -- SPRAY!"

"Hey, I think I've just been insulted," chuckled Blair weakly. "If you would let me use pine chips, Ellison, then there wouldn't be a problem. You'll thank me one day for saving the ozone layer."

"Chief, with the smell that comes from the bathroom after you've been in there, I'm sure you're more likely to blow the ozone apart, not save it!"

Blair groaned slightly as another cramp assaulted him. Jim rubbed the anthropologist's arm until the pain let up. Hoping to take a little pressure of Blair stomach he reached down and started to open the buttons of Blair's jeans.

Blair smiled into Jim's chest and said, "Not tonight Big Guy, I've got a headache!"

Jim reached up immediately and gave Blair a light smack on the head. "Smartass," he laughed.

The silent hours passed before Blair spoke again. "Jim... tell me a story."

"A story? What kind of story?"

"I don't know... just talk... too quiet."

Jim thought for a moment before a smile graced his face. "Okay, I think I've got the perfect story for you. Once upon a time..." he began. Again, a small chuckle escaped Blair's lips. "Hey, what are you laughing at this time?"

"I never figured you for a fairytale kinda guy."

"Do you want to hear a story or not, wise guy?"

Blair nodded silently against Jim's chest. The effort of talking was now leaving him short of breath.

"Okay, as I was saying. Once upon a time there was a Police Detective who suddenly started having problems with all of his senses."

"What'd he look like?" interrupted Blair, his voice soft and raspy.

"Who?"

"The detective... what'd he look like?" he whispered.

"Well, I guess you'd describe him as tall, ruggedly good-looking. You know the type -- chiseled jaw, exceptionally well-defined, muscular body, basically an all-around, good-looking, athletic guy. Now if I may continue my tale," he grumbled playfully. "Anyway, doing what one does when one gets sick, he dutifully took himself off to the doctors to have this little problem checked out."

"Simon made you go, huh?"

Jim ignored Blair's comment and continued the story. "As I was saying, during this brave detective's rather lengthy examination, he was tricked into divulging personal information to a university grad student who was trying to pass himself off as a medical doctor."

"What'd he look like?" panted Blair

"The grad student? Well I guess you would describe him as a nerdy-looking kinda guy. You now the type -- glasses, geeky clothes, eats all this weird, vegetarian food. Not much to look at really. Oh, did I mention that he was also a little vertically challenged?"

Blair's hand weakly thumped against Jim's chest. "Hey, no hurting the sentinel," said Jim, grasping Blair's hand firmly and holding it there.

Blair coughed a little and clutched Jim's hand tightly. "I bet he was a real looker and the detective was just jealous."

Jim returned the squeeze until Blair settled. "If you say so, Chief. Now, may I continue?"

"Anyway, this nerdy anthropologist finally convinced the fine-looking detective that he was a sentinel. Being the science geek that he was, he devised all of these horrible tests to torture this poor, innocent detective. Mindless of the pain he suffered at the hands of the anthropologist, the detective's kind nature and natural compassion for his fellow man let this evil grad student continue his tests. In the meantime, the nerd's apartment blew up because he wasn't cautious enough to get to know his neighbours, and once again the noble detective came to the rescue. He took in the sorry young man who was down on his luck and gave him a home, and he's been looking after him ever since."

Jim could feel his guide smile against his chest. "Is this the abridged version, Jim? I think you might have left a few things out." Blair swallowed hard and took a shallow breath. "So how did it end?"

"Well, as it turns out, this geeky anthropologist was in fact the sentinel's guide. And as for the ending? That part's easy. It ended like most good fairytales. The sentinel and guide lived happily ever after."

"You sure 'bout that?" asked Blair quietly.

Jim held his partner a little tighter. "I've never been surer of anything in my life, Chief. Okay now, enough yapping, you need to rest. No more talking, just rest."

Jim watched his guide's eyes close and listened as his breathing eased slightly. Extending his hearing, he scanned the surrounding area for any signs of danger. Careful not to push too far and risk the chance of a zone, he was relieved when the only sounds he heard were the peaceful sounds of the night desert.

Despite Jim's efforts to make his guide as comfortable as possible, Blair's slumber was anything but peaceful. Jim tightened his grip on the young man's hand, as another bout of stomach cramps assaulted his battered body. A feeling of utter helplessness overwhelmed him. There was nothing else he could do for his guide. He couldn't relieve the pain; he couldn't help ease the laboured breathing. Any attempts to move the young man into a more comfortable position only did more harm, as his guide cried out in agony. The only thing the sentinel could do was to hold on tight and hope and pray that Simon had made it safely to the camp.

After managing to steal a few minutes' sleep, he was brought back to full awareness by a noise he heard in the distance -- the sound of a vehicle approaching. "I'm sorry, Chief," he apologized, gently moving the young man. "There's a car coming this way."

"Simon?" wheezed Blair.

"I hope so, buddy. I need to go and check it out." Jim leaned Blair against the rock wall and gripped his shoulder until the pain abated. "I'll be back in a minute." The detective hurried out into the desert. He dialedup his sense of sight and scanned the horizon. With the aid of the full moon, he could easily make out the four-wheel drive vehicle that was rapidly approaching. "Shit!" he exclaimed. The vehicle was not coming from the west.

"Blair," he said, kneeling down next to his partner. Blair's eyes tried in vain to focus on Jim. "I'm sorry, buddy, but we're going to have to move." Jim knew Blair was incapable of climbing the rock formation, and any attempts at carrying him would probably kill the young man. His best bet was to try and conceal the kid's presence. Searching the area, he spotted his only hope. Deeper into the shallow concave lay a large boulder. If he could maneuver Blair behind it, it would a least buy him some time. "Come on kid," he said, grabbing Blair under his arms and dragging him the short distance to the boulder. Fortunately the move did not cause Blair any pain -- the young man had lost consciousness.

If 'Tracks' McDonald had any claim to fame, it was his uncanny ability to track. Snapped up by the military at eighteen, his exceptional talent quickly earned him the respect of his unit and commanding officer. When a chance to join the elite army rangers, commanded by Captain James Ellison, presented itself, he jumped at the offer. It was the chance of a lifetime, the chance to establish himself and build a worthy career within the ranks. That chance, however, was taken away with one stupid, foolish act. It would have been easy to forgive this misdemeanor, to look the other way, to turn the other cheek. Tracks knew that many a commanding officer would have done just that. But not Jim Ellison. Because of this bastard and his high morals, his career and his life had been destroyed. Standing to his full height, he wiped the palms of his hands on his jeans. With the aide of the full moon that shone brightly that night, he knew exactly which way Ellison had gone.

Jim watched the four-wheel drive pull to a halt a short distance from the rocky outcrop. The three men exited the cab, slamming the doors shut. Concealing their presence was not a high priority. Ellison and his group would have easily seen them coming and, after all, they did have the advantage. Marsh passed out the automatic rifles. "Alright boys, let's get this show on the road -- and remember, even unarmed, Ellison is dangerous. Don't let your guard down." Military training kicked in immediately as the men moved out.

Just as he expected, Marsh and his group split up. Tracks headed to the left and Wylie to the right. Marsh, the most experienced and the most dangerous of the three, was holding back, taking his time and weighing the situation. Jim took his eyes off Marsh. As long as the man didn't pose any immediate threat to his guide, he would deal with the others first. Moving with a stealth that surprised even him, he easily located the first of his enemies. Wylie was the smallest and least capable of the three. He had a sly, cowardly way about him. He was a man that Jim had never fully trusted, a man he had never fully relied on. His sentinel instinct now overrode his role as a police officer. 'Protect the guide' was the only concern. Wylie never saw Jim coming. His neck snapped like a twig as his dead body slumped to the ground. Jim didn't take time out to debate whether his action was right or wrong. Detective Ellison had taken a back seat. The sentinel was in control.

Marsh walked toward the base of the rock formation with extreme caution, his fully-loaded and primed weapon his security blanket. Taking on Ellison in hand-to-hand combat was not a situation he cared to be in. He was good, damn good, but Ellison was better. He wouldn't let arrogance get him killed. He entered the shallow overhang, his finger twitching on the trigger of his weapon. A weak cough caught his attention immediately. Well, well, baby boy. Looks like I didn't give you enough credit.

Three quick strides had him next to the boulder where Blair was concealed. He looked at the semi-conscious figure slumped against the wall. "I'm baaack," he sneered, toeing Blair's body like it was nothing more than roadkill. With Ellison nowhere in sight, he decided to play his trump card. He reached down and pulled Blair out from behind the boulder. With the rifle barrel centered directly over the young man's heart, he shouted, "Ellison, if you want your boy to live, I suggest you come pay me a visit. You know how nervous I get when I'm left waiting. Would hate for my finger to slip."

Jim had just finished disposing of enemy number two when he heard Marsh's threat. He let go of Tracks' dead body and watched it tumble down the cliff face. "Number three coming up," he whispered.

"That's it, over there," shouted Simon urgently. "I'm sure of it."

"Looks like someone's already found them," shouted Dylan over the roar of the engine as the old pickup speed across the desert terrain. "Do you think the truck belongs to the guys who left you out here?" There was excitement in the voice of the young man. Nothing exciting ever happened around here; that was until the Police Captain had come stumbling into their camp. Now he was smack bang in the middle of a real police drama.

The old man sitting between the two did not share the young man's enthusiasm. He had demanded that they bring him along and, by the way that his demand was instantly met, Simon assumed that he was an elder of the tribe. An order was given and automatically obeyed. "Dylan... stop here." Leaning over Simon, he withdrew a pair of binoculars from the glove-box. Thrusting them into Simon's hand he said, "My eyes are not what they used to be. Tell me what you see."

Simon scanned the four-wheel drive for any signs of the three men. Finding the truck empty, he turned his attention toward the rock formation. The sun had now risen over the horizon, providing him with enough light to make out the fascia quite clearly. It didn't take him long to locate the dead body of one of the men, as it hung limply over a boulder at the base of the cliff wall. He turned his attention to the shallow overhang where they had sheltered yesterday. "Oh my god," he whispered.

The look on the Captain's face told the old man what he needed to know. White Wolf walked calmly around to the back of the pickup and removed the rifle. "You will have only one chance," he said to Simon, passing him the gun. "You will need to shoot to kill. Aim for the heart."

Jim calmly walked into the overhang, his hands held away from his body. Without showing any emotion, he demanded coolly, "Marsh, move away from him."

"Captain Ellison, how nice to make your acquaintance again. I can see you haven't changed. Still the self-righteous, demanding bastard you always were. Well unfortunately, Captain, I don't follow your orders any longer." Jim looked at Blair, who was lying at Marsh's feet. He was lying flat on his back with Marsh's gun digging into his flesh. His breathing was harsh and laboured, his prone position making it difficult for him to draw air into his injured lung.

"If he dies, I will kill you," stated Jim coldly.

Marsh laughed at the statement. "Oh, that's a good one, sir. But you see, I seem to be the one holding all the aces here. As far as I can see, all you got is jokers. Have you ever watched a man drown in his own blood, Captain? Quiet fascinating really. I hear it's real painful too." Marsh toed Blair's body again. "I guess baby boy is lucky that he's unconscious. You want to make a bet on how long he's got? I'll bet you fifty that he'll be dead within thirty minutes."

"Jim, you wanna take a couple of steps to the left? You're kind of blocking my aim."

Jim had been aware of the presence of the other vehicle. He had heard its arrival, but with his attention fully focused on Marsh and his partner, he had not been able to ascertain who exactly had arrived -- until now. With a satisfied smile appearing on his face, he took two steps to the left. He heard the bullet as it was loaded into the chamber. "Enjoy Hell," he smiled, listening to the bullet whistle through the air.

Warren Marsh never knew what hit him. Before he could react to the detective's movement, the bullet slammed into his chest cavity and blew his heart apart. With a look of confusion on his face, he looked down at the hole in his chest. His eyes remained open; his dead body dropped to the ground

Jim swiftly reached his partner's side. Without hesitation, he pulled him up into a sitting position to try and alleviate some of the pressure on his lung. He took in the shallow raspy breaths and the blue tinge of his guide's complexion. "Come on, Chief. Don't you dare do this to me. Breathe," he ordered. In the back of his mind he knew his attempts were futile. He could feel his partner's body shutting down. Blair's lung was now partially collapsed, and his weakened body no longer had the strength to draw in precious oxygen. He held his guide close and rocked the limp form. "Chief, please try, please buddy you just gotta keep trying. Simon's here, he's brought help. Don't you give up, Blair, don't you dare leave me!" The despair in his voice and the pain in his heart were overwhelming.

Blair stirred weakly in his distraught sentinel's arms. He lifted his hand and lightly touched Jim's face, his fingers feathering over the bruise that had formed on the detective jaw. "...happened?"

Jim tried in vain to fight back the tears. With his voice choking with emotion he answered his guide. "Simon slugged me. It's his method of bringing me out of a zone. Doesn't quite have your finesse, buddy. If you don't want to see me black and blue for the rest of my life you better stay with me Chief... you just hold on."

With his strength dwindling, Blair's hand fell back down to his side. "I love you man, you know that don't you?" he whispered. "I'm sorry Jim... I can't. Please don't hate me." Blair sucked in a weak breath as his eyes closed.

Jim's unshed tears made their presence known, splashing their warmth onto Blair's cold skin. "I could never hate you Chief, never."

Simon skidded to a halt at the front of the overhang. "Dear God," he whispered. "Jim?"

The stricken man looked up at his Captain. "It's too late Simon. He's not gonna make it. He's got nothing left to give," he said quietly.

White Wolf pushed past Simon and knelt at Jim's side. "Sentinel, your shaman is dying. Give me your hand."

Jim's grief-stricken mind didn't register the other man's presence. He was too focussed on the young man in his arms. He needed to savour every precious moment he had left with Blair. His guide would not die alone.

"Sentinel you must listen to me now... there is no time left," demanded White Wolf.

Jim blinked and looked up. For the first time he noticed the elderly man. "What?... what did you call me?" he exclaimed in surprise. He looked up and over at Simon, who stood, too wrapped up in grief to move.

"Jim, I didn't say a word... I didn't tell him. I swear to god I didn't."

White Wolf had now unbuttoned Blair's shirt. "Sentinel," he demanded again, "give me your hand." Feeling too numb to question what was going on, Jim complied with the order. The tribal elder picked up the limp hand of the younger man and placed the cold, clammy palm on Jim's chest. Repeating the procedure, he placed Jim's hand over Blair's heart. "Close your eyes, Sentinel. Close you eyes and concentrate on your shaman. Will him to live. Share your life force with him."

Jim was still too dumbstruck to question what was happening. "How?" he asked feebly.

"Concentrate on your shaman. Concentrate on everything that makes him who he is. Everything that you have come to love about him."

Still confused and unsure exactly what the old man was asking, Jim closed his eyes. He cleared his mind and pictured his guide. He pictured the shoulder-length mop of curls blowing in the wind, and the young man trying to tame the stray curls into a ponytail. He pictured his guide's laughing face, and the infectious smile that always brightened the spirits of those around him. He pictured his guide's serious expression, pushing his glasses back onto his face while trying patiently to explain the importance of tests. He pictured the uncommunicative and grumpy form that exited the tiny bedroom most mornings on his way to the bathroom. Jim dialed up his sense of touch and felt his partner's skin beneath his hands. Moving his fingers over the barely-moving chest, he felt the wiry texture of the hair beneath his touch. Probing deeper, he felt the soft texture of the young man's skin and the warmth that radiated from it. He could now feel the blood as it pushed its way through the veins. He felt his guide's heart weakly struggling to hold on to life. His fingers tingled and he felt an energy pass through his body and into his guide's.

Simon stood mesmerized by the event taking place before his eyes. From the moment the old man had placed his hands on the two men, he could visibly see Blair's improvement. His breathing, although still shallow, had eased considerably. The hue of the young man's skin had lost its bluish tinge and actually appeared pink. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed it possible. A shout from outside their small shelter brought him back to reality. "The chopper's here!" yelled Dylan.

Billy Diamond grabbed his gear and followed Dylan toward the injured man. He knew better than to ask the tribal elder to move aside. Although a qualified doctor, he did not dismiss native medicine. He'd seen the old man perform too many unexplained miracles for that. He had grown up on the reservation before moving to town to study medicine. Deciding that being cooped up in a hospital all day was not for him, a flying doctor seemed to be the natural choice. It gave him the best of both worlds -- the chance to be out in the desert he loved, and the opportunity to give back to the people who had given him so much.

"White Wolf," he nodded to the old man. Knowing he would not receive an indication of what had happened from the elder, he quickly assessed Blair's condition. He turned to his partner. "Max, radio ahead and let them know what we're bringing in. I have a Caucasian male in his late twenties to early thirties, suffering from internal bleeding of the abdominal region and a possible pneumo-thorax. I'm going to intubate on the scene and insert a chest tube. His blood pressure is low and pulse is weak and thready. I'm starting an IV drip. As soon as I stabilize him, we've gotta move -- stat." Billy turned to Jim, who hadn't uttered a word through the whole procedure. "Sir," he said, "I'm going to insert a chest tube into your friend. You're going to have to move your hand. I'll take good care of him. I promise."

White Wolf removed Jim's hand from Blair's chest and placed it in the observer's limp hand. "Do not let go of your shaman," he whispered, "He still needs you. Billy Diamond," he stated, "we will be coming with you. Dylan, you will make sure that Captain Banks gets safely back to town." With that said, the old man got to his feet and walked to the chopper. Jim remained with his hand firmly grasping his guide's as they loaded the young man aboard.

As soon as the chopper landed, a team of doctors and nurses descended on the anthropologist. "Sir, you're going to have to let go," encouraged a nurse kindly. Jim, who still appeared to be in a state of shock, looked over at White Wolf. The old man simply nodded, and Jim gave Blair's hand one final squeeze. "I'll be here when you wake up," he whispered. As Blair was whisked away, Billy placed a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Jim, I'd like to check you over, too, if that's okay with you."

It only took that one sentence for Jim to return to his normal self. Coming out of his state of shock and straight into mother hen mode, Jim pulled away from the man's touch. "I'm fine," he stated emphatically. Leaving the two men standing on the helicopter pad, he pushed his way through the doors and went in search of the emergency room.

"He will be fine, Billy Diamond," informed the old man. "Some things are not to be explained." Turning swiftly on his heels, he followed Jim through the doors.

Jim walked through the hospital doors clutching a paper bag. It had been several days since Blair had been brought into the emergency room suffering from broken ribs, a punctured lung, a tear in his abdominal wall and a ruptured kidney. The staff at the hospital was still amazed at the young man's progress. They had been surprised by the fact that he had even made it through surgery, and his progress every day was nothing short of remarkable. Although still not out of the woods, he was well enough to be moved from ICU to a private room. Jim nodded politely as he passed the nurses' station and quietly entered Blair's room. Standing in the doorway, he took a moment to check his guide over. Blair was lying on the bed in a semi-upright position. His chest and abdomen were swathed in bandages, and a variety of tubes and monitors where attached to his arms and chest. A thin sheet was draped over his lower body, and Jim could make out the tubing from the Foley catheter as it snaked its way down to a bottle on the floor. He took note of the contents and was relieved to find that the waste that filled the bottle was no longer stained bright red. Walking over to the bed, he placed the bag on the side table.

"Hey there," said Blair weakly.

"Hey there yourself." He rested his hand on Blair's forehead, checking his temperature. "How you doing?"

"A lot better now I'm in here. God I hate ICU. Wish they would take this damn tube outta my nose. It itches like hell." Blair lifted his hand to the oxygen tube in his nose.

"You just leave that alone, Chief," scolded Jim, grabbing Blair's hand. It'll help you breathe. And besides, it's gotta be better than the respirator."

"You're not wrong there," replied Blair, his breathing still laboured.

"I spoke to the doctor before. He said you're making remarkable progress. If you continue like this, you might even be lucky enough to get outta here by the middle of next week."

"The middle of next week! Jim, that's ages away. I don't wanna stay here that long. Can't you talk to the doc?" he pleaded.

Jim squeezed his partner's hands. "Chief, it's only six days. It's not that long. Your body's been through a lot in the past couple of days. It needs time to heal. Please don't fight me on this one."

Blair looked into Jim's worried eyes. "Sure thing Jim," he relented, returning the squeeze. "Hey, you bring me a present?" he asked, indicating the bag.

Jim picked up the bag and opened the top. "You're gonna love this Chief," he smiled. Pulling out the contents, he unfolded the T-shirt and held it up in front of his guide. Written in bold black letters across the front of the white shirt was 'I got laid in Las Vegas -- twice!'

Blair chuckled at the shirt. "Thanks man, that's so cool. Don't suppose you got another one in there that says, 'I also got beaten to a pulp and left out in the desert to die'?" Jim flipped the shirt around and Blair was speechless. On the other side of the shirt was written just that. "Oh man," he chuckled. "That is so sick -- I love it."

Jim folded the shirt and placed it back in the bag. "Lunch is here, Junior." No sooner than Jim had spoken, than the door was pushed open and a nurse brought in Blair's tray.

"Please tell me it's not chicken broth and Jell-O," he complained to the nurse.

"'Fraid so honey," she replied. "Doctor Morrison said you can start on something a little more solid tomorrow."

Jim lifted the lid and smelled the broth. "Umm, this smells delicious."

"Yeah, well you eat it then," grumbled Blair stubbornly.

Jim smiled up at the nurse. "Don't worry, I'll make sure he eats it all up like a good little boy." Jim picked up the spoon and dipped it into the bowl. "Here comes the airplane, Junior. Open up."

Blair gave Jim a dirty look. "Have I told you lately what a schmuck you are?"

"Sticks and stones, Sandburg, sticks and stones." He moved the spoon closer, and watched in satisfaction as Blair submitted, and took the 'offering'.

The simple act of eating lunch had tired the young man considerably. "You warm enough?" asked Jim, fingering the thin sheet that covered his partner. Knowing how much Blair hated the cold, it was kind of strange to see him lying there with only a sheet covering his naked body. "You want me to ask if they can get you a gown or something?"

"No point," yawned Blair. "They would just need to take it off every time they do a checkup. Believe me it's less painful this way." Not satisfied that his guide was warm enough, Jim searched the cupboard by the bed. Finding what he was looking for, he shook out the blanket and laid it over the younger man's body. Being careful of his partner's injuries, he pulled it up to cover Blair's bare chest and shoulders.

"Thanks Jim," muttered Blair, who automatically snuggled into the warmth.

Jim took hold of Blair's hand. "You just rest, buddy. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Jim," whispered Blair, "Did I die?"

Taken back by the question, Jim squeezed Blair's hand a little too firmly. "No," he replied emphatically. "You did not die." He took a few minutes to pull himself together before asking, "Why would you think that, Chief?"

"I dunno. It's just that I had this weird feeling that I did. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen to my brain," he smiled, "but I kinda had this real trippy experience." Blair stopped for a minute to catch his breath before continuing. "I don't know quite how to explain it, but I had this overpowering feeling. I guess the only way to describe it is an overwhelming feeling of love. You know how I'm open-minded when it comes to the existence of God?"

Jim nodded his head.

"Well, I was wondering if this feeling I experienced is what it is like to die. You know... God letting you know that it's not the end, that everything is going be all right. I know it sounds stupid and I was supposed to see a bright light at the end of a tunnel, but do you think I could be right? Was it God's love?"

Jim pushed himself up from the side of the mattress and tucked his guide's hand beneath the covers. "I've got a feeling that it was something a lot stronger than that, Chief." Jim knew exactly what the feeling that Blair had just described was. He had felt it too. It was simple to explain. It was the love between a sentinel and his guide. "You rest now. We'll talk about this when you're stronger." Jim stroked Blair's forehead until the young man's eyes closed and his breathing evened out. Removing his hand, he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on the smooth brow. "I love you, buddy," he whispered.

Six days had now passed and Blair's recovery was going according to plan. Jim waited anxiously in the hallway as Doctor Morrison did a final examination on Blair. "Detective," said Doctor Morrison, popping his head out of the door. "Would you mind coming into the room? There are a few things I would like to go through."

Jim couldn't help smiling at the happy expression on Blair's face. "I gather you passed muster, Junior," he laughed.

"As if you don't know."

"I have given Blair a full list of do's and don'ts, along with several prescriptions that need to be filled. Since I have my suspicions that these rules have not made an impression on my patient, I am going to have to trust that I can rely on you, detective, to make sure that they are carried out."

Jim took the paperwork from the doctor and gave his guide an evil smile. "He'll toe the line, doc. You don't have to worry about that."

"Good. I'll just explain a few things to you. I have prescribed an inhaler that will ease Blair's breathing if he starts to have trouble. As I've already discussed with him, I would like him to use it twice a day for the next two weeks. It contains a steroid formula that will help strengthen his lungs. If at all possible, I would also feel safer if you could pick up a nebuliser from the pharmacy. I know it's an added expense, but it will clear the airways a lot quicker if Blair's breathing is compromised. I've given you a prescription for twelve doses."

"The cost isn't a problem doc. I'll pick one up downstairs before we leave." Blair didn't even bother arguing. He just wanted to get out of there. He would discuss the situation with Jim later -- when he was a safe distance away from the hospital.

"As for the rest of the prescriptions, there is also a mild painkiller and a variety of antibiotics, which will clear up any lingering infections. In regard to Blair's physical care, just make sure he keeps his ribs strapped for the next few weeks. Blair, it is important that you watch for any signs of blood in your urine or any unbearable back pain. Any of these problems and you call me straight away. Okay?" Doctor Morrison placed the chart down on the table. "Well, Mr. Sandburg, I think that's about it. I would like to see you back here in two days for a final checkup before you head home. It's been an experience," he smiled, shaking Blair's hand."

"Um, Jim, I thought we'd be leaving right away. Simon must be screaming by now."

"We're in no rush Chief. Simon's been in a very amicable mood of late. In fact, so amicable that he has insisted that we take all the time we need. 'Make sure the kid is one hundred percent before you bring him home,' I think were his exact words."

"You've gotta be kidding me, man. What gives?"

"Well, my little stud muffin, it just so happens that our Captain happened to run into that cute little flight attendant of yours on the trip home."

"Oh no, Jim... tell me he didn't. Tell me he isn't?"

Jim pushed Blair gently down into the wheelchair. "Oh yeah, he did and he is."

"Oh man, that's just gross," exclaimed Blair, shuddering at the mental image. "What could she possibly see in him? There's gotta be at least a fifteen year age difference."

"I guess experience counts, Junior," chuckled the sentinel.

Jim eased Blair back onto the pillow, holding the nebuliser in place. It had been two days now since Blair's release from hospital, and the young man had seemed to be doing fine. The final checkup with the doctor had gone well, and Blair had been cleared to travel. Jim had arranged to use some of his vacation time and the two planned to drive back to Cascade. It was a joy to see his guide's excitement when he suggested the idea. Although he complained when Blair started to map out their course, taking in every possible cultural sight along the way, he was secretly looking forward to the trip. It would give them a chance to spend some time together and get over the events of the past couple of weeks. As it turned out, one of the nurses who had befriended Jim throughout Blair's hospital stay had been transferred to Cascade General. Not looking forward to the long drive, she readily agreed when Jim suggested that he could drive the car there for her. This would enable her to fly out and find a place to stay before she had to report for work. Everything had been progressing well until this sudden attack came out of the blue. "Blair, I think I should call the doctor."

"Jim, I'll be fine in a few minutes," he wheezed, his voice muffled through the mask. "I just overdid things today." Blair studied the sentinel's worried face. Jim looked somehow older than he had before this ordeal had begun. Dark shadows circled his eyes, and lines of fatigue creased his brow. His sentinel was exhausted. "Jim, do you think you could you do something for me?"

"What is it Chief?" asked Jim anxiously. "You do need the doctor, don't you? I knew it. I shoulda listened to my gut."

"Jim," interrupted Blair. "I don't need the doctor. "What I need is for you to lay down next to me for a while."

Jim raised his eyebrows at Blair's request.

"Jim, you're exhausted, you need to rest. Come on, lay down... just for a few minutes."

"Blair, I don't need a nap. You're the one who's sick, not me."

Blair removed the mask from his face and handed it to Jim. "I can breathe now, thanks," he said. Patting the pillow next to him, he asked again. "Please Jim, I'm really tired, and I can't relax if I'm worried about you."

Jim reluctantly agreed. He would lie down -- just for a few minutes. Just until the kid nodded off. He kicked off his shoes and went around to the other side of the bed. "Happy now, Junior?"

"Ecstatic," yawned the young man. "Jim, give me your hand."

"What?"

"Your hand, Jim. Give it to me."

Jim played along with his guide and gave him his hand.

"Not that one, the other one, and lay on your side."

"Blair, what's going on? Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question? When are you planning on telling me what happened out there? I'm starting to remember bits and pieces, and the one thing I do remember is your hand -- on my chest -- like this." Blair took hold of Jim's hand and placed it on his chest. "What went on out there?"

Jim turned completely on his side and got comfortable. "I'm not sure, Chief. I'm not sure I even know where to begin. All I know is that White Wolf told me that if you were going to live, I would have to share my life force with you. He laid my hand on your chest and yours on mine. The rest is just a blur of images and emotions."

"The feeling. Did you feel it, Jim?"

"Yeah kid, I did."

"Tomorrow, before we leave town. I need to speak with him. It's important, Jim. I'm not sure why, but I need to see him."

"I know. I feel the same way. He's expecting us."

Blair covered Jim's hand with his own and rubbed it gently with his thumb. "Sleep, Jim," he whispered. "We both need to sleep."

A contented silence filled the room as sentinel and guide fell into a healing slumber.

Moapa Indian Reservation was situated about 55 miles from Las Vegas and covered around seventy thousand acres. The reservation was a community in its own right. It had its own council, law enforcement, medical and schooling facilities. As Jim and Blair approached the centre of town, Jim tried to suppress a smile as he watched his guide's enthusiastic response to the sights and sounds around them. Jim pulled into a parking space outside the local police station. Sheriff Tall Walker had been informed of their arrival and was waiting out front to meet them. Jim had already become acquainted with the Sheriff, as the incident at the overhang had taken place on Moapa Paiute Land and it was Tall Walker's jurisdiction. The Sheriff shook Jim's extended hand and looked over at Blair who was still in the car. "Well you're looking a lot better than the last time I saw you."

Blair opened the car door and gingerly levered himself off the seat. "This place is fantastic Sheriff," he greeted. "Not at all what I visualized."

"What were you expecting?" laughed Tall Walker "Buffalo running amok in the main street... bows and arrows? The odd tepee maybe?"

"Well I was kinda hoping for at least one tepee," smiled Blair.

"Then it's a good thing you've come to see White Wolf. He has several of them constructed around his camp."

"His camp?" enquired Jim.

"Not everyone on the reservation chooses to live in town, Jim. Many of our tribe, especially the elders, still prefer to live in the traditional way. We have many smaller communities scattered throughout our land. White Wolf's camp is situated about an hour's drive that way." Tall Walker pointed to the vast open plains that surrounded them.

"You mean he really does live in a tepee?" exclaimed Blair excitedly.

"If he had his way he would, but since the death of his wife his family members have convinced him to move into more comfortable living quarters, especially as he's getting on in years. Now if you two are ready, I'll show you the way. We don't want to be late. I know for a fact that White Wolf's daughter-in-law is preparing a feast you don't want to miss. The girl's not much to look at, but boy can she cook."

Jim walked with Blair to the passenger side of their borrowed four-wheel drive. Blair's ribs were still tender and giving him a fair bit of trouble. "Chief, you sure about this? The track out of town looks a little rough."

"Jim, will you stop worrying? I'll be fine. You heard what the Sheriff said. Tepees, an Indian feast. There's no way I'm gonna miss that. If my ribs start to ache I'll take a pain pill, okay?"

Jim helped Blair hoist himself up onto the passenger seat. "I'm going to hold you to that Junior." Going around to the other side of the car he slid behind the wheel. "All set," yelled the Sheriff from his patrol vehicle. "Just follow me. I'll take it slow."

Pulling the four-wheel drive in behind the Sheriff's jeep, Jim leaned over and took a bottle of pills out of the glove compartment. Shaking two out onto his hand, he retrieved a bottle of water that was sitting on the back seat. "Here," he said handing them both to Blair.

There was no point in trying to convince Jim that he was not in pain. The soft groans and hisses that escaped from his lips every time they hit a bump had given him away a few miles back. Accepting the medication and water bottle, Blair swallowed the pills. "Thanks," he said quietly.

Their arrival in camp was meet with an enthusiastic welcome. The tale of the real life drama that had taken place on their land and the apparent miracle performed by their tribal shaman had spread like wildfire. The crowd parted as White Wolf approached. "Welcome my friends," he greeted warmly. "I'm am happy to be able to share my home with you. Come let me show you where you will be sleeping." He drew Jim aside. "Your young shaman is in pain, sentinel."

"His ribs are still bothering him a bit. He'll be all right as soon as the pain medication kicks in... and please call me Jim."

"Of course and you may call me White Wolf," replied the old man with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"Jim I don't wanna lay down and take a nap. We're only going to be here overnight. There are so many things I need to ask White Wolf. Come on Jim. I'm fine, really."

Jim pushed Blair back down onto the bed they would be sharing. White Wolf had shown them to a small trailer where they would be spending the night. Most of the camp was made up of a variety of different-sized mobile homes. A few permanent structures had been built, such as a communal kitchen and recreation room. At least three nights a week, families shared meals and listened to stories of the past. The tribal elders recited legends in their traditional native tongue, keeping and passing their language and the traditions of the tribe onto the younger generations.

"Don't start with me Junior. I'm a lot bigger and uglier than you. Beside this was White Wolf's suggestion. He said he will meet with us after, and I quote -- after the young shaman is well-rested."

Blair's eyes lit up in amazement. "Did you say shaman Jim? He thinks I'm a shaman?"

"Apparently so. Now close your eyes and rest."

Blair lay back on the pillow and made himself comfortable. "Wow, a shaman," he whispered.

Sheriff Tall Walker had not been lying about White Wolf's daughter-in-law. The woman was a little on the other side of good looking, but she certainly could cook. Jim couldn't remember the last time he'd feasted like he had tonight. Even Sandburg's cooking paled in comparison.

"Jim, Blair, would you care to walk with me?" asked White Wolf. "I feel it is about time we talked." The three men walked away from the noise and commotion of the diner table and followed White Wolf to the other side of the camp. "Please enter," he said inviting them into a traditional tepee.

Jim automatically reached out and grabbed Blair's elbow and helped lower the young man to the ground. Taking a seat next to his guide, he watched with curiosity as White Wolf prodded the glowing embers in the small campfire in the middle of the tepee. The old man settled himself on the ground opposite Jim and Blair. "I have seen many things in my lifetime and experienced many things that to this very day I am still unable to explain. The power that exists between a sentinel and guide is one of these."

Jim looked at the old man. "You mean the power that you gave me to save Blair's life?"

"I did not give you that power, Jim. It has existed since the time you were born. You just needed to be shown how to channel it."

"How did you know that Jim was a sentinel?" asked Blair.

"Because just like you Blair, I too am a guide. In time, as your abilities grow and you learn the ways of shamanism, you too will be able to sense this."

"How will I learn this? I've searched extensively, studied pages and pages of text and documents, and I haven't yet come across anything as incredible as what you did. I'm not sure I know where to begin."

"What you need to learn is not written in books, young shaman. It is a knowledge that resides within. Though it is true that some teachings are passed down from shaman to shaman -- and this knowledge I will gladly share with you -- the most important knowledge that a shaman has is instinct. It cannot be learned. You see, Blair, when a man is born his destiny has already been decided. This destiny cannot be altered or changed. The choices you make and the paths you choose to follow are all part of your fate. What is meant to be, will be, and there is nothing you do can do to change this. I sense that the power between the two of you is very strong and this does not surprise me. You must understand, you have both lived many lives together and this is not the first road you have traveled as sentinel and guide. With each of these lives, your power and your connection with each other grows stronger. This is an important gift you have both been given. I know this is a lot to take in and a lot to believe, but deep in your hearts you know I speak the truth. There is no force greater on earth than a love that exists between a sentinel and guide. If you stay true to this gift and do not deny your connection, then there is nothing that together you cannot overcome."

White Wolf stirred the embers once more. "Jim, I would like to talk to Blair alone. There is much we need to discuss."

Blair looked over at his sentinel and saw the worry on Jim's face. He placed his hand on the larger man's arm and spoke softly. "Jim, I really need to do this, please?"

Jim got to his feet and nodded at White Wolf, the trust he felt in the old man evident in his eyes. "You start to run out of steam, just yell. I'll hear you," he said to Blair before turning to leave the tepee.

White Wolf and Blair sat and talked long into the night. Jim had given the pair the privacy they requested and had dialed down his hearing. His position at the campfire, however, meant that the tepee was directly in his line of vision. His attention was drawn away from the flickering flames and toward the young man who was walking over to him. Rising to his feet, he retrieved Blair's jacket and handed it to him. It was well after midnight, and the desert temperature had cooled considerably. "So what did you two talk about, or is that strictly shaman business?"

Blair accepted his jacket and smiled. "All will be explained in time, grasshopper." Looking up he exclaimed, "Wow, have you ever seen so many stars? This place is just so amazing." Settling down on the log by the campfire, he waited for Jim to join him. "Did you know that White Wolf's wife was a sentinel and he was her guide?"

"Didn't Tall Walker say that the old man's wife died? How's he coping without her?"

"I think he's doing alright. In fact, he's in there talking to her at the moment."

"What?"

"White Wolf says that the connection between a sentinel and guide can never truly be severed if there is love. He still senses her presence, and told me that when he dies he will once again be joined with her."

Blair looked at Jim and noticed the skeptical expression on his face. "You don't believe him do you? You don't believe in all that stuff he said about past lives, and destiny."

Jim put his arm around Blair's shoulder and drew him close. "Chief, whether or not I believe everything he said is not important. What is important is that I have you here with me and that you're alive and well. There is one thing the old guy said that I do firmly believe. I do believe in the strength of our connection. He was right when he said that there is no greater love than that between a sentinel and guide."

Blair leaned into Jim's embrace. "I believe you might be right Jim."

The End

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