A groan from the bottom bunk dragged Jim from his dire thoughts and back into his dire reality.  He rolled off the top bunk, landing on his feet, before pulling over a chair and sitting down.

 

Chase's eyelids fluttered twice then slowly opened.  Another groan and his eyes closed again.  "Son of a bitch," he muttered.

 

"Feeling's mutual," Jim said.

 

Chase was startled.  "What the…?"  His eyes focused on Jim.  "Great.  No private rooms available, huh?"

 

"Sorry, thought you meant me with that little epithet."

 

"Well, it applies but no.  Didn't see you."  He struggled to sit up but Jim pushed him back down.

 

"Your ankle's broken, and I'm pretty sure you have a concussion.  Don't move around."

 

"How long was I out?"

 

"A few hours, actually.  I was getting worried."

 

"Worried?  About me?"  He laughed bitterly.  "Yeah, right, tell me another one."

 

Jim frowned.  "What the hell did I ever do to you?  Tell me that, please, because I do not understand why you hate me so much.  You have Blair now; I'm not a sentinel anymore, so why this complete and total hatred?"

 

"Whoa, wait.  What you mean I have Blair?  What are you talking about?"

 

Jim shook his head.  "He's your guide now.  I'm not a threat to you."

 

"Why the fuck do I need to a guide?"  He tried to sit up again, but this time his own pain and weakness stopped him and he, more or less, fell back onto the mattress. "Damn it.  I cannot believe I managed to fuck up this badly."

 

Jim was confused.  "You're a sentinel, right?  A sentinel needs a guide to watch his back…"

 

"Stop, stop, stop.  Right there, you can stop.  I am not a sentinel.  Where the hell did you get that stupid idea?"

 

"Then why the interest in Blair?  Look, I've done this before, you know.  Barnes tried to take Blair as her guide. I figure a sentinel without a guide is drawn to–"

 

"You can stop again," Chase interrupted.  "First of all, I say again, I am not a sentinel.  Secondly, I don't want to take Blair anywhere for anything.  I don't have Blair.  Blair has himself.  He's free, and that was my only concern."

 

"So you did all this out of the goodness of your heart?"  Jim put all his powers of sarcasm into the question.

 

Chase looked at him like he had grown a second head.  "Fuck you, Ellison.  You don't know shit."

 

"Then enlighten me."  Jim sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

 

"Okay, fucker, here's some enlightenment for you.  Pete is my boss.  He said we had a job to do.  I take my work very seriously, so I was going to do the job, regardless.  Now, it just so happens that I also got this message telling me I had to help, because one shaman is obligated to help another.  Get it now?  Believe me, I could have done without the complications of the spirit plane sending a dead guy I had never seen before to tell me to get off my ass and help my brother."

 

Jim was dumbfounded.  He sat up in his chair, his arms unfolding.  "You mean –"

 

"We're brothers, me and Blair, spirit brothers, man.  Shamans.  I was summoned, I guess is the best word for it, by some guy that Blair calls In –"

 

"Incacha."

 

"Yeah."

 

Jim ran one hand over his face.  "Damn."

 

"Yeah."

 

"We're in trouble," he stated flatly.

 

"This is just now occurring to you?  Where have you been, man?"

 

Jim waved his hand to dismiss Chase's remarks.  "You don't understand.  I thought you were a sentinel."

 

"Thought wrong."

 

"Yeah, yeah, but I told Baker and Rose that you were."

 

"What?!"  Chase shot up, only to gasp in pain and sway dangerously near the edge of the bed.

 

Jim caught him and tried to put him down again, but Chase pushed his hands away.

 

"Are you nuts?!  Why would you do that?!"

 

"Baker was going to kill you.  I had to do something."

 

Chase opened his mouth several times as if he was trying to find words, but could find none to adequately express the myriad of emotions and thoughts Jim could see plainly on his face.  Finally, he settled on, "Holy shit."

 

Jim almost smiled.  "Yeah, no kidding."

 

"Well, I guess I did wonder why I was still alive.  Baker hates me."

 

"I gathered that."

 

"But I'm dead anyway, now.  I'm not a sentinel and I can't fake that I am."

 

Jim had already thought of that and dismissed it, but they were not out of options yet.  "That's true, but you can do something that they want.  Maybe that will be enough to save you."

 

"What?"

 

"You can guide."

 

Chase sputtered then glared at him.  "What makes you think that?"

 

"You're a shaman.  Incacha was my first guide; he was a shaman.  Blair was my second; he was a shaman.  Holloway was not a shaman, and he was useless as a guide.  I'm thinking that it stands to reason that shamans can guide.  Maybe you don't have to be a shaman to be a guide or a guide to be a shaman, but maybe it makes it easier.  Even if you aren't actually a guide, you can fake that, at least for a while.  Right?"

 

Chase was shaking his head.  "You really are incredibly thick, aren't you?"

 

Jim sighed and sat back again.  "What? Explain it to me then."

 

"Being a shaman is a calling.  Sometimes even a birth rite.  Being a guide is a choice."

 

"So make the damn choice!" Jim snapped.  "It's the only way to keep your sorry ass breathing!"

 

"No!  I will not make that choice!  God!  You have no idea, do you?"  He paused, wincing and reaching for his broken ankle.  He stopped short, however, thinking better of it, Jim supposed.  Frowning, he tried to gingerly rearrange himself on the bank so that he could face Jim.  "Maybe I should rephrase myself.  Being a guide is a commitment.  You have no idea what Blair's done, do you?"

 

"I know what he's done for me.  I will never forget it, and I can never repay it.  Don't lecture me on Blair.  You can't say anything I haven't said to myself thousands of times."

 

"Shut up, Ellison, and listen.  You said Incacha was your first guide, but that's not true.  He may have guided you, but he was never 'your' guide.  He was 'a' guide.  More than likely, he once had a sentinel and that sentinel probably died.  His commitment was to someone else.  He knew how to guide and he may have helped you out of responsibility, decency, whatever, but he would never be your guide.  In fact, it was probably hard for him to act as your guide."

 

"What the hell are you talking about?"

 

"According to legends in my culture, sentinels were called guardians and guides were called protectors.  The guardians guarded the tribe and the protectors protected the guardian and thus the tribe.  The protector was always a shaman, you got that part right, but this shaman was different.  This shaman made a commitment to the guardian.  He tied his soul to the soul of the guardian.  Pledged his life to the guardian.  That bond could not be broken, even in death.  If one died, the other could live on, but inside something would always be missing, like a part of his soul was gone.  A protector could guide another, but it would be a constant reminder of that missing piece.  Another could guide the guardian, but the bond was never made so the partnership was not as successful.  That's the legend.  Incacha was not your guide.  Blair is your guide.  He's tied to your soul.  He's made the commitment."

 

"How would you know?"

 

"I'm a shaman.  I know.  Somewhere down the line, he was given a choice.  He chose you, though I have no idea why."

 

Jim ignored the cheap shot at the end of the sentence, instead focusing on the meaning of what Chase had said.  "The fountain."

 

"Pardon?"

 

"He came back.  The jaguar and the wolf merged in the vision."

 

"Exactly, there you go.  He made the choice.  A choice I will not make.  No way, no how.  I will not tie my soul to anybody.  My luck, I'd end up with a jackass like Blair did."

 

"Dear God," Jim breathed.

 

Chase frowned at him.  "Do you get it now?  Do you understand what you really did?  The sad part is that the bond is not broken.  Blair is torn up over this.  Scared to stay, scared to leave.  Hurt down to the soul with no way to heal.  I would love it if he never came back to you, if he never looked back, but that's gonna hurt like hell every day of his life.  You don't deserve him, but he doesn't deserve to feel that empty space inside either.  So I'm torn myself.  He listens to me, you see?  Do I convince him to stay with us, make a new life, however painful that may be?  Or do I send him back to you so you can fuck up his life again?  Catch 22.  Damned one way or the other.  For a while, I thought the more abstract pain would be better, but I watched him and already he was struggling.  I realized something that I should have just known.  You can't live without your soul, even a little piece.  I doubt those ancient sentinels and guides had much of a life if they lost their partners.  So anyway, here I am, trying to keep your sorry ass breathing, to use your own words.  Even though I know you'll just hurt him again and again.  I know you wonder why I care.  I can see it on your face.  I barely know either of you.  But I know enough.  What you did was, to my mind, unforgivable.  I'd have shot you if I were Blair.  Lucky for you, I'm not.  And as for Blair, like I said, brothers.  Fuck with one shaman, fuck with us all."

 

"I didn't know.  I didn't mean to."

 

"Well, I don't even understand how you could.  You must be one really cold, repressed son of a bitch to not feel that hurt in him.  If he's tied to your soul, you're tied to his.  Don't you feel anything?"

 

"Of course, I do!"  Jim shouted, coming out of his chair and shoving it hard so that it smacked the wall of their small cell.  "I just…"  He paced.   He did not know how to explain.  "I just don't, can't.  Ahh!" he screamed in frustration.  "I have a job to do!  I can't let emotions get in the way!  I—"

 

"Check 'em at the door?  Heard Pete say that before.  Usually right before he screws something up big time.  You ignored his feelings.  Hell, you ignore your own, so no big deal.  But it is a big deal.  Look where you are now.  Look where we are, thank you, since I seem to have been picked up for the trip.  You took a wrong turn, buddy.  You're lost.  You're clueless.  You're a fool."

 

"Well, you know what, Chase?  Fuck you too."

 

Chase laughed.  "You already have, Ellison.  Look at me.  How's that old song go?  'Stuck in the middle with you.'"

 

"Well, smart ass, I suggest that you learn to fake being a guide PDQ or you won't be stuck here in the middle with me for very long, now will you?  I didn't ask you to come after me.  I didn't want your help, but you're here now, so perhaps you'd like to put aside your hatred for me long enough for us to stay alive and work together to get out of here."

 

"I don't hate you, Ellison.  I just dislike you.  Very intensely.  As for the rest, Jess was with me.  I'm guessing he got away.  He'll be back with Pete and Alex and possibly lots of folks.  They won't leave us here to die.  I can't fake being a guide, but they don't really know what being a guide entails, so they won't know that, huh?  Thing is, you aren't a sentinel anymore, so you say.  So who am I supposed to guide?"

 

"Alex Barnes."

 

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

 

"It's that or let Baker's goons take you out and shoot you."

 

"Gee, what a choice."

 

Rose had come and taken Chase away a few hours later.  Jim had helped the man into the wheelchair as the two of them told the "good" doctor that he did not, in fact, have another sentinel, but a guide.  Rose was in the space of one breath both disappointed and elated.  Suddenly, Jim could see that Chase was going to be treated with kid gloves, at least by Rose.  Jim had worried that Chase's broken ankle would half-heartedly treated until that moment.  Rose had what he needed most, or so he thought, and he needed Chase unimpaired.

 

As Jim sat mulling over the events of the night, he could not help but think, rather uncharitably, that if Chase was forced to be Barnes' guide, at least Blair would be safe from Rose.  He had one sentinel, however insane she was, and he would have one guide.  Sort of.  Maybe, just maybe, they would lose interest in Blair altogether.  After all, Baker was obviously not too keen on Blair anyway. 

 

His thoughts turned entirely to Blair then.  If what Chase had told him was true, not true just to Chase, but the real truth of sentinels and guides, what did that mean for Blair?  What did that mean for him, for that matter?  One selfish part of him screamed that Blair would have to come home, that he would have to forgive Jim.  The more selfless part though whispered that he did not want to cause Blair any more pain, and one way or another, he should just hope that Blair was happy and healthy.  Funny how a whisper could be so much louder than a scream.  "Whatever happens, Chief, please be safe.  Just be happy."

 

Chase said that the one left behind would feel like a piece of himself was missing.  That was how Jim felt.  Had felt for a long time.  It had started as soon as he got the reactivation call.  The realization hit, and he nearly cried.  He had tried to break the bond.  He had been the one to try to walk away.  Blair may have been the one to physically leave him behind, but Jim had already turned his heart away from Blair.  "My fault, Chief.  All my fault."

 

He did not deserve Blair.  Incacha had said it.  Chase had said it.  They were right.  But right did not stop him from begging, pleading with whatever powers steered the universe to give him back his guide.  More than that.  His best friend.  His brother. 

 

Now, he did cry.  No wonder men went insane in solitary, he thought crazily.  Too many truths waiting to be discovered.  Too much time to dig them all up and examine them, to lament bad decisions and wrongdoings, to see yourself as others see you.

 

Chase had held up a very unflattering mirror.  Jim had looked at it and seen a cold, unfeeling man reflected back at him.  His father, came the comparison, unwanted but painfully true.  Lock out your emotions and lock out that which makes you human.  That was what Chase was saying.  But he could not let his emotions rule him.  That was wrong, too.  He had ignored Blair's feelings many, many times.  The Ventriss case, for sure.  His solitary fishing trip that nearly ended in disaster.  He should have learned something then and there.  Reading the dissertation, big mistake.  Yet not as big as jumping to conclusions about it afterward.  Ruthlessly shoving Blair out of his life over and over since that call, deep down knowing what that was doing to his partner, but not willing to find another way.  He could try to call it duty or loyalty to his oath, but it was not.  It was fear.  Afraid to hold on, afraid to let go.  Hurt down to his soul with no way to heal, Chase had said about Blair.  But it was not just about Blair, was it?  No, the bond went both ways.

 

"Goddamn you, Chase.  Why did you have to make me see?"  One hand moved to his chest without any conscious thought on his part, seemingly trying to cover the gaping hole Jim finally allowed himself to feel.

 

Alex stared at his new friend and student.  The demolitions lesson had gone well.  Blair had not been too shocked by Alex's arsenal.  Add that to the fact that he was finally able to keep his eyes open while shooting and was hitting the target much of the time, and Alex was able to believe for the first time that Blair just might make it with the agency.  He was not ready for fieldwork, by any stretch of the imagination, but he was learning.  Of course, the improvement could be attributed to Blair's absolute determination to help Ellison despite everything they had done to each other.  Kit might be determined to blame it all on Ellison, but even Blair admitted that they had both made serious mistakes and was carrying around quite a bit of guilt.  At the moment, however, Blair simply stared off into the woods, one hand clutched to his chest.

 

"Are you hurting?" Alex asked finally.

 

"What?" Blair turned his head to face him.

 

Alex gestured at the hand still on Blair's chest.

 

"Oh!" He moved his hand quickly, his face showing his surprise at finding it there in the first place.  "No, I—uh, I don't know why I was doing that."

 

Alex moved from the doorway of the cabin to the rocking chair on the other side of Blair's.  He sat down and gently rocked back and forth.  Blair's eyes drifted back to focus on the woods again, or perhaps focus was the wrong word.  Alex wondered if he saw the trees at all.  "Pete won't be back until morning.  He won't come back here at night.  Too dangerous," he told his guest.  That was what the younger man was looking for out there, he surmised.

 

"We should have gone with him."

 

"And do what?  Wring our hands and fret while he talks incessantly on that cell phone?  That's all we could do, you know."

 

"Still."

 

"Still, we can wring our hands and fret here, which is exactly what you are doing.  Right?"

 

"You are so damn calm."

 

"I am so damn practical.  Not calm.  Not really.  I am worried.  I am angry.  I am very tired of waiting, but I can't let those things make me careless."

 

"You remind me of Jim."

 

"How's that?"

 

"'Check your emotions at the door, Blair.  You can't get personally involved,'" he mimicked Ellison's so-serious tone so well.

 

Alex chuckled.  "All black and white with him, isn't it?"

 

Blair looked at him, an odd expression on his face.

 

"Been there, done that," Alex continued.  "Actually, I assure you, I am feeling.  My emotions are in play; they simply don't call all the moves."

 

"Chess analogies?  Black and white, moves in play?"

 

"Leave it to me."  Alex smiled.  "Anyway, it's a balance.  I can be personally involved and still be practical and get the job done.  There was a time that wasn't true.  I have run the gamut, but I finally found some balance.  Kit helped me with that.  Though I will never admit that to him and don't you say a word.  I'll deny everything.  He's good though, that one.  Makes you see yourself, all the things you are, all the things you aren't, and all the things you'd like to be, good, bad or indifferent.  Sort of like looking at yourself through a prism.  You are still just one person, but there are a multitude of little faces reflected back at you, not all pretty and nice, but all parts of you.  If he weren't such a smart ass while doing it, you might even be inclined to thank him someday, but alas, he is a smart ass.  Little bastard."

 

It was Blair's turn to chuckle.  "He is sort of a smart ass sometimes."

 

"Sometimes?" Alex raised an eyebrow.  "And a chameleon.  I think his own prism must have thousands of faces.  You would think that he would stick out like a sore thumb in certain circumstances, most even.  He's quite striking, all that hair and such.  But he always seems to fit in seamlessly.  Like you, I think.  Had I not been told I would never have pictured you with Ellison or as part of a police department.  He finds ways to fit in, changes to suit his environment without changing the essentials that make him Kit.  I think you have that talent too.  Maybe it's part of the shaman thing.  Kit says that you are like him, so maybe that's part of the talent of it."

 

"I thought it was the anthropologist in me."

 

"Ah, but why Anthropology?  Did you choose it or did it choose you?"

 

That gave Blair something else to focus on, which had been Alex's goal all along.  Hours later, when Blair's eyes were struggling to remain open and Alex talked him into going to bed, Alex had learned more about human culture and its development than he ever knew existed.  Alex had thought he was well versed on world cultures.  He had been wrong, apparently.  As he turned off the last of the lights, he said a short prayer for Kit's safety.  And Ellison's too.  He sighed and started up the stairs to his bedroom.  A soft inquiry stopped him.

 

"Alex, what if I was supposed to balance Jim?  Like Kit did for you?  What if that was my job?"
 

Alex turned to see Blair moving to the steps.  "You can't take responsibility for someone else's problems, Blair."

 

"But I was his guide.  His shaman.  I should have been able to help him."

 

"First, he had to want help.  He had to accept help.  You can lead a jackass to water, but you can't make him drink."

 

"Horse, Alex.  It's—it's a horse."

 

"Oh?  I thought we were talking about Ellison."  Alex grinned.

 

In the moonlight, he saw Blair's smile.  "Harsh, man, very harsh."

 

"But very true.  Don't believe me?  Ask Ellison.  I think he would agree."

 

Blair lowered his head for a long moment.  "He is sorry, you know.  I could tell.  I was just so mad."

 

"With every right to be so," Alex pointed out.

 

"He meant well."

 

"The road to hell."

 

"Damn it!  Make up your mind!  Do you want me to forgive him or not?"

 

Alex walked back down the stairs and placed his hands on Blair's shoulders.  "Blair, I want you to do what's right for you.  But I want you to really know what that is before you do anything.  This is one of those times when you have to use that balance we were talking about.  You can't make this decision with just your head, or just your heart.  And you can't let me or anyone else tell you what you should do.  I think I've learned a little from Kit.  I'm trying to—"

 

"Hold up a prism?"

 

"Yeah, of a sort."  He dropped his hands.

 

"Playing devil's advocate?"

 

"That's it, precisely."  Alex smiled and pointed a finger at him.

 

"So whatever I lean toward, you'll push me the other way?"

 

"No, whatever you feel, I'm going to try to make you think about.  And whatever you think about, I'm going to try to make you feel."

 

"That sucks."

 

"Well, it's what Kit would be doing if he were more objective.  He's already decided he hates Ellison, so I don't think he can help with this."

 

"He really does hate him.  Wonder why."

"If you ask me, I'd say an overdeveloped sense of morality and the absolute conviction that he is always right," Alex said, not quite serious and not quite joking.  "I think it goes back to Kit's understanding of what this sentinel business is all about.  There are legends in Kit's culture about them and because of them, he expected better from Ellison.  Ellison failed to live up to the standards of those legends in Kit's mind and thus must be condemned."

 

"But he's only human."

 

"Ah, is he?"

 

"What are you saying?"

 

"I'm not saying anything.  I'm asking."

 

Blair sat on the steps.  "You're asking if I'm under some delusion that he's somehow more than human?"

 

"Are you?"

 

"No, he disabused me of that notion a long time ago."  Blair laughed, but it had a sad sound to Alex's ears.

 

Alex sat beside him.  "Well, to Kit, he was the living embodiment of a revered legend who fell woefully short of Kit's ideal.  Thus the animosity.  And despite your words, I think there were still times when you looked at him and saw an 'S' across his chest."

 

Blair grinned.  "Yeah, that's true, I guess.  He's larger than life sometimes.  Or he was, anyway."

 

"And that adds to the hurt, doesn't it?"

 

"You're a smart guy."

 

"Smart?"  Alex shrugged, though secretly pleased at the compliment.  "I'm just good at psycho-babble.  Had to hear it for 30 days of my life.  Did me no good at all, but to learn to do it others."

 

"What?"

 

"Nothing.  Bad time in my life and a very long story.  Rather not go into it if you don't mind.  Besides, we need to sleep.  Tomorrow, Pete will have more news, and hopefully, a workable plan."

 

Blair nodded a little.  "I do understand, and I hope you're right.  About the plan, I mean.  Good night, Alex."  He stood.

 

"Good night, Blair.  Again."

 

"Last time, I swear." Blair laughed as he headed down the hall. 

 

Alex watched him go then looked out of the nearest window at the silvery moonlight.  "Good night, Eliza," he whispered.

Pete sat cross-legged in the middle of his hotel bed.  He frowned as he studied the layout of the grounds of the Millennium Research Center's San Francisco facility, the blueprints of the building itself, and some aerial photos the SFPD had taken and graciously given to Chad Ryan.  Frontal assault would be dangerous, and Jim and Kit would be dead before they even got through the gate.  The FBI wanted that frontal assault, but Pete had nixed that right away.  Ryan's people were not coming in until Jim and Kit were safely out of Rose and Baker's custody.  That meant getting in quietly first.  Jesse had explained that the security system at the facility had a backup system.  That was how Kit had gotten caught.  Cut the power, reroute the power, or dispute the power in any way and the backup switch was thrown automatically, resulting in a window of about one minute.  Enough for Kit to get to the top of that stupid electric fence.  Not enough for an assault group to get in, that was sure. 

 

What was worse, Kit's success getting into the Baltimore facility might have even been the reason for the new security measures.  He had practically waltzed in back in Baltimore.  Maybe San Francisco was better guarded all along.  Who knew, but Jesse felt incredibly guilty for not catching the problem in time to keep Kit from being captured.  At any rate, sneaking in was not an option.

 

They also were not going to bluff their way in this time.  They were expected.  He picked up one of the aerial shots.  The picture was of the front gate.  There was a delivery truck at the gate.  He could not see what was written on it.  He put the photo back on the bed and tapped it with one finger.  That was their way in.  He was not sure how Simon Banks and his crew were going to feel about hijacking a truck, not to mention how the FBI would react, but it was easier to ask forgiveness than to get permission.  Besides, Chad knew him well enough to know that he would go to any extreme, up to and including blowing the whole place to kingdom come, to retrieve one of his men.  As long as Pete got the evidence that the FBI wanted to get Baker, Ryan would cover his ass for anything Pete did.  And he did have tentative blessings from the Pentagon and the CIA.

 

He just needed the name of the company on that truck.  Not a problem with Jesse around.  He would take the picture to Jesse, and in less time than it took Pete to talk Mrs. Riviera into making him a batch of cookies, they would be in business.  Pete grinned.  Jesse's mom made the best damn cookies he had ever eaten and all it took was a smile, a wink, and a please and he would have those cookies.  His mouth actually watered at the thought.

 

The next thought wiped the smile off his face.  He did have just one little problem.  Not that little, about five foot eight worth of problem actually.  Blair Sandburg.  What to do with Blair, Pete did not have a clue.  His newest employee would not appreciate being left out of this operation, but he was not ready to go into the field.  Leaving him behind was not exactly an ideal situation either.  Pete did not have a man available to protect him.  He would be safe at Alex's though, if he stayed there.  But he would not stay without a guard.  "Wait, the traps.  Alex's traps.  He can't leave with all those traps.  Ah-ha."  He grinned.  "If they can keep people out, they can keep one anthropologist in.  Hopefully."  He absently chewed on his bottom lip.  Of course, Blair would be furious at being left behind, but Jim would be furious if Pete brought Blair along.  Leaving Blair behind was best. 

 

They had plenty of help.  Banks had four of his people coming with him to help with the assault.  How he had managed to wrangle the simultaneous time off for his entire core group, Pete would never know.  It probably took hours of meetings with multitudes of bureaucrats.  The thought was just too unsavory to contemplate.  The fact that they were going to retrieve Cascade's Cop of the Year, two years running, probably helped.  Also, Pete knew that Ryan had had a word or two with the Police Commissioner.  With the Major Crimes group, Alex, Jesse and him, he had a good-sized assault team.  Ryan's team would only have to come in and roundup the bad guys and sweep away the debris. 

 

He picked up his cell again.  He had to arrange a meeting place with Banks.  L.A. was the best choice.  Baker's people would stake out San Francisco, after all.  And Jesse and his mom's cookies were in L.A.  He smiled again. 

 

Then he had a twinge of guilt.  Kit was in trouble, possibly dead, and he was thinking about cookies.  He thought back to Jess's frantic call.  Jesse had been near tears.  He had been forced to leave Kit behind.  Pete knew how that felt.  It was not a good feeling.  "Fuck," he whispered, running his free hand over his short hair, leaving it standing on end.  But the state of his hair was the very least of his worries.  He stared at the cell phone still in his other hand.  He thumbed the power button and dialed up Cascade.  Time to get the show on the road.

 

"So you knew Pete before, huh?" Kit asked the man on the top bunk.  He had to take his mind off of the cast on his left leg.  It was itching already.  It was psychosomatic, he realized, but that did not stop the itch.

 

"Yeah," his unwilling roommate answered flatly.

 

A moment of silence told Kit that nothing more was forthcoming.  "What was Pete like when he was young and impetuous?"

 

"Young and impetuous."

 

"Jackass," Kit muttered, but not without humor.  That was just the sort of answer he would have given, after all.

 

"Look, I don't like you, and you don't like me.  I think that makes it acceptable for us to completely ignore one another.  Let's try that, shall we?"

 

"No, you look!"  Kit rolled off the bunk, wincing as he accidentally put weight on his ankle.  Impatiently, he shoved his long, tangled hair out of his face.  "I came after you.  I was here to help you, so I think a little courtesy wouldn't kill you!  Besides, wasn't it you who said that we needed to work together to get out of here?"

 

Ellison's blue eyes regarded him in the gloom of their cell.  For a moment, Kit was worried that the man might attack him.  He was in no shape to defend himself.  His head was pounding, and his ankle was throbbing.  He hopped back a little to get ready for it, though, just in case.  But the eyes softened a little and Ellison sighed.  He sat up on his bunk.  "Sorry," he mumbled, through the hands that ran over his face.  "I just—I'm not at my best right now."

 

"Gee, I hope not."  Kit instantly regretted the smart remark.  "Sorry, sorry.  You tend to bring out my bad side."

 

"More like your brutally honest side."

 

Kit raised one eyebrow.  "Say again?"

 

Ellison jumped down from the top bunk and grabbed Kit's arm.  Kit started to pull away, but before he could, he realized that Ellison was only steering him gently to a chair.  Once Kit was seated, the man pulled the chair over to Kit's bunk and propped Kit's ankle on the mattress.  "You should keep that elevated," he explained before sitting on the bunk himself.

 

"Who are you?" Kit asked sarcastically.

 

"Jim Ellison, nice to meet you."  He offered his hand.

 

Kit looked at him, then his hand, then back at him.  Tentatively, he held out his own hand.  Ellison took it in a firm grasp.  "Kit Chase, still deciding if it's nice to meet you or not."

 

"Understandable.  You know, I was really pissed at you."

 

"Was?"  Kit almost smiled.

 

"Maybe still am a little.  But I have been thinking about what you said.  You made some good points."

 

"I try."

 

"Do you ever stop being such a smart ass?"

 

"Can't help it.  The rest of me ain't dumb either."  This time, Kit did smile while Ellison shook his head.  "Alex says I'm annoying."

 

"He's right.  You are."

 

Kit laughed.  "Part of my job, though.  My grandfather says that a shaman must think with both his head and his heart, but there's just one problem.  Most men think with something considerably lower than either of those things."  Ellison almost smiled.  Kit went on.  "He actually attributes that last part of the lesson to my grandmother, however.  At any rate, you weren't using your head or your heart.  You were thinking with your pride, and there's nothing more dangerous or hurtful than that."

 

"You're right."

 

"But I was also wrong."

 

"Meaning?"

 

"I forgot something.  You're still human.  Humans make mistakes.  In fact, we are entitled to make them.  How else would we learn?  So I was expecting the great legend, the Guardian of the tribe.  I got Jim Ellison, the man, the human.  It pissed me off.  I did some thinking too.  Didn't have much else to do, and it was useful to drown out Rose's inane theories about what you are and what I am.  Alex tried to tell me all of this, you know.  But I wasn't listening.  I should have known better but—"

 

"You're human.  You're entitled to your mistakes."

 

"He can be taught!" Kit smiled to soften the sarcasm.  "Blair made mistakes too.  Mostly from not being aware of what he is and what he can do.  I'm trying to fix that, by the way."

 

"Good."

 

"He does miss you."

 

"I miss him, but I don't want him here."

 

"Then we agree on something then."

 

"If we both want Blair safe and healthy, then yes, we have common ground."  Ellison offered his hand again and Kit did not hesitate to take it.

 

"I still think you're a jackass."  He could not help the impulse to say it.

 

Ellison chuckled.  "Yeah, and you're still an annoying smart ass."

 

"Fair enough," he said as Ellison helped him back onto his bunk.

 

"Good night, Chase."

 

"Good night, Ellison."  Kit waited until the other man was on his bunk, then added, "I still want to know the dirt on Pete."

 

"Well, there's plenty of it.  Another night though.  All of this emotional soul-searching is exhausting."

 

"I suppose that'll be okay.  Gotta take it easy on my elders."

 

"Chase?"

 

"What?"

 

"Don't make me kick your ass."

 

"I'm an injured man.  You wouldn't."

 

"Don't count on that."

 

"You can't fool me, Ellison.  For all your faults, you are still a decent man."

 

There was a silence so long that Kit began to believe that his fellow prisoner had fallen asleep, but he had not.  "Thanks.  I needed to hear that right now."

 

"You're welcome," Kit answered honestly.  He shifted on the bunk, trying to get comfortable with the heavy cast.  He sighed.  It was impossible.  He would never get to sleep. 

 

He was wrong.

 

Jim listened to his cellmate's even breathing.  He had known the moment that Chase drifted off to sleep.  He was telling the truth; he was exhausted.  However, his mind stubbornly refused to cooperate with him and shut down.  Chase said that he was a decent man.  Why couldn't the mercenary continue to hate him?  Now, he felt all the more guilt over the direction his earlier thoughts had taken.  Guilt or no, however, he could not help his feelings.  Better Chase than Blair.  He hoped Pete had the good sense to keep Blair far from here.  Of course, he was once again assuming that Blair would care what happened to him.  Chase said that Blair missed him, but he did not say Blair forgave him.  Huge difference there.

 

There was no reason for Blair to come back anyway.  Jim's senses were gone.  He did not need a guide.  He had lost even that to bring Blair back to him.  Blair had a chance to get his doctorate now and go on with his life.  Traveling the world, learning everything he could, that was Blair's real joy in life.  As long as Blair was learning something, he was happy.  His second joy was teaching what he had learned.  Jim had nearly destroyed his chances to do those things.  No, Blair was better off without Jim.  There was just one problem.  Jim was not better off without Blair.

 

It was the same result every time he took that round trip in his head.  He needed Blair.  Blair did not need him.  He wanted Blair to come home, but had no right to expect it or even ask it.

 

Georgetown.  Blair had a chance to go to Georgetown.  No one deserved it more.  He should go.  He should get his doctorate.  And yet, what would his thesis be?  It could not be the sentinel thesis.  Jim had not been exposed as a sentinel.  The world thought Jim simply had experienced a few isolated instances of heightened hearing, if he remembered the final version of the story right.  He could not publish on Barnes, not with Baker and Rose out there.  If Pete took them down, maybe then he could.  But that thought made Jim nervous.  Even after all that they had been through, the idea that Blair might make heightened senses public knowledge made his heart pound in his chest.  Once the world knew, how long before his secret was exposed, regardless of who the dissertation named? 

 

Which brought him to the old argument.  Why the hell had Blair put his name in the damn paper to begin with?  They had talked about it, and argued about it until both of them were blue in the face.  Blair saying that it was just the rough draft and that the final would not have named him, pointing out that the introductory chapter had long since been turned in and properly cleansed of Jim's name.  Then Jim arguing that it was still careless of him to have his name in it at all and for him to leave it sitting around for just anybody to see.  Which had started the argument about Naomi.  Absent and absent-minded Naomi.  Jim was still angry with her.  She had taken off pretty quickly after turning their lives upside down and left Blair wounded by her last words.  Yes, she had been all smiles in the bullpen, pretending to be the supportive mother while everyone was looking, but once she got Blair alone, it was a whole new ballgame.  She had made it clear that she could not accept her son becoming a cop.  She had even told Blair that if he went through with the Academy she would not be around for him anymore.  As if she ever had been. 

 

Another argument had ensued between he and Blair as Blair waffled between being Jim's partner and his mother's son.  Jim could admit now that he had browbeaten Blair into the Academy.  Blair would never have been happy as a cop.  He hated acknowledging that, because, in a way, it made Naomi right.  He frowned.  He had to stop thinking now.  Whenever he came to the conclusion that Naomi was right, it was a bad sign for his sanity.  A zone would be nice, he decided.  But instead of a zone, he finally succumbed to sleep.

 

"If you try to leave me here, I'll follow you."

 

Pete observed the stubborn face of Blair Sandburg, but he had no intention of giving in.  "You can't.  You'll just hurt yourself.  Alex has traps all over these woods.  Don't even try it, because we are not coming back for you.  We don't have the time.  You'll be stuck here and injured."

 

"No, I won't.  Kit pointed out all of Alex's traps.  I have them mapped out in my head.  Unless he's changed them in the last week, I know where each and every one of them is located."  Arms crossed over his chest, Blair gave Pete a smug grin.

 

Pete looked to Alex who half-shrugged at him.

 

"So then, it's settled.  I'll go get my things."  Blair left them standing in the living room of the cabin.

 

"Is he bluffing?" Pete finally asked aloud.

 

"Don't know.  Maybe, maybe not.  Kit does know where my traps are, and I haven't changed them since we've been here."

 

"Fuck!"

 

"Sorry, Pete."

 

Pete sighed.  "Fine.  Better not take the chance."

 

"As much as I know he's not ready, I'd rather him be with us than trailing behind us, unprotected.  He is getting pretty good with a gun."

 

"He did hold his own in El Salvador that time.  Damn it!  It's too soon after—well, you know."  He gestured.

 

"His breakdown?  I seem to recall I wasn't long back from my little trip to Looneyville when you hired me."

 

Pete turned sharply to look at his friend, thinking that per