"Well?" Blair asked expectantly as Jim cautiously sniffed the brittle leaves.

Five days ago a group of hikers had returned from a trip to the Cascade National Park after having discovered a cultivated crop of suspicious looking plants growing in the wilderness. A report had been filed, but had yet to be followed up with a first hand investigation. Narcotics however had been short two men -- both sick with the flu -- and they were the only men in the division with sufficient forestry skills to make the trip. Fish and Game had been too busy, and the Forestry Service refused to get involved with potential drug problems. The case had been bumped up to Major Crime, and a grinning Simon Banks had sent his two favorite people out into the wilderness to investigate.

Jim had accepted the job almost gleefully -- the cold weather had broken and the forecasters were predicting unseasonable warmth this weekend. It seemed a perfect opportunity to get outside of the city with his Guide. Jim, however, hadn't precisely counted on the fickleness of nature.

"Yep, pretty much what I expected," he told his Guide. Two days out, they'd discovered the plants in question -- a large number of them, badly damaged by the cold, but certainly suspicious looking. Several were propped up by stakes, tied carefully to keep them upright. He could certainly see why it had caught the hiker's attention.

"Marijuana?" Blair asked.

"Oregano," Jim answered.

Blair's eyes widened. "What?"

Jim nodded with his head toward some of the other plants. "And over there we have Thyme, some Rosemary, and some badly damaged Basil."

"It's that damned Italian cooking group again, isn't it?" Blair exclaimed in annoyance.

"'Fraid so, Chief," Jim agreed. "Rather insidious if you think about it." He dropped the leaves and brushed off his hands. "What say we go fishing? I have a great fish recipe and we've got all the herbs we need."

"Fishing?" Blair asked. "You mean ice fishing, don't you?"

Jim just sighed. As a Sentinel, Jim should have anticipated this turn of events. But of late Blair had been distracting Jim from noticing important things like the weather -- all in favor of noticing things like his partner -- his partner's scent, his partner's taste, his partner's... well, just Blair in general.

"Fishing, Chief!" Jim grumbled. "Not ice fishing -- unseasonably warm weather -- that's what the weather report said! There wasn't supposed to be any ice. But as the weather these last few years has turned completely wacky, what am I supposed to do?"

"Wacky? Is that the technical term, Oh-Great-Sentinel-Of-The-City?" Blair teased.

Jim had to smile, though he did his best to hide it from Blair. "As a matter of fact it is," he insisted. "This is the city of perpetual rain -- you'd think it would at least get that part right. Who'd guess it'd start snowing?"

"Well, at least it's not a blizzard," Blair piped in, as if trying to cheer Jim up.

Jim threw his partner a look of horror. "Sandburg, don't even joke about that! You know what kind of luck we have! When I told Megan we were heading into the woods, she got a pool going! Simon predicted an earthquake. Rafe predicted escaped car thieves. And Brown predicted escaped serial killers."

Blair grinned, distracting Jim momentarily with the brightness of his eyes. "What did Megan predict?"

Jim just shook his head. "Rampaging herd of wild badgers. Apparently they gave her ten to one odds on that."

Blair started laughing at that, his eyes filling with mirth. It was good to hear him laugh -- these last few weeks had been hard on them both. "Oh, Jim! Man, we've got to find a badger! I'll take pictures. We'll convince everyone they invaded the camp!"

Jim paused to stare at his Guide, noting the way the gently falling snow coated the young man's hair. In deference to the cold, he wore his hair loose about his shoulders -- apparently it kept his ears warm. And Jim loved the way it framed that animated face. He could so easily zone on the sight of the snow gleaming against those auburn locks as they warmed from the heat of Blair's body and began to melt. Distractions -- so many of them. Blair's description of an 'ever vigilant watchman' had been sorely put to the test ever since the two of them had become lovers. He wondered if he should bother mentioning that to his Guide.

"Better not tempt fate, Chief," Jim told him with a smile -- he'd been smiling a lot more lately too. "You ask for badgers, and you're liable to get a pack of wol--"

The shaggy form that streaked out from the trees caught both Jim and Blair completely off guard. Jim gasped in horror, reaching for his gun even as the silver shadow tackled Blair and bore him to the ground. Blair shrieked, hands rising to ward off an attack as he struck the snow-covered herbs. Jim crouched, lifting his gun, aiming along the sites -- and then paused in confusion as he realized that the fierce, wild, killer wolf that had just attacked his Guide was in fact wagging his tail and licking the young man's face enthusiastically.

Jim slowly lowered his gun. "Uh... Chief?" he questioned.

Blair was no longer screaming, but rather giggling and twisting furiously under the weight of the wolf/dog as he tried to keep that long pink tongue away from his mouth. "Your Spirit Guide, Chief?" Jim took a wild guess. It sure looked a lot like the wolf Jim had seen in that vision so long ago.

"My Spirit Guide!" Blair gasped from beneath his giggles. "Tell me something, Jim. Has your Spirit Guide ever physically tackled you and pinned you to the ground?"

"Overly friendly dog then," Jim guessed.

"Dog? It's a wolf, Jim! A wolf! And it's tenderizing me for lunch!" Blair gasped and began giggling uncontrollably again as the wolf licked happily at his neck. "Call him off, Jim!"

Jim, torn between laughter and concern, patted his thigh with his hand. "Here, wolf!" he called helpfully.

The wolf in question didn't seem to hear him.

"That's real helpful, Jim!" Blair groused. "Why don't you just offer him some herbs?"

"Oh, dear!" The voice was neither Jim's nor Blair's.

Startled twice within the same couple of minutes, Jim turned in shock and raised his gun again, sighting and aiming at the-- Jim's eyes widened in surprise.

A Mountie. A Canadian Mountie in full uniform, red coat pristine in the green and white of the woods.

"Oh, dear," the Mountie said again, raising one hand to scratch a thumbnail across his left eyebrow. "I'm terribly sorry about that. Diefenbaker! Stop that!"

Not entirely certain what a Diefenbaker might be, Jim took a guess that he was speaking to the wolf. "That your wolf?" he demanded, gun lowered but still visible.

"Well, yes," the Mountie agreed with a somewhat pained expression on his face.

"Call him off!" Blair gasped between giggles. "Call him off!"

"Diefenbaker!" the Mountie yelled again. "Diefenbaker, you're embarrassing me!"

Diefenbaker quite happily continued licking Blair. "Not very obedient," Jim frowned, wondering briefly at the wisdom of trying to physically pull a full-grown wolf off his partner.

"Well, actually, he's very obedient," the Mountie corrected. "He's just deaf. If you speak slowly and clearly, I'm sure--"

Before he could finish the ridiculous statement, Blair caught hold of the wolf's ears, looked him straight in the eyes, and stated emphatically, "GET... OFF... ME!!!"

The wolf immediately backed away, sitting down on his haunches next to the gasping young man. The animal gazed adoringly at Blair. Jim went to help his Guide to his feet, holstering his gun as he figured the danger had passed.

"You carrying raw meat around with you or something, Chief?" Jim asked as he helped Blair sit up.

"Not that I know of. Jeeze man..." He glanced up at the Mountie, noticing him for the first time, and his eyes widened in amazement as he took in the sight. Red coat, stiff hat, shining boots, funny pants -- the man was certainly spectacular looking. Jim wasn't entirely certain he liked the gleam of appreciation he saw in Blair's blue eyes.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr..." the Mountie began.

"Blair."

"Mr. Blair," the Mountie continued.

"No, Blair's my first name. Blair Sandburg."

"Ah," the Mountie nodded in understanding. "I see. Of course it is. I'm Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. And this is..." He turned as if to introduce someone else, but frowned in confusion when he realized that he was quite alone. "Ray? Ray? Ray?"

Jim dialed his hearing up a couple of notches and heard the low-voiced grumbling of a second man as he trudged through the snow in the Mountie's footsteps. "He's coming," Jim offered, motioning with his chin toward the trees.

Fraser nodded and took several steps back the way he had come. "Ray, over here, Ray. Ray? Ray?"

"What!?" an irritated voice shouted. A few moments later a scruffy looking blond man, bundled in almost as many layers of clothing as Blair had on, stalked into view. "Do you see this stuff, Fraser? This white stuff? This is snow. Snow! What is it with you and snow, Fraser? Can't we ever go out into nature-like-places without there being snow? If there's any of them ice crevasse thingies around here, I'm leaving."

"It's only a couple of inches of snow, Ray," Fraser said reasonably. "You're hardly likely to find any ice crevasses in a couple of inches of snow."

Ray stopped and stared at Jim and Blair, his face twisting into a perplexed frown. "One of these yer friend?"

The Mountie turned apologetically. "Oh, no. Forgive my manners. As I was saying I'm Constable Benton Fraser, and this is my partner Ray Vecchio."

"Kowalski," Ray interrupted.

Fraser frowned in confusion. "I beg your pardon, Ray?"

"Ray Kowalski," Ray repeated. "I'm not Vecchio any more, remember?"

"Are you sure?" Fraser asked.

"Yes, of course I'm sure. Vecchio is Vecchio again. I'm Kowalski -- just plain ol' Kowalski." Ray Kowalski didn't actually seem all that pleased at the prospect, and Jim frowned in confusion.

"Well, then who's Ray?" Fraser asked uncertainly.

"Whadda you mean, who's Ray?" Ray exclaimed. "I'm Ray! Ray's Ray. We're both Ray."

"Well, shouldn't you be Stanley?"

At that Blair began giggling again. "Stanley Kowalski?" he asked in mirth. "Let me guess, you're married to a girl named Stella?"

Ray 'Stanley' Kowalski gave Blair the darkest look. "I was," he growled. "Until Vecchio ran off with her."

"Look!" Jim growled, getting irritated by the banter. "Ray, Stanley, whatever your name is, what are two Mounties doing in Cascade?"

"I'm not a Mountie!" Ray exclaimed in outrage. "I'm a cop!"

The Mountie looked somewhat taken aback at that. "Mounties are cops, Ray," he reminded his partner.

Ray grabbed briefly at his own hair -- which was sticking up oddly in every which direction. "Yes, I know Mounties are cops, Fraser. But yer a cop who wears bright red shoot-me-I'm-here coats."

"Only when I'm on official business, Ray," the Mountie assured him.

"And you're on official business now?" Jim took a guess.

"Ah. Well. Actually..."

"What's with your wolf, man," Blair cut in, motioning toward the wolf who was still sitting close by gazing at Blair adoringly. The wolf thumped his tail happily against the ground, tongue hanging out. He looked about ready to pounce on Blair again.

"I'm terribly sorry," the Mountie apologized. "Diefenbaker, stop that, you're making a fool of yourself."

Diefenbaker just inched a few steps closer to Blair, tail wagging harder.

"I must apologize," the Mountie sighed. "He's not usually like this. It's just for some reason he seems to think you're his long lost brother."

Blair's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "He's Jewish?"

Fraser tilted his head thoughtfully. "Well, actually he's never really discussed his religious leanings to me. But if he is, he certainly isn't orthodox."

The wolf flicked his ears and glanced back at Fraser. The Mountie just rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Twinkies are not kosher," he told the wolf sternly.

Diefenbaker let out a heavy sigh and dropped down to the ground, placing his chin on his front paws. Blair dusted himself off. "So you're a cop?" he asked Ray. "You local?"

Ray shook his head. "Chicago PD."

Jim stared at the unlikely duo in front of him. A Mountie and a Chicago cop -- wandering around on official business in the Cascade National Park. The cop had that lean hungry, unkempt look of an undercover detective; and the Mountie -- well the Mountie looked like he'd stepped out of the pages of a comic book. Tall, handsome, perfectly chiseled features, not a wrinkle or a speck of dirt anywhere in sight -- the Mountie looked at once out of place in the wild, and at the same time strangely at home.

"What's a Mountie doing partnered with a Chicago cop?" Jim demanded.

The cop sighed heavily and just shook his head as if Jim had done something wrong. The Mountie however answered immediately, almost eagerly. "Ah, you see... I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father, and for reasons that don't bear exploring at this juncture, I remained attached--"

"It's a long story," Ray broke in suddenly. "If you're not Fraser's friends, who are you?"

"I'm terribly sorry, Ray," Fraser looked quite upset with himself. "This is Mr. Blair Sandburg, and this is..."

"Detective Jim Ellison," Jim replied. "Cascade, PD."

Ray raised his eyebrows at that. "Another cop? What're the odds?" He shot Blair an inquisitive look. "Yer not a Mountie by any chance?"

"Anthropologist," Blair replied.

"Ah, of course you are," Ray nodded. "Makes perfect sense." He turned to Fraser. "So where's yer friend, Frase? I'm freezing my ass off here."

Fraser glanced briefly at his watch. "He'll be here, Ray," he assured his partner. "He's very punctual. He's never missed a meeting yet. Always on time. Punctuality is very important to him."

"You're meeting someone here on official business?" Jim demanded. "Bit out of your jurisdiction, don't you think?"

"Nothing new there," Ray mumbled under his breath. Jim might not have caught it if he hadn't had his hearing dialed up, and he frowned at the blond cop.

"Well, yes," Fraser nodded in agreement. "It's not precisely official, you see..." All three of them glanced rather pointedly at the pristine uniform the Mountie was wearing. Fraser glanced briefly down at himself. "Ah, yes, I see... well, he is my superior officer and all. I could hardly meet him out of uniform."

"You're meeting your superior officer out here in the middle of nowhere?" Blair asked.

Perplexed, Fraser tugged at something on his belt -- a small compass attached to a wire. "I assure you, this is not the middle of nowhere. And these are precisely the exact coordinates Leftenant Fontaine gave me."

"Well, it's eleven fifty-nine, Frase," Ray grumbled. "In another thirty seconds yer punctual buddy is gonna be late."

"I assure you, Ray--"

With his hearing dialed up, Jim heard the noise long before he was able to fully identify what it was. When he finally did, he had only a moment of surprise to realize that the Mountie too had heard the sound seconds before he should have. He heard him shout, "Look out, Ray!" as he dove for his partner while Jim dove for Blair. Jim caught Blair around the waist, tackling him to the ground and rolling him body over body several feet as something large and heavy dropped right out the sky, crashed through the interlocked tangle of branches overhead and then struck a pristine pile of snow with a strangely muffled thump before lying completely still.

Stunned, Jim clutched at Blair, letting his senses scan over his Guide -- noting the elevated heart rate, the smell of fear, and the heat from his body fighting against the damp snow melting into his clothes. Assured that Blair was unhurt, he glanced upward -- pushing both sight and hearing to their limit. The heavy cloud cover overhead blocked out his sight, but he heard the distinctive drone of a plane engine as it disappeared off in the distance. Then he climbed gingerly to his feet, pulling Blair shakily with him. "You all right?" he murmured.

Blair nodded, his eyes locked on the snowdrift.

Across the clearing, Fraser and Ray climbed to their feet, both gazing in shock at the same hole in the snow -- the body shaped hole that held a second Mountie, hat still miraculously in place.

"Right on time," Ray commented with a faint tinge of respect in his voice.

It seemed to break the spell the rest of them were under and they surged forward toward the body.

"Where in hell did he come from?" Blair asked in disbelief.

"Three-blade prop plane, from the sound of it," Fraser offered. "Probably a Cessna Caravan PT6A-114A. Heading north."

Blair shot the Mountie a disbelieving look, and glanced at Jim for confirmation. The Sentinel nodded slowly -- that would have been his guess too from the sound of it. But he seriously doubted anyone else could have determined such a thing. He doubted Blair had even heard the plane.

"That yer friend, Fraser?" Ray asked quietly as he dropped a hand onto the Mountie's shoulder in comfort.

Fraser nodded grimly. "Leftenant William Fontaine. He was one of my instructors at the academy."

"Sorry," Ray murmured. Jim and Blair stayed silent out of respect for the man's feelings.

But friend or not, Fraser showed a certain reserved devotion to duty that Jim recognized as a trait universal to cops as he straightened and announced, "I'll need to get his body to the city to determine what happened to him."

Ray nodded, and yanked his cell phone out of his many layers of coats. He opened it, raised it to his ear, smacked it against the palm of his hand several times and then finally put it away in annoyance. "We're outta range," he shook his head. "Can't get a signal. Our camp is about ten miles in that direction."

"It's the other direction, Ray," Fraser corrected. "And it's only about two miles."

"Ours is a mile that way," Blair offered.

"Well, if we can't get a cell phone signal, we're going to have to carry him out of here," Jim cut in. "It's a day and a half walk to the nearest ranger station. Longer if we're going to be carrying a body with us."

"Wait a minute!" Ray cut in. "Carry him out? Carry him out? Shouldn't we just go down to the ranger station and bring a forensic team back up here?"

"Bears, Ray," Fraser replied.

Ray blanched at that. "Bears? Excuse me?"

"Spring time in Cascade," Jim explained. "The bears are coming out of hibernation -- and they're really hungry. The body wouldn't be here when we brought the forensic team back."

"Bears?! Bears!" Ray turned toward his partner in shock. "You brought me out into the middle of this... this... nature-like-setting when there's hungry bears around?"

"Well, it's not the first time you've been surrounded by bears, Ray," Fraser assured him. "We have bears up in Canada too, you know. Wolves as well."

To Jim's amusement the Chicago cop shuddered violently and visibly, and then turned away from all of them, muttering obscenities under his breath.

"Language, Ray," Fraser admonished before turning his attention back to the body of his friend, and the problem of carrying him out of the woods.

"We could build a travois," Blair suggested. "Would be easier than carrying him."

"Good idea," Jim and Fraser agreed in unison. Fraser frowned suddenly and pried something from the dead man's left hand. He held up a small scrap of white material, stared at it briefly, and then raised it to his mouth. To Jim's surprise, he licked it quickly before frowning at it once again.

"OH! MAN!! FRASER!" Ray exploded in utter disgust. "Don't do that! We do not go around lickin' things off dead people!!"

"I'm sorry, Ray," Fraser apologized. "It's leather though... most curious too."

"I don't care if it's cashmere!" Ray shouted. "It's gross! Do you hear me, Fraser? That is gross! You can't go around lickin' dead things!"

"Yes, I'm sorry, Ray, it's just that this leather--"

Curious, Jim took the scrap of leather from the Mountie's hand, raising it to his nose. He inhaled deeply and discovered the mark of curiosity the Mountie had 'licked' from it. "It's not bleached."

Fraser stared at him in utter surprise. "No, it's not."

Jim stared back at the Mountie, a strange sense of unease rising in him. There was no way the man should have been able to determine that little fact simply by licking it. He shot a swift glance at Blair, and to his alarm his Guide had already come to the same conclusion. He was staring at Fraser with a look of amazement that Jim did not like in the slightest.

"So what if it's not bleached!" Ray groused. "That's no excuse to go around lickin' it. You didn't see anyone else puttin' it in their mouth did ya, Frase?"

"You don't seem to understand, Ray," Fraser turned toward his partner, looking somewhat distressed at Ray's continued criticism. "It's white leather, Ray -- unbleached. Leather isn't typically naturally white in color."

"Those skinny foreign cows are white," Ray corrected him defiantly.

"Wrong kind of hide," Fraser insisted. "This is leather from an albino animal -- a buffalo I'd guess."

Jim saw that that phrase alone distracted Blair from the sudden contemplation of a possible new Sentinel, and he stepped forward to take the leather from Jim's hands. "Albino? My God, do you have any idea what this must be?"

"It's white leather!" Ray snapped still obviously agitated. "Went out of fashion in the 80s! And who the hell wears buffalo hide?"

"It's not a costume," Blair insisted. "But an albino buffalo... to most Native American tribes that's like the Holy Grail, man!"

"A diner? Are we back to that diner thing again?" Ray demanded in surprise, glancing at Fraser for confirmation.

"Grail, Ray," Fraser corrected immediately. "Not grill. And he's quite right; an albino buffalo was born a few years ago in Wisconsin and tribal people from all over the continent flocked to see it. It's one of the most sacred symbols in Native American culture. I can't imagine what Leftenant Fontaine was doing with it however."

"Any idea what this is?" Jim asked as he pulled a gold chain from the small leather compartment on the dead man's belt. Attached to the chain was a jewel-encrusted golden cross, approximately the size of a man's hand. Fraser's eyes widened and Blair let out a low whistle.

"Oh man!" Blair exclaimed. "That looks like..."

"It is," Fraser agreed with a nod of his head. "The craftsmanship and age..." He shook his head in amazement. "Why on earth would he have--"

"You recognize this?" Jim demanded, looking from Blair to Fraser and back again. He was beginning to get the impression that potential Sentinel or no, the Mountie had a certain body of knowledge in common with his Guide. He wasn't too certain he liked that familiarity.

"It's the Cross of Coronado," Blair told him. "Last I heard it was on display at Saint Michael's in Cascade, on loan from the Vatican treasury."

"It's a priceless religious artifact," Fraser added.

"Priceless?" Ray piped in curiously. "You mean like gold and jewels and stuff--buried treasure type priceless?"

Blair shook his head. "No, actually the stones are only semi precious -- the value isn't in the material it's made out of. It's in the object itself. It's sacred -- several miracles are attributed to it. Supposedly people who have touched it have been spontaneously cured of various illnesses."

At that, Ray reached out suddenly and touched the cross still dangling from Jim's hand. Then he glanced curiously down at his other hand, inspecting something intently. The other three men looked at him in bewilderment, remaining silent until he realized he was being watched. At that he flushed somewhat sheepishly and waved his hand in the air. "Hangnail..." He explained. "I had a hangnail... still do... no miracle... anyway, what's a Mountie doing with this stuff?" He quickly changed the subject.

"I don't know, Ray," Fraser admitted. "But his possession of these items might explain why he was murdered."

"Murdered?" Ray looked at Fraser skeptically. "We sure he was murdered?"

"Men don't typically jump out of perfectly good airplanes without parachutes," Blair pointed out with a shudder.

Ray gave them all a pained expression. "Sometimes they do," he insisted. "Especially when there's a Mountie involved. Maybe he just saw a migratin' pack of wild bears and wanted to get a closer look."

"Yes, but Ray, he would have known there was no hope of surviving such a fall," Fraser told him. "It had to be murder. Bears don't run in packs."

"We can worry about all that once we get him back down to the city," Jim cut in. "An autopsy will tell us a lot more. And we can see if we can figure out what he was doing with those objects, and who was flying that plane."

The others agreed, and set about gathering up wood for the travois that Blair had suggested. Jim cut several long branches for the object in question and then watched with some curiosity as Blair and Fraser proceeded to put the contraption together -- discussing various methods as they did so. Fraser seemed to favor an Inuit design, while Blair tended toward a South American construct -- they compromised on an amalgamation of both, and began with admirable efficiency to work together.

Jim watched with a certain degree of jealousy, finding the rapport that Blair and Fraser fell into somewhat disconcerting. He glanced over at Fraser's partner, noting the way the Chicago cop stood off to one side of the clearing near Diefenbaker, arms folded across his chest as he shivered with the cold. He looked distinctly out of place in the forest, and decidedly miserable at the sight in front of him as he watched Blair and Fraser building something he wasn't entirely able to pronounce.

Jim took the opportunity to question the cop further. "You two were here to meet Lieutenant Fontaine?"

Ray glanced up at him, nodding owlishly. "He called Fraser. Said he wanted to talk to him about something important."

"He was working here in Cascade?"

Ray shook his head. "Last I heard he was stationed in the Territories... that's someplace up in Canada. But he asked us to meet him here, and we agreed. Or rather Fraser agreed. I just came along because... well, because I always do." He shot an almost affectionate glance toward the Mountie. "He gets in such weird trouble when I'm not around..." He paused and thought about that for a moment. "Okay, he gets in weirder trouble when I am around, but at least I'm -- you know -- around... to get him out of the trouble -- you see?"

Surprisingly, Jim did see. He nodded and fell silent, thinking that maybe things were all right if the cop and the Mountie were so close. He felt the knot in his stomach ease up a bit -- at least until the blond spoke again. "Yer partner -- he's pretty smart, huh?"

"Yes," Jim agreed apprehensively.

"Yeah, Fraser is too -- knows stuff most people don't want to know, you know? Bugs him sometimes that most people don't understand half the stuff he says." Ray was staring at Blair, and Jim saw something gleaming in his eyes that looked remarkably like envy. The knot in his stomach tightened considerably, and he glanced back at the other two men, watching as they chatted intently together, discussing the cultural ramifications of various weaving techniques of indigenous tribes. Blair had that same glow about him he got when he talked about teaching -- something he sometimes tried to suppress around Jim.

"You almost done there, Chief?" Jim demanded a bit more forcefully than he intended.

Blair looked up startled. "Almost, Jim," he nodded. "If you will help with the body."

Jim nodded and the four of them began the distasteful task of moving the body onto the travois. The back of his skull was caved in, but there was surprisingly little blood -- an effect of the snow, Fraser suggested.

Once in place, the four of them decided to take the body back to Jim's and Blair's camp -- it was in the right direction.

"I'll head back to our camp and pack our gear," Fraser announced. "I'll meet you back at your camp."

"Will it take long?" Jim demanded. "We need to get moving -- as it is, it will be late tomorrow at the earliest that we can expect to get to a ranger station."

Fraser thought for a moment. "Two miles back to my camp, then three miles back to yours, at a six minute mile, factoring in approximately 12 minutes to pack up everything, I'll be there in exactly 42 minutes."

The three of them gave Fraser identical skeptical looks, but the Mountie didn't seem to notice. "Dief, you stay with Ray and--" he began, but the wolf had already moved almost lovingly to Blair's side, once again giving him a look of adoration. Fraser just sighed. "Wolves!" he muttered in annoyance.

"Frase, you want me to come help ya..." Ray began uncertainly.

But the Mountie shook his head. "I can move quicker by myself, Ray," he told the man, then nodded at Jim and Blair and took off at a fast clip through the forest. Jim doubted that the Mountie saw the look of hurt that flashed so briefly through the Chicago Cop's eyes. Ray hid it quickly, and then turned determinedly back to Jim and Blair.

"Well, times a wastin! Let's get crackin'--" he began, reaching down to grab hold of the long wooden poles of the travois. He started to lift, nearly knocking himself completely off balance as it proved heaver than he expected. The poles slipped from his gloved hands. "Uh... I..."

"Why don't I take the travois," Jim suggested mildly, moving Ray out of position and lifting the ends of the poles almost effortlessly. The other cop just glared at him, then quickly backed down, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket and hunching his shoulders against the cold. He waited for Jim to move, pulling the travois and the body behind him, then fell into step beside Blair as they headed back to the camp.

Dragging the body behind him on the travois, it took Jim nearly twenty minutes to reach the camp he and Blair had left less than an hour ago. Blair frowned somewhat regretfully at Jim as they began breaking down the camp, rolling up the sleeping bags they'd zipped together last night, and tearing down the single tent they shared between them.

"Well, we knew something would happen," Jim apologized.

Blair grinned at him. "Not quite badgers. I wonder who got Mounties in the pool?"

Jim just laughed. "Don't think it came up."

"You need any help there?" Ray asked from across the camp. He was standing near the remains of the campfire, looking both uncomfortable and out of place. Periodically he glanced down at the watch around his wrist.

Jim, about to reply, was startled, when Blair suddenly stopped what he was doing and approached the other detective. "I wanted to ask -- how'd your partner do that licking the leather thing?"

The question was somewhat vague as questions went, but Jim knew exactly what it was Blair was pursuing. He felt that knot of tension return immediately.

Ray too it seemed knew exactly what it was Blair was asking. He just shook his head in disgust. "He licks things -- dirt, shoes, guns -- it's disgusting. He can lick a boulder and tell you how many people walked past it in the last year. He can smell a twig and tell you which bug crawled across it. It's freaky -- he's a freak..." He seemed to suddenly think better of what he said, and glanced almost defensively at Blair. "I mean that in the nicest possible way."

He was gazing expectantly at Blair, his eyes hard as if waiting for Blair to say something derogatory about Fraser. Jim knew Blair could read the message in the cop's eyes just as clearly as he could -- insults toward the Mountie would not be well received. Apparently in Ray's mind, 'freak' was meant as a term of endearment. Not so in Jim's world and he bristled at the implication.

"What about other things -- his hearing for instance?" Blair asked, dealing with the situation simply by ignoring it. "How could he tell what type of plane Lieutenant Fontaine fell out of? I didn't even hear the plane at all."

Ray relaxed his stance, Blair's manner putting him obviously more at ease. "Me neither. Good hearing -- I think it's a Mountie thing. Gotta have good hearing, good eyesight..." As he spoke, he reached into his coat pocket, yanked out a thick pair of prescription glasses, waved them in the air a few times and then stuffed them back into his jacket. "Me -- I can't see worth squat."

"But Fraser has excellent eyesight?" Blair pressed.

Ray nodded. "Yep, can spot a flea on a wolf ten miles away." At that Diefenbaker whined and Ray just glared at him. "On a bear then -- ya happy?" The wolf wagged his tail and Ray just sighed.

"Really?" Blair asked, and Jim could hear the excitement growing in his voice. If what Ray was saying was true -- that was four of the five senses right there. Shit -- Jim shook his head. Just what he needed -- another Sentinel. Granted, this one seemed a far cry from Alex Barnes, and there hadn't been any weird animal spirit visions yet, but Jim didn't think he was ready for the possibility of running across another Sentinel just yet. Maybe one day -- but things with Blair were just starting to go really well. He didn't want the possibility of anything threatening that -- certainly didn't want to face the possibility of having to share his Guide's attention.

Ray too seemed to hear the excitement in Blair's voice and gave him a strange look. "Why d'ya care?"

"Oh!" Blair smiled brightly. "I'm an anthropologist. One of my fields of study is related to people with heightened senses. I've got hundreds of documented accounts of people with heightened senses -- you know like people who work for perfume companies because of a super sense of smell. That sort of thing."

"Oh," Ray frowned. "You mean there's more people like him out there?" He glanced over at Jim briefly as if remembering something, and Jim stiffened, not liking at all where this conversation was going. The man was a detective after all. "You got that smell thing, right? Cuz you could smell the leather and all. That's a lot better than having to lick somethin' man... that's so disgusting." He shook his head and seemed to shrug off the whole conversation as if unimportant, then he glanced impatiently down at his watch.

"Well, what about his sense of touch--" Blair began.

Ray just raised his hands and backed away. "Hey, guys don't talk about that kinda thing!"

Jim almost laughed out loud at the flush that infused his Guide's face. "I didn't mean--"

"I've seen National Geographic. There's nothing but naked people in there," Ray insisted. "I know what you anthropologists think about."

If anything Blair grew redder at that. "I just meant..."

The Mountie in question chose that moment to return, jogging into the clearing with a full pack on his shoulders carrying both his and Ray's belongings. Ray immediately turned toward him. "Yer late!"

Fraser glanced down at his own watch in concern. "Only by forty-five seconds, Ray."

"That's still late," Ray insisted.

Fraser nodded chagrined. "You're right of course. I apologize, Ray. I'm afraid I failed to factor in wind resistance. It won't happen again."

"Well, see that it doesn't," Ray replied as he went to help Fraser off with the pack so he could separate out his own belongings.

Jim, finished with his own packing, tossed Blair's backpack toward him. "Enough with the questions, Chief," he muttered as Blair pulled the pack on.

"But, Jim," Blair began.

"Later," Jim replied more gruffly than he needed to. "There will be time later."

His Guide turned, his wide blue eyes startled by Jim's tone of voice. "I just don't want a repeat of what happened with--"

Jim didn't want him to say the name. "And you think I do?" he snapped, instantly regretting it as he saw the wounded look that flashed briefly through Blair's eyes before being hidden behind a blatantly neutral expression. Jim cursed silently to himself. He hated that look on Blair's face -- hated that he was the one who put it there. "I'm sorry, Chief. It's just--"

"Yeah, I know," Blair smiled, but the distance in his eyes didn't fade. "I get it. It's the whole trust thing. Believe me, I understand." And with that he moved away to the side of the clearing to wait for the others to join him.

Jim stared after him in alarm, an icy emptiness filling his belly. He didn't think Blair understood at all -- trust might be the issue here, but not trust of Blair. He trusted Blair implicitly; he'd hoped by now in this stage of their relationship that Blair understood that. It was the potential of another Sentinel that he didn't trust. But somehow he didn't think Blair saw it that way -- maybe it was the fact that they were lovers now that made this harder, different. There was so much more at stake here. Blair had meant the world to Jim when Alex had first come between them -- how much worse would it be now that they were lovers?

No, it wasn't Blair Jim didn't trust -- it was the whole idea of another Sentinel looking at Blair as a potential Guide. Selfish perhaps -- the very idea that he didn't want Blair helping someone else out who might need guidance with his senses, particularly if it was a decent law-abiding person, but the whole concept bothered Jim. One Guide, one Sentinel -- he didn't want to think about the possibility that it might be different than that. And the moment they had some time alone, Jim intended to explain the difference to Blair -- in detail.

They gathered the last of their things together, shouldered their packs and prepared to head back down to the ranger station. Jim hoisted up the travois first, despite Fraser's insistence that he would carry it. They agreed to trade off periodically so that neither of them would tire out. Then they headed back down the trail Jim and Blair had followed yesterday morning.

Blair, to Jim's consternation, fell into step beside Fraser, and with his hearing dialed up Jim tracked the conversation. They started where they'd left off with a discussion of the various designs of travois. They jumped from there to stories of the Inuit, the breeding habits of Canadian Geese, the environmental impact of logging in South America, the politics of Israel, basket weaving among various tribes in Africa, the aerodynamics of hang gliding, the battle tactics of Napoleon, and finally ended up discussing ancient mythologies which prompted both to begin quoting source material in their original languages. Jim gave up the thread around then, figuring his ancient Babylonian was not up to par.

Normally Blair's brilliance delighted Jim. He'd always been secretly amazed and quietly proud of the young man's mind. But he rarely observed Blair conversing with an intellectual equal -- never really felt so much like an outsider. Jim knew he was no slouch in the brain department --he'd gone to college, had always maintained good grades. He was well-read and kept himself informed -- but the sheer scope of topics Blair and Fraser covered would be beyond the capacity of 99% of society. Seeing Blair with someone who might potentially be an intellectual match for him -- with someone who also might potentially be a Sentinel -- grated in a way Jim had never yet experienced.

The Chicago cop seemed in a similar boat. He walked alongside the two of them for a short while, periodically throwing in a comment or two -- typically something sarcastic that had little to do with the topic. But eventually he grew silent, and finally moved away and fell into step beside Jim. The two of them glanced at each other briefly, smiled in commiseration at each other and then both started chuckling as Blair and Fraser began arguing in Latin.

"Grew up in a library," Ray supplied by way of explanation.

"Blair is a library," Jim responded. And they both just nodded in understanding. They laughed again, and then both sighed, as if deciding that it wasn't really that funny after all. Blair and Fraser remained oblivious.

Eventually Jim gave custody of the travois to Fraser, but even that did nothing to stem the tide of conversation. In self-defense Jim and Ray began talking about the life of a cop in their prospective cities. Chicago, it seemed, was nearly as dangerous as Cascade.

As night began descending, and the temperature threatened to drop lower than it should, they stopped for the night in a small clearing. They secured the body, then Jim and Fraser began quickly and efficiently setting up camp while Ray and Blair gathered wood for a campfire. They scraped together a dinner between their two sets of supplies and ate quickly in deference to the rising wind that was chilling the land so quickly. Fraser alone seemed oblivious of the cold, looking as calm and relaxed as if it were some warm summer twilight. He blithely carried on his conversation with Blair, and if he noticed that the young anthropologist was losing some of his eloquence due to chattering teeth, he politely made no comment.

Eventually irritation and jealousy prompted Jim to put an end to the conversation. "It's late, and Sandburg's cold," he informed Fraser. "And we have a long walk tomorrow. We'll see you in the morning."

"Ah, of course!" Fraser rose to his feet and Jim caught hold of Blair's arm and urged him toward the tent. "Good night, Detective. Good night, Blair."

"Night, Benton," Blair called as he crawled into the tent. Jim spared Fraser and Ray one final glance, noting that Ray had taken the hint and was climbing into the other tent. He too had been shivering rather violently. Diefenbaker stood in the middle of the camp, glancing from one tent to another as if torn with indecision. He crept toward Jim's and Blair's tent, gazing hopefully up at the Sentinel. Jim glared back at him.

"Diefenbaker, don't be rude," Fraser scolded. "You weren't invited." With a shake of his head, the Mountie retired to the tent, and Diefenbaker sighed and lay down near the fire. Satisfied that everyone was where they were supposed to be, Jim crawled into the tent after Blair.

His Guide had already stripped down and climbed into the double sleeping bag. He had his back turned to Jim, his eyes closed, but Jim could see that he was still shivering violently. He wasn't asleep.

Silently Jim stripped out of his own things, pausing only briefly to hunt through his belongings for the tube of lube he'd packed earlier. He spared a brief moment to wonder if perhaps he was being presumptuous, but he quickly pushed it aside. Before running into the Mountie and the Cop, Jim wouldn't have given it a second thought.

He slid quickly into the bag beside his Guide. He wasted no time at all in pulling the young anthropologist into his arm. Blair however did not go as willingly as he had in the past. Jim frowned, his heart pounding nervously in his chest. He felt something hard and primal rearing up inside him, something he tried hard to push down. He wouldn't get angry, wouldn't push Blair if he didn't want to... didn't want to... God, he smelled good! He inhaled deeply, letting his Guide's scent wash over him.

"Damn it, Jim," Blair whispered, Sentinel soft. "You still don't trust me!" He sounded wounded, hurt beyond words. "We've been through this before -- you honestly think anyone, even another Sentinel, could come between--"

"I trust you!" Jim said. "Goddamn it! I trust you -- with my life, with my heart, with my soul. This isn't about me not trusting you!" He buried his face against Blair's neck, nuzzling the pale skin. He felt Blair shiver in his arms, no longer cold.

"Then why did you--" Blair began.

"You want me to explain why the idea of you talking to another Sentinel angers me?" Jim asked. "You want me to explain why watching you so focused on him... watching you and he... the idea of you guiding another Sentinel ..." He was losing track of his words. His body was responding to Blair's nearness, his cock growing hard as heat burned between the two of them. He tightened his arms around his Guide's body. "I can't!" he whispered, feeling that primal thing rising again, desperation coloring all his thoughts. "I can't explain! I don't have the words!" He shifted closer, grinding his hips against Blair's ass, feeling the shudder that ran through his lover's body, hearing the hitch in his throat as he gasped.

"Jim," Blair whispered in protest despite the fact that he pushed his hips back against him, rotating them deliciously. "Jim... they'll hear... He's got heightened hearing... he'll hear..."

There -- that Jim could explain -- that rising sense of possessiveness that reared up to overwhelm him. That and the anger that he must be doing something wrong if Blair could still think clearly enough to worry about what that other potential Sentinel might be thinking.

He slid his hand down Blair's body, thrusting it under his boxer shorts, and grasped his Guide's throbbing erection, stroking it quickly. He heard Blair moan, the sound muffled as his Guide clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle the sounds.

"Good," Jim growled. "Good. Let him hear!" Let him hear so that there would be no doubt at all in his mind of who Blair belonged to -- whose Guide he was... whose lover. He felt a certain degree of satisfaction and lust flare through his body as he saw Blair's eyes widen in shock. He gave Blair's cock several more firm strokes, seeing how Blair bit down on the palm of his hand to stop himself from crying out.

He swiftly rolled Blair over onto his back, yanking his hand away from his mouth. He knew in the dark that Blair couldn't see him -- he'd be nothing more than a shadow looming over him. But he could see his Guide's face clearly -- could see those beautiful eyes wide with surprise and an equal amount of desire and passion. But if Blair was going to stifle his moans, it wouldn't be into his own hand -- it would be into Jim's mouth. He kissed him, hard, demanding, thrusting his tongue between those luscious lips to drink deeply. And Blair responded in kind, his whole body arching up in need as he met Jim's kiss with desperation of his own. And this time when Blair moaned it vibrated through Jim's whole body, setting him on fire.

He shoved Blair's boxers down his legs, yanking off his own in the process and pushing them both down into the bottom of the sleeping bag. Skin against skin, his own cock sliding wonderfully against Blair's, he thrust against his Guide's hips, drinking in another desperate moan.

Blair's arms were around him now, clutching his back, nails digging into hard muscles. Jim arched against that delicious pressure, then thrust down again, groaning himself as his hardened nipples brushed against the fine hair on Blair's chest. He kissed him possessively, hungrily, devouring his mouth and all he had to give. He imagined that tomorrow Blair's lips would be kiss-swollen -- so beautiful; his Guide looked so beautiful writhing beneath him, pale skin flushed with passion, eyes glazed with hunger. Blair no longer made any attempt to stifle his gasps and moans of pleasure -- too far beyond thought to worry about anyone else, let alone another Sentinel.

Jim grasped for the lube he'd set aside, knowing he wasn't going to last much longer. He had to be inside Blair, had to possess him as deeply as possible. Nothing else would satisfy; nothing else would release the terrible grip that primal urgency had caught him in. Unable to spare the attention away from Blair's mouth he frantically searched for the tube with touch alone, closing his hand around it, flipping up the lid and squeezing. As he felt the cool lotion coat his fingers he growled in triumph -- the sound was more animalistic than normal and surprisingly Blair responded with a shudder of intense desire.

It was more than Jim could take, and in seconds he had two fingers buried deep inside his Guide's body. Blair cried out and thrashed his head to one side in a desperate attempt to drag in air. He thrust wildly down on those fingers, urging Jim on. "Please..." he moaned. "Please Jim... now... oh, godddd!"

He thrust harder against Jim's fingers, bringing his knees up to open himself more completely to Jim's touch. The sight of Blair lying like that in the darkness, completely exposed and opened to Jim's every caress, knowing his Guide could see nothing of him in the darkness -- knowing this was an act of utter and complete trust -- nearly undid Jim. No one else, he told himself -- no one else would ever see Blair like this; no one else would ever taste this heaven -- the heaven of Blair's trust, Blair's love. Only him...

He removed his fingers and poised his cock at Blair's opening, pausing only briefly to kiss Blair breathless again. Then he thrust deep inside him, burying himself in that consuming heat. Blair threw his head back, eyes closed, mouth opened in a silent scream -- not stifled this time by fear of who might be listening, but silenced by passion too far beyond sound. But the Sentinel heard it -- deep in his heart he heard it.

"I love you," Jim whispered against Blair's neck as he thrust into him over and over again, his body burning, an explosion rising within him. Blair clung to him, meeting his thrust with his own, his body writhing wildly beneath Jim. He wrapped his legs around Jim's hips, pulling him deeper, more tightly into him.

One word -- one sound only when Blair finally came, his body shuddering violently, uncontrollably as passion took him beyond thought. One word... "Jim!"

And that word was enough to take Jim right over the edge with him.