Blair Sandburg was completely focused on his partner.
Completely and totally focused. It was the only thing that
kept him from noticing his surroundings. He hated heights,
and he *really* hated helicopters, but seemed like every
time he turned around, he found himself in a flying death
trap, high above the ground, doing maneuvers that
threatened to leave the contents of his stomach strewn
across the landscape below. Unfortunately, there was
usually a damn good reason for being in one. This time is
was a fugitive hunt.

Leroy Krandall was a convict, responsible for a string of
robberies in which four innocent bystanders and one cop had
lost their lives. He'd been convicted in large part due to
the testimony of the cop who'd arrested him, Detective Jim
Ellison. But while being transported to a high-security
prison up north the bus had lost its brakes on the wet
roads and crashed. The prisoners had scattered into the
woods, but they had all been recaptured quickly. All, that
is, except Leroy Krandall. Two days later, Krandall was
still on the loose, despite a massive search, so Jim and
Blair were flying over the area in a helicopter while dog
teams scoured the wooded land below.

Blair turned off his headset before turning to Jim. Jim
wouldn't need it to hear him, and it was better that the
pilot didn't. "Okay. He's wearing orange prison coveralls,
unless he's managed to find replacement clothing, and there
isn't much for him to find down there." He glanced at the
"down there" for a moment and shuddered before turning back
to his partner. "I want you to scan the greenery. Don't try
to focus on anything specific. Just look for the flash of
color that doesn't belong." Jim nodded, but didn't answer.

Blair watched Jim carefully. With Jim concentrating on his
eyesight, scanning the landscape below, there was a high
risk of a zone-out. To try to prevent that from happening,
he kept up a running commentary, pitching his voice in the
low, soothing tones that Jim referred to as his "Guide
Voice". The trick to preventing a zone-out in a sentinel --
or at least *this* sentinel -- was to give him something
else to split his focus. In this case, it was a familiar
voice to counter the visual input. If he were scanning for
auditory anomalies, Blair would use touch, keeping a hand
on Jim's shoulder.

After a couple of hours flying the search grid, Blair was
going hoarse. A lot of people would say that it was
impossible for the grad student to talk himself out, but
they were wrong.

The pilot had signaled that they were getting low on fuel
and would have to turn back soon when Jim stiffened.

"What is it?" Blair said, heights completely forgotten.
"Did you see something?"

"No..." Jim went quiet, his head tilted to the side in a
pose that told Blair that he was listening to something.
Then his eyes widened. He leaned forward and grabbed the
pilot's shoulder. "Get us down! There's a problem with the
engine!"

Blair fumbled with the headset controls, trying to get it
turned back on.

"... can't do that. We won't have enough fuel to take off
again."

Jim shook his head. "We have to put down *now*."

"I don't hear anything. I'm turning back. We'll set down at
the airfield, and not before."

The helicopter swung in a wide arc, and Blair reached out
to grab Jim's arm. His harness wouldn't let him fall out of
the helicopter, but he preferred to trust in Jim.

Then he heard something. Barely noticeable.

He froze.

He heard it again. It was like a cough in the engine.

Suddenly, the helicopter jerked to the side. Blair could
hear the pilot cursing, but couldn't understand what he was
saying. He was paralyzed with fear. He'd faced a lot of
things during his time with the Cascade police department -
- serial killers, rogue federal agents, plummeting
elevators and bombs -- but this was worse, somehow.

Perhaps it was because he could see how high they were.

And how fast they were going down.

And they *were* going down. The pilot was fighting with the
controls, but it wasn't doing any good. Blair could see a
sea of evergreen coming towards them and he squeezed his
eyes shut.

Blair wasn't exactly actively religious, but this was one
of those times where that didn't matter. "Shema Yisroel..."
he started to whisper to himself.

Then he slammed forward into his harness as they hit
something, and everything went black.

* * * * *

Waking was slow and painful -- a gradual climb up out of
the darkness.

Blair groaned, and opened his eyes. Light hit like
shrapnel, and he immediately shut them again. A few minutes
later, he cracked them open, experimentally. Finding it not
quite as bad, he opened them the rest of the way.

The helicopter was still upright, if tilted forward at a
noticeable angle. His harness had held, and when he moved
his limbs, it didn't seem like he'd broken anything. His
neck hurt like hell, though. Probably whiplash from the
impact.

He turned his head gingerly to check on his partner. Jim
had been leaning forward when they'd gone down, and he'd
managed to hit his head on something. There was a bruise
quickly turning purple on his forehead. However, he was
breathing, and nothing seemed to be bending where it
shouldn't.

Hissing under his breath as he moved sore limbs, Blair
undid his harness. As it let go, he slid forward, and he
reached out to brace himself against the back of the front
passenger seat.

Once he was sure that he wasn't going to slip or anything,
he leaned forward to check on the pilot. It didn't take a
medical degree to tell that the man was dead. His neck was
bent at an angle impossible to make with an intact spine,
and his eyes were open and staring, already starting to
film over as the eyeball's protective fluid dried.

Blair pushed back, resisting the urge to gag. 'This isn't
your first body,' he told himself, but it wasn't much of a
comfort. He didn't even know the man's name. He wanted to
say a prayer to say for the man's soul, but his mind was a
blank.

A groan brought him back to the here and now, and he turned
his attention to his partner again. "Jim? Jim! C'mon,
Ellison, this isn't exactly something I can deal with."
Since there wasn't even static coming from the headsets, he
assumed that the radio was out, and even if it weren't, he
didn't have a clue which frequency to use.

Jim groaned again, then mumbled something. Blair leaned in
close, but whatever the big guy was saying, it wasn't in
English. He was starting to get worried.

Then Jim's head raised, and he looked around with a dazed
expression. Blair heaved a sigh of relief.

"Jim...," he said, brushing his fingers across the man's
forehead. Jim's head whipped around, then he relaxed. Again
he spoke, and again it wasn't in English. In fact, it
sounded a lot like Quecha, a language spoken by several
South American Indian tribes. Blair shook his head. This
was not good. He knew a few words of the language, but not
enough to carry a conversation. Besides, none of the words
that Jim was using tweaked his memory, which wasn't
surprising considering how many dialects of the language
there were.

"Jim, you're kinda scaring me here," he said. Jim's eyes
didn't seem to hold any recognition, and the fact that he
wasn't reverting to English was worrying.

Jim started fumbling with the straps of his harness. Blair
quickly got the point, and moved to help him. When it was
undone, Jim slipped out the side of the helicopter and held
out his hand, saying something that sounded like an order.
Blair shrugged, wincing at the movement, and moved towards
the doorway.

As he slipped out of the helicopter, Jim was there to catch
him. It was a good thing too, since Blair's legs didn't
seem inclined to support his weight. He hung onto his
partner for a few minutes, waiting for them to firm up to
the point where they weren't going to buckle beneath him.

He was quite happy to stay were he was, but as soon as he
was half-way to steady on his feet, Jim was heading for the
woods, dragging him behind.

"Jim," Blair called out, stumbling a little as he was
pulled along. "Shouldn't we stay with the helicopter?
Rescue's going to be coming any minute, and we don't want
to be too far away."

No answer. Quickly, he realized that he wasn't going to be
able to both talk and watch where his feet were going,
considering the pace that his friend was setting, so Blair
shut up and concentrated on not tripping over his own feet.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before Jim finally
came to a stop, but Blair was exhausted. They were still in
the woods, and had come on a small stream. Blair sank to
his knees gratefully, and used his cupped hands to get a
drink of water.

Once he'd drunk his fill, he sat back on his heels and
looked up at Jim. The man was standing next to him, eyes
fixed on the surrounding greenery. Blair suddenly flashed
back to their recent trip to Peru to rescue Simon and
Daryl, and in his mind, Jim was wearing camo gear and paint
and holding a crossbow. He had the same watchful quality
that he'd had right before the attack on the drug-
processing camp.

"What the hell is going on with you?" he demanded, more
than a little upset. Jim didn't answer. His body was strung
as tight as a guitar string. "Jim?"

Jim raised a finger to his lips, and Blair hushed. He
wasn't sure what was going through Jim's obviously
scrambled brain, but he wasn't going to take chances. If
Jim said "be quiet", he would be quiet.

A minute later he finally heard what Jim heard. A
helicopter.

"Great," he said, bouncing to his feet. "That must be
res..."

All of a sudden, he was under a tree, Jim's arms wrapped
tightly around him and a hand over his mouth. He struggled
for a moment, then gave up. He was no slouch in terms of
physical development, but he didn't have a hope against the
buffed up detective.

Overhead, the sound of the helicopter got louder. In the
back of Blair's mind a voice was screaming at him to get
out there, attract the rescue helicopter's attention
somehow. Unfortunately, Jim wasn't cooperating. Then the
sounds faded, and Jim finally let go.

Blair jerked back, angrily. "What the *hell* is your
problem, man? Are you planning on *hiking* out of here?"

Jim stared back at him, a puzzled expression on his face.
He raised a hand towards Blair, then stopped. "Incacha?" he
asked in a confused tone. It was a word he'd used before,
but this time it definitely sounded like a name.

Finally the pieces clicked. Blair kicked himself. Maybe it
was the crash that had slowed his brain down.

Jim was back in Peru. Or at least his mind was. That was
why he was speaking in an Indian dialect. That was why he
wanted to get away from the helicopter and seemed intent on
avoiding rescue.

It must have been the crash. The blow to his head, combined
with the crash and the pilot being killed, had given Jim
amnesia. He thought he was back in Peru, and that Blair was
someone named "Incacha." Or maybe it *was* just a word?
Blair searched his limited store of Quecha, and couldn't
come up with a match. Fine. He'd assume it was a name.

Jim was obviously also upset. He had a lost look on his
face that nearly broke Blair's heart. It wasn't fair that
someone so big and macho looking could also produce a hurt-
puppy expression that would tug at the heart strings of
even the nastiest of bastards.

Blair stepped towards him, making soothing sounds. "It's
all right, Jim. I'm not upset. A little confused, but not
upset."

As soon as he was close enough to reach, Jim grabbed him
and pulled him into his arms. Blair sighed, and relaxed
into him.

It was kinda nice, in fact. He'd never been hugged like he
was an over-sized teddy bear before. Of course, if he were
a teddy bear, he'd be about to pop his seams.

Finally, Jim's arms loosened, and Blair was able to
reacquaint himself with the concept of breathing. But not
for long. Before he knew it, Jim was headed off into the
woods, and all he could do was follow along and hope that
he could keep up with the big guy.

The things he put up with in the name of friendship.

* * * * *

By the time Jim called for another stop, Blair was reeling.
He might be in good shape compared to most of the academics
at the university, but he was about to faint from
exhaustion.

The light was starting to dim, but Jim wasn't having any
trouble. Not surprising. At least *he* could turn up his
light sensitivity, practically letting him see in the dark
like a cat.

Blair took a look around. They'd pretty much paralleled the
stream; he could still hear the sound of running water not
too far away. Other than that, there wasn't much to see. It
was typical Washington woodlands. Jim tugged at his wrist,
and led him through the trees until he could see that they
were right next to a small rock-face.

It wasn't very high. Ten feet, twenty max. But at the base
was an inky spot that when they got closer turned out to be
a cave. Not very deep; it only went back six or seven feet
and wasn't tall enough to stand up in. But it was shelter,
and since there'd been predictions of rain, shelter was a
good thing.

Blair sat down, not very gracefully. Actually -- if he were
being honest -- he collapsed into an untidy heap. He didn't
much care. He was down and he was going to *stay* that way,
damnit. Jim just babbled off something incomprehensible,
then disappeared.

Actually, it wasn't *completely* incomprehensible. Blair
had recognized one word in the speech: Fire.

That was explained a few minutes later when he reappeared
carrying an armful of mostly-dry wood. With quick,
efficient motions, he cleared an area, piled the wood in a
tidy pyramid and pulled a stone from his pocket. Then he
turned and asked Blair a question.

"Ooookay, what would you be looking for," Blair muttered to
himself. "Matches? Nah." He eyed the stone in Jim's hand
and resisted the urge to smack himself. "Of course. That
would be flint, which means steel to create sparks."

Blair dug around in his pockets, looking for something to
use. He grinned when he found his ever-present Swiss Army
Knife. It had everything, including the previously unused
flint and steel option. He flicked it open and handed it to
Jim, and was rewarded with a bright smile that made him
almost squirm. Even after nearly a year working with the
man, any praise felt good.

It only took Jim a couple of tries to get a spark to light
the tinder. Blair watched as the man coaxed up a good flame
with gentle breaths, then started feeding first twigs, then
small branches to it, the pieces of wood getting
progressively larger. In very little time, Jim had a good-
sized campfire going, for which Blair was very grateful. It
was getting very cold, very fast.

Unfortunately, while they now had a fire going, they didn't
have anything to cook over it. The best Blair could come up
with was a couple of chocolate bars he had stashed in his
coat pocket, and he promptly handed one over to Jim.

Chewing on his own candy bar, he watched Jim. "What is
going on in that mind of yours?" he asked, not expecting a
reply and not surprised when he didn't get one. "I mean,
you obviously think you're in Peru and I'm some native you
knew there, but you have no problem accepting Swiss Army
Knives and chocolate bars. What does it take to knock you
back in the here and now?' He thought about it for a
moment. "If this were fiction it would be easy. Just pick
up a rock or something and bash you over the head with it.
But this isn't fiction, and who knows what result *that*
would have."

Jim just grinned at him, and said something
incomprehensible. Blair shook his head. "Fine. I'm
exhausted. I'm going to see if its possible to fall asleep
under these conditions. Who knows. Maybe when we wake up
you'll be back to normal." And if he believed it hard
enough, maybe it would be true.

The rocky ground was as uncomfortable as it looked, and
despite the fire, it was getting cold. Blair closed his
eyes and tried to find a position that he could fall asleep
in.

He was just starting to drift off finally when he felt
something brush against him.

"Wha...?"

A familiar voice answered with unfamiliar words, and he
relaxed. While Jim spooning up behind him wasn't exactly
something he'd *expected* it was far from unwelcome. With
the fire dying down, it was getting damned cold. Shared
body heat was definitely the way to go.

And Jim definitely made a great space heater. The man gave
off heat like a furnace. Blair gave a little wiggle, trying
to get closer to his very warm and very comfortable
partner, and sighed in contentment. Jim's arms came around
him, holding him tight, and he started feeling truly *safe*
for the first time since he'd realized that the chopper was
going down.

Blair closed his eyes, and started to drift to sleep again.

* * * * *

The helicopter was going down. Below, he could see the
jagged rocks, with the broken carcasses of other aircraft
that had crashed before. His only hope was to get free and
jump. He had a parachute. It would set him down gently.

But his harness wouldn't let go. It wrapped around him,
holding him tight. He struggled with the buckles, but they
were welded shut.

He thrashed around, trying to get free. The ground was
getting closer, and he sobbed in terror...

And then he woke.

Blair gasped, staring into the dark. It wasn't a harness
holding him, it was Jim. He relaxed, only slightly ashamed
of having fallen apart like that. As Spock would have said:
the cause was sufficient.

Now the arms around him loosened. One hand started running
up and down his arm in a soothing gesture, while no doubt
comforting words were murmured in his ear. Blair took a
deep breath and relaxed further, pressing against the solid
bulk of the other man.

Then stiffened.

Jim had buried his face in the curls at the back of Blair's
neck and was nuzzling at the skin there. Blair gasped as
the other man nipped at the sensitive skin.

"Jim?"

"Incacha," the man purred in his ear. The stroking was
changing from being comforting to being something else.

In fact, it was starting to feel downright sexual!

Blair twisted in Jim's arms so that they were face to face.
Unfortunately it was so dark that he couldn't see the other
man's expression. Lack of light didn't seem to be a problem
with Jim, though. His mouth came down unerringly onto
Blair's, and all Blair could do was hang on for the ride.

Damn, the man could kiss. He didn't think that there was
any spot in his mouth that Jim didn't examine. Blair
couldn't understand why Jim never seemed to get second
dates. If he had a date who could kiss like this, he'd be
on her doorstep every night.

And Jim's hands weren't idle during this either. They were
running all over Blair's body, tugging at his buttons and
fly, slipping under his shirt to stroke Blair's chest,
tweak his nipples. One pinch that bordered onto pain made
Blair's entire body spasm in reaction, and he latched onto
Jim, trying to give as good as he got.

In the back of his mind, his conscience was screaming at
him. He was taking advantage of his roommate here. His
*straight* roommate.

Then a hand slipped inside his pants and started to stroke
his cock with practiced competence and the little voice had
to backpedal. No way was Jim this good at handling someone
else without previous experience.

"Incacha..." the man moaned against Blair's neck. The
vibration was incredible.

So, modify to the image. Incacha was a native he knew in
Peru. Incacha was male. Incacha and Jim were lovers. Jim
thought *he* was Incacha, which meant that he wanted to...

Blair's brain shut down at that point. Suddenly every wet-
dream he'd ever had of his partner was running through his
mind at full speed, and his body was enthusiastically
endorsing the notion of letting Jim make a few of them come
true. The one little voice was still pointing out that it
would be dishonest to do this when Jim wasn't in his right
mind, but it was rapidly being drowned out by all the other
voices.

Besides, while he doubted that Jim would *rape* him, the
other man was certainly big enough that if he got carried
away there would be little Blair could do to stop him.

Then a particularly inventive tickle to his balls brought
him screaming back to reality. Literally.

Blair lay there panting, trying very hard not to come on
the spot. His hand shot down and grabbed Jim's wrist,
holding that maddening hand still for a moment. A rich
chuckle filled the darkness, telling him that Jim wasn't
taking offense or feeling rejected.

Once his breathing was back under control, Blair loosened
his grip, but didn't let go completely. "All right, Jim of
the Jungle," he muttered under his breath. "If we're going
to do this, then we're going to do it *right*."

He reached down between them and started tugging at the
button-fly on Jim's jeans. "Damnit, why couldn't you be
wearing a normal zipper fly," he muttered, learning once
again that button flies were damn difficult to open when
you weren't the one wearing them. "Then again," he said as
one slip of the hand gave him a *very* good idea of Jim's
size and arousal, "maybe zippers wouldn't be such a good an
idea in your case."

But finally grit and determination won out, and Jim's jeans
were pushed down over his hips and his briefs soon
followed. Other than that, Blair didn't remove much. Jim
might be a great space-heater, but it was too damn cold to
get completely naked.

Pity.

Latching onto Jim's mouth again, Blair started to stroke
the other man's cock. It was one hell of a handful, and
finally he had to resort to using both hands. Jim was
moaning and writhing against him in a way that was almost
enough to make him blow his *own* load right then and
there. Blair grinned, and picked up the pace.

Suddenly, two hands fastened around his wrists, hard a
steel, and his hands were dragged away from their task, and
Blair had to restrain himself from whining at having his
new toy taken away.

Jim said something in a playful tone, and pressed Blair's
hands into the ground, out to either side, then let go.
When Blair moved, he grabbed the wrists again, and pressed
them down.

"Ooookay," Blair said. "I get the idea." He moved again,
but this time it was just to spread his arms out to the
side a little further, and to spread his legs a little,
offering himself up to his partner. In his mind he could
see the grin on the other man's face, even though the
darkness meant he couldn't confirm it. Didn't matter. Just
the mental image was enough to make his cock spring a
little more to attention. Jim's grin was something he
loved. It turned an often grim man into a playful little
boy.

Again he heard that wonderful, rich chuckle. It was a sound
he'd never heard from the man before, and to which he was
quickly becoming addicted.

Holding still, Blair waited to see what Jim would do next.
He didn't have to wait very long. Blair groaned as a warm
hand once again wrapped itself around his dick. The feeling
sent a jolt up his spine were it clashed with the jolt
coming down that resulted from the lick, nip and suck at
the tender flesh right below his Adam's apple. The two
sensations met and merged somewhere in his chest, and he
suddenly found it very difficult to breathe inside the
confines of the tiny cave.

Then Jim was slowly pushing his undershirt up and out of
the way. His already hard nipples hardened further as the
cold night air hit them, but they didn't stay cold for
long. One was engulfed in a moist, hot mouth, and the other
was covered with the palm of Jim's free hand. The hand just
rubbed lightly in circles, rolling the little nub of flesh
in ways that quickly had Blair moaning. Then Jim rolled
over on top of him and switched nipples. Now the other was
being suckled in a slow soothing way while the other was
given the palm treatment, the feel of cooling saliva
sending shivers down his back.

As Jim's lips moved further south, he rolled back Blair's
shirt bit by bit. He caught his chest hairs with his teeth
and tugged. He tongued his navel and twisted its ring. Jim
had joked once about Blair having a nipple ring, and Blair
had played along with the joke. Fact was, he had no
interest in nipple rings. Navel rings, though, he found a
turn-on, and he'd gotten one for himself as a present for
his twentieth birthday. It had been that or a tattoo, but
he wasn't sure that he really wanted something on his body
that he *couldn't* take off, despite the jokes.

But he still hadn't gotten to the spot where Blair wanted
him the most. His cock was standing at attention, pre-cum
dribbling down the sides, and he needed *relief*! He
needed...

Oh, yeah! *That* was what he needed. Jim's mouth wrapped
around Mr. Happy. His tongue was doing things that were
verging on obscene. His hands were doing things to Blair's
testicles that were verging on heavenly. All in all, Mr.
Happy was *very* happy.

And then Mr. Happy was very limp too, along with the body
that Mr. Happy was attached to. Blair stared up into the
blackness, panting slightly and thanking every god and
goddess of the erotic that he could think of, and with his
studies he could think of a lot...

Finally it occurred to him that while he and Mr. Happy had
been made very happy, Jim hadn't gotten a hell of a lot in
return.

"Jim?" he said, reaching over to where he could feel heat
radiating.

Again that warm chuckle surrounded him, making him feel
warm and protected. He reached for the source, but again
was stopped.

This time Jim rolled him over onto his side, facing away
from his roommate -- cave mate? -- and spooned up behind
him. For a moment Blair panicked, wondering if Jim was
going to try fucking him. Not that he had any real
objections to the idea, mind you, but they didn't have the
necessaries, and from the feel of the chunk of flesh
pressing against his buttock, spit wasn't going to cover
things. Pun intended.

He needn't have worried, though. Even suffering from
amnesia, his Blessed Protector would never hurt him. Jim
squeezed a little closer, and his rather sizeable erection
slipped between Blair's thighs as if that was where it had
always been meant to be. Blair grinned, remembering past
experiences of being on the other side of this maneuver,
and squeezed his thighs together a little tighter.

The response was what had to be the sexiest growl he had
ever heard in his life. Jim's arms tightened around him,
and his cock started see-sawing between his legs, nudging
Blair's balls with every thrust. Small aftershocks were
going through Blair's body, but he was in no condition to
get hard again. He'd blown his wad, and that was it for the
night.

Finally, Jim froze and his cock throbbed, unloading all
over Blair's thighs and genitals.

They lay there for a moment, both breathing hard. Then
Blair shifted, and grimaced. How the hell was he going to
be able to get back to sleep when he was wet and sticky?

Jim obviously had an answer for that. He pulled away, and
rolled Blair onto his back. Then he proceeded to clean up
every drop on Blair's skin, leaving behind only a slight
layer of saliva. Once he was sure that Blair was completely
clean (and wondering if maybe he *was* going to get it up
twice that night) he considerately tucked Blair back into
his briefs and jeans and did him up.

Blair wanted to return the favor, but everything that had
happened during the day caught up with him suddenly,
leaving him limp and barely awake. Dimly he was aware of
Jim cleaning himself and doing up his own clothing. Then
Jim was spooned up behind him again, once more providing
heater service.

"Thanks," Blair murmured, almost asleep. Jim said something
in reply, but it didn't register. He was asleep.

This time, there were no dreams

* * * * *

Blair woke the next morning; stiff, sore and disoriented
but feeling strangely better than he could remember feeling
in a long time.

He was also alone.

He stretched, and bit back a groan as muscles made stiff by
a night spent sleeping on the cold, hard ground protested.
Moving carefully, he left the cave.

Outside, he found Jim carefully scanning the surrounding
woods. He turned as Blair came towards him, and smiled.

"Morning, Jim," Blair said. More than anything, he wanted a
hot shower, breakfast, a toothbrush and for Jim to say
"Morning, Chief" back, and not necessarily in that order.

Unfortunately, there was no running hot water in the middle
of the woods, nor was there even a Denny's. He'd foolishly
left his toothbrush at home (something he wouldn't do
again) and Jim answered him still speaking Quecha.

Blair heaved a sigh. "So what's on the agenda for today?"
he asked, wondering why he bothered. "Hiking back to
civilization, I can only hope? Or running around playing
Lord of the Flies?"

Jim turned and headed for the cover of the woods, calling
out to Blair as he went. Blair sighed again, and followed a
bit slower than he would normally. For a moment he
considered rebelling; just sitting down and refusing to
move. He was stiff and sore and he wanted to go home. Then
common sense reasserted itself, and he headed after his
Sentinel. Jim was unarmed -- as usual, since he'd always
seemed to manage to lose his gun *somehow* -- and knowing
the man, he'd probably run into some woman with lust in her
heart and larceny on her mind -- something that happened
to Jim about as often as losing his gun. And while Blair
was protective of Jim under usual circumstances, after the
night before he was feeling bloody possessive too.

Jim was his, damnit, and by God he was going to keep him.

Jim's voice called out from up ahead, and while Blair might
not understand the words, he could hear the "hurry up,
would you" in the tone.

If they got out of this in one piece and Jim back to his
senses, he was going to get Jim to teach him Quecha. After
all, Jim got whacked on the head almost as often as he lost
his gun and ran into the wrong sort of woman, so who knew
if this might happen again.

Of course, before he did that he was going to kill the man
from putting him through this. Then he was going to fuck
the man through his mattress. *Then* they could discuss
language lessons.

Assuming that Jim wanted *him*, he suddenly realized, a
shiver of dread going through him. After all, Jim hadn't
made love to Blair Sandburg last night, he'd made love to
*Incacha*. That didn't necessarily mean that he would want
Blair after he came back to his senses (and he would, Blair
told himself sternly).

A third and even more impatient call from Jim jolted him
out of his incipient depression. "I'm coming," he called
back, picking up the pace. One thing at a time, he reminded
himself. And the first thing was to get Jim back to his
normal, anal-retentive, rule-making, "Sandburg" growling,
gruff, loveable self.

And into a hot shower with lots of suds and hopefully a bit
of wild sex too.

The image buoyed his spirits, and he grinned at the waiting
Jim, who rewarded him with another of those little boy
grins. It was going to be a *great* day.

* * * * *

A few hours later, Blair had changed his mind. It was a
sucky day. In fact, it was an *unbelievably* sucky day.
While the sun had been shining when they'd left their
makeshift camp, it had quickly disappeared. Instead, it had
gotten colder and the normal weather patterns for this part
of Washington State had reasserted themselves.

Translation: It was pissing down rain.

Blair pushed the sodden mess that *had* been his hair out
of his face and suppressed a shiver as yet another rivulet
of cold rain-water sneaked past his collar and down his
spine. He was wet and miserable and hungry, but Jim was
still going strong.

They'd also been going up for the last half-hour. He was
beginning to feel like they were trying to climb Mt.
Everest and he was exhausted.

Finally, they broke through the trees, and Blair had to
gasp. He hadn't realized how high they'd gotten. They were
standing on the edge of a cliff, and the valley they'd
crashed in spread out below them, a sea of green that
shimmered in a stray bit of sunshine that had somehow
managed to poke through the clouds. Eyes glued on the
sight, Blair sat down on a convenient rock and just looked.
He really didn't like heights, but this wasn't the same.
Looking out *over* the valley was fine. He just wasn't
going to get close enough to the edge to look *down*.

"Incacha?"

Jim had finally noticed that he'd stopped, and was looking
worried. Blair waved to him.

"Just admiring the view, Jim. And trying to catch my
breath," Blair added under that breath.

Jim seemed to get the idea, and sat down next to Blair.
After fighting with his admittedly weak conscience for a
moment, Blair edged closer to Jim and gave a sigh of
contentment when an arm came around his shoulders. Partly
it was the companionship, but mostly it was because he
*damned* cold and as he'd found out the night before, Jim
was a great heat source.

Blair was relaxed, his eyes starting to drift shut, when
Jim suddenly pulled away. Brought to full waking by the
unexpected move, Blair glanced around in confusion.

"What is..." he started to say, but Jim waved him silent.

"Well, isn't *this* cute."

Blair hissed at the sarcastic tone. Looking to the right,
he was depressingly unsurprised when Leroy Krandall stepped
into view. It figured that with Jim not in his right mind
it would be the criminal they were hunting who found them,
not rescue.

Krandall didn't look too good, though. He was covered in
bruises, no doubt from the bus wreck, and his prison
coveralls were torn and mud-stained. His blond hair hung
lankly around his face, and the handsome features that had
put him on the front page of the paper so often were
twisted into an unattractive sneer. He also seemed to be
favoring his left side a little. However, he did have the
drop on them, and in his right hand he had one of the guns
that the prison transport guards had been carrying. There'd
been two on the bus, and only one had been recovered. It
figured that Krandall would have the other. Jim's gun was
somewhere down below, lost in the crash.

That all added up to a nasty grin on the killer's face.
"Somebody must like me," he said in a gloating voice as Jim
and Blair slowly stood up. "r the person I *really* wanted
to see. You and me, we've got a score to settle, Detective
Ellison."

Jim made a low sound in the back of his throat that sounded
suspiciously like a growl. Without warning, he shoved Blair
to the side. Blair made an unimpressive squawk as he hit
the ground and his foot twisted unpleasantly beneath him.
He hissed under his breath as he rolled to the side and
decided that his ankle was just twisted, not broken. No
thanks to mister throw-back of course. Yet another reason
to kill him before fucking him.

The sound of a shot distracted him from the pain his foot,
though. Twisting his head, he saw Jim knock the gun out of
Krandall's hands, despite the fact that he was bleeding. It
was a little hard for Blair to tell, considering how fast
Jim was moving, but it looked like the bullet had gone
through his bicep. Blair had to bite his tongue to keep
from making a sarcastic comment about ducking; he didn't
want to distract his partner. Jim losing this fight would
be a bad thing. For *both* of them.

It was like a force of nature. Like watching an
irresistible force hitting an immovable object. It was like
watching two mountain rams butting heads for no other
reason than to impress the ladies. Blair groaned and
watched the two men duking it out. At least he was spared
the macho posturing that usually went along with these
sorts of fights; Jim didn't remember English and Krandall
was just barely holding his own.

Unfortunately, he was holding his own while also trying to
reach the gun again. Blair glanced around, looking for some
way to make sure that Krandall *didn't* reach it. Luckily,
the gun was right near the edge of the cliff. Blair found a
good sized rock and tossed it up and down experimentally,
Blair took aim, waited for his chance, and pitched.

Yes! He hadn't been best Little League pitcher as a kid for
nothing. The rock hit the gun at just the right angle,
giving it the nudge it needed to go skittering off the
edge, just as Krandall dived for it.

The gun disappeared from sight, and Krandall roared in
anger. Immediately he turned towards Blair, ignoring Jim.
"I'm going to *kill* you, you little fucker," he snarled as
he advanced.

Blair quickly backed away, crab-walking in a way that had
his ankle screaming obscenities at him. Luckily, while
Krandall may have forgotten Jim, Jim hadn't forgotten him.

Jim threw himself at Krandall, knocking him to the ground.
They both picked themselves up, and the fight was back on.
This time, though, Krandall wasn't splitting his attention
between Jim and the gun; all his attention was on Jim.

Blair winced as a blow to the side of Jim's head sent the
man reeling, quickly followed by a second blow. A third
blow sent Jim falling backwards, falling towards the cliff.
For a moment, everything slowed down until it seemed like
Blair was watching it in slow motion. A shout caught in his
throat, threatening to strangle him, as he watch Jim fall
towards the edge of the cliff.

Jim hit the ground, his head hanging over the edge,
dangerously close to falling over. That was when Blair
finally noticed that Jim had grabbed onto Krandall's
coveralls as he had gone down, pulling Krandall after him.
A raised foot caught Krandall in the stomach, and the leg
attached to the foot straightened, sending Krandall sailing
up... up...

And over the edge of the cliff.

Blair closed his eyes, but he couldn't block the sound of
Krandall's screams as he fell. Blair's whole body shuddered
as he heard the dull thud that ended the scream. And even
then, he waited a full minute before opening his eyes
again.

He and Jim were alone with the beautiful view again. Blair
shifted, and groaned. Then he noticed that Jim wasn't
moving.

"Jim!" He ignored the shooting pains from his ankle and
crawled over to where his partner lay on the ground. A
quick check showed that the man was breathing, but there
were new bruises already forming on his face and forehead.

"Stupid, idiot Sentinel," Blair muttered to himself while
making sure that Jim was in no danger of rolling off the
edge of the cliff and joining Krandall down below. He was
very carefully not looking down. He *really* didn't like
heights. Especially heights with a body at the bottom.
"Jumping onto helicopters and horses and trains, fighting
on the edge of cliffs. You are *not* Superman, you know."

A low groan answered him. "Not so loud, Chief," Jim
whispered back.

Blair froze for a moment. "Jim?" he asked, certain that
he'd misheard.

Jim rolled over on his side, groaning. "Oh, my aching
head," he mumbled.

Blair felt a wave of relief run through him, followed by a
wave of dread. He had *his* Jim back, but what did the man
remember? Did he remember making love the night before?
Would he think that Blair took advantage of him? Would he
regret it? Would he even be interested in Blair as Blair,
not as a substitute Incacha?

"Maybe I *should* have wacked you over the head with a
rock," Blair said, covering up his anxieties with a light-
hearted joke. "It seems to have done the trick."

Jim's eyes opened, and he was relieved to note that the
pupils were the same size. "Trick?" Jim asked suspiciously.

Blair went blank for a moment, wondering what he should
tell Jim. "Well," he finally settled on. "You dragged me
all over the woods playing Jim of the Peruvian Jungle since
the crash yesterday afternoon."

"Peruvian jungle?" Jim asked plaintively.

"Yep," Blair said, starting to grin at the other man's
discomfort. "Hiding from search parties, talking only in
some dialect of Quecha, calling me Incacha. Who's Incacha?"
he asked, giving in to his curiosity.

Jim sat up carefully, and they moved away from the edge.
"Incacha was shaman to the Chopec; the tribe I lived with
in Peru. He was a... friend."

A friend, huh, Blair thought to himself. Maybe more than a
friend? "Well, I hurt, I'm hungry and we're half-way up a
mountain-side," he told his partner. "Any ideas how we get
out of here?"

Jim looked like he was thinking about it for a moment. "We
could always take another helicopter ride," he said, the
corner of his mouth quirking up.

Blair snorted. "What helicopter?" he asked.

Jim grinned. "The one coming into view right... now."

As he said the last word, Blair heard the distinctive
'thwup-thwup' of a helicopter rotor. Looking out over the
valley, he saw a glint of metal moving, and after a minute
was able to make out a helicopter flying towards them.

"Jim?" he almost moaned.

"Yeah, Chief?"

"Are you sure we can't just walk?"

* * * * *

Blair breathed a huge sigh of relief as he walked through
the door to the loft. For a moment he considered dropping
to his knees and kissing the floor, but decided that
getting back to his feet and finding his cane again would
be more trouble than the gesture was worth.

Instead he settled for flopping down on one of the couches
and sighing again, this time in pleasure. He'd had a hot
shower at the ranger station, and a trip to the hospital
had determined that his foot wasn't broken; he just needed
a tensor bandage and cane to help his walking for a few
days. Now what he wanted was a large meal to supplement the
sandwich he'd had earlier and a good night's sleep on a
good mattress.

Oh yeah, and he wanted to nail his Sentinel to that
mattress first. However, Jim didn't seem to remember a
thing between the helicopter going down and getting wacked
on the head by Krandall, including having hot sex with his
Guide in a cave. Blair had wanted to bring up the subject,
but they hadn't had a moment alone together since Simon had
shown up with rescue.

But now they were alone. Just the two of them, along with a
huge bag of takeout that they'd picked up on the way home
from the hospital. As Jim unpacked the takeout Indian food,
Blair decided that conversation could wait. He wanted
*food*.

Blair started to climb to his feet again, but Jim waved him
to stay seated. He put the food on a tray, along with
utensils, and carried it out to the living room, placing it
on the coffee table in front of Blair, no doubt in open
defiance of at least three house rules. He placed a pillow
next to the tray, and indicated for Blair to rest his
injured foot on it.

"Thanks," Blair said, grabbing for a container of vegetable
biryani and a fork. He stuffed a forkful of the savory
mixture into his mouth, then reached for the chicken curry.
"Pass the nan, would ya Jim?" he mumbled around the
mouthful.

Looking slightly bemused, Jim handed over one of the flat
breads. Blair nodded his thanks, then settled down for some
serious eating. It had been a long thirty-six hours and he
was *hungry*.

When he finally came up for air his stomach was happy and
there was nothing edible left. Feeling a little guilty, he
checked to make sure that yes, Jim had gotten more than a
few crumbs to feed his *own* sizeable appetite.

Then he noticed the frown on Jim's face. "Jim?"

Jim shook his head, obviously dragging himself back to the
present. "Chief--" he said, then stopped.

"Yeah?" Blair said, getting worried himself.

"There's something you should probably know about
Incacha... and me," Jim said, then stopped again.

"You mean that the two of you were lovers?" Blair said,
deciding to take pity on the poor guy. "I kinda figured
that one out."

Jim turned red. "I keep getting flashes of a cave. Did I...
do something I shouldn't have last night?"

Blair sighed. He'd sort of hoped they wouldn't have to have
this conversation, but in a way he was relieved. "You mean
besides giving me the best blow-job I've had in my life?"
he said, trying to keep things light.

It didn't work. Jim's face crumpled. "Chief, I'm sorry. If
you want to file charges, I won't argue."

Blair's jaw dropped. How could Jim think he'd want to...
"Of course I'm not going to press charges! Why would I do
that?"

"I raped you."

Blair snorted at the flat statement. "Like they say, you
can't rape the willing. I wasn't exactly an unwilling
participant in the whole thing."

That got Jim's attention. "You weren't?"

Blair shook his head. "Nope. One hundred percent,
enthusiastically involved. If anyone took advantage, it was
me. After all, you weren't exactly in your right mind." He
held out his wrists. "So, do *you* want to press?"

Jim looked horrified. "Of course not!"

"Well then, there's no problem. Just one question."

"Yes?" Jim sounded a little suspicious.

"Do we forget about it?" Blair let his voice trail off
suggestively.

"Or?"

"Or do we go to bed?"

Jim blinked. He looked confused in an almost endearing way.
"Bed?"

Blair rolled to the side and up onto his knees facing Jim.
"Bed," he said in best seductive purr. "So I can return the
favor."

Jim's face went blank. "You don't owe me anything, Blair,"
he said, the use of Blair's proper name showing how serious
he was.

Blair sat back with a sigh. "I wouldn't be repaying a debt
or anything," he replied. "I know I'm not Incacha, but I do
care. A lot. Sometimes I think maybe too much. Listen,
forget I said anything. I'll see you in the morning."

He climbed to his feet and reached for his cane, but a hand
grabbed his wrist first. "Chief, this isn't something you
have to do."

Blair rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I don't do pity
fucks, Jim. If you want me, I'm yours. If you don't, then
this conversation never happened. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Night, Jim."

Blair tried to take a step forward, then realized that Jim
hadn't let go of his wrist. Instead, Jim was pulling him
back down onto the couch. "Jim?"

"I want you."

The little voices were jumping for joy at those three
words, but Blair played it safe. "You sure about that,
Jim?" he asked seriously. "Like I said, I don't do pity
fucks and despite my reputation, I don't do one night
stands. *Especially* not with a friend."

Jim slowly pulled him closer and closer. Once he was close
enough to suit the man, Jim reached up and cupped Blair
face, drawing him for a deep kiss.

When they separated, they were both breathing heavily. Jim
ran his hand over Blair's cheek, the rasp of Blair's
stubble loud in the sudden silence. Blair held still and
waited.

"I know my track-record is shakier than yours," Jim finally
said. "But I want you, and not just for one night. So
unless you don't want *me*, how 'bout we go to bed?"

Blair couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his
face, and he saw a matching grin bloom on Jim's face.
"Sounds good to me," he said, then pulled away and headed
for the stairs as fast as he could on his injured foot.

He had just made it to the bottom of the steps when a
laughing Jim Ellison caught up with him. Suddenly he found
himself face down over the other man's shoulder, looking
straight at his world-class ass flexing as he climbed the
stairs.

"Wait a second," he said through his own laughs. "I am
*not* a sack of potatoes."

"Yeah, but if I wait for you to get up the stairs on your
own *I'll* be an old man."

Blair wriggled a little as a warm hand cupped one of his
ass-cheeks and started rubbing in small circles. "So
instead you're going to throw out your back, and *I'll* be
an old man before you can actually *do* anything."

In answer to that, Blair found himself airborne. He landed
on the king-sized bed with a bounce that left him
breathless. Looking up, he found Jim grinning at him while
rubbing at his back.

"Told ya so," Blair said with a smirk.

Jim started stripping quickly, clothes being tossed
everywhere in a most un-Jim-like way. "Don't think it's
going to slow me down, Chief," he warned as he got naked.

Blair snickered, then started to pull at his own clothing.
A low growl stopped him. He looked at Jim and raised one
eyebrow.

Jim pouted a little. "I wanna do that," he said in a mock-
whine.

"Well then, hurry up," Blair told him, settling back
against the pillows.

Hurry up he did. As soon as Jim was completely naked, he
was all over Blair. Blair grinned as his clothes were
stripped away, quickly and efficiently. The only thing that
slowed Jim down was making sure he didn't jar Blair's foot
as he stripped off pants and underwear.

Then he fell on Blair like a starving man on a fine steak.
The man was incredibly oral in his attentions. Every bit of
flesh was licked, nibbled, sucked and tasted, until Blair
was almost a quivering wreck.

Jim's reaction to finding the navel ring was interesting,
though. Blair laughed as the man stared in shock, then
nearly drooled. "No nipple ring," Blair said. "Hope this is
an adequate substitute."

Jim didn't reply. He just dipped his head and started
tonguing the small metal loop and the hollow it was
attached to. Blair squirmed and gasped as the almost
electric shocks ran straight to his groin, reminding him
once again of his intentions. He grabbed onto Jim's ears
and forced him away from his new toy.

Jim looked disappointed, but Blair pulled him up for a kiss
that made him smile again.

"So, Mr. Always Prepared," Blair said. "Got condoms and
lube?"

"Depends on what for," Jim said in a tone that could only
be described as coy.

Blair blinked a little in surprise. "Because unless you say
no, I'm going to fuck you through the mattress, and maybe
even into the bedroom below," he replied.

If Jim's grin had been any brighter, Blair would have
needed sunglasses. Jim rolled over and started rummaging
through the bedside table's drawer.

In short order he'd produced three different types of
condom and two types of lube. Considering them carefully,
Blair took a basic smooth condom (he did *not* want to know
what his dick would look like in the nub-covered one) and
the unscented lube (fewer chemicals to irritate his
Sentinel's sensitive skin).

Blair rolled on the condom carefully, trying not to over-
stimulate his already over-stimulated cock. "Roll over,
hands and knees," he ordered, warming some of the lube in
his palm.

Jim rolled over so fast that he almost rolled right off the
bed. He dropped his head and raised his ass, giving it a
little wiggle as he did so. Blair grinned at the sight and
wondered how he'd ever managed to convince himself that his
roommate was straight.

Jim might not be fully straight, but it had been a while
for him, Blair discovered as he inserted the first finger.
The muscles clamped down so hard that he winced. He'd eat
his laptop if Jim had done this since returning from Peru.

But with a little coaxing, the sphincter muscles loosened
until Jim was taking two then three fingers, rocking back
against them and making little sounds in his throat that
had Blair almost ready to explode. Finally, he arranged
himself so that his ankle wasn't strained, then entered Jim
with one long, steady push.

They both shouted as Blair's pelvis slapped against the up-
turned ass. They paused for a few deep breaths, then Jim
shifted in a way that drove all thoughts from Blair's head.
His hips started thrusting, hard and fast, and if he'd been
*able* to think he would have realized he was going to
leave bruises on Jim's shoulders, he was gripping so hard.

Not that that seemed to bother the man. Jim was thrusting
back just as hard, clamping down to milk Blair's cock every
time it withdrew. In very little time -- or an eternity
later -- Blair shouted as he came, then collapsed across
Jim's back, pressing him down into the mattress.

After a few moments, Jim shifted a little and Blair
realized that once again, Jim had been left behind.

He shifted his grip to Jim's hips and started making tiny
thrusts with his now-softening dick, humping Jim in a way
that was making Jim hump the bedspread. After a moment, Jim
was moving with him and they were working to increase the
friction. Finally Jim groaned, then relaxed into the
mattress, Blair spread out on top of him and still buried
in his ass.

Blair rubbed his cheek against Jim's back, already relaxing
towards sleep. Okay, the air was a little chilly, but his
Jim-mattress was warming his front quite nicely.

"Blair?"

Blair grumbled in displeasure as his mattress shifted
beneath him.

"Chief? Please? I'm in the wet spot. If we get under the
covers, I won't be."

Blair sighed, then pulled away. Jim removed the used condom
from his cock and discarded it. He lay there limp as Jim
maneuvered him under the covers and curled around him.
Blair nipped at the closer pec, the soothed the red spot
with a lick.

Jim's arms tightened around him and the man made a noise
that sounded suspiciously like a purr. "Beautiful, Chief.
Just beautiful."

"Fine," Blair mumbled back. "You can return the favor
sometime. But Jim?"

"Yes?"

"Tomorrow you start teaching me Quecha. Just in case you
get whacked on the head again."

"Whatever you say, Chief. Whatever you say."

THE END