Eye of the Storm

Al let me drift a long time, not quite sleeping but not really thinking either, which was a relief. Though there was no subjective way to be sure, it seemed to me that orgasm was much more powerful for me now, and it took longer for me to recoup than it used to. The afterglow was better too, but I think that was Al's doing, not mine. He snuggled unselfconsciously, petting and kissing, obviously enjoying it as much as he did foreplay.

Or about anything else that had to do with sex. I smiled and nipped at a finger that traced out the edges of it.

"And you think I get smug," Al rumbled, voice deeper than usual and reverberating in his chest.

"That's not smug," I objected. "That's pure happiness. I leaned up on my elbow so I could look down into his face. He looked delightfully mussed and sated, and I snatched a kiss. "Thank you. That was wonderful."

He snatched back the kiss, the asked curiously, "Why do you do that? Thank me, I mean? It's not like I don't get as much out of it as you do."

It was a good question, but I didn't want to answer it and spoil the cozy mood between us. So I said lightly, "If you know I appreciate your love-making, you're more likely to want to do it again. As soon as possible, I hope." I tried out a leer, which must have been only partially successful; Al shook his head at me, wearing a bemused look.

"And you accuse me of being a sex maniac," he mock-groused. "You're going to wear me out, Sam."

I sat up, pulling my clothes together, not surprised by now when there was no physical trace of my finish. "Yeah, right," I shot back.

"Hey, I'm an old man." Al sat up, too, clothes already immaculate. "Two, three times an hour is all I can manage now."

Laughing, I said, "I ought to make you prove that."

"Good idea," he answered promptly. "We haven't had a honeymoon yet, and I like the idea of keeping you in bed, naked and horny, for a week or so. Someplace nice like Tahiti or Paris."

"What difference does it make how nice it is if we never see anything but the bedroom?" I asked reasonably. "Might as well be in a cozy cabin in the woods; want to start looking?"

Without warning Al sobered, running a finger along my jaw line. "You wouldn't be able to relax and let go until we take care of Sammy Jo; we might as well try that rainbow of futures thing now and get it out of the way."

"You said that it was too dangerous." It took an effort, but I kept accusation - and surprise - out of my voice.

"It is," Al said firmly. "But I keep thinking about Benjamin Franklin. Flying a kite in a thunderstorm was stupid, but if he hadn't, who knows how long it would have taken to prove that lightening was electricity? Aren't you the one who claims that single thing led to man taming electricity, which, in the long run, led directly to the electronic age?"

I shook my head at him in exasperation and amusement, but I didn't refute his argument, though I had made that statement during one of those late-night bull sessions you can get into when you're totally exhausted and a little silly from overwork. He took it for encouragement and went on. "Anywho, we're here, and putting Time right is a hell of a big job, and I guess if it's dumb not to play with lightning, it's completely stupid not to try anything you can that might turn out to be useful." He finished sounding defensive, plainly bothered by what he had to see as giving in, and I moved back into his arms for a fast hug.

He hung on tightly and that told me what I needed to say. "I'll be careful," I promised. "And you can stop me anytime it starts looking bad, okay?"

Moving away but staying close enough for me to feel his heat, Al said, "Back to being the observer. Some things never change, uh, Sam?"

"I don't want some things to change," I told him softly, smiling.

That earned me a pretty good 'take', then he waved at our surroundings. "Going to pick a stranger or someone you know?"

Letting him steer us back to business because I knew he hated waiting and wanted to get it over with, I put my mind on the job at hand. "If we're going to see all the possibilities, I don't think I want to know about a friend. Feels like an invasion of their privacy to see all the mistakes they could have made and the consequences of them."

"And I'm really just going to watch?" he asked flatly, worry hidden.

Thinking quickly, I nodded. "When we were talking to Jim and Blair earlier, I saw the desert, too, but if I paid attention, I could *feel* your hands in mine while we manipulated that string. If you keep talking to me I might be able to hear that; I'll see if I can let you know if I can. If you think it's a good idea, you can touch me, but only if you think it'll help. Okay?"

He gave me a short nod, clearly unhappy, and I wished I could reassure him. Finding his eyes and holding them like a caress, I flung hand out to randomly pick a history, moving into it when the images of it began to cascade over me. That was always the first step for a Leap, the second was to walk into the person it belonged to, taking his viewpoint so I stopped watching and started seeing for the split second necessary to make me a part of his life.

But this time I paused on the threshold between outside and inside, figuratively looking *through* a young man named Stephen Parkinson. The image in front of me broke into many fragments, each identical for that moment, like a great wall of television screens all showing the same program. As I watched, the images diverged, each only a minor variation at first, but becoming more and more different as the scenes flickered past. There were so many I couldn't take them all in, so I tried to focus on one, and as I did I felt a pressure at my back, as if to push me toward it. I resisted, afraid of what would happen if I Leaped into that alternative, or any alternative for that fact, my greatest worry that I wouldn't be able to Leap back to Al.

Hoping it would relieve the growing force behind me, I ripped my eyes away from that reality and tried to focus on another. That was a mistake.

All of the lives jumped at me, each vying to catch and hold my attention, each trying to pull me in even as the weight pushing me increased. Refusing to be snared, I tried closing my eyes, only to find that it intensified the clarity of the visions hurtling at me, dipping me crazily in and out of moments of Stephen's life, every plunge making me *him* for that instance. I stood in front of his classroom, listening to titters from the other students as the teacher made fun of me for a mistake, I was in the classroom again, but this time I wet myself from fear and humiliation, the classroom again, but I managed to hold it, crying, in the classroom, furiously angry and controlling it, in the classroom hurling myself at the teacher screaming, in the classroom puking, home that afternoon telling my mother and having her comfort me, ignore me, make fun of me, abuse me.

Through it all I was pushed, pushed hard as if by a gale force wind, until I was shredding, splintering, streaming toward a thousand million stephens, all greedily grasping at a piece of me. I was a flag in the storm, anchored only by my hands on the rope, and they were tearing, tearing free. I screamed my lover's name, and reached for him with my heart, only wanting to have a last moment of contact before I was lost.

Dimly I heard his answering yell, felt the solid mass of him shove into my side, then I blacked out, half expecting never to open my eyes again.

To my amazement I woke in the middle of a field of waist high corn stalks, the sharp smell of it doing a lot to clear my head quickly. The sky overhead was a clean, early June blue, and a small breeze, just enough to offset the heat of the sun, was filtering in sibilant whispers through the brilliant green leaves. An old horse blanket was under me, and my head was in somebody's lap. Confused, I turned my head, sighing in relief at seeing Al's concerned face hovering over me.

"We Leaped?" I asked, raising a shaky hand to scrub at my face.

"I don't think so." Fingers of one hand in my hair, smoothing it absently, Al looked around as if he'd never seen a cornfield before. Then he reached for one stalk, stroked it, and murmured. "Pink."

It turned pink, confirming that we were still outside Time, and I said, "My mind must have conjured this to cushion my mind from what happened. What did happen anyway?"

Letting go of the leaf, which immediately turned green again, Al met my eyes and said bluntly, "Aside from getting a year's worth of nightmares? Well, it worked. You went into the history, and it, uh, broke down like you said it would, but not into colors. It came out on the other side of you, sorted from black into white." He looked defensive, but admitted, "I touched it to see what would happen."

Well, I would have, too. "And?"

"It was like watching It's A Wonderful Life with Jimmy Stewart. I watched the same man be everything from a damn decent person to something not much better than an animal, all in the exact same setting." Idly he tugged at the lock of silver just over my forehead. "Not all possible histories; all possible Steven Parkinsons."

I thought on that, turning my face into his sun warm belly while I did. "I did see all of his alternate lives," I told him, voice muffled on his shirt. "But there was no way to tell which was good or bad, and I was terrified of Leaping into any of them."

Under my cheek I felt a heave, and Al said harshly, "Don't you ever, *ever* Leap without me, Sam Beckett! Never! You are not going to leave me behind again!"

"I won't," I mumbled, "Don't know if I could make it without you, don't know if I'd want to."

"Good," Al said with savage satisfaction. "Cause that works both ways. I'm here because you're here, and when you go on, well, you'll have me beside you until God himself, or Whoever says otherwise. Got that!?"

It was probably the oddest declaration of un-dying devotion that had I had ever heard, but it was something I had needed to hear for a long time, all without knowing it. "Got it," I choked out, glad he couldn't see that I was fighting off tears.

"Okay then," Al said, some of the steam going out of his temper. There was a long pause, then he asked awkwardly, "So, what do you want to do now?"

"I don't know what do you want to do?" I answered whimsically, still fumbling to get myself back under control.

"I don't know, what do you want to do?" he retorted.

A flash of an old Disney movie hit me, and I snorted at the incongruous idea of my face on a bird's body, staring at a flying elephant. Here it could happen. Wisely I chose not to share that with Al, and reluctantly began mentally reviewing what I saw/experienced while in Stephen's lives, adding my companion's description to the mix. All possible histories, all possible variations on the man himself based on those lives - I had the feeling there was something important about that.

A quick peek showed me that around us the Indiana summer day was beginning to fade away, leaving behind the vibrant, shimmering curtains of Time against their backdrop of bright. For the first time I questioned that, wondering why I saw light and color with no trace of grays or black like Al had seen.

Of course, I'd never asked him what exactly he always saw around us, either. For all I knew, this was my private view, and he didn't share it.

When the last of the field was gone, I stood, holding his hand to take him with me. "What do you see? It's not a trick question, Al. I need to know."

"A whole lot of nothing," he told me. "A very pretty nothing, mind you."

"Light and colors." I gestured at the nearest strings.

"Yeah," he confirmed, his face showing growing curiosity.

"But you saw Stephen Parkinson in shades of gray."

I was only thinking out loud, really, so it caught me off guard when Al volunteered, "Because man has to choose between good and evil, and evil is usually represented by an absence of light."

Silently blessing the unexpected benefits of access to a Catholic background, I glanced at the enormous, boiling, rolling mass of blackness on the far horizon, daring no more than that. "So life is a gift of Time or good or God or whatever, then Man influences each person individually, both externally and internally."

"Wrong is done to him by Man and fate, and he chooses to act on it with the goodness or badness born in him," Al paraphrased in agreement, having followed my look and getting puzzled as well.

"You think a man can be born without goodness?" I was thinking of certain psychotic individuals history had recorded, honestly wondering if any of them had ever been innocent and kind.

"Want doctrine or personal opinion?" Al asked back. "Personally, yeah, I've met a person or two that it would be hard to imagine them as sweet little kids."

To this moment I had always thought that when I saw a history trail into nothingness, it meant that the person had died, and had never tried to go beyond that point where I could see it clearly. Now it suddenly occurred to me to ask, "If there's no good left in a person, would we even be able to see their string anymore? You pointed out earlier that we don't fix Time so much as we nudge or persuade people to make a right decision, or do the right thing. If they were beyond our reach, so to speak, if there was no light left to illuminate them, they could be invisible to us."

"Sam," Al began slowly, "I don't think I like where you're going with this."

"Neither do I," I said honestly. "Because if there are strings we can't see, there could be other things, other *people* we can't see."

"Evil Leapers." The words were grim, and I didn't blame Al a bit. "But we stopped Lothos."

"If we made the transition to not needing help to Leap," I started reluctantly.

"Oh, my God!" Al put his face in his hands, but all I could do to comfort him was hold his shoulder because I was every bit as terrified as he was.

"Then we may have counterparts who are Leaping for no other reason than to destroy lives, destroy Time," I finished painfully.

"Makes sick sense," Al muttered, still not able to look at me. "If you have Angels, you have Demons."

"It gets worse," I told him. "Remember you said that you thought there was something hinky with Sammy Jo's history? What if one of the Others has been changing it?"

His head shot up at that. "Accidentally or on purpose?"

Good question, but I didn't have a good answer for it. "There's no way to know," I said. "If you're thinking they're after us, though, it doesn't seem likely. They originated from Lothos, so they have to know that I at least existed at one time, and that I Leaped. But there was a body in our changed history; wouldn't they assume I'm dead, like you did? And they'd have no reason to suspect you as a Leaper at all. If they ran into any trace of our Leaps, they'd probably think it was leftover from my original life."

Accepting that, at least on the surface, Al nodded slowly. "It's a safe bet that if we can't see them directly, they can't see us, either. And it's even less likely they'd think to do the rainbow thing, so no reason to speculate that we exist. But it still bugs me that they've stumbled into Sammy Jo's life, the one thing that could draw you out enough to prove your existence."

"How would that work? I can't save her directly, can't Leap close enough to be any use, and it's even less likely they'd know about Jim and Blair being available to help us. Not only that, but how could they have found her without some direct connection to her life? If the strings aren't close to you, it's all pretty much chance."

"Is it?" Al asked doubtfully, peeking over at the Radiance we lived so near to. "If That influences us, the Counterpart may influence them."

That was a good point, and I mulled it over carefully. "Between Blair's intuition and shamanic abilities," I said at last, "And Jim's gifts as both a police officer and sentinel, they would know if there was something, well, wrong."

"Want to check in on Blair? If nothing else, we should warn them about the Others," Al suggested out.

"Yes." I agreed readily. "The circumstances may be drastically different than what we believed them to be when we asked for help. It might be better if they stopped what they're doing, or changed their plans for safety's sake. If one of the Others is involved, they wouldn't hesitate to do whatever was necessary to keep Sammy Jo's life ending the way they wanted it to."

I looked around for their string - which had always been easy to spot, even before I altered their history to stop the creation of Panther and Chief. Paired lives, strings that were so closely entwined that I couldn't perceive them as distinct entities, that Leaping for one was Leaping for both, were very, very rare. And I had, in fact, gone looking for others when I first noticed Jim and Blair's, trying to understand how and why this twining took place.

Even in this place of rich, entrancing beauty, a doubled history had it own special luminance, making it stand out, and we were beside theirs in a heartbeat, admiring it complacently.

"I like this one better every time I see it," Al told me, unknowingly echoing my own thoughts.

"Ever wonder what ours looked like before my first Leap?" I asked, wondering if the two of us would have ever consummated our closeness if I hadn't felt compelled to step into the accelerator and changed out lives so completely.

Obviously startled, Al gestured toward the magnificent play of color in front of us. "You think we..."

"Jim and Blair worked together, lived together, and played together, just like we did," I broke in. "Either one of them would have taken a bullet for the other, they got each other into trouble constantly, got each other *out* of trouble constantly. Sounds like a more dangerous version of when we were doing, first Starlight, then Quantum Leap, except we used to alibi each other from politicians and not police commissioners!"

Chuckling, Al conceded, then waved me toward the history. "You go on. The Others might not be able to see us, but if they are watching out for you, someone should be watching your back. No arguments, Sam."

I wasn't about to give him one, though I had my own reasons for not sharing this look with him. My presence could be deduced from both my personal history and the ones I'd changed. The same couldn't be said for my partner, and I intended to shield him from the notice of the Others as long as feasible. Al was not going to be hurt on my account; I was already responsible for more pain in his life than a father should have to know.

Holding his eyes with a smile, I half-stepped into Jim and Blair's life, opening myself to the images of their reality.

***

"You know," Nick said conversationally to Jim, holding out his hand for the book he was about to give to him, "I came this close to hating your guts before we'd even met each other."

Startled Jim stopped mid-reach, free hand going of its own accord to the small of his back where his gun was hidden. "Why is that?" he asked neutrally, face impassive.

Nick burst into laughter, discomfiting Jim even more, and he stepped back from the ladder where the shopkeeper was perched. "Down Officer Jim, down. Even if I you hadn't totally won me over by now, the only thing I would have done was try to steal Blair from you, and we both know that would have been a waste of time."

Though he was right, it didn't stop a snarl from rising in Jim's chest at the very idea, and he beat it down hastily, hoping Nick didn't notice. By sheer force of will he moved back to finish lifting up the book into Nick's outstretched hand. "Why would you hate me for having Blair?" he managed in an equally conversational tone. "From what I've seen," and he glanced over at where Sammy Jo was laying out silver necklaces, carefully comparing them the invoice in her hand, and pretending not to listen to their conversation, "You don't have any trouble either meeting or keeping the interest of a companion."

"Try looking at that first visit to the BookJunkie from my perspective," Nick told him, putting the book on the topmost shelf so that the front could be seen and reaching for another from the stack Jim held. "Big, muscled man in a black leather trench coat, no expression on his face, holding himself like he could take on Mike Tyson at his peak and win, walks in holding onto this absolutely gorgeous young man as if he owned him and didn't give a fuck who noticed. And said gorgeous young man was shorter, less well-built, and looking very subdued at the time."

At Jim's snort of disbelief, Nick stopped arranging the books artistically and shook at finger at him, grinning. "Yeah, I know, when Blair's quiet it's either because he's mentally mapping a room by sound or preparing to get into trouble. But I didn't know that then. Back then all I could think of was what the hell you could possibly have on him to force him to stay with you, and whether or not it was because you were beating him."

Jaw dropping, Jim sputtered, "Never, never, Blair wouldn't, I couldn't..."

Not smiling now, Nick climbed down a few rungs on the ladder so that he was more on a level with the sentinel. "Jim! Jim, I'm sorry! Of course I don't think you'd abuse him. God, me and my big mouth. I was only trying to explain how envious I was. Still am."

"Envious?" Jim blinked, remembered the book he was still hanging onto and absently gave it Nick.

Taking it awkwardly, Nick looked it over rather than look at Jim. "I told myself that I was being friendly and trying to encourage him to like me because I wanted him to have a place to go if he needed to get away from you. Wanted him to think he could be safe with me."

"Thank you," Jim said, and meant it.

That earned him a relieved sigh from Nick, but the other man went on. "But I was attracted, too, and if he'd given me half a chance those first few meetings, I'd have made a play for him. He always talked about you, making it clear that you were together, though, and after a while I stopped thinking about getting in his pants and tried to really be a friend. That's when it got hard not to hate you."

"Nick, I'm getting confused here," Jim told him bluntly, but with no anger behind it.

"Do you have any idea," Nick said abruptly, "How much I'd give to have what the two of you share?" Again he glanced over at their unobtrusive audience, and Jim got the impression that she was why he had brought the subject up. "He hears your voice and lights up like he hasn't been near you in a week instead of five minutes. You touch him like his skin talks to yours and you need to hear every word to save your life. All my life I've looked for a love like that, and to see such a mismatched pair have it, especially when someone like you was half of it, seemed so damned unfair and wrong."

"Someone like me?" Jim asked cautiously, not sure he wanted to hear the answer from a man he liked.

"Hard, cold, humorless... and those are your good qualities," Nick told him only half-facetiously.

Shrugging - it was after all a facade he worked hard to establish - despite the bitter sting, Jim said, "And you decided not to hate me because?"

"At first because Blair loved you so much. Later," and again Nick checked out Sammy Jo where she sat, returning a cheeky grin from her, "Because someone pointed out to me that Blair wouldn't love a man like that unless he deserved to be loved. And because you loved him back just as fiercely."

Again Jim shrugged. He had no way to respond to that. "If it makes you feel any better, it astounds me that he's with me, too. The only person more dumbfounded is his mother."

Nick finished placing part of his display and climbed down the ladder, stopping on the bottom rung to hang off of it lazily. "From what he's told me of Naomi, I'm not surprised. Wonder if she ever blames your relationship on not having a father-figure for him when he was growing up."

Standing, chains dangling from her hand, Sammy Jo came over to them and leaned on the opposite side of the ladder. "I didn't know my biological father, either, and I have to agree with Blair on it. It isn't a big deal, and it hasn't got a thing to do with your sexuality. That's an old, old myth."

Thinking of Sam's pain when he spoke of her, Jim asked curiously, "May I ask what your mom told you about him? Naomi pretty much clams up or takes off if you bring up her son's parentage. Guess I wonder if that's the best way to handle it."

"No, I don't mind at all. She told me when I was old enough to ask, that when I was conceived, she had never felt more cherished and loved, and was sure beyond questioning that my father would have loved and wanted me even more. But she didn't say who he was or why they weren't together any more. It made her very, very sad to talk about it, so I stopped asking, but I grew up feeling that he was watching over me from a distance, like a guardian angel, though for the life of me I can't give you a reason why."

From behind her Blair said, "You don't need one. Trust your heart." He put down the containers he was carrying near where Sammy Jo had been sitting, and stopped by Jim for a fast peck on the cheek. "Given the number of men in Naomi's life while I was growing up, I didn't lack for male role models. Seeing the variety they came in actually made it easier for me to be myself; no one vision of 'manhood' to buy into. 'Course, it's different for little girls, so I can't speak for Sammy Jo about how important a father figure is."

He headed back toward the rear of the store for more boxes, and the doctor gave Jim the necklaces she held for him to hand up to Nick to drape over the books in his display. "Well, I didn't have any problem accepting my mom's husband when she did marry." Distractedly she went to the boxes, looked them over, shuffling them around to find the one she wanted. "But that was more because he's a wonderful man than because I wanted a father." She picked up a knife to open the top and muttered, "How does it he *do* that?"

Already back at the top of the ladder, Nick asked back, "How does who do what?"

Setting aside the knife on the floor, she returned to stand next to Jim, holding up the invoice she had clipped from the top of a package. From where he was the sentinel could clearly see that there was a list of necklaces and bracelets on the paper. "Blair has been carting boxes from the storeroom for half an hour. He gives books to you, the jewelry to me, and sets aside anything else by the register. How does he *know* what's in them?"

Before Jim could explain that away, his partner made another trip from the rear, calling, "Hey, maybe we should get a bite to eat." To Nick and Sammy Jo's horror, he headed straight for them, the boxes she had moved into the aisle clearly blocking his path. A fall was nearly unavoidable given how fast Blair was moving, and the knife Sammy jo had been using was on the other side for him to fall onto.

None of them had a chance to react, not even Jim, though he jerked forward, mouth already parted for words, mind instinctively opening to his mate to warn him.

Blair froze, literally in midstep. "Jim?" he said, the word echoing in Jim's head.

Finding his voice and forcing it into casualness, Jim answered, "Need a detour there, partner. Got boxes at your twelve, and a naked blade just on the other side."

"Oh. Thanks." With the tip of a toe Blair felt out the location of the obstacles, then confidently stepped over them. "One of those garden pizzas from Trillio's would be great right about now." He put his load on the counter next to the register, then homed in on the arms waiting worriedly for him, seemingly oblivious to the stunned atmosphere of the room. "Not up for that?" he said brightly into the silence. "Okay, how about Thai?"

More silence that Jim had no clue how to fill. Somehow lightly saying, 'Don't mind my partner, he's a shaman in training, you see, and has the ability to pick up from my mind things he needs to know. Does it so naturally I don't think he knows himself how much or when he's doing it sometimes' did *not* seem the right thing to do.

"Guys?" Blair asked more tentatively.

"How did you do that?" Sammy Jo blurted. "How do you know what's in a box that you can't read? How do you always know where Jim is, even when he's so far away I can hardly see him? Why have I never seen you stumble, or bump into something, or fumble for a door handle? If you had been born sightless, okay, I can maybe, *maybe* see having those kinds of coping skills. But it's only been months, not even a year yet. If I hadn't seen your pupils fail to react, seen you fail to respond to light changes, I wouldn't believe you're blind."

"Sammy Jo," the Blair started slowly, "If you're looking for a scientific explanation, I can't give you one."

"You're not going to deny that, that," Nick trailed off, suddenly not sure what Blair was being accused of and why he should defend it.

Blair had no chance to finish his explanation. The bell over the entry door rang discordantly, and the four of them looked up to see an unwelcome visitor shake out her umbrella and come inside. "My, it's wet out there." The woman Sammy Jo had laughingly christened the BitchWitch shortly after the night of the signing where she and Nick had met sounded indecently - and falsely - cheerful. "If a guy named Noah comes by, I'd listen to him."

Automatically Jim stepped in front of Nick and Sammy Jo, feeling Blair lock their minds into place even as he locked a hand over the crook of Jim's elbow. As if just noticing them, the other woman added, "Oh, good. I was hoping to run into you here eventually. An apology is seriously owed to both of you."

"She's never been back in here," Nick muttered softly so that only his friends could hear him. "In fact, the only time I've seen her around is when the two of you are here." Ms. BitchWitch headed for them just as he came to a sudden decision. Ignoring Jim's aborted attempt to stop him with a hand, Nick said clearly to her as she approached. "I don't believe an apology is wanted or needed from you, Miss. I do believe that your absence would be much appreciated. Please leave."

In an odd parody of Blair's earlier action, she stopped mid-step, features tightening ominously. "I beg your pardon?"

"My name is Nicholas Bennet," he said pointedly, "And I'm the owner of The BookJunkie. It is well within my legal rights to refuse service to anyone who has a history of making a nuisance of themselves in my shop. You have a history. I'm exercising that right. Please leave."

"Oh, I see," she said maliciously, "You'd rather have the business of queers than honest paying customers. Wonder what the local press will make of that?"

"They'll probably speculate on my sexuality, alert the Christian Coalition of my shop, and generally cause all manner of difficulties to deal with." There was no fear or compromise in Nick's voice, and it was colder than Jim would have believed possible. "Which I prefer to dealing with you. If you do not leave willingly and now, we'll add a police call into the mix to see what happens."

Her face went curiously flat and empty, eyes deader than a stuffed animal's, sending a shudder through Jim that he was only able to hide because of the pure necessity of doing so. "I see. And there's no persuading any of you that you're being a bit... premature with this decision."

"You are not wanted here," Nick answered for all of them.

"Very well." There was no inflection in her voice, and she simply turned on her heel and walked away.

She had not gone three steps when Jim saw her hand go purposefully for her purse at the same time Sam Beckett shouted, "Get out! Get Out Now!" Instantly he wheeled, catching Nick by the arm and pulling him into a shambling run for the back door. He didn't need to look to know that Blair had done exactly the same thing at the same time, except that he had an arm around Sammy Jo's waist, too. Their friends only had time for startled exclamations and half-articulated questions before they were outside and being pushed into a hidden nook Jim had deliberately created at the far end of the alley as a blind for watching the building.

Behind them came a deafening Crumph! and blast of heat, then they were all huddled against the soothing cool of a concrete wall, the loosely stacked wood and drywall shaking and falling around them. From under a sheltering arm Jim saw The BookJunkie settle back onto its foundation from the few inches the explosion had lifted it. As it tried to hold itself together, flames began to lick up from under it, seemingly coming from the ground itself.

"Dear God," Sammy Jo breathed, watching the same thing from the safety of Blair's and Nick's arms.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no," Nick mourned quietly. "Aunt Candy, I'm sorry!, I'm sorry."

"Hush, hush, not your fault," Blair told him, hand going to the side of the shopkeeper's face in comfort.

Through the devouring hiss of the flames and soft whisper of rain, Jim heard high-heels clicking down the alley, and laid a warning finger on Sammy Jo's and Nick's lips. Through the weirdly dancing shadows of the fire and fading daylight they could see Ms. BitchWitch strut into view, smoking a cigarette and looking at the destruction of Nick's home with a satisfied smirk. "Guess no one will be giving you any business now, Mr. Bennet," she gloated.

"Was she in there?" From the other end of the back street a hulking man Jim remembered all too well from the shooting they'd witnessed a few weeks ago materialized from the darkness.

The woman shrugged indifferently. "They all were. What difference does it make? He," and her tone capitalized the word, "wanted the men out of the way, and she would have died sooner or later herself. If He's that hot on his latest venture, beautiful women, even ones with ass-length blonde hair, aren't that hard to come by."

Sounding as if he were discussing the weather, the man answered, "He had plans for her, specific plans. And you were told that. You failed to do your job."

For the first time the woman showed a genuine emotion - fear: white, knuckle straining fear. "I did not," she managed to snap convincingly. "I only improvised to obtain a desired result."

"The result was not what He desired." With no more than that empty proclamation, the man flashed out a hand filled with gleaming steel and whipped it over her throat.

She looked surprised, hand going up to the wetness freely flowing from her neck. Holding it up where she could see the redness, she whitened, sinking tiredly to her knees, mouth working as if to question. Woodenly her murderer watched her die, her clothes soaking up a great deal of blood, but more puddled under her as she slumped completely to the ground.

Under his fingers Jim could feel both words and gorge rising from Sammy Jo, and he dared taking his eyes off the killer long enough to tell the doctor with her eyes that she had to remain silent. They were dead that moment if their presence was given away. With the will that it took to become a doctor, she got herself under control, though there was no color left in her lips at all. Nick didn't look much better, and they clung together against Blair's chest, not noticing that he was watching the scene in front of them intently.

When his victim stopped gushing her life out, the killer toed her body indifferently, then left it where it lay, plainly not caring what the police would think of finding it at the scene of an arson fire. Jim kept his senses trained on him, wanting to be sure that he was truly gone, until the distant shriek of fire engine sirens and the wavering illumination from the fire made it impossible. Only then did he suck in a much-needed breath and give his charges a once over.

Except for a few scratches, no one was injured, though Sammy Jo was shaking so hard he worried that she might pass out.

*Did you hear,* Blair began in his mind, feeling that it was safe to move again.

*Sam warning us to get out,* Jim finished. *Have your seen or heard anything else from him?*

*No, so we must be safe, at least for the moment. What next?*

Aloud Jim said, "We just witnessed a murder. Good chance the cops are going to want to talk to us. Question is, do we?"

"Dear God, why wouldn't we?" Nick asked incredulously.

"Because if whoever it was that wanted us dead finds out not only are we alive, but that we saw and heard her last moments," Jim said patiently, pointing to the lifeless form crumpled less than ten feet from them. "I don't think there's a hiding place in Boston deep enough to save us. And we don't know who 'he' is, only what one of his henchmen looks like."

"And the moment we ID the goon," Blair put in unhappily, "he's dead, too, long before we can find out who's behind all this."

Tiredly, Sammy Jo said, "Why do I have the feeling that the two of you know far more than you're telling?"

"Because we do." Blair looked at Jim for confirmation to continue his explanation, but he couldn't give it. This wasn't the time or place. Fire trucks were turning up the block, the crowd that had gathered onto the front street was beginning to spill into the alley, and it was only moments before the body was found.

Instead Jim said, "Nick, I know you trust Blair. For his sake, will you trust me, too, at least for a while? Any cop worth his badge would understand if we cleared out right now and contacted them through a lawyer or some other intermediary. The thing to do is to get out of here as fast as possible to someplace safe, preferably where no one would think of looking for either of you, and *think*."

"Jim's right," Blair added encouragingly. "Both of you need a chance to regroup, get things clear in your head. Too much happened too fast."

Sammy Jo and Nick studied each other for a minute, almost visibly gathering their resources and trying to be strong for each other. "On one condition," the storeowner said finally for both of them, "when we get where we're going, you answer all our questions."

"Man, I don't think that's actually possible," Blair said, folding up his cane and tucking it into a back pocket. "But I can promise we'll do our best. Will that do?" He took out a weathered fedora from the same pocket and bundled his hair into it, setting the brim low over his forehead, hiding his eyes. At that cue Jim reached for the small gym bag they had stashed in this spot, handed Blair a dark-colored jacket against the rain and offered a warm sweater from it for Sammy Jo.

Ignoring their widened eyes, he gestured toward the back of the lean-to where his partner was revealing a small gap between buildings that led to another street. In minutes they were headed away from the chaos behind them, Blair leading the way with Sammy Jo on his arm like a date, Nick to one side like an acquaintance going the same way, and Jim bringing up the rear, watching, watching, watching.

***

Leaving the bedroom door ajar enough that he could see in if necessary, Jim left the couple sleeping exhaustedly in the middle of the bed and went looking for his partner. He wasn't surprised that Sammy Jo and Nick hadn't been able to grill him the way they had wanted to. By the time they had taken the circuitous route he'd felt necessary to reach this penthouse Sam had arranged for them, just in case, the pair had been suffering from delayed shock and bone-numbing fatigue. Sandburg had forced hot broth into them, soothing them with wordless murmurs and pats, literally steering them toward the bedroom when the soup was done.

It was Nick who took it the hardest, and, on most levels, Jim could understand that. Though the man was wealthy, with many other properties and possessions, The BookJunkie was a precious part of his past, and for him it must have been like losing his Aunt Candy all over again. Sammy Jo understood that, nearly instinctively, and had cradled his head to her chest, crying hot, childish tears on his behalf until he was weeping as well. Jim had tried to remain in the background, giving Nick at least the illusion of privacy while he dealt with his pain.

As soon as it was clear that Sammy Jo had him well in hand, though, Blair had faded, staying on this floor, but getting as far away as possible.

Jim understood that, too, and followed the mental tug in his mind to the roof-top garden that shared the top of this building with the penthouse. It was one of the best done he'd ever seen in a lifetime of encountering excess money and luxury. Small trees, vines, and strategically located screens hid the cityscape from view and gave the impression that the garden was out in the country somewhere. At this height even city noises were muted to normal ears, and he was tempted for a minute to turn his own hearing down to add to the illusion.

Ruefully admitting that he was too wary to be able to enjoy it even if he did, Jim simply sought out his mate, finding Blair tucked into a dark shadow underneath a large tree in the farthest corner. A small fountain imitating a natural rock fall was nearby, and moonlight played hide and seek with clouds, giving the setting a surreal feel, much the way their entire lives felt at times.

Silently Jim sat beside him, testing his weight against the trunk of the tree and, finding it steady enough to hold him, leaned back on it. He didn't touch Blair, content to be near him and giving support that way while his shaman meditated.

Nearly an hour later Blair sighed deeply and uncoiled, scooting over to fit himself along Jim's side. "Remember that scene in Jurassic Park where the kid says, 'Well, we're back in the car?' That's the way I feel right now."

Jim quoted back, "At least we're not in the tree." Dropping a kiss onto the head nestled into the curve of his shoulder, he added ruefully, "On the run again, living in the shadows, fighting an enemy much bigger than we are while trying to help people in worse shape than we are. At least this time we know who we're up against and have Sam and Al in our corner. Did you pick up anything from them at all while you were meditating?"

"Only that they're alive," Blair said tiredly, drooping onto him heavily. "I tried to let them know you wanted them to stay put, that we would come up with a plan. Please tell me you've got one in mind."

"Not much of a one," Jim admitted. "And I don't think Sam would like it very much. Or you will, for that fact."

Blair's head shot up, and he glared at his sentinel. "You're going to use Sammy Jo for bait," he accused.

"She already is." God, he was tired, too, and every doubt he'd had about taking on their un-named foe when they first realized his presence was charging back at him, guns blazing. "Remember what that thug said to the woman? 'He' had special plans for 'her' - Sammy Jo. We already suspected that there was an evil Leaper involved in her death, we just didn't know how he was involved. Chief, I think the moneyman behind Sanderson and the Other Leaper is the same person. And if that's the case, Sammy Jo wasn't targeted because she was beautiful, or because of her hair, but because of who her father is. I think the Other is trying to use her to force Sam to confront him. Why else be so determined that it had to be Sammy Jo and nobody else?"

"Wish I could argue," Blair agreed, letting his head sink back down to the living pillow waiting patiently for it. "Wish I knew why. I mean, they're equivalent to each other. Wouldn't they simply cancel each other out when they tried to change the same history?"

Holding his lover close, using almost painful strength, Jim said softly, "I don't think the Other wants to change history against Sam; I think he wants to kill him."

"Of course." Blair sounded flat as the information sunk in. "Evil either turns a person or situation to their own advantage or destroys." He was quiet a minute, then added, "We really are back in that car, trying to save Time all over again."

"And we have the same advantage as last time and look how well that turned out," Jim said determinedly. "Our opponent doesn't know that we're involved directly. Yes, we were a threat, and yes, we were a nuisance, but I doubt very seriously the Other Leaper knows how connected to Sam and Al we are or we would have been used as bait, too."

Deliberately initiating a conversation with his lover on a mental level, not wanting anyone who was capable of touching their 'string' to overhear, not even their allies, Jim whispered sadly, *The way I see it, we have to protect Sam, no matter what the cost. No matter what we have to do. I know you don't want to kill, Chief, so if you have any other idea on how to stop the Other for good, now is a good time to share it.*

Worry permeating not only his thoughts, but his body language, Blair answered, *We can't kill the Other in cold blood. That puts us on the same level; what good would that do in the long run?*

*Chief, we're only going to get one shot at this. Once we're tagged as, well, assistant leapers or helpers or whatever you want to call us, we'll be targets that Sam will have to watch over, as if he didn't have enough responsibility. And frankly, I don't want him to always have to fight his battles with only Al's help. Maybe it's the sentinel thing, but I can't walk away from this, can't walk away from them. Can you?* Jim knew the answer, of course, but needed to force the issue with his partner. Now, more than ever, they had to be operating from the same game plan.

*And to think I was bitching because I didn't know what to do as a shaman,* Blair answered him ruefully. *Look, I don't know how to stop the Other, either. Can't we focus on the problem at hand for right now? Nick and Sammy Jo?*

*What do you think Nick will do if we're not here when he wakes up?* Jim said thoughtfully.

*Call the cops as soon as possible. He's a good man and believes in the system for the most part,* Blair told him promptly. *But I promised to answer his questions.*

*You said that you didn't know if you could answer them, but that you would try,* Jim corrected. His mind picked out and discarded several different scenarios, then he decided, *You're not going to be able to just yet.*

*What do you have in mind?*

***

Neither Sammy Jo nor Nick had wanted to believe it when they woke up to an empty penthouse, and they searched both it and the rooftop garden very thoroughly. But they didn't have a chance against a sentinel and shaman who didn't want to be found, and when they finally gave up, the partners were less than ten feet from them, listening intently.

"Somebody want to tell me why I decided to trust either of them?" Nick groused, throwing himself onto a stool situated between the kitchen and dining room.

Jim snuggled his lover into him a tiny bit more, easing the sting of the other man's words as best he could. *Later, Chief. You can explain later, and I promise, Nick will understand.*

"What choice did we have at the moment?" Sammy Jo said reasonably. "Would you like some breakfast?"

Nick goggled at her for a moment, and from a distance, unknown to them, Blair bit down on a smile. "You're hungry?" Nick asked incredulously.

"No, but I don't know when we're going to have a chance to eat again, the kitchen is well stocked, and doing something normal will help us feel normal. How do you like your eggs?" She met his gaze levelly until he started to chuckle, becoming more the Nick they knew.

"I had imagined you asking me that question under totally different circumstances," he confessed wryly.

Sammy Jo grinned at him cheekily. "And if I had been waiting for you to ask me the same thing?"

"Good point. We could take turns?" He returned her grin, then added, "Scrambled will do fine, but when it's my turn, I'll make you an omelet that will spoil you for any other short-order cook!"

"Because that's virtually the only thing you know how to cook?" Sammy Jo retorted, turning toward the fridge and opening it.

"Hey, I'm a 90's kind of guy," he defended quickly. "I can do pasta, too."

She didn't answer him, and a quick glance from him (and their concealed witnesses) showed that she had found a note addressed to them attached to the OJ carton with a small pin in the shape of an angel.

"Nick, Sammy Jo," she read aloud, "As hard as it might be for you to hear this right now, we can't stay. We can't even explain why we can't. All we can do is offer some advice and hope that you take it. Nick, you once pointed out that Jim is a hard, cold kind of guy - but you never asked why. It comes with having far too much up close and personal experience with the sort of thing that most people never see except in the movies. The sort of thing you had to survive yesterday. If he says he knows what he's talking about, he *does.* And I owe my life to that a dozen times over.

"If you're going to go to the cops with what you saw yesterday, wait until you have a lawyer and walk into the precinct with him. By now the local fire marshal knows that the fire was deliberately set, and the most likely, most logical culprit in their minds is the owner of the shop. The officers who take your deposition are going to be working on that assumption, as unfair as it might seem to you. Not to mention your story is going to sound out there.

"Oh, and Nick, don't use your family lawyer, Neal Costa. He's been stealing from your family and his own firm for years: the books are kept in a hidden panel in his boat. In a few hours you'll get a call from someone who is honest, and *good* at criminal law. Don't hold his age against him, and if you can't work with him, let him recommend someone.

"One last thing. The man who's after Sammy Jo - and I can't think of a way to convince you completely and totally that some one is after her - has deep pockets and a long arm. A bodyguard or a whole slew of them is not a bad idea. Again, we have a recommendation: Emerson McNab. He used to be a DC cop, but he's running his own security agency now, and it's got a reputation that should even satisfy your demands, Nick.

"Oh, and Nick - go ahead and tell her. Sammy Jo won't be impressed, and she won't let it influence her opinion of you. Though there's a good chance she'll be mad as hell.

"Hopefully you'll get a chance to punch us in the nose for taking off like this. In the meantime, be safe. Blair." Sammy Jo looked up from the note, both astonishment and anger on her features. "There's a post script from Jim that says simply, 'don't waste time looking for us now. There'll be time for that later.'"

"Yeah, and later they'll be so far gone it'll be a waste of time trying to find them," Nick said sarcastically. Reaching across the counter he took the note from her and read it himself, as if that would change the contents. Sammy Jo blinked at that, but was distracted by the pin in her fingers, studying it bemusedly.

*Put it on,* Jim encouraged, though he knew it was his partner that would actually do the convincing, if it were possible. *Put it on.*

She ran her fingertips delicately over the extended wings, then half-smiled at the faint tinkle of the bell in the angel's hand. For a moment Jim worried that her sensitive doctor's fingers would spot the bug hidden in the piece of jewelry.

"If I hadn't seen how coolly they handled themselves yesterday, if they hadn't literally scooped us out of The BookJunkie just as it went up," Nick muttered darkly, "I'd call the cops this second. Besides, I've suspected that old shyster for years, but couldn't get my parents to listen."

"Don't you think you should check with me on that? After all, if we're to believe our ears, you were only an inconvenience." Absently Sammy Jo pinned the angel to her collar, then returned to taking ingredients for breakfast out of the refrigerator. "And Nick, what do you have to tell me that probably won't impress me but will piss me off?"

***

True to Blair's prediction, the Boston PD didn't want to believe a word of Nick and Sammy Jo's story. The partners listened to the interrogation through the bug, not wanting to get close enough to the precinct to even chance that the Other's hired guns might spot them. And as they had hoped, the thugs were the ones who got tagged. The same two that had killed the 'interview candidates' took up positions where they could watch the entrances of the building, and in turn, Jim could watch them.

To the sentinel's frustration, when his target pulled out a cell phone to get orders, they were out of hearing range even for him. All he could do was listen over Blair's headphones to Daryl making the detectives look stupid, and wish he get his hands on either of the criminals. In the end, Nick's name, the fact that he had no insurance on the contents of the shop (insurance! What good is that for a rare book that's *gone*, never to be resurrected or read again?), and Sammy Jo's sterling reputation made the investigating officers rethink the possibility Nick was responsible for the arson. Or the dead body behind the shop.

Which didn't mean they were buying a conspiracy theory, either. But that didn't matter to Jim and Blair. What mattered is that after a short conversation with their boss, the thugs split up, one remaining behind to keep tabs on the couple, and, Jim hoped, one to face the music with his boss. Leaving Nick and Sammy Jo looking through mug books, the partners trailed after their prey, exercising more caution than they had ever had to use.

The crook was cagey; he used every trick that Jim had ever heard of, and a couple the sentinel had believed were his own personal invention, to make sure that he wasn't being followed. Twice he actually almost caught them, missing them only because of the uncanny way Blair had of 'reading' the man's intention just before he acted.

It almost wasn't enough.

On the busy streets of the city, it was easy to blend into the other people and the typically insane Boston traffic. When their judas goat left the environs of civilization for the more rural areas of Massachusetts, the two of them risked being obvious in their pursuit, and had to resort to combining their talents more and more to keep a safe distance. It got to the point that Jim honestly lost track of whether he was driving the car or sitting shot gun, of whether he was listening with his own ears or 'listening' with his shaman's.

Eventually their mark turned onto the road for a private estate, forcing them to abandon the car and take to the woods surrounding it. Not that it particularly bothered either of them. Away from the clatter of people and machinery, away from the stink, away from the millions of distracting sensory signals, away from the millions of chattering minds he habitually shielded his lover from, Jim sank into jungle mode with amazing ease, taking Blair with him as effortlessly.

They by-passed the automated and human sentries of the modern day fortress with laughing contempt, zeroing in on a side building on the outer most edge of the estate. Idly Jim wondered if the owner knew who inhabited that dwelling, or even if the owner was still alive to know that his home had been invaded. That he would leave for the proper authorities; for now, they had very specific business with one specific purpose.

Taking their time, they scouted out the cottage, counting guards and mapping out the coming and goings of the few inhabitants. The land provided sustenance for them as they waited for the right time to move, both directly from simple traps and hunting, and indirectly in a way Jim didn't understand, but didn't worry about either. Blair took it for granted. His only response when the sentinel brought it up was that Incacha's gift must have been deeper than they'd thought.

They grew strong while their opponent grew weaker, confused and angry. From eavesdropped conversations they learned several more attempts to take Sammy Jo had been thwarted, and apparently at the pure stupidity and clumsiness of the agents stalking her. One stumbled, literally, falling into a cop who wasn't happy at being squashed by a big man, but was delighted at finding the klutz was carrying an un-registered weapon and was on parole. Another was shot by one of her bodyguards who came back from a break unexpectedly.

Between arrests and the Other's fatal way of dealing with failure among his own men, his force was reduced considerably, with the added problem of deserters making the number of people Jim and Blair kept track of low. The most difficult part was living with the reason the Other didn't Leap and try to change history again from another angle.

At all hours of the day and night, but especially in the quietest, darkest part of the night, women's voices - at least three that they could be sure of - could be heard whimpering, moaning or screaming in pain. The Other called them his 'understudies' or 'stand ins', giving the partners a grisly, sickening picture of exactly what had been planned for Sammy Jo. He also made it clear his prisoners would not last once he had his true objective in hand. Waiting until they were sure of success was the hardest thing the sentinel and shaman had had to do since they had left their old lives.

Jim woke at sunset four days after they left Boston, head in the lap of his lover and Sam's voice softly murmuring in his ears. "Now. Now. He'll kill the women after dinner, letting Sanderson tape the action as best he can. Now."

After a quick check of his weapons and their immediate surroundings, and Jim rose to his feet like death resurrected and glided toward his enemy, mind focused only on reaching his goal. Even his awareness of his guide was minimal; barely enough for them to share Jim's sight. He didn't kill the two men left from the Other's initial force; merely made sure they couldn't escape whatever justice came their way. Holding back, he let Blair approach the cells and talk to the women, convincing them that it was no trick, they were being freed.

It took longer than the sentinel liked, and in the end he forced the issue by appearing by his partner's side, possessively wrapping the long braid around his fist and growling that time was running out. Whether it was the oblique threat or the implied lack of sexual interest in women, the prisoners elected to have at least enough faith to try to escape. A gift of clothes of a sort - shirts and sweatpants painstakingly stolen from the guards while the partners waited - and a fast medical check of the worst of their injuries helped, too. When they were as travel ready as possible, Jim led the way out, leaving Blair the job of shepherding the near-panicked women behind him.

They made it to the Jeep Jim had picked out for a get away vehicle without incident, and Blair gave them a cell with instructions to call the police as soon as they were off the estate. Briskly Jim jump-started the car, pointed out food and water in the back, and sent them on their way. The other cars on the property had already been disabled; even if there had been guards to pursue, none was possible now.

The more human part of Jim made a note to ask Sam how the women did in the long run; the warrior dismissed them and turned back toward his target. Ghosting into the cavernous underground room where Sanderson was excitedly setting up his equipment, alternately apologizing for not being able to do better and bemoaning that he couldn't give the event the cinematic quality it deserved, the partners took in the set with forced detachment, and took their first good look at the Other Leaper.

A big man in every sense of the word, he dwarfed the more average Sanderson, but moved as lightly on his feet as if he were the smaller of the two. He could have been handsome if his face had held any sign of animation, or perhaps if his eyes hadn't been so completely empty. Devoid not just of emotion, but of *life*, he could have been a giant marionette for all the expression those gray orbs showed. Only his mouth betrayed anything remotely human, and it was obscenely wet and red. He licked his lips constantly, as if to savor some flavor left there.

Jim felt Blair shudder as if something slimy had trailed through his mind, then his shaman shut down as much as he was capable himself, making them both almost as much of a caricature of men as the Other. The irony didn't escape Jim's notice, but like so many, many other things about this case, he pushed that into his determination, and used the resulting reinforcement of his will to reluctantly bring up his gun and draw a bead on the center of the Other Leaper's head.

Despite feeling there was no other alternative, Jim hesitated, jaw muscle flickering madly to telegraph his agitation. It didn't feel right, and with a sigh that reverberated between them, he said silently, *An idea would a good thing right now, Chief.* The smile his lover gave him was beatific, and Jim hung onto it with all he had. If this was going to be his last memory, it was one more than worthy to take with him. *Love you.*

*Love you.* Blair held his eyes, mind and heart close for a split second of eternity, then abruptly broke away, running for the Other Leaper at top speed, screeching like a banshee.

Held immobile by a command that the devious shaman had left echoing in his nerves, Jim nevertheless managed to change his aim to Sanderson. Firing, he winged the director in the knee, guaranteeing that he, at least, would be around to face the police. At the same time a dark nimbus surrounded the Other, boiling over him in an ugly, oily way, weirdly reminding the Jim of the time he had seen Sam Leap. Freed by his shot, he shouted wordlessly and raced after Blair. Dimly he thought that if they Leaped with the Other, they could possibly disrupt that Leap as badly as they had this one. And it would give their friends an idea as to where their opponent was, giving them all a chance to find a way to stop the Other for good.

Before Jim could reach his goal, Blair skidded to a stop in front of the big man and plunged his hands into the writhing darkness, impossibly finding a hold on it. Howling as if insane, the Other punched at the him, but his hands passed harmlessly through Blair. The oily cloak seethed, and the image of the unknown Leaper solidified, but by that time Jim reached them and blocked the next try at a blow so decisively that no more came.

Instead of trying to fight physically, the Other redoubled his effort to Leap, and the unreal un-light crept over Blair's wrists, as if to draw him into itself. "Hold onto me!" he ordered Jim sharply. "Keep us here!"

Not sure how to accomplish that, Jim did the first thing that came to mind and locked his fists into the back of Blair pants, hanging onto the waistband with all he had. He could feel the force pulling on Blair, though neither the Other nor his partner seemingly so much as swayed in place. It worked on him as well, but more distantly, as if he were more solidly anchored into this time, and he used that to his advantage, drawing the struggling pair toward him with will as much as muscle.

Behind them clean, pure light began to build, achingly beautiful and not hurting Jim's sensitive eyes at all. Within it he could see a familiar shape, and he murmured Sam's name even as he molded himself to the back of his lover, determined that whatever happened next, he'd share that fate with Blair.

Beckett looked at the Other sadly, then plunged his hands into him from the other side, gripping Blair's wrists tightly through the insubstantial Leaper. From that point of contact brightness bled into the inky covering, driving it away not only from Sandburg, but from the Other as well. When it was all gone, he stood with Jim and Blair in front of him, and Sam and Al behind him, his body still penetrated by the point of contact between the couples.

The Other himself began to change, his features flowing and shifting as if migrating to new positions in the exact same place until it was clear to Jim that there was more than one of the man standing there, each of them pressed over the other like layers of an onion. The person farthest from him was the evil thing who had tormented women for the pleasure of torment, but the one closest made Jim think of a nun he had once met whose holiness shone from her as tangibly as body warmth. That man said simply, "Thank you," and tore himself away from conglomeration of selves he inhabited, dissipating like mist before the wind.

As if he had been a linchpin for all the others, they too lifted away from the union of hands in their center, fading as they went. The last man, terror marring his face so much he bore little resemblance to his selves, begged, "No, no, you don't know what waits for me, no, no..." Then he ceased, erased as if he had never existed, and Jim couldn't help but wonder if that was indeed what that man had feared most

There was a moment of hush, but it was quickly broken by Sanderson moaning in pain. Al gave a jaunty wave as Sam grinned crookedly at them, then Jim and Blair were alone in the gloomy room. They had time to exchange a wondering look, then Blair collapsed, dropping senseless onto the dungeon floor. Working on auto pilot because weariness was eroding him as well, Jim quickly checked the director's injury, securing him to one of the pieces of equipment in the room with its own convenient handcuffs.

Gathering his lover to his chest, he flogged himself into a shambling exit, automatically taking the care needed to cover their tracks as they vanished into the woods of the estate. Once in its cool embrace, the fresh early evening air cleared his head enough that Jim abandoned his idea of hiding out there until all the official mess died down in the building behind them. The police were bound to search the woods, and as weak as he felt, he couldn't count on being able to hide them well enough.

Reviewing what few things they had with them, he abandoned everything they weren't carrying and made for where he had hidden the truck they had first arrived. Holding unconsciousness at bay with what his partner often lightly called absolutely necessary pig-headedness, Jim got them on the road, aimlessly driving away from both the estate and Boston. Each mile he promised himself that he would pull over at the first rest stop he found and park in the farthest corner for a fast nap. Just a few minutes; twenty or so; he could get by on that. Had many times.

Lulled by the beat of the road on the tires, half-seeing specters of light and shadow every where, Jim nearly missed the stop he'd promised himself, and wound up squealing recklessly across two lanes of traffic to get to it. Jolted alert by the angry horns and his own adrenaline surge, he surveyed the parking lot, looking for a secluded corner.

What Jim found had him sagging against his seatbelt, so that it was the only thing keeping him upright in his seat. Tucked into a space near a wood was a good sized mobile home with two blessedly familiar men leaning negligently on the front end, bickering with each other in the way all long-time partners spar.

Jim never did remember stopping the truck, let alone getting out of it.

***

Watching someone's life is very much like remembering your own. You can't really pull up every single detail of daily existence; it's only the highlights that come to mind and the occasional odd detail. So I skimmed through weeks of Jim and Blair's string, picking up what I needed and feeling something very akin to awe. Though I had watched them in the original history when they had been transmuted to Panther and Chief and had had a hand in the creation of what they were now, it was still unbelievable to see them effortlessly navigate into their new circumstances.

I didn't have to do anything to help them make a place for themselves in Boston. They found a place to stay, a job for Jim, got Blair into school, made contact with Nick Bennett, all while making that venerable old city a bit safer. All I did was double check that their hide-outs were secure and that no one was too interested in their sudden appearance on the scene, using a technique that I had stumbled onto when I first began Leaping as myself.

If hindsight is 20/20 in Time, on the outside, it's a zoom lens that you can focus at will. For instance, Jim walked by a man talking about what a shame it was that the tenant of the penthouse was ill and wouldn't be coming back, and I followed the conversation to the person who lived in the penthouse. From there I learned that the rent was paid up until the end of the year, and because of a crooked apartment supervisor who intended to use the place for his own purposes before he was arrested for embezzlement, no one official knew but an old man too sick to care. I created paperwork that showed there was a new resident, who was paid in full, and a key was sent to the drop Al and Jim had arranged when we met in the 'desert.' When I centered back in on Jim, and he wasn't out of earshot of the conversation yet.

It's dizzying and confusing to do that, though, and I often loose my 'sight' and have to step back to reorient myself. Worried as I was about the potential for another Leaper, I was grateful that I didn't need to make many adjustments and was even more relieved when I realized warning them wasn't going to be necessary, either. Blame it on Blair having a lingering awareness of my mind and picking up on the danger directly from me, or on shamanic intuition, or plain good cop instincts, but they deduced the possibility of another Leaper interfering with Sammy Jo on their own.

After that I paid even closer attention to what was going on around them, studying every face for signs that they were more than the seemed. Paranoia isn't something I do well, and it wore at me to the point that I was caught completely off guard by the explosion at The BookJunkie because I was watching the wrong thing. I roared a denial, grabbing at their lives with all I had, almost instinctively trying to Leap to them to help.

A solid body pressed into mine from behind, arms going around my waist, and I wavered, heart and mind trembling. "Go back a few minutes; try to talk to Blair." Al's voice barely touched my ear, but it was all I needed to steady myself and do as I was told. This time when the female viper that tried to kill my family reached for her purse, I opened my mind to Blair and willed him to hear me.

If it hadn't been for the unyielding presence behind me, I would have tumbled out of the string from pure relief when it worked. With Al solidly against me, I followed them to the penthouse, double and triple checking that they were safe. Only then did I allow my lover to pull me all the way out of Time and into his arms. We stood that way, shaking violently, until Al eased back enough to take my face in his hands.

"Blair is right," he said, plainly anticipating a fight from me. "If the Other Leaper is behind this, it's to draw you out. Therefore you stay *here* where you have all the advantages, and let our friends do their job under your eye. I'm not related to Sammy Jo, and she's not that much a part of my history. I can watch over her well enough to keep her safe while they do it, though I wish you'd let me Leap. You solo'd from the start; look how well you did."

"We already had that discussion; I thought we agreed if we Leaped, from now on it was together, so that one of us wouldn't be left behind if a Leap went wrong." My tone was neutral, though I felt like drumming my heels like a three year old and shouting no!

Al looked uneasy, but said, "It's Sammy Jo; you couldn't live with yourself if something happened to her, and it couldn't be fixed."

There wasn't anything I could say to that, so I suggested, each word weighing more than I did, "As you said, from here we have all the advantages. Let's see how it plays out before we decide what to do."

After a moment's thought, Al nodded sharply, but didn't let go of me and his thumbs skimmed over my cheeks, wiping away tears I hadn't noticed were there. "Maybe this is why we can't get too close to family, Sam. Because our hearts and minds hurt so much from dealing with them, and it's hard to make good decisions in all that pain."

I leaned into his touch, admitting there could be some truth in that. "I just hope you never have to go through what I went through with Tom and Maggie. It never stopped aching that I traded his life for hers," I confessed. "And what it meant for you."

Sighing, Al stretched up to kiss in an oddly paternal way where he had dried my tears, but didn't say anything. Somehow his eyes said it all, anyway. It won a wobbly smile from me, and I captured his hands in mine. "How do you want to co-ordinate this? Both of us in a string at the same time, or one at a time?"

"One at a time, starting with Jim'nBlair's," he answered decisively, showing a hint of the ability to command that had earned him Admiral's stripes during peace time. "If it works out right for them, there won't be as much to take care of for Sammy Jo, and from their end, it'll be like both sets of changes were happening at the same time, anyway."

"Okay." With a deep breath I let go of him and reached back into that history, almost instantly picking up where I left off. It bothered me more than I care to admit when Jim and Blair left their charges and let them go to the police. But it worked like they wanted it to. What I didn't expect was for them to follow the gunman back to his boss; I'd thought they would stay with Sammy Jo until the Other was forced to act himself instead of through his hired puppets. It wasn't until they staked out his place and began taking out his men that I understood what they were trying to do.

And why.

I still don't know how to express what it felt like to know that they were willing to die to protect me, or, worse yet from mine and Blair's point of view, kill. It's one thing to be a cop or soldier and in the heat of a battle doing what has to be done; it's another entirely to cold bloodedly choose to risk your life and soul because you can't see any other way.

The hell of it was, I couldn't either. I must have made some sound; Al touched me again with words, meaningless ones that served to remind me he was there. That got me through the next few days of their lives, helped me endure listening with them to the hideous things happening in the dungeon under the bungalow. By the time they stalked into it to confront the Other Leaper, they weren't the only one unwillingly wondering if murder was sometimes justifiable.

When Jim raised his gun, I braced myself, readying to Leap. If the Other had to die, it was going to be my risk, my responsibility, my burden, not theirs. I was as startled as Jim was when Blair darted away, then was rocked by his mental shout to me to meet him halfway through the Leap.

A split second later I guessed his plan. The one place where both myself and the Other would be equal in ability and knowledge, the one place where we could see and talk to each other without being able to attack, would be mid-Leap. What it would accomplish I didn't know, but it was better than the alternative, and we had to try.

I reached for Blair as he reached *through* the Other for me, and we captured the man between us, ready to wait out his struggle until he would listen. Instead he fractured into the rainbow of people Al had described to me, all of the possible variations of him trying to find a footing in this reality. Even knowing it was possible didn't give me a clue on what to do next, but I felt a huge surge of something taken from me by Blair, traveling through the many people, then caught a glimpse through his/their minds of the knowledge he shared of what they had become in this Time.

With power borrowed from his sentinel, the shaman rode out the surge of reaction from the multitude that ranged from pure glee to heart-wrenching denial, then waited to see what they would do with the information.

I don't think Blair was surprised when the best of the Other chose to cease to exist. As pure as that one was, death was only a gateway with a wonderful Friend waiting on the other side; no reason not to go on if the time and reason were right. We were both surprised when it caused them all to unravel like the string I'd so lightly described so often, though the first must have realized it would happen when he did it. All that was good arrowed straight for the Brightness to be, I was sure, absorbed by it for whatever it is that comes next. The rest simply no longer was.

Blair and I stood there, our lovers behind us, staring at where the Other Leaper had been and silently marveling together at what we had witnessed. Behind his partner, Jim showed shock and no small amount of pride, making me smile and wish I could step into their time and give them the whoops of relief and victory they deserved.

But Al whispered, "Not done yet, Sam," and I reluctantly released my hold both on Blair and the string and was immediately clobbered by a lead pillow of exhaustion weighing a thousand pounds. It pounded me out flat, and I was only partially aware of myself while overwhelmingly aware of the Radiance beckoning me with sweet, sweet sounds, fragrances and drowsy warmth. I was drawn to it, being spread thinner and thinner, though I fought against going with what was left of my will. At that moment, I'm ashamed to say, I wasn't sure why, only that I had to remain where I was.

As if in answer to that, sturdy hands ran over me, forming me back into a body again. They shaped and molded, defining toes, knees, ears, nose, everything. The love in them heated me as they worked, making my skin tingle and goose bump with pleasure. When they were done, I was a man again, though too limp to move or speak, except for part that marked me as male. *That* wanted to know when it was going to be touched.

As if he heard the question, Al finally took my length in hand, handling it with reverence and gentleness. His careful pumping released a moan from my chest, and he asked hesitantly "Sam?"

My lips moved, but I couldn't produce speech yet. My body spoke for me, hips rising fractionally to met his caress. It must have been a reply that Al could interpret. He covered me, his weight a blessed addition to my growing sense of physical reality, and set about creating my mouth in exquisite detail with a deep kiss.

Soon we were both panting harshly, and I was urgently using his hand to find release. But I was far too tired, and my thrusts grew ragged as what little strength I had faded before I could come. "Please," I whispered, desperate to finish. "Please, please, please." That one word was all I could find, but again my lover understood me.

He scrambled to his knees between my shamelessly wide-flung legs and bent to take me in his mouth. I wanted to scream at how hot and wet and wonderful it was; a pathetic whimper was what I produced. Al seldom loved me this way, and I had always thought it was because of unpleasant memories that it brought up or maybe because of the implications of being on his knees. Either way it was rare for him to offer and rarer still for him to enjoy it as much as he obviously was. He was growling deep inside himself, taking me into his throat with relish, moving his hand on himself in concert to the action of his lips around my cock.

But it wasn't enough to shove me over the edge, and I finally found enough energy to move my hand to Al's head to urge him upward, opening my thighs wider in blatant invitation as I did. Unwillingly he stopped sucking me, pulling away with a wet slurp that kicked a ravenous jolt through me.

"Beautiful," Al gasped, "I don't think..."

"Please!!!" Well, it worked before.

This time too, apparently. Groaning loudly, hungrily, Al flipped me onto my stomach, then touched my center with a lubed finger. That single digit wasn't enough, and I begged in a raw whimper for more, to be stretched and filled. By now need was working as a reasonable substitute for strength, and I got my knees under me, giving my lover easier access to my opening. I rocked hard on the probe inside me and reached down to masturbate myself.

That drove Al insane. "God, Sam, oh, God!!! Yeah, touch yourself, like that, yeah, like that!" Both hands on my hips to hold me in place, he shoved into me, penetrating completely, and started a hammering pace that I had to brace myself against to keep from being flattened into the ground. It only made the pounding I was getting feel better.

At the back of my skull I could feel my climax begin its way down my spine, moving too slowly, all too slowly. Inside me Al's cock grew a bit harder, a bit longer, preparing to come, and I couldn't shut down a disappointed cry.

"Sam! Oh.. sor.... love you! love, ahhhhh."

Wetness flooded in me, scalding and soothing, but I was frantic to shoot, and I lunged back onto Al's rod, hoping to shatter the hard knot of tension in my groin before he softened. I fisted myself roughly, uncaring of any damage I might do, mewling Al's name over and over.

With a quick move he jerked out, which hurt, but before I could protest, he'd shoved me over to my back again. Thinking he meant to taste me again, I muttered, "Yes, yes, suck me, Al, suck me!" But he slicked my shaft up, making me writhe with the overwhelming need to come. "Wha..."

Before I could do more than that, Al perched over me, his intent clear in the position and his intense concentration. "No." I muttered, fighting to cool my brains enough to think. "No, no, you don't have to."

"I need to," Al muttered. Then he stopped, pinning me with a loving gaze. "And I want to. You can tell me it doesn't matter, I can tell myself there's no hurry, but the truth of it is, it does matter and even for us, Time will end.

"You show your heart and soul to me every time we love, but I hide mine, worrying that you won't be able to accept the ugliness in it. But you fought to save a man who was nothing but ugly. How the hell can I keep hiding from you and not *be* less of a man, just like I'm afraid of, Sam? How can I?"

Lust and exhaustion are a heady combination, but the addition of tenderness makes it a high that no chemical could duplicate. I leaned up, bracing myself on one elbow, and kissed him as if for the first time, trying to give him my soul through my lips. He surrendered his own, and we let our tongues promise our bodies what would happen next.

Never releasing my mouth, he sank down on me, both of us ignoring any awkwardness and his flinch of pain. Passively I let Al take it at his pace, only the cold shivers over my skin hinting at how difficult it was. He was so hot and the tender flesh of his channel wrapped around my cock in a way that demanded I climax, and climax now. When he began to ride, I had to drop onto my back or lose it completely within the first few strokes.

I left my hand cupped to the side of his face, thumb near his lips, and I brushed over them lightly, distracting myself with their softness. Sucking it into his mouth, he teased the pad of it, helping me hold off and satisfying his own oral urges. It was unbearably sexy watching him do that, though; rising and falling on my shaft, expression blissful as he nursed on my hand.

"Al," I warned hoarsely, and lost it, doing my best to slam up into him hard enough to rattle his teeth.

There was no way I could do that long enough; not then, not ever. Being a part of him is that necessary. But the finish that I was no longer in a hurry for decided to stop lingering; it crashed into the knot of pleasure inside me, destroying it and us in a blaze of ecstasy that pulled me closer to my lover even as my awareness of him subsided the animal level of rejoicing in his screaming release.

When the last jolts reassembled us back into people, I wound myself around him as if never to leave, and happily cuddled us both to sleep.

***

On his way up from the comfort of a deep, healing sleep, Jim thought to himself, "Damn, breakfast smells good. What's Blair cooking?"

That drifted alongside his consciousness for a while, then another piece of information meandered by. "Blair's hair smells great, almost as great as it feels on my chest and arm."

It is a credit to how exhausted he must have been that the two ideas existed companionably side-by-side for several minutes before it occurred to the more paranoid part of his mind that they were, at the moment, contradictory in nature. If Blair's curls were currently warming his body, along with the rest of his lover, then it was very unlikely that he was responsible for the mouth-watering smells coming up from his kitchen.

Abruptly his eyes shot open and Jim grabbed for his gun as he popped out of bed, going into a fighting crouch. Well, that was the plan, anyway. He got as far as the eyes open part of it, but when it was time for the moving part, his muscles flat out refused to do anything more than twitch painfully. Terror started to swamp him, but Blair slid a sleepy hand up to cup his jaw, mumbling something nonsensical.

As if that were the kick he'd needed to get his brain in gear properly, the memories of the last few days, such as they were, presented themselves, and Jim sucked in a shaky breath. It was Sam or Al in his kitchen, probably the latter since he was the better cook, and they were there because they had brought him and Blair home to Cascade.

The first time Jim had regained consciousness after blacking out at the rest stop, he and his lover had been crammed into the bed of a large motor home Al was leisurely driving west. Sam had assured him that nothing was wrong except extreme fatigue, go ahead and rest, everything is taken care of.

Jim had taken him at his word and had plummeted back into sleep. Several times he had been roused enough to eat a few bites and be helped to the bathroom to take care of personal needs, but he had been barely aware, he knew. He didn't think Blair had awakened even that much; in his mind he had felt his partner curled in on himself, garnering strength in small increments and not wasting any even on dreaming.

Now the usual hum of activity was back, though at the level Jim associated with Blair drowsy and satisfied. With everything in place inside and out, he relaxed into the mattress, inching his fingers farther into the silk falling over it. He looked down at the head cushioned on his upper arm, the nose pressed into his breastbone, and sighed. Blair had looked like a starving orphan waif from some Dickinson novel the first time he'd awakened. Now he was still way too thin, but the color was back in his face and there were no tremors in the wiry limbs.

"I hope somebody's planning on bringing that up to us," Blair mumbled, tickling Jim with his breath and the vibration. "Cause my muscles are on strike. Though I'd crawl to get to Al's blueberry pancakes if I had to, those steps have splinters, man. I'd be picking them out of our hide for a week."

"You mean I'd be picking them out of yours, Chief," Jim contradicted mildly. "I wouldn't crawl." At Blair's snort of disbelief, he defended, "Hey, I'm an ex-Ranger. I know how to improvise to achieve a goal. I'll push you over the rail, then fall on top of you."

Blair thought about that for a second, then said thoughtfully, "That means *you'd* actually be moving *me*. No effort on my part. Hmmm. Would you give me the first stack?"

"Deal."

But neither of them moved; instead they snuggled a bit closer, exchanging leisurely, drowsy kisses that were only meant to say hi, good morning, I love you. Kisses like that have a tendency to get more serious the longer they go on, and Jim was working on reminding himself that his partner wasn't up to sexual acrobatics just yet when Al said dryly, "Blueberry pancakes aren't going to do for the kind of appetite these guys are working up, Sam."

In answer Jim and Blair simultaneously flipped him the bird and dove into each other's mouth a bit deeper. From the stairs Sam and Al broke into delighted laughter, which was contagious enough that the partners had to break off. There's no way to kiss and grin at the same time, which made all of them laugh that much harder.

Still chuckling the two men bearing trays of food climbed the rest of the way into the room, being careful not to spill in deference to Jim's tidy ways. The amount of help he needed to sit up alarmed Jim, but not as much as the way it made his lover's heart beat accelerate. Reading his concern, Sam did a fast check on Blair, nodding in satisfaction at what he found.

"No damage, guys. But you're going to need at least a week's bed rest, and I do mean rest. You've pretty much depleted every physical resource you had, Blair. It takes time to rebuild that, and nice as sex feels, it's more draining than you can afford right now." In pure doctor mode, Sam shot Jim a sharp look and added, "Even with you giving him a boost. If he's going to live as a shaman, he's going to have to learn to husband his - and your - resources."

"I intend to, on both counts," Blair said calmly. "Could you use one once in a while?"

Startled, Jim sat up straighter in bed, mind spinning, and his grin renewing to the point it threatened to split his head. With the monies they had drained from crooks during their years in DC, they wouldn't be hurting financially and the thought of working behind a badge again had been so claustrophobic he had been putting off Simon with half-hearted excuses since returning.

With Sam's help and backing, they could keep doing the work he and Blair had come to love - putting right what was wrong for people who could use a discrete, hidden helping hand.

Sam exchanged a considering look with Sam, and answered slowly, "We make a good team..."

A familiar voice out in the parking lot caught Jim's attention, and he murmured, "Though we shouldn't work under our real names, I think; maybe go back to using Panther and Chief. It might be a good idea to keep Cascade and the loft as a home base, which means not leaving any tracks."

"Do you really think that could be a problem?" Al asked curiously.

"Not a problem exactly," Jim told him distractedly. "Sam, would you mind getting the door?"

The comment earned him odd looks from everybody, and he heard for his ears only from Blair, "Jim?"

He repeated patiently, just as the knock sounded at the door. "Sam, will you get that?"

With a worried expression on his face, Sam rose to do as he asked, but when he tried to speak, Jim waved him for quiet and pointed downstairs. Sam left, and when Al would have too, Jim stopped him with a hand on his arm and a finger on his lips to hush him.

They listened to Sam's footsteps down the steps and to the door, to the sound of it being opened, and Sammy Jo asking sweetly, "May I speak to Jim and Blair, please?"

There was dead silence, then Sam whispered reverently, "Oooooohhhh boy!"

finis
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