When Al quietly murmured, "Hello there, Beautiful," to Sam, Blair slipped away to the relative privacy of the bathroom, sure that for the moment neither would miss him. Leaning over the sink, clutching the porcelain so tightly his hands ached, he fought down the scream clawing at his throat, terrified to give it voice. An unholy mixture of anger at Joel's betrayal, fear for his sentinel, and black envy at the inarguable fact that Al and Sam could never be separated against their wills, it was only a symptom of the agony tearing at him. If he gave into it, he would waste energy he needed to search for Jim.
Not to mention scare the hell out of Sam and Al.
With exhaustion fluttering at the edges of his awareness, Blair longed for a black, black minute for sleep and its promise of peaceful nothingness. It would be so easy; just crawl into a warm spot, and relax. He could be beyond even dreams within a few heartbeats and wait like a fairy tale character for the others to find Jim and bring him to Blair to wake him with a kiss.
Unexpectedly his imagination provided him with an image of Jim doing just that, as he had many times since they became lovers. Almost hearing him chuckle, "Even got the hair for the role," as he ran his fingers through Blair's long curls, Blair smiled, nearly against his will. The need to scream subsided, and he let himself imagine other places those knowing fingers would travel, not to incite passion, but to coax the last dregs of enjoyment from their loving. Jim's sensuality didn't begin at foreplay or end at climax, but was part of every private moment they shared. It was a facet of their life together that he should have expected, hadn't, and was very grateful for, especially now.
His skin remembered Jim lazily stroking his throat and onto his shoulders, digging into his hair to massage his scalp, all the while kissing him and murmuring his approval of Blair's taste and feel in a near-purr. *There you go, Chief. Let it all go, for now. When it's all over, we'll go someplace where you can feel free to rant and pace and scream until it's done, then you'll meditate to process the rest of it. Won't get rid of the hurt, but it'll help you find a way to live with it.*
Without thinking, Blair obeyed the fantasy voice, slowly straightening, breathing slowly and more evenly. *That's it. Just like that.*
"Jim," he whispered. "Oh, please…Jim!" Jim's weight was real and solid behind Blair, his heat sinking in to join the tension building in Blair's middle. His thighs quivered, and a ridge of hard line of maleness dug into the crease of his ass, driving away any thought but ones of having Jim inside him. A part of him believed that if he leaned his head back, Jim's shoulder would be there to support it; that Jim's lips would come down to hungrily cover his.
A sharp knock on the door jarred Blair out of his illusion, but the consolation of it remained, and he was able to calmly call out, "Just a sec."
After washing his face and hands, he opened the door to find Al waiting on the other side, worry radiating off of him in waves. "You okay?"
To his shock, he blurted, "How did you do it?" At Al's startled silence, Blair added, "When Sam was Leaping by himself, and you had no way of knowing if he was happy or hurt or even alive. How'd you stay sane, let alone live your life normally?"
He felt Al draw himself up to his full height, as if he were facing something he'd rather not even think about. "I didn't. By the time he contacted me again for my help in changing your history, I was suicidal; useless to myself and everyone around me."
Ashamed, Blair half-turned away from him, unnecessarily straightening a towel on the rack. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dredged all that up for you."
"Don't be." Al caught Blair at the elbow and gently turned him back to face him. "Living through that was what gave me the courage to Leap with Sam, and it's all been worth it since." He hesitated, then went on. "One thing I've learned is that things do happen for a reason, as inexplicable as that seems from this side of Time. Not much to hang onto, I know, but it's something."
With a small squeeze to Blair's arm, Al firmly changed the subject. "We have to get moving before Stiers decides that burning down the place is the best way to get rid of any evidence Jim was held there."
Following him down the hall, Blair said, "Or his associates decide to do it for him."
"That's especially likely if they're panicked," Sam agreed, putting Blair's cane and backpack into his hands.
"I just wish I knew what has them so spooked," Blair said. "We could use that against them."
"It's got to have something to do with Al and me," Sam said thoughtfully, putting on a light jacket against the rain Blair could hear pattering on the roof.
Catching an echo of pain in the movement, Blair ground to a stop, wishing he knew what to say. 'Thank you' didn't seem nearly enough to cover what they had done for him or what they were willing to do.
Before he could speak, though, Sam said bluntly, "Stop it. Bumps and bruises are part of what I do. I accepted that a long time ago, and don't have a single problem with it. Isn't that the same attitude you have about riding with Jim?"
Shaking his head, Blair wanted to say, 'that's different,' but he had to be honest with himself and concede it wasn't. Instead he said, "Now I know why Jim wanted me to stay in the truck all the time."
After a shared chuckle, they quickly settled down into reviewing what they had learned from the files, hoping they would pick up on a clue they had overlooked. The conversation lasted all the way to the storage facility that Joel had directed them to, dying only when Al pointed out the gate was ajar. Discussion wasn't needed; he parked the car in a deeply shadowed corner and led the way to the unit they wanted.
Not unsurprisingly, two cars were parked in front of it, though it was the largest single structure on the grounds, with a bay door more than large enough to have put the cars inside, out of sight. The three of them hid as best they could in the sparse cover of a deep doorway opposite to scrutinize the situation, Blair inwardly chaffing against a sense of time running out, despite acknowledging the necessity of caution.
"Left them out for a quick get-away," Al muttered. "Only one door in, which they obligingly left open. Sloppiness or more proof they're in a hurry?"
"Doesn't matter, they'll be on their guard," Blair whispered. "Question is, what next? Wait, or try to sneak in and hope there's cover? What?"
Before either of them could answer, a gunshot rang out, startling them into crouching low. More sounded in quick succession, and Blair flipped open his cell phone to call in a 911, but pain ripped through him, not his, but from someone nearby, and he staggered, unable to breathe. More hit quickly, not the same person, then yet a third, all of them mentally howling in an agony he knew instinctively was mortal. A fist in his mouth to stop their shrieks of denial from becoming his, he shook under the weight of it, trying to wall it all out.
One died, still unbelieving, lessening the anguish, then another, and Blair panted out, "One left, only one, hurry, hurry."
Picking him up between them, Sam and Al half-carried Blair into the building, taking care to go in low in case they became a target. To his ears the room was cavernous and empty. Al confirmed his guess with a muttered, "No place to hide when the bullets flew." Blair hardly heard him; the last gasps of a dying person had his whole attention. Clinging to the thought that it wasn't Jim, he would have been able to tell that instantly, he followed Sam to the one left, barely registering Al's curt, "Stiers. Looks like somebody decided he was the problem that needed erased most."
Aware that Sam was doing medical things to Steirs, Blair knelt by his head, unflinchingly putting his palm down on Steir's forehead, surfing the blast of hatred and rage with a skill born of pure desperation. One phrase, "Fuckers aren't going to get away with it, never get away with it, fuckers aren't going to get away with it," dominated Stier's emotions, sounding as clear to Blair as if he'd spoken.
Taking it for his own, he bent over Stiers until his lips were at Stiers' ear. "Want to make sure they get what they deserve? That they end up eating your pain with endless hours in prison, playing best girl for some 250 pound, three-time loser? Tell me who isn't getting away with it. Tell me, Stiers. Get even. Have your revenge done."
A fist wet with what had to be blood clutched at his shirt, just at the throat. "Candy-assed, useless…" Stiers coughed, gagged and spit as best he could. "You haven't got what it takes. Banks neither. Nobody in this town has enough clout to touch the bastard."
"I do." Al's utter confidence made the two words sound as if they were engraved in stone, and Stiers grip loosened fractionally.
With another gurgled cough, Stiers muttered. "Saw the surveillance pic of you with Ellison and freaked. Thought he was going to stroke out right then and there. Insisted we put an A.P.B on you; pure luck that asshole idiot Baxter saw you first."
"Who?" Blair whispered, softly, compellingly. "Get the bastard, Stiers. Get him good. Who freaked when he saw Calavicci?"
"Bolger. Dr. Edward Bolger." Stiers managed a foul laugh, and Blair shuddered under the fear/hatred in it, but it was nothing to the vicious bite of recognition from Al. "Expecting me to die quietly now? No chance. You go ahead, try to bring him down. I'll be in the wings waiting if you fail, and if you don't, I'll still have Ellison to sell when the time's right. Waited this long; waited since he convinced my C.O. he wasn't a freak. You can't, can't…" He gasped, and grunted, "Fuck," over and over until his last breath hissed out of him.
Blair slowly sat up on his heels, prying away the hand on his shirt with a disgust that had nothing to do with the blood on it. "Green Security. Jim was at a secured facility for medical attention and debriefing right after he was rescued from Peru. This poor excuse for a human must have seen what Jim could do before he shut down to survive civilization, and he would have had access to all his records.
"Matter of factly, Al said, "Sam and I'll make sure that any copies he has are destroyed. And bleed his accounts into the usual charities."
"If he has family, make sure they get enough to make it," Blair said automatically. "Al, you know Bolger."
It wasn't a question, but Al answered as if it were. "Weisman was the idea and money man for The Shop and its ilk; Delacourt was the jailor, using terror to keep everyone in line. Bolger was the sadistic monster who decided what 'experiments' were to be done and how. When Weisman closed The Shop, I didn't have anything to pin on Bolger and he scuttled into the cracks, though I knew from the time I took on the whole military liaison thing that he was one of the sick bastards. Can't tell you how many times I derailed one of his project proposals, which is one reason he might be afraid of me."
With self-disgust dripping from every word, he added, "From everything I knew about him, I figured he was too much of a coward to work without heavy-duty backing. He either found some one as powerful as the military to support him, or I was wrong."
"You couldn't have known," Blair started.
"Yes, I could have. That is never, ever going to be an excuse."
"Stop it you two," Sam cut in. "We don't have time to play the blame game. Blair, is there anything you can learn from this place? The police are bound to be here soon."
"Should have been by now," Blair said, slowly getting to his feet. "Want to bet that backup has been deliberately delayed, probably by Steirs' own men?"
Not waiting for an answer, he moved away from the bodies and stood quietly for a moment, trying to feel and think, one fist drumming on his thigh. Everything seemed the same as when he'd been here as part of Jim, earlier. Yet, if he could, Jim would have left some clue for him; one designed for a blind person. So, it had to be sound, feel, or scent, none of which were shouting 'paying attention to me.'
"He was lying on a pallet," Blair muttered out loud without meaning to.
"Four feet in front of you, slightly to your left," Al said.
Taking a deep breath to brace himself before moving, Blair stopped, head dropped to his chest as he considered. "What's that scent? It's what I smelled on Joel that told me he'd been here. Sort of fishy, but not exactly?"
"Ion exchange resin," Sam said promptly. "Used to purify water for industrial purposes, like in some water softener units or power plant filtration systems."
Thinking hard, Blair asked, "Isn't this a strange place to keep something like that?"
"I can't think of a good reason why anyone would," Sam said, thoughtfully. "Neither Stiers or Bolger would have used this place if they could be connected to who rented it, but they might have a connection to the resin. Bolger would need that if he were creating his own power for a research facility, which is the best way to go if you need a great deal of it and don't want to have to depend on local utilities. Or explain why you need it to government regulators."
"Okay, that's one thing to check out. Blair, can you think of another, and fast?" Al moved restlessly toward the door, his growing tension making it hard for Blair to concentrate.
Groping around, he found the wooden pallet Jim had been on and carefully ran his fingers over it. Finding nothing but splinters, he laid down on it in the same position Jim had been in, considering what options he would have had with both hands behind him. "Drugged, mostly out of it, maybe bleeding. It would have dripped into the wood and under it. Wait, under, under the pallet. Sam?"
Between them they lifted it away, and Sam said, "His wallet, he left his wallet behind. It's open."
He put it in Blair's hands, and he cautiously explored its shape, immediately finding small notches on the plastic cards in their slits running up the height of the wallet. They were sharp, obviously fresh, and he pondered them for a moment before realizing the configuration was familiar. "Braille alphabet," he said out loud, then read, "N, I, 4, 0, F, A, L, L, S. Must not have had time for more."
Closing the wallet with an absurd feeling of tenderness, Blair slipped it in his pocket. "What the hell does it mean? The start of an address?"
From the door, Al said, "Save solving the puzzle for when we're out of here. Need to keep looking?"
Inexplicably sure there wasn't any thing else to find, Blair shook his head and ran for the door, Sam at his side to guide him. They reached the Volvo just as two police cruisers, lights flashing and sirens sounding, crashed through the partially open gates, without so much as a glance at the surrounding area, as if they thought all they needed to worry about was on the storage facility grounds. Despite that, Al took no chances, and put the Volvo in neutral to let it glide backwards and away from the action before turning on the engine and headlights.
Once they were safely on the road, Al asked conversationally, "Does anybody besides me realize that we just left the scene of a crime without talking about it, never mind thinking about the consequences?"
Blair couldn't stop a small chuckle. "You forgot tampering with evidence and interfering with a police investigation."
"Already been accused of that one today," Sam said. "If we'd stayed, they probably would have added drummed up murder charges to the list. Stiers' people would love getting revenge for ruining their setup."
With a weariness that sounded nearly painful, Al said, "No doubt someone is already stepping into his shoes to take over where he left off." He clamped down on it instantly, though, and went back to the job at hand. "Are you sure of the message Jim left behind, Blair? N, I, 4, 0, F, A, L, L, S?"
Taking the wallet back out, Blair explored it completely with his lightest touch, concentrating on it with an intensity that would have startled him under any other circumstances. After a minute, he put it away again, unable to resist a little caress to the worn leather, in lieu of the person he wanted to pet. "It's jagged, but legible. But Jim was drugged; he could have been messed up enough that it made perfect sense to him when he left it."
"Could the 'four' be a mistake, then?" Sam asked. "Like a typo?"
"He knows Braille as well as I do, but given the circumstances he was working in, it's possible I guess."
"Nitro, India, Four, Zero," Al repeated, apparently automatically converting the letters to the military form for clarity, and snapped his fingers. "Road, it's a road. North, Interstate Forty."
"So a place with the word 'falls' in the name," Blair said doubtfully, "On I40."
"No, a real waterfall," Sam said confidently. "Ion exchange resin, remember? Hydroelectric power plants are built at waterfalls, *and* the resin comes in people-sized barrels. You could move prisoners in and out invisibly." He had a thought that turned his tone grim. "Or bodies. Spent resin would have its own smell to cover decomposition, and if you put them in with a radioactive load from a nuclear power plant, they'd never be touched again. That's another reason to store it where Jim was."
With just a touch of knee-jerk outrage, Blair said, "Nuclear waste is supposed to be very tightly controlled."
"Given human nature and what I know of the system from running Stallion's Gate," Al said, "It wouldn't be impossible to add a barrel, now and again. Not to mention Stiers was convinced that Bolger had found a high-powered backer. Money can work against any system, especially if the bribe looks like it's for something relatively harmless."
Figuratively brushing away the digression, Blair said, "Okay, power plant next to a falls on I40 – we can work with this. Can you find 80th and Elm, Al? There's a all-night cyber cafe there where we can research possible locations on the net."
"On the way."
The car accelerated smoothly, as if all Al had needed was a goal, and Blair fell silent, to quickly become lost in his own thoughts. Worry was inevitable, but the more he learned about the conditions Jim was coping with, the worse it became. Added to a drug reaction and those idiots creatively punishing ways of making sure he wasn't faking it, he had been stuffed in a barrel, probably without so much as an air hole in it, to be bounced around in the back of a delivery truck for who-the-hell knew how many miles. Sensory overload was going to be a big problem, and if he were badly zoned, there was no telling what Bolger and his people would do to try to pull him out of it.
Fingers against his mouth, he tried to reassure himself that Jim was too valuable as a test subject to kill outright, and too stubborn to give up or believe that help wasn't coming. He would be in bad shape, but Blair could deal with that. He would deal with that.
Hanging onto that thought tightly for the rest of the trip, he catapulted out of the car, cane in hand, and had his laptop set up, earpiece in place, almost before Sam and Al could get settled at a PC station. Frustratingly, nothing useful turned up, no matter what search parameters he used, and Blair finally turned off the sound and waited until there was a break in the softly murmured conversation between his companions.
"Anything?"
"We're hitting it from another angle," Al said distractedly. "If it is a generating station being used by Bolger as a base for research, it had to have either been converted to laboratories somewhere along the line, or built specifically for that purpose. Good bet is that the government did it, covertly or not, maybe as far back as the Fifties. I've still got all the access codes to files like that."
Knowing that interruptions would only slow them down and incredibly frustrated because he couldn't read the information with them, Blair decided to check out Bolger himself. In a very short time, he angrily shut down his laptop. "The man's another Joseph Mengele," he muttered in disgust to the world in general. "Openly advocates using condemned prisoners for medical experimentation, up to and including vivisection. Forced persuasive conditioning, my ass. New torture techniques for mind control is more like it."
Stomach swimming with nausea that his sentinel was in the hands of a monster like that, he stood to go to the bathroom, but froze in place as an odd sensation chased through his muscles. It was fiery, caustically so, burning in his veins to inflame every part of him. In seconds Blair was being eaten alive by it, a millimeter at a time, unable to scream from pain so intense it took all the air in his lungs for itself.
Dimly he was aware that he had fallen to the floor, that Sam was bending over him, and that he could hear Al's voice in the background doing the crowd-control thing. But the pain owned him now, and soon that was all that existed. How long Blair endured it, vainly praying with the rare coherent thought for the blessed relief of unconsciousness, he would never want to know. Just as he thought it would destroy him completely, he heard/felt Jim whisper *let it go, Chief…don't fight…like meditating, see it, acknowledge it, let it go…you can do it, you can!*
Mindlessly Blair obeyed the confident demand, hoping that at the very least the effort would be the final straw for his over-taxed body and send him into nothingness. Instead he found himself standing beside his pain, looking over a sketched outline of himself done in flames and black streaks, knowing that it was agony, but not feeling it as such. He turned his back on it, metaphorically, his attention caught by a soft babble of voices.
Focusing, he heard Sam's firm count of one, two, three…. "Cool – must be doing CPR on me," Blair murmured soundlessly. Dismissing it, he took a mental step away to listen to others, more as a diversion than anything else, not wanting to think about what was happening to his body. It brought the pain too close.
Two men were having a conversation, dispassionate and detached about the subject of it, a clinical discussion perhaps. Curious, Blair 'drifted' closer, guiltlessly eavesdropping.
"Not at all the expected reaction to the stimulant."
"Case files notes frequent contrary or adverse drug reactions. Subject Female Sentinel often exhibited unpredictable chemical response, but never to this degree. The calculations for the dose were based upon effective amounts for her."
Sentinel? They had to be talking about Jim! He had to be 'hearing' with his ears again, the way he had earlier today. Eagerly, Blair put everything he had into listening.
"Possibly a gender difference." At last there was a hint of emotion in the speaker: a deeply hidden, wicked glee.
"Anecdotal evidence indicates Subject Male Sentinel has greater sensory acuity and control, but that could be a gender issue as well."
"Doctors, we've established rhythm." A female voice broke in.
"Excellent. Let the drugs run their course. When the tox screens come back clean, we can begin our work."
There were several odd sounds that Blair thought sounded vaguely familiar, then the first man who had spoken said, "There is the possibility that he will become vegetative, as did Female Sentinel when subjected to over-exposure to chemical stimulus. Our attempt to counteract the sedative overdose may have been damaging."
After a long, long pause, the man that Blair suspected was Bolger said with the faintest hint of petulance and fear, "That would be disappointing. Field observations have denoted a high possibility that this one would have proven to be very, very instructive as a test subject. We might have been able to use him as the blueprint to enhance sensory perceptions on demand. That would be a very effective tool for retrieving information from recalcitrant individuals, among other uses. Our backers will be very disappointed."
He easily banished that tiny trace of feeling and finished, "No matter. He will be useful either way. His sensitivity to drugs makes him an excellent candidate for the pharmaceutical studies, aware or not. Much can be learned by extreme, negative reactions. I am sure I can convince the others that our work is still worth their while."
His voice trailed away as he moved out of range, as did the others in the room, leaving Blair alone with the beeps and clicks of hospital machinery, including the steady clunk!hiss of a respirator. Alone, that was, except for a heavy black anger that he would have never thought he was capable of feeling. It grew steadily with each thump of the machinery that told him how close his sentinel, his mate had come to death at the hands of inhumanly cold and calloused people. Dealing with it was beyond his comprehension, let alone his experience, and as he floundered with it, Blair lost the separation between himself and the pain, falling back into it with a throat-tearing scream.
Mercifully, he had only an instant of it to endure; an instant long enough to understand that it was Jim's agony, and while he was unconscious, they would both be spared from it. It must have also been the catalyst that allowed Blair to connect again, a thought he carefully filed away for later consideration. At the moment, his attention was taken up by the bizarre noises and sensations beating at his own body.
Moaning, Blair tried to take command of it, at least enough to give him a baseline to work with. The sound itself was enough, though, and he painstakingly turned the noise into speech: soothing, calming tones from Al, explaining that his friend was epileptic and a doctor was already taking care of him, please don't worry and thank you for all your help. He was being carried through a crowd, between Sam and Al from the feel of it, and in a few moments they were outside in the cool air and light drizzle. The dampness revived him enough to mutter, "Jim - they're hurting Jim."
"You mean killing him," Sam said irately. "Blair, you can't let yourself be drawn into his torment like that; you have to block it. You'll both die."
"Mmmm," Blair agreed, pretending to be more out of it than he was. No way was he going to stay away from his sentinel, and if that meant dying with him, fine. They could all have a huge fight about it on the other side of Life.
Sensing they were taking him home, he let himself drift along the edge of awareness. He hadn't really picked up anything useful from his moments of eavesdropping, and if Sam or Al had gotten anything from the 'net, they would still need to discuss a battle plan before they did anything else. They might also need Simon's help, and, at the very least, had to fill him in on what they'd learned. He could afford to rest, just a little, just until they got to the loft.
Soon they were in the car - it felt ridiculously like he had spent the entire day there - and on their way, Sam driving smoothly, as if afraid to jar him. Al's shoulder was comfortable, and he radiated unselfconscious warmth and caring that was a balm to Blair's stressed nerves. With a little hitch that hurt everywhere, he settled himself as best he could and let the road sing to him, drinking in the promise of Jim's tiny kisses over his face as he dozed.
Blair didn't stir again until they were in the elevator on the way up to the loft, and weakly batted at them to put him down on his own two feet. Not loosening his grip in the slightest, Sam said, "No. Your heart stopped, Blair, and the biorestorative is wearing off. You need rest. Unless you have news more specific than they're hurting Jim, there's no reason for you not to. If you like, you can consider that doctor's orders."
Subsiding with a grumble so quiet he hardly heard it himself, Blair obeyed, but only because he couldn't think of a way to get loose that wouldn't entail falling on the floor. He was sore enough, thanks to Sam's compressions to his chest and the muscular tension from so much pain. As close to the edge as he was, one more bump would do the job of putting him completely out, whether he wanted to be or not.
Tucking the jacket closer around him without removing the arm around his waist to hold him up, and not incidentally shielding him from Sam, Al said, "Don't bother arguing with him when he uses his 'I know what's best tone.' Doesn't hear a word."
"Like that's ever stopped you from just going ahead with whatever you had in mind in the first place," Sam said amiably.
For a moment his love for his partner flared through the barriers, rich and wonderful, and Blair unwillingly relaxed more under its pervasive comfort. He had trusted Sam and Al to watch over him and Jim more than once; it wasn't in them to not give their best to free Jim as soon as possible. Thinking wistfully of their big bed and how good it was to lie there, snugly wrapped in blankets redolent of Jim's scent, he dropped the last of his defenses.
Because he wanted to enjoy that pleasure, Blair stubbornly held onto the last strands of wakefulness. *Really have to come up with a good way to say thank you,* he thought vaguely. *Maybe do something about Al's ghost. Wonder if he's seen it again since he told us about it?*
Trying to stay coherent enough to make a mental note to ask him, Blair roused as they reached the door to the loft, sensing people on the other side. "Company," Blair murmured. "Think it's Simon and Joel."
"Brace yourself," Al said to him, then took away his support. Interestingly, all Blair picked up from Sam in that moment was a resonance from his injuries, as if for a moment they were his, as well.
Al went in ahead of them, most likely to make sure that it was who he thought it was. He greeted them heartily, and Sam took it as a cue to push the door wider and go inside himself, still half-carrying Blair. Blair had time to hear Simon's harsh, "My God," before a barrage of fire-edged emotions branded his mind, searing it into agony as terrible as Jim's physical pain had been.
Back arching violently, he kicked free of the hold on him, not feeling the impact on the floor through what was burning his mind. With no idea where he was, or who was responsible for the unexpected onslaught, Blair scrambled on all fours to get away, instinctively hunting for a wall to orient himself by. Paying no heed to the shocked babble of voices around him, he flailed out until he hit something cold and metallic, the refrigerator, it had to be, which meant, kitchen, corner that way, that way, and he backed into it, arms over his head as if that could block out the attack.
Mercifully, the worst of it stopped, clamped down under a massive effort of will power, and what was left behind Blair could and did frantically shunt away. A moment later precious silence filled the room, except for a thin wail of pain that Blair abruptly realized was his own. Stifling it, panting as if he'd run a mile, he huddled where he was, unable to move or think.
"Blair," Sam whispered. "Let us help you."
"Can't, can't," Blair whispered back. "Even Al….So much, so much…."
"Sleep can help. The bed is right this way. I won't touch you, just your clothes to help you stand up."
Yes, bed, that was good. Jim was there, in so many ways, and would take it all away for a while. "Stay back; I'll make it. Which way?"
Sam's unhappiness at being able to do no more than navigate was stridently sour, but there was no trace of it in his words as he patiently coached Blair as he crept toward his bedroom. Far, far away he could hear Al bustling around, his emotions dropping down to a soft buzz of busyness that was almost relaxing. The rest of it stayed far enough distant that he could shove it into the darkness seeping into everything. After an eternity of suffering, he made it to the huge mattress on the floor that served as his and Jim's bed.
Softness was under his hands and knees, and the hum of Jim's white sound generator soothed him with familiarity. Pretending he could feel Jim's heat and mass, Blair toed off his shoes and wiggled into the blankets, sighing as he spooned up to where Jim should have been. There was just enough memory of him in scent, warmth and shape that the pretense became true in Blair's mind, allowing him the peace he desperately craved. Murmuring Jim's name, he tucked his own pillow under his head just right and instantly fell asleep.
Al carefully removed the chemical heat packs from under Blair's bedding, grateful again for Jim's anal habit of keeping medical supplies on hand for every possible need. He'd had plenty of time to pre-warm the blankets with them and build a human-sized lump of bedding as Blair made his excruciatingly slow way to the bedroom, and seeing him snuggle up to the 'counterfeit' Jim made the effort more than worthwhile. Catching Sam's eye, he asked with a look if there wasn't something more they could do to help.
With a slight shake of his head, no, Sam drew him out of the room, shutting the French door firmly. As if in benediction, he laid his palm flat on a glass pane, expression sad and resigned. "There's no going back for him now, no restoring the walls to be normal again. If Jim dies, we'll lose both of them."
Rocking slightly on his heels, Al hesitated, but finally said, "I don't think either of them have a problem with that." Sam gave him a quick glance filled with sorrow, but nodded his agreement. Hoping it would comfort him, he added, "It's not like we haven't made the same decision, ourselves, and for pretty much the same reasons. Dying can't be as bad as being left behind."
"Left alone," Sam whispered, blindly reaching for Al.
He caught his hand, kissing the knuckles. "Never again," Al promised.
A small noise warned them that they had an audience, and Al shot down a surge of irritation at the interruption at the shattered, miserable look on Joel's face. "Is he going to be okay?" Joel asked softly.
With a sigh that said it all, Sam said, "Not until we find Jim, but he's better. Rest will help - give him a chance to regroup, get what barriers he can in place. Come on, we need to talk."
Al led the way back to the living room, and went to build a fire, as much for something to do as to counter the chill in the air. Joel sat down at the kitchen table with Simon and poured himself a drink from bottle of scotch sitting there. Simon already had his drink, half empty from the look of it, and was reading one of the files scattered over the table with a doggedness that clearly said that he didn't care what was in it, as long as it kept his mind away from what had happened.
For several long minutes silence reigned, mostly, Al was sure, because no one knew where to start or what to say. Including himself. Finally, Joel said, "I never dreamed…"
At his words, Simon shot Joel an understanding look over the top of his glasses, and Sam's expression softened into compassion as well. Al wasn't ready to let him off the hook yet, not completely, and he gruffly interrupted. "Did you ever even try?"
Joel winced, but it was Sam who said from Jim's usual post near the balcony, "It's not as though what Jim and Blair have is common, or even within the realm of reasonable consideration. All he had go on was what he saw and heard."
"Cops see a lot of victims, and are naturally suspicious when we see something that doesn't quite click," Simon put in, quietly defending his officer. "Without knowing all the details, like I did, I can see where an outsider might misunderstand their relationship. Hell, there were times I thought Jim was being too rough on Sandburg myself."
"Huh!" Al said dismissively.
Before he could add more, Joel said, "No, Al's right. I let Stiers color my opinion of Jim. I didn't look past what I thought I knew about him. For that fact, I didn't really see Blair. Despite knowing how strong he was, I honestly believed that he was becoming the casualty of a rogue cop."
Only slightly mollified by the confession, Al said grudgingly, "And anyone can become a victim under the right circumstances, no matter how strong they are." Deciding it was time to let Joel off the hook - at least for the moment - he changed the subject, sort of. "By the way, any idea what set Blair off? You and Simon having a fight or something?"
Joel dropped his hands into his face and scrubbed at his eyes, before muttering glumly, "I think it might have been me." He shot a glance at Al so filled with guilt that he instantly lost any sympathies he had earned.
"Spill it," Al spat.
Sitting up straighter, but without a trace of defensiveness, Joel said, "He came in as I was telling Simon exactly how much of an idiot I had been." He swallowed hard, then went on. "I didn't just spy on Jim, and then stand by when Stiers took him, I helped set it up. Jim went to that warehouse because I sent him there."
"I need some fresh air."
Leaving it up to Sam to fill Taggart and Simon in on what they had learned, Al left the building, turning his face up to the sky and breathing deeply. It helped, and he said conversationally to no one in particular, "More betrayal. And to be honest, a lot of my mad on the subject is just leftovers from what Gooshie and the others did to Sam in this history."
There was no comment from the cosmos to that, not that he had expected one, and Al lit a cigar, taking his time to get it just right. When it was burning evenly, he strolled down the street, not really caring where he went. It was the freedom to move that was important; it always had been, since his first night in the orphanage. A body didn't have to be a super genius to understand that's why he loved fast cars and faster planes.
Plain shoe leather worked, too, and Al meandered from pool of light to pool of light from the street lamps, mechanically keeping track of landmarks to find his way back. When he reached the middle of a particularly long gap between lights, he paused, sure someone was just ahead of him in the darkness. Thinking one of Stiers' goons might want to take up where he had left off, Al stepped sideways, as if to cross the street, to see if the other person would follow him. He did, but he also magically glided a few feet closer at the exact same time.
Heart leaping for his throat as he recognized his ghost, Al took Jim's advice and walked closer himself. The haunt stayed where he was, becoming more defined, though seemingly no nearer than he had been before Al moved. Unnerved by that, and with icy prickles speeding up and down his spine, Al stopped, mumbling "oh, boy," over and over. A car swept down the deserted street, and the headlights didn't touch the ghost; instead they went right through him, though he was still clearly there to Al's eyes.
Before his nerve could break completely, Al straightened to his full height and said as steadily as he could, "What do you want?"
For an answer, the phantom crystallized into a very solid-looking man dressed in a long leather trench coat, fedora, black gloves and, strangely, given the rest of his apparel, black leather sneakers. The face was still hidden, both by the hat and by a pair of wrap-around sunglasses, and there was something about that combination, along with the way the spook held himself, that was eerily familiar to Al. But he also didn't look like Sam, and Al took his first easy breath in the ghost's presence.
"Do I know you?" Al asked quietly.
The ghost said nothing, but, moving slowly, as if in great pain, he adjusted his hat, letting a long, white braid spill down over his shoulder so that it snaked a gleaming path almost to his waist. Al had seen a man with hair like that only once before, in a dream. "Chief," he said. "But Sam changed that history. You can't be him."
For a split second the ghost was the Blair that he knew, laughing and happy, but in a slow fade, he transformed to Chief, then, in a blink, back to Blair, only to become Chief all over again. "Not Blair then, just using his image and Chief's, over and over…. again," Al said thoughtfully. "It's happening again, isn't it? Maybe not just like before, but the result's going to be the same."
The ghost said yes with a sigh that became a sudden wind hustling down the street, fading to only a faint promise of having been. Al stared at where he had been for a moment, then spun on his heel to run back to the loft. By-passing the elevator in favor of the speed of the stairs, he banged on the door until Sam opened it, eyes widening in alarm when he saw Al's agitated state.
Almost stumbling in his hurry to get past the threshold, Al said, switching to Italian when Taggart and Simon shot him startled looks from the kitchen table. "It's happening again. If Bolger was behind the creation of Panther and Chief, and he has Jim already, it's just like before, right? Do you know why he took Blair in the original history?"
In the same language, Sam said in sudden understanding, "The researchers knew that Blair was studying sentinels. They even took the word from his thesis proposal to use themselves, though their work had a different purpose. They didn't think they needed anything he knew, but when Jim didn't respond as expected, they took Blair and all his research materials, intending to take advantage of what they called his 'informal researcher/subject relationship' to bring Jim out of it. It was just plain bad luck that Jim had a bad reaction that Blair mirrored in front of the wrong person at the wrong time. The so-called scientist realized they shared some sort of mental connection, which caused them to change the direction of the research onto both of them."
"English, damn it," Joel said in exasperation, standing as if to emphasize his demand.
Sam waved him off, obviously unwilling to be distracted from his racing thoughts. "Maybe this time around they simply assumed that they would need leverage to be able to get Jim's cooperation, and that's why they tried to take him and us."
"Dr. Beckett," Simon said patiently.
Holding up a hand to ask him to wait, Sam went on in Italian, now talking more to himself than Al. "But if it is happening like before, there's every chance that Bolger would use the same facilities where the Shop had been based, if he could acquire or borrow them from the government. There are only so many laboratories that would be adequate for his needs, given that complete secrecy and privacy would be his first requirement."
Hating himself, hating what it would do to Sam, Al ignored their audience and asked softly, persuasively, "Where is that, Sam? Where was Jim turned into Panther?"
Sam went away mentally, so far that Al could swear his eyes caught and held the opalescent radiance of Time, giving Al an unwanted peep into it. "Panther didn't know, never wanted to know. The deaths there haunted him long after he stopped counting the deaths he caused as a mercenary; he never understood why."
Swallowing against panic, Al forced himself to ask, "How did he get back to Cascade and Simon?"
"Instinct, combined gifts. A few words stolen from the soldiers that took him. A hint of scent on the breeze, a brush of a vaguely familiar person against what was left of Chief's mind. A tiny piece of what should-have-been doing its best to make a part of the Wrong right. Luck." Sam sounded more and more distant with each word, his face emptying of all that he was, leaving behind the soft glow that made him both beautiful and unapproachable, like an angel come to answer a prayer for a terrible price.
Unable to bear it any longer, Al closed the small distance between them, cupping Sam's skull in his hands and using his thumbs to trace the line of his brow, his cheekbones, his lips. "They won't need that this time, will they, Sammy? We're here. We don't have to Leap to put a Wrong right again."
Sam's eyelids drifted down, and he let out a long, tired sigh, becoming just Sam again. Letting his head loll into Al's hold, he said softly in English, "We don't have enough to work with."
A soft gasp from their forgotten witnesses jerked Al's attention away from his mate, and he looked over in time to see Taggart turn gray, and stagger backwards a step to fall down on his backside. Simon was staring at them, glass hanging from his fingers so precariously a puff of air would send it to the floor. Glancing back at Sam, he wasn't surprised to find he had turned his face away, unable or unwilling to give them the explanations his little performance demanded.
With a last stroke to his cheek, Al let him retreat to the laptop set up at the kitchen table, and turned to Simon and Taggart. With an assumed ease, he said, "Problem, gentlemen?"
Taggart just gaped at him, but Simon shook his head hard, once, regained his grip on his glass, and said, "What was that?"
For a moment Al played with the idea of pretending that nothing unusual had happened and saying cavalierly, 'a conversation between lovers.' Although he had no compunctions against brushing Taggart off, Simon didn't deserve it, and Al put his hand over his eyes for a moment, trying to find both patience and the right words. The problem was, he didn't know exactly what they had seen; until this moment he had thought he was the only one who could see Sam glow.
Deciding that would be as good a place as any to start, Al straightened and said, "It might be easier to put it into words if I knew how things looked from your end."
Taking a long, last swallow from his scotch, Simon slammed the glass down on the table. "Like what you would see on TV as special effects for a ghost disappearing: brighten the light until the color starts to wash out, but at the same time erase all the details until all you see is a human shape."
"Huh! Both of us?" Al hadn't known that, and shrugged off Simon's irritated glare with his hands. "It's part of a scientific experiment gone ka-ka."
"Ka-ka," Simon repeated, disbelievingly, then stared at Sam who had snickered. He ducked his head lower, pretending great absorption in the computer screen, and Simon focused back on Al. "What kind of experiment?"
"I can't tell you," Al said calmly, weathering another look fierce look. "It's still classified, not to mention that I consider my oath as a naval officer valid despite the circumstances." Recovering enough to add the weight of his own incredulity to Simon's, Joel snorted, and Al had to fight down the impulse to give him the finger. "The end result is what counts. Sam knows stuff - past, present, future - when the right person asks the right question at the right time, like I just did. Kinda like he's hardwired into the ultimate internet, but with a bad interface since he doesn't always get useful answers. Like tonight."
"Why go through it, then?" Joel asked, sounding as if he were torn between disbelief and wonder.
"In this case," Sam said unexpectedly, not looking up from the computer screen, "It gave us another piece to the puzzle. Add what I just picked up to what we already know: Bolger is behind Jim's kidnapping, a hydro-electric power plant is involved. Mix in what we picked up from the surveillance tapes.…"
"Tapes?" Al broke in, going to sit down at the table within easy reach of him.
After sparing a speculative look at Sam, Simon said, "The storage unit where Jim was held doesn't have a camera on it. It was built after the rest of the units, and the owner claims that changing the system wasn't necessary since it's in the heart of the property. No way for anybody to approach it without being seen."
Taggart put in, "My guess is that he was bribed or persuaded by Stiers himself. They had legitimate business dealings, and Stiers could have easily known that there are no less than three cameras that have large blind spots. Because of them, you can get in and out of that unit unseen, except for the main gate. Which was mysteriously out of order for several hours this evening."
Picking up a report from the mess on the table, Simon took up the tale. "But only for those two hours. When Baxter learned that his partner had booked and Stiers was dead, he almost wet himself in his eagerness to turn State's evidence. Gave us the time when the truck came for Jim, among a great many other interesting things. The surveillance camera at the front gate was working then, and we got a good look at the truck and its license plate."
"Which led us to the company that owns it." Sam added, fingers flying over the keyboard.
"I still think we should have put an A.P.B out on it," Joel grumbled, carefully not meeting Simon's eyes. "We could have used a traffic violation to stop it, then found an excuse to impound it. Forensics could pick up traces and given us a legitimate reason to question the driver."
Tone implying very clearly that they had already had that discussion and he didn't want to hear it again, Simon said directly to him, "The people we are dealing with are too professional not to know exactly what is going on the minute that truck doesn't arrive where it belongs, assuming we even find it. By now it's probably a burned out derelict. If they knew we'd got that close, they'd pack up shop and go elsewhere, not necessarily with their test subject alive. Wading through the corporate layers until we find the right names, right deeds, might take time, but it's safer for Jim. That is our priority, isn't it?"
"Of course," Joel said instantly.
While that mollified Simon, Al wasn't sure he was buying it. Guilt could make a man do stupid things - worse than even greed - and despite everything, he wasn’t sure that Joel truly repented his mistake. Al's skepticism must have shown. Taggart left for the bathroom, pointedly ignoring them all.
"It's hard for a good cop to be made a fool of by his brothers in blue," Simon said, staring after him. "To find out he was so wrong in his judgment that the wrong people, innocent people under his protection, were punished for his mistakes."
"It would be easier to let him off the hook if I didn't get the feeling he still thinks Blair is better off without Jim, despite their need for each other. Or maybe because of it." Something about Simon's expression gave Al the impression he had his concerns as well, but most likely, in his mind Taggart was a fellow officer and friend who deserved the benefit of the doubt.
Since there was nothing else to do, Al shrugged it off and turned his attention to a better subject, leaning toward Sam to get his attention. "Have you looked up government contracts with that company? The info is public domain, even if the actual work is top-secret."
Absently, the faint hue of otherness still there, Sam said, "No, purchases of government property. If this were federally sponsored research, a private company wouldn't have been used to move a prisoner; military transport and guards would have been used like before. Stiers' buddies from Green Security, would have done it, probably. Bolger has to have gone private somehow."
Getting his point, Al said shrewdly, "Building a research lab is expensive and hard to hide, and Uncle Sam has been quietly unloading obsolete or rundown bases for years now. Easier to buy and discreetly renovate."
"Bingo," Sam said, finally looking up at him and grinning. "And bingo. New Legacy Incorporated, with main offices located in Columbia and accounts in the Cayman Islands bought five acres with listed assets that include several good-sized buildings, a small power plant of unspecified type, and medical facilities. Topographic maps of the site show a twenty-foot waterfall that's hard to reach on foot, giving the area the unofficial name of Hidden Falls by the locals, such as they are. Not much in the way of population up that way."
Standing up and apparently reflexively adjusting his gun holster, Simon said, "That's it then. How far?"
"Three hours, but we're not going anywhere just yet," Sam said, shutting down the laptop. "We can't afford to go in blind, with no idea of how many men or the layout. We get some rest, eat a good breakfast, then brainstorm what to do next. We'll need Blair's input, too. He didn't have a chance to talk to us before collapsing; he might have some details we need."
At the disagreement he could see in Simon, Al said, "We know that the longer Jim stays in that monster's hands, the more damage will be done to him. But can you imagine the damage Jim'll do to us if we don't take good care of Blair? He needs to rest, badly, and might not get a chance to once we're on the move again."
Coming down the hallway, Taggart said, "On the move? You got something?"
"Probable location," Simon answered, gathering up folders. "These are the duplicates, by the way. I sent the originals to the address you gave me, Sam. We'll need camping gear, supplies, long-range observation equipment; I can get what we need first thing in the morning. Maybe we should use a fishing trip for a cover? There are some good places in that area, if memory serves me, so it should sell. Meet back here 8am. By the time we get home, that'll still give us a few hours sleep."
"We'll be staying here. The futon in the office upstairs isn't too bad," Sam said blandly.
"I'm staying, too," Joel said.
Without missing a beat, Al ambled to the nearest cushion and threw it at him. "Knock yourself out. Just don't complain in the morning if you hear things tonight you didn't want to hear."
"Al," Sam said warningly.
Planting a perfectly innocent expression on his face, Al shot back, "He deserves a warning about how bad your snoring is, Beautiful."
"Good night, Simon. We'll see you at eight. You know where everything is, right Joel?" Sam said firmly, grabbing Al by the collar, which he would have bet good money Sam had longed to do many times when Al had just been a hologram to him.
Half expecting to stay awake for hours, Al nodded off quickly with barely enough time for a good night kiss to Sam. His sleep was deep and dreamless, and he woke in a much better mood than he should have under the circumstances. Thinking it was going to be a long, long day, he decided that a large breakfast with the works would be best, especially with the promise of no regular meals in the future. It was a pleasant task that let him put problems aside, to the point that when Taggart uncertainly took a seat at the table, Al wordlessly poured him a cup of coffee.
A heavy silence reigned for a while, then Joel picked up the cup, sipped, and sighed his gratitude. Taking it as a cue, Al asked, "How do you like your eggs?"
"Scrambled, please." The quiet returned, a tiny bit more comfortable this time, then Taggart asked, "You said an experiment gone wrong… is Sam part of what happened to Jim?"
Pretending intent concentration on whipping three eggs, Al said, shading the truth to this history, "Sam's older brother loves surfing, which is how he met Jim. He was away at school most of the time, but Tom brought Jim home often enough that they got to know each other. After things…changed… for Sam, he found out about The Shop and the plan to take Jim as a lab specimen, mostly by accident, and took steps to stop it, as much because it was wrong as it was for Jim himself. It was a safe bet that as long as The Shop existed, he wouldn't be safe, so we teamed up to take it down. Bolger was the rat that got away; I thought he was a minor player, just the sadist they put in charge of the so-called research. "
"So Sam wasn't taken by The Shop, but by somebody else? Or did he work as a doctor for them?" Joel asked, using the same pretense Al had, except he was focused on his coffee.
Before Al could answer, the bedroom door opened and Blair slowly made his way to the table, not all his uncertainty caused by his blindness. Sam joined Al in the kitchen, effortlessly fitting into the flow of labor, telling him with a nod at Blair to let him take up the story. Nervously fiddling with his coffee cup, Joel seemed to have forgotten his question, clearly unable to face Blair yet.
With an air of offhandedly fitting himself into a casual conversation, Blair said lightly, "Come on, Joel. Dr. Sam Beckett, quantum physicist who Time magazine called the Einstein of his generation? Two-time Nobel prize winner, and one of the youngest ever? Maybe he's not been in the public eye as much as Carl Sagan or is as famous as Stephen Hawking, but you're into the sciences well enough that the name must ring a bell or two. It was his own project that blew up on him, literally."
Apparently sensing the blank expression on Joel's face, Blair made an erasing motion to put them back on track, and said, "If you're looking for all the connections, in hopes it'll all make more sense - Al ran the nuts and bolts side of Sam's project; the person behind the destruction of that one was the same one who supported The Shop. As for why Jim and I decided to work with Sam and Al, covertly if you want to think of it that way, well, it's just human nature."
As if uncertain that Blair would really want to talk with him, Joel asked, "Human nature?"
Taking the mug of restorative from Sam, Blair said after a long appreciative sip, "We have something important in common: our unique abilities. It's like musicians hanging out with other musicians, doctors knowing more doctors than they do anybody else, and cops socializing with other cops. Lots of reasons it happens, but it boils down to that's who you're around all the time, and who better understands your life than someone living one a lot like it?" With a single tap to the table in front of Joel, he added, "That doesn't mean that the only friends you have will have the same profession, the same talents, you know. Or that you'll leave old friends behind when you move on to another job."
Though Joel looked uneasy with that declaration, Blair didn't give him a chance to argue the point. He turned toward the door and announced, "Simon's here."
Putting an egg sunny-side up on a short stack, Al handed it to Sam. "What, you're not going to surprise him by throwing open the door before he can knock, like you did to me?"
Setting the plate down in front of Blair on his way to the door, Sam said, "Eat. The biorestorative is not meant to replace food. You need the real thing to keep your body functioning properly, and Jim needs you at your best."
"Simon's used to that stunt," Blair said to Al and ignoring Sam to poke at the pancakes as if he'd been given liver or brussel sprouts.
Coming in loaded down with gear, Simon said irritably, "Which one out of your large repertoire, Sandburg? And if you don't want those pancakes, don't sit there mutilating them, give them to me."
"Oh, no, you don't" Al chorused with Sam, wringing an unexpected laugh from everyone. After that, they bustled around filling their stomachs while getting ready to leave. Simon had brought a suitcase from Joel's home for him, including a change for the day, and Blair produced clothes that Sam and Al had left behind after their last visit. In surprisingly short order, everyone was showered, fed, and ready to go, debating all the while about the best way to tackle the problem of pinpointing where Jim was and how to get to him.
By the time they had loaded the two rented Expeditions, they had decided that they would split into two teams and each visit the two nearest towns, one east and one just south of Bolger's base. Surprisingly, Joel didn't make a fuss about being paired with Simon while Blair went with Sam and Al. It went a long way toward earning forgiveness as far as Al was concerned, and he readily agreed to share a campsite that night to compare notes instead of just having a quick meet. They left within a few minutes of each other after checking everything for tracking devices and bugs, taking different routes just in case they were being followed.
As Al had privately predicted, the day was long, hard, and fruitless. Though people were willing to spill their guts for Sam and Blair, seemingly out of pure friendliness alone, all they learned was that the locals were aware the old base had been sold to an out-of-state conglomerate, supposedly for research into more efficient methods of producing electricity from hydro plants. Most were angry because none of the people who lived in the area were hired for either reconstruction or for labor, such as security guards or clerical help. Nor did the imported help ever come into town for meals or a night out, to help support the local communities. Interestingly, to Al's way of thinking, it made more than a few people suspicious about whether or not 'research' was a cover story, though most speculated that it was really to manufacture illegal drugs or one sort or another.
Thankfully, Blair didn't tap into Jim's pain again, though it worried him more and more as the hours wore by without any 'feel' of him at all in his mind. Al was delighted when, despite that lack, he improved considerably in strength and focus once he was away from the hideous outpouring of the masses in Cascade. By the time they were setting up the tents for the night near a stream just beyond the perimeter of Bolger's compound, Blair was almost completely back to his normal self, navigating the rough ground without so much as his cane as an aid. When they gathered around the campfire for their war council, he was able to endure Simon's impatience and frustration, and Joel's growing guilt and shame, without a flinch.
By the end of their second day of prowling the edge of Bolger's defenses, though, Blair was pale and shaking with the effort of coping with both his own growing terror and the debilitating mélange of negative emotions from everyone else, including, to Al's shame, his. They had learned nothing useful after all their hours of prowling, except for the locations of the security cameras and motion detectors. The terrain made it difficult to be sure of the layout of the buildings, and they had not seen any security guards, even at the gate, making them wonder if they were in the wrong place.
To make matters worse, Simon and Joel were under fire to return to Cascade. Their claim of standing clear of the investigation into the corruption in the police department was wearing thin to the mayor, and by his proxy, to the press. Snapping his cell phone shut after the latest call from His Honor, Simon made as if to throw it into the fire, pulling himself up short only at the last second.
"Much as I hate to admit it," Simon said bitterly. "He's right. Now that the arrests have been made, I need to step up to the cameras to show support and confidence in the good cops that make up the majority of the rest of the department. Staying away is making it look like I don't trust my own people."
From the bundle that he had made of himself inside his jacket and sleeping bag, Blair said encouragingly, "You should go back. Being here isn't helping Jim, and you might find the information we need to safely get in - and out again - from bureaucratic sources. Somebody, somewhere, has to have construction records, blue prints for renovations, payroll, something."
Carefully, as if aware that he was still on probation for his part in their problems, Joel said, "I know that you didn't want to bring the F.B.I. into Jim's kidnapping because you didn't want to explain why he was taken, but maybe it's time to reconsider that, Blair. They've got better resources, more authority; we got enough from Baxter for a federal warrant to search here. Better that Jim be exposed than tortured."
"No," Blair said, with a stubborn shake of his head. "It would just mean worse torture later, with a much better cover up by more powerful people."
Clearly ready to argue, Joel was stopped when Sam said distantly, staring into the fire, "No, he's right. The powers that be will never stop hunting Jim and Blair if they have the slightest evidence of what they are, and what they can do. The average citizen might want superheroes, but the moment someone starts to fit that description, the people in charge get afraid, and they have to control or destroy the would-be champions."
Al looked at his face, relieved when the faint glow there could be contributed to the radiance of the setting sun. But even with the surety of Sam's words, he was all there to him, and had been growing more so every passing day, as if his physical self were more real somehow.
Unintentionally confirming that he was working from experience and not other sources, Sam gave a small half-smile and looked directly at Simon. "Go, do your jobs. The last thing Jim would want would be for either of you to be collateral damage to Bolger's insanity. Blair's right. In Cascade you can look for other ways to crack his organization and get what we need to mount a rescue. We can wait here until you've got something for us."
Head hanging, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose as if his head hurt, Simon thought hard, then leaned over to speak quietly with Joel. Giving them as much privacy to talk as he could, Al sat on the log behind Sam, unashamedly pulling him back to rest against his chest instead of the log. Bending to put his lips by Sam's ear, he whispered, "You've got something up your sleeve that you don't want witnesses for."
Sam murmured a no, but slanted a pointed look toward Blair. "He does? What did he say?" Al asked.
"Nothing, which probably means he's expecting a fight from us when he tells us what he's thinking," Sam said in a nearly silent whisper.
Apparently Joel was of the same opinion. With an irritable 'stay put' gesture to Simon, he walked over to Blair to kneel in front of him, carefully not touching. "And what are you going to be doing while we're in Cascade?"
Straightening up and brushing stray strands of hair away from his face, Blair said, "Meditating." Joel's snort clearly said, yeah, right, and he went on with a hint of ire, "Look, we're not getting anywhere as things stand, so I want to take a step back to see what other direction we could go in. For instance, I've been Jim's partner, on the job and off for how long now? Don't you think that I should have a clue or two about what he's been doing all this time? Like, since when has he ever sat around and waited to be rescued? If I can get myself calmed and centered, I can reason out what he's most likely up to."
With hurtful bitterness, Joel said, "And you can't do that with me around."
Blair gentled his voice. "No, I can't do it with anybody around, but Sam and Al know how to give me distance without leaving me un-defended. I'm in no shape to teach either you or Simon how to do that, and you're needed elsewhere right now."
Not arguing any more, though it was obvious he wanted to and was using huge amounts of self-restraint to keep his mouth shut, Joel began packing to go. Simon did the same, but he didn't take down the tent they shared. "We will be back tomorrow night," he said, shouldering his pack, his tone brooking no argument.
"You'd better be," Blair said with a hint of a smile in place. "You two are the ones with the guns!"
Simon smiled at the weak humor, and they all said their goodbyes with jokes that barely covered the strain, and promises they had no idea if they could keep. Blair unwound long enough to watch them go, waving once in that odd little boy way of his as they made their way down the trail. Once out of sight, he sank back down, feet crossed under him, chin in his palms. "I am going to meditate," he said defensively.
"And?" Al asked, tone carefully bland, running his hands over Sam's shoulders, more for his own comfort than Sam's.
"And?" Sam seconded, but he was smiling.
Taking a deep breath, Blair let it out slowly. "And, I'm going to try something I've been thinking about. I meant it when I said I should know Jim well enough to be able to guess what he's doing to escape. Literally. If I can tap into his senses despite the mental rift that's been carved into us, maybe I can tap into his thought processes, and it shouldn't be as difficult or draining as connection to his gifts. Given his training, and the fact he's very likely operating under duress, I'd say he's probably mentally running through his plans over and over, using it as a mantra, or as a form of self-hypnosis."
Nodding his understanding, Sam said, "And if you've submerge your own mental process, you might 'hear' his?"
"Normally it's always there, and I learned to ignore it except for 'loud' stuff deliberately directed at me."
"It could work," Sam said thoughtfully.
Taken aback, Al said, "You're going to go along with this?"
"If all he's doing is 'listening,' however intently, it can't hurt him." Sam reached up to lay his hand over Al's. "And I have the feeling that we're running out of time. Without Blair as a tool to control Jim, Bolger could very easily decide to get what he can at the expense of his test subject."
Al sucked in air past a suddenly queasy stomach. "Double-talk for killing or mutilating Jim so badly, Bolger might as well kill him."
Surprisingly serene, Blair said, "Don't think about it; concentrate instead on how to get past a locked gate and an unknown number of security guards when all we've got is wits and will."
With a quick peck to the top of Sam's head, Al said lightly, trying to match his calm in his own way, "At least we have the best of the first on tap right here. What do you need for us to do?"
"Exactly what you're doing," Blair said with a soft, fond smile. "What the two of you share is like having music playing in the background. It doesn't demand my attention while blocking out a lot of unpleasantness, and if it does catch my notice, it's easy enough to take a second to give it the admiration it deserves and let it go again."
Chuckling in delight at Sam's blush, Al said, "Now that's my kind of chore. When do you want to give this a shot?"
"Anything wrong with right now?" Blair straightened his spine, chin coming up, shoulders relaxing.
Sam turned in Al's arms so that he was sitting on one hip, using Al's leg for a back support. "You'll never be able to sleep tonight anyway," he said ruefully to Blair. "Between thinking about it and worrying about Jim. But if you don't come out it on your own in three hours, I’m going to pull you out. Will a touch be enough or too much?"
"Calling my name because you're worried should do it," Blair said distantly, eyes drifting shut, possibly out of habit. His breathing was already deep and even, and when Al would have asked him another question, Sam stopped him with a fingertip to his lips. At Al's quirked grin, he teasingly traced down the line of his nose, and kissed the tip of it.
Not letting him get away, Al cupped the back of Sam's head in his palm and kissed him properly, taking his time to make it sweet and hot. Slipping his arm around Al's waist, Sam relaxed into him, offering himself up without hesitation. Tongues twining and mating, they savored the tender imitation of lovemaking, until both were breathing heavily.
Slowly, reluctantly, Sam drew back, putting his free hand on Al's chest to hold him off when he would have unconsciously closed the distance. "Much as I don't want to say 'no,'" Sam said apologetically, "I don't think we should get too caught up in this right now. We really do need to keep an eye on Blair to make sure he doesn't encounter difficulties that he didn't anticipate."
Puzzled because he seemed to expect him to be upset, Al said, "No one ever said that foreplay has to lead to the main event." He waggled his eyebrows at Sam, and added after a heartbeat. "Right away." He laughed, as Al had hoped, and he said a little more seriously, "Putting it off for a couple of days can even be fun, in an 'anticipating the honeymoon,' kind of way. Don't tell me that you've always followed the game plan exactly."
"Let's just say the… delay… was never planned," Sam said so dryly that Al knew there had to be a great story behind it somewhere. "And never very pleasant."
"In that case, high time you learned how to draw things out properly, then." Matching actions to words, Al kissed him again, concentrating on the sensuality of moist flesh gliding lightly over moist flesh. With a sigh, Sam melted against him and tried to equal his delicacy, fingers roaming over his throat and into his hair.
Taking it as permission to do his own wandering, Al explored the lines of Sam's body, delighted that their position gave him the freedom to easily touch everywhere, yet kiss him as well. By-passing the most sensitive places, for the moment, he drew lazy designs over Sam's tummy, skimmed over the contour of his hip and waist, and kneaded the hard muscles of his bottom, pausing once in a while to let him catch his breath and visually assess Blair's condition. Expertly keeping them both at a low simmer for what seemed like hours, he delighted in Sam's tiny cries of pleasure and disappointment, despite the ache in his own body.
Sam took on the glow of a well-loved man, his eyes so dreamy and liquid that Al knew that he could do anything and everything to him and Sam would love every second of it. The knowledge brought him to the edge of his own control, and he finally began to back off, using his caresses to soothe instead of excite. Though there was a hint of rebellion in the strength of Sam's hold on him, he did the same, finally sinking down to rest his cheek on Al's thigh, back to him as if to avoid the temptation of tasting him again. Radiating utter contentment, he fixed his eyes on Blair, expression gradually growing distant.
Petting his hair, Al let him drift away, for once completely confident that Sam would return as soon as possible.
Until Al became my lover, I thought I was fairly experienced, if not skilled at the art of pleasing a partner. He very rapidly disabused me of that notion, teaching me more in the first few times we were together than I had learned in a lifetime - my own and others. Still, after so many shared Leaps, I had no reason not to think that I had a good understanding of the basics of how to make Al Calavicci happy in the bedroom. I certainly had the motivation to make sure of it, since the last thing I wanted was to lose him to boredom with our love-life.
I was wrong about how much I thought I knew. Ooooh, boy, was I wrong.
After a few hours of soaking in an out-pouring of his utter sensuality, I realized that I had hardly started, and that it was all only going to get better. Though I admitted to myself that could have been intimidating under other circumstances, what I mostly felt was aroused as all heck, and completely, totally, thoroughly loved. When he put an end to it with a reluctance that was as sexy as the rest had been, I curled into him, idly wondering if anybody had ever been as blessed as I had been in finding the right lover, for however long I was allowed to have him. Almost instinctively I looked over at Blair, withdrawn and alone, yet somehow still surrounded by Jim's love, and remembered the first time I had seen them in the flesh.
After slowly and carefully reading Panther and Chief's string more than a few times, I unhappily came to the conclusion that I'd never be sure on my own that changing their history was the right thing to do. Any action on my part could deny them a bond that they'd unconsciously long for and need forever, and the very possibility of being the cause of that terrified me. As I saw it, even sparing them the horror that created the bond wouldn’t make it right to take it away from them. At the same time, I felt had to at least try to put such a horrible Wrong right.
It didn't help when I discovered that the same people who destroyed Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg would also eventually drive Al into despair and suicide. I tried repeatedly to prevent it, but finally had to admit the bitter truth that there was no way for me to do it directly. Not after I'd already made such a massive change in his life. But if I changed Time for Panther and Chief, it would almost certainly change for Al, too. Yet, Leaping for them because it could save Al, an act of selfishness, no matter how much I tried to justify it to myself, could have painful consequences, possibly for the very people I wanted to help.
Finally, with no other option that I could think of, I did the only thing I could. After making a few preparations, I moved to the very end of Panther and Chief's string, literally within minutes of their death, and Leaped to the dock where the two of them were sitting. Chief was in Panther's lap, watching the early summer sun come up over a small lake with him.
Almost instantly Panther tensed, head turning and gun coming up out of nowhere to aim at the center of my forehead. Chief didn't move except to huddle in on himself tightly, but I just stood there and let both of them come to their own conclusions. After a minute, a thin, almost spidery, hand crept up to cover Jim's and nudge the gun down. In no hurry to obey the silent command, Panther studied me for a minute more, frowning, then barked, "Who the devil are you?"
Keeping my hands in plain view and trying my best to radiate sincerity, I said, "Sam Beckett. You knew me through my brother, Tom? Surfing? And in answer to the question that you really wanted to ask, you didn't sense my approach because I didn't get here the usual way. You really need to believe that, or the rest of this conversation is going to go bad, fast."
Scowl deepening, Panther took on an attitude of listening, then said shortly, "The rest of what conversation?"
"The one Chief will want to have when I tell you that I know you were diagnosed with pancreatic cancer that has already spread to other parts of your body." Panther growled at me, but before he do more, I said with a calm I didn't feel, "Which I could have found out a half dozen ways, but no one but the two of you know that you aren't going to wait for it to kill you. You didn't tell any of your family about the test results, not even Dan Wolf, and came up here alone to end your lives on your own terms. I imagine you're using a bullet instead of letting Chief mentally do it for both of you because you want to make absolutely sure." Very, very gently, I added, "You don't have to, you know."
There was moment of strained silence, then Panther said, as if to himself, "Angel?" With mounting anger, he shot a strange look down at his partner and repeated, "Angel?"
"Not exactly, though I've been called that before," I said carefully, a little surprised that Chief would see me like that.
Standing with exaggerated care and putting Chief on his feet behind him, Panther said, "What a crock of bull."
Not letting myself react to the implied threat in his stance, I said, "Will you let me at least try to prove that I'm not a liar, I'm not insane, and all I want is for you to listen to what I have to say?"
Sidling around to stand at Panther's side, though barely in view, Chief said in his raw, broken voice, "How?"
"I had a package put in a waterproof bag underneath where you were sitting. Do you want to want to get it or shall I?"
Clearly believing it was a booby-trap, Panther motioned for me to stay put, with Chief to watch me for threatening moves, while he checked the package out in his own unique way before taking it out of the water. Opening it cautiously, he went very still when he saw the date of the post mark on the box inside: four days before he knew the results of the tests. I could almost see his skepticism changing to disbelief as he opened the box, hissing in a shocked breath at the sight of the book it held.
With an odd air of reverence, dismissing any danger I might be, Chief took out the old, battered copy of 'Sentinels of Paraguay,' hands fitting around it as they knew on their own what it was. Flipping open the cover, he croaked, "Mine. Not copy. Mine!"
I don't think Panther heard him. He was staring at something he held protectively in the cup of his palms, nostrils flaring wide. If I hadn't known it was the pony tail the men had cut from Blair when they took him, for no other reason than to terrify him with the knife and their superior position, I wouldn't have understood. To him the scent and the rich color must have been vibrant, even after so many years in an evidence box. Taking it had been easy; no one cared about long-cold cases. The book had been harder. I'd been forced to slip in the night of the fire itself to steal it out of the box of materials taken along with Blair.
Closing his fist over the curls, Panther sat back down, automatically pulling Chief into his lap, and said, "Talk."
I did, for hours, first with a simple outline of who and what I was, then honestly answering their questions, and finally just bubbling out things I'd been holding inside forever, including what I'd done for and to Al. Panther stayed skeptical for a long time, but the sheer weight of information gradually convinced him, long after Chief accepted it all. When the sun grew too hot, we moved into the cabin by unspoken consent, and I kept talking, sometimes pacing as I did.
Ultimately I wound down, too worn out and almost too hoarse to say another word, and sat in the battered chair opposite where Panther and Chief were curled together, practically motionless during my last monologue. "You're going to have to decide," I said. "This time, for this Wrong, you're the only ones who can, who have the right."
Panther looked away, winding and unwinding Chief's long braid around his wrist as they silently conferred. Obviously not talking to me, he said, "No hurry is there? Sleep on it, think it through. Cause he's right, it's not just us. What about the kids? What about the parts of our lives that count for something? The scum we put out of business, the lives saved because we acted?"
Expression saying it all, Chief simply shook his head, then leaned up to rest his forehead on Panther's. After a moment, Panther said softly, "He said he can't promise that we'll be together. You're the only part of my life that has ever meant anything to me, *Caro.* How can I take that risk?"
"Love doesn't go away," Chief said in his raw whisper, apparently sensing Panther needed to hear the spoken words. "Loved you this lifetime. It will always exist even if the lifetime doesn't. I *know* this. I see it, *feel* it in Sam. And it's not just us we have to think about."
"Daryl," Panther said heavily. "Robbed of his father when he needed him most. Stevie in that damnable chair. Taggart dead by his own hand, blaming himself because Blair was never found."
Despite not wanting to influence their decision, I had to put in, "How much more could you have done on the right side of the law? Without having to constantly hide and lie? I promise that what you've done good in this lifetime won't vanish; I'll do it for you if I have to."
Tucking Chief back under his chin, Panther stared at Sam thoughtfully. "Can you keep him safe, out of the hands of madmen?"
Much as I wanted to promise him that, and sensing it was the key to gaining Panther's agreement, I shook my head. "No. All I can do is try. Tell your younger selves the danger and give them the information they need to protect themselves as best they can."
Getting up again and feeling a million years in my bones, I went to the picture window to look out at the lake, the sun's reflected brilliance on it hurting my eyes. "I thought I was doing the right thing for Al, and look how badly I messed that up. But as much as I want to fix it, I won't do it at the expense of destroying what you have now unless you're willing to have me interfere with your history. It has been a worthwhile life, Panther, and you will return to the light, together. That's not a bad ending."
I didn't turn back around again to give them a semblance of privacy for their silent discussion. It seemed to me that Chief had already made up his mind to give me permission, but Panther still had reservations. In the end, though, Panther said gruffly, startling me into looking over my shoulder at them, "No matter how you look at it, Chief, you were the one most hurt. If you honestly want to take the risk, I can't begrudge it to you."
Chief slapped the side of Panther's head in a loving sort of irritation that made me smile. To Panther as well, though his was more of a promise of one. "Okay, okay, we were hurt, and I won't agree out of guilt. You're right, who in their right mind would turn down even the chance of a miracle, delivered right to their doorstep?" Fixing me with a gimlet eye, he asked brusquely, "What's your plan?"
Grateful that they wanted to know, I outlined it for them, willingly listening to their suggestions and ideas. Without consciously deciding to do it, we worked together to make a simple meal that was as much dinner as it was lunch, all the while talking to fill in the details on what had admittedly been only a rough sketch to begin with. By the time the sun was a line of fire on the horizon, I had a good idea of exactly what needed to be done and how to accomplish it.
We wound up back on the end of the dock, watching the stars find their way into the twilight sky. In the near darkness, Chief wrapped so tightly in Panther's arms he couldn't been seen, Panther murmured, apparently speaking for both of them, "We came here today to die. Remember that. For good or for bad, Panther and Chief would have ceased to exist today, no matter what you did or didn’t do. It always has been and will always be our choice."
His words were the release I needed, and I Leaped, carrying with me the sight of Chief and Panther staring into each others eyes with complete devotion and trust, lit by the Radiance that powered the Leap - and their love.
Then it sunk in. He had looked at me! Only for a moment, but I was sure of it.
End Part 3
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